The Baby Surprise

He’d accepted, of course, pleased by his good fortune and flattered by her initiative. He’d liked her. She was beautiful—tall and leggy, well built, blond, sexy as hell. Not to mention smart and witty and a natural flirt who sucked him in before he even knew she was flirting with him.

Over dinner they’d discovered that they were both free spirits, ready to pack up at a moment’s notice and take off—Devon for work, Clarissa for any reason. To Kenya. To Alaska. To east Asia—they’d both been to some of the farthest reaches of the globe and intended to see even more of it.

They’d found that they shared the same likes and dislikes in food, in music, in movies. They even had similar plans for the future—neither of them were interested in marriage or family until much later in life.

They’d just plain hit it off, which had led to them spending the next three months together.

Three wild months during which Devon hadn’t thought about anything but Clarissa. Three months during which he hadn’t cared if anyone else in the world existed.

Three months during which Clarissa hadn’t thought about anyone but Clarissa, or cared if anyone but Clarissa existed, too.

Because that was also Clarissa.

She was a hedonist—that’s what she’d said about herself. And she’d proved it again and again. If she wanted something, she made sure she got it. If a whim struck her, she followed it. And whatever felt good to her at any given moment was what she did.

Who cared about the consequences? That was something else she’d said more often than he could count. If there were consequences she didn’t like, she just didn’t accept them. Or she let someone else deal with them….

“Apparently even if the consequence was a baby,” Devon muttered to himself as he began to put the pictures he’d chosen into his portfolio.

An eight-month-old baby.

An eight-month-old baby who could be his….

That possibility hadn’t even begun to seem real to Devon yet.

A baby…

He could be a father….

That might be all right for his older brothers. They’d both only recently become dads under unusual circumstances.

“But me?” Devon said.

He didn’t even want to think about it. About what it could mean. About how unsuited he was for parenthood.

He didn’t know the first thing about babies or kids or being a father. He wasn’t domestic—he paid a service to take care of his yard. He employed a neighbor woman to clean his house and do his laundry, to stock his refrigerator if he was going to be around long enough to actually drink milk.

And that was the biggest thing—his being around. He wasn’t. He traveled. A lot. Some months—hell, some years—he was away from home more days than he was there. He didn’t subscribe to a newspaper because he was never around to read it. He didn’t bother with a hardwired telephone or with cable TV because they were a waste of money when he wasn’t there to use them.

Did that sound like the description of someone who should be a father?

Of course it didn’t.

Plus, he didn’t want to be a dad. To be the one person some little kid depended on. For everything. For every mouthful of food. For clean diapers and whatever else babies required that he couldn’t begin to fathom. For clothes and shelter and learning to walk and talk—how was he supposed to know how to teach someone to walk and talk?

And the kid wouldn’t be a baby forever. Then what? Then he’d be the person to teach it right from wrong. The person who had to decide if the kid needed braces and how long to spend on homework and when to let it drive or date or a million other things that parents did.

“Maybe it won’t be mine,” Devon suggested, realizing he was breaking out in a sweat just thinking about what it would entail if Clarissa’s baby was his.

He flipped to the beginning of his portfolio to make sure he had all the photographs in the sequence he wanted them, escaping his own thoughts for a moment.

But only for a moment before the whole subject of a baby, of his own possible parenthood, sneaked back into his mind again.

But it was no easier to believe.

Keely Gilhooley had said it—he—was a good baby, Devon reminded himself as if that might help ease some of the gut-wrenching tension he was experiencing. She’d said Harley was adorable and even-tempered and sweet.

Maybe a little like Keely Gilhooley herself, he thought.

Not that Devon knew anything about her temper or her temperament. But she was pretty adorable.

He’d opened his door to find her on his porch and thought, Well, this is my lucky day.

Little had he known….

But still, Keely Gilhooley—just her name made him smile—was very, very easy to look at. In fact, she was so flawless that, with the autumn sun setting her aglow, for a moment Devon had thought she was some kind of vision.

He had a weakness for redheads. And she was most certainly that. Not just strawberry blond and not the unflattering orangey-red that some people sported. Keely Gilhooley’s hair was deep, rich, glistening red. Cherrywood red. And as if that weren’t enough, it was full and curly, too. The kind of hair that just made him want to grab handfuls of it as if it was a whole bunch of spun silk.

But the hair was only the beginning of her appeal. She had mesmerizing eyes. Great big, round eyes that were green but so light a green they were luminous. Ethereal eyes that might have made him think she were heaven-sent even without the sun making a halo around her.

And if the hair and eyes weren’t enough, she also had skin like a porcelain doll’s. Smooth, perfect radiant skin.

Even her nose was cute—small, narrow, straight—and her lips were pink and full enough not to need lipstick.

Plus her body was nothing to ignore, either. Not too skinny. Not too plump. Firm and compact, with just the right amount up front and in back.

Oh yeah, Keely Gilhooley was something.

“Not that it makes any difference,” he said as he judged his portfolio ready and closed it.

Sure, Keely Gilhooley was great-looking and he’d liked her on sight, but he also knew her type. The same type that had gotten him into trouble on the rebound from Clarissa.

He would bet money that Keely Gilhooley was like Patty Hanson—the woman he’d rebounded with after Clarissa. A hometown kind of girl. Wholesome and homespun. A nice, quiet, sedate woman who probably wanted to settle down. Who wanted a husband with a nine-to-five job. A husband who came home to dinner every evening. Who puttered around the house on the weekends and took her to the movies on Saturday night.

There was nothing wrong with that. It was just that Devon considered himself barely housebroken. And he sure as hell wasn’t a nine-to-fiver who puttered around the house on weekends.

So, regardless of how appealing Miss Keely Gilhooley was, he knew better than to do more than appreciate her from afar.

“But you certainly did improve the scenery while you were here,” he said as if Keely could hear him.

It was true, she had improved the scenery and eased the blow of the earth-rocking news she’d delivered.

That he could be a dad…

Devon’s stomach clenched anew as that possibility brought him up short again all of a sudden.

He could be a dad, and, tonight, for the first time, he was going to see the child who might have brought that about. The baby he might end up having to raise.

It was a daunting thought.

Almost more than he could handle.

And only one thing kept him from totally freaking out at the prospect of the evening to come—the fact that he was also going to see Keely Gilhooley again.

All right, so that wasn’t in keeping with his appreciate-her-from-afar decision.

But still, he was pretty shaken by this turn of events and for now he needed all the incentive he could get to take the next step.

“Is that you, Hill?” Keely called from the bedroom when she heard the front door open.

“It’s me,” her sister called back.

It was nearly seven-thirty in the evening; Keely had given Harley his bath and was getting him ready for bed while he happily chewed on a clean tennis sock he’d adopted as a teething ring.

After coming up the stairs, Hillary appeared at the doorway and took the extra two steps to the changing table to greet Harley with a rub of the tip of her nose to the tip of his. “Hello, sweet baby.”

Harley gave her a slobbery smile for her trouble and she returned to the doorway to lean against the jamb.

Apparently only then did she actually take in Keely.

“Well, look at you!” she said.

Keely was hoping her sister wouldn’t notice that she’d primped a little in anticipation of Devon Tarlington’s visit. As it was, she’d done it almost against her own will—certainly it had been against her better judgment—and she didn’t want to talk about it. So she played dumb. “Look at me? Look at you—you’re all dusty and dirty and smudged. And I think you have cobwebs in your hair.”

Hillary brushed at the reddish-blond hair she wore very short and spiked on top, and slapped at her sweatshirt.

Other than the hair, the two of them resembled each other so much that they were often mistaken for twins. But Hillary was almost a year younger.

“Are they gone?” she asked, leaning over so Keely could see the top of her head.

“All clear. What were you packing that got you so grimy?” Keely asked, to continue the distraction.

“We had to get some of Brad’s stuff out of the attic over there.”

“Over there” was the house where Hillary’s soon-to-be-husband lived. But since Brad had sold the house, he and Hillary were in the process of moving him into Hillary’s and Keely’s place in advance of their wedding in two weeks.

“It seems like you should be just about finished, shouldn’t you?” Keely said.

“Close,” Hillary answered. But rather than offering more than that, she returned to the subject Keely had been trying to avoid. “So, are you having company tonight?”

“Why? Just because my hair is down?”

“And your face is all fresh and you have on my kiss-me lipstick and the sweater set I wore the night I got engaged and the jeans that make your butt look good. I don’t think I’ve seen you so fixed up since your divorce.”

“I didn’t know I’ve looked so bad for the last year.”

“You never look bad. I’m just saying that you haven’t gone to this much trouble in forever. What’s going on?”

Keely hadn’t seen her sister since before the meeting with Devon Tarlington the previous afternoon. Both Hillary and Harley had been at Brad’s house, and that morning Brad alone had dropped Harley off at home. So Keely hadn’t had the chance to fill her sister in.

She did it now, making sure to keep her tone neutral and her eyes on Harley as she tugged on his pajamas.

But, by the time she’d snapped the last snap and informed Hillary that Devon Tarlington would be arriving any minute to see the baby for the first time, Hillary started to laugh.

“You liked him,” she accused.

“I didn’t like like him,” Keely said defensively.

“Is he beautiful?”

“He’s a guy. Guys aren’t beautiful,” she said as if he were nothing remarkable, when the truth was she thought he was about the best-looking man she’d ever laid eyes on.

Hillary saw through her anyway. “Translation—he’s killer-cute,” her sister said.

“It doesn’t matter if he is. I wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot pole.”

“Why not? Does he smell bad or something?”

Keely had Harley all ready to be put down for the night as soon as Devon Tarlington accomplished what he was coming for so she picked the baby up and settled him on her hip.

“No, Devon Tarlington doesn’t smell bad,” she said. “But he was not happy to hear he could be a father, either. And that’s the last thing I need—another guy who wants to pawn off his responsibilities on someone else.”

“Oh, that reminds me!” Hillary blurted out, half-startling Harley and Keely both. “Mary called.”

Keely fought to keep the pain that statement brought from showing. “When?” she asked as if it was no big deal.

‘Yesterday afternoon when you went to find this Devon Tarlington person.”

“I’m sorry I missed her,” Keely said because it was true, even if any contact with Mary Kent did open the wound she was still working to heal. “What did she have to say?”

As if she were reciting by rote, Hillary said, “She was just checking in to see how you are. She said she’s hard to get hold of because she’s almost always in class or with her friends, so don’t bother calling her back. She’ll try you again in a few days but she hopes the two of you can have lunch or dinner when she’s home for Thanksgiving break.”

“That would be nice.” And not easy for Keely. But she didn’t say that.

Still, Hillary knew the subject was a sore one for her sister so she changed it. “Now tell me about this Devon Tarlington guy.”

“There’s nothing to tell. I found him at his house and told him about Harley and Clarissa and Brian Rooney.”

“How’d he take it?”

“He didn’t explode or anything the way I was afraid he might. Hearing about Harley was a shock, but it didn’t seem to be a big surprise that there’s the possibility someone else could be Harley’s father, too. He must have known Brian Rooney was in the picture—besides, something is up with that because Devon Tarlington and Brian Rooney grew up in the same small town.”

“Really?” Hillary said as if that was intriguing information.

“And he doesn’t like Clarissa,” Keely added.

“Did you tell him to join the club?” Hillary asked as she took one of Harley’s hands and wiggled his arm enough to make him bounce.

Harley giggled and when Hillary released his hand he waved it up and down himself in an attempt to do the same thing she had.

“I didn’t say anything about Clarissa except that she’d disappeared,” Keely explained as if her sister’s comment had been serious. “I told him she’d left us as Harley’s guardians until we could figure out who the father is and hand Harley over to him.”

“And Devon Tarlington wasn’t thrilled with the possibility that he could be the dad?”

“No.”

Hillary obliged Harley when he held his arm out for her to shake again but even as she did her brow furrowed into a frown. “Do you think even if he is the father he won’t take Harley?”

Keely shrugged. “I don’t know. He didn’t say anything one way or another. Except that I think he’s hoping the other guy is the dad.”

“Nice,” Hillary said facetiously.

“It wasn’t really not nice. He’d just heard the news and he was shocked. Plus, obviously things with Clarissa didn’t end well. It can’t be a welcome possibility that he might have a child with her. Who knows? He could adjust to it and be thrilled to be a dad. After all, Harley is a pretty irresistible little dumpling,” she added, nuzzling Harley’s neck and making him giggle again.

“But just in case, you wouldn’t touch Devon Tarlington with a ten-foot pole,” Hillary reminded Keely of her own words.

“Pretty much,” Keely confirmed.

“Except that you got dressed up because he’s coming here.”

“Maybe I just want him to eat his heart out over what he can’t have,” Keely said with mock conceit.

“Or maybe you like like him and you just don’t want to admit it.”

“Even if I admit it I’m not doing anything about it.”

“Anything but letting your hair down.”

“That’s nothing. Do you really think I would be dumb enough ever to get myself into another Alby Kent situation?”

Hillary’s teasing edge softened. “I hope not. I know I don’t ever want to see you hurt like that again.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry,” Keely assured her.

The doorbell rang just then and Keely hated the fact that despite all her claims, the knowledge that Devon Tarlington was on their front porch sent a little wave of excitement through her.

“There he is,” she said, regretting that it came out sounding breathless.

Hillary pushed off the doorjamb.

“I’ll get it,” she said, leaving Keely and Harley behind in what Keely knew was her eagerness to get a look at Devon Tarlington.

Carrying Harley, Keely followed, reaching the entry as her sister opened the door.

And when she did, there stood the man who had not been off Keely’s mind since the afternoon before, looking even better than she remembered in a navy-blue Henley shirt, a sport coat and a pair of jeans.

“Hi,” he said to Hillary, “I’m Devon Tarlington. And I’ll bet you’re Keely Gilhooley’s sister.”

“Hillary,” Hillary countered as she opened the screen door to let him in.

He stepped inside, catching sight of Keely only then. But the moment he did, he smiled a smile that rippled from his oh-so-supple mouth all the way up to his eyes where it settled and radiated a warmth Keely thought she could almost feel.

“Hello again,” she said simply enough, trying not to be affected by that megawatt smile.

“Hi,” he repeated.

Then his gaze went from her to Harley and she watched tension tighten his features. “Let me guess, this must be the man in question.”

“This is Harley,” Keely offered, catching sight of Hillary standing behind Devon Tarlington and mouthing, “Killer cute!”

Hillary closed the door and joined them.

But because Keely was a little afraid her sister might say or do something to embarrass her—and maybe because she didn’t want her sister intruding on this—she said, “I think we’ll be okay on our own, Hill. You can get to that shower you wanted to take.”

“Did I want to take a shower?” Hillary asked in mock ignorance.

“Yes, you did,” Keely insisted.

Hillary let her gaze roll pointedly from Keely to Devon and back to Keely before she said, “I guess that means I’m leaving.”

“Right.”

“Nice to meet you,” Hillary said to Devon.

“Uh, you, too,” he responded, sounding confused by what was passing between the sisters.

Hillary retraced her path to the stairs but not without pausing to whisper to Keely, “This has to be who Clarissa left the other guy for.”

Keely didn’t respond, but instead kept her attention on Devon Tarlington and said, “Shall we do this in the living room where we can all be comfortable?”

“Whatever you think,” he agreed.

Keely’s and Hillary’s house was similar to Devon’s, only the living room was to the left of the entry. Unlike Devon’s bare-necessities decorating, their home was done in a cozy French-country style, keeping to dark blues and brick reds with a dash of mustard yellow here and there to brighten it up.

The furniture was all well-cushioned and comfy. A braided rug occupied the center of the hardwood floor and a large sofa and two chairs stood around a rustic coffee table. Also unlike Devon’s living room, the focal point was the antique fireplace, not the entertainment center which, in this case, was an armoire hiding a television and stereo system.

“Would you like to see if Harley will come to you?” Keely asked as she turned on the wrought-iron pole lamps that were sentries on either side of the couch.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Devon said without a moment’s hesitation. “I wouldn’t even know what to do with him. I was around babies a couple of times as a kid but my older brother did the handling. I was the go-for—you know, go for the diapers, go for the bottles, that kind of thing.”

“Your brother baby-sat?” Keely said, surprised.

“It’s a long story.”

And he didn’t seem inclined to tell it.

Or maybe he just couldn’t because he was so distracted by Harley. He was staring at the baby as if Harley were something to be wary of, something he didn’t want to get too close to but had better keep an eye on.

“Why don’t we sit down?” Keely suggested, hoping to ease some of his tension.

She sat at one end of the couch, and once she did, Devon took the easy chair that gave him the most distance from her and Harley.

“I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do here,” he confessed then. “Should I talk to him or throw him a ball or something?”

Keely had settled Harley on her lap with his back against her and she craned forward to peer down over his head to see what the infant’s response was to Devon.

Harley was watching him as warily as Devon was eyeing the baby.

“He’s a little young to throw a ball,” Keely informed. “If one appeals to him it’s usually only because he’s decided to try to get it into his mouth.”

“Does he always chew socks, too?” Devon asked with obvious distaste as he watched Harley gnaw at the clothing.

“It’s clean,” Keely assured with a laugh. “He has two teeth on bottom and he’s getting more, so it must feel good on his gums. We keep it in the fridge because he also likes it cold.”

“You keep socks in your refrigerator?”

“Not before Harley adopted them as chew toys. But it makes him happy.”

“Can he do anything? Like walk or talk?” Devon asked, obviously attempting to figure Harley out.

“He crawls a little,” Keely said, content to fill Devon in. “And if he’s near the coffee table he’ll pull himself up onto his knees. But he’s pretty wobbly. And as for talking, sometimes it seems like he’s trying to repeat something we’ve said but so far it isn’t coming out as anything we can understand.”

“So he’s kind of like having a miniature space alien around.”

Keely laughed again. Not only at what Devon said, but also at the way he said it and the forlorn expression that had his brows at odd angles above his denim-blue eyes. The whole concept of Harley really did seem foreign to him.

But still she defended Harley. “He’s not an alien. He’s a sweetheart.”

Devon didn’t appear to be convinced. But he didn’t refute her statement, either. Instead he continued his fact-finding mission. “Does he eat food or drink a bottle or—”

“Both. He eats baby food and he takes a bottle.”

“Can he feed himself?”

“He can hold his own bottle. We don’t give him bottles that way except at night, though. We hold him to give him his bottles through the day and then when we put him to bed at night we let him have it on his own in the crib. But we have to go in and check on him after a few minutes because he’ll usually have dropped it once he’s fallen asleep and we take it away then.”

“Sounds like a lot of work.”

And what she’d told him wasn’t even a drop in the bucket.

But Keely didn’t say that because she didn’t want Devon any more leery than he already was. She also didn’t want to mislead him, so she said, “Babies are a lot of work. But they’re worth it.”

“I’ll reserve judgment on that,” he said more to himself than to her. Then, definitely to her, he said, “Could you get him to take the sock away so I could have a look at his whole face?”

Once more, Keely bent over Harley. “I don’t know. What do you say, Harley? Can the nice man see you? Can you show him your teeth?”

She tugged at the dangling end of the sock and the baby let it be pulled out of his mouth, but he didn’t release his grip on it. And he ignored the request to reveal his two bottom teeth. He just continued to stare suspiciously at Devon while Devon took inventory of Harley’s chubby cheeks and button nose, of his big brown eyes and the light tufts of downy, honey-colored hair.

“Can you make him smile?” Devon requested after a few moments of studying the baby.

The way he said it made Keely think he was looking for something other than Harley’s two teeth. But she had no idea what and since he wasn’t forthcoming she didn’t feel she should ask.

“I don’t know,” she told him honestly. “It’s his bedtime and he’s not usually too jovial when he’s tired.”

Then, from above Harley again, she said to the baby, “Do you want to do patty-cake?”

Harley rejected the idea by putting the sock back in his mouth.

“Sorry,” Keely apologized to Devon. “In the daytime he smiles a lot.”