“She’s what, Joe?”
He hesitated. “She’s…mine.”
Joe? A father? It simply didn’t compute. He’d never given any indication, never even hinted that he had a child, but he was a handsome man who didn’t seem to lack female companionship. Nothing said he couldn’t have an ex-wife in the picture, even if he hadn’t shared that so-called picture with anyone.
His ‘something personal’ was definitely personal, but his new status struck her the most. She did not want to be attracted to another single father. Once had been enough.
“I thought you said you didn’t have any family,” she accused.
“I don’t.” He jerked a hand through his hair, leaving several strands askew. “Breanna is…It’s a long story.”
“I’m sure,” she muttered under her breath. Certain she should steer clear of this situation because it was nothing more than an emotional minefield, she edged toward the door. “I should go and leave you two to…” She watched the baby maneuver herself into a sitting position at Joe’s feet, where she continued to whimper. “To bond.”
He reached out and held the door closed with one large hand. “Don’t go. Please.”
“You’re busy, Joe, and I only stopped by to drop off the soup, which obviously wasn’t necessary.”
“I need you. Breanna needs you.”
“Don’t be silly,” she said briskly, determined to stick to her non-involvement policy. “I just met her. What can I do?”
“Help me figure out why she won’t stop crying. She’s been like this since I got her.”
Breanna stared up at Maggie with water-filled eyes and hiccuped her sobs. Maggie steeled herself against the tears, but when the little girl dropped to all fours and crawled forward until she grabbed Maggie’s pant leg and pulled herself upright, Maggie knew she couldn’t walk away.
She cast a disparaging glance at Joe before crouching down to the little girl’s level. “Hi sweetie,” she crooned. “What’s wrong?”
Immediately, Breanna raised her arms and sniffled.
Maggie’s heart hadn’t hardened enough to deny this precious and clearly unhappy baby a hug. Giving in to the inevitable, she lifted the youngster off the floor and tucked her expertly on one hip as she swiped Breanna’s tear-streaked face. “What’s wrong with your world, little one?”
Breanna laid her head on Maggie’s shoulder and quieted.
Joe mumbled something under his breath—something that sounded like ‘what wasn’t wrong?’
“What did you say?” she asked.
He rubbed his face at the same time his shoulders seemed to slump as if in relief. “Nothing.” Then, “She likes you.”
Maggie would have been perfectly satisfied if the little girl had ignored her and crawled in the opposite direction. “She just recognizes a soft touch.”
“Soft touch or not, do you mind staying for a while? Until she settles down for longer than thirty seconds and my ears stop ringing?”
She wanted to refuse, but his hopeful expression, coupled with her own goal to begin building some sort of rapport with him, convinced her to agree. “OK, but only for a few minutes.”
“Great. Have a seat while I fix her breakfast.”
Maggie followed him into a small kitchen where the sink was overflowing with dirty dishes. From the way he paused to frown, then sigh at the sight, she suspected he was normally as meticulous in his house as he was on the job. Clearly, his daughter had upset his entire routine and style of living.
She sat at a table covered with pizza boxes and take-out containers as the little girl clung to her like a sandburr; nothing short of something drastic would convince her to let go, so Maggie simply let her hang on.
“To be honest, I expected to find you with your head in the toilet, not taking care of a baby,” she commented, politely ignoring the mess.
“After the past two days, I wish you had,” he said dourly.
Maggie chuckled, somewhat amused that she was finally seeing a different side to the organized, everything-in-its-place Joseph Donatelli. “It can’t have been that bad.”
“It was worse,” he said glumly, rubbing the two days’ worth of dark whiskers on his face before he began preparing baby formula with actions testifying to an obvious lack of experience. “I haven’t slept for more than a few hours at a time and neither has she. I honestly don’t know how she has the energy to keep going.”
Strangely enough, his less-than-immaculate appearance only made him seem more human, more vulnerable, and far more appealing than he already was. He looked like a man in desperate need of a woman’s touch and she had to stop herself from wanting to be the one to give it to him. As much as she hated to think that he’d denied his own child, she couldn’t ignore the way he had to read directions for such a simple task. OK, so he didn’t talk about his daughter, but maybe he had a good excuse…Maybe her mother lived in another state; maybe he didn’t have access to his child until now, maybe it was too painful to discuss a baby who wasn’t a part of his life. But whatever the reason, as her partner, he deserved the benefit of the doubt.
“You haven’t done this very often, have you?” she asked softly, noticing how he spilled the formula as he poured it into a bottle and struggled to attach the nipple.
“Clearly, my incompetence shows,” he said wryly.
“I wouldn’t call it incompetence,” she said, trying to minimize his obvious failing. “Awkwardness, perhaps, but if you do anything often enough, it will become second nature. Before long, you’ll be able to fix her formula in your sleep.”
He cast a baleful glance in her direction. “Mixing formula is one thing. Understanding what to do to keep her from crying all day long is another.”
“Given enough time, you’ll learn that, too,” she predicted. “Didn’t you spend any time with her while her mom was around so she’d learn you weren’t a stranger?”
“No.”
“Then maybe you should call her and explain the problems you’re having,” she suggested. “She may—”
“No.” He shook his head for emphasis. “I can’t.”
How typical of the Joe Donatelli she knew. He could never admit failure, never admit he might be wrong or couldn’t handle a situation. She wanted to think his Italian heritage came into play, but she had enough males in her family to suspect his stubbornness was just a guy thing.
“Of course you can,” she said impatiently. “Admitting you’re out of your depth isn’t the end of the world.”
“Her mother’s dead,” he said flatly. “I’m on my own.”
Dead?
