car into reverse and escape, but she didn’t. She sighed wearily and rubbed the center of her forehead—a headache was just beginning to send tentacles of pressure around her head.
“Sherry.” Clint leaned down, so close she could see the silvery flecks that made his eyes so startlingly blue, close enough that she could smell the familiar scent of his pleasant cologne.
“Sherry, please. If you care about me at all, do this for me.” He lightly stroked the top of the baby’s head. “If…if she is mine, you’re the only one I’d trust to watch her.”
Something in his eyes, something in their soft appeal, touched her in places in her heart she thought no longer existed.
In an instant of staring into his eyes’ blue depths, she remembered too many moments from the distant past, too many dreams that would never come true.
Damn him. She knew exactly what he was attempting to do. He was calling not only on their friendship, but on the love they’d once felt for each other.
And in that instant she thought she might hate him just a little bit, for knowing her well enough to be able to try to manipulate her emotions.
He reached out and curled his fingers around her wrist. His fingers were warm against her skin—skin that she knew was frigid and achingly cold.
“Please, Sherry,” he entreated. “You’ll never know how much it will mean to me,” he said. “I’ve never really asked you for anything before now.”
She jerked her arm away from him, her anger returning to sustain her original decision. “And you, of all people, should realize just what you’re asking of me,” she returned, trying to keep her tone cool and even. “You, of all people, should know I can’t do this. I’m sorry.”
Without waiting for any reply, she shifted the car into reverse and pulled out of the driveway.
Chapter Two
Clint stared after the disappearing car, Kathryn’s cries a resounding siren in his ears. He looked at the baby in his arms. Once again her face was red, her eyes squeezed shut as high-pitched noise spewed from her little mouth. How could something so small make such an incredible amount of noise?
Her cries momentarily overrode Clint’s feeling of guilt. He carried the baby back into the house, trying to avoid thinking about the look on Sherry’s face as she’d driven off.
A bottle. Maybe the baby was hungry. He mentally corrected himself. Kathryn…her name was Kathryn. He placed her back in her car seat, buckled her in, then rummaged through the diaper bag. “Ah-ha!” he proclaimed in triumph as he pulled out an empty plastic bottle. Milk. Didn’t all babies drink milk?
He poured milk into the bottle, then frowned. Warm or cold? Damn. He was clueless when it came to these kinds of things.
He placed the bottle in the microwave for a few seconds to take off the chill, then sat down at the table and offered the bottle to Kathryn.
Magically her crying stopped. Her big blue eyes widened and her fingers opened and closed as if urging him to place the bottle where it counted.
Clint did just that, and sighed in relief as she gulped the liquid hungrily. Now that her cries had stopped, Clint was faced with his remorse over Sherry.
It had been thoughtless of him to call her, foolish not to think about how painful this all might be to her. Hell, he’d thought she’d come to terms a long time ago about not being able to have children.
He sighed, remembering her pale face as she’d driven away. Her pain-filled eyes haunted him. But he hadn’t known what else to do. He hadn’t dated anyone for a month, had no family members he could call upon for help.
It had been sheer instinct to contact Sherry for help. He’d called her when he’d had the flu. She’d been there for him when his best friend had died. For the past five years Sherry had helped him through each life crisis that had come his way. It had only been natural that he’d called her for this particular crisis.
She would be back. Despite his guilt, despite her parting words to him as she’d driven away, he knew she’d return. She wouldn’t let him down. She never had.
“Is she yours?”
The question Sherry had asked him returned to haunt him. He’d consciously not thought about the possibility from the moment he’d seen the baby on his porch. Now he could think of little else.
He stared at the little girl, whose eyes stared back solemnly. Was she his child? Had Candy had a baby, his baby, and never even told him?
He couldn’t imagine a woman doing such a thing—having a baby and not informing the father. But Candy had been nothing if not unpredictable. Besides, who understood the forces that drove women to do what they did?
He touched one finger to a chubby little cheek, his heart constricting with an alien emotion. “Are you mine?” he asked softly. The only reply was soft sucking sounds and a single blink of those wide, blue eyes.
She drank almost the entire bottle, then her eyes drifted closed and she fell back asleep. For a few minutes Clint simply stared at her, trying to see if the mark of his fatherhood showed anywhere on her features.
She had blue eyes, like his own. But his hair was dark and Kathryn’s was a pale strawberry blond. Of course, Clint had been told that he’d been born with a headful of blond ringlets.
He sighed. It was impossible to tell if she looked like him. At the moment she simply looked like a content baby.
Knowing that she was sleeping soundly, Clint got up from the table and went into the spare bedroom. He’d done nothing with this room since moving in two weeks before. The bed was bare, the dresser and old rocker dusty.
Knowing in his heart Sherry wouldn’t let him down, he quickly made up the bed with fresh sheets, then dusted the few pieces of furniture the room contained.
He’d just finished with the room when he heard a knock on the front door. Sherry stood on the front porch, a small suitcase in hand.
“Three days,” she said as she stepped inside. Her delicate features were pulled taut in a combination of rebellion and determination. “That’s all I’m giving you. Three days, then you’ll have to figure something else out.”
“Sherry—”
She held up a hand. “Don’t thank me. I’m not happy about this, but I can’t stand the thought of that baby being turned over to Social Services, or worse, baby-sat by you and that dingbat deputy of yours.”
He nodded, knowing better than to say anything. He was just grateful she’d come. “I’ll show you to the spare bedroom,” he said, gesturing her to follow him down the hallway.
He opened the door to the room, and she stepped in. She sniffed, then turned and eyed him accusingly. “I smell lemon wax. You just dusted. You knew I’d be back.”
He smiled sheepishly. “I hoped.” He could tell it annoyed her. Her jaw tightened, and her green eyes blazed a warning.
She set her suitcase on the bed. “Three days, Clint. I swear that’s
