Page 21 of Biker Orc Baby Daddy
Glamorous.
But Orry grows. Starts tracking movement with those startling green eyes. Smiles, real smiles that aren't just gas, usually right after he's spit up on whatever clean shirt I'm wearing.
His dimple shows up at ten weeks.
Right cheek. Deep enough to hide a pencil eraser. Absolutely his father's.
I gaze at it and feel my chest tighten.
"You look just like him," I tell Orry, who responds by grabbing my nose with surprising force. "Ow. Okay, noted. We don't talk about Dad."
But I think about him.
Late at night, when Orry finally crashes and I'm too wired to sleep. I think about Ridge, or whoever he really was, and wonder if he ever thinks about that night. If he remembers the woman who left before dawn. If he'd care that he has a son.
Probably not.
One-night stands don't typically come with paternal instincts.
Still.
Orry deserves to know where he comes from. Deserves the option of a father, even if that father turns out to be a disappointment.
At three months postpartum, I work up the nerve to try again.
The Iron Horselooks exactly the same.
Dim lighting, scarred wooden bar, the persistent smell of leather and hops. The same bartender is working, her nose ring glinting as she catches sight of me.
"Ginger ale girl. Back again?"
"Something like that." I slide onto a barstool, Orry strapped to my chest in a carrier that makes me look like a particularly exhausted kangaroo. "I'm looking for someone."
"Still Ridge?"
"Yeah."
She studies me for a long moment, gaze dropping to Orry's sleeping face. "Ah."
"Yeah. Ah."
"Honey, I told you before. No one here?—"
"I know. But maybe someone knows someone? Or saw him around that night? It was Colum Fishborn's party, three blocks over. Big celebration, lots of people."
Recognition flickers across her face. "The plaza thing. Yeah, we had overflow that night. Lot of guys came through."
"Motorcycle orc. Tattoos. Sunglasses inside like an asshole. Called himself Ridge."
"You just described half my clientele."
"He had a leather jacket. Good shoulders. Smiled like he knew exactly what he was doing."
"So does my dentist. Doesn't mean I know where he lives."
I slump against the bar. "This is pointless."
"Maybe." She pours me a ginger ale without asking, slides it across. "Or maybe you're looking in the wrong place."
