on impulse, Gemma bent down and unstrapped the crying infant from the seat and picked her up. The wailing continued. She tried to rock her in her arms, but she only seemed to get louder. Prodded by vague memories of having seen it done, she lifted the baby—who was astonishingly solid and warm—to her shoulder. She felt the little legs kick, saw the tiny hands flail slightly and tightened her grip, pressing the tiny girl to her.
It felt strange. Different. Foreign. And yet...amazing. Something about that warmth, the weight, the shape of her. She cooed at the tiny child, not even caring if it helped or not, only feeling it was the thing to do. She patted the tiny back.
“Higher up,” came a call from behind her, and she glanced around to see the receptionist who had been grinning as she had let her past the desk.
She followed the instructions, and moments later the baby let out an outsize burp. With it came some milky liquid that flowed down the shoulder of her blouse. And she was stunned to realize she didn’t even care. Even if the $500 garment couldn’t be cleaned, she didn’t care. Because the baby in her arms felt so good, and, wonder of wonders, she had stopped crying and was looking at Gemma through bright, innocent eyes. And Gemma felt something stir deep inside her, something like awe, amazement and wonder all rolled into one blossoming explosion of warmth.
And then the tiny being closed her eyes and almost immediately dropped off to sleep. Trusting. Added to what she was already feeling, it was almost overwhelming.
She looked up met Dante Mancuso’s dark eyes, which seemed almost amused now. Or surprised, perhaps. “Please,” she said softly. “Let me do this.”
He hesitated. Looked at her for one more moment, at the way she was cradling the tiny girl in her arms. But it was the cop who spoke. “You’re Fenwick Colton’s daughter. You have no experience with this, no references, and as far as I know, this—” he nodded at the tiny child in her arms, that sweet, warm weight “—is as close as you’ve ever been to taking care of a baby. And I’m just supposed to just say, ‘Sure, move on in,’ and turn my nieces over to you?”
Move on in.
She hadn’t thought of that. But it only made sense he’d need a live-in nanny. She almost frowned; Dev wouldn’t like that.
Devlin Harrington, she told herself fiercely, dumped you. And this is the fix for that. He can hardly say you wouldn’t be a hands-on mother if you show you can handle twins!
“You know Blake. Call him, ask him.”
“He may be a billionaire whose word is golden, but he’s also your brother,” Dante pointed out.
“Okay, then call Juliette. Cops trust each other, right?” She could see by his expression that she had him thinking now. Actually considering. And she pressed her case. “You don’t even have to pay me. I’ll do it just for the experience.”
“I could talk to Juliette,” he said, but reluctance was still clear in his voice. In that moment, as if conspiring to help her, the second twin woke, seemed to realize she was missing out on interesting things, and began a wail that put her sister to shame.
“And,” Gemma added, with more bravado than confidence, “I’ll start right now.”
Dante’s eyes closed wearily for a moment, and Gemma had an inkling of the kind of night he’d had. It touched her, in an odd sort of way she would never have expected. She tried to imagine.
When he opened them, he said decisively, “I’ll call Juliette. If you can keep them quiet long enough for me to do that, we’ll talk.”
Gemma had no idea what to do to accomplish that. Trying to think, she put the sleeping twin she was holding—how on earth did you tell them apart?—back in her carrier, and set it down beside her sister’s. She reached for the crying twin. The big, droopy-eared dog’s head came up, and she hesitated.
“That’s Flash. Flash, meet Gemma.” The dog looked up at him, and Gemma would have sworn he was asking a question. “Gentleman for now,” was Dante’s answer, given in commanding tone.
With an odd sound, a sort of combination sigh and groan, the dog gave her a studying look, took a deep sniff and settled his big head back down on his paws.
“For now?” she asked, a little warily, as she picked up the crying baby and repeated the earlier procedure, which seemed to work, and thankfully without the spitting up this time.
“Withholding final judgment pending further evidence,” he said.
That seemed fair to her. It was just the dog part that threw her. “And he...gets that?”
“In his own way, yes. It means you’d have to do something he really, really didn’t like for him to come after you.”
She blinked. Glanced again at the dog, who looked for all the world as if it would take an explosion to bestir him from his selected spot.
“Don’t let him fool you,” Dante said in the tone of someone who knew perfectly well what she was thinking. “What he might lack in speed he makes up for with stamina and sheer power. And he’s got a mind of his own. You’re going to have to earn his trust, too. He decides for himself when you’ve crossed a line.”
She drew herself up. “Does he let you know when you’ve crossed a line?” she asked sweetly.
If her manner registered, he didn’t let it show. Then again, he was a cop and probably had a lot of practice with keeping his thoughts unreadable.
Except when his life was blasted to bits.
She remembered not only why she was here, but what had happened to make him need help, and felt bad about her tone.
But he answered her easily enough. “Yes. He just cuts me more slack, because he knows that while I’m a just a dumb human, I usually catch on eventually.”
As she watched him pull out his cell phone and walk across the office, tapping out a text message, probably to Juliette, she found herself thinking that Dante Mancuso was very far from a dumb human.
* * *
“I won’t lie, buddy, she’s spoiled,” Juliette Walsh said in Dante’s ear. “But she’s also got a heart of gold, is quick to learn and very determined. And she’s got depth to her. For a Colton, she’s...a tiny bit naive about some things. Don’t know how she managed that.”
Depending on what those things were, Dante wasn’t sure a little naïveté wouldn’t be welcome. “All I really need to know is can I trust her to take care of the twins?”
“She would never intentionally hurt anyone, but I doubt if she’s ever even babysat in her life,” Juliette said frankly. “Blake could probably tell you that.”
He had the thought that calling Blake might be a good idea anyway. They could share the novelty of instant parenthood, although the situations were very different.
“He’s the one who told her about...my situation.”
“I did mention it to him, sort of in passing. Thought he might know someone who could help.”
“Thanks,”
