Desperately Seeking Dad (9 page)

Supper, he decided. Feed her, and then she'd go to sleep, right? He carried her down to the kitchen.

Luckily, Kate had already set up a high chair. Unluckily, Emilie didn't seem to want to go into it. She stiffened her legs, lunging backward in his arms.

“Come on, sweetheart. A little cooperation here.”

Emilie didn't agree. Trying to put her in the high chair was like trying to fold an iron bar.

He'd seen Anne put some small crackers on the tray when they'd been in the café. Maybe that would work. He gazed around the kitchen, looking for inspiration. He found a small box of crackers stacked with the jars of baby food. Quickly he shook a few onto the tray.

“Look, Emilie. You like these.”

She stopped in mid-cry at the sight.

Holding his breath, he slid her into the high chair. She snatched one of the crackers and stuffed it in her mouth.

“Okay, one problem solved.” He fastened the strap around her waist, then turned to the array of baby food on the counter. “Let's see what looks good.”

Actually, as far as he was concerned, none of it looked good. He reminded himself that he wasn't eight months old. Maybe to Emilie this stuff looked like filet mignon.

He heated up the chicken-and-rice mixture.

“Here we go, Emilie.” He shoveled a spoonful of chicken into her mouth.

She smiled, and most of the chicken spilled right back out of her mouth, landing down the front of her ruffled pink outfit.

Half an hour later Emilie was liberally sprinkled with chicken, rice and pears, to say nothing of the cracker crumbs. Also well adorned were Mitch's shirt, the high chair and the floor. The way things had gone, it wouldn't surprise him if some of the chicken had found its way into the house next door.

“Maybe we're done.” He lifted her cautiously from the chair, holding her at arm's length, a new admiration for Anne filling him. She did this every day, and she didn't have anyone to spell her.

“Okay, let's get you cleaned up.” He glanced at his shirt. “Me, too.”

He carried her upstairs and eased open the door to the bedroom. Anne slept, still curled on her side. He tiptoed to the bed and touched her forehead. Her skin seemed a little cooler than it had earlier, unless he was imagining things.

Okay, he could do this. He carried Emilie into the bathroom. He looked at the tub, then shook his head. No way. Emilie would do with a sponge bath tonight.

By the time they were finished, Emilie was clean and he was wet. He bundled her into a sleeper and
carried her out to the playpen. She settled without a murmur.

He stretched out on the couch, wedging one of the small pillows under his head. He closed his eyes. Peace, heavenly peace…

Sometime later a piercing wail split the air. He catapulted off the couch, heart pounding. Emilie. He reached her in a second, bent to scoop her up.

“Hey, it's okay. Don't cry.”

The wail went up in volume and in pitch. Anne would never be able to sleep through this, would she?

But apparently she could.

“Shh, Emilie, it's all right. Don't cry, okay?” He felt like crying himself. If there was a more helpless sensation in the world than this, he didn't know what it was.

“It's all right. Honest.” He bounced her, walking across to the windows, then back.

Strangely enough, that seemed to soothe her. The wails decreased. He settled her against his chest and turned to walk the length of the room again. Maybe he could walk her back to sleep, then get some rest himself.

That was only half right. Emilie dozed against his chest, her head nestled into the curve of his neck. But the instant he tried to put her down, her eyes popped open and the wail started again.

Okay, that wouldn't work. Looked like he'd have to keep walking.

This wasn't so bad, was it? He circled the room for the twentieth time or so. He'd walked guard duty longer than this and been more tired. He could do it. It might not be the way he'd pick to spend this evening, but he could do it.

His father's face flickered briefly in his mind, and he banished it instantly. He didn't think about Ken Donovan, not anymore.

But his father wouldn't have put in a night like this—not in a million years.

A
nne came awake slowly, pushing herself upward from fathoms-deep sleep. Something was wrong, and for a moment she couldn't think what it was. Then she realized it was the first morning in months Emilie hadn't wakened her.

She shot upright in the bed, then grabbed her head. The headache had disappeared, replaced by the sensation that her head was about to drift off into space. Slowly, cautiously, she swung her feet over the side of the bed.

Mitch had been here, hadn't he? Or had she dreamed it? No, of course she hadn't. Mitch hurrying in the door, helping her up to bed, saying he'd take care of Emilie.

The crib was empty. Where was Emilie?

She forced herself to her feet and stumbled to the door, yanked it open. Emilie—

Mitch lay on the floor, sleeping. He cradled Emilie between his arms. She slept, too, her head pillowed on Mitch's chest. His strong hands held her firmly even in sleep.

She could fall in love with this man.

The realization hit her like a kick to the heart, followed immediately by a wave of panic. What was she thinking? She didn't intend to fall in love with anyone, certainly not with Mitch.

She tiptoed across the rug and reached for Emilie. Her touch was so gentle that the baby didn't wake, but Mitch's arms tightened instantly. His eyes flickered open, warming when he saw her. He smiled.

Her breath seemed to stop. She wanted to reach out to him, to touch the firm lines of his face, to wipe away all the reserve that hid his feelings. She wanted…

She took a step back. This was dangerous. She couldn't let herself feel this way.

“Good morning. Feeling better?” Mitch shifted position, and Emilie woke. She cooed, patting Mitch with both small hands.

“I'm fine. Really.” Anne reached for the baby. “Let me take her. Goodness, I never expected you to stay all night. You should have wakened me.”

He grinned. “That would have taken an earthquake. Besides, we got along fine.” He stood, still holding the baby. “I'm not sure you should be up yet. You look a little dizzy.”

“I just need a shower to clear my head. Then I'll
be okay. Really, you don't have to do anything else. I'm sure it's time for you to get ready for work.” And the sooner he was out of here, the sooner her breathing would return to normal.

He glanced at his watch. “It's early yet. Suppose I take Emilie downstairs and start some breakfast while you get that shower. Then we'll see how you feel.”

Anne would have argued, but he was already out the door with Emilie. Short of chasing him down the stairs, there wasn't much she could do. And a shower might clear her head and help her get rid of thoughts about Mitch that didn't go anywhere.

Standing under the hot spray helped her body, but it didn't seem to be doing much for the rest of her. Her heart and mind still felt jumbled with confused feelings. She couldn't—shouldn't—feel anything for Mitch under these difficult circumstances.

She tilted her head back, letting the water run down her face. After Terry's death, she'd made a deliberate decision that she'd never marry again. Maybe she wasn't cut out for marriage; maybe she just didn't have the capacity for closeness that it required.

It might be different with someone like Mitch.
The thought slipped into her mind and refused to be dislodged.

By the time she dried her hair and pulled on a sweater and slacks the light-headedness had eased. She certainly wouldn't be running any marathons
today, but she could take care of Emilie. Mitch was probably itching to get out of here.

The picture that met her eyes when she entered the kitchen didn't suggest any desire on Mitch's part to run out the door. He was spooning cereal into Emilie's mouth, sipping at a mug of coffee between bites. Both of them seemed perfectly content. Mitch looked too casually attractive with a slight stubble of beard darkening his face.

“You didn't need to do that. I can feed her.”

“Hey, I'm just getting good at this.” He caught a bubble of cereal that spilled out of Emilie's mouth when she smiled. “And this time I remembered the bib.”

The coffee's aroma lured her to the counter, where she poured a steaming mug. “You tried to feed her without a bib? That must have been messy.” She should have told him that when she'd explained about the food, but her mind had been so foggy, it was a wonder she'd said anything coherent at all.

“Messy isn't the word for it. We both needed a complete washup afterward, to say nothing of the kitchen.”

Guilt flooded her. Emilie was her responsibility, not his. “You should have wakened me.”

“Really?” He lifted an eyebrow, and amusement flickered in those chocolate-brown eyes. “If Emilie's screaming didn't wake you up, I don't think I could have.”

“I'm so sorry.” Embarrassment heated her cheeks. “I never should have…”

“What? Gotten sick? Give yourself a break, Anne. You're not some kind of superwoman.”

“I know, but I still feel guilty leaving Emilie to you when she's teething and miserable.”

He paused, spoon half in Emilie's mouth, looking at the baby intently. “If that clink I just heard means anything, the teething problem might be solved for the moment.”

“Really?” She hurried around the table and bent over Emilie. “Let Mommy see, sweetheart.” She rubbed Emilie's gum, feeling the sharp edge of a tooth. “Look at that! Emilie got a new tooth.”

Mitch's smile took in both of them. “Good going, Emilie.”

The baby cooed. The image of the three of them, smiling at each other, seemed to solidify in Anne's mind. It might almost be the picture of…a family.

She blinked rapidly. She shouldn't think things like that. “I can finish feeding her.”

“No, you can sit down and eat something, so you won't almost pass out on me again. How about some cereal? An egg?”

Actually, she did feel a bit hollow inside. “Maybe a piece of toast.”

Mitch reached out to put two slices of bread in the toaster. “Will you please sit down? You're making me nervous.”

“I didn't really pass out.” Her memory of those
moments on the stairs was a little fuzzy, but she was sure of that. She sank into the chair he pushed out for her. “I'm grateful you came in just then. I'm not sure what we'd have done without your help.”

“Kate made me promise to check on you two. I guess she knew what she was doing.” He scooped the last spoonful of cereal from the bowl and offered it to Emilie, but she turned her head away.

“Better stop there,” Anne advised, grinning. “Her next move will be to swat the spoon, and you'll be coping with flying cereal.”

“You're the mommy. I guess you know best.” He set the bowl on the table. “Anything else I should give her?”

“Let her work on that bottle of juice.” He'd turned her thanks away so easily that she felt compelled to say something more. “I want you to know how much I appreciate your help. Getting sick is a big problem when you're a single parent. You don't have anyone to spell you.”

He nodded. “Believe me, sometime in the wee hours I got the picture. Parents should come in sets, if possible.” His smile turned into a searching look. “I guess you and your husband must really have wanted a family.”

It was a natural assumption. She was tempted to let it stand, but that seemed wrong.

“I don't think having a family was ever part of Terry's idea of marriage. He saw us as the classic yuppie couple—two jobs, no kids.” Her mouth
twisted a little. “He never seemed to want more than that. Two busy professionals with no time for kids and not much time for each other.”

She hadn't intended to say that much, and surprise at her candor mingled with embarrassment.

His hand covered hers for a brief moment, sending a flood of warmth along her skin. “I guess that's why you feel the way you do about Emilie.”

“She means everything to me.” She blinked back the tears that suddenly filled her eyes.

Emilie, apparently feeling she'd been out of the conversation long enough, pounded her bottle on the tray. “Ma, ma, ma, ma, ma!”

“The experts say that's babbling, but I think it's ‘Mama.'” Anne covered her ears in mock dismay at the onslaught of noise. “Oh, Emilie, stop.”

Mitch caught the flailing bottle, closing his large hand around Emilie's small one. “Hey, little one, enough.”

Emilie fastened her wide blue gaze on him. “Da, da, da, da, da!” she shouted.

Anne didn't know which of them was the more embarrassed. Mitch's cheeks reddened beneath his tanned skin and hers felt as if they were on fire.

“It's just nonsense syllables,” she said quickly. “She doesn't know what they mean.” Embarrassment made her rush to fill the silence with words. “Not that you wouldn't—I mean, I'm sure you'd make a great father.” The words slipped out before she had time to think that they might not be wise.

His face tightened until it resembled the mask he'd put on against her that first afternoon in his office.

“I guess that's something I'll never know. I decided a long time ago I wasn't cut out for fatherhood.”

She must have murmured something, but she wasn't sure what. She was glad she hadn't believed in that image she'd had of the three of them as a family. For a lot of reasons, it was clearly impossible.

Mitch's office was his refuge. Trouble was, it didn't seem to keep out thoughts of Anne.

Her vulnerability. Her strength. Her determination to take care of the child she saw as hers.

He'd tried to tell himself that last night was nothing—or at least, the sort of thing he'd do for anyone. But he couldn't. It was just too tempting. He'd been part of their lives last night, hers and Emilie's. He'd been important to them in a personal way—not as a cop, but as a husband, a father, would be.

One night. He shoved his chair away from the desk. It had only been a few short hours. Maybe he'd held up to that, but in the long run, there were no guarantees he wouldn't turn out to be just like his father. He wouldn't wish that on any kid.

The sound of raised voices in the outer office interrupted the uncomfortable thoughts. He opened the
door to find Wanda and Davey glaring at each other, toe to toe.

Wanda turned the glare on Mitch. “You were the one who hired this twerp. Are you going to let him get away with this?”

He suppressed a sigh. “Maybe I could tell you, if I knew what he'd done.”

Wanda flung out her hand toward the big front window. “I told him to wash the window. Did he do it? No! He messed around and let the cleaner dry on the window, and now it looks worse than it did before. He ought to be paying me if I have to clean up after him.”

“You're not going to clean up after him.”

“Go ahead, take her side. I figured you would.” Davey threw down the roll of paper towels. “I'm getting out of here.”

Mitch grabbed the kid. The look in the boy's eyes was familiar. He knew what that feeling was, because he'd been there himself. It was wanting someone to care whether he'd done something right or not, and being afraid of that wanting.

“Davey's going to do it again, and this time he'll get it right. That's what I'm paying him for.”

“What if I don't want your stupid old job?”

This was familiar, too. He knew what it was like to want to bite someone for taking an interest.

“You don't have a choice, remember? Your father and I agreed you'd work for me, and I'd forget the little incident with the package.” Anne would
probably call it blackmail, but if it worked, it was worth it.

“All right, all right!” Davey snatched up the roll of towels. “I'll do your stupid windows, but then I gotta get home for supper.”

“If he's going to do that window, you can stay right here and watch him.” Wanda planted her hands on her hips. “Baby-sitting isn't in my job description.”

“Baby-sitting! Who you calling a baby?”

Mitch gestured Wanda toward her desk and turned Davey to the window. He wasn't going to give up on the kid, not this easily.

But what had happened to the quiet life he'd had before Anne walked into it?

The late afternoon sun warmed the air enough to flirt with spring as Anne pushed the stroller up Main Street. Getting out for a while was a good idea. She'd hung around the house until she'd begun to drive herself crazy.

Thinking about Mitch too much, remembering those moments in the kitchen this morning—she couldn't dwell on it. There wasn't anything between them and there never would be, because he was determined to avoid the very thing that had become the most important in the world to her.

So she wasn't going to think about it anymore. She and Emilie would enjoy the sunshine, she'd pick up a few things at the grocery store, and they'd have
a cozy supper, just the two of them. They didn't need anyone else.

“Ms. Morden! How nice to see you out and about. I heard you were sick.”

Pastor Richie hurried down the sidewalk, beaming at her.

“I'm fine now, thank you.” And how on earth had he heard about it so quickly? “Just one of those twenty-four-hour viruses, I guess.”

He shook his head. “Nasty things going around.” He bent to pat Emilie's cheek. “This beautiful little one didn't get anything, I hope.”

“Nothing but a brand-new tooth.” She couldn't help sounding like a proud mama some of the time.

“Well, isn't that nice.” His round, cherubic face grew a bit serious. “Have you had any luck with your efforts to find that young lady you were looking for?”

“No, not yet. Mitch is checking out some leads.”

“I looked back over the roster of the singles group for that time, and it jogged my memory. Ellie Wayne was a member then, and I believe those girls hit it off. She might have stayed in touch.”