It Takes a Baby (Superromance)

by Holmes, Dee

  “What an interesting comment. A man who values brains over beauty. You finish your call. I’ll put Miss Brilliant to bed.”

  Booth chuckled and turned away.

  Kathleen went into the nursery, changed Lisa again and started to lay her down in the crib when she saw the framed photo on the dresser. It was of Booth and a woman. Angie, no doubt. She was very pregnant, and Booth had both arms around her, clowning in such a way that Kathleen could almost hear him say, “See, I can still get my arms around you.” They were both laughing, and judging from the background elements, it looked as if the picture had been taken at a family or community gathering.

  Kathleen stared, an unexpected envy rushing through her. Envy of Angie, who had had a man who obviously adored her, and of their happiness and their sense of belonging. Her own loneliness darkened her spirit, so she made herself do what she’d been doing since she’d fled Wyoming. She gritted her teeth and reminded herself that she was alive, she was safe, she had her best friend, Gail Morgan, she had her music and her mother’s cameo, and—

  But this time, here with Lisa, surrounded by all the trappings of a normal life, she squeezed her eyes closed, shuddering. Her life wasn’t normal; it never would be as long as the police in Rodeo wanted to charge her with killing her husband. She wished she had the money and the contacts to hire an investigator to find the real murderer. But that would mean returning to Rodeo, and that meant being arrested. It was a circle she couldn’t break.

  Here in Connecticut, she was safe. But safe for how long? She could never be sure. My God, would there ever come a time when she didn’t have to look over her shoulder in suspicion? Gauge the actions and motives of every stranger? Answer every phone call with a millisecond of hesitation? Wake up and wonder if today she would be found?

  Wyoming was almost two thousand miles from Connecticut, a million miles from her other life.

  She carefully laid the sleeping Lisa in her crib, her pink quilt clutched in her hands. She stood for a long moment, thinking how often she’d dreamed of having children. Sadly, she couldn’t even allow herself a “perhaps someday” scenario. Maybe Booth would allow her to come up and visit with Lisa—She cut off the possibility in midthought.

  She couldn’t do that. What was wrong with her? Getting to know Lisa meant getting to know Booth, and she had no desire to have a man around who would inevitably ask questions she couldn’t answer.

  She straightened, slipping her hands into her shorts pockets. “Sweet dreams, little one,” she whispered.

  She turned to leave, only to find Booth lounging in the doorway, watching her.

  “You have the magic touch,” he said softly.

  “At least for tonight.”

  “So who are you?”

  “I think we covered that, didn’t we?”

  “I know your name and that you rescue crying babies in the middle of the night.”

  “Which is probably enough.” With Booth blocking the doorway, she felt uneasy, almost trapped. She needed to exert some authority here, and now was as good a time as any if his intention was intimidation. In fact, she imagined he was very good at intimidation when he chose to be.

  She moved toward the door, hoping he’d merely step aside.

  He didn’t.

  “I’d like a few answers,” he said.

  “why?”

  “Well, let’s see, I believe it’s called ‘conversation,’ —an exchange of ordinary information that’s warranted under the circumstances.”

  Kathleen took a deep breath and reminded herself he knew nothing about her, wouldn’t know anything unless she revealed it. Conversely, she was making herself more interesting and more mysterious by being evasive. And he was right. Given the circumstances, his desire for information was quite natural.

  “All right,” she said. “But let’s go into the other room. Lisa’s had enough excitement for one night, and I don’t think you want her to wake up again.”

  “On that you’re right.”

  He stepped aside without really moving away, and Kathleen had no choice but to walk very close to him to pass. She was about to make a comment about him crowding her when he crossed the room and settled on the couch, stretching his legs out and indicating she was welcome to the rocking chair.

  “This won’t take long,” she said, not taking the offered seat. “I really need to get back to bed.”

  Booth nodded. “So are you a professional baby-sitter? And if you answer yes, I want to take Alfred’s advice and hire you no matter how much you charge.”

  It was a joke, of course, and she laughed at the look of sincere desperation on his face.

  “I believe there are professional baby-sitters.”

  “Nannies and day care are out.”

  “Oh.”

  “Nothing personal. Hell, maybe it is personal because it involves my daughter. I’ve lost her mother, and I have no intention of putting her into the care of strangers, no matter how qualified and well-intentioned.”

  “But I’m a stranger.”

  “Not when you call Mrs. Carmody ‘Mavis’ and have her eating out of your hand. Never heard anyone but my mother and her friends use her first name.”

  “She was embarrassed and upset that she’d fallen asleep, so we dispensed with the formalities.”

  Booth looked as if that explanation was the mere tip of the endorsement. “Believe me, she’s a tough bird. Maybe she didn’t look like it tonight, but it’s not too often that anyone catches her at a disadvantage. Tell me, did she chatter on about all the Rawlings until you were totally confused?”

  “As a matter of fact, she did remark that your parents were on the Cape and that your sister was sick.”

  “And she didn’t mention that Darlene is a steady customer for engagement rings at the local jewelry store?”

  Kathleen grinned. “Yes, as a matter of fact, she did.”

  Booth chuckled. “My sister is looking for Prince Charming. When the poor guy turns out to be a mere mortal, she freaks and breaks the engagement.”

  “Maybe the men have deceived her. Broken expectations can be jarring and painful.”

  Booth looked at her for a long time. “An odd choice of words.”

  “I merely meant that when men present themselves as one thing, and once you get to know them you learn they’re something else—well, that can be disappointing.”

  “They all seemed like good guys to me.”

  Kathleen shrugged. “But you aren’t marrying them.”

  He nodded, started to say something, then scowled. “Hey, wait a minute. We’re supposed to be talking about you, not Darlene’s engagements.”

  “I’m not half as interesting.”

  “I doubt that.” He glanced at her left hand. “Married?”

  She couldn’t contain the flinch. And she knew he’d seen it. “No.”

  “Divorced?”

  “I really don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Which means you probably had a bad time of it.”

  She didn’t want to reply to that, but he was looking at her with such empathy that she responded anyway. “It was difficult, yes.”

  In a soft voice that drew her like a summer rain after a drought, asked, “Is it okay if L say he was an ingrate and an idiot?”

  She lowered her head, wanting to agree but feeling unable to bring herself to offer even that much. Besides, she guessed he would be asking different questions if he knew the real details.

  “I’ll take your silence as a yes.” When she still said nothing, he added, “Kathleen, look, I’m not going to pry. Hell, it’s not my business, but whatever happened doesn’t change the fact that my daughter thinks you’re the best thing since a bottle of milk and her jungle blanket.”

  Kathleen smiled, her heart swelling at his efforts to reassure her. She braced herself for more questions—or worse, some show of sympathy that would have her releasing the icy distance and control she had wrapped around her life and marriage to Steve Hanes. Gail kn
ew, of course, but Kathleen had told no one else in Crosby.

  The very fact that Booth was making it far too easy to blurt out her past terrified her. Sure, he was being patient and understanding, but if he knew the truth, she doubted he’d be so kind and he certainly wouldn’t want her near his daughter.

  To her relief he dropped the subject and asked, “You live in this building? Where?”

  “I’m staying with Gail Morgan.”

  “That sounds temporary.”

  “It is. I’m looking for my own apartment. In fact I probably wouldn’t have been here tonight if Gail’s mother hadn’t suddenly taken ill. Gail had to fly out to Missouri. She asked me to stay on and cover for her at a volunteer job she has at the youth center on Powell Street.”

  Booth nodded. “I know the place. They do some good work with messed-up kids.”

  “Mostly they’re just kids who’ve had limited advantages. I’ve been amazed at some of the potential I’ve seen, as well as the strides a few have made.” She raised her hand to cover a yawn. “I really need to go. I have a busy day tomorrow—uh, I mean in a few hours.”

  “Where do you work?”

  “I waitress over at the Silver Lining Restaurant.”

  “Not a bad place. The owners are good friends.”

  “They’ve been wonderful.”

  “So what’s your shift?”

  She scowled. “Why?”

  “Because a lot of guys I work with eat there, and they tip well. Or are you independently wealthy from your divorce?”

  Kathleen stiffened and started for the door.

  “Wait,” Booth said. “That was a nasty comment, but you seem so suspicious of the most innocent questions.”

  “There’s no such thing as an innocent question when one person is doing all the asking.”

  He spread his arms in an open gesture. “Ask away.”

  She managed a small smile. “Another time.” Then, as if acknowledging that his questions were as innocent as he claimed, she said, “I work the dinner shift. Four to eight. Sometimes it feels like twice those hours when it’s super busy, but the tips are very generous, and I have my days free.”

  He looked at her for a long time. “Can I say something? Will you promise not to take offense?”

  She felt her insides freeze. She hated ominous questions more than she did nosy ones. “That depends,” she said warily.

  “You don’t look like a waitress. Not that I have anything against them. My sister was a waitress all through college. But you look like...” He paused, tipping his head a bit sideways.

  Like I’m wanted for killing my husband? Like I’m running from the police who want to frame me for a crime I didn’t commit?

  “Like a dancer. Slender and long-legged. Delicate.”

  His answer was so off the mark, so weirdly wonderful, that she laughed aloud. “Delicate? Me? Oh, Booth, what a lovely thing to say, but the last dancing I did was in college. Now, I really do have to go.”

  He followed her to the door. “Oh, and by the way, I admire your bravery.”

  “Bravery?”

  “Yeah, coming up to a strange apartment in the middle of the night. Could have been a trap or God knows what kind of mess.”

  “I did think of that but I couldn’t ignore Lisa’s crying.”

  “Bet you were relieved when Mrs. Carmody told you I was a cop.”

  Kathleen had just turned away from him. Now she swung back, instantly alert. “You’re a police officer?”

  “She didn’t tell you?”

  Kathleen took a deep breath. Her pulse raced, and she suddenly felt hot and claustrophobic.

  Booth frowned, drawing closer. “You okay? You look as if I’d told you I was a serial killer.”

  “I’m sorry—it’s just—Never mind. Mavis said you worked nights, but she never said doing what.”

  “Look, you want me to get you a drink? You really do look rattled.”

  “I’m fine. Really, I am.” She held up her hand to ward off any attempt he might make to get closer to her, to stop her from leaving.

  “At the risk of insulting you, you look as if I’d condemned you to hell.”

  God, she had to get out of here before she said something really stupid.

  He reached out to take her arm, and she shrank back. “Don’t touch me.”

  He backed up a step, and Kathleen rushed from the apartment, hurrying down the stairs, not stopping until she was through her own door and it was securely locked behind her.

  She sank down onto the floor and wrapped her arms around herself to stop the shaking. She’d seen his confusion, his curiosity—No, he’d been more than curious.

  Cops never stopped at “curious.”

  The wheels of his mind were turning already, and speculating with seasoned efficiency because he was a cop. Her husband had demonstrated all too well that a cop had built-in radar when it came to detecting suspicious behavior.

  Damn! Why hadn’t she been prepared? Mavis had said his father was a former police chief. She should have considered the implications.

  He was a cop. She couldn’t ignore that, nor did she want to. No way. She’d already been married to one cop. She could never chance getting even marginally involved with another one. Her freedom and future depended on it.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THREE NIGHTS LATER, at 7:50 p.m., Booth walked into the Silver Lining Restaurant. Located in Crosby’s south end, it was a popular eating place for families. An adjacent video arcade drew the kids, and the inexpensive food attracted the parents.

  Crosby was a town struggling from recent layoffs at Electric Boat down in Groton. Caught in the escalating move to high technology, many workers found themselves unemployable at the salaries they’d been accustomed to making. As a result there were more than a few disgruntled patrons reading the classifieds at the Silver Lining.

  Booth received a few smiles and nods, but for the most part the patrons all went back to their burgers, beers and the Red Sox game blaring from a TV set anchored above the bar.

  He liked the friendliness, although the close-knit community did have its drawbacks. Gossip was rampant. Most everyone was related either by blood, marriage or length of time living in Crosby. A true native of the town had to be born there. Even if you’d arrived inside the town limits thirty seconds after your birth, you were considered a carpetbagger.

  Booth was the latter. His mother had made the mistake of visiting her sister a month before her due date, and Booth had been born in a hospital near Putnam. By arriving early, Booth had established his roguish reputation for blowing away the status quo. In so doing, he’d become the only Rawlings in five generations not to have been born in Crosby.

  He chose a table, aware of Norge Varden at the end of the bar. He was the father of one of the three missing girls in the case Booth had been assigned to investigate. The gossip was that Varden had been drinking heavily. Booth sympathized on a father-to-father level, but at the same time, it was hard to understand how getting crocked every night was helpful.

  He glanced around, hoping to spot Kathleen, when Porky Fife, the owner, approached. Porky was short, apple round and had withered pink skin that gathered even more wrinkles when he smiled. At sixty, his wife Nell wanted him to retire so they could move out west where her sister owned a dude ranch. So far, Porky had stubbornly resisted.

  “Hey, Booth, haven’t seen you in a while,” Porky said.

  “Fatherhood keeps me close to home.”

  The two men shook hands.

  “Ah, yes, I remember it well,” Porky said. “You shoulda brought her.”

  “My parents are showing her off to some visiting relatives, so I ducked out.”

  “You look beat. She’s a handful, huh?”

  “An understatement. She’s independent, with a mind of her own, lungs that could be heard in Carnegie Hall without a microphone, and she hates green beans. About an hour ago, I was wearing her dinner.”

  Porky smiled with a “Been th
ere” gleam in his eye. “Do I hear the rattle of frustration?”

  Booth sat back and sighed. “I think she’s the one who gets frustrated with me. She seems to know what she wants, and how and when she wants it. It’s me who gets it all confused. Plus, I don’t think she cares that I’m the one who’s supposed to be in charge. She runs my life instead of the other way around.”

  “Baby girls can tie a papa up in knots, can’t they?” Porky mused, obviously remembering his own experience with two daughters. “Well, enjoy it now. This is a picnic. Wait till the boys start sniffing around.”

  “Boys?” Booth scowled.

  Porky patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. You got a few years before you have to deal with that.”

  “Not gonna happen.”

  “That’s what we all say.” They were both quiet for a moment. Then they each spoke at the same time.

  “Porky, is Kathleen around?”

  “What can I get for you?”

  Both men chuckled. “Just coffee,” Booth said.

  “You know Kathleen?”

  “She lives in my building.”

  “Yeah? Hey, ain’t that a coincidence. You’re single and so’s she.” Porky was quiet for a moment, then, in a sadder voice, he added, “A real tragedy you losin’ Angie like you did, then selling that nice house. Too many memories, huh?”

  Not wanting to rehash painful details, Booth said, “Yeah. Too many memories.”

  Actually, it hadn’t been the house but a particular neighbor’s obsession with Lisa that Booth had believed wasn’t healthy. But before Porky went off on a tangent about houses versus apartments, he quickly said, “To be honest, the apartment is more central and it’s easier to keep clean.”

  God, he thought, he sounded like some fussy housekeeper. All Booth wanted to do was see Kathleen, not discuss the variables of his life—past or present. He said, “You were talking about Kathleen living in my apartment building.”

  “Oh, yeah. She’s staying with Gail Morgan until she finds her own place. But you probably know that. Guess she plans to buy a piano and wants a place big enough to hold it.” Porky peered at him. “Did you know she’s quite a piano player? Offered her a chance to play for a friend who owns a nightclub, but she refused. Sort of strange that she would want to hustle trays when she could just sit and tickle the ivories, maybe get noticed by someone important. Then, you know, she could move on to the big time—New York or Vegas. But hey, I’m the winner, so I ain’t complainin’.”