Juliana was sleeping peacefully for a change and he was terrified of moving away from the crib lest he disturb her and set her to crying again.
All around him, his house was silent. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d experienced such a lack of sound. When he’d first moved into the rambling old Victorian in Tavistock, he had loved it—loved its big, airy rooms and wide windows, the rich jewel-toned colors of the walls and dark mahogany trim, the huge trees growing outside and what had seemed a steady, constant quiet. The house, the neighborhood, everything, had been perfect for the first several months he was in residence. Then on New Year’s Day, Mrs. Edna Caldecott of International Children’s Services had arrived at his front door with a bundle of bad news and a baby in her arms.
As if inspired by his memories, the doorbell buzzed loudly downstairs, and the baby started. For one hopeful moment, Jonas thought Juliana was going to slide calmly back into sleep again, and he cautiously lifted one foot to step away from the crib. Then her eyes snapped open, and her chin began to crumple, an expression he knew meant she was about to start howling. As if cued by his thoughts, Juliana opened her little mouth and belted out a high-pitched scream that nearly shattered his eardrums.
Jonas reached into the crib, but hesitated before touching her, still completely uncomfortable holding the baby even after more than two months of performing the task. Of course, he tried to avoid touching her unless he absolutely had to, leaving that aspect of child care to the countless sitters he’d hired to watch Juliana during the day.
He’d been through a half-dozen since January, dismissing most of them because he didn’t trust something or other about them. Mrs. Howard had been too stern looking, while Mrs. Cather had seemed too indulgent and likely to spoil. Evan had been nice enough, but he just wasn’t sure a nineteen-year-old boy had the knowledge necessary for caring for an infant. And Melissa... Well, the moment he’d come home from work to find her waiting for him in his bed wearing little more than a smile, he’d known she wasn’t right for the job, either.
He’d been very pleased with Mrs. Garrison, the most recent one, though. At sixty-two, she’d raised four children of her own and had the nicest blue eyes Jonas had ever seen. He’d begun to look forward to a long and healthy relationship with her as Juliana’s nanny, but she had informed him yesterday afternoon that she wouldn’t be back. She was scheduled to be arraigned on armed robbery charges the following day, and there was a good chance she was going to be occupied elsewhere for the next five to ten years. Although with time off for good behavior, she’d told him, she might be available again before then, if he was still interested.
The doorbell buzzed again and Juliana cried more loudly, jerking her tiny arms and legs in a silent demand to be held.
“All right, all right,” Jonas muttered, lifting the baby gingerly from the crib and positioning her awkwardly against his shoulder.
He made his way carefully downstairs, deciding not to worry about the fact that he wore only purple silk pajama bottoms and nothing more. He couldn’t imagine who would be ringing his doorbell at seven-thirty in the morning, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to make himself presentable for them. Juliana’s howling increased about ten decibels with every step he took down the stairs, so by the time he reached the door, she was red faced and screechy and almost out of control.
Which was pretty much how Jonas felt, too, when he saw Zoey Holland standing on his front porch.
“What are you doing here?” they chorused as one.
“I live here,” Jonas replied.
“Lily Forrest sent me,” Zoey said at the same time. Then, before he could say more, she demanded, “What on earth are you doing to that poor baby?”
In spite of the fact that her career consisted of being surrounded by moody infants, Zoey couldn’t bear to hear a baby crying in anguish. Instinctively, she reached for the child in Jonas Tate’s arms, tamping down all the questions that swirled in her head at his appearance. She noted only that he surrendered the baby willingly, and she pushed past him into the house, nudging the door shut with her foot before the cold morning air could chill the infant. She rocked the baby carefully, murmuring soothing, meaningless sounds. The tiny thing stopped crying almost instantly, focusing intently on Zoey’s face, blinking her teary, red-rimmed eyes.
“There’s my good girl,” Zoey said quietly, knowing immediately that the child was female. She placed a soft kiss on the baby’s forehead, inhaling the sweet aroma of powder and soap, and she smiled. “Here,” she added to Jonas, jerking the patient file out from under her arm and thrusting it toward him without looking at him. “Dr. Forrest asked me to drop this off on my way home. She said you’d need it today.”
When he didn’t take the file from her right away, Zoey glanced up. Now she had no choice but to take note of him, and she didn’t like what she saw. Well, she liked what she saw, she amended reluctantly, taking in the expansive chest covered with dark hair and corded muscle, the broad, steely shoulders and the pajamas dipping low on trim hips beneath a flat abdomen. She just wished the attributes she was appreciating belonged to someone other than Jonas Tate. When her gaze traveled up to meet his, he had arched a dark brow in question, and she realized he knew full well how closely she’d been inspecting his wares. She felt herself blush.
Unwilling to trust her voice just then, she shook the file in her hand to bring his attention to it. When he still did not take it from her, she cleared her throat discreetly and said, “Dr. Forrest seemed to think it was important.”
Jonas took the folder from her hands and tossed it onto the sofa without looking at it. Instead, his attention seemed to be focused completely on Zoey and the baby, who still stared solemnly up at her. And because she felt infinitely more capable of dealing with a baby than a nearly naked man, Zoey dropped her gaze back to the infant in her arms.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?” she asked in a soft, breathless voice, rubbing her bent knuckle gently against the baby’s cheek. “Hmm? What’s your name?”
The baby gurgled and smiled, making Zoey laugh in response.
“Juliana,” a deep, husky voice said beside her. “Tate. Her name is Juliana Tate.”
Zoey feared that if she looked up, she would find Jonas standing much too close to her, and then she would no doubt do something really foolish. Like reach out to touch him, which was what she definitely wanted to do. So she kept her gaze trained tightly on the baby and spoke to her instead. “Well, that’s an awfully big name for such a little baby, isn’t it, Juliana? Yes, that’s an awfully big name for you to grow into.”
Juliana cooed and smiled again.
“How did you do that?” Jonas asked.
Zoey glanced away from the baby and up at Jonas and, sure enough, regretted the action completely. Up close this way, she could see that his shoulders were deliciously freckled, and could make out every smooth plane of muscle from his neck to his waist. She swallowed with some difficulty before asking, “Do what?”
“You made her stop crying,” he indicated. “Just by holding her, you made her stop. And now she’s actually smiling at you. She’s never smiled at me.”
“I...I don’t know,” Zoey said honestly. “You can’t ‘make’ babies do anything. They choose whether to smile or to cry or to stop, and usually they have very good reasons for doing all three.”
His lips thinned into a tight line, and he settled his hands on his hips, an expression and pose Zoey had seen often enough to know what
