Jackpot Baby

She sprang to her feet again, tired of his accusations, whatever he thought.

“Because I’m not his mother!” she shouted at him. “He was abandoned in my restaurant by someone who left a note, saying she knew I could take care of him because I’m one of the winners of the lottery!”

He had the grace to look surprised, though not particularly apologetic. So she went on.

“And I was in the sheriff’s office because going to the authorities seemed to be the thing to do when you find an abandoned baby. What would you have done? Simply shouted at the baby like you shout at your patients?”

EVEN CONNOR COULD AGREE that he had that coming. He should have asked before he took on an accusatory approach to her parenting. But he’d seen so much child neglect and abuse in Los Angeles, where he came from, that he’d become a warrior in defense of children. And sometimes that meant getting mean with parents.

“No,” he replied with a half smile. “I never yell at babies. I’m sorry. I mistook you for one of those women for whom the fuzzy glow of motherhood had worn off. When you couldn’t answer any of my questions, I thought you’d lost interest in your baby.”

That honest admission seemed to defuse her anger, but only a little. She blinked wide, darkly lashed hazel eyes at him. “Well, maybe you should have asked.”

He nodded. “Maybe I should have.”

That might have defused her anger a little more, but he could see in her eyes that she resisted forgiving him. He’d hurt her feelings after all. She was another touchy hybrid like Lisa had been. She angled her chin, short, straight, glossy brown hair catching the light.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong with him?” the woman asked, folding her arms, apparently determined to keep him at a cool distance.

That was fine with him.

“Actually, I think he’s just teething,” he said, putting his index finger into the baby’s mouth. The baby sucked on it like a little vacuum. “You can feel the two central incisors just about to pop through. Here. Feel.”

She gave him a disdainful look, then came closer and put her finger in the baby’s mouth. “Oh.” She smiled at the baby. “You’re getting teeth, Max.”

The baby laughed at her.

In all his years of internship, residency and practice, Connor had yet to see an ugly baby, but this little guy had a winning way as well as pink cheeks and bright blue eyes.

“I can’t imagine anyone being able to just leave him and walk away,” she said, her disapproval finally aimed away from him and toward the baby’s mother.

“I know.” He handed the baby back to her. “But I worked at an inner-city hospital in L.A. and I saw it all the time. And as incredible as it is, it’s a better choice for the child than those who keep their babies then can’t deal with them. You might give him a cold, wet washcloth to chew on, or freeze a bagel he can gnaw on. Just make sure he doesn’t get a piece off and choke on it. Over-the-counter teething solutions help a little, too.”

She held the baby to her and wrapped him up. “I can’t have a baby,” she said a little defensively. “I’d love to have one, but I work all the time.” She looked at him as though she expected censure.

Instead, he nodded. “Some lifestyles just don’t allow it.”

“It’s not a lifestyle choice,” she said, her defensive tone a little edgier. “I mean, I’m going to have money now. I wouldn’t have to keep the coffee shop, but it was my parents’, you know, and I grew up in it. I watched them pour their hearts into it. I can’t just sell it and move on.”

He didn’t know why she seemed to need his agreement, but she did.

“I understand,” he said.

Apparently she didn’t think he could. “I’ve never heard of you,” she said, rocking the baby as he began to fuss. The words suggested that was his problem rather than hers. “Do you live here, or are you just helping out?”

“I went to medical school with Nathan,” he replied, opening the examining-room door for her. “I visited last summer, and he told me if I wanted to come back, he’d give me a job. I liked it here, so I took him up on it. This is my third day as a resident of Jester.”

“Well…learn to soft-pedal that aggression,” she said, stepping out into the hallway. “Most of the people here are kind and neighborly and good to their children.”

She offered the advice seriously. He took it humbly, eager to send her on her way so that he could put in his last hour here, get something to eat and go to his bed—such as it was. He’d been sleeping on a cot in the storage room upstairs until he found a place to live.

“Hey, Doc. How’re you liking Jester?” Luke McNeil stood in the waiting room, hat in hand, chatting with Carlie Goodwin, the receptionist. She went back to work when Connor claimed Luke’s attention.

Connor had been on call the night before, and the sheriff had brought him a teenager he’d picked up for drunk driving. The kid had cut himself on broken glass in a fall while trying to escape. Connor had liked McNeil and his caring but no-nonsense approach to law enforcement.

Connor went forward to shake hands with him. “I’m doing fine, Sheriff. Too bad about this little guy.”

McNeil looked alarmed. “Is he sick?”

“No,” Connor assured him. “I meant, it’s too bad somebody abandoned him and left him to the mercies of the system.”

“Yeah, well, the system’s not working too well at the moment.” He frowned in concern. “Every time the wind picks up around here, the phone lines go down. We have virtually no cell phone reception. I can’t get through to Pine Run to get a caseworker here.” He turned a subtly pleading look on Shelly.

She began to fidget. “I can’t, Luke. I’ve never taken care of a baby. I wouldn’t know what to do. A couple of hours would be one thing, but through the night? I…I…”

As though on cue, the baby grabbed a fistful of her hair, yawned mightily, blinked deeply several times, then fell asleep on her shoulder.

Connor had never seen a woman look so terrified at the prospect of caring for a baby. What he’d taken for lack of enthusiasm about her baby when he’d thought she was his mother was apparently just inexperience. Or possibly simple unwillingness to deal with babies.

He couldn’t help the animosity that stirred inside him. He knew it was indicative of his own personal dichotomy where babies were concerned. While he truly felt that people who didn’t want children shouldn’t have them, he wanted them. Yet the only women who seemed to cross his path were those who didn’t. One of the many irreconcilable differences that had ended his marriage to Lisa a year ago was their divergent opinions on whether or not to have children.

This woman was certainly entitled to do what she wanted with her own life, but he wanted her to come to the rescue of this baby—at least for tonight. He couldn’t keep it. He was sleeping on a cot in an upstairs room that had nothing else in it but supplies. And as long as Nathan was gone, he could be called out at any time of the night.

McNeil sighed. “Then, I guess we’ll have to leave the baby with Connor, Shelly.”

“With who?” she asked.

McNeil looked from her to him. “You mean you haven’t even introduced yourselves?”

“No,” she said. “He was too busy accusing me of child neglect.”

Connor kept quiet. It didn’t look as though there was any way he was going to be able to defend himself in this.

McNeil pointed to Connor. “Shelly, this is Connor O’Rourke, Jester’s new pediatrician. Doc, this is Shelly Dupree, owner of The Brimming Cup and usually a very nice lady.” He fixed Shelly with a serious expression. “Now, come on. You got to help me find a solution here.”

Shelly rocked the baby from side to side, her mouth set in a pugnacious line. “We can’t leave Max with him. He has a bad disposition.”

McNeil studied her in puzzlement. “Now, I know that isn’t true, Shelly, because I woke him up in the middle of the night last night with an injured kid and he was very kind to the boy. And he didn’t yell at me, either.”

“You wear a gun, Luke,” she pointed out. “Nobody yells at you.”

McNeil took each of them by an arm and led them to the old brown vinyl sofa and chairs. “I have a thought,” he said. “Let’s talk this through.” He sat them side by side on the sofa, then pulled up a chair facing them.

He pointed to Shelly. “You’re unsure of how to take care of the baby.”

“Yes,” she agreed.

“And you—” he indicated Connor “—are sleeping on a cot in the supply room.”

“Yeah.”

“So what if—” he smiled winningly at Shelly “—the doc stays the night at your place so that if you have a problem with the baby, he’ll be there to help.”

Her eyes widened. She looked at Connor as though he carried the Ebola virus.

“I’ll try to get through to Pine Run tomorrow. I’ll even drive down there, if I have to. But I can’t do that tonight because I still have a crowd of picketers in front of the office and a bunch of reporters who’ve taken offense at their attitude. Come on, Shell. Give me a break. The other day when I was having lunch at your place, you told me you’d thought about taking in a boarder.”

She didn’t want to do this. It had trouble written all over it. In bold caps.

But the weight of the warm baby on her shoulder was scrambling her determination to have nothing more to do with him. She finally had life the way she wanted it. She was solvent. She could do things. She didn’t know what yet, but when the opportunity arose, she wanted to be ready.

She couldn’t afford to be sidetracked.

But this was just for one night. And it involved the grumpy doctor, but she could live with that if it would help Max.

“What do you think, Doc?” Luke asked.

Connor O’Rourke turned to Shelly, a look of clear reluctance on his face. “You promise not to make my life miserable while I’m there?” he asked.

There was amusement in his eyes, but not a hint of a smile on his face. She wasn’t sure if he was teasing her or not.

“If you promise not to make assumptions about me,” she retorted stiffly.

“All right!” Luke said with relief. “Now we’re talking.” He stood, apparently anxious to get away before one of them had a change of heart. “I’ll try to contact Pine Run first thing in the morning, and I’ll see what I can do about tracking down his mother. Thanks, Shelly. Thank you, Doc.”

“Yeah.”

“Sure.”

The door closed with a bang behind Luke, and the baby raised his head with a whimper.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Shelly crooned, patting his back and rocking him. He put his head down immediately and went back to sleep.

“I live on Orchard Street,” Shelly said, putting her purse on her shoulder and moving carefully to her feet with the baby. O’Rourke made a move to help her, but she glared at him and he took a step back. “On the corner of Peterson.” Then remembering the street names had been changed this morning, she corrected herself with a sigh. “I mean Big Draw Drive. It’s a yellow house with white trim and a Beware of Cat sign on the door.”

“Should I be worried?” he asked with a very small smile. “Or is it a joke?”

“It’s never been tested,” she replied, shifting the baby in her arms. It was amazing, she was beginning to realize, how so small a bundle could feel so heavy after a while. Her purse fell off her shoulder with the movement and O’Rourke reached casually out to put it back. It was just a brush of touch through the thickness of her parka, but she felt it. She thought that odd. “I saved the cat from a snowstorm, so he’s very devoted to me. If you were to shout at me, he might very well attack you.”

He lowered his voice as he walked her to the door. “I’m martial arts trained,” he said, and pulled the door open. “Is there anything you want me to pick up on the way home?”

She was surprised by the thoughtfulness of the question, considering the way he’d treated her in the beginning—and the way she’d treated him in return.

“I meant diapers, wipes, powder,” he said.

She hadn’t thought of that. And she couldn’t see herself shopping with the baby in one arm and pushing a cart with her other hand. Experienced mothers had a way of doing that, she was sure, but she couldn’t see herself managing it.

He seemed to be reading her mind. Or he simply considered her completely incompetent.

He pulled her back into the office and closed the door. “Hold on a minute. I’ll get you a few diapers to keep you going until I can pick some up for you.”

He took off at a lope and disappeared into a hallway. He was back in a moment with a black soft-sided briefcase into which he’d placed several disposable diapers, a sample tube of antibacterial ointment and a sample pack of wipes.

“Whose briefcase?” she asked as he put it on the same shoulder as her purse.

“Mine,” he replied, opening the door again. “We don’t have anything as civilized as a paper bag, and you do have your hands full.”

Again his consideration confused her.

His stomach growled and he grinned, putting a hand to it. “Sorry. With Nathan gone, I didn’t have time for lunch today.”

She was going to hate herself for this, but she said politely, “I make a good shepherd’s pie, if you’d like to join me for dinner.”

Surprise registered in his eyes. “I would, thank you.” He pulled up the sweater she had wrapped around the blanketed baby and placed it so that it covered Max’s head.

She hurried down the steps, moving carefully where the snow had made them slick. It was only a block and a half to her home, but she went to the coffee shop first to pick up the baby carrier. She tried to put Max in it to simplify the walk home, but he awoke and began to cry. She put her purse and the briefcase over her shoulder, threaded her arm through the handle of the carrier and headed home with the baby in her free arm, fast asleep again.

She tried to pick up the pace, but the complicated burden she carried forced her to slow down. She noticed the snow drifting over and around them in silent strokes. Snow was so much a part of winter life here that it was just another fixture of downtown, like the lights and the trees they’d planted in better times.

Dusk had fallen and the streetlights were on. Downtown was a little fantasy world, every shop outlined in white outdoor lights. The merchants had gotten together to trim their businesses for Christmas two years ago, and everyone had liked it so much, they’d left them up. The relatively small amount it had upped their power bills was a small price to pay for casting a glow in the middle of a cold, dark winter.

She hurried up the six steps to her cottage, smiling when her new sensor porch light went on. She fitted her key in the lock, reached in to flip on the living room light, then closed the door quietly behind her, the baby still asleep.

The cottage looked very different than it had when her mother had decorated it. She’d loved Victorian-style furnishings and had had the place cluttered with medallion-back sofas, chairs with doilies on the arms and spindly little tables covered with knickknacks. Shelly had sold everything but a little desk she’d put up in her bedroom and decorated in a plainer, more comfortable style. She had a red-and-cream-check sofa, a big beige chair by the brick fireplace, two wicker rockers she’d painted Chinese red with cushions she’d covered in yellow-and-green-flowered fabric.

There’d been a dining room right off the living room, but she’d taken out the table and chairs, since she never got to use them, and extended the living area into one great room.

The kitchen woodwork, which had been the same shade of blue as the restaurant, was now a mossy green color. She’d painted the walls a soft pink and pulled the colors together with a border of potted flowers in yellow and pink. A little square table that could seat four but was really more comfortable for two sat near a window that looked out onto her large backyard and the rolling hills beyond.

She always loved coming home. The restaurant was her life, because it had been her parents’ life, but as a child she’d always been eager to come home after going to the restaurant after school. As an adult, she’d taken even more pleasure in her home. Though she spent precious little time here, it was a haven. A lonely haven, but still a haven.

She put the carrier on the table and placed Max in it while she put the other things down and removed her coat. He woke up instantly and began to cry. The cry turned quickly to a screech of displeasure. She changed him and tried to feed him, but he was too busy screaming.

“Okay, okay,” she placated, picking him up again. “We’ll just have to cook with one arm.”

She learned, over the next hour, that that was not as easy as it sounded.

Chapter Three

Armed with a box of diapers and a bag filled with a few other purchases appropriate to the care of a baby, Connor knocked on Shelly’s front door. He heard the baby screaming somewhere in the back of the house and wondered how Shelly was faring. The sound suggested she wasn’t doing well, but he knew that sometimes there was just no way to stop the screaming. It had to go on until the baby exhausted himself.

And Max probably knew on some level that his mother had abandoned him. He had every right to scream.

Connor rang the doorbell and, when there was still no answer, tried the doorknob. It gave and the door opened, admitting him to a room that was cold and dark. He caught a glimpse of fat, upholstered furniture and a brick fireplace.

“Hello?” he called.

The only answer was “Meow?”

He peered through the shadows and spotted a pair of bright yellow eyes in an indistinguishable form perched on the back of the sofa. That’s right. Shelly had talked about her cat.

He stroked the cat’s thick fur, trying to remember his name. Mel Gibson? John Travolta? Sean Connery!

“Hey, Sean,” he said, scratching between the cat’s ears. “Where’s Moneypenny?”

He saw a light toward the back of the house and followed it. He heard Sean leap down, then felt him race past his ankles into the kitchen.

Connor found Shelly standing over the sink, the baby propped on her shoulder, screaming, while she held his pudgy little legs to her with one arm and tried to peel a potato. It didn’t appear to be going well. The three potatoes on the counter beside her still wore their peels.

Sean went to a food bowl in a corner of the kitchen and settled down to eat.

“Hi!” Connor shouted from the doorway to the kitchen.

She turned, the baby clutched to her with the hand holding the peeler. Her sleek hair was slightly disheveled and she looked frazzled.

“Hi,” she replied with a sigh. “I know you’re starving, but dinner’s not going together very quickly.”

He put the box and bag down on the floor, pulled off his coat and dropped it on top of them.

“Maybe it’ll help if I take the baby,” he said, walking toward her.

She aimed a hip at him to pass Max over and they were eye to eye for the space of a heartbeat. He felt his heart punch against his ribs.

Cool it, Romeo, he told himself. This is the wrong direction for you. So the blue turtleneck makes her hazel eyes an interesting shade of teal. So she looks tousled and vulnerable. This isn’t the real her. She has a sharp tongue and she doesn’t want babies in her life. You just freed yourself from a woman like that.

“I noticed a fireplace,” he said, settling the baby on his hip and pointing toward the living room. Max, surprised by the sudden movement, stopped crying. “Do you want a fire in it?”

“That’d be nice,” she replied, leaning back against the sink as though handing him the baby had been a great relief. “I was so preoccupied with the baby, I just now remembered to turn up the furnace. Max won’t let you put him down to build the fire, though.”

“That’s okay. I can do most of it one-handed.”

“Then you’re more talented than I am.”

“Not necessarily.” She looked like a woman who needed encouragement. “Potato peeling is definitely a two-handed job.”

She accepted that concession with a smile. “Dinner will be about another hour. Do you need something to nibble on in the meantime?”

That sounded hopeful. “Do you have something?”

She went to the refrigerator and pulled out a small plate of hors d’oeuvres—water chestnuts wrapped in bacon, little puffy things he couldn’t identify, and two slices of what looked like pepper jack cheese.

Maybe he’d fallen into something really good here.

“Do you always prepare hors d’oeuvres with dinner?” he asked as he accepted the plate gratefully.

She smiled. She had pretty white teeth and a small dimple in the left corner of her mouth. It snagged his attention.

“No,” she replied. “They’re left over from a party the Main Street Millionaires had last night to celebrate picking up our checks. Eat up. But let me get you crackers to go with the cheese.”

She reached overhead to a cupboard handle and pulled. Nothing happened. Then she smacked the door with the side of her fist just under the handle and it popped open.

“House is settling, or something,” she grumbled while removing several crackers from the box and adding them to his plate. “Want a glass of wine to go with that?”

He was already a little intoxicated with her closeness, but he replied, “Sure.”

“Let me get these potatoes peeled, and I’ll bring it to you.”

He went to the living room, holding the plate out of the interested baby’s reach. He found the light switch by the front door, then put the plate down on a low table. The baby’s eyes followed his movements as he took one of the bacon-wrapped chestnuts to keep himself going.

“This’ll give you heartburn,” he told Max as he reached into a brass wood box and dropped two chunks of wood and a wad of newspaper onto the hearth. He sat down cross-legged beside them, pushed back a simple wire-mesh screen and, while holding Max on his thigh, stacked the wood.

He tore the newspaper into single page widths, then folded and twisted them into a sort of kindling. He pulled a page away from Max as he tried to draw it into his mouth.

“That’s not what they mean by digesting the news,” he said into the baby’s scream of indignation. “I know, I know. You have big plans and someone’s always changing them for you. Well, relax. I brought you some strained squash. Yum.”

Connor spotted fireplace matches in a decorated tin cup on the mantel. He stood with Max, sat him on the beige chair right beside the fireplace, and while the baby screamed a protest at his abandonment, Connor lit the tinder, waited to see how well the draft would take, then added a third piece of wood at an angle atop the other two.

He straightened to see Shelly standing behind him with a glass of wine.

“Perfect fire,” she observed as it caught the top length of wood. She handed him the wine. “Boy Scout or pyromaniac?”

“Thank you. Boy Scout,” he replied. “I can also make a church out of Popsicle sticks, but that’s not as useful so I don’t show it off. You get the potatoes peeled?”

“They’re peeled and mashed and in the oven on top of scrambled hamburger and fresh green beans. In another forty minutes it’ll be shepherd’s pie.”

“Sounds wonderful.” He took a sip of the wine, then put the glass down on the coffee table and went to pick up the baby, but Shelly waved him away and took Max into her arms. He stopped crying instantly.

“I’ll hold him so you can drink your wine.” She moved to the sofa and sat down in a corner, settling Max in a sitting position in her lap. He played with a gold and silver bangle bracelet on her right hand. “It’s amazing,” she observed, “that at just six months old a baby’s figured out that if you scream loud and long enough someone will pick up.”

He sat on the other end of the sofa. “Babies are just like adults. Everyone wants to be held by someone who cares about them.”

No one knew that better than Shelly. She focused her attention on the baby so Connor wouldn’t see that in her eyes.