The Non-Commissioned Baby

A young, eager-looking redheaded kid in the standard camouflage utility uniform strode into his office. File folders tucked neatly beneath his left arm, the kid came to an abrupt stop in front of Jeffs desk and flashed a picture-perfect salute.

Nodding absentmindedly, Jeff reached for the files.

“This is all I could find, sir,” the private said as he handed the manila folders over. “If you’d like, I could make a few calls, see if there’s anything else available.”

Jeff opened the files and glanced quickly over the pages inside. Then he looked up again. “That won’t be necessary, Private. Thank you.”

“Aye, sir.” Another salute, an abrupt about-face and the kid was gone.

“Corporal Warren,” Jeff called. His clerk appeared instantly.

“Sir?”

“Close my door, Corporal. No interruptions.”

“Aye, sir.”

In seconds, the door was closed and Jeff was alone. Picking up his coffee, he started reading all about the man who had given him Miranda. Not that he didn’t remember him. But it had been more than five years since he’d seen the sergeant. And in the military, an officer served with so many men—sometimes names and faces blurred without a good prodding of the memory.

Twenty minutes later, Jeff sat back in his chair, flipping the file closed with the tips of his fingers. Setting his elbows on the arms of his chair, he steepled his fingers and stared at the windows opposite his desk.

Memories raced through his mind. Desert sun, mind-boggling heat and the constant adrenaline rush of impending battle. Days and nights spent in the company of men willing to die at a moment’s notice.

Abruptly, he reached for his phone and the Rolodex on the corner of his desk. He flipped quickly through the cards until he’d found the one he wanted.

Punching in a phone number, he held the receiver to his ear, sat back again and waited.

Laura woke up instantly and lay perfectly still.

Even before her mind had assured her that everything was all right, she heard his voice, a hushed whisper in the darkness.

Turning her head on the pillow until she was facing the newly purchased crib against the far wall in her room, Laura saw Jeff, leaning his forearms on the top rail, staring down at the sleeping baby.

“I remember your father now, kiddo,” he was saying, his voice oddly tight. “I called up his service records today.”

The baby whimpered in her sleep, and Jeff reached down to awkwardly pat her. Laura smiled in the darkness.

“He was a good man, your dad,” Jeff said. “Got a Bronze Star for bravery.”

Miranda kicked her blankets off, and Jeff carefully replaced them.

A trickle of warmth moved through Laura. Maybe she had misjudged him. Maybe he cared more for the baby than even he knew.

Moonlight, peering through a part in the curtains, washed her otherwise dark room with a pale ivory cast. In the indistinct light, Jeff was no more than a shadow, yet she could read tension in every line of his body.

“We fought together, you know.” He sighed heavily and shook his head, as if lost in the memories. “Hank kept me from making a damn fool of myself during my first battle. And I saved his sergeant’s stripes for him when he came up against a major with more brass than brains.”

Laura held her breath, wanting to say something to him, to let him know that she wasn’t asleep. But at the same time, she wanted him to go on. She wanted to know more about him.

She told herself that it was only because she was working for him and would be living in his house for the next three months.

But it was more than that, and she knew it.

Somehow, in the past twenty-four hours, he had forced some of the ice around her heart to melt. Why and how, she wasn’t sure.

Maybe it was the helpless expression on his face when he looked at Miranda. And maybe it was what he did for a pair of boxer shorts.

She scowled to herself, disgusted at this turn of events. Laura didn’t want to care about another man. She’d already found and lost the love of her life. What was the point of settling for second best?

“You had a good dad, Miranda,” Jeff said quietly, bringing Laura’s attention back to him. “I’ll do my best to see to it you get a good one again.” He reached into the crib and smoothed his palm gently across the top of the baby’s head. “Good night, kiddo.”

So much for her giving him the benefit of the doubt. All of her warm, fuzzy feelings for nothing. Apparently, he still had every intention of finding a way to squeak out of being Miranda’s guardian.

Laura bit down hard on her bottom lip to keep from speaking. How could she possibly be attracted to a man who could so casually walk away from a baby entrusted to his care?

Her gaze followed him to the door and the slice of light spearing in from the living room. Laura ground her teeth together in frustration. She couldn’t say anything. If she did, he would know that she had deliberately lain there eavesdropping.

“And good night to you, too, Laura,” he added softly, just before leaving and closing the door behind him.

She sat straight up in bed.

Blast him. He had known the whole time that she was awake! He must be laughing himself sick right now, guessing what it had cost her to keep her mouth shut

Well, he wouldn’t laugh long. Whether he knew it or not, he had just given her permission to make a few comments on what he’d been telling Miranda.

Casting a quick look at the baby, Laura climbed out of bed and headed for the door. She paused briefly to snatch up her bathrobe and throw it on.

If they were going to talk, she’d make sure his mind was on what she was saying. Not on her underwear.

Four

In the kitchen, Jeff smiled to himself as Laura’s bedroom door opened, then closed again softly. He’d known she wouldn’t stay in her room. In fact, he’d been counting on it. For reasons he didn’t want to explore at the moment, he wanted, no, needed to see her.

Picking up the chilled bottle of wine, he poured each of them a glass and was turning around to hand it to her when she walked in.

Surprised, she blinked and stopped dead. Instantly, the taunting memory of blue lace bikinis withered and died along with his fantasies. Looking her over quickly, he wondered just how old that bathrobe was.

Faded pink terry cloth hung on her small frame with all the grace and dignity of a drunk clutching a light pole. The nubby fabric, rubbed smooth in places, was a patchwork of stains and tears. Long, loose threads waved lazily every time she moved, and the single front pocket looked stuffed with tissues and God knew what else.

“Nice robe,” he commented wryly.

She tightened the threadbare sash around her waist and tossed her hair back behind her shoulders. One light eyebrow arched high on her forehead as she looked him up and down quickly. “Nice camouflage,” she snapped. “Were you out hiding in the forest?”

He grinned. Ratty robe or not, he was glad to see her.

“You knew I was awake the whole time, didn’t you?”

Her cheeks were flushed, and her hair looked soft and tousled, as if a man had spent hours running his fingers through it.