An Unexpected Christmas Baby. Tara Taylor Quinn

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      In the financial world, things had to be done discreetly and he’d been taking action—confidentially until he knew for sure it was a go—to move out on his own. Somehow his plans had become known and rumors had begun to spread with a bad spin. In the past week there’d been talk that he’d contacted his clients, trying to steal their business away from the firm. A person he trusted had heard something and confided that to him. And then he’d had an oddly formal exchange about the weather with Howard Owens, CEO and, prior to the past week, a man who’d seemed proud to have him around. A man who’d never wasted weather words on Flint. They talked business. All the time. Until the past week.

      There was no way he could afford to take time off work now.

      “I’m taking her with me.” He faced Ms. Bailey, feet apart and firmly grounded. He had to work. Period. “I have a Pack ’n Play already set up in the office.”

      The woman frowned. “They’ll let you have a baby with you at work?”

      “My office is private. I’ll keep the door closed if it’s a problem.” The plan was short-term. Eventually he’d have to make other arrangements. He’d only had a weekend to prepare. Had gotten himself trained and the house set up. He figured he’d done a damned impressive job.

      Besides, that time Campbell’s dog had had surgery, the guy had brought it to the office every day for a week. Kept it in his office. As long as you were a money-maker and didn’t get in the way of others making money, you were pretty much untouched at Owens Investments. They were like independent businesses under one roof.

      Or so he’d been telling himself repeatedly in the couple of days since he’d realized he couldn’t open his own business as planned. Not and have sole responsibility for a newborn. Running a business took a lot more than simply making smart investments. Especially when it was just getting off the ground.

      He’d already shut down the entire process. Withdrawn his applications for the licenses required to be an investment adviser to more than five clients and regulated by the SEC in the State of California. Lost his deposit for a proposed suite in a new office building.

      If she thought she was going to keep his sister from him now...

      Another breeze blew across his face, riffling the edge of the blanket long enough that he caught a flash of skin. A tiny cheek? A forehead?

      Panic flared. And then dissipated. That bundle was his sister. His family. Only he could give her that. Only he could tell her about her mother. The good stuff.

      Like the times she’d look in on him late at night, thinking he was asleep. Whisper her apologies. And tell him how very, very much she loved him. How much he mattered. How he was the one thing she’d done right. How he was going to make his mark on the world for both of them.

      The way she’d throw herself a thousand percent into his school projects, encouraging him, making suggestions, applauding him. How talented she was at crafty things. How she loved to watch sappy movies and made the best popcorn. How she’d want to watch scary movies with him and he’d catch her looking away during the best parts. How she’d never made a big deal out of his mistakes. From spills to a broken window, she’d let him know it was okay. How she’d played cards with him, taught him to cook. How she’d laugh until tears ran down her face. How pretty she used to be when she smiled.

      The images flying swiftly through his mind halted abruptly as Ms. Bailey began to close in on him, her arms outstretched.

      Hoping to God she didn’t notice his sudden trembling, he moved instinctively, settled the weight at the tip of the blanket in the crook of his elbow and took the rest of it on his arm, just as he’d practiced with the flour-and-butter wrap the night before. She was warm. And she squirmed. Shock rippled through him. Ms. Bailey adjusted the blanket, fully exposing the tiniest face he’d ever seen up close. Doll-like nose and chin. Eyelids tightly closed. Puckered little lips. A hint of a frown on a forehead that was smaller than the palm of his hand.

      “From what I’ve seen in pictures, she has your mother’s eyes,” Ms. Bailey said, a catch in her voice. Because she could hear the tears threatening in his? A grown man who hadn’t cried since the first time they’d carted his mother off to prison. He’d been six then.

       She has your mother’s eyes.

      He had his mother’s eyes. Deep, dark brown. It was fitting that this baby did, too. “We’ll be getting on with it, then,” he said, holding his inheritance securely against him as he moved toward his SUV, all but dismissing Ms. Bailey from their lives.

      Having a caseworker was a part of his legacy that he wasn’t going to pass on to his sister.

      Reaching the new blue Lincoln Navigator he’d purchased five months before and hadn’t visited the prison in even once, he felt a sharp pang of guilt as he realized once again that he’d let almost half a year pass since seeing his mother.

      Before he’d met Stella Wainwright—a lawyer in her father’s high-powered firm, whose advice he’d come to rely on as he’d made preparations to open his own investment firm—he’d seen Alana at least twice a month. But once he and Stella had hooked up on a personal level, he’d been distracted. Incredibly busy. And...

      He’d been loath to lie to Stella about where he’d been—in the event he’d visited the prison—but had been equally unsure about telling her about his convict mother.

      As it turned out, his reticence hadn’t been off the mark. As soon as he’d told Stella about his mother’s death, and the child who’d been bequeathed to him, she’d balked. She’d assumed he’d give the baby up for adoption. And had made it clear that if he didn’t, she was moving on. She’d said from the beginning that she didn’t want children, at least not for a while, but he’d also seen the extreme distaste in her expression when he’d mentioned where his mother had been when she died, and why he’d never introduced them.

      Her reaction hadn’t surprised him.

      Eight years had passed since he’d been under investigation and nearly lost his career, but the effects were long-lasting. He’d done nothing more than provide his destitute mother with a place to live, but when his name came up as owner of a drug factory, the truth hadn’t mattered.

      Stella had done a little research and he’d been cooked.

      Opening the back passenger door of the vehicle, he gently laid his sleeping bundle in the car seat, unprepared when the bundle slumped forward. Repositioning her, he pulled her slightly forward, allowing her body weight to lean back—and slouch over to the side of the seat.

      Who the hell had thought the design of that seat appropriate?

      “This might help.”

      Straightening, he saw the caseworker holding out a brightly covered, U-shaped piece of foam. He took it from her and arranged it at the top of the car seat as instructed. He was pleased with the result. Until he realized he’d placed the sleeping bundle on top of the straps that were supposed to hold the baby in place.

      Expecting Ms. Bailey to interrupt, to push him aside to show him how it was done—half hoping she would so she wasn’t standing there watching his big fumbling fingers—he set to righting his mistake. The caseworker must be thinking he was incapable of handling the responsibility. However, she didn’t butt in and he managed, after a long minute, to get the baby harnessed. He’d practiced СКАЧАТЬ