Verdict: Daddy

Blake pushed his fingers through his hair. “Wish I were. I stepped out just after dawn for the newspaper. A wicker laundry basket was in front of my door. Looked like it was filled with towels. I thought someone had left laundry by mistake. Then I heard a little whimper, and the towels moved.”

“The child wasn’t visible?”

He shook his head. “My next thought was that I’d been snookered by someone dumping a litter of kittens. That’s the last thing Rambo and I need.”

“Rambo?”

“My dog. He’s a golden retriever, and he doesn’t like cats. I peeled back a layer of towels—”

“It’s a wonder the baby could breathe,” Marissa muttered indignantly. “That’s no way to treat a child. Were there any signs of physical abuse?”

“None. The most beautiful and perfect little baby girl looked up at me with big blue eyes and smiled.” He felt his heart soften into Silly Putty at the memory. “She had a note pinned to her dress. It said, ‘Please look after my baby. I know she’ll like living with you. I can tell by the yellow roses growing around your door.”’

Marissa shook her head. “The law is supposed to prevent that sort of thing.”

“What law?” Blake needed to know the legality of his situation. That’s why he’d come to Marissa.

“Desperate women were abandoning newborns in Dumpsters. The state passed a statute a few years ago that guaranteed that if the mothers would leave the children at a hospital, doctor’s office, or fire station, no charges would be filed, no questions asked.”

“Really?” That piece of legal information pleased him. Maybe the problem left on his doorstep wasn’t as big as he’d thought.

“Just last week,” Marissa said, “a man dropped off an hour-old infant at a Tampa fire station. The baby’s up for adoption now.”

“She isn’t a newborn.”

Marissa frowned, an expression that did nothing to diminish her prettiness. “And since I assume your house is neither a fire station, doctor’s office, or a hospital, that law wouldn’t apply in this case anyway. How old is she?”

“I know nothing about babies,” Blake said, “so I took her right away to Agnes. She lives next door.”

Marissa’s eyes lighted. “You bought the old Thompson place?”

“Six years ago.”

“I always loved that old bungalow. Built in the twenties, wasn’t it?”

Blake nodded. “Agnes estimates Annie is about three months old.”

“Annie? The note gave her name?”

“No name. But with her bright red curls, blue eyes, and the fact that she’s an orphan—” he shrugged, feeling sheepish again “—I decided to call her Annie.”

An ironic smile quirked a delectable corner of Marissa’s mouth. “Maybe you should rename Rambo Sandy.”

Blake felt panic setting in again. “I can’t keep the baby.”

“You’re not the family type?” Marissa asked. “Or you don’t like children?”

“I’m single, I live alone, and I know nothing about infants. Never been around one. That’s why I hightailed her over to Agnes first thing. And why I want to hire you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re sure this baby isn’t yours?”

“Of course I’m sure!”

He had to stop confessing that his love life was nonexistent. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been interested in having a relationship. With his business taking off, he’d been either too busy or too tired the past several years for any kind of social life, other than zoning out with the guys on a weekend afternoon to watch a Bucs game or a DVD of the latest action film.

Suspicion sharpened her features but didn’t affect her prettiness. “No former girlfriend left in the lurch the past year or so?”

“If this baby was mine, I’d step up to the plate and take responsibility.”

“And you’re sure she isn’t?” she asked again.

Her tone of voice and steely-eyed gaze made him feel like a bug skewered on a pin. She’d earned her reputation for ruthless cross-examination. “I’m sure.”

She studied him carefully, as if watching for some subtle sign that he might not be telling the truth. Then, apparently satisfied, she nodded. “But I don’t understand why you’ve come to me. You should be talking to a family law attorney. Or someone at the Department of Children and Family Services.”

“Already have. Vienna Pitts—”

Marissa’s mouth twisted with apparent disgust. “Is that old bat still alive? I remember how she used to scream at us not to play on the sidewalk in front of her house.”

“Alive and well,” Blake said with a grimace, “and unfortunately living across the street from me and watching my every move. She must have seen me find the baby and instantly alerted DCF.”

“And?”

“They came to my house and wanted to take Annie.”

“So what’s the problem? That’s their job. They’ll try to locate Annie’s mother and, in the meantime, find the baby a foster home.”

“A foster home. That’s the problem,” Blake said with more feeling than he’d intended.

“You want to keep her?” Marissa’s low, throaty voice rose an octave in surprise. “But you just said—”

“I can’t keep her. But I don’t want her placed in a foster home. A kid needs a real family. Her own mom and a dad. That’s why I came to you.”

MARISSA SANK BACK in her chair and studied Blake with a mixture of admiration and dismay. She remembered how he’d always hungered to belong to a family of his own, how he’d envied her big, boisterous household and had felt like the odd man out, even when her mom made a point to include him in their special celebrations and gatherings.

“Blake, I’m a defense attorney,” she reminded him gently. “This is a civil not a criminal matter. You need a specialist in family law.”

“Won’t a family lawyer just advise me to turn Annie over to DCF?”

“That’s my advice, too. Or we can contact the head of Family Continuity Programs. They’re in charge of caring for abandoned newborns and children who are wards of the state in this county.”

Blake scowled. “Then a sheriff’s detective will pick up Annie, and from what I heard on the news the other day, they’re so overloaded with cases, the kid could be warehoused in a crib in the corner of his office for days until a foster home is available.” He shook his head. “There has to be another way. Can’t I at least get temporary custody until I find the right family who’ll adopt her?”

Marissa didn’t know whether to hug him or hit him. On the one hand, this gentle giant warmed her heart with his concern for a stranger’s baby. On the other, he hadn’t a clue what he was in for if he received even temporary custody of Annie.

“Who’s going to look after the child? Rambo?” Her sarcasm was intentional. She hoped to jolt Blake into accepting reality.

The strong planes of his face split into an appealing grin. “Actually, Bo’s really good with children. Every kid on the block’s in love with him.”