“Daisy Ann—”
She swung around to look at the sleeping infant. “She’s fine.”
“Uh, Patch…”
At the sound of his name, the dog popped out from beneath the kitchen table and trotted over to Molly. She stroked his ears. “Ready to go.”
Weaver stared at the dog. You’re not helping. “Well then, uh…me.”
That eyebrow took flight again.
“You?”
He shifted from foot to foot. What could he say to make her stick around, at least to hear him out?
A short laugh broke into his thoughts. “Babied out?” she asked. “Would you like a little adult conversation?”
Relief must have shown all over his face because she laughed again. “I know just how you feel. A rainy couple of days cooped up with a roomful of first-graders and I long for verbal fights over politics rather than wadded paper towels at ten paces.”
“You’ll sit with me while I drink my coffee, then?” He didn’t wait for a reply but hurried to the table and pulled out two chairs. “I don’t think we’ll wake Daisy Ann.”
He sat and looked at Molly expectantly. With a reluctance he tried to ignore, she sat beside him. She pulled down on the front hem of her T-shirt again.
To keep things strictly professional, he trained his gaze on her face. She stuck out her lower lip as she concentrated on a small hole she’d found in the fabric about halfway down the front of the shirt.
Looking at her lips wasn’t helping any.
“So, uh, you have the summer off, then?” he asked.
She didn’t look up. “Mmm-hmm.”
“I’m swamped with things to do.”
She nodded, one hand gripping the hem tauter, one finger tracing the little hole she’d found.
“That package that came today is the last straw,” he said.
Her finger paused and her grip slackened on the shirt. “What’s inside? Felt as thick as a book.”
He shook his head. “Not a book, though I feel like I could write one after the past few weeks.”
“On baby care?” She smiled.
“Be serious.” But he eagerly grabbed ahold of the conversation topic. “What kind of book do you think I’d write?”
“Hmm.” She considered a moment, then the corners of her full lips turned up. “From the looks of your fridge, I’ll have to rule out a cookbook.”
He gave a laugh, then quickly stifled it when Daisy Ann twitched. “No cookbook.”
Brow wrinkling, she pulled the T-shirt tight again.
Weaver grimaced.
Her finger retraced the hole. “Maybe some sort of fix-it book. Or craft.” She looked up. “Yes, that’s it.”
“Craft? What makes you say that?” Weaver brought his coffee mug to his mouth.
She tilted her head, her distinctive silvery gray eyes considering him. “You have that rugged, outdoorsy look. Like you spent summers in Maine, learning the craft of carving canoes from your father.”
He nearly spit out his coffee in surprise. Instead, he coughed, then swallowed the stuff down. “Wrong. No Maine. No canoes. No dad.” Nobody.
She pursed her lips. “No? Well, I give up. Just tell me. What do you really do?”
“I started with ten years of military service.” Weaver propped his elbows on the table.
“Wait,” she said, holding out her hand. “Let me guess. Marines.”
He reared back. “Please. I’m retired navy, ma’am.”
“Unpardonable insult?”
“Forgivable error,” he corrected.
“What do you do now?”
Trace drug money. Recover stolen artifacts. Rescue kidnapped children. He shifted in his chair, uneasy with how he should answer. “I’m kind of a-of aprivate spy.”
“A what?” she asked mildly, obviously thinking she’d heard wrong.
“A private spy.”
Her brows drew together, then eased. “Oh, come on.” She laughed. “Tell me what you really do.”
“Really. I work for a small private company that hires ex-military intelligence officers.”
She shook her head, laughing again. “Next you’re going to tell me that you’re not wearing your real face.” She leaned toward him. “This is just plastic, right?” She laid her fingers against his cheek.
Branded. Her hand was cool, but still he felt the touch sizzle into his skin. She immediately pulled away as if she burned, too, but he caught her fingers before they had a chance to escape him.
Against his palm they felt fragile, yet the tension running down her arm was strong. “I told you the truth,” he said. “And the other truth is I hoped I could talk you into helping me.”
Her fingers fluttered a little against his hand, but she didn’t pull back. “Help you?”
“Yeah.” He tried a friendly smile. “I was in the middle of planning a job when, uh—” he gestured at the infant seat “—enter Daisy Ann.”
“This is beginning to sound vaguely familiar.”
Familiar? How many nanny-needing spies had this woman met?
A disdainful expression crossed her face and she pulled her hand free. “You’re a spy and you need my help, right? Pick up a briefcase and drop it someplace? But no, that isn’t right.”
“Of course it isn’t—”
She snapped her fingers. “I’ve got it! You say someone’s following you. We end up at your place. You have a couple of tickets to Paris, where we’ll complete our mission, pretending to be husband and wife.”
Weaver blinked. “That’s not what I had in mind at all.”
“Oh no? It’s what that used car salesman had in mind in the movie True Lies. He used that same spy story to troll for women.”
Expression still disbelieving, she slid forward in her chair, obviously preparing to leave.
Weaver gulped. “No, no. Wait a minute. I’m not trolling. I’m offering, hoping…I need a woman.” He groaned, started over. “I need a nanny.”
Shaking her head as if pitying him, she pushed up from the table. “Come on, Patch.”
Before Weaver could replay the conversation and figure out where he’d gone wrong, dog and woman rushed toward the hall leading to the front door. They paused at the kitchen threshold.
“What you really need,” said the long-legged woman who was departing too quickly from his life, “is some better come-on lines.”
Daisy Ann woke as the front door slammed shut behind Molly. The baby started crying again, natch.
3
Weaver leaned heavily on the handlebar of the baby jogger—sort of a three—wheeled stroller with bicycle tires—as he pushed it slowly down the sidewalk. If he was tired two days ago, what did he suffer from today?
Fatigue dehydration. He could suck up sleep as a thirsty plant sucks up water.
The warm afternoon breeze ruffled the brim of Daisy’s cloth hat. Fingers crossed, he leaned over and checked her face. Her eyes remained wide open, though, and absorbed by the neighborhood sights. Weren’t babies supposed to nap in the afternoon?
He rounded the corner and in a front yard up ahead caught the flash of a familiar dark coat of fur. Patch. Molly’s place.
He hadn’t thought of her in two days.
Absolutely true, he insisted to his guffawing inner devil. Her image played with his mind in the dark well of the night, when he stumbled about the house, Daisy in his arms. Anyone would dream of somebody to hand the unhappy baby over to.
“Hello, Weaver.”
He practically jumped out of his exhausted skin. Lost in his own musings, he’d made it to the near corner of Molly’s front yard without noticing her kneeling behind the short picket fence. Lethal-looking claw in hand, she was weeding an overgrown, casual jumble of flowers that grew against waist-high white pickets.
“How are you?” she asked politely.
He noticed she avoided looking at the baby. And because she wasn’t looking directly at him, either, he stared at her long, bare legs. Energy, pure, sexual energy,
surged skyward from his heels. He felt a little dizzy from the rush.
His “Fine, really fine now,” was lost in the excited barking of Patch, who rushed the fence to greet them.
Weaver leaned over to stroke the dog’s hot fur. “You been good for Molly?” he asked the dog.
Shifting forward, she stabbed the claw into the dirt. “The best I’m glad we found each other.”
As if he understood her, the dog whirled and swiped her face with his long tongue. Weaver felt absurdly glad that she hugged the dog’s neck instead of wiping dry her cheek.
Weaver grinned. “Feeling’s mutual, I guess.”
She looked up, smiled briefly, then hastily put her head down. “What about your other, uh, encumbrances? Any luck with those?”
Weaver frowned. “I scared off some potential home-buyers yesterday. Miss D, here, was fussy, I hadn’t gotten to the dishes yet, and then when they opened the door to the master bedroom…Well, never mind.” He brightened. “I did sell off the weed whapper. To the disappointed real estate agent.”
Daisy Ann let out an unhappy squeal that experience told him was the precursor to a full-out wail. He rolled the jogger back and forth to soothe her. “Daisy and I rented True Lies the other night.”
That got Molly looking up again. He let himself spiral down into the liquid silver of her eyes. Cool sizzle washed over him. It took a minute to notice the funny expression on her face, like maybe she was a little embarrassed.
“You aren’t really a spy, are you?” she asked.
“Believe it or not, I am.” Still rolling Daisy Ann back and forth, he crossed his heart with a finger.
Molly stared at the spot. “No kidding?”
The baby wasn’t about to be satisfied by a trek then return-trek over the same sidewalk square. She wailed her disappointment.
“Gotta go,” he said, and pushed the jogger forward. Daisy Ann quieted, but Patch started barking and followed them the length of the fence. At the edge of Molly’s property, Weaver looked back. She was standing, in another one of those holey T-shirts and skin-baring shorts, watching them walk away.
Which got him thinking.
When he reached the next corner, he turned right. And then another right at the next corner.
He headed right back toward Molly. Hadn’t he seen a little softening in her eyes? Was it possible he could convince her to be the nanny after all?
This time it was Patch who barked the first greeting. Weaver smiled his best smile at Molly as he slowly walked by. “You know,” he said. “I’m still looking for a woman.” Wincing at his own lousy wording, he tried again. “I mean a temporary nanny for Daisy.”
Her silver eyes rounded and her mouth opened, but nothing came out. She switched her gaze from his face to Daisy. Thank God the darling had the presence of mind to yawn cutely, then let her eyes drift close. Damn, he thought, you’re good, kid.
Molly never got a word out, so when he passed her property and hit the corner, he made a right, and then another right. Again, he headed right back toward Molly.
This time she was waiting for him, her head already up as he came by.
“I need some order in our lives,” he said. “At this rate, I’ll never get back to Maryland. My partner’s getting antsy, wanting to get back out in the field.”
Gabe had hated postponing their assigned mission as much as he did. Though the Czech situation was currently stable, any time now XNS would have to mobilize. After all the time he’d put into the assignment, he didn’t want to miss it.
Molly didn’t say anything this go-round, either, but he noticed that she didn’t question his reference to his work.
He made the same circle again.
As he passed this time, she strolled along her side of the fence, keeping pace with him. He noticed her sneaking peeks at Daisy, who looked like a perfectly baited trap with her cheeks flushed and her mouth open in sleep.
“Being a spy doesn’t seem like a very good job for a man with a baby,” Molly said.
He nodded in agreement. “Terrible job.”
She let out a long whoosh of air, focusing his attention on her lips. No lipstick. Cute little bow in the top lip. Full lower one. Not too wide. As a matter of fact, kind of prim, especially without any lipstick darkening it.
“So I suppose you’re looking,” she said.
He watched each word leave her lips. “Mmm,” he replied, not making sense of what she’d said.
“You are looking?” Her silver gaze cut from Daisy to his face.
He snapped to attention. “Sure, sure, have my partner working on it.” They reached the edge of her yard. He hesitated before going on, but Daisy made some ominous whimpers, so he kept moving forward.
Molly and Patch met Weaver halfway on his next turn around her block. He hid his surprise by fussing over the dog, who danced happily on the end of a leather leash.
Daisy whimpered again, so he picked up the pace a bit.
Molly chewed on her lower lip as they walked abreast, something obviously on her mind. Then, abruptly, she stopped worrying her lip. “So, you really want me to be a temporary nanny?”
Entranced by her darkened bottom lip, he grunted out an affirmation, then swiftly realized he should take advantage of her interest. He cleared his throat. “Might you—”
“And why are you having your partner doing your job search?”
“Huh?”
“You said being a spy is a terrible occupation for a man with a baby.”
“You got that right.” They turned the last corner and now had a straight shot at her house.
“And you said you had your partner looking.”
Weaver stopped at the pickets surrounding Molly’s house. “Ah.” She thought he meant Gabe was helping him find a new job, not a new family. “What I meant was my partner is looking for someone else for Daisy.”
Molly stared at him. Daisy started whimpering again. Weaver began to move on, but Molly put her cool hand on his arm.
Yow. Energy flooded him. Daisy whimpered a second time, and Molly’s hand left his skin. She bent over the jogger and unstrapped the baby. In seconds she had Daisy Ann against her chest.
The baby snuggled against Molly, her frilly lashes reclosing over her eyes.
She protectively cupped the back of the baby’s head, an exposé of Molly Michaels in the tender gesture. “What do you mean, looking for someone for Daisy Ann?”
Weaver ignored the cold, sad trickle that ran like a tear down his spine. The baby deserved a family. She deserved the security and permanence he’d never had and couldn’t offer now.
“Molly, I need to find someone else to adopt Daisy Ann. It looks like there isn’t a Reed alive in the world but me, so now we’re searching for some of Daisy’s mother’s family.”
He watched Molly swallow. Her hand pushed off the baby’s funky little hat. “Someone else for Daisy Ann?” she whispered again.
“From the family.” Another trickle rolled down his spine. “It’s the right thing to do,” he said to her. Certain, absolutely certain, it was true.
Molly felt each of the baby’s breaths. She saw Weaver’s, too, each one causing his wide chest to rise and fall. Someone else for Daisy Ann.
Of course it was the right thing to do. And, she reminded herself, it was none of her business.
But the baby felt like all her midnight yearnings and Saturday-afternoon baby-shower envy rolled into one. “She seems a little damp,” Molly said, not yet ready to give Daisy up. “I’ll change her if you have a diaper with you.”
Weaver surrendered the disposable eagerly enough and seemed content to play with Patch while she took Daisy Ann into the house to freshen her up.
Daisy’s chubby legs performed froglike jumping jacks as Molly accomplished the diaper change on a folded towel. Resnapping the little girl’s pink romper, she noticed that the garment’s tag was in the front. “Men,” she told Daisy, and chuckled. “What they don’t know…”
Daisy squealed back
in agreement. Molly held the baby’s warmth against her chest as she slipped off the outfit. She tried ignoring the sweet sensation of baby skin against her palm. “I think he’s right,” she said, noticing the little girl wore one green and one red sock. “You do need a nanny. Or at least someone with a little fashion sense.”
Daisy squealed again, and her tuft of fine hair brushed Molly’s jaw. Sweet.
Dry, snaps in back, mismatched socks straightened, Daisy appeared infinitely content in Molly’s arms. On her way back to the front door, she stopped in the kitchen for a drink of cool water.
Nanny, nanny, nanny. The funny notion ran through Molly’s mind with every gulp. “No,” she whispered. The baby made a halfhearted swipe at the retreating glass and found Molly’s face instead. Her little hand groped Molly’s nose and forehead, and she cooed as if the discovery pleased her.
Nanny, nanny, nanny.
Molly grabbed the phone off the counter and quickly punched a number. A hoarse voice answered the call. “Cynthia?” Molly asked. “Is that you?”
“A nauseated me,” her friend answered. “When they tell you morning sickness goes away after three months, they lie.”
Molly smiled. “Just the person I need to talk to. Tell me I don’t want a baby.”
Cynthia answered automatically. “You don’t want a—hey, wait a minute! What’s going on?”
“I had this crazy idea I might take a nanny position. Temporary nanny position.”
An audible release of breath came over the phone. “Scare me, why don’t you. For a minute I thought there was a man in your life you’d kept secret.”
Molly cocked her head to peer down the hall. Through the open front door she saw Weaver, sun making highlights in his dark hair. His white teeth flashed as he grinned at the dog. “No man,” she said firmly. “But as a nauseated mother-to-be, tell me I don’t want to take on this baby. She’s four months old and her name is Daisy Ann. I’m holding her right now.”
Cynthia’s voice altered, going from hoarse to gentle. “Four months old? You’re holding her right now?” She sighed. “Don’t tell Carl, but I hope for a girl. All those darling pink dresses, little pink ballet slippers…”
Molly stopped listening and just stared down at Daisy’s green and red socks. “You’re not helping, Cynthia.”
Have Baby, Will Marry Page 3
