Free Hard to Hold by Katie Rose Page B

Logan. “Is that from her mommy’s side?”
    “No,” he responded, and Isabella heard an edge in his voice. “But my sister is a ginger.”
    “Ah. That’s it, then,” the clerk said, blissfully unaware she had stumbled on a sticky subject.
    Isabella was more than a little surprised, though she kept her emotions to herself.
Logan’s sister is a redhead?
Did he think it was all just a coincidence that he was named as the father, and the baby shared some of his family’s genetics?
    But Logan seemed more than ready to be done with this conversation. He signaled to the bellman to follow them into the elevator. As they walked away, she heard the desk clerk say behind them, “What a nice little family.”
    Isabella didn’t dare look up at him.
    —
    The rooms were perfect. Isabella saw the crib all prepared with fresh sheets and even a little quilt. The refrigerator was plugged in and already cold, and there were a couple of bottles of purified water waiting inside.
    “Looks like they thought of everything,” she said, settling the baby inside her temporary bed.
    Logan had been quiet on the ride up in the elevator, and she could imagine his thoughts after the desk clerk’s comments. “Yeah, thanks to you. Listen, I’ve got to go work out. I’ve got my cell if you want me.”
    He needed space. Isabella could tell by the distracted look in his eyes that he wanted to be alone. Part of her wanted to take him in her arms, make him see that it would be all right.
    But she knew better than that, especially after their last encounter. So, instead, she nodded and indicated the bags. “I’ll get everything unpacked.”
    “Be back later,” he said, taking one of the keys and indicating the other was for her.
    As he closed the door, Isabella turned to look at the baby. Little Cinnamon was happily playing with her feet again, completely unaware of the drama around her.
    Was Logan Hart beginning to come to terms with the idea that the baby might be his? The issue wouldn’t be settled completely until he went to court and the judge requested a DNA test. The labs would ultimately determine the truth, and at that point legally he would be named the father, responsible for his child.
    It was clear he couldn’t count on any help or support from the mother, at least not at this point. He was on his own, with an enormous responsibility on his shoulders.
    It was a difficult situation for any man but especially one who was used to a very different life: a professional athlete who lived on the road as a single guy, enjoying all the benefits his career provided.
    To go from that to becoming a single parent of a little girl was a huge leap.
    She wondered if he would be able to make it.
    —
    Logan powered through his workout, sweat dripping from his forehead as he lifted weights. Next he tackled the treadmill, trying to follow CNN on the flat-screen TV, but found he couldn’t focus.
    His thoughts kept returning to that awkward moment when they had checked in and the hotel desk clerk assumed Cinnamon was his baby.
    His baby!
    Worse, he’d let it slip in front of Isabella that his sister shared the baby’s hair color. He didn’t know much about genetics, but redheads were unusual—there were not a lot of them walking around without getting help from a salon.
    He remembered Jessica being teased at school, called Carrot Top and Red. He and Rory threatened to beat up the McGonigle kids when she came home from kindergarten, bewildered by the name-calling. But Jess was always a little tough guy, and he had to pull her off Gordon McGonigle the next day before she beat the shit out of him.
    The little girl sleeping upstairs had the same coppery hair. It’s not that he didn’t know it; it had registered with him immediately. But it was one of those inconvenient facts that he chose to shove to the back of his brain.
    Now it was front and center: This baby resembled his family.
    Resembled
him
.
    Even when he took the hair color out of the