by Marta Perry
But Kate was already handing the baby to Mitch. “Good idea.” She beamed. “This little one could use some fresh air, and the sunshine won’t last that much longer. I’ll help you put things away later, if you want.”
Mitch bounced Emilie, who responded with a delighted squeal. She patted his face with her open palms. He looked at Anne, eyebrows raised, and she knew exactly what he was thinking. If she wanted to talk to him, they might have more privacy on a walk.
With a strong sense of having been outmaneuvered, Anne reached for the stroller.
When they reached the sidewalk in front of the house, Mitch bent to slide Emilie into her seat. His big hands cradled her, protecting her head as she wiggled. Anne’s heart gave an unexpected lurch at the sight. His gentleness dissolved some of the irritation she’d been holding on to, and she tried to retrieve it.
“I understand you live right across the street.” And you should have mentioned that.
Mitch straightened, nodding. “I bought the house a year ago.” He shrugged. “Got tired of living in rented places. I wanted something of my own, where I could decide on the color of the walls and pound a nail in if I wanted to.”
The cottage, with its peaked roof and shutters, pristine front door and neatly trimmed hedges, proclaimed its owner’s pride.
“It’s charming.” The house was an unexpected insight into the man. She’d have expected him to live in a furnished apartment, something closer to spartan barracks. “Convenient to the station, too, I guess.”
“Just a couple of blocks.” He shrugged. “But nothing in Bedford Creek is very far away, as long as you don’t mind walking uphill.” He smiled. “Or down.”
He held the gate open as Anne pushed the stroller through it to the street.
“You might have mentioned this was your neighborhood when you suggested The Willows.”
He paused, looking down at her with a quizzical expression. “Does that make a difference?”
“It certainly adds to the impression I’m here to see you.” She felt herself blush.
“Believe me, nothing I did or didn’t do would change that idea.” His hand closed over hers on the stroller handle. “Why don’t you let me push?”
She’d put mittens on Emilie, and maybe she should have done the same for herself. If she had, she wouldn’t have to feel the warmth and strength of his hand over hers. And Anne wouldn’t be struggling with the ripple of that warmth traveling right to her heart.
“Fine.” She snatched her hand away. “As long as you push it by the café where Tina worked. I want to see the place for myself.”
His answer would tell her whether he was ready to accept her role in finding out the truth about Tina, whatever it was. This would certainly be easier if she didn’t have to fight him every step of the way.
But unfortunately, even that wouldn’t eliminate the problem that became clearer each time she was with Mitch Donovan. She was ridiculously—and unsuitably—attracted to the man who might be Emilie’s father, and who might have the power to take Emilie away.
So Anne wasn’t giving up on her determination to play detective, Mitch thought. It would have been too much to hope she might, but somehow he had to convince her. Because if he had a civilian meddling in this situation, he could forget any hope of keeping things quiet while he found out the truth about Tina Mallory and her baby.
“I’ll take you to the café.” He tried to keep reluctance from showing in his voice. “I’ll even buy you a cup of coffee there, if you want.”
She glanced up at him as they walked along the street. “Do I sense a ‘but’ coming?”
He shrugged. “But Cassie Worth, the owner, isn’t the most forthcoming person in the world, especially with strangers. I haven’t had a chance to sound her out yet. Maybe you’d better let me see what I can find out first.”
“Give me a little credit. I didn’t intend to cross-examine her.”
“Like birds don’t intend to fly?”
Her lips twitched in a smile he suspected was involuntary. “Meaning I can’t help being an attorney any more than you can help being a cop?”
“Something like that.” He eased the stroller over a patch of ice on the sidewalk. He frowned, glancing up at the storefront of Clinton’s Candles. Clinton would have to be reminded to keep his walk clear.
“How will I find out anything if I don’t ask?”
“If you start asking a lot of questions, it’ll get around. Make people curious—more curious than they already are.”
They walked in silence for a few minutes, as she apparently considered that.
“I’ll be discreet,” she said finally. “That’s the best I can do.”
He glanced at her. Silky hair brushed the collar of her black leather jacket as she moved. There was nothing remotely discreet about the presence of such a beautiful stranger in Bedford Creek, especially one accompanied by a baby. It probably wouldn’t do any good to tell her that, but he had to try. Maybe a blunt reminder would get through.
“I have a lot to lose if you’re not.”
She looked up at him. He seemed to feel her intense blue gaze penetrate the barriers he kept around him.
“I don’t see…” She shook her head. “They’re your people. Seems to me they’d take your word over a stranger’s, if it came to that.”
The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. The refrain he’d heard too often in his childhood echoed in his mind, but he wasn’t about to share it with Anne. Would anyone, other than Brett and Alex, his closest friends, take his side? He didn’t care to put it to the test.
“I thought we agreed neither of us wanted this to become public knowledge.”
She glanced at the baby, and her mouth softened. “I don’t relish publicity any more than you do. But I have to find out about Tina.” She looked back up at him, and he could read the fear in her eyes. “If you’re telling me the truth, then I don’t have much time.”
“I know.”
He felt the clock ticking, too. It must be much worse for Anne, with three to four weeks to get back the DNA test results he knew would prove him innocent. And about the same time until her hearing. No wonder she wanted to launch into an investigation.
His steps slowed. “We’ll find out. I don’t expect you to trust me on this, but I’m telling you the truth. We’ll find out.”
She nodded, and he thought he saw a sheen of tears in her eyes. “Yes.” She cleared her throat. “The café…is it near here?”
“Right across the street.” He gestured toward the Bluebird Café. “Let me buy you that cup of coffee.”
The baby seemed to enjoy bouncing down over the curb and across the street. She pounded on the stroller tray with both tiny fists.
The Bluebird Café, its façade painted a bright blue to match its name, was one of a series of shops that staggered down either side of Main Street. They were like so many dominoes, looking ready to tumble to the valley floor, but they’d stood where they were for a hundred years or so.
A bit different from Anne’s usual setting, he knew, a vision of that luxury high-rise flitting through his mind. What did she think of Bedford Creek in comparison? Of him?
Whoa, back up and erase that. It didn’t matter what Anne thought of him. Not as long as, in the end, she accepted the fact that he wasn’t Emilie’s father.
Anne held open the frosted glass door, its placard advertising Cassie’s chicken-and-dumpling soup. He lifted the stroller up the two steps from the street and pushed it inside, not wasting time looking up for either admiration or approval in those sapphire eyes.
“Not especially crowded,” Anne observed, unzipping Emilie’s snowsuit.
“Empty, as a matter of fact. It’s too late for lunch and too early for supper.” He gestured. “So you have your choice of seating.”
She picked a booth halfway back, and by the time they were settled, Cassie had appeared from the kitchen.
“Afternoon, Chief.” She twitched her bluebird-trimmed ap
ron and shot Anne a suspicious glance. “What can I get you?”
“Coffee?” He raised his eyebrows at Anne, and she nodded. “Two coffees.”
“That’s it?” Cassie made it sound like a personal affront that they didn’t order anything else.
Again he looked at Anne, and she shook her head. “I had lunch on the way.” She gave Cassie a hundred-watt smile. “Another time I’ll try your chicken-and-dumpling soup.”
That smile would have had him picking himself up off the floor, Mitch thought. Cassie just jerked her head in a nod, but her usual grim expression seemed to soften slightly as she plodded back toward the kitchen.
“Does she give all her customers such a warm welcome?”
He leaned against the blue padded seat. “I told you she wouldn’t be very forthcoming.”
“A clam is more forthcoming.” She took an animal cracker from her bag and handed it to Emilie. The baby pounded it once on the stroller tray and then stuffed it into her mouth. “Why did she open a restaurant, of all things, if she didn’t want to be around people?”
He shrugged. “Not that many ways to make a living in Bedford Creek. You either work at the furniture factory or you make money off tourists. And Cassie is a good cook. You’d better come back for that chicken-and-dumpling soup.”
“I guess I may as well sample the local cuisine while I’m here.”
“And chat with her about Tina while you’re at it?” That was obviously in her mind. “Maybe you should let me bring the subject up.”
She pierced him with an intent look. “Would you, if I didn’t push? Or would you ignore it?”
“I said I’d work on it, and I will.” He couldn’t keep the irritation from his voice. Persistence was a good quality, but he didn’t appreciate having it turned on him. “I’ve already started a couple of lines of inquiry.”
She looked as if she’d like to believe him. “What did you find out?”
The clink of coffee mugs announced Cassie’s return, and Mitch shot Anne a warning glance. Cassie might not be the yakker Wanda was, but he still didn’t want her knowing his business.
Cassie slapped down the mugs, more bluebirds fluttering on the white china. She took a step back, then looked at Anne.
“Fresh apple dumplings tomorrow. Get here early if you want it.”
He suspected laughter hovered on Anne’s lips, but she didn’t let it out. “Thanks, I’ll remember.”
When Cassie was safely back in the kitchen, he shook his head in mock amazement. “Apple dumplings. Believe it or not, you’ve made an impression. Cassie doesn’t offer her apple dumplings to just anyone.”
Amusement lit Anne’s eyes. “Dumpling soup and apple dumplings? I’d look like a dumpling if I ate like that.”
He let his glance take in her slim figure, sleek in dark slacks and a sapphire sweater that matched her eyes. “You don’t look as if you need to worry.”
She couldn’t meet his eyes. “I didn’t know investigating was so calorie-intensive.”
“Maybe you ought to leave it to the pros. I can tackle the apple dumplings for you.”
She shook her head, smiling but stubborn. “What were you going to tell me before Cassie came back out?”
Right. The message was clear: he’d better keep his mind on business.
“I did some preliminary checking on Tina Mallory. She lived in town for six months, worked for Cassie from June to October. Once the tourist season ended, Cassie let her go. Far as I can tell, she left sometime the following month.”
“Why Philadelphia, I wonder? She never told me that.”
So, he could tell her something she didn’t know about her friend. “Turns out she lived awhile in Philadelphia. I’d guess when she realized she was pregnant, she wanted to go somewhere familiar.”
“Familiar? Do you mean she still had friends or family there?”
Fear probably put the sharp edge in Anne’s voice. Maybe it hadn’t occurred to her that Tina might have family. Family that could possibly have a claim to Emilie. He shook his head quickly.
“Not that I can tell. Apparently it was always just her and her mother—no father in evidence. And her mother died about four years ago.” He curled his fingers around the warm mug. “She’d apparently lost touch with any friends she once had. But there certainly had to be more job opportunities in Philadelphia than anywhere around here.”
“That makes sense. I just wonder why she never told me she’d lived there. In fact, I’m sure she said she was from Los Angeles.”
“Sounds as if Tina was a little careless with the truth at times.”
She gave him a level look, one that said she knew just what he meant. “She was young,” she said finally. “She tried to make herself interesting. But that doesn’t mean I should discount everything she said.”
He’d better not let himself enjoy the way Anne’s eyes lit up when she smiled, he thought. Or try to figure out a way to prolong moments when they laughed together across the table as if they were friends.
They weren’t friends, and Anne obviously intended that they never would be.
Chapter Five
By the next morning, Anne had nearly succeeded in convincing herself she’d imagined that unsuitable attraction to Mitch. It must be a product of emotional stress. She’d ignore the feelings—she’d always been good at that, thanks to her parents’ example.
She maneuvered Emilie’s stroller over the curb. One thing she knew about parenting without a doubt: Emilie wouldn’t grow up in the kind of emotional desert she had. If she and Terry had had children… But she’d finally realized her husband had no desire for a family. In marrying him, she’d just put herself in another emotionally barren situation.
No, not for Emilie. She bent to tuck the snowsuit hood more closely around the baby’s ears, since the weather had turned cooler. Emilie would have love overflowing from her mother. If…
The Bluebird Café, she hoped, might provide some answers. At least today she wouldn’t have Mitch sitting across from her when she dropped Tina’s name into the conversation. If Cassie did know whom Tina had dated, and if that person was Mitch, she might not want to say anything in front of him.
The hardware store carried a display of window boxes and planting tools. Anne hurried past. Not even the most rabid gardener would be buying window boxes today, she thought. But it was easy to imagine the narrow wooden houses, tucked along the steep hillside, decked out with flowers in every window. Bedford Creek would look like a village in the Swiss Alps.
She pulled the café door open, to be greeted by a wave of warm air scented with apples and cinnamon, and accented with chatter. It wasn’t noon yet, but the Bluebird was crowded already. It was obviously the place to be when Cassie made her famous apple dumplings.
She glanced around, aware of the flurry of curious looks sent her way. The only empty table, a small one set for two, was in the front window. She maneuvered the stroller to it. Bringing up Tina’s name in a casual way wouldn’t be easy with the number of people in the café. She would have to linger over her lunch, hoping to outlast most of them.
“Hi. Can I help you?” The waitress was younger than Cassie, with a name tag showing her name: Heather.
Anne felt a spurt of optimism. This girl, close in age to Tina, might remember more about Tina than Cassie did, assuming she’d worked at the café then.
“I’ll have the chicken-and-dumpling soup.” She put down the plastic-coated menu and smiled at the girl, whose spiky hair and multiple mismatched earrings had to be a fashion statement in a small town. “I’ve heard it’s your specialty.”
“You bet.” Heather’s hazel eyes ticked off every detail of Anne’s slacks, cashmere sweater and gold jewelry. “Cassie’s famous for it. Anything for the baby?”
“No, that’s it.”
She’d wait until the girl came back with her food to build on the conversation. Maybe by then she’d have lost the feeling everyone in the place was listening to her.
S
he bent to pull a jar of baby peaches from the diaper bag. As she straightened, the door swung open again and Mitch walked in.
Her cheeks were warm because she’d been bending over, that was all. She concentrated on Emilie, aware of Mitch’s voice as he exchanged greetings with what sounded like everyone in the place. With any luck, he’d be joining one of them for lunch.
Apparently luck didn’t have anything to do with it. Mitch made his way, unhurriedly, to her table. The chair scraped, and he sat down across from her as if they’d had a lunch date.
“Somehow I thought I’d find you here.” He bent to greet Emilie, who responded with a crow of delight when he tickled her.
“Probably because I mentioned yesterday I wanted to come back for the chicken-dumpling soup.” And a private conversation with Cassie.
His smile told her he knew exactly what she was thinking. “Good day for it.” He waved across the room to Heather. “Another bowl of the chicken soup here, Heather.”
The girl nodded. “You bet, Chief.”
“You guessed—” At his warning glance she lowered her voice. “You guessed I wanted to talk with Cassie myself. I’d rather do it in private.”
“You mean without me around.” His face kept its relaxed expression, probably for the benefit of anyone who might be watching, but his eyes turned to stone. “I have an interest in this, remember?”
“I remember.” She could so easily see his side of it. If he was innocent, naturally he’d want to protect himself by knowing anything she found out. Unfortunately, if he was guilty, the same thing applied.
“Then you can understand why I’m here.” His square jaw seemed carved from granite.
“All right.” She didn’t have much choice. She needed his cooperation, whether she liked it or not. “Let me bring it up.”
“Go ahead. But don’t be surprised if she can’t tell you much. If you haven’t been here during tourist season, you can’t imagine how crazy it is.”
The soup arrived in huge, steaming pottery bowls. Heather put down a basket of freshly baked rolls nestled in a blue-checked napkin. She looked from Anne to Mitch.
