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Who's That Baby?
SO MANY BABIES
Four heart-tugging stories about the littlest matchmakers—as they find their way through the Buttonwood Baby Clinic and into a family’s welcoming arms!
THE BABY LEGACY by Pamela Toth Special Edition #1299 On sale January 2000 When an anonymous sperm donor tries to withdraw his “contribution,” he learns a beautiful woman is eight months pregnant—with his child!
WHO’S THAT BABY? by Diana Whitney
Special Edition #1305 On sale February 2000
A handsome Native American lawyer finds a baby on his doorstep—and more than he bargains for with an irresistible pediatrician who has more than medicine on her mind!
MILLIONAIRE’S INSTANT BABY by Allison Leigh
Special Edition #1312 On sale March 2000
Pretend to be married to a millionaire “husband”? It seemed an easy way for this struggling single mom to earn a trust fund for her newborn. But she never thought she’d fall for her make-believe spouse.…
MAKE WAY FOR BABIES! by Laurie Paige
Special Edition #1317 On sale April 2000
All she needed was a helping hand with her infant twins—until her former brother-in-law stepped up to play “daddy”—and stepped right into her heart.
Dear Reader,
Happy 20th Anniversary, Silhouette! And Happy Valentine’s Day to all! There are so many ways to celebrate…starting with six spectacular novels this month from Special Edition.
Reader favorite Joan Elliott Pickart concludes Silhouette’s exciting cross-line continuity ROYALLY WED with Man…Mercenary…Monarch, in which a beautiful woman challenges a long-lost prince to give up his loner ways.
In Dr. Mom and the Millionaire, Christine Flynn’s latest contribution to the popular series PRESCRIPTION: MARRIAGE, a marriage-shy tycoon suddenly experiences a sizzling attraction—to his gorgeous doctor! And don’t miss the next SO MANY BABIES—in Who’s That Baby? by Diana Whitney, an infant gir1 is left on a Native American attorney’s doorstep, and he turns to a lovely pediatrician for help….
Next is Lois Faye Dyer’s riveting Cattleman’s Courtship, in which a brooding, hard-hearted rancher is undeniably drawn to a chaste, sophisticated lady. And in Sharon De Vita’s provocative family saga, THE BLACKWELL BROTHERS, tempers—and passions—flare when a handsome Apache man offers The Marriage Basket to a captivating city gal.
Finally, you’ll be swept up in the drama of Trisha Alexander’s Falling for an Older Man, another tale in the CALLAHANS & KIN series, when an unexpected night of passion leaves Sheila Callahan with a nine-month secret.
So, curl up with a Special Edition novel and celebrate this Valentine’s Day with thoughts of love and happy dreams of forever!
Happy reading,
Karen Taylor Richman,
Senior Editor
Who’s that Baby?
Diana Whitney
To Mona, David and all their beautiful babies.
Books by Diana Whitney
Silhouette Special Edition
Cast a Tall Shadow #508
Yesterday’s Child #559
One Lost Winter #644
Child of the Storm #702
The Secret #874
*The Adventurer #934
*The Avenger #984
*The Reformer #1019
†Daddy of the House #1052
†Barefoot Bride #1073
†A Hero’s Child #1090
‡Baby on His Doorstep #1165
‡Baby in His Cradle #1176
††I Now Pronounce You Mom & Dad #1261
††The Fatherhood Factor #1276
Who’s That Baby? #1305
Silhouette Romance
O’Brian’s Daughter #673
A Liberated Man #703
Scout’s Honor #745
The Last Bachelor #874
One Man’s Vow #940
One Man’s Promise #1307
††A Dad of His Own #1392
Silhouette Intimate Moments
Still Married #491
Midnight Stranger #530
Scarlet Whispers #603
Silhouette Shadows
The Raven Master #31
Silhouette Books
36 Hours
Ooh Baby, Baby
DIANA WHITNEY
A three-time Romance Writers of America RITA Award finalist, Romantic Times Magazine Reviewers’ Choice nominee and finalist for Colorado Romance Writers’ Award of Excellence, Diana Whitney has published more than two dozen romance and suspense novels since her first Silhouette title in 1989. A popular speaker, Diana has conducted writing workshops, and has published several articles on the craft of fiction writing for various trade magazines and newsletters. She is a member of Authors Guild, Novelists, Inc., Published Authors Network and Romance Writers of America. She and her husband live in rural Northern California with a beloved menagerie of furred creatures, domestic and wild. She loves to hear from readers. You can write to her c/o Silhouette Books, 300 East 42nd Street, 6th Floor, New York, NY 10017.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Epilogue
Chapter One
The moment he turned on the light, he saw the limp orange lump floating in the fishbowl. It had been that kind of a day.
The loss pained him. He’d told Spence he didn’t have time for a pet, even one that required no more than a bowl of water and a daily dose of food flakes. His gregarious law partner had insisted that everyone needed something to care for, even a stoic isolationist like Johnny Winterhawk.
Johnny had capitulated, accepted the finned creature despite misgivings. Living things didn’t do well in his company. The last such offering had been a vigorous pothos plant presented by Rose McBride, administrator of the Buttonwood Baby Clinic, in appreciation for having discovered and stricken a particularly onerous clause from the clinic’s lease agreement.
Johnny had been pleased by the handsome little plant. He’d placed it on a sunlit windowsill and watered it religiously every morning. Within weeks, the shiny green leaves faded to mushy yellow. Now yet another life force had shriveled in Johnny’s clearly inept hands.
Sighing, he removed the deceased fish and carried it into the bathroom for disposal. “Rest in peace, little fellow.” He pulled the handle. With a whoosh and a swirl, the tiny creature disappeared.
A prick of real remorse startled him. It was only a fish, after all, although he’d been oddly fond of it, and had rather enjoyed watching the creature snap up the food flakes poured into its bowl each day. Not that he’d been emotionally attached to it, of course. Johnny knew better than that. Nothing in this world was permanent. Not plants, not fish, not people.
Especially not people.
Still, he’d put forth serious effort to provide what the little fish had needed, just as he’d made a serious effort to care for the plant. He always made a serious effort. It was never enough.
Perhaps the Creator was displeased. Johnny’s grandfather would have commanded a four-day fast, along with communion into the dreamworld, a place where spirits of earth, sun and sky might bestow spiritual awakening to those who’d broken their spiritual harmony with the earth.
To Grandfather, all living things were one, and all knowledge was bestowed by ancestral whispers to those who had the courage to listen.
Johnny respected that philosophy. He simply had a different approach—easy come, easy go. Not particularly profound, but it worked. And it kept him sane.
Returning to his nightly routine, Johnny poured his usual nightcap—two fingers of amber whiskey served in an etched-crystal brandy snifter—then he methodically turned on both the stereo and the television, cranking the volume until every square foot of the expansive house vibrated with sound. A glance at a gold-and-diamond watch worth more than his grandfather had earned in a year confirmed that it was barely 10:00 p.m. The night was young.
He settled at the table, opened a fat, triangular valise stuffed with documents and went to work.
An hour later, he’d finished his first drink and poured himself another when the doorbell jangled above the din from the stereo and television. He pushed away from the table, swearing under his breath. No visitors announcing themselves an hour before midnight brought good news. The last time it had been this late, he’d found a sheepish neighbor on the doorstep, reeling drunk and slurring apologies for having flattened Johnny’s mailbox.
Johnny hadn’t cared about the mailbox. He had, however, been furious that the intoxicated fool had gotten behind the wheel of a car, and Johnny had said so. Explicitly.
There had also been a late-night prank that resulted in half the neighborhood being draped with toilet paper, and an unpleasant visit by the doddering widow from down the street, who’d been served with a small-claims-court summons and had actually scolded him for working late, thus forcing her to stay up past her bedtime for the free legal advice to which she felt utterly entitled.
Steeling himself, Johnny strode to the door, prepared for a drunken neighbor, a mountain of toilet paper or a wild-eyed widow clutching a summons. He was, in fact, prepared for just about anything. Anything, that is, except a wailing infant with a note pinned to its blanket.
It really had been that kind of day.
Stifling a yawn, Claire Davis stuffed her stethoscope in the pocket of her lab coat and had nearly made her escape when she heard the desk phone ring.
Nurse Jansen intercepted the call. “Buttonwood Baby Clinic. How may I help you?”
Claire dodged the nurses’ station and slipped into the doctors’ lounge. She was so tired she could have slept standing up. Her back ached, her eyes burned and her contact lenses felt as if they’d been fused to her eyeballs with Super Glue.
If she hadn’t been such a sucker for a panicky new mom who couldn’t tell the difference between scarlet fever and prickly heat, she’d have been home by now lounging in a hot bubble bath and preparing to sleep through her first day off in a week. Instead, she’d spent the past two hours soothing a frantic Mrs. Martinez, and explaining that a newborn really didn’t need three layers of clothing in an overheated room.
Now Claire leaned against the cool metal locker, weary to the bone. The bubbles beckoned. She could practically smell the steam, feel the sensual slither of silky soap caressing her skin. The image lent momentary buoyance, bestowing enough energy for her to exchange her lab coat for a warm sweater and the lumpy canvas backpack that served as a portable communications center, research facility, office and purse.
The lounge door creaked open. Claire heaved a sigh, spoke without turning around. “Unless it’s an emergency, just page whoever is on call. I’m officially off duty.”
“You’ve been officially off duty since five this afternoon,” came the cheery feminine reply. “That didn’t keep you from coming back in to see the Martinez baby.”
“Personal patients get personal perks.”
“Then you may want to take this call.”
A teasing lilt to Nurse Jeri Jansen’s voice made Claire glance over her shoulder. “Is it one of my patients?”
The young woman sported a taunting grin and a gleam of sheer mischief in her huge hazel eyes. “Nope.”
“Is it an emergency?”
“It doesn’t seem to be.”
“Doesn’t seem to be?”
“It’s a little difficult to tell. All the caller says is that he wishes to speak with a physician.” Jeri lowered her voice, which quivered with a peculiar hint of amusement. “I heard a baby fussing in the background.”
If curiosity hadn’t taken so much energy, Claire might have been intrigued by the gleam in the young nurse’s eye and the sparkle in her voice. She cast a weary glance at the marker board to see whose name had been written in for the evening calls. “Page Dr. Parker. He’s great with fussy babies.”
Jeri’s grin widened. “Are you sure you don’t want to take this call yourself?”
“I’m positive.” Closing the locker, Claire shouldered her backpack, dug out her car keys and displayed them with a provocative jangle. “My bubble bath awaits.”
“Ah, a bubble bath, is it?” Jeri sidestepped neatly as Claire exited the lounge. “Well, no one can say you haven’t earned it,” she called as Claire hurried down the hallway toward the elevator. “Don’t worry about a thing. You just enjoy your evening, and have a nice day off tomorrow.”
A prick of guilt slowed Claire’s progress. Frowning, she glanced over her shoulder just as Jeri returned to the phone at the nurses’ station.
The nurse grinned, winked, mouthed “Good night” before picking up the receiver.
Claire responded with a nod and a smile, then poked the elevator call button before she changed her mind. She could already feel those fragrant bubbles massaging her aching body.
Jeri’s voice filtered down the hallway. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, Mr. Winterhawk—”
Claire went rigid. Mr. Winterhawk?
“I’m afraid we don’t have a pediatrician available at the moment. However, I’d be happy to take a message and have Dr. Parker return your call.”
The remainder of Nurse Jansen’s voice floated around Claire in a fog. All she could think about were the images spinning through her mind. Obsidian eyes, shoulders to die for, lips so sensual that the merest curve of a smile turned her knees to water and melted her heart like warm butter.
She spun on her heel, her pulse pounding, to make eye contact with the nurse whose gaze twinkled with amusement. “I understand, Mr. Winterhawk. I will impress upon Dr. Parker the urgency of your situation.”
It was him, the one man on earth who possessed a mystical power to turn a no-nonsense, professional pediatrician into a quivering mass of longing with no more than a quiet gaze, a stoic glance in her direction.
The moment Claire leaped forward, Jeri crooned into the receiver. “Oh, wait a moment. I do believe Dr. Davis is now free to assist you.” With that, Jeri pushed the hold button, uttered a slightly maniacal laugh and held out the receiver.
Claire snatched it out of her hand, stupidly found herself smoothing her hair. Few things on earth were more enticing to Claire Davis than a hot bubble bath. Johnny Winterhawk was one of them.
He loomed in the doorway, not a tall man but a powerful one, bronze and obsidian, copper and jet, so male that every ounce of moisture evaporated from Claire’s mouth and the icy night air steamed against her heated skin.
“Good evening, Mr. Davis. I’m Dr. Winterhawk.” At his blank stare, her smile stuck to her cheeks as if stapled. “I mean, I’m Dr. Davis. You’re Mr. Winter-hawk. Of course, you already know that.” Was that a giggle? Claire felt dizzy. She’d giggled, actually tittered like an idiot schoolgirl. “I mean you know who you are. You certainly don’t know who I am. Except that I’ve just told you—”
Dear Lord, please strike me mute.
“—or at least, I’ve just tried to tell you, but it seems as if my tongue has a mind of its own this evening….” Another giggle.
This was not acceptable, not acceptable at all.
Claire snapped her mouth shut, felt her lips curve into what must have appeared to be a demented grimace. She felt like a raving lunatic, but he was so close, so very close. Close enough to smell him, to see the gleam of bewilderment in eyes so intensely dark that a woman could get lost in them. Close enough to observe sparkling drops of milky moisture on his cheek, damp blotches on his pin-striped shirt, a puff of snowy powder marring his perfectly scissored black hair.
“Thank you for coming, Doctor.” His voice was resolute, but a quiver of tension caught her attention. She regarded him more analytically now, mustering enough lucidity to recognize veiled panic in his eyes. “I know what an imposition this is, but under the circumstances—”
A thin wail emanated from inside the room, barely audible beyond the cacophony of television and radio noise also blaring from inside the house. The fragile cry instantly snapped Claire into physician mode. She straightened, glancing past the impressive man to the interior of a surprisingly lush home. He’d barely stepped aside to allow her access when she pushed past him, following the sound to a tiny infant nested in a blanket-padded car seat that had been placed on a dining-room table amid a clutter of documents and legal briefs.
With her attention completely attuned to the child, the din of music and television chatter grated on her last nerve.
“For heaven’s sake, turn off the television,” Claire muttered. “If I had to listen to that racket for more than five seconds, I’d cry, too.”
Johnny leaped forward to silence the television. A moment later, the music ceased, and a semblance of blessed silence settled over the house, broken only by the pitiful sobs of the fussing infant.
Claire set her knapsack on a chair and scooped the unhappy baby into her arms. The baby stiffened normally at the movement, flailing little arms that seemed strong, well developed, normally coordinated. “There, there, precious, what seems to be the trouble, hmm?” The baby sobbed, bobbled its little head against her shoulder to gaze up with eyes as dark as those of the man who watched anxiously.
“She’s been crying for over an hour,” he said. “I found some powdered formula….” His gaze slipped to a diaper bag that had been opened, its contents strewn about the sofa as if eviscerated in a panic. “I tried to feed her.”
Claire smiled, wiping the remnants of the meal from the infant’s feathery black hair. Crusted formula was splotched on the baby’s face, and her pajamas were saturated, as well. “Looks like she’s wearing most of it.” She angled an amused glance in his direction. “Or perhaps you are.”
He blinked, glanced down at his own stained shirt. “I have no experience with children.”
“Too bad they don’t come with instructions, isn’t it?” Rubbing gentle circles on the baby’s back, Claire glanced around the luxurious room. The ambience surprised her. It was modern, sparkling clean, a tapestry of warm earth tones and shining crystal that seemed as far removed from the inner soul of this man as did the Ivy League clothing in which he wrapped himself.
On a bookcase, nested between modern crystal and a stack of worn leather volumes, was an odd bowl of murky water with a thick coating of muck on the gravel. There was also a glass display case containing a pair of small beaded moccasins and what appeared to be a tanned-hide pouch of some kind. In the foyer, she’d noticed an embroidered replica of the Southern Ute tribal flag, lovingly framed and displayed in a place of honor. The home was a collage of the old, the new and the peculiar, as much a dichotomy as the man himself.
Perhaps that was what had always fascinated her about Johnny Winterhawk—the incongruity of what she saw in him versus what he displayed to the world.
Of course, it was all just a fantasy, the safety of worship from afar. Claire had been smitten by the handsome lawyer the moment she’d laid eyes on him. In the two years Claire had worked at the Buttonwood Baby Clinic, they’d passed in the hallways, exchanged an occasional nod of greeting. Claire had sighed, shivered and had sweet dreams for a week after such encounters. They’d never officially met until tonight.
The infant bobbled in her arms, capturing her full attention. “I’d like to examine her. May I use the table?”
Johnny blinked, then rushed forward to gather papers from the table. He jammed them into a worn leather valise, fat at the bottom and narrow at the top, with a strap clasp and rolled leather handles darkened with the patina of constant use. It rather reminded her of an old-fashioned physician’s bag.
Johnny glanced around, retrieved a small receiving blanket from a wad of items that had apparently been dumped from the diaper bag and spread it across the polished oak surface. “I was afraid to remove her out from the car seat,” he murmured. “She seems quite fragile.”
“Babies are tougher than they look,” Claire assured him. She placed the infant on the blanket and began to undress her carefully, angling a glance at the staunchly distraught man hovering nearby. “Tell me again how you happened to be, er, baby-sitting this evening?”
He paled slightly. “It’s a rather delicate matter.”
“Is it?” Resting her palm on the baby’s tummy, Claire used her free hand to unsnap her case and retrieve her stethoscope. “Physicians are a discreet breed. I’ll take your secrets to my grave.”
He hiked a dark brow, whether in shock or anger she couldn’t tell. “Are you mocking me?”
“I’m teasing you.” She smiled, surprised herself by absently patting his arm. Her fingers tingled at the touch. He was firmer than she’d imagined, his muscles rigid beneath the smooth fabric of his expensive dress shirt.
Licking her lips, she focused her attention back to her tiny patient. “You’re clearly upset by whatever has happened here tonight. I was trying to break the tension. I meant no offense.”
“Of course not.” He sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose. When he glanced up, the confusion in his eyes touched her. “It’s just that this is…quite personal.”
She considered that. “So I’ve gathered. Since you’ve requested my assistance, and since the wellbeing of an infant is at stake, I’m obliged to ask certain questions, and frankly you are quite obliged to answer them.”
A flush crawled up his throat. He coughed, glanced away. “My apologies, Dr. Davis. You’ve gone out of your way to be helpful, and I’ve repaid you poorly.”
Her heart fluttered. He was without a doubt the most perfect man God had ever created. Claire wondered if he was aware of that. “A nice cup of coffee would go a long way in paying my bill. You could use some yourself.” She issued a pointed nod toward a brandy snifter of amber liquid on the wet bar, remnants of the nightcap he’d mentioned on the telephone and ostensibly the reason he refused to drive the infant to the clinic. Claire had admired that about him. She also had an aversion to operating a vehicle after having imbibed even a moderate amount of alcohol.
“Coffee. Of course. How thoughtless of me not to have offered.” Clearly frustrated, he brushed his hand along the side of his head, spreading a new smear of powder across his ebony hair.
“Graying at the temples is a good look for you,” she said cheerily. Removing the baby’s pajamas, she grimaced at the wafting aroma. “I presume you didn’t get around to a diaper change.”
“Diaper?” He blinked as if unfamiliar with the word. Comprehension dawned slowly. “Diapers,” he repeated, seeming horrified at his oversight. “It didn’t occur to me….” His voice trailed off as he gazed helplessly from the red-faced, kicking infant on the table to the crystalized powder coating his hand.
Claire wondered how much of the formula had actually gotten into the bottle the indomitable Mr. Winterhawk had gamely prepared. She had to hand it to him; he’d certainly given it the old college try.
An irked squeak brought her attention back to the infant, who kicked her fat legs wildly and flailed a tiny fist against her tummy. Claire’s heart felt as if it had been squeezed. Babies were her business. She’d seen hundreds of them, all beautiful, all adorable.
