Diana Whitney - Who's That Baby?

“May I assume that you are familiar with this Samantha person?” Although Claire had meant the question to be kind, Johnny flinched at the inference. Evasive banter was a waste of time even when performed as a courtesy, so she cut to the chase. “Is Lucy your daughter?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I presume so.”

“Presume?”

His shoulders squared slightly, increasing their impressive width. A powerful man, she noted, with an extraordinarily well-muscled upper body that provided a potent contrast to provocatively slim hips and lean legs that probably weren’t as long as they appeared. “Samantha and I were involved during the time the child was apparently conceived,” he said simply. “Since she has seen fit to bring Lucy to me, I must presume that the child is mine.”

Claire nodded. The infant was gorgeous, with dark skin, high cheekbones and exquisitely crafted Native American bone structure that mirrored her father’s. “She looks like you.”

Johnny’s gaze softened. “She looks more like her mother, actually. Samantha’s eyes are the same almond shape, and she has the same round little nose that always seemed like God had put it there as an afterthought—” He bit off the words, as if realizing that they had revealed more intimacy than intended. When he spoke again, his voice was firm, his eyes guarded. “I don’t understand what has happened here tonight. If Samantha had required my assistance, all she had to do was ask. There was no reason for such…clandestine measures.”

The bewilderment and pain in his eyes struck Claire with unexpected force. “I can only imagine how unsettling it must be to suddenly discover you have a child.” Not to mention having that child dropped on the doorstep like the morning paper. A wave of anger surged through her chest, forcing her to take several calming breaths. “Have you contacted the authorities?”

The suggestion clearly shocked him. “Of course not.” He licked his lips, then stood so quickly that the massive lounge chair vibrated. “I won’t pretend to understand Samantha’s motives here, but I do know her to be a loving, honorable woman who would never willingly cause pain to a living thing. There has obviously been a misunderstanding.”

“Of course,” Claire murmured.

“This is merely temporary. Samantha will clear everything up as soon as she returns.”

“And when will that be?”

His jaw dropped only for a moment before he tightened it with a stoic clench. “Soon.”

“I’m certain you’re right.” Claire wasn’t certain at all. A woman who’d leave a child on a doorstep didn’t seem to be sending a message that she’d be back anytime soon, but Claire would rather gnaw her own arm off at the elbow than to say that aloud.

Judging by the confusion and hurt in Johnny’s eyes, he clearly wasn’t willing to accept that a woman he’d once cared about deeply, a woman who had betrayed him by having kept his child secret, would have betrayed him again by abandoning that child, perhaps as she’d once abandoned him.

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. “Touché, 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.”

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.