Page 23 of Buckin' Around

Okay, that’s it.

I release my strangling grip on my arms and make a beeline for the screaming baby.

I don’t care who gets their knickers in a knot. Penthouse or not, no baby should be left to cry it out. Not in my book.

I never let Chlo cry for any longer than absolutely necessary, and the Lockwood siblings don’t look like they’re about to comfort whoever is distressed any time soon.

I follow the long hall, the sound getting louder, more desperate as I go. I pick up my pace. The last door on the left is open.

The sound is spilling from it.

I cross the threshold without a thought.

But when I take in the enormous bed, the oversized, well,everything, I stop short in my tracks. A small pink bassinet sits at the end of the bed. It rocks as the wails continue.

I hesitate.

I know the second I pick this little girl up, I’ll be involved.

My heart can’t respond any other way.

Steeling myself, I put one foot in front of the other.

Baby crying.

Alone.

Me and someone who has no one else...

Flashbacks of the morning we woke up to learn Mom and Dad were gone...

Chloe crying from her crib in our parents’ room. Forgotten. For hours.

I close the distance, almost desperate to hold the baby. To fix the hole that gapes when I least expect it.

I find a tiny pink face poking out from a swaddle. Mad as hell, her little pink mouth wide with her hungry screams.

God knows she’s probably frightened, too.

“Oh sweetheart.” I lean down and slide my hands under her small back. She’s well padded. I lift her from her soft bedding. Her cries persist, and I hold her to my chest, rubbing her back.

She turns her head, suckling my neck.

Oh, baby.She’s probably starving.

Heat coils in my gut.

Out in the living room, the Lockwoods are pacing around like she’s some sort of inconvenient problem they need to make go away.

Meanwhile, this perfect little girl is scared and hungry, her diaper most likely soiled.

Fecking hell.

I send my hand into the bassinet, hunting for a pacifier or anything to settle her. A small green pacifier is wedged into the bottom corner. She must have kicked it there with her wriggling. I pop it into her mouth, and she sucks furiously.

“Oh, sweet baby girl. I’m sorry someone did this to you,” I whisper.

Where the hell is her eejit mother?