In Protective Custody

Drawing a deep breath, she shook off the bout of sentimentalism. Don’t get attached. In a minute, you’ll hand him to his father and be on your way. No looking back. As always.

“Thank you.” The deep male voice roused her from her tangential thoughts.

“Hmm?”

“For your help with the baby. For lending me your car—”

“Lending my car? Is that what I did? Seems to me you gave me no choice.”

A sheepish grin tugged the corner of his mouth as he slowed to turn in at a gravel driveway. “Sorry if I bullied you. I really do appreciate your help.”

Laura took in the ranch-style house nestled in a copse of cypress trees. The red brick and white siding structure had a hominess about it that appealed to her.

He pulled to the back of the house next to a battered pickup truck loaded with split firewood. Though neatly kept, the lawn lacked much landscaping other than live oak and cypress trees which littered the ground with needles. Rusted wrought-iron lawn chairs sat on his back porch next to a well-used grill.

Certainly the home didn’t have the appearance of a criminal hideaway. Was that what she’d been expecting?

“Well, this is home. Thanks again for your help.” He gave her another grin, this one more rakish, and her pulse stumbled.

While he climbed out and circled the car to the passenger door, she gazed down at the baby. What would happen to him?

The boy’s father opened the door beside her, and she dropped a soft kiss on the baby’s head. His sweet baby scent, talcum powder and milk, filled her nose and tangled around her heart. The man reached for the child, and a knot of doubt lodged in her chest.

The day care center where she worked maintained a rigid screening process, assuring a child was never released into the care of the wrong person. But she had no assurance this man had any real claim to the baby.

Panic streaked through her. Her thoughts tumbled over each other. She needed some confirmation the man was who he said he was, that she wasn’t negligently turning this poor baby over to a kidnapper, before she could drive away in good conscience.

Asking him for that assurance wouldn’t help. His word alone wouldn’t convince her he had a right to the child. Perhaps something inside his house? Another person to verify his story, an arrangement of blue flowers congratulating him on his son’s birth, a wedding picture of him with the mother?

Something. Anything.

She had a responsibility as a childcare worker to protect this baby’s interests. But her own history, her experience as the child needing protection, needing someone to care, made her professional responsibility a personal mandate.

Protect the baby.

“Ma’am, I’m really in a hurry. Can I have the baby now?”

He motioned toward the infant impatiently.

“I, uh—”

Without waiting for her to finish, he scooped the boy out of her arms and stepped back. Laura scrambled for a plan. She had to get inside his house, just for a minute, just to reassure herself the baby would be all right. As the man moved quickly toward his carport door, she climbed from her car and called to him. “Hey, may I…use your bathroom before I go?”

He hesitated as if looking for an excuse to tell her no. “Well, okay…but make it quick. I gotta get going.”

Get going? He’d just gotten home. Her anxiety cranked another notch. She followed him into the carport where a firefighter’s sooty turnout gear hung on a peg by the back door with black boots sitting below. He fished in his jeans pocket for his keys, unlocked the door, then stood back to let her enter first. “Around the corner. First door on the right.”

“Thanks.” She scanned the interior with curious scrutiny as she made her way to the bathroom. The decor could be summed up with one word. Masculine.

Dark colors, wood paneling, hunting trophies. Not a ruffle or frill to be seen. Likewise, she saw no evidence in the bathroom that a woman shared his home. No hairspray or makeup or stockings drying over the shower curtain rod. Laura recalled the way he’d answered her query about his wife.

The baby’s mother is still in the hospital.

The baby’s mother, not my wife.

Did that mean he didn’t live with his son’s mother, that they weren’t married? She knew his private life was not her business, but the oddity of his earlier behavior still bothered her. Something didn’t add up.

That something didn’t register until she found her way back to the living room. Not only did the house lack any signs of a woman’s touch, she saw nothing, not the first rattle or diaper, indicating he’d expected to care for a baby tonight.

She watched him bounce the infant, awake now and crying again, while he yanked clothes from the drier and jammed them into a grocery sack. More evidence he planned to leave again as soon as she did.

He spared her a brief glance. “Listen, the baby’s seat is still in the back of your car. Could you leave it on the driveway for me when you go?”

On the kitchen counter, his answering machine played his messages. “Jordie won’t make Friday’s game. He has a dentist appointment. Thanks, coach!”

A beep signaled the end of the current message.

“Are you divorced?” She blurted into the silence before the next message began.

His head came up with a jerk. His expression clearly said her bluntness stunned him. “Uh, yeah. Why?”

“It’s obvious no woman lives here.”

He gave her a slow nod then went back to grabbing clothes to stuff in the paper sack. “You’re sharp.”

“You also don’t have anything here for a baby.”

His chin lifted a notch, his expression guarded. “No.”

“Max, it’s Cheryl,” a woman on the answering machine said. “Where you been hiding, handsome? Call me.”

Laura spread her hands. “How are you going to feed him or change his diaper with no supplies?”

Before he could answer, the next message began playing.

“Caldwell, we know you have the baby!” The voice on the machine spat venom. Icy shivers snaked up her spine.

“He belongs with us, and nothing you can do will stop—”

The man crossed the floor in two steps and slapped the stop button on the answering machine.

Laura gaped at him, speechless. Her heartbeat drummed in her ears. Acid churned in her stomach.

He turned a hard glare at her, his face drawn and grim. “I’m really in a hurry. I need you to go now.”

Chapter 3

Accusation burned in the blond woman’s eyes. Deep inside, Max squirmed uncomfortably. Her unspoken disapproval and doubts chafed a raw wound inside him. Jennifer had given him that same look too many times, whether he deserved it or not. And, as with his ex-wife, this woman’s glare caused a flicker of guilt, of responsibility, of disappointment.