Verdict: Daddy. Charlotte Douglas

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СКАЧАТЬ took a deep breath, and her weak smile seemed forced. “If it is, it’s the most bizarre proposition I’ve ever received.”

      “I already have a baby,” he blurted.

      “You’re married?”

      He couldn’t tell if her expression showed more surprise or disappointment. “No.”

      This time her frown was unmistakable. “I see.”

      He shifted in his chair in frustration. His clumsy explanations were only muddying the waters. “Agnes Whitcomb has the baby.”

      This time Marissa’s face reflected shocked disbelief. Her eyes grew rounder and her jaw dropped. “You had a baby with Agnes Whitcomb?”

      “No! Agnes is taking care of the baby while I’m here.” The absurdity of her assumption made him bite back the urge to laugh. Dear sweet Agnes, a spinster who had baby-sat almost every kid in town, was approaching fifty-nine, long past childbearing age. “Maybe I’d better start at the beginning.”

      Marissa looked skeptical. “I don’t need the details of your affair.”

      “I didn’t have an affair—”

      “Your love life, then.”

      “I don’t have a love life, either.” Damn. He shouldn’t have admitted that, but she’d caught him by surprise.

      She cocked that feathery eyebrow again in a manner that made him realize anew how attractive she’d become. “Then how did you end up with a baby?”

      He squirmed as if he were on the witness seat. Marissa had certainly learned how to grill someone effectively with pointed questions. He was glad she was on his side—or, at least, he hoped she would be when she learned the whole story.

      “Someone left the baby on my front porch,” he explained. “This morning.”

      Marissa reeled back in her chair as if she’d been slapped. “Someone deserted a baby? On your doorstep? You’re kidding!”

      Blake pushed his fingers through his hair. “Wish I were. I stepped out just after dawn for the newspaper. A wicker laundry basket was in front of my door. Looked like it was filled with towels. I thought someone had left laundry by mistake. Then I heard a little whimper, and the towels moved.”

      “The child wasn’t visible?”

      He shook his head. “My next thought was that I’d been snookered by someone dumping a litter of kittens. That’s the last thing Rambo and I need.”

      “Rambo?”

      “My dog. He’s a golden retriever, and he doesn’t like cats. I peeled back a layer of towels—”

      “It’s a wonder the baby could breathe,” Marissa muttered indignantly. “That’s no way to treat a child. Were there any signs of physical abuse?”

      “None. The most beautiful and perfect little baby girl looked up at me with big blue eyes and smiled.” He felt his heart soften into Silly Putty at the memory. “She had a note pinned to her dress. It said, ‘Please look after my baby. I know she’ll like living with you. I can tell by the yellow roses growing around your door.”’

      Marissa shook her head. “The law is supposed to prevent that sort of thing.”

      “What law?” Blake needed to know the legality of his situation. That’s why he’d come to Marissa.

      “Desperate women were abandoning newborns in Dumpsters. The state passed a statute a few years ago that guaranteed that if the mothers would leave the children at a hospital, doctor’s office, or fire station, no charges would be filed, no questions asked.”

      “Really?” That piece of legal information pleased him. Maybe the problem left on his doorstep wasn’t as big as he’d thought.

      “Just last week,” Marissa said, “a man dropped off an hour-old infant at a Tampa fire station. The baby’s up for adoption now.”

      “She isn’t a newborn.”

      Marissa frowned, an expression that did nothing to diminish her prettiness. “And since I assume your house is neither a fire station, doctor’s office, or a hospital, that law wouldn’t apply in this case anyway. How old is she?”

      “I know nothing about babies,” Blake said, “so I took her right away to Agnes. She lives next door.”

      Marissa’s eyes lighted. “You bought the old Thompson place?”

      “Six years ago.”

      “I always loved that old bungalow. Built in the twenties, wasn’t it?”

      Blake nodded. “Agnes estimates Annie is about three months old.”

      “Annie? The note gave her name?”

      “No name. But with her bright red curls, blue eyes, and the fact that she’s an orphan—” he shrugged, feeling sheepish again “—I decided to call her Annie.”

      An ironic smile quirked a delectable corner of Marissa’s mouth. “Maybe you should rename Rambo Sandy.”

      Blake felt panic setting in again. “I can’t keep the baby.”

      “You’re not the family type?” Marissa asked. “Or you don’t like children?”

      “I’m single, I live alone, and I know nothing about infants. Never been around one. That’s why I hightailed her over to Agnes first thing. And why I want to hire you.”

      Her eyes narrowed. “You’re sure this baby isn’t yours?”

      “Of course I’m sure!”

      He had to stop confessing that his love life was nonexistent. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been interested in having a relationship. With his business taking off, he’d been either too busy or too tired the past several years for any kind of social life, other than zoning out with the guys on a weekend afternoon to watch a Bucs game or a DVD of the latest action film.

      Suspicion sharpened her features but didn’t affect her prettiness. “No former girlfriend left in the lurch the past year or so?”

      “If this baby was mine, I’d step up to the plate and take responsibility.”

      “And you’re sure she isn’t?” she asked again.

      Her tone of voice and steely-eyed gaze made him feel like a bug skewered on a pin. She’d earned her reputation for ruthless cross-examination. “I’m sure.”

      She studied him carefully, as if watching for some subtle sign that he might not be telling the truth. Then, apparently satisfied, she nodded. “But I don’t understand why you’ve come to me. You should be talking to a family law attorney. Or someone at the Department of Children and Family Services.”

      “Already have. Vienna Pitts—”

      Marissa’s СКАЧАТЬ