Книга - Santa’s Special Delivery

Santa's Special Delivery
Val Daniels


BABY BOOMMiracle babyLori found the best Christmas present she could ever hope for lying on her doorstep–an adorable baby girl! And as Lori couldn't have children of her own, the question was, would she be able to keep little Kris?She sought advice from her lawyer neighbor Andy McAllister. Lori was dazzled by his charm and good looks, but she knew she must keep him at arm's length. It wouldn't be easy, but Andy wanted kids of his own and that was something she could never give him. Still, she couldn't help wishing that Santa had planned two special deliveries this year–a daughter and a husband!Because two's company and three's a family!







“I doubt I’ll get married.” (#u0f374ea3-6954-5423-83a0-d12007ceaf51)About the Author (#u0be4ad7c-4167-5ae3-a51a-7f6b9d2bc27b)Title Page (#uf08332ea-2938-58e4-9987-e8e999e7c948)Dedication (#u6f9443aa-7de6-58f9-95b0-9793274d3d8b)PROLOGUE (#uf0c5d55b-5923-58f1-bdfb-2d3f567ad310)CHAPTER ONE (#u7a73546c-5c04-5d9a-b7ed-c300b1a72a2a)CHAPTER TWO (#u74c29b67-3f81-5d1c-826d-16c48148a3d6)CHAPTER THREE (#u9eec8fed-2ac6-5e86-8699-644d7478d3ec)CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


“I doubt I’ll get married.”

“You have something against the state of holy matrimony?” Andy asked.

“Let’s just say it’s never been in my plans,” Lori replied.

“Why wouldn’t marriage be in your plans eventually? I can’t believe you don’t expect anyone to ask.”

“Sure, beat men off with a stick daily.”

“Why does that not surprise me?” Andy said too seriously, despite his smile.

Lori sighed and reminded herself that her growing admiration for Andy had nothing to do with him personally. Falling for him would be a hopeless disaster...


Val Daniels wrote her first romance in the sixth grade when her teacher told the class to transform a short story they’d read into a play. Val changed the bear attack story into a romance, and should have seen the writing on the wall. She didn’t. An assortment of jobs, hobbies and businesses later, Val stumbled across a Writer’s Market in the public library and finally knew what she wanted to be when she grew up. She suspects it will take eighty or ninety years to become bored with this career.

Val lives in Kansas with her husband, two children and a Murphy dog. She welcomes correspondence—with an SASE—from readers, at P.O. Box 113,

Gardner KS 66030, U.S.A.




Santa’s Special Delivery

Val Daniels







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For Judy Christenberry, whose name should be the

definition of “friend” in the dictionary. Thanks for

everything, Judy—including the title.


PROLOGUE

LORI Warren hummed along with the song playing on the bedroom radio. Her voice startled her as she actually sang a couple of the words aloud. Joyful and triumphant ? Who, she wondered distastefully, had associated those particular words with the Silly Season? She frowned as she flipped off the radio.

She made her own concessions to Christmas, she admitted to herself, eyeing her reflection in the mirror and rubbing her lips together to blend the subtle glimmer of holiday gold into the rich burgundy color.

At least she looked good in one of the concessions: holiday colors. The bright, enameled holly earrings made her eyes sparkle even greener. The berries on the matching lapel pin were toned perfectly to the bright suit, and her short, stylishly cut brown hair picked up its reddish tint. She tipped her head this way and that to catch the light. She liked it. Maybe she ought to color it?

She gave herself an encouraging thumbs-up in the mirror. “And you’re getting almost good at playing the game,” she congratulated herself.

One last day. She could fake the cheer one last day, she comforted herself, then life would get back to normal. Well, almost normal, she modified. There were actually four more days until Christmas, but for the next three, she would hide. She wouldn’t have to go to work and put on a happy face to fool anyone.

She’d hole up here, in her cozy apartment, and watch from a distance as all the world went crazy around her. Avoiding the mass chaos, she’d read the stack of books she’d been accumulating since before Thanksgiving—back when you could still buy a book that didn’t feature some Christmas theme. Then people would become sane again.

Then in five days, she’d hop a plane to Denver and join the group of friends who had made a New Year’s ski trip an annual tradition since their last year in college. Looking forward to that always got her through this manic season.

“Bah humbug!” she said with grim satisfaction, then grinned at her reflection.

If she didn’t get a move on, she was going to be late. Her position in the city’s convention and visitors’ bureau was already on shaky ground. Her newly appointed boss was a bit intimidated by her knowledge and experience.

Turning off the lights, she grabbed her purse from the kitchen counter and her heavy coat from the small closet in the foyer of the apartment.

She stepped backward into the hall, automatically double-checking the door lock, and stumbled over something. She almost fell into whatever crowded her feet. Her hands flailed as she did a little dance in the two-inch heels and managed to regain her balance.

Great! She frowned at the knee-high cardboard box that had attacked her. One of her neighbors had evidently bought a nineteen-inch color television for Christmas... and left the box for me to dispose of!

She nudged it. The box seemed light, weighted on the bottom. They definitely hadn’t left her the TV. Probably a pan of cinnamon rolls or some variety of homemade Christmas goodies, and whoever had left it had used all their reasonable-size boxes for wrapping presents, she thought sarcastically.

“I really don’t have time for this,” Lori muttered under her breath. Pulling back one top flap, she glimpsed a brightly colored patchwork fabric. Of course. Poor misguided Mrs. Jeffers down the hall had made her something.

Last fall, Mrs. Jeffers had invited Lori in to see the huge floor pillows she’d been making for all her nieces and nephews. She made all of her Christmas presents, the woman had explained proudly when Lori had oohed and aahed over the woman’s skill. The compliments had probably earned Lori a patchwork floor pillow of her very own.

She’d check it out later, she decided. She and the boss were doing a presentation for a fairly important client at a breakfast meeting scheduled for nine o’clock. She couldn’t afford to be late.

She groped in her purse for her keys and scooted the box into her apartment, far enough away from the door that she wouldn’t stumble over it when she returned.

Something shifted inside. Moving the box had just rearranged the contents. No damage done. Lori shrugged and almost had the door closed behind her again when she heard a sound.

She widened the gap, flipped the foyer light switch and stared at the box in dismay. Kittens? Surely none of her neighbors would bring her kittens. Pets weren’t allowed in this complex.

The weak, snuffley mewing came again. With a sinking feeling and an irritated curse for whoever had put her in this predicament, Lori approached the box again.

She couldn’t keep it, but she ought to move the box into the kitchen and heat a saucer of milk for the poor thing before she abandoned it for the day.

Something jumped as she opened one flap and Lori started.

She shuddered, then peeled open another flap, tentatively this time. She could still only see the brightly colored fabric someone had draped inside. Well, at least whoever had packed this little surprise had been generous with cushioning. The quilt or whatever it was filled the bottom half of the huge box.

The mewing started again and grew louder. Unable to stand the suspense any longer, Lori jerked the last two flaps open. Whatever was inside sprang again.

Lori gasped in surprise, then fell to her knees.

The jumping thing was a tiny foot, kicking at a blanket. And the human baby, who’d only been tuning up so far, emitted an earsplitting angry cry.

“Oh, my God!” Tears gathered in her eyes. “Oh, God,” she whispered again, “oh, my.” She couldn’t seem to quit repeating it. “Oh, my,” she crooned, reaching automatically for the child.

Lori unstrapped the babe from the infant carrier that had been placed in the bottom of the box. As soon as she lifted and gathered the child to her shoulder, the crying started to ease. The sobs turned quiet, which was even more heartrending than the insistent crying. He snuggled and curled against her.

She wasn’t sure how long she sat on the floor, the tiny baby against her chest. She only knew she was in shock. She knew the throwaway baby needed her warmth as much as she suddenly needed his.

A throwaway child.

A cap of dark hair curled slightly up at the ends and surrounded his face like a soft halo. His miniature head fitted into the palm of her hand. Tiny fingers curled and then spread spasmodically against her chest. He was so perfect, so... so helpless.

Lori couldn’t stop shaking any more than she could stop the fierce, tender mix of emotions that spread from the tiny body straight into her quietly breaking heart.

The baby wiggled, turned his head, opening and closing his mouth. Even with her lack of experience, Lori realized the tiny thing was starving. She lowered him to her lap and settled him in the hollow she’d created when she’d dropped to sit, cross-legged, on the floor.

The baby flung his arms back, fighting against the imprisoning folds of the blanket, protesting his new position. His face contorted in fury. She wasn’t prepared for the infuriated wail he let loose. The kid had lusty lungs. A positive thing, she decided. It must mean he was healthy.

“But I don’t have a thing to feed you, sweetie,” she said almost desperately. Surely, surely, she prayed, his mama wouldn’t leave him without anything to eat.

Reaching for the top of the box, she tipped it over. Several things clacked together, then thudded against the cardboard side of the box and the well-cushioned floor.

With one hand bracing the screaming, squirming baby’s tummy, Lori fished around a second blanket with the other. A handful of disposable diapers. She tossed them aside. A tiny outfit of some sort.

“How do women do this?” she muttered, feeling awkward and inadequate as she held on to him and worked one-handed.

The baby turned his piercing cry up a notch in volume as if berating her for wasting time with stupid, unimportant questions. He was hungry.

“I’m trying,” she whispered, pushing the carrier aside and out of the way. The blanket came next, spilling additional diapers beside her. There, on its side, was a plastic bottle, filled and topped with a flat lid to keep it from spilling. “Thank you, God,” she whispered.

She took the cap off and realized she had no idea what to do with it. Give it to the baby like this? Maybe she’d be able to think if he would stop screaming for a minute.

“It’s okay, baby.” She comforted him with a frantic pat against his tummy.

Two cans lay against each other in the bottom of the box. Applying a little more pressure to keep him where he was, she leaned on one hip to reach one of them. She read the side of the can, then cast it aside. No instructions? How could a can of formula not have instructions? It rolled back and clinked against the other one.

“Sorry, baby.” He was strong, wriggling against her hand. But she was certain she detected his tiny body weakening. His cry seemed to hold less energy than it had only seconds ago. “This has to be okay.”

She braced him with her forearm so she could use both hands to remove the snug cap. A minute later, she held the nipple to his mouth. He suckled once, then pushed at it with his tongue and turned his head.

She pulled it away. Oh, great! She was doing something wrong.

He opened and closed his mouth, still seeking. His chest rose and fell sharply a couple of times. His arms and legs stiffened and jerked. His face turned a rosy red. She knew she was in for another angry scream.

“Wanna try again?” she begged softly. “I don’t know what else to do.”

This time, he made a face, tried to draw away, then began a hesitant sucking. He accompanied the motion with the same quiet mewling that had alerted her to his presence in the first place.

What if she had just pushed the box inside, locked the door and went her merry way? She felt weak, thinking it might have happened that way. The knots in her muscles eased a bit as she sighed with relief. “It’s a good thing you cried,” she told the tiny, tiny infant, though she was no longer sure if she was talking to herself or the baby.

“Who,” she exclaimed, “on God’s green earth would leave you here? With me?”

The words reminded her of the slip of paper she’d seen beneath one of the milk cans. The baby continued to drink, oblivious to her movements now as she looked eagerly at the box again.

“There it is.” The paper looked miles away and she noted her current limitations. How did you hold on to a baby, hold on to a bottle and do anything else? She lifted him carefully from her lap and into the crook of her arm. He was light, barely weighed anything. He couldn’t be very old. Maybe a few days? Hours? she thought in wonder.

He watched her with unseeing, fuzzy blue eyes as she wiggled closer to the opening of the box. Hunched half in, half out of it, she wedged the bottom of his bottle between her neck and chin. Stretching as far as she could reach, she pushed at the cans and ran her hand along the bottom until her fingers felt a different texture.

“We got it,” she said triumphantly, then dropped it to grab for the bottle that came loose when she spoke.

Adjusting him, the bottle and herself, she groped for the paper again. We got it! she thought. Her back felt as though she was developing curvature of the spine. Her arms ached. She scooted out of the box and wiggled back to lean against the door she didn’t remember shutting. One-handed, she smoothed the folded notebook paper against her raised knee.

The message was in a carefully penciled print. I know you won’t let anything bad happen to my baby.

The simple words swam before her eyes. She gulped at the lump blocking her throat. She blinked rapidly to push the tears away, then let them stream, unheeded, down her cheeks.

Kissing the tiny head cradled in her arm, she vowed, “I won’t let anything bad happen to you.” I won’t, she promised.


CHAPTER ONE

ANDREW McAllister peeled the well-worn envelope from his door. Hadn’t his neighbors ever heard of Post-it notes? With his thumb, he scrubbed at the small spot of residue left by the tape. As he inserted his key in the lock, he glanced at the original address on the recycled envelope. Lori Warren, Apartment 339, had been x’d out. His own name had been hurriedly scrawled above it.

Tugging at his tie, he slipped inside and set the note on the partition separating the foyer from the living room.

Lori Warren? This building, two floors up, he placed her address. He tried to remember meeting her and frowned when no particular face came to mind. Another neighbor attempting to bring him into their congenial little fold, he supposed. He’d deal with it later when he wasn’t so rushed for time.

The wall clock on the opposite side of the room said he had an hour and twenty minutes to get to the most important Christmas party of the season—of his life. That wasn’t much time when it was a forty-minute drive to the governor’s palatial private home in the suburbs.

He ’made his way to the master suite.

Several people had assured him it was a huge coup to be invited to the private party the governor and his wife held in their home. But next year, Andy determined, he’d be going to the one in Topeka. The official one held at the governor’s mansion.

He turned on the shower with one hand as he removed his watch with the other. Allowing time for the temperature to adjust, he drew his tux from the back of the closet and removed the protective plastic bag the dry cleaners had covered it with. It looked okay, he assured himself. He’d had it cleaned last summer, the last time he’d worn it, but he’d been concerned all afternoon, worrying whether it might need a fresh pressing, cursing himself for not thinking to check it sooner.

He smiled to himself as he stepped under the hot spray sending huge clouds of steam out into the room and beyond. He knew as surely as he knew his name that worry over the suit was only a symptom. He wanted this appointment and knew he had only a slight chance of getting it.

He couldn’t remember the last time his stomach had clenched and fluttered the way it had been doing all day. Maybe when he’d taken the bar?

His friends and fellow attorneys called him The Iron Man in court. He’d worked hard to establish the reputation. Nothing shook him. He didn’t allow it. No one ever knew what he was thinking or planning.

Still smiling as he stood naked before the mirror to shave, Andy admitted that it had been a long time since he’d wanted anything as badly as the appointment the governor would be making early in the new year. Everyone, himself included, knew the invitation to this party was one of the governor’s ways of checking him out.

You’ll be fine, he assured himself, turning away from his image and quickly dressing.

When he returned to the living room, he was startled to find he still had fifteen minutes before he needed to leave. He dithered uncharacteristically next to the coat closet. He didn’t want to be late but he didn’t want to be the first one there, either.

The envelope that had been attached to his door caught his eye. It gleamed in the soft recessed lighting. He picked it up, reaching to pull the note from inside. His fingers hovered at the frayed top edge as he realized the back of the envelope itself held the message in pencil, then pen. Please! I don’t know if I need a lawyer but I do know I... The pencil lead had broken and blue ink took over....need your advice—advice underlined twice. Please, could you come to my apartment? ASAP! The ASAP was also underlined twice.

Lori Warren, it was signed. Apartment 339 had been added like an afterthought.

It’s an emergency.

He almost missed the last. The small print crawled up the side of the envelope. At least there were no happy faces or Merry Christmases added in shaky, flowing script. Bertha Thomas, the elderly widow across the hall, liked to add those when she left him little informative instructions once or twice a week about the obligations and duties of apartment living.

He read the note again, adding a “desperately” where the pencil lead had broken. The word wasn’t there in black and white, but he heard it in his head as clearly as if it were. The note screamed it.

Checking the time again, he grabbed his dress coat from the closet, flung it over his arm and patted his pants pocket to make sure he had his keys.

This—he fingered the envelope—would nicely fill the ten minutes remaining. He’d earn a few extra brownie points with his neighbors—not that he needed them. He wouldn’t be living here that long—and this was probably someone panicky about too many speeding tickets. The advice he would give was quick and cheap: Slow down and pay!

Lori glared at the noisy thud at the door. It had been the worst—and best—day of her life and she’d just gotten the baby to sleep. She wanted nothing more than to crash in a chair and become a zombie for a few minutes.

Instead, she hurried to the door...and opened it just in time. His fist was raised to knock again. She didn’t need this heavy-handed visitor hammering twice and waking the baby.

She didn’t need this visitor at all, she thought as she felt her jaw drop. Tall, dark hair, dark eyes, with a sculpted face she was certain turned women to mush. Who else was going to turn up on her doorstep today? First a baby, now the gift from the gods she’d been fantasizing about.

She’d met him twice as she was coming out of the workout room in the basement of the apartment complex clubhouse. Sweaty and red-faced, both times she’d tried hard to blend with the woodwork and she’d prayed that she would meet him when she looked good. Why, oh, why couldn’t she run into this man when she didn’t look like something someone had pureed in the blender?

Third time’s a charm, she thought caustically as her hand automatically went to her hair. She could feel tangles beneath the short sprigs that were sticking out in every direction. The red suit she’d never gotten around to changing felt sticky from nervous perspiration and baby formula. She had a run the size of New York City climbing the back of her hose.

And he was standing there in a tuxedo, looking so picture-perfect he could have stepped off the top of a wedding cake. She didn’t know whether to drool or slam the door in his face.

“Lori Warren?” he asked, sounding as dismayed as she felt. Then he held up her envelope. “You left me this?”

“Mr. McAllister?”

He nodded, looking slightly startled as she grabbed his arm and yanked him into her apartment, closing the door behind him.

Her concerns about the way she looked were forgotten as tears formed in her eyes. “Oh, thank God, you’re here. You will never guess what happened today and I don’t...I can’t—”

“Slow down.” He held up an elegant hand. He used the same hand to touch the small of her back, half leading, half pushing her through the arch, past the low wall dividing the square foyer and into the small living room. “Come on. Let’s sit down. You can calmly tell me all about whatever the problem is.” He guided her toward the couch, stepping around the cluttered coffee table. He lowered his long length beside her as her knees gave out and she sat down.

She held her breath, studying her new neighbor. His hand on her back had felt reassuring. She felt adrift with it gone.

“Now,” he said gently, “tell me what happened today.”

She opened her mouth, then shook her head. She couldn’t find the words. The tears that had flowed so freely all day started again. She tried to stop them but they kept right on rolling. They rattled her. She never cried.

Today, they’d spurted when the baby cried, spurted when she’d left the baby asleep and alone for two minutes to take the elevator down to place the note on his door, spurted every single time she’d thought about the baby—and she’d thought of nothing else—or read the note...

The note. That might explain what she couldn’t. She grabbed it from the edge of the coffee table, gazing at it mindlessly for the hundredth time. She didn’t need to read it. She’d memorized it. It didn’t take much. Eleven words.

Eleven words that meant nothing, she realized, smoothing the note against her thigh. I know you won’t let anything bad happen to my baby.

“I don’t know what to do,” she mouthed soundlessly, searching his face and eyes, hoping to find wisdom there.

Tiny lines formed between his brows as he stared at the paper she still held. “Maybe it would help if I read it?”

She hesitated, then handed it to him.

He looked up from the carefully lettered sheet of white stationery. The lines deepened as his scowl turned to a full-fledged frown. “You want me to keep something bad from happening to your baby?”

She nodded yes, then immediately changed it to a no. She felt her lips quiver and pressed her mouth with her fingertips.

“We are talking about a baby?” he queried. He glanced at the paper again. “Little thing about—” he held out his hands to the appropriate size “—so big?”

She nodded and gave him a tremulous smile.

“Then we’re on the right track. I do know what they are,” he assured her with a wink. His charming sense of humor made her feel almost sane.

The sanity went right out the window with the baby’s cry from Lori’s bedroom. She jumped up and ran from the room without another thought to her visitor.

On her knees in the middle of the bed, Lori checked the baby’s diaper. She’d just changed it before she’d fed and managed to put the infant to sleep by sitting on the edge of the bed, swaying back and forth. That had been less than twenty minutes ago. Surely—

“What exactly are you expecting to happen to your baby that a lawyer can fix?” the man asked in a deep voice.

She glanced at the handsome figure who’d followed her and propped himself against the door frame.

“Have you been threatened? Is the baby’s father trying to take him away from you?”

“It’s a she,” Lori corrected. She’d found she couldn’t continue calling the baby a “him” when she’d changed her first diaper. She carefully lifted the babe and turned to sit down on the edge of the bed. Rocking automatically, she murmured softly and cradled the child against her. The baby immediately stopped crying.

If the past couple of hours had proved anything, they proved she had to trust someone. She’d thought she’d have an hour or two before the helpless being, who depended on her completely, woke again. Time to think. Time to figure out how to get more diapers. The baby was wearing the last one included in the surprise package this morning.

“It isn’t my baby,” she managed to whisper.

His back went ramrod straight. Those wonderful brown eyes sharpened. The light behind them said his mind worked quickly. They narrowed and directed suspicion at her. He was drawing the wrong conclusions!

“I didn’t steal her,” she protested.

His eyes widened. “You’re keeping her for a friend?”

“Sort of,” she prevaricated, unable to meet his gaze. “I found her. Outside my door. In that big box in the living room,” she added.

“With the note.” Understanding was beginning to dawn.

She rose, coming across the room carefully to protect the child from jolts. The tiny eyelids had fluttered closed again. The delicate mouth puckered and moved in the same motion the baby girl used to drink from her bottle. Maybe the infant would sleep for a while if Lori just continued to hold her.

The visitor seemed stunned. Speechless.

Lori jerked her head toward the light streaming down the hall from the living room. “Come on. Let’s go back out there. Will you give me some advice?”

He stepped aside, waiting for her to lead.

Lori eased down onto the edge of the couch. This time, he didn’t sit down beside her. Mr. McAllister stood before her, hands stuffed in the pockets of his black trousers, ruining the elegant line of his impressive tuxedo.

He was the first one to speak. “When did you find her?”

“’Bout seven-thirty this morning.”

“You haven’t called the authorities?”

“I haven’t told anyone. Except you now,” she added. She wanted to be honest with him. Surely the what-you-get-out-is-only-as-good-as-what-you-put-in- rule applied to lawyers as well as computers. Truth was the only way she could expect to get good advice, wasn’t it?

“Why?”

“At first, I didn’t have time. I was occupied trying to figure out how to take care of her.” She realized she was still whispering. She cleared her throat. “Then I wasn’t sure who to call, what authority. And, by the time I could, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to call anyone. That’s when I left the note for you.”

His lips compressed in a solid, uncompromising line over those perfect white teeth. She glanced quickly away from him.

“Ms. Warren, you need to give me a retainer.”

That brought her attention back.

“Are you hiring me?” he asked. His face looked carved out of stone. “If you are, you need to give me some money.”

There was an urgency in his voice, something she couldn’t ignore but didn’t understand. Greed? Irritation set in so fast she had to consciously hold on to her temper and remind herself she didn’t want to wake the baby. He didn’t look nearly as good as he had a minute ago. She focused on keeping her voice calm. “Can you bill me? I just want a little bit of advice. I wanted—”

“Lady, if you’re hiring me,” he interrupted, “do it. Now.”

So much for the rave reviews she’d heard from various elderly neighbors about the nice lawyer who’d moved into the complex. No advice without money, huh? She resented his obvious conclusion that she wanted free advice. Couldn’t he bill her after the fact if there was a charge? One of the things she’d pondered at the back of her mind all day was whether she could afford a baby. She was living—barely—to the hilt of her income now. She would have to cut expenses somewhere, probably first by finding a less expensive apartment. She hadn’t considered legal expenses.

She lifted her chin. “I don’t know where I put my purse,” she said, looking around. It wasn’t on the kitchen counter where she usually set it. She’d been on her way out the door when she found the baby. She didn’t think she’d touched it since then.

“This it?” He spotted it on the floor beside the arch leading to the foyer just as her gaze landed there. He lifted it and handed it across to her.

“Thanks.” She juggled to open the wallet with one hand, then finally placed the open purse on the coffee table in front of her.

“Here, let me take the kid,” he offered. In a second, before Lori could think about it, the child was in his arms. He plopped the infant against his shoulder, bracing her nonchalantly with one arm. Lori resented his casual confidence with the baby as much as she resented his greed. Life really wasn’t fair.

“How much?” she asked stiffly, withdrawing two twenties from her wallet.

“Write me a check,” he replied absently. “That would be better.”

“Very well.” She got out her checkbook and pen. “How much? Will a hundred do? You can always bill me if it’s more,” she felt compelled to add.

“Fifty should do it,” he said. He patted the child as though he was an old hand at knowing what a baby needed. She looked smaller than ever compared to his hand. He glanced at his watch and grimaced as she handed him the check. He stuffed it in his pants pocket without looking at it. “Thanks.”

She would swear the sigh he emitted was one of relief. She held out her arms for the child.

“Let me take care of her for a few minutes,” he offered again, adding gently, “You look exhausted. Sit down. Take your time. I’ll hold the young‘un while you concentrate on telling me what you want me to do.”

“Isn’t that what I just hired you for? To tell me what I should do?” She couldn’t keep the indignation out of her voice.

“No, ma’am.” His soft chuckle surprised, then warmed her. “You hired me to keep us out of trouble.”

So many questions popped into her head she couldn’t begin to vocalize even one of them. Damn, he looked good, gazing at her with that devilish, killer smile—a direct contrast to the picture he made with the tiny baby against his broad chest.

“I have a feeling I’m about to see a crime committed,” he continued.

Her frown grew.

“If you’re going to admit to committing one, don’t you want our relationship covered by attorney/client privilege?”

“What crime?”

“To tell you the truth, I’m not sure,” he said. “Kidnapping’s the closest thing I can think of.”

“I didn’t kidnap her. She was left on my doorstep.”

“Like I said, I don’t know specifically what law you’re breaking, but I’m confident that it’s illegal to find someone’s baby and just keep it. Am I right in guessing that’s your plan?”

“That’s what I want you to do. Tell me how to keep her. Legally,” she added.

“You found her this morning?” he asked, scowling as he ran a hand through his thick dark hair.

“Yes.”

“And you know you want to keep her? Some stranger’s baby? A baby you can’t be sure doesn’t have something wrong with her? Do you want her if she’s a crack baby or has AIDS or something?”

She looked at the child and silently prayed that she was healthy and normal. But even if she wasn’t perfect, it didn’t make a difference. It was something Lori hadn’t thought of, but she’d take care of the tiny child, she thought fiercely. “Yes,” she said again.

“What if the mother should change her—”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, impatiently interrupting him. Maybe if the lawyer would quit looking at her with that subtle glimmer in his gaze, she could concentrate. “I want to keep her.”

“Then, first things first.” He moved easily to the end table, his movements not hampered at all by the baby. “We’ll call the police, make a report and then we’ll start the process of getting you appointed as her foster parent or guardian.”

She moved faster than she had all day. “No.” Her fingers closed over his as he started to lift the phone. His startled look had her withdrawing her hand quickly.

The tiny child stirred against his chest and began the thing with her mouth again. The motion tugged at Lori, sucking out and exposing a vein of protectiveness she didn’t know lay under the thick skin she’d worked so hard to develop. Lori resisted the urge to touch the baby. She probably couldn’t do it without touching him again.

“As an officer of the court, I’m obligated to report criminal acts,” he said softly. “If you hadn’t retained me as your lawyer, I’d be reporting this abandoned child right now. And as your attorney that’s what I advise.”

An officer of the court. The very words set her on edge, stiffened her spine and made her move away from him. Money had never been as well spent as the check she’d just written. It bound him and defined him as her advocate. He couldn’t do anything contrary to her wishes.

“Do this right, Lori Warren,” he urged. “Report her to the authorities, then neither of us has to worry. I’ll do my utmost to guarantee you’re appointed her guardian.”

“That’s the problem. You can’t guarantee anything.” His brown eyes held steady on her, making her want to smooth her hair, rearrange her clothing. “Can you?” she tacked on the challenge.

“I’m very good at what I do.”

“Then I’m glad I hired you.” She had to be the one to break their visual connection. She focused on the baby. “But do you know where this baby would be right now if I’d called the police this morning?”

He frowned. “In foster care?”

She nodded. “By now maybe, but in the meantime, she would have spent the day being passed around frantic offices at the police station or social service agencies.”

“By now, she’d be in a home,” he said.

“With four or five other foster children and maybe an additional child or two of the family’s,” she said dryly. “lfiose are the kinds of places willing to take children in an emergency and at a moment’s notice like this.” She glanced at her watch. “And right about now, if the foster mother is any good, all of those children will be clamoring for her attention while the poor frazzled woman is trying to fix dinner.”

“And if she’s not a good foster parent?”

“The children are trying to stay out of the way and beneath anyone’s notice.” Lori made the mistake of looking at him again.

His brows lowered, matching the mouth that slanted in a concerned frown. “You’re speaking from experience? You’ve lived in foster homes?” They were questions but his voice said he knew the answer. His eyes darkened with sympathy.

She raised her chin a smidge. “I survived. The system made me strong.” She crossed the couple of feet that separated them and held out her empty arms. “That doesn’t mean it has to be that way for this little one. Not if I can help it,” she added determinedly as he handed the sleeping child over.

She tried to imitate the manner in which he’d cradled the helpless little girl—one-armed, between his neck and chest. She found herself leaning so far backward to compensate, she was afraid she’d pitch over. She gave up the attempt.

“Are you going to just keep calling her Baby or Little One?” he asked with an amused smile that turned into a thoughtful frown. “I’m surprised her mother didn’t give her a name in the note.”

Lori had been so busy trying to take care of the child, she hadn’t thought about it. Of course, the baby needed a name. She felt inadequate all over again. “Any suggestions?”

He lifted a shoulder. “The logical choice would be Jane,” he said. “That’s what the authorities would be calling her. As in Jane Doe? That’s what they call every female they don’t have a name for,” he added.

Jane Doe was as generic as Baby and reminded Lori of dead bodies in a TV movie. The thought validated Lori’s decision not to report her to anyone. It hadn’t occurred to her that they would call someone alive that. She shuddered. “I’m not calling her Baby Jane Doe.”

“Maybe Rose?” he suggested. “You know, like a Christmas rose. You found her blooming at your door?”

Lori peered at the child. Her nosed crinkled in the habitual response she’d been trying to break ever since one of her foster mothers had pointed out that the frown would eventually cause wrinkles. She commanded her face to relax. “She doesn’t look like a Rose to me.”

“I think it’s too early to tell,” Andy said.

She glanced at him to catch the smile in his voice. “A name does seem like such an important thing. I should have thought of it.”

He met her eyes in that direct way he had and his grin faded. “Whatever name you choose, it probably won’t stick,” he warned. He’d moved and was standing much too close. “In all likelihood—” he cleared his throat “—you are going to lose this child eventually, Lori. At least for a while. Are you certain you don’t want to call the police now? Before you get too attached?”

“It’s too late.” His logic grated at her practical side, the side she tried to use when dealing with life in general. Unfortunately, even that commonsense side of her had deserted her today. She felt much too sensitive, too tender. She felt herself going on the defensive. “I can handle it,” she said. “Besides, you are going to help me. You’re very good at what you do. Remember?”

“I remember.” He touched her cheek, then stiffened and dropped his hand to his side. “But I’d be a lousy lawyer if I didn’t advise you of the probabilities.”

“I know. And I do appreciate it.” The baby was an excellent excuse to move away from him, around him. “I think she’s wet,” she commented.

“Can I get you a diaper?” he offered.

“Oh, no.” She closed her eyes. “This is the last one. I forgot. I have to...I need...” She let her shoulders droop and started over. “Since you came here in that monkey suit, I know you didn’t come here to spend the evening but...”

He winced as if the reminder was painful and checked his watch. She suspected whatever function he was supposed to attend was important. “I thought this would be something minor,” he explained. “Something that would take ten minutes, but you just hired me as your attorney and I—”

“It’s obvious you have other plans,” she interrupted. “I’m grateful that you came at all. You must be anxious to get...wherever. But could you stay, maybe spare ten minutes more?” she pleaded, feeling guilty even as she asked. “With the baby? So I can run to the store and get more stuff to feed her and some diapers? I’ll hurry. I promise. I don’t know what else to do. It’s cold out and...and—”

“Let me go to the store for you.” He held up a hand. “It’ll be quicker.” He checked his watch again. “Believe me,” he added with a whimsical lift of his eyebrows, “this has been much more interesting than the cocktail hour I’m missing. I’ll get your things and still manage to make my appearance at the dinner. That’s the important thing.”

She nodded and reached for her purse.

“The diapers and formula are my treat.” He grabbed his coat from the end of the couch where he must have put it when he followed her to the bedroom. “What kind of formula did her mother leave?”

Lori hurried to get an empty can from the kitchen garbage. “Mr. McAllister...” she started as she handed it to him.

“Call me Andy.” His dark eyes sparkled. “Might be better under the circumstance, don’t you think?”

All day, she’d pictured the “Mr. McAllister” that people around the complex had talked about as a stern, older, fatherly, serious lawyer type. That image definitely did not fit this man. She felt her face grow hot, remembering her daydreams outside the apartment complex’s exercise room. She prayed he couldn’t read her thoughts now.

“I appreciate...” She shook her head, knowing she had to concentrate on what she was saying if she wanted to express her feelings adequately. She failed. “I do appreciate everything you’re doing for us, Andy.”

“How could I resist?” he asked softly. His gaze felt as physical as the hand he had. rested on the baby’s back. His subtle cologne wafted over to Lori. “I won’t have but a minute when I bring back the diapers but I’ll come back later, after the dinner, if you’d like. Will you and the baby be all right until then?”

She nodded with more certainty than she’d felt all day.

His thumb teased the corner of her mouth. “Smile. We will get through this.” He winked, then raised his hand in a salute.

Lori watched the door close behind him. Speechless, confused by the crazy, erratic variety of emotions that had washed, one after another, over her all day, she stood rooted to the spot and experienced a whole new set of emotions.

She’d spent all her life trying to gain independence and become self-reliant. She’d finally achieved what she’d been striving for: she could say with confidence that she needed no one.

One tiny baby left at her door—someone who needed her—and suddenly, she was back where she’d started from. She needed and had to depend on someone else. She should find the thought abhorrent. She didn’t. She was eager to accept help, she excused her optimistic feelings toward the man offering it, because of the baby.

She stroked the tiny head so near her own. She placed a soft kiss where her fingers had just been. “We’ll take all the help we can get, won’t we?” she whispered.

The baby wiggled her nose and snuggled closer.

“Now,” Lori said, going back to the couch to sit down, “all we have to do is figure out how to take care of you. I have a feeling Mr. Flop-You-Around-Like-He-Knows-What-He’s -Doing McAllister will be helpful there, too.”

Even though they hadn’t resolved a thing, the crushing burden she’d carried around all day felt lighter. And she hadn’t cried like an idiot for at least half an hour. Lori sighed and relaxed.

He’d promised to come back later.


CHAPTER TWO

ANDY drove away from the governor’s house, torn between despair that he’d done serious damage to his chances for the appointment by not making it to the cocktail party and anxiety to get back to the woman and the baby. Lori Warren was obviously clueless about taking care of a baby.

Which is why you should call the authorities.

He ignored the voice. Lori had taken care of the baby all day without anything disastrous happening. They’d be all right until he checked in on them again.

The voice refused to be silenced. That’s hormones talking if I’ve ever heard them, it mocked him. You liked the look of her, so you’re justifying taking a retainer from her instead of convincing her to call the police.

Andy smiled to himself. Okay. That would have been the logical thing.

But he’d seen those big red-rimmed green eyes and felt the urge to play Superman to her damsel-in-distress. He’d watched the distressed ditz who’d opened the door to him turn into a totally absorbed, frantically protective tigress, just because a baby cried.

He could still picture her kneeling in the middle of her bed, concern marring her perfect face. She’d unwrapped the child, examining her carefully from head to toe before cautiously picking her up and cradling her next to her breast. He’d rarely felt so moved...or as envious of some unknown man he’d believed to be the missing piece of a threesome. He was certain he’d never seen such undisguised love as he watched from Lori’s bedroom door. And as soon as he’d learned the facts, he’d felt as fiercely protective of Lori as she’d acted toward the tiny baby who wasn’t even hers.

He shook his head as he turned into the entrance of the apartment complex.

White fairy lights decorated every tree and bush across the well-manicured grounds, looking elaborately festive but lacking in any direct hint of Christmas. His shoes echoed hollowly on the concrete as he made his way toward his building.

Disastrous, Andy defined the evening. Totally disastrous. From the minute he’d been admitted by the governor himself and escorted to the room where the rest of the guests were sitting down to dinner, to the moment he’d left, he’d endured the longest evening of his life. He should have stayed with Lori.

Andy tried to ignore the sinking feeling that by missing the cocktail party—and the little chat the governor had hinted he’d hoped to have during it—he’d eliminated himself from contention for the judicial appointment.

It didn’t matter, he thought as he shrugged out of his tuxedo jacket. He wasn’t a serious contender anyway, Andy’d been warned. The governor had a strong traditional streak. He liked to appoint older, bedrock-of-the-community-type judges who were solid family men. He had no way of knowing Andy had the strong traditional leanings but none of the trappings.

One thought renewed his optimism as he loosened his tie and threw his “monkey suit” on the bed. The governor wasn’t expected to make a decision until late January, so Andy might have another chance to make a better impression.

Andy still had a chance.

It was almost midnight when Andy showed up at her door again. He knocked softly.

This time, the baby wasn’t asleep and didn’t look like she had any intention of going soon.

Lori’s newly hired attorney looked weary, she decided, inviting him in. Tiny stress lines decorated the corners of his eyes. She hadn’t noticed those before.

He’d changed his clothes. How could a man look as good in worn, comfortable-looking jeans as he did in a tux? she wondered. Revealing muscular forearms, he pushed the sleeves of his loose sweater up to his elbows as he sauntered past her into the small living room. “It’s awfully warm in here,” he commented.

“I don’t want the baby to get cold.” She gestured toward the baby seat she’d wedged into one end of the couch. “She’s awake,” she added unnecessarily.

The baby lay there, mostly staring off into space but occasionally kicking or flopping her arms up and down.

“Babies are comfortable if you are,” he said.

“Oh? How do you know?”

He shrugged, frowning slightly. “Common knowledge, I guess. I don’t know where I heard it,” he added. “I just know it’s true.”

“I’ll turn down the heat,” she offered thankfully. She’d seriously been considering putting on shorts and a tank top if she ever got around to changing out of her cranberry-colored suit. As it was, she’d taken off the jacket and the hose as a concession to the heat.

When she returned to the living room, he’d settled beside the tiny girl and was softly talking to her. “Do you have your days and nights turned around, Baby?”

The tiny head turned toward Andy’s low voice and she seemed fascinated. That makes two of us, Lori thought.

As if aware of her watching him from the doorway, Andy looked up and smiled. Amazingly, he didn’t seem the least bit self-conscious to be caught talking baby talk—another reason to like him. “I don’t suppose you’ve had a chance to figure out what you want me to do?”

“I’ve been thinking about it,” she said. “Like I said, I want to keep her.”

“For always?”

“For as long as she needs me to protect her.” Lori faced him less warily. “I think that’s for always, don’t you? I’d like to adopt her.”

He frowned. “That might be difficult since you don’t have a birth certificate or any kind of parental release.”

She came around the end of the coffee table and gazed at the little sweetheart. “And the state or social services do?” she asked, a touch of sarcasm slipping in.

“They have a way to get them.” His patience didn’t seem to run out.

“Yeah, they just declare whatever they want to be so. That’s what I want you to do for me. Make them declare it ‘so’ for me.”

“I wish it were that easy.” He moved the baby seat from the end of the couch to the middle so she could sit down.

“Then that’s what we have to do,” she said, sagging onto the space he’d made for her. “We’ll find her mother. We’ll get a parental release.”

The slow smile he gave her made her heart pick up a beat. “You make it sound easy.”

“I...” She lifted one shoulder. Her throat tightened and her pulse continued to race erratically. “I know who the mother is,” she defended her idea.

“You do?” He scooted toward the edge of his seat and leaned toward her, resting his elbows on his knees.

“I have to,” she said. “Look at the note.” She glanced at the coffee table and the cryptic message lying there. “It starts, ‘I know you...” She paused for effect. “Whoever she is, don’t you think she knows me?”

He sank back in his seat. “It says ‘I know you, meaning you, anyone in the general public.” His arm swept out in a broad gesture. “She was begging whoever found the baby not to let anything bad happen to her.”

“It was intended for me. If it wasn’t me, if she was just leaving her baby at any door, why didn’t she leave her at yours? You’re two flights easier to get to with a big box than I am.”

“Good point,” he conceded, his eyebrows rising as he straightened. “But that may have also been to get the baby away from the front door of the building. Her mother may have been protecting her from blasts of cold.”

Lori felt her conviction waver. She had a feeling he was a very good lawyer.

“That also means she was in the building for a little while. Someone may have seen her. We can—”

“No.”

He looked startled by her interruption.

“If we start asking questions, someone will report us,” she said quietly. “Believe me, I thought about it. I thought about going around and talking to the neighbors this morning. But then someone would tell and we’d have to leave.”

Andy scowled at her until she grew uncomfortable. “You’ve thought about who her mother might be?”

What started as a nod turned into a no. “It’s another reason I can’t tell anyone,” she explained. “Her mother, whoever she is—” Lori smoothed a silky curl of the child’s dark hair “—is in serious trouble now. Won’t she be a criminal for deserting her child? Couldn’t she go to jail?”

“She could,” he agreed. “It depends somewhat on the circumstances.”

“I don’t want her mother in trouble.”

“The court will take her situation and motivation into consideration. She may be very young,” he offered as an example. “Technically, she didn’t endanger the child.” He grinned.

Good grief, he could make her heart stop with that smile.

“She left her in good hands,” he continued.

“Oh, I wish I thought so,” Lori wailed. “Oh, please, you have to help me with that, too,” she begged. “I feel so lost. I have no idea how to take care of her. You seem to know about babies,” she added hopefully. “Will you tell me everything you know?”

Visibly taken aback by her outburst, the man beside her quickly regained his equilibrium. “You haven’t been around babies before?”

“You can’t tell?” Her dry tone brought back his killer smile.

“There weren’t any babies in the foster homes you lived in?”

“Well...” She grimaced. “There was a tiny one like this once, in one home,” she said, “but we weren’t allowed to touch him. Only the real kids could touch him.”

“The ‘real’ kids?”

She felt impatient with him, reluctant to talk about this. “You know. The kids who belonged there. The family’s real kids.”

“You were never asked to help take care of him?”

“Not that one. Sometimes, in homes where there were older babies—you know, walking and starting to talk—we had to help. But, that I can remember, I’ve never been around or even held a tiny one like this. Oh, and—” the whole conversation suddenly reminded her “—this baby still has that thing on her belly button.”

“The umbilical cord?” he asked.

She nodded. “Should I be doing something special about that?”

“I’ll show you later,” he offered.

“Does it hurt her?”

“No.” He reached toward her, then hesitated and dropped his hand to the yawning baby instead. “But it tells us she’s only days old,” he said with the same awe she felt in his voice.

The rush of warmth Lori felt toward him was scary. She looked at him and hoped he couldn’t see the stars she was certain were in her eyes. She couldn’t seem to help it Mr. Andrew McAllister was such a perfect mixture of practical knowledge, awe and concern, he intrigued her almost as much as the baby did. If she wasn’t careful, she could have a bad case of drop-to-her-knees hero worship on her hands.

“How do you know so much?” she asked as a caution bell went off in her mind. “Do you have children?”

His finger lingered on the baby’s tiny hand. She batted at it, then curled her miniature fingers around his until he tugged. Her little hands flailed. “I’m the oldest of three kids, and my mom and dad were both from large families.” He made gripping and tugging his finger a game with the baby. “I can’t remember a time when there weren’t babies around. Either new cousins, or nowadays, nieces and nephews. Someone always has a baby, it seems.”

“But not you?”

He grinned. “Not yet, though I plan to have my share eventually.”

She looked away, sorry she’d asked. She didn’t want to think of him with a wife and kids. Conversely, she realized it would be safer dealing with him if he was married with a baby or two of his own.

“I’ve decided to name her Kris,” she said quickly. Her voice sounded breathless. “You know, for Santa’s other name, Kris Kringle. This is the best Christmas present he ever left me.”

Andy opened his mouth, then closed it.

His troubled gaze made her anxious again. “You don’t like it? It can be Kristine or Kristina.”

“I think Kris suits her perfectly,” he said so softly she almost didn’t hear. “It’s getting very late.” He stood abruptly. “You and the baby should both get some rest.”

“I know.” She felt drained. Reaction, she knew, from the roller coaster of emotions she’d been on all day. “But we need to—”

“Tomorrow,” he interrupted. “We can’t do anything tonight anyway. I just wanted to check in and see that you were okay.”

She touched Kris’s face gently, then rose to stand beside him. “I forgot to ask. How did your thing go?”

“Okay, I guess.” He made a face. “Do you need anything before I go?”

She shook her head. “I definitely have to go shopping for her tomorrow, though,” Lori said. “I don’t think I can keep washing one outfit out while she wears the other.” She wrinkled her nose again. “But we’re okay for the night, I think. We seem to be getting into a little routine.”

He nodded wordlessly.

“Do you have any idea where I should put her to sleep? This afternoon, I put her on my bed, but—”

“You need a bed yourself. Make her one on the floor,” he suggested. “A couple of blankets under her, one over. She’ll be fine.”

“Thanks.”

He jammed his fingers in the back pockets of his jeans, looking hesitant to leave after all. The way he looked at her made her want to squirm or fill the silence with babble. Or both.

With a lengthy, clearly audible sigh, he swiveled and strode quickly to the door. “I’ll be back first thing in the morning,” he promised.

She hurried after him, nodding to his back. Her nerves were jumping crazily again. “You don’t work tomorrow?”

“My calendar’s clear until after the New Year.” He faced her. “We’ll have plenty of time to work on this little problem...and to teach you anything you need to know,” he added reassuringly. His hand hovered near her face, then dropped to his side. “Get some sleep, Lori. See you both in the morning. Night, Kris,” he called, winking at Lori as he firmly closed the door between them.

Lost in a reverie and a mishmash of emotions, she fingered the dead bolt instead of slipping it into place. She started when a soft tap sounded. He’d forgotten something. She smiled.

“You didn’t look to see who it was,” he lectured as she widened the gap between the door and its frame.

“Who else is going to be wandering around outside my apartment at this time of night?”

“Someone leaving babies.”

His quip widened her smile.

“Here.” He handed her a card. “You might need my number. I wrote my home phone on the back,” he added as she studied the front. “But if you need me, they’ll page me any time you use the front number.”

“Thanks.”

“And Lori...”

She looked up at him. The dark eyes mesmerized and confused her all over again.

“Don’t hesitate to use it. Okay? Day or night. For anything.”

“Okay.”

This time he closed the door softly. She didn’t move until she heard his footsteps go down the hall several long minutes later.

Nightmares! The woman, the situation, the whole damn day yesterday had given him nightmares.

And somewhere in there was the governor’s dinner!

Andy dragged a hand across his face, trying to wake himself up. The phone rang and the sluggishness vanished.

“McAllister,” he answered gruffly.

“Andrew?”

“Mom.” As pleased as he was to hear from her, he felt a letdown. He should be relieved it wasn’t Lori Warren. She wouldn’t call unless there was a crisis. But leftover wisps of the nightmare made him antsy and uneasy.

“Did I wake you?”

“No, Mom, I haven’t made it out of bed yet, but I was awake.”

“Sorry,” she said but didn’t fool him.

He couldn’t help but smile. The clock said ten after eight. Veronica McAllister thought staying in bed past daybreak was a sinful waste of time. Right now, she was probably patting herself on the back for rescuing him from an extreme case of sloth.

“So? Are you going to tell me? I’m dying to know how the governor’s dinner went last night.”

“I’m trying hard not to think about it,” he told her. Not whitewashing a thing, he gave her the dirty details, including his less than optimistic thoughts on his chances at getting the judicial appointment. “I think he planned to talk to me during the cocktail party,” he finished. “I was consigned to the far end of a massive table and the other candidate in attendance got the governor’s undivided attention during dinner.” Her indignant sympathy eased his disappointment.

Since the third candidate was not in attendance, the governor either knew him well—another strike against Andy—or the other candidate would be scrutinized on some other occasion.

“Why did you miss the cocktail party?”

“Something came up with a new client,” he told her.

“Maybe you’ll get another chance to meet with the governor.”

“Maybe,” he agreed skeptically.

“Well, the office is officially closed until after Christmas. That should help.”

He kept his doubts to himself this time.

“When will you be home? You are going to stay a few days?”

Andy sat up on the side of the bed and heavy-handed his face again. “Listen, Mom, I haven’t really thought about it. I’m only—”

“I know you’re only ten minutes away, but Allison will be here with her kids tomorrow. Now that she and Jeff have moved to Texas, we don’t get to see them often enough. Is it wrong for me to want all my children and grandchildren under one roof for a couple of days?”

“Will you settle for twenty-four hours?” Andy asked. “I promise, I’ll stay at least one night while Allison’s family is here. When is Melanie bringing her family over?”

He heard his mother sigh. “Christmas Eve.”

“Then plan on me then, too.” He was finally awake enough that his mind was working. “Is there something you wanted me to help you with, Mom?” He’d bet that was the reason she wanted him there earlier than everyone else.

“I could use help hanging the greenery,” she admitted. “Since John’s hip surgery, I don’t really—”

“I’ll come by this afternoon,” he interrupted. Making the promise and doing the work would be easier than trying to convince her Christmas would come whether or not she hung holly and ivy over every inch of space in her high-ceilinged rooms. “I don’t really want him on a ladder, either.”

He heard her sigh. “That’s a load off my mind, Andrew. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Mom.”

“But why don’t you just stay?” she couldn’t resist hounding him.

“The friend...the new client I mentioned is going through a bit of a crisis. I need to be available.”

“We do have a telephone.”

“I know, Mom, but—”

“A friend or a client?” Veronica broke in, picking up on his slip of the tongue. “Which is it?”

He realized he’d been thinking of Lori Warren as more than a client since the minute she’d drawn him into her dilemma. How many people would be so willing to take someone else’s problem and make it their own? Change their whole life to accommodate it? He admired Lori’s determination. He admired the caring he suspected had taken her by surprise. The more he knew, the more he admired. “Both, I guess.”

“Is this a case I know about?” She almost didn’t wait for his no before she continued, “A female?”

His mother was far too quick at reading things that weren’t there into other things. “Yes, Mom, but she’s a client.”

“And a friend,” she reminded him. “Exactly what kind of problem is she having?” She sounded wary on his behalf.

“She’s a client, Mom. You know I—”

“Oh, I get so tired of all of you reverting to that client-privilege thing when you don’t want to tell me something. Why do you think I continue to work at the office as a receptionist a couple of days a week? So you don’t legally have that excuse,” she answered her own question.

Andy chuckled. Over the years, Veronica McAllister had been the sounding board for the ever-growing number of attorneys in the family. By mixing her keen sense for putting things into proper perspective with the ability to be dumber than a rock when warranted, she’d proved herself a valuable, hidden asset to the firm.

“I definitely will tell you about it later,” he promised, then added, “Shoot, before this is over, I suspect the whole world may know about this baby.”

“She has a baby?”

“Sort of.”

“Sort of?” Her voice rose. “Either you have a baby or you don’t.”

“Mom.” He’d said too much. “I have to go. I’ll talk to you later, okay? Mom?” he said again when there was silence on the other end of the line.

“It isn’t yours, is it, Andrew?” she asked.

“I promise. I’ll let you know when I decide to have kids, Mom,” he said dryly, then gently turned the screw. “Besides, aren’t you the one who keeps hounding me to have kids?”

“I want you get married first.” She was carefully indignant.

“You don’t always say that,” he taunted her.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that again,” she promised. “I will be very specific in the way I phrase my nagging from now on.”

“Do that. I’ll see you later, Mom,” he said, then hung up quickly before she could think of another array of questions and demands.

His smile died as he looked at the clock again. It was past time he checked in on Lori Warren and baby Kris.

He must be as crazy as she was, he decided as he took a quick shower and dressed. The woman didn’t have an inkling how to take care of a newborn. If something happened to that baby...

The horrid dreams that had plagued him on and off all night surfaced to haunt him again. He knew they were purely a product of his imagination. He knew her throwaway remark about the need to leave was just that—a throwaway remark—but that didn’t help. When he was dressed, he didn’t even take the time to make a cup of instant coffee. Surely Lori would have coffee made.

By the time he made it to her door, he’d managed to calm himself again...until he knocked and didn’t get the slightest response.

He listened for a minute and didn’t hear a sound inside. Maybe they were both still asleep. He hesitated knocking again.

No, newborns didn’t sleep this long into the morning. His sisters’ kids were always up at daybreak. His light tap received no response. He pounded harder. Still no answer.

Increasing the tempo and the intensity, this time he also called her name. “Lori.”

“Is something the matter?”

Andy jumped a foot. He didn’t recognize this neighbor. With her hair in rollers, he wasn’t sure he would know the older woman even if they’d met before.

“Do you know Lori Warren?” He automatically pointed to her door.

“Sure.” The woman looked ready to launch into a history lesson.

“Have you seen her this morning?” he asked hurriedly to forestall it.

“No, but I heard her coming and going in the wee hours of the morning. Woke me up.”

An alarm went off inside him. “What time was that?”

“Around one o’clock.”

He breathed easier. The woman had probably heard him leaving.

“Then again around three-thirty or four. I couldn’t believe she was out and about so early. Nothing would have been open.”

“But she’s here now, don’t you think?” He was frowning, knew he’d added the “don’t you think” for his own benefit.

“Don’t know.” The woman widened the gap in her door. She wore incongruous fluffy cartoon characters on her feet. “I haven’t seen or heard her this morning.”

He felt her watching as he pounded the door again. Despite the chill in the semiheated hallway, he felt sweat bead on his brow.

“I’m sure she doesn’t sleep that sound,” the woman called over his knocking. “She might not be home. Maybe she went somewhere for Christmas.”

“Thanks.”

She nodded and quietly shut her door.

He leaned against Lori’s. His nightmare had featured a woman with Lori’s voice. He replayed it in his head. The woman called his name. He heard sirens. A baby’s cry. But the woman always remained out of reach, out of sight, hidden. Swamped by the same sense of desperation that had jolted him awake several times during the night, he flattened his ear against the door and listened.

Nothing. Not a single sound from inside. He caught and discarded several ideas about where she could be.

The neighbor’s door opened again. “Listen, I know she was meeting friends in Colorado after Christmas. Don’t think I heard her say when she planned to leave. Maybe she went early,” she offered helpfully, eyeing him with concern. “Are you okay?”

“Fine. I’m fine. Thanks for your help,” he added again, already dismissing her from his mind.

“Anytime.”

He stopped her again when she started to close the door. “You don’t happen to know what kind of car she drives?”

The woman’s scowl moved the rollers forward on her head as if they had a life of their own. “Some little red thing. I’m not sure what kind exactly but I’ll get my husband if you want. He’d know.”

“That’s okay.” He was going to have to convince the complex manager to let him in her apartment anyway. The kind of car Lori drove would be on the manager’s records somewhere.

The neighbor stared at him another second, then seemed to decide he’d disrupted her day enough and closed the door.

Wearily, Andy eyed Lori’s door again. He’d thought she trusted him. But he hadn’t been very reassuring—obviously not enough anyway. But how could he reassure her? She knew from experience what little Kris could expect if she hit the “system”. Lori’s nightmares were probably more vivid because they were based on reality.

His nightmare had come true. Lori had taken the baby and run.

He pushed himself away from her door and mentally noted a course of action. With help from a few friends in appropriate places, maybe he could find her before any real damage was done, before she was in real trouble.

This offense, he was certain, had a name. If he had to call the authorities in, they would label it kidnapping. Poor Lori Warren would be in trouble as serious—or worse—than the baby’s mother.

With all his heart, Andy wished he’d reminded Lori before he left last night that she couldn’t help little Krissie from a jail cell.


CHAPTER THREE

“SHE’S probably Christmas shopping,” the pretty young manager told him with a bright smile when they couldn’t find Lori’s aged red Ford Escort in the Building Three parking lot.

“I don’t think so,” Andy said. The pit of his stomach felt like he’d swallowed a rock. It flip-flopped heavily. “I don’t think she’s exactly one of Santa’s little elves,” he muttered under his breath. “She doesn’t even have a Christmas tree.”

“What?”

“Nothing. I’m talking to myself.” Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen a thing in her apartment that hinted she gave a nod to the holidays, not even a Christmas card. The only seasonal thing he’d noticed were those ridiculous holly earrings she’d been wearing. They’d caught his attention because they matched the green of her eyes.

“Just because her car isn’t here, that doesn’t mean something disastrous has happened,” the manager said.

He repressed the retort he wanted to make, refusing to perpetuate the friendly argument they’d started in her office. “No, it doesn’t.” If Lori’d had an emergency and was able to get help, she would have called him.





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