Never Say Never: Gravel Hill Boys Book Two

9. Ian

“Ian!Take that baby from your sister.”

I glared at the screaming, wriggling, dripping, red-faced runt and took a step back. It sounded like an air raid siren. No surprise there since it looked like a tiny Winston Churchill.

“I’ll pass.”

“Ian, please,” Maylene begged. “I’ll only be a second. I gotta change my shirt. I’m covered in baby puke.”

Maylene was only eleven months older than me, so we’d grown up closer than me and my other sisters. Despite that bond, I never signed on to hold a screaming infant. Especially one that was leaking. Also, being the youngest of five, my experience with babies was zilch.

“Tempting, but no.”

“Lordy,” my mother hollered from the kitchen. “Take that baby or you’ll rue the day.”

I took a giant step back. “Already ruing, Ma. Besides, I gotta run. I only stopped in to say goodbye. The boys are waiting. Heading to Nashville, remember?”

My mother appeared in the doorway to the kitchen waving a wooden spoon. “Goodness, boy. Help your sister out. That plane ain’t gonna leave without you.”

“Why can’t you hold it?”

“Don’t call my baby ‘It.’” Maylene huffed.

Itbegan to holler even louder, which didn’t seem possible. It was like It knew we were talking about it.

I held out my arms to dissuade Maylene and make my escape, but she lunged, pressed the kid against my chest, and bolted, yelling over her shoulder, “I’ll be right back.”

My arms shot out and I held the little red siren out as far as I could. Long strings of drool rolled from its mouth and onto my hand. I shivered. I took slow, tentative steps toward the kitchen.

“Ma, take this thing before I drop it. It’s leaking.”

“Ian, you are tweaking my last nerve. Can’t you see I’m busy?”

Ripe red strawberries bobbed in the kitchen sink while steam escaped from beneath the lid of her ancient blue agate canner. My mother ladled cooked jam into hot jars, getting them ready for their turn in the canner.

Canning required focus. But still.

I filled my lungs with strawberry-scented air and continued being a dick.

“Maaaa.” Was I whining? Yep.

“You are not gonna drop her. Sweet Jesus, you have a flair for the dramatic,” she said, not missing a beat as she filled jars with the precision of someone who’d been canning and preserving for years. “You should’ve gone to Hollywood instead of Nashville.”

“Funny,” I groused.

She filled the last jar, then plucked the lid and screw top from a steaming pan of water and set them in place, gave the lid a twist, and lowered it into the boiling water.

“There we go.” She mopped the sweat from her brow with the hem of her apron and aimed a benevolent smile in my direction.

“Looky there. You got her to stop crying.”

True. It was no longer screeching. Instead, it studied me, sucking in stuttering breaths and coming down from its earlier nuclear meltdown. And while it was no longer piercing my eardrums, it was still leaking.

I shuffled toward my mother, still holding my sister’s spawn as far from my body as possible. “Can you please take it now?”

The woman was evil. “I have another batch yet. Besides, you’re doing great. That’s the first time she’s been quiet all morning.”

Ma lowered her voice and slapped my arm. “And stop calling her ‘It.’ Her name is Ellery.” She moved closer and dropped a kiss on its head, but stepped away before I could pull a fast one like Maylene had pulled on me.

“You’re doing so well with her. You might just be her favorite uncle.” Switching to baby talk—which was almost as painful as the screams—she spoke to the creature in my hands. “Isn’t that right, Meemaw’s sweet little punkin pie? You wuv your Uncle Ian. He’s your favowite uncle. Uncle Iney Meenie Miney Mo.”

“Dear God, stop,” I begged.

My arms ached, and there was slobber all over my hands. “I’m never having kids,” I announced for the benefit of the woman who raised five of us and who wanted five times that many grandchildren.

“Never say never, Ian,” Ma responded, having moved on to hulling more berries. “You’ll meet a nice girl someday, fall in love, get married, and then have a few children of your own.”

A few?“No way,” I said.

“He’s right, Ma.” Maylene wandered into the kitchen like she had all the time in the world, wearing a Gravel Hill Boys concert tee. “Ian doesn’t date nice girls. How can he meet one and marry her?”

“Ian doesn’t date,” I added. “Full stop. It’s nothin’ but hookers and blow for me.”

Maylene jammed one of her pointy fingers into my ribcage. “You’re an idiot. And stop calling my kid It.”

“Jesus, you’re gonna make me drop it. Her. Whatever.”

“Ellery!” both her and Ma shouted.

“Fuck. Here, take it…her. Take her.”

Maylene opened the bread drawer and pulled out a loaf. “Not yet. She’s quiet. Let me eat something first. All I’ve had today was a half-cup of cold coffee.”

This was unacceptable. “Why the hell did you have a kid if you didn’t want to take care of it?”

“Oh, Ian.” Ma tsked from her spot at the sink. “The things that come out of that mouth of yours.”

“Listen, lunkhead.” Maylene pointed a butter knife at me. “She’s got colic. She cries constantly. All I’m asking is for you to hold her for a few more minutes so I can take care of life’s barest necessities. Besides, she’s not crying. For reasons I don’t understand, she likes you.”

“Ian’s the baby whisperer,” Ma sang.

“You be quiet,” I said.

Maylene slathered peanut butter on a slice of whole wheat bread. “Bring her in closer. She’s not going to explode, Ian. Support her bottom and hold her against your chest.”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so. This shirt is Tom Ford. Eat faster.”

Maylene rolled her eyes and finished making her sandwich. “That’s just a regular ol’ western shirt.” With an evil grin, she carried her sandwich to the kitchen table, sat down, took a small bite, and began to chew slowly.

More drool spilled onto my hand, and I nearly gagged. The little shit kicked her legs, squealed, and had the nerve to aim a wet, toothless smile at me. And then, to make matters worse, she laughed at me. I couldn’t freaking believe it. My mother dropped her knife and turned her teary eyes toward me. Maylene stopped chewing. Her eyes grew wide and filled as well. Rushing me, they commenced to coo and chortle. You’d think the wriggling infant I was holding had spoken her first words or something.

Judging by the way Ma and Maylene carried on, I was screwed.

Goodbye rock star, hello Baby Whisperer.