Who's That Baby?

Claire couldn’t comprehend how any woman could leave a man like Johnny Winterhawk or this precious infant who had so deeply etched a groove in Claire’s own heart.

Gazing down at the sleeping child on her lap, she was drawn to stroke the baby’s silky scalp, catching fluid strands of short ebony hair between her fingers and smiling as baby lips twitched. A glimmering bubble appeared at the corner of her slack little mouth.

A twinge of real pain twisted Claire’s heart at the realization that this precious, innocent child had been betrayed by the one person on earth she’d trusted to love her, nurture her, care for her always. To Claire, maternal desertion was the most heinous of crimes. She could not, would not allow Lucy’s mother the same benefit of doubt that Johnny was plainly willing to offer.

In fact, she did not like this Samantha person one bit. It took every ounce of control not to reveal the extent of her anger to the man who was desperately trying to excuse the inexcusable.

“Samantha is a good woman,” Johnny said suddenly.

Claire felt herself flush, wondering if he could also read minds. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to agree with him. “She must have had her reasons, although I won’t pretend that I can conceive of a single one that excuses the choice she has made.” Reluctantly shifting the sleeping babe back to the car seat, Claire stood. “However, Lucy appears to be well nourished, normally developed and in good health. You should probably bring her into the clinic tomorrow for a more thorough examination and a few tests.”

Johnny stiffened as if he’d been shot. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“I have appointments in the morning.”

“The clinic opens at 6:00 a.m.”

“I’ll be at my office by then and I won’t be home until ten at night. I have a law practice to run.” His brows rose into a ridiculously pompous arch that she might have found amusing if fatigue hadn’t sucked the humor right out of her.

“I wouldn’t know anything about hard work and long hours. I’m just a doctor.” She scooped up her bag, tossed her sweater over her arm. “As for the baby, just toss her into the car seat on your way out in the morning. I’m sure she’ll be fine on her own for a good fifteen or sixteen hours.”

Pained comprehension dawned, etching itself in every line of his handsome face. The long-term consequences of fatherhood had no doubt just occurred to him. “Oh, my God.”

Now it was Claire’s turn to arch a brow. “Exactly.”

He dropped into the chair, ashen. When he slumped forward with his elbows on his knees, she thought he’d fainted. After a long moment, he spoke without looking up, his authoritarian tone having softened to an almost palpable panic. “What am I going to do?”

Claire could practically feel his terror, his confusion, his abject misery. For some odd reason, it touched her as if it were her own. She set her knapsack down, and knelt beside him. “You’re going to do what you have to do,” she said gently, “to take care of your daughter.”

“I don’t know how.”

“I’ll teach you.”

He shook his head. “That would be too much to ask. Besides, this is just—”

“I know, I know, it’s just temporary.” She sighed, sat back on her heels. “Temporary or not, a baby needs full-time care and attention. Which is not to say that you have to let your career go to hell in a hand-basket. You’ll have to make some adjustments, true, but nothing you can’t handle.”

He raised his head, angled a doleful glance. “How do you know what I can and cannot handle.”

“I’m a good guesser.” Her teasing wink got a small smile out of him. Very small, but very potent. An army of goose bumps slipped down her spine at even the hint of his smile. “Besides, lots of parents have to work, which is why there are places like the Buttonwood Child Care Center.”

“Child care?” He brightened, as if the thought of such a wondrous place hadn’t occurred to him. “Of course.”

She stood. “Joy Rollings runs the center. I’ll give her a call first thing in the morning, and tell her to expect you.”

Gratitude in his eyes turned to panic so quickly she barely had time to react before he shot from the chair and clutched both of her hands in one of his powerful palms. “Tomorrow? What about tonight?”

“The center is open from 6:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m.”

“But I can’t possibly…I mean, I nearly drowned her with a bottle. What if I drop her? What if…?” He shook his head. “No, no, that is not acceptable, not acceptable at all.”

Claire’s empathy cooled as quickly as it had evolved. “In that case, your options are limited.” She unsnapped her case, retrieved a card from a pouch and handed it to him. “Call this number. All your problems will be solved.”

He stared at it blankly for only a moment, then every trace of color drained from his face as his feigned bluster melted before her very eyes. “The state welfare agency?”

“They’ll send someone out to pick up the child, and you can wash your hands of the problem once and for all.” Claire knew her tone was cold. She meant it to be. “Oh, you’ll have to send a pesky check once in a while. Oddly enough, the state expects parents to support their children with money even if they’re unwilling to support them in any other way, but hey—” she gave his back a chummy slap “—a fancy high-priced lawyer like yourself shouldn’t care about a few paltry dollars, particularly if it alleviates that handsome legal mind of yours from dealing with unimportant details, such as changing diapers and mixing baby formula. Sound like a fair trade?”

Most of the color had returned to his face, and his eyes had gone completely black. “Involving the authorities could result in charges being filed against Samantha.”

“True, but that’s not your problem, is it? I mean, once the state gets its paternalistic paws on baby Lucy, she might end up in foster care, bounced from hither and yon until her poor baby psyche has been permanently damaged. As long as it doesn’t interfere in your law practice, what do you care?”

He flinched again, but to his credit never broke eye contact with her. “Touchе, Dr. Davis, your point is well taken.”

“Oh, call me Claire. After all—” she elbowed him playfully “—I know all your secrets now, so it seems a bit highfalutin to stand on formalities, don’t you think?”

“You don’t know all my secrets, Claire.” He smiled, not a full-blown smile, exactly, but much more well formed than his prior effort. The effect was devastating. “At least, not yet.”

Chapter Two

Late-night shadows scattered along the sidewalk, pooling in between amber shafts of illumination from porch lights that dotted the Eastridge apartment complex. Shifting the precious bundle in her arms, Claire managed to position her key in the lock and elbow the light switch as she stepped inside a room filled with lush house plants and unlit scented candles.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” she murmured to the bright-eyed infant. “I know, I know, it’s been a busy night for such a tiny girl, hasn’t it? But it’s been a busy night for your daddy, too, and I think he needs a few hours to get himself together. Discovering that one is a father can be a bit disconcerting, even for the strong, silent type.”

Lucy seemed intrigued by the one-sided conversation, which gave Claire yet another opportunity to convince herself that the impulsive decision to bring Lucy home with her was based more on sound logic than emotional whim. It was reasonable, she told herself, to give a stunned man time to gather his thoughts, rearrange his schedule and make room in his life for a child whose existence had been completely unknown to him.

“No, sugar-bug, your daddy hasn’t rejected you. He’s just upset because that’s how men get when they lose control over their lives.”

Lucy widened her eyes. Claire’s heart melted. Her daddy hadn’t rejected her, but her mother had.

A clench of fury tightened Claire’s chest. Despite Johnny’s gallant defense, Claire disliked Lucy’s mother intensely. She told herself that she wasn’t being fair, that she was prejudging the woman without the slightest understanding of what tragedy might have warranted such desperate measures.

But in Claire’s mind, there could be no excuse to give away one’s child.

She shrugged the diaper bag off her shoulder, carried the cooing infant into her bedroom. Because she couldn’t help herself, she hugged Lucy close, brushed her cheek against her soft little scalp. A tear burned, clouding her contact lens.

“Don’t you worry, little one. You have people who love you, who will take care of you always.”

Lucy looked up, blinked and burped. For some reason, that tickled Claire immensely. “I swear, you are the sweetest baby I’ve ever seen in my life. Trust me, I’ve seen more than my share of sweet babies.”

Claire laid the infant in the middle of her bed. At two months old, Lucy was just learning to arch her little body, and might be able to turn over, so Claire placed a couple of pillows on each side of the child to keep her safe.

“We’re going to have a lovely time, you and I.”

Bright baby eyes blinked up, struggling to focus on Claire’s movements as she slipped off her skirt and blouse and tossed them over a nearby chair.

“Tomorrow morning we’ll go shopping,” Claire told the infant. “Your wardrobe leaves a bit to be desired, don’t you think?” She shimmied into a frumpy but practical flannel nightgown, traded her dried-out contacts for a pair of gold-rimmed eyeglasses and stretched out on the bed beside the squirming infant. “Red would be a smashing color on you. Something in gingham, maybe, with a few well-placed ruffles. Nothing garish, of course. All in the best of taste.” She finger combed the peculiar thatch of dark baby hair, unsuccessfully attempted to curl the straight strand around her finger. “Maybe we can find one of those adorable elastic head bows. You’ll be so beautiful your daddy will be putty in your tiny hands.”