Cradle and All

by M. J. Rodgers

  “I’m a private investigator,” the moose said with the high, squeaky voice of a mouse.

  Tom regarded the two men silently for a moment as he bounced a fussing Tommy in his arms. “Why are you here?” he asked, and Anne noted an unusual coolness in his manner and tone.

  “May we sit down?” Shrubber proceeded to make himself comfortable on the couch without waiting for Tom’s response.

  Bender, the moose, stayed standing, watching Tom and the baby with his small, piercing eyes.

  “Father Christen, I understand you knew Lindy Olson pretty well,” Shrubber said.

  Tom’s expression reflected nothing but his self-assured calm. “Is that what you understand?”

  “Come on, Father,” Shrubber said, his voice now an irritating bark. “We know she worked for you at the Boston parish. And we know that she left her job a year ago when you...well, how shall I say this? Were asked to look for another parish?”

  Shrubber smirked, as if he found that funny. Anne had the immediate and unwelcome image of a pit bull in pants. With every passing second, she liked this attorney less.

  “And how exactly do you know all of this?” Tom asked.

  “Bender, here, is a very good private investigator. Would you like to know what Lindy did after she left her job at the Boston parish?” Shrubber inquired, obviously baiting him.

  “Is that what you’ve come to tell me?” Tom asked, still rocking the fussing baby.

  “She went to work as an aide at a Boston hospital,” Shrubber said. “Of course, she wasn’t legally old enough. But she had stolen some ID. And, as you know, she could pass for a lot older than she was. You did know she wasn’t yet fifteen when she worked for you?”

  “Get to your business, Shrubber,” Tom said, and there was no mistaking the lack of warmth in his tone.

  “While Lindy was working as a hospital aide, she got knocked up,” Shrubber continued. “Probably by one of the orderlies. Doesn’t matter. Thing is, she lost the baby and sort of went nuts. She stole a newborn from the maternity ward.”

  Anne listened to the attorney’s explanation. It seemed plausible. The autopsy report showed Lindy had given birth, but her baby could have been stillborn.

  “Whose baby did she steal?” Tom asked.

  “That doesn’t matter,” Shrubber said.

  “It matters to me,” Tom said.

  “Rolan and Heather Kendrall are the parents. Naturally, they were devastated, and approached me for help.”

  “Why not the police?” Tom asked.

  That would have been Anne’s next question.

  “The Kendralls are very sympathetic people,” Shrubber said. “Lindy had been Mrs. Kendrall’s aide in the hospital. Mrs. Kendrall knew she had lost her own baby. She didn’t want to have the girl end up with a police record.”

  “Sounds strange that she would put the welfare of a baby-snatcher above that of her baby,” Tom said.

  “She wanted the matter handled sensitively,” Shrubber replied.

  “Are you implying that’s why she went to you?” Tom asked.

  “Both Rolan and Heather were afraid that if Lindy felt pursued by the police, she might just go off the deep end and hurt the baby or herself. The Kendralls are personal friends of mine. They knew I had access to a good private investigator and would handle the matter discreetly. Still, it took a while for Bender here to pick up Lindy’s trail.”

  Shrubber looked from Tom to the baby. His flash of teeth was not a smile. “But Bender did finally find her.”

  “If you have a point to make, make it,” Tom said.

  “The point is,” Bender said, taking a step toward Tom, “that’s the Kendralls’ baby you’ve got.”

  Anne noticed a perceptible change in Tom’s stance. His legs were slightly spread, as though he was braced for something. Despite the considerable difference in their heights, he looked the burly private investigator straight in the eye.

  “This is not the Kendralls’ baby,” Tom said. “This is my baby.”

  “You’re a priest,” Shrubber said, coming to his feet as though in righteous indignation. “Priests can’t have kids.”

  “He’s an Episcopal priest, Mr. Shrubber,” Bender said, as though embarrassed to have to explain this fact to his boss. “They’re allowed to marry and have kids. They’re sort of like Roman Catholic light.”

  “He didn’t have that kid,” Shrubber said, his temper showing. “Lindy Olson left that baby with you, Christen, when she found out Bender was closing in. I know it and you know it. Now I’m taking him back to where he belongs.”

  Tommy’s fussing rose to a full-fledged cry at the angry voices.

  “You’re not taking my baby anywhere,” Tom said, his quiet words accelerating like strokes of a piston gathering speed. “Now get out of here.”

  For a very long moment, the men stayed exactly where they were, staring at Tom.

  “We can do this the easy way, Priest,” Shrubber said, taking a small step toward Tom. “Or we can do it the hard way.”

  Anne was suddenly very afraid. The tension in the room was palpable. She fully expected these men to pounce on Tom at any second and forcibly take the now screaming baby from him. And she had no doubt, looking at the calm, determined expression on Tom’s face, that he would resist them.

  She didn’t know what to believe about Tommy. She didn’t know what to believe about Lindy. She didn’t know what to believe about these two men. Only one thing emerged crystal clear in Anne’s mind at that moment.

  She believed in Tom.

  If he said the baby was his, then the baby had to be his.

  Anne boldly stepped into the room. “You were just told to leave,” she roared in a tone that had quelled many a courtroom.

  Shrubber and Bender whirled around to face her.

  “And who in the hell are you?” Shrubber demanded.

  “Anne Vandree, Associate Justice of the Berkshire Court.”

  Shrubber’s eyes took in Anne’s petite frame as though he were sizing up her mettle. The guy didn’t know the first thing about mettle. Something that was probably meant to be a smile, but emerged much more as a sneer, drew back his lips.

  “Why should I believe you are who you say?” Shrubber demanded.

  Anne sent the attorney a lethal look, the kind she reserved for his particular brand of scum. Her voice descended into its deadliest delivery. “I don’t have to prove anything to you. The state police are on their way. They know me. It’s your credentials they’ll be checking when they arrest you for trespassing.”

  Bender shot a nervous glance at Shrubber. Anne knew that he was looking to his boss for his next instructions.

  Shrubber blinked, a quick reassessment of both Anne and the situation flashing through his eyes.

  Anne took another step toward him. “I don’t know what the judges are like where you come from, but here in the Berkshires we throw the book at outsiders who barge into private homes making threats.”

  “We didn’t barge in,” Bender said, his squeaky voice clearly on the defensive. “Father Christen let us in.”

  “I just heard him tell you to get out,” Anne said.

  “I don’t think you understand the gravity of this matter,” Shrubber said, his tone suddenly far more conciliatory. “If the state police do arrive, the matter will be taken out of my hands and I’ll have to file official charges.”

  “I’d be interested to know how you can file charges against a man for refusing to hand over his child,” Anne said, boldly advancing another step.

  “That is not his child,” Shrubber said.

  “Oh, yes it is,” Anne replied, marching over to stand beside Tom, not taking her eyes off Shrubber for a second.

  “And just how do you know that?” Shrubber demanded
.

  Anne took the screaming baby out of Tom’s arms and hugged him to her. Tommy clung to her as she gently hushed his anguished sounds.

  “Because I’m the baby’s mother,” Anne announced with a fierceness that shocked even her.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE ROOM WAS absolutely quiet. Shrubber and Bender stared at Anne, astonishment frozen on their faces.

  Still, it was Tom who was the most astonished of all. Since Anne had charged into the room just minutes before, he’d been absolutely captivated by her. He knew she was tough. She’d shown that to him often enough. He’d just never realized how tough until now. It was pure joy to see her take on Shrubber and his goon of a P.I. and reduce them to size intellectually and emotionally.

  What thrilled Tom most was why she was doing it. The faith she had to have in him to defy this attorney’s claim so vehemently had stalled the breath in his lungs.

  But it was her last statement that had completely stopped his heart.

  “That’s your baby?” Bender squeaked.

  “That’s what I said,” Anne repeated as she planted a brief kiss on Tommy’s brow. The baby was now quiet and as good as gold in her arms, a perfect testament to her claim. Bless his little heart.

  “You’ve made a big mistake,” Anne continued, her tone still carrying the full force of a left hook to the jaw. “You’ll be making an even bigger one if you’re still here when the state police arrive.”

  Bender looked decidedly uneasy as he peered at his boss. Shrubber was glaring at Anne as though still not quite sure what to believe.

  Tom realized that Anne must have met lawyers like Shrubber many times in her court. She knew the kind of man she faced. Shrubber, on the other hand, still had no idea with whom he was dealing.

  But he was getting an inkling.

  Shrubber finally looked away from Anne to Tom. Tom stared at the man as he would at any cockroach he found crawling in his living room.

  The lawyer turned to his P.I. “Come on. We’re finished here.”

  Tom kept his eye on them as he followed the two men to the door, making sure they were on their way to their car before closing the door and throwing the bolt.

  Anne let out an audible breath of relief.

  Until she turned around and saw Phyllis Cooper standing in the hallway, holding out a piece of paper, her eyes staring at Tom and Anne like two balloons about to burst.

  “I, uh, knocked on the back door, but no one answered,” Phyllis said. “This is the list of those making meals for Betty over the next few days. There were so many volunteers, I had to turn people away.”

  Tom had never seen Phyllis Cooper looking so shocked. He knew exactly how she felt.

  “Appreciate your help, Phyl,” Tom said, careful to keep his voice calm and even. “Just set the list on the kitchen table.”

  Phyllis nodded, her eyebrows wiggling in delight as she gave Tom and Anne one last look before turning and heading for the kitchen. Anne didn’t move, didn’t even blink until the sound of the back door closing reached them. Then she whirled around to face Tom.

  “How long was she standing there?” she asked in a strangled voice.

  Anne’s tone—so full of deadly force just a moment before—was now about as fatal as a feather.

  “Long enough to hear you announce you’re the mother of my child,” Tom said as calmly as he could.

  “Oh, dear God.”

  Tom carefully arranged his expression into serious lines. “If that was the beginning of a prayer, give it your best shot. It’ll take nothing less than divine intervention now to keep Phyllis Cooper from spreading the news of what she just heard.”

  As Tom saw the sudden frown on Anne’s lovely face, he had to fight the strong urge to kiss it away. All of his doubts about their being able to overcome the biggest obstacle against them had completely vanished during the last few minutes.

  She had believed him—despite the all-too-plausible story Shrubber had told. Believed him without the explanation she had demanded from him, pleaded with him to give her only moments before.

  Believed him and stood by him.

  Tom had to hold in the excitement that threatened to burst from his heart.

  “This is terrible,” Anne said with a disheartened sigh. “What if it gets back to your bishop?”

  “I’ll be in serious trouble,” Tom agreed, trying his best to sound grave. “And I doubt this conduct will sit well with your fellow justices. I’m afraid there’s only one way you can save our reputations now.”

  “How?” she asked.

  “Marry me.”

  “This is no time for jokes,” she said.

  “What makes you think I’m joking?”

  The wonderfully startled look on her face was more than Tom could resist. He circled his arm around her and drew her close to his side. He could feel the skipping beat of her heart against his ribs. His own had begun to pound. He bent his head to hers until they were just a breath apart.

  “Marry me, Anne.”

  He felt her shiver against him, saw the fire and silver sparks igniting in her eyes. He brushed his lips across hers, tasting once again the sweetness that was all her own. When she sighed and closed her eyes, his heart pounded faster.

  With infinite care, he wrapped his arms around her and the baby. He gently kissed her closed lids, her cheeks, her lips.

  Anne melted against Tom, the sudden heat of his body turning her bones to jelly, her brain to mush. As his tender kisses claimed her lips, then traced a path to her ear, she felt encased in a breathless heat. When his mouth found the side of her neck, a moan that was half prayer, half oath broke from her.

  “Was that a yes?” he asked in a heated whisper as he nestled kisses against the sleek, slender column of her throat.

  “What?” Anne asked. She couldn’t focus on who she was, much less his question, not with the incredible new sensation of hot liquid chills coursing through her.

  She knew she was forgetting something, something she was afraid was very important. But it was so hard to think with the seductive scent of him filling her, his touch fanning the fire inside her. She felt as helpless to fight it as a baby.

  Baby! The sudden thought shocked her down to her shoes. She had totally forgotten she was still holding the baby!

  Anne pulled back, her thoughts sizzling like scrambled eggs in hot butter as her eyes shot to Tommy. But her concern was for naught. He was fine, nestled between her and Tom, bright eyed, curiously pulling at the pearl buttons on the blouse draped over her arm.

  Only then did she realize that Tom had one arm securely around her and one around the baby.

  “Anne?”

  His voice was a hoarse note above her hair. She lifted her head to his and sighed. Surely a woman could get lost—or was it found?—looking into eyes that warm.

  The doorbell sounded like a cannon going off. Anne jumped within the circle of Tom’s steady arm.

  “I have to answer that,” he said, but didn’t make a move to release her. And Anne had absolutely no inclination to move away from either the compelling heat of his body or that in his eyes.

  The doorbell rang again.

  “I hope I can assume it’s not the state police,” Tom said, only half jokingly.

  “I would have called Fred if I had had time.”

  Tom pulled Anne with him as he headed into the study. “Then I’m glad you didn’t have the time. There’s a staircase leading down to the workshop behind this bookcase,” he said as he walked over to the wall and flipped a hidden switch. The panel popped open. “Wait there with Tommy.”

  “Why?”

  “In case that’s Shrubber and his P.I. with second thoughts.”

  Anne shook her head. “I’m not leaving you here alone to face them.�
�

  Tom smiled. “I normally don’t go for the beautiful, reckless type who insist on coming to a guy’s rescue,” he said as he took Anne’s arm and eased her firmly toward the opening in the panel. “But in your case I’m definitely going to have to make an exception.”

  After planting a brief, hard kiss on Anne’s lips, he flipped on a light inside the stairwell, pushed her through the open panel and closed the bookcase in her face.

  Anne bristled at his high-handed manner. He really had some nerve.

  Beautiful, he had called her.

  Tom’s compliment, followed by the feel of his hard, claiming kiss, hummed through Anne’s blood. And made her smile.

  Still, she had absolutely no intention of moving from this spot until she was sure Tom was all right. She leaned against the panel and listened. After a moment she was reassured to hear muted female voices coming from the other side.

  Only then did she deem it safe to grasp the banister and descend the stairs into what Tom had called the workshop. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting, but what she found when she got there totally surprised her.

  * * *

  TOM HAD FORGOTTEN about the financial committee meeting. As its members poured into his living room, he quickly explained that something had come up and he would have to reschedule. After he had seen the last of them out the door, he hurried to join Anne in the workroom.

  She was standing next to the wood shelves, looking up at the carved wooden inscription mounted on the wall.

  “‘By the work, one knows the workman,’” she read, then turned toward him. “La Fontaine said that, didn’t he?”

  “Yes,” Tom said.

  She turned back to the shelves, fingering the carved wooden models. Tommy was also reaching for them. Anne was careful to keep his eager little hand from getting too close.

  “These are models of malls,” she said. “You built them, didn’t you?”

  “First the models, then the malls,” Tom said.

  “But obviously not on the end of a pile driver,” she said, turning to him.

  “I was the general contractor on the projects.”