Chapter 6: CASH

Six

CASH

N obody knows about the baby that showed up on my doorstep or the letter claiming the child is my daughter. I have folks in my family verifying the letter's claims. Sure, the letter came with DNA test results, but those could be doctored. We need something more specific. Until then, I have the child out at the adobe house, guarded by the only person I trust with this information — Wyatt's mom. My aunt.

Mom is too fragile to handle information like this. She will want this kid to be mine so fucking badly, she'll make it happen. I just want the truth.

Aunt Deborah makes me categorize the women I've slept with and I give her a list of names that I can remember. I know it doesn't portray me in the best light, but she takes down the names without judgment and plans to use discreet methods to track down the child's mother and how this two year old ended up on my doorstep.

I don't even know if she's two.

I don't even know her name. It feels wrong to give her one because she isn't mine and it also feels wrong not to give her one.

This bullshit couldn't have come at a worse time. Hunter and I need to iron out the details of this deal and then… the baby.

Even if I don't know her identity or how the hell she ended up on my doorstep, I feel this strange, unusual attachment to her. It's not like me. I don't get attached to anything. Not women. Not children.

If there's one thing I learned from my parents' marriage it's that love will fuck you up. They were crazy about each other… but I mean crazy. They fought as hard as they made up which is all well and good to acknowledge now that I'm a man.

But when I was a kid, most of what I remember is the fighting and how goddamn bad it would get. From the time I was twelve years old, I would steal whatever bikes I could get my hands on and just ride out until it was dark. Nobody even cared that I was out late.

As long as I made the varsity football team and kept my grades at a C average, neither of my parents gave a shit what I did.

If your own parents don't give a shit about you, it makes it hard to trust that anyone else will.

The longer I stay away from the baby, the worse I feel.

When I leave Hunter's place, I'm glad he doesn't notice any change in me. But believe me, there was one.

It's the only thing that has distracted me successfully from my anxious, clawing thoughts of the baby that showed up on my doorstep.

Quin Nash.

Hunter's warning to stay away from her doesn't stop me from conducting basic research from my hotel room. I have to check out before 11 a.m. tomorrow morning to head back to Arizona, leaving me plenty of time to think about Quin and what I'm going to do about her.

Because I have to do something.

She's beautiful.

Not just that… I could use her.

She clearly needs some help or she wouldn't be hiding away at Hunter and Juliette's place. There's nothing Hunter Sinclair can give her that I can't. And she has no real connections to the club. No reason to betray the fact that I have a child to anyone.

I can't stop myself from thinking about her for the next two hours in my hotel room. I find her on social media through Juliette's page and catch myself up on every possible detail about her. She's about Juliette's age — twenty years old.

So too young for me, but not illegal. And she's pretty. I like women who redefine the word thick and Quin fits the bill perfectly.

I convince myself that my primary desire for her isn't about sex. I have a baby problem on my hands and a mystery to solve. And that baby needs a nanny. Normal folks might consider hiring a nanny but that opens up someone in my line of work to a hell of a lot of risk.

I would much rather have someone I can trust. Someone I can control.

Someone like Quin.

My aunt Deb calls just after I take my tenth screenshot of a photo from Quin's public social media page.

"Hello?"

"Baby Avery is doing perfectly," she says. "I'm putting her to bed right now."

Avery? That's new.

"Avery? Is that what we're going with now?"

"Yes," she says. "It is. Wyatt called, but I didn't say anything."

I exhale. "Thanks. He has his hands full with Oske."

The Shaws have a secret there. I don't know what it is, but I know it's big because otherwise, Oske would be dead. Wyatt isn't the type to hold back against anyone who represents a threat. But Oske is still here… still causing problems. Still on the goddamn run. Maybe we should have listened to Reaper.

"Did you call Annie?" she asks.

She means my mother, Annabel. I haven't told my mother about the baby despite my aunt's insistence.

"We don't know if the kid is mine."

"She has red hair, Tanner."

"I know. So does everyone in the family. She might not be mine."

"This would be a lot easier if you had a theory about who she is."

I don't answer the question. I might not have a theory, I just know what my instincts are telling me.

She's not mine. But I can't tell if it's denial or just knowledge of where I planted my seed the past few years. I can't say I always used protection but… I can't think any of the women I've been with wouldn't have popped back up with that kid to demand child support the second they saw those two pink lines.

I took a picture of the note, so I open it up and read through it again.

Dear Tanner,

Okay. This person knows who I am. Not just my club name. That means they know exactly who I am and possibly have some connection to the family.

This is your child. I have attached the corresponding documentation and genetic testing to prove these claims. The child has family traits. I am sure you do not remember our encounter all those years ago.

If you do not care for this baby, she will face certain death at the hands of her mother.

You must not contact the police. Give her a good life.

No signature. This is your child. It doesn't sound like anyone I know. That's the part that fucks with me. Aunt Deb believes the kid is mine. She thinks I'm like my father. But I'm not. I'm nothing like him. I'm not dumb enough to commit to a woman knowing I can't keep my dick in my pants. And anyway, I'm not like my father in the most important way.

I can keep my dick in my pants.

First, I read the letter quietly to myself and then I read it again for my aunt. She listens and then she asks me to read it again before repeating each line.

"Is there a chance it's Andy or Beau's kid?"

"He's married. So no."

"Your father was married and how many half-brothers do you have?"

"If Avery was his, why did she end up on my doorstep?"

She sighs. "I don't know Tanner. Maybe we should tell Annie. She could get the truth out of him."

Annie. That's my mother, and the last thing I want to do is mention another baby my father had out of wedlock. His parting gift, by the age of Avery. The back of my neck flushes with the certainty that my father must have planted his seed days or weeks before passing away. Fuck.

It would be just like him, but without proof, what's the point in getting my mother all upset?

"I don't want to disappoint my mom. If this is some type of hoax, she'll lose her mind. She's lost too much already with dad gone."

"The baby is family, Tanner," Aunt Deb says with that guilt inducing voice she uses with her sons. That might work on a Shaw, but it won't work on me…

I don't know how she can be so sure.

"I guess. But I'm telling you, Aunt Deb. I would know the mama. I would remember."

"Right. Well, Tanner. When you get over here, you had better get yourself a nanny. Someone you can trust. I watched Wyatt handle Junior on his own and it isn't as easy as you think."

I never thought it was easy.

"I'll hire someone."

"Call June if you need help finding someone."

"I don't need help. I can get a nanny for my kid. Nothing to worry about."

I get off the phone with my aunt, but I can't stay in bed anymore. Not with Quin and the baby on my mind. Avery. Now who told Aunt Deb the baby needs a name now, huh? I thought we could get around to that when we actually had answers.