won’t. Think of this as practice for your future family. Plus, she’s too young to judge and I won’t tell anyone if you mess up.”
“How comforting.”
After she’d fussed a few minutes, rolling up the sleeves of his long-sleeved shirt, then unrolling them, she repositioned him again and reached for her sketch pad.
“Stay as still as you can,” she said as she began drawing. “Take deep breaths to relax. Don’t think about me drawing, instead think about that little girl in your arms. She’s so tiny and you’re the only person in the world she can depend upon.”
David glanced down at the baby. He’d never much thought about kids one way or the other, and he wasn’t comfortable holding this one. The only person she could depend on?
“Kid, you’re in trouble,” he muttered.
Liz chuckled. “So not true, David. You’ll be a great dad. Imagine her grown up a little. Maybe three or four. You come in the door from work and she runs toward you. Her whole face lights up with love and excitement. Her daddy’s home.”
Her voice and her words created a powerful image in his mind. He could almost see the little girl racing toward him.
“She’s seven,” Liz continued, her voice low and compelling. “You’re teaching her to throw a ball. This is your daughter and there’s no way she’s going to throw like a girl.”
He grinned. “What if I throw like a girl?”
“Oh, sure. That’s likely.”
He studied the baby he held. Her skin was soft and pale, her mouth a perfect rosebud. Tufts of hair draped across her forehead. He wondered who she was and how she’d come to be at Children’s Connection. Was she being adopted? Did she belong to one of the employees?
“She’s twelve,” Liz said. “Tall and skinny and really awkward. You can see how beautiful she’s going to be, but no one else can. The boys are teasing her and she comes home in tears. It’s been a while since she’s wanted to be daddy’s little girl, but she’s hurt and she crawls into your lap. When you hug her, she feels so small, as if the harsh words could break her. And you want to do anything you can to protect her.”
David felt himself tensing, as if there really was a preteen for him to defend. As if this child was his.
“Why the stories?” he asked.
“All questions will be answered later. Just go with me, okay?”
“Sure. I’m about to find those guys and beat the crap out of them.”
“I like that in a father. Now she’s sixteen and going to her first school dance. She’s as beautiful as you always knew she would be. But she’s growing up and slipping away and even though you know in your head she’ll always be your daughter, in your heart you feel like everything’s different.”
Without thinking, David tightened his hold on the baby. She couldn’t be grown up yet. Not so fast. Not while—
“Done,” Liz said, sounding both triumphant and slightly stunned. “This was fast, even for me. I guess I got caught up in the story, too. You can relax.”
For the first time David realized his muscles ached from holding so still. He shifted the baby against his chest and moved his arm under her.
“I’ll take her,” Liz said as she set the sketch pad down on the table and reached for the baby.
David handed her over, then glanced at the picture.
“That’s amazing,” he said honestly as he gazed at the sketch.
It was exactly as she’d described—a man’s hands holding a baby. Simple, minimalistic, yet evocative. There was power in the drawing. The man’s hands—his hands—supported the baby in such a way that he could feel the protectiveness and the love. This was not a father who would let anyone mess with his kid.
“How did you do that?” he asked. Was it the curve of the fingers, the shadows? Thirty minutes ago he’d never held a baby in his life. Based on this drawing, he’d been doing it for years.
“I drew the baby first,” Liz said as she settled the little girl into the bassinet on wheels. “While I talked, your hold on her changed. I can’t explain it, but you just connected to what I was saying. I waited until you were really into it, then drew like crazy.”
She looked up and smiled. “The talking thing is a technique I learned in a class. The instructor said the best way to get a subject to do exactly what you want is to make him feel what you want people to feel when they look at the drawing. Sounds strange, but sometimes it works.”
She picked up the sketchbook. “They’re going to love this. Which means you’re officially my model and I need you to sign a release.”
The baby whimpered. Liz shook her head.
“Someone is waking up and I’m guessing neither of us is ready to take responsibility for actually dealing with her. Let me run our star back to the nursery, then I’ll get you a release form. Oh, and I have expenses on this job. I can even pay you.”
“Money?”
“That is the generally accepted means.” Her green eyes widened with amusement and anticipation. “Did you have something else in mind?”
Where she was concerned? Absolutely. “Lunch.”
“You’re on.”
David picked a small bistro down by the river. It was not the kind of place dirt-poor, struggling commercial illustrators frequented so Liz was determined to enjoy every second. The trick was going to be focusing on something other than the man sitting opposite her. It wasn’t just that he was handsome and nice and funny, it was the way he looked at her, as if he’d just discovered something amazing about her, and the way he moved his hands when he talked. She had a real thing for his hands.
“Tell me about being a commercial illustrator,” he said when they were seated. “Is all your work freelance?”
It was late, nearly one-thirty, and most of the lunch crowd had already come and gone. She and David had the front of the restaurant to themselves.
She brushed her fingers against the thick white tablecloth and stared longingly at the basket of bread. She’d skipped breakfast, more out of financial necessity than a desire to lose weight, and she was starved.
She nodded in response to his question. “No, boss.” As the waiter appeared with a pitcher of ice water, she explained, “No regular paycheck, either. I find my own jobs, work my own hours. I’m trying to build a portfolio of just the right work, which means I’m picky about the assignments I take. Times can be lean, but I get by.”
“Where does Children’s Connection fit into your plans?”
She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not doing it for the money. There’s very little pay. But the exposure and publicity opportunity is huge. Plus I’m a fan of what they do.”
He leaned toward her. “Were you
