Kansas City. He could pick and choose among the many cases offered.
They called back, leaving another message.
He’d had a client consultation that was tricky. He’d call them later. They probably only wanted a donation or something.
At five-thirty he had wrapped up the details of several cases and was chatting on the phone with a model he’d dated a time or two when call-waiting had interrupted. He’d almost ignored it. But the model seemed to have rocks in her head instead of brains. Besides, the call might have been a new case.
“Hello?”
“Is this Joshua McKinley?”
“Sure is. What can I do for you?”
“You could try returning your calls,” the female voice had said indignantly.
“Who is this?”
“Abigail Cox, Child Protective Services. Didn’t you get my messages?”
Even his mother hadn’t chastised him as determinedly as this stranger. He’d straightened his shoulders. “Yes, I did, but I’m running a business here.”
“And I have a very unhappy baby who needs her daddy.”
“Lady, if the case isn’t too complicated, I can take it on, pro bono, in a couple of days. Send me the details.” He wasn’t an unfeeling monster.
“Mr. McKinley, it won’t take the detective skills of Sherlock Holmes for you to find the baby’s father. It’s you.”
He’d opened his mouth, but no sound had come out. Taking the phone receiver away from his ear, he’d stared at it as if it had bitten him. Finally, he’d put it back to his ear. “What did you say?”
“Are you deaf as well as slow? I said—”
“Listen, lady, I don’t have to listen to your insults, and I’m not—”
“You’re right, and I offer my apologies. It’s been a very frustrating day.”
He’d heard the weariness in her voice and figured he should cut the lady some slack. He knew he wouldn’t want to deal with a bunch of kids, and the poor woman was going to have to face the fact that she’d made a mistake.
“Hey, you’ve got my sympathies. Hope you find the right guy.” He was starting to hang up when she’d yelled loud enough to get his attention even though the phone was inches from his ear.
“Yeah?”
“Mr. McKinley, you are the right guy.”
Joshua was snapped back to the present by his companion in the darkened car. Obviously tired of the music, she drowned it out with her hysterical crying, distracting him from the review of earlier events.
“Baby, you can’t do that,” he muttered, grabbing his head with one hand. The pain between his eyes was growing unbearable.
Big blue eyes stared at him. Then the baby opened her mouth and screamed again.
Hell, what was he supposed to do? He knew nothing about babies. And it was a girl! Maybe if the baby had been a boy, he would have been able to figure things out. But a girl! The plumbing wasn’t even the same, much less the emotions.
Desperately reviewing the females of his acquaintance, not for the first time, he shook his head in despair. His only family consisted of a distant cousin somewhere near Boston. He hadn’t been seeing anyone regularly since Julie—and look what that had gotten him. He eyed the screaming baby with astonishment again.
He scanned the neighborhood as he drove, but he didn’t expect an answer. The world seemed uncaring of his difficulties. Until he saw the illuminated sign of the Lucky Charm Diner.
Mike O’Connor!
Josh had done some work for Mike a couple of years ago, just before the man died. He’d had a couple of daughters, and Josh had discovered a third one Mike hadn’t known about.
Kind of like his situation.
What were the daughters’ names? Kathryn, Mary Margaret and...and Susan. Right.
He whipped his car into the parking lot. It was almost ten o’clock. If nothing else, he could buy some milk for the baby. And maybe some advice.
He’d take whatever he could get.
Mary Margaret O’Connor smiled. Kate was going to be so pleased. Not that Kate was dependent any longer on the diner or her catering company, since she’d married Will, but the more money the diner made, the more she would be able to help Susan.
Kate paid one-third of the profits from the diner to Susan, one-third to Maggie and kept one-third. After all, the diner was their father’s legacy to them.
Dear Pop. He wouldn’t even recognize the diner if he were alive. Kate had made it nouveau chic for the bluebloods of Kansas City.
Maggie’s thoughts were interrupted by a noise that she at first mistook for a siren, but soon determined was a baby crying.
Here? This late at night?
Curiosity propelled her out of her chair. Grabbing her empty coffee cup as an excuse, Maggie left the small office behind the kitchen and pushed through the swinging doors into the restaurant.
There she stopped and stared at the handsome hunk who was holding a baby as if someone had just handed him a bowling ball that he didn’t know what to do with.
“Glad you’re here, Maggie,” said Wanda, the night waitress, as Maggie entered the restaurant
“What’s up?” Maggie called over the screaming baby. Why didn’t the man do something?
“This guy’s looking for you or Kate.” The waitress, tired and cranky, glared at him, then turned her back.
Maggie stared at him. What could he want with her? Suddenly wishing her big sister were here, she barely nodded at the man; he was handsome enough to leave any woman speechless, with his tight jeans, broad shoulders and bright blue eyes. Involuntarily, her insides turned to Jell-O.
“You’re Mary Margaret? Mike O’Connor’s daughter?”
“Maggie. I’m called Maggie.” He probably hadn’t come here with a screaming baby to find out her nickname.
“Maggie, I’m in trouble here.”
She could tell that, in spite of the fact she knew little about babies. But what did he want from her? “Wh-what’s the problem?”
To her shock, he shoved the baby toward her. Automatically she put out her arms and found herself holding the screaming baby. Then she jiggled the child gently and crooned to it, “Easy, sweetie, don’t cry. It’s okay, don’t cry.”
Immediately, the baby stopped crying.
A
