wary look. With a scowl, he opened the envelope, pulled out the typewritten paper and read out loud, “Cullen, I know you never planned to have a family or get married, and I understand that, maybe more than you could ever know, but please be the daddy little Robby deserves. And take wonderful care of his puppy, Riot, too.”
Reacting a little like he had landed smack-dab in the center of some crazy reality TV show, like the one his cousin Brad McCabe had famously been on years ago, Cullen looked around suspiciously. Just as she might have in his situation.
To no avail. The only cameras were the security ones the hospital employed. “I don’t see a puppy,” he gritted out.
Aware she wouldn’t have believed it, either, had it not actually happened to her that very morning, Bridgett returned wryly, “Oh, believe me, Riot was here.” Wiggling and jumping around like crazy.
Cullen shoved a hand through his hair. “In the hospital?” His glare radiated swiftly increasing disbelief.
Bridgett flushed. That little irregularity could get her in a whole mess of hot water. Yet what choice had she had at the time?
Aware he radiated an intoxicatingly masculine blend of sun, horse and man, she stepped back. “It was just temporarily. My twin sister, Bess, came and took him to my apartment until you could get here to claim him.”
“And the baby,” Cullen added in disbelief.
“Actually,” Bridgett told him, “because of the way all this went down, that is going to take a few days. And that’s assuming you want Robby and Riot.” She held up a hand before Cullen could interrupt. “If you don’t, then social services is already working on a solution.”
He stared at her, then the Plexiglas infant bed, then back at her. “You really found this infant next to the fire station in a cardboard shipping box?”
Bridgett nodded as her heart cramped in her chest once again.
“I really did,” she said softly, stepping a little closer. “Why else would I have tracked down your cell phone number and left ten messages over the course of the last eleven hours?”
Cullen fell silent once again and just shook his head.
Bridgett had an idea how he felt. She’d had most of her shift to deal with this, and she still couldn’t get over both the miracle and the horror of it.
She had to keep reminding herself that despite the fact the several-days-old Robby Reid McCabe had been swaddled in a disposable diaper and a man’s old chambray shirt, and his knotted umbilical cord was still attached when he was found, he really was okay.
And that was as much a godsend as the fact that she had been in the right place at the right time, for once in her life.
As Cullen stepped closer to the glass and gave the baby another long, intent look, Bridgett inched nearer and stared up at him. At six foot four, he towered over her five feet seven inches. Quietly, she explained, “Robby was apparently surrendered under the Texas Safe Haven law. Or attempted to be, anyway.”
Cullen swung back to Bridgett, all imposing, capable male. “What’s that?”
“Any infant sixty days old or younger can be surrendered—safely and legally—at any fire station, freestanding emergency medical care center, EMT station or hospital in Texas, but they are supposed to be left with an employee. Not just dropped off and left in the care of a dog who was staked nearby. Although, to Riot’s credit, he did do a good job of insuring that Robby got quick aid.”
Cullen rested a shoulder against the glass and folded his arms against his broad chest. “You found him?”
She nodded. “Fortunately, the baby was sleeping. From the looks of it, little Robby didn’t even seem to know he had been abandoned. So he couldn’t have been there very long at all.” Thank heaven.
Cullen’s expression radiated all the compassion Bridgett had hoped to see. “I’m sorry to hear that.” He stepped forward, inundating her with the mint fragrance of his breath. His voice dropped another notch as his eyes met and held hers. “But unfortunately, I don’t have any connection to this baby.”
“Sure about that?”
He frowned at her. “I think I would know if I had conceived a child with someone.”
“Not necessarily,” she countered. Not if he hadn’t been told.
Briefly, a resentment that seemed to go far deeper than the situation they were in flickered in his gaze.
He braced both hands on his waist, lowered his face to hers and spoke in a low masculine tone that sent a thrill down her spine. “I think I would know if I had slept with someone in the last ten or eleven months.” He paused to let his curt declaration sink in. “I haven’t.”
Neither had she, ironically enough. Although she hadn’t ever really been interested in having sex simply for the sake of having sex. She wanted it to mean something, the way it had with Aaron.
She wasn’t sure a man as unsentimental as Cullen would feel the same. For him it might only be about satisfying a need as basic as eating and sleeping.
Studying her, he scoffed. “Obviously, you don’t believe me.”
Bridgett shrugged, aware this was becoming way too personal, too fast. “It’s not up to me to believe you or not,” she returned lightly as Mitzy Martin, Laramie County’s premiere social worker, walked up to join them, sheaf of papers in hand.
Not sure if they knew each other, Bridgett made introductions.
Laramie County Sheriff’s Deputy Dan McCabe—one of Cullen’s younger brothers—strode up to join them, too.
“Let’s take this into a conference room,” Mitzy said, leading the way down the hall.
Once the door was shut behind them, all four moved to take seats at the table. The windowless space was tight, especially with two big, strapping men in it, and Bridgett had to work to keep from brushing shoulders and legs with Cullen.
“Why are you here?” Cullen asked his brother.
Dan sent his older brother a sympathetic glance. “I volunteered due to the sensitive nature of the situation.”
Cullen nodded his understanding, but he did not look happy. Briefly, he repeated what he had already told Bridgett, then asked in the same gruff tone he’d used with her, “Is there any way I can prove this baby isn’t mine?”
Bridgett called on her training to answer what was essentially a medical question. “Not without the mother’s DNA.”
“So, until then?” he pressed.
Mitzy’s answer was brisk. “Robby is going into foster care.”
Bridgett’s heart squeezed in her chest. Aware she was about to learn of an even more important decision, she looked at her friend hopefully. “Was my request granted?”
With a staying lift of her hand, Mitzy allowed, “Temporarily. As long as you understand that this child is not, and may not ever be, available for adoption.”
