Who's That Baby?

There was something special about this black-eyed, button-nosed babe, something almost mythical and chilling. It was as if this tiny infant had the power of a magus, the eyes of an old soul trapped in a newborn body. She felt a kinship to the child, an instant bonding so sudden and forceful that her own body vibrated with it.

She brushed her knuckles across the silky soft baby cheek. “What is her name?”

Johnny yanked at his collar, skewing his tie to the side. “Lucy.”

“Lucy,” Claire crooned. “A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” At that moment, Claire fell utterly and completely in love with this precious infant. It wasn’t professional. It wasn’t even rational. But it was nonetheless real. And it would change the course of her life forever.

The coffee dripped quietly, its fragrance wafting through the kitchen to mingle with the peculiar aroma of warm milk and sweet powder. Johnny slumped against the counter, willed his trembling knees to stay the course. From his vantage point, he could see through the open door into the dining room where a lovely Titian-haired doctor nurtured the now content infant with heartrending tenderness.

Claire Davis. So that was her name. It was a good name—strong, independent, yet delicate and feminine, like the woman who wore it.

Johnny remembered her from the clinic. She was not a woman one could easily forget. He vividly recalled the first time he’d seen her. While idly glancing out the glass door of Rose McBride’s office, he’d been surprised to discover a gorgeous redhead in a lab coat staring back at him. She’d blushed prettily, walked into a counter and dropped an armful of charts on the floor.

Johnny had been fascinated by the wreath of color circling her porcelain complexion, the dazzling impact of her embarrassed glow as a nurse bent to assist her. She’d angled a glance at him, seen him staring at her, then flushed to a bright fuchsia, scooped up the strewn folders and fled.

From that moment on, he’d searched for the beautiful redhead every time he’d gone to the clinic, and made it a point to study her when she wasn’t looking. Now she was here, in his home, with light from his dining-room chandelier dancing in her hair with the sparkling hues of warm sherry in sunlight.

Every nuance was alluring, every smile, every dimple, every twist of auburn brow, every whisper from moist, full lips. Few women were natural beauties, but this one was. Her blue eyes were large, round, exquisitely framed with thick dark lashes that didn’t appear to have been coated with black goo that so many women seemed obliged to paint on themselves. A pale smattering of freckles shone golden across otherwise alabaster skin untinted by makeup. Her brows were pale, neatly plucked, but otherwise natural.

Yes, she was pleasing to the eye. But it was her manner that held Johnny’s rapt attention, the radiance as she whispered to her tiny patient, the expertise with which her slender fingers caressed and stroked and gently probed. Professionalism was evident in every movement, efficiency in every touch. She turned the child competently, positioned the stethoscope around the small, bare back.

Johnny flinched at how easily she’d managed to unwrap the infant that he had been too cowardly even to remove from the car seat.

Claire Davis. Here. In his home. Holding both his past and his future in her very competent hands. He wondered if he could trust her with either.

Then realized that he had no choice.

Claire set her coffee cup aside and reread the note Johnny had shown her.

Please take care of Lucy. I have faith in you.

Samantha.

She swallowed hard, handed the note back to him. “This was pinned to her blanket?”

Johnny nodded, sat heavily in a plush lounge chair across from the sofa where Claire held the sleeping infant.

“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.”

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.”

Lucy cooed, whacked her tummy. Claire’s heart gave a lurch, and her biological clock suddenly issued an irresistible tick. All her life, Claire had wanted children, had simply presumed that someday she’d have them. She’d always wanted to be a doctor, too. It had never occurred to her that the two longings would be incompatible.

Never until now.

It hit Claire with sudden clarity that she was thirty-two years old, single and sliding toward the middle of her life without having ever looked up from her first goal long enough to realize that she may have jeopardized the second.

She’d worked hard to get where she was today. There had been little time for relationships, and those few she’d attempted had been less than satisfactory. Most men had expected sex. Claire had not been inclined to offer that. She’d possessed the same urges as any woman, of course, but had been leery of committing herself either physically or emotionally ever since her best friend had become pregnant in high school. Giving in to those urges, she’d decided, was not for her, not until her life was in order and her future assured.

So Claire had thrown herself into her work, and she’d waited for the right time, the right man, the ring on her finger. Well, her finger was still bare, and she’d yet to experience lovemaking. Now she wondered what it would be like to be held by Johnny Winter-hawk, to be loved by him, to have borne him this beautiful child.

The image made her shiver with delight. It was fantasy, of course. Claire had her secret yearnings, but she was above all a pragmatist. She understood that about herself, just as she understood that simply having children could never be enough for her. She wanted a family, a real family, with two loving parents who would cherish each other as much as they cherished the issue of their union, the precious lives they had created.

It was that lack of intimacy, of love and family, that left a nagging void deep inside, a cold emptiness in a place she never searched too carefully.

Tonight that void had suddenly become full and vibrant, throbbing with a sensation that had first exploded when Johnny Winterhawk stared into her eyes, and had settled into sweet reality when she’d gazed upon Lucy’s precious little face.

This is merely temporary. Johnny’s words echoed in her mind.

Claire sighed. “This is dangerous territory,” she murmured. “I can’t afford to fall in love with you, sweetie.” Even as she spoke, she knew it was too late.

Two years ago, Claire had come to Buttonwood looking for something indefinable, something she hadn’t even recognized. Now she finally understood why she was here, why she’d plucked one particular professional-opportunity flyer off a Cincinnati hospital bulletin board at the end of her residency and found herself in the one place on earth where she’d instinctively known that her destiny awaited her.

Now she’d found that destiny.

In the dark, innocent eyes of this beautiful abandoned babe, she saw the reflection of another discarded child, one who had grown up loved and cared for yet had never escaped the secret heartache of having been given away by her birth parents.

Claire saw herself in Lucy. Perhaps that’s why the pain of this infant’s abandonment sliced so deeply into her own heart.

A scrap of pink fabric peeked from beneath the sofa. Johnny scooped it up, spread the tiny shirt in his palm. His chest constricted with a peculiar ache. He had a daughter. He had a child.

Dear God, how had this happened? How could he not have known?

“Samantha,” he murmured. “Why?”

In a wave of emotion, he crushed the shirt in his fist, pressed the soft cotton to his throat. A sweet scent wafted up, powdery and cloying. Silence suffocated him, a loneliness in the gut as sharp as a blade. He turned on the television, cranking the volume up, then hit the stereo switch as he paced. Noise flooded the house, shaking the walls. Good noise. Distracting noise. Music drowned out the wail of a used-car salesman, weather reports mingled with the stilted dialogue of old movies, headline news segued from the cheery jingle of a cereal commercial.

Night surrounded him. Fatigue weakened his muscles, but sleep was the enemy, a place haunted by secret loneliness and memories he couldn’t control. Emotions could be bottled during the chaos of waking hours; pain could be ignored through the focus of work.

Work was Johnny’s life, had always been his life, first to achieve the success that was so important to him, and later to keep him from dwelling on past failures or acknowledging the emptiness of a heart betrayed too often.

Now that heart was in jeopardy again.

The image of his precious daughter floated through his mind. Everyone Johnny had ever loved had been lost to him. His parents, his wife, even the woman who had borne him a child. Love was temporary; people were temporary.

Fatherhood was forever.

The concept gave him chills, made his palms sweat. Johnny had never allowed himself to think in such permanent terms before. Now he must, for no matter when Samantha returned or why she had left in the first place, his life would never be the same.

Part of him whispered that was a good thing. But another part, the largest part, was absolutely terrified.

Myra Bierbaum glanced up from the word-processing keyboard, arched a raspy brow above her tortoise-framed spectacles and eyed Johnny’s fatigued features a bit too acutely for comfort. “Tough night?”

“No worse than usual.” Avoiding his office manager’s knowing gaze, Johnny absently flipped through the stack of messages she handed him. “Call the ranch-association president, and see if you can reschedule the monthly meeting until next Tuesday, then cancel my afternoon appointments and clear my evening schedule for the rest of the week.”

“You got it, boss.” Matronly, motherly and totally irreverent, Myra cocked a knowing eye. “Dare I hope you had a hot date last night, and have finally been convinced that there’s more to life than striking option clauses from corporate personnel contracts?”

“See if Spence can take over the school-board meeting tonight. If he can’t, contact the district administrator and have the busing contracts postponed to next month’s agenda.”

“Blonde, brunette or redhead?”

Johnny refused to make eye contact or lend credence to the woman’s prying. He loved Myra to death, but she drove him nuts. She was a busybody, of course, but so was just about everyone else in Buttonwood. Gossip was the town’s official pastime, which was why Johnny took such pain to keep his personal life personal.

The woman grunted. “You need a life. All work and no play makes Johnny a dull boy.”

“It also makes Johnny your employer.”

“In name only.” She yawned hugely, allowing her glasses to slip from her wrinkled nose and bounce on a garish pearl chain at her bosom. “You and Spence couldn’t survive without me.”

“We wouldn’t even try.” He sorted the phone messages with practiced efficiency. “You can handle this one. Give this to this week’s law clerk to check precedents and give me a list of citations for court next week.” He flipped through the rest of the stack, trashing several, pocketing one, delegating the rest with succinct instructions.

At the end of the routine, he spun on his heel, took two steps toward his large, sunlit office at the end of the hall before hesitating. He spoke without looking. “And Myra, get Hank Miller on the phone for me.”