there?” he asked dryly as he plucked a bottle of formula from the refrigerator.
Feeling incredibly foolish, Devon ducked sideways to get out of the way while he closed the refrigerator door—and felt even more foolish when the toaster popped up just then and made her jump again. At the same moment, the coffeemaker launched burping and gurgling into its incongruously merry finale.
Never more glad to have something to do, she turned to the task of assembling a plate for her toast, a spoon for the preserves and a mug for the coffee. And all the while her unwelcome companion worked right alongside her, so close she had to be careful not to bump elbows with him as he ran tap water into a bottle warmer, plugged it in next to the toaster and plunked the bottle of formula into it.
Neither of them spoke a word, at least not to each other. The baby made impatient snorting, snuffling noises, which Devon was sure were a prelude to something much more disruptive. Eric responded with something that was probably meant to be a croon but in Devon’s opinion more resembled the ratchety sound a tiger makes when it purrs. If she’d hoped to use the interlude of activity to gain back a measure of her normal confidence and self-control, that sound alone would have made it an uphill battle. She felt the strain of it in her spine, her temples, the back of her jaw.
After she’d poured herself a cupful of strong black coffee and taken a testing sip, she leaned back against the counter and watched sideways through the steam as the man lifted the bottle from the warmer and, expertly juggling the baby, squirted a few drops of formula on his wrist to test its temperature. She couldn’t help but notice that his hands, though large, were sensitive looking, with long-boned agile fingers, and that not even the boyish lock of nut-brown hair that had fallen across his forehead did much to soften his hawkish profile.
“You must be Eric,” she said after a long silence, and was pleased with her cool, friendly tone. “And this is Emily?”
“Okay, so you know who we are.” Still intent on what he was doing, it was a moment or two before he cocked that sardonic half smile once more in her direction. “You still haven’t answered my question.”
Eric was fairly proud of the way he’d handled the situation so far. Especially considering the shock it had given him to walk into the kitchen expecting to find his mom up early and making breakfast, the way he remembered her doing most all the mornings of his growing up. And instead seeing…her. Like coming face-to-face with a damn ghost.
It was all he could do to make himself look at the woman. He kept his eyes on the little one instead, and found himself smiling way down inside the way he always did when he watched her eat and listened to her make those hardworking squeaky drinking sounds. He felt himself go calm and quiet, and didn’t look up when the woman told him, in her brisk lawyer’s voice, what he’d already guessed.
“I’m an attorney. I represent Gerald and Barbara O’Rourke, Emily’s grandparents. I have a court—”
“I know what you are.” He was able to keep it low, but couldn’t quite manage soft. The words grated between his teeth like he was chewing on glass. “Now you tell me who you are, or I swear you’re gonna be out that door, blizzard or no blizzard.”
“I’m afraid I won’t be leaving right away, Eric.” Now her voice was just as hard-edged as his. “Not unless that baby goes with me. I have a court order—” A gasp interrupted her, and both of them jerked like guilty children toward the sound.
Eric’s heart gave an exultant leap. For there was Lucy, coming through the kitchen doorway, wearing a look he remembered well—the look of a mama bear charging to the aid of her cub.
Chapter 3
Before his mother could say a word, Eric sang out with false cheer, “Hey, Mom!” He motioned her into the room with a savage little jerk of his head. “Say hello to the viper you let into your house last night.”
Then he got out of her way while his mother swept past them both, her house shoes making sandy noises on the linoleum floor. When she reached the table she halted and rounded on them, fired up and vibrating like some kind of self-contained energy source. And, darned if Eric even remembered that old yellow bathrobe she was wearing, the one that had made her seem to the little boy he’d been like a tiny broken-off piece of sunshine.
“What’s this?” she rasped in that rusty-file voice of hers, glaring at her houseguest. “Devon? Something about you taking Emily? What’s this about a court order?”
The lawyer’s mouth popped open, but Eric, who was beginning to enjoy himself, got there first. “That’s right, Ma.” He lifted the bottle and squinted at what was left in it before placing it on the counter, then shifted the little one to his shoulder. “This lady has chased me—” he said that in a crooning tone as he patted “—all the way from L.A. She means—ah, there you go, darlin’—to take Emily, here, away from me.”
Beside him, Devon carefully put down the piece of toast she’d been holding and dusted crumbs from her hands, like someone preparing to do battle. Folding her arms across her chest, she turned her head toward him and said in a low, even tone, “I wouldn’t have had to chase you if you hadn’t skipped town. You do know I could have sent marshals to arrest you and bring you back by force?”
His mother heard that, and exclaimed, “Arrest you?” She glared, outraged, at Devon, then glanced wildly toward the back porch door. For one lovely moment Eric thought she might be about to do what he’d threatened to do—throw her houseguest out on her rear, blizzard or no.
Apparently that thought occurred to Devon, too, because she pushed away from the counter and appealed to Lucy in a hurried and breathless voice. “Mrs. Lanagan—Lucy—please believe me, that’s the last thing—”
“You said you were a friend of Eric’s!”
She shook her head emphatically. “No. I said I was looking for Eric. I’m sorry if you misunderstood.”
From his spectator’s spot at the counter, Eric sourly muttered, “Lawyers.”
Devon shifted her attention back to him; he could feel her eyes even though he still couldn’t bring himself to look directly at her. That once had been more than enough.
“Look,” she said, “it doesn’t have to be like this.” He had to admit that quiet but vibrant voice would be a real killer in the courtroom. “I wanted to come myself, to meet you in person and, perhaps, appeal to your sense of compassion.”
“Compassion!” With one word, she obliterated the emotional shell he’d built around himself, like popping a balloon.
“—and fairness—”
“Good God—fairness?” Eric was so incensed he could hardly believe what he was hearing, much less articulate a reply. All he could do was stare down at the upturned face of the baby, now asleep and snoring gently on his chest, keep swallowing hard over and over again, trying without success to ease the knots of emotion inside him. Knots of fear, and anger and fierce protective devotion.
“Yes, fairness.” Having put him out of action for the moment, Devon was appealing once more to Lucy. “I’m an attorney, Mrs. Lanagan. I represent the O’Rourkes—”
“O’Rourke?” Lucy sounded like a startled frog.
“Emily’s grandparents. Parents of Susan O’Rourke, Emily’s mother. They’ve filed
