disposable diapers and three filled bottles.
How thoughtful.
Dana snatched up the bag so hard one of the handles broke, nearly dumping everything into the gasping petunias. That’s when she noticed the note. Of course. There was always a note, wasn’t there?
She dumped the bag on the counter, saw that the baby seemed happy enough gurgling to his own hands as he lay on his back, then tore open the envelope.
Her eyes flew over the one-page letter, picking up the essentials, “… tried it on my own … knew how much you loved and wanted kids … it’ll be better this way … full custody … hope you’ll forgive me … Ethan’s really a little doll, you’ll love him … birth certificate enclosed …”
It was so Trish. On a sigh, Dana unfolded the birth certificate, if only to find out how old this kid was.
“WHAT?”
The baby lurched at the sudden noise, then started to cry again. Nearly in tears herself, Dana threw the letter and birth certificate on the counter and went to pick him up. None of this was the baby’s fault, she reminded herself as she hauled the infant out of the playpen and cuddled him in her lap. None of it. Least of all who his daddy was.
Cameron James Turner, the paper said.
Cameron James Turner, of “fatherhood isn’t part of my future” fame.
“Well, guess what, buddy?” Dana hissed under her breath as she grabbed a bottle off the counter and stuck it in her new little cousin’s mouth. “Fatherhood sure as hell is part of your present.”
Chapter Four
Dana thanked the police officer for coming so promptly, assured her she’d be in touch if she heard anything or needed her, then showed her out. Not that the visit had been exactly productive. Or even illuminating. Turned out there wasn’t a whole lot anybody could do, seeing as Trish had left Ethan with family and all. Technically, it wasn’t abandonment. Of course, the officer had said, if Dana really felt she couldn’t take care of the baby, there was always foster care …
Uh-huh. Sharp sticks in eyes and all that.
Mercy took the baby from her as Cass—whose own son was sawing logs in a cradle in the back—slipped an arm around her shoulders.
“For crying out loud,” Dana said, “how could anyone be so selfish? Ooooh!” Her palm slammed the counter, dislodging a teddy bear from its perch by the register. She caught it, only to squeeze the life out of the thing. “If Trish showed her face right now—” the bear’s floppy limbs flailed as she shook it “—I swear I’d slap her silly. What an air-brained, self-centered, addlepated little twit.”
“Familial love is such a wonderful thing,” Cass wryly observed.
Ignoring Cass, Dana stuffed the bear back into its chair. “What am I supposed to do now?” She shook her head, watching six-month-old Ethan play with Mercy’s hair. Her own, as usual, was coming undone. “How am I supposed to take care of a baby on my own? I live in this itty-bitty apartment, and hello? I work full time? What on earth was Trish thinking?”
“Maybe your parents could take over during the day,” Mercy suggested, but Dana wagged her head emphatically.
“Neither one of them is up to full-time babysitting at this point in their lives.”
Then both of her partners went ominously silent, instantly putting Dana on the alert. “What?”
“What about C.J.?” Mercy asked, wincing a little as she dislodged curious little fingers from the three-inch-wide gold loops dangling from her ears.
“Oh, right. Mr. Family Man himself.” When they both blinked at her, she sighed and ‘fessed up about the day before. Okay, she might have done a little judicious editing of the conversation—they didn’t need to know about the dinner invite—but she definitely left in the “He doesn’t want kids” part.
“Be that as it may,” Cass said, assuming the role of Voice of Reason. She folded thin, bare arms over a button-front blouse already adorned with a telltale wet spot on one shoulder. “C.J. doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who’d blow off having a kid. So my guess is Trish left town without telling him.”
Dana hadn’t thought about that. Still, she wasn’t exactly in a charitable mood. “And if she did?”
Mercy leaned against the counter, setting the baby on the edge, protectively bumpered by her arms. He yanked off her turquoise satin headband and began gnawing on it; she didn’t seem to notice. “Hey, if he knew about the baby and refused to take responsibility, you better believe I’d be first in line to string him up by his gonads. But if he didn’t—and remember, you’re not absolutely sure Ethan is C.J.’s—then I think you’re gonna have to wait and see. Give him a chance.”
“You weren’t there, you didn’t see the look on his face …” Dana began, then shook her head, her mouth pulled tight. She reached for Ethan, her eyes burning for reasons she had no intention of thinking about too hard. “I think it’s pretty safe to assume I got me a baby to raise.”
The bell jangled over the door; with a grunt of annoyance, Mercy left to help the pregnant woman slowly picking her way through the store. Cass, however, stroked Dana’s arm for a second, then grasped Ethan’s chunky little hand.
“Honey, I understand what you’re saying. But you really have no idea how C.J.’s going to feel once he sees his son. Look at him—he’s adorable. How could he not fall in love with him?”
At that, the baby turned all-too-familiar blue eyes to Dana and grinned as if to say, “Hey! Where ya been, lady?” Amazement and terror streaked through her, so powerful, and so sudden, she could hardly breathe. Dana nestled the infant to her chest, rubbing his back and sucking in a sharp breath. I’ve been given a baby, she thought, only to then wonder … was this a dream come true?
Or the beginning of a nightmare?
She gave Cass a wan smile. “Hand me the phone, wouldja?”
Hours later, Dana watched Mercy scan the tiny one-bedroom apartment, her features a study in skepticism. Between her Firebird and Dana’s Jetta, they’d managed to haul a portacrib, playpen, baby swing, a case of powdered formula, two jumbo packs of disposable diapers, clothes, rattles, wipes, bedding and at least a million other “essentials” Mercy insisted Dana would probably need before sunrise. In the middle of all this, Ethan lay on his back in the playpen, grunting at the birds. Mercy’s eyebrows knotted a little tighter.
“You sure you’re gonna be okay?”
“Uh-huh,” Dana squeaked out. “Besides, I don’t want any witnesses when C.J. shows up.”
“Damn. I always miss all the fun.”
Dana managed a weak, but nonetheless hysterical, laugh. All afternoon she’d ping-ponged between hope and profound skepticism. Maybe prejudging the man wasn’t in anybody’s interest, especially Ethan’s, but she wasn’t so naive as to expect him to take one look at his kid and suddenly switch tracks.
“Sweetie,”
