mess and the divorce are enough for any one man to handle on his own.”
Guiltily, Logan sat down again. His own world had spun so out of control that he hadn’t even thought of Ryan or Baby Bryan and his parents. “You’re right. What’s the latest news concerning the kidnapping?”
Mary Ellen looked at the child drifting off again in her arms. “It’s the most confounding thing. Bryan disappears, the wrong baby is returned, and he turns out to be a Fortune, too.”
Logan shook his head. “How are Matthew and Claudia holding up?”
Mary Ellen sighed. “It’s hard to say. In one way, having Taylor with them is a comfort—that’s what they’re calling the other baby, you know, Taylor—but in another way, it’s a definite problem. I mean, what if Matthew turns out to be his father? Claudia will be destroyed.”
“You don’t really think that’s possible, do you? I mean, Matt’s always been such a straight shooter.”
Mary Ellen looked down meaningfully. “I’d say just about anything is possible, wouldn’t you?”
Logan looked to his newfound daughter. “Obviously.”
“Right now, though, I think the priority for Ryan and the whole family is getting Bryan back.”
“That’s understandable,” Logan said, and Mary Ellen nodded, looking at her granddaughter.
“Life is so strange, isn’t it?”
Strange didn’t begin to describe his life right now, Logan mused, looking again at the cause. His now peacefully slumbering daughter busily sucked her pacifier for a few seconds, then pushed it out with her tongue. She smiled at something in a dream, showing tiny white teeth, and just abruptly frowned, her bottom lip pouting. She was amazing, alarmingly so, and Logan knew, deep down, that he was very lucky to have her. He only hoped that he was up to the task of raising her.
“What am I going to do with her, Mom?” he whispered.
Mary Ellen’s gaze was loving and wise. “You’ll figure it out, dear. I have every confidence in you.”
But Logan wasn’t so sure. Mary Ellen was his mother, after all. She had always believed in him, found the best in him. Even now when she had every right to blast him for his irresponsibility in conceiving a daughter out of wedlock, a daughter he had only recently learned existed, she merely smiled and trusted him to do the right thing. It was because of her that he’d worked his way to the Executive V.P. position of Fortune Tx, Ltd. He could have played on the Fortune name and the Fortune influence to get where he wanted to go, but Mary Ellen had expected him to earn his way honestly, and he had taken pride in doing so.
Business was second nature to him, though. It was part of who he was. Most of what he had achieved was the product of sheer instinct. Fatherhood, on the other hand, was like a strange planet where nothing was as he expected. Up was down and in was out in this eerie land. He had no idea of his own worth here, his own power, but he had no choice except to step out and endure whatever came, making up solutions as he went along. He took a deep breath and stepped out.
“We’ll head back to San Antonio right after lunch.”
Mary Ellen smiled. “You’ll be fine. Both of you. Once you get her settled in and find someone to watch over her while you work, life will be rich and sweet again, just in a different way.”
He hoped that she was right. He prayed to God that she was right. For his daughter’s sake.
Emily Applegate, like everyone else in the building, heard the screams even before the elevator doors opened. Logan’s executive assistant lifted her head, absently smoothed the heavy, sandy-brown bun on the back of her head, and listened. The cries obviously belonged to a child, a very angry, desperate child. She couldn’t imagine who would have brought a child into the office, but she would shortly know. They all would. Office doors were opening. People were stepping out into the hallway.
She stayed at her desk, gold-framed reading spectacles perched on the end of her nose, and watched the stir through the glass wall of her office, thinking that Logan had picked a good day to be out on personal business. He’d left a cryptic message on her voice mail sometime last night, informing her of his change of plans. She’d been shuffling appointments and standing in at meetings all day and desperately needed about two hours to catch up on her weekly report.
Thoughts of the weekly report had been supplanted by curiosity, however, when the wails had first reached her. What caught her attention now, though, were the looks on people’s faces as the wailing drew nearer. They were stunned, all of them, stunned speechless, apparently. And suddenly she knew why as Logan Fortune himself stepped into view, a squalling bundle of auburn curls and flailing arms and legs caught against his chest.
Emily stood, chin dropping, in a complete state of shock as Logan turned, maneuvering briefcase, child and—wonder of wonders!—diaper bag to push through the glass door. He stumbled into the room, yanking free the diaper bag as the door closed against it. Inside the closed room, the sound was deafening, shrill enough to split eardrums if not shatter glass. Logan looked at her as if she was the one making it, then he juggled the child in her direction.
“For pity’s sake, Applegate, take her!”
Emily scrambled forward. “Mr. Fortune, what—”
He shoved the child at her, threw her almost. Emily caught the wailing bundle and clasped her tight. Suddenly she was looking down into an astonishing pair of bright blue eyes rimmed with thick red-brown lashes and sparkling with diamond-bright tears. Emily pulled back, taking in the angelic face and tousled curls. The little one shuddered on a sob, and Emily’s heart turned over.
“Well, hello there,” she said softly. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
“Ba-ba-ba-ba,” the little one cried, bottom lip quivering. “Ba-ba-bobble.”
Emily looked at Logan. “What’s wrong with her?”
Logan lifted his chin, stretching his well-muscled six-foot frame. “She hates me, that’s what’s wrong with her,” he grumbled, plunking the diaper bag on top of her desk.
The baby suddenly lunged for the bag, crying, “Baba-ba! Babable!”
Emily spied the top of a bottle protruding from an end section of the bag. “I think she wants a drink.”
The little one shook her head wildly. “No!” She reached again, opening and closing her little hand pleadingly. “Ba-a-ba-ob-ba!”
Emily suddenly understood. For a child this age, a drink must be something taken from a sippy cup, a bottle was nourishment. “She’s hungry. She wants her bottle.”
Logan looked as though he’d been dragged through a keyhole backward. His strong, aristocratically sculpted features were haggard, his full mouth turned down at the corners, his dark brown hair rumpled rather than waving back sleekly from his high forehead. He wrenched open the diaper bag and started tearing through it with broad, long-fingered hands.
“It’s right there on the end,” Emily pointed out.
He turned the bag on its end and plucked the pink bottle from its pocket. The baby reached for it, making a sound somewhere between a relieved laugh and an accusing sob. He jerked
