An Unexpected Christmas Baby

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  There was no way he could afford to take time off work now.

  “I’m taking her with me.” He faced Ms. Bailey, feet apart and firmly grounded. He had to work. Period. “I have a Pack ’n Play already set up in the office.”

  The woman frowned. “They’ll let you have a baby with you at work?”

  “My office is private. I’ll keep the door closed if it’s a problem.” The plan was short-term. Eventually he’d have to make other arrangements. He’d only had a weekend to prepare. Had gotten himself trained and the house set up. He figured he’d done a damned impressive job.

  Besides, that time Campbell’s dog had had surgery, the guy had brought it to the office every day for a week. Kept it in his office. As long as you were a money-maker and didn’t get in the way of others making money, you were pretty much untouched at Owens Investments. They were like independent businesses under one roof.

  Or so he’d been telling himself repeatedly in the couple of days since he’d realized he couldn’t open his own business as planned. Not and have sole responsibility for a newborn. Running a business took a lot more than simply making smart investments. Especially when it was just getting off the ground.

  He’d already shut down the entire process. Withdrawn his applications for the licenses required to be an investment adviser to more than five clients and regulated by the SEC in the State of California. Lost his deposit for a proposed suite in a new office building.

  If she thought she was going to keep his sister from him now...

  Another breeze blew across his face, riffling the edge of the blanket long enough that he caught a flash of skin. A tiny cheek? A forehead?

  Panic flared. And then dissipated. That bundle was his sister. His family. Only he could give her that. Only he could tell her about her mother. The good stuff.

  Like the times she’d look in on him late at night, thinking he was asleep. Whisper her apologies. And tell him how very, very much she loved him. How much he mattered. How he was the one thing she’d done right. How he was going to make his mark on the world for both of them.

  The way she’d throw herself a thousand percent into his school projects, encouraging him, making suggestions, applauding him. How talented she was at crafty things. How she loved to watch sappy movies and made the best popcorn. How she’d want to watch scary movies with him and he’d catch her looking away during the best parts. How she’d never made a big deal out of his mistakes. From spills to a broken window, she’d let him know it was okay. How she’d played cards with him, taught him to cook. How she’d laugh until tears ran down her face. How pretty she used to be when she smiled.

  The images flying swiftly through his mind halted abruptly as Ms. Bailey began to close in on him, her arms outstretched.

  Hoping to God she didn’t notice his sudden trembling, he moved instinctively, settled the weight at the tip of the blanket in the crook of his elbow and took the rest of it on his arm, just as he’d practiced with the flour-and-butter wrap the night before. She was warm. And she squirmed. Shock rippled through him. Ms. Bailey adjusted the blanket, fully exposing the tiniest face he’d ever seen up close. Doll-like nose and chin. Eyelids tightly closed. Puckered little lips. A hint of a frown on a forehead that was smaller than the palm of his hand.

  “From what I’ve seen in pictures, she has your mother’s eyes,” Ms. Bailey said, a catch in her voice. Because she could hear the tears threatening in his? A grown man who hadn’t cried since the first time they’d carted his mother off to prison. He’d been six then.

  She has your mother’s eyes.

  He had his mother’s eyes. Deep, dark brown. It was fitting that this baby did, too. “We’ll be getting on with it, then,” he said, holding his inheritance securely against him as he moved toward his SUV, all but dismissing Ms. Bailey from their lives.

  Having a caseworker was a part of his legacy that he wasn’t going to pass on to his sister.

  Reaching the new blue Lincoln Navigator he’d purchased five months before and hadn’t visited the prison in even once, he felt a sharp pang of guilt as he realized once again that he’d let almost half a year pass since seeing his mother.

  Before he’d met Stella Wainwright—a lawyer in her father’s high-powered firm, whose advice he’d come to rely on as he’d made preparations to open his own investment firm—he’d seen Alana at least twice a month. But once he and Stella had hooked up on a personal level, he’d been distracted. Incredibly busy. And...

  He’d been loath to lie to Stella about where he’d been—in the event he’d visited the prison—but had been equally unsure about telling her about his convict mother.

  As it turned out, his reticence hadn’t been off the mark. As soon as he’d told Stella about his mother’s death, and the child who’d been bequeathed to him, she’d balked. She’d assumed he’d give the baby up for adoption. And had made it clear that if he didn’t, she was moving on. She’d said from the beginning that she didn’t want children, at least not for a while, but he’d also seen the extreme distaste in her expression when he’d mentioned where his mother had been when she died, and why he’d never introduced them.

  Her reaction hadn’t surprised him.

  Eight years had passed since he’d been under investigation and nearly lost his career, but the effects were long-lasting. He’d done nothing more than provide his destitute mother with a place to live, but when his name came up as owner of a drug factory, the truth hadn’t mattered.

  Stella had done a little research and he’d been cooked.

  Opening the back passenger door of the vehicle, he gently laid his sleeping bundle in the car seat, unprepared when the bundle slumped forward. Repositioning her, he pulled her slightly forward, allowing her body weight to lean back—and slouch over to the side of the seat.

  Who the hell had thought the design of that seat appropriate?

  “This might help.”

  Straightening, he saw the caseworker holding out a brightly covered, U-shaped piece of foam. He took it from her and arranged it at the top of the car seat as instructed. He was pleased with the result. Until he realized he’d placed the sleeping bundle on top of the straps that were supposed to hold the baby in place.

  Expecting Ms. Bailey to interrupt, to push him aside to show him how it was done—half hoping she would so she wasn’t standing there watching his big fumbling fingers—he set to righting his mistake. The caseworker must be thinking he was incapable of handling the responsibility. However, she didn’t butt in and he managed, after a long minute, to get the baby harnessed. He’d practiced that, too. The hooking and unhooking of those straps. Plastic pieces that slid over metal for the shoulder part, metal into metal over the bottom half.

  He stood. Waited for a critique of his first task as a...guardian.

  Handing him her card, reminding him of legalities he’d have to complete, Ms. Bailey took one last look at the baby and told him to call her if he had any questions or problems.

  He took the card, assuring her he’d call if the need arose. Pretty certain he wouldn’t. He’d be like any normal...guardian; he’d call the pediatrician. As soon as he had one. Another item he had to add to the list of immediate things to do.

  “And for what it’s worth...” Ms. Bailey stood there, looking between him and the little sister he was suddenly starting to feel quite proprietary about. “I think she’s a very lucky little girl.”

  Wow. He hadn’t seen that coming. Wasn’t sure the words were true. But they rang loudly in his ears as the woman walked away.

  Standing in the open space of the back passenger door, he glanced down at the sleeping baby, only her face visible to him, and didn’t want to shut the door. Didn’t want to leave her in the big back seat all alone.

  Which was ridiculous.

  He had to get to work. And hope to God he could mend whatever damage had been done by his previ
ous plans to leave. He had some ideas there—a way to redeem himself, to rebuild trust. But he had to be at the office to present them.

  Closing the door as softly as he could, he hurried to the driver’s seat, adjusted the rearview mirror so he could see enough of the baby to know she was there and started the engine. Not ready to go anywhere. To begin this new life.

  He glanced in the mirror again. Sitting forward so he could see the child more clearly. Other than the little chest rising and falling with each breath, she hadn’t moved.

  But was moving him to the point of panic. And tears, too. He wasn’t alone anymore.

  “Welcome home, Diamond Rose,” he whispered.

  And put the car in Drive.

  Chapter Two

  “Dad, seriously, tell me what’s going on.” Tamara Owens faced her father, not the least bit intimidated by the massive cherry desk separating him from her. Or the elegantly imposing décor throughout her father’s office.

  She’d seen him at home, unshaved, walking around their equally elegant five-thousand-square-foot home in boxers and a T-shirt. In a bathrobe, sick with the flu. And, also in a bathrobe, holding her hair while she’d thrown up, sick with the same flu. Her mom, the doctor in the family, had been at the hospital that night.

  “You didn’t put pressure on me to move home just because you and Mom are getting older and I’m your only child.” It was the story they’d given her when they’d bombarded her with their “do what you need to do, but at least think about it” requests. Then her father, in a conversation alone with her, had given Tamara a second choice, an “at least take a month off and stay for a real visit” that had made the final decision for her. She’d gotten the feeling that he needed her home. She’d already been contemplating leaving the East Coast, where she’d fled two years earlier after having lived in San Diego her entire life. Her reputation as an efficiency consultant was solid enough to allow her to branch out independently, rather than work through a firm without fear of going backward. Truth be told, in those two years, she’d missed her folks as much as they’d missed her, in spite of their frequent trips across the country to see each other.

  She’d lived by the ocean in Boston, but she missed Southern California. The sunshine and year-round warmth. The two-year lease renting out her place by the beach, not far from the home she’d grown up in, had ended and the time seemed right to make the move back home.

  “And you didn’t ask me down here to have lunch with you just to catch up, either,” she told him. Though his thick hair was mostly gray, her father, at six-two, with football shoulders that had absolutely no slump to them, was a commanding figure. She respected him. But he’d never, ever, made her feel afraid of him.

  Or afraid to speak up to him, either.

  Her parents, both remarkably successful, independent career people, had raised her to be just as independent.

  “I wanted to check in—you know, just the two of us—to see how you’re really doing.”

  Watching him, she tried to decide whether she could take him at face value. There’d been times, during her growing-up years, when she’d asked him for private conversations because her mother’s ability to jump too completely into her skin had bothered her. And times when he’d wanted the same. This didn’t feel like one of those times.

  But...

  “I’m totally over Steve, if that’s what you want to know,” she told him. “We’ve been talking for about six months now. Ever since he called to tell me he was getting married. I spoke with him a couple of weeks ago to tell him I was moving home. I care about him as a friend, but there are truly no regrets about our decision to divorce.”

  The passion between them had died long before the marriage had.

  “I was wondering more about the...other areas of your life.”

  Some of those were permanently broken. She had an “inhospitable” uterus. Nothing anyone could do about that.

  “I’ve come to terms with never having a baby, if that’s what you mean.” After she’d lost the fourth one, she’d known she couldn’t let herself try again. What she’d felt for those babies, even when they’d been little more than blips in an ultrasound, had been the most incredible thing ever. But the devastation when she’d lost them...that had almost killed her. Every single time.

  She couldn’t do that again.

  “There are other ways, Tam.”

  She shook her head.

  “Adoption, for instance.”

  Another vigorous shake of her head was meant to stop his words.

  “Down the road, I mean. When you meet someone, want to have a family...”

  She was still shaking her head.

  “Just give it some time.”

  She’d given it two years. Her feelings hadn’t changed. Not in the slightest. “Knowing how badly it hurts to lose a child... It’s not something I’m going to risk again. Not just because I’m afraid I’d miscarry if I got pregnant again, although it’s pretty much assured that I would. But even without that, I can’t have children. Whether I lost a child through miscarriage or some other way, just knowing it could happen... I can’t take that chance. The last time, I hit a wall. I just don’t—I’ve made my peace with life and I’m happy.”

  A lot of days she was getting there. Had moments when she was there. And felt fully confident she’d be completely there. Soon.

  “But you aren’t dating.”

  Leaning forward, she said, “I just got back to town a week ago! Give me time!”

  He didn’t even blink. “What about Boston? Didn’t you meet anyone there?”

  “I was hardly ever home long enough to meet anyone,” she reminded him. “Traveling all over the country, making a name for myself, took practically every second I had.”

  The move to Boston had been prompted by an offer she’d had to join a nationally reputed efficiency company. She’d been given the opportunity to build a reputation for herself. To collect an impressive database of statistical proof from more than two dozen assignments that showed she could save a company far more money per year, in many departments, than they’d pay for her one-time services. Her father had seen the results. He’d been keeping his own running tally of her successes.

  “You did an incredible job, Tam, I’m not disputing that. I’m impressed. And proud of you, too.”

  The warmth in those blue eyes comforted her as much now as when she’d been a little kid and fallen off her bike the first time he’d taken off the training wheels. She hadn’t even skinned her knee, but she’d been scared and he’d scooped her up, made her look him in the eye and see that she was just fine.

  “I guess it’s a little hard for me to believe that emotionally you’re really doing as well as you say, because I don’t see how you do it. I can’t imagine ever losing you... I don’t know how I’d have survived losing four.”

  “But you did lose four, Daddy. You were as excited as anyone when you found out I was pregnant. Heck, you’d already bought Ryan his first fishing rod...”

  She still had it, in the back of the shed on her small property. She’d carried Ryan the longest. Almost five months. They’d just found out he was a boy. Everything had looked good. And then...

  Through sheer force of will, she stopped the shudder before it rippled through her. Remembering the sharp stabs of debilitating physical pain was nothing compared to the morose emptiness she’d been left with afterward.

  “I’m not as strong as you are.” Howard Owens’s voice sounded...different. She hardly recognized it. Tamara stared at him, truly frightened. Was her father sick? Did her mother know? Was that why they’d needed her home?

  Frustrated, she wanted to demand that he tell her what was going on, but knew better. The Owens and their damned independence. Asking for help was like an admission of defeat.

  “Of course you are,” she told him, ready to hold him u
p, support him, for whatever length of time it took to get him healthy again. If, indeed, he was sick. She slowed herself down. She’d just been thinking how healthy, robust, strong he looked. His skin as tanned as always, that tiny hint of a belly at his waist... Everything was as it should be. He’d been talking about his golf scores at dinner the night before—until her mother had changed the subject in the charming manner she had that let him know he was going on and on.

  Tamara had been warmed by the way her mother had smiled at her father as the words left her mouth—and the way, as usual, he’d smiled back at her.

  She and Steve had never had that; they’d never been able to communicate as much or more with a look as they had with words. In the final couple of years, not even words had worked for them...

  “Anyway,” she continued, pulling her mind out of the abyss, “you’re the one who taught me how to do it,” she said, mimicking him. “It’s all about focus, exactly like you taught me. If I wanted to get good grades, I had to focus and study. If I wanted to have a good life, I had to focus on what I wanted. If I wanted to overcome the fear, I had to keep my thoughts on things other than being afraid. And if I want to be a success, I just have to focus on doing the best job I can do. Focus, Dad. That’s what you’ve always taught me and what I’ve always done. In everything I do.”

  It was almost like she was telling him how to make it through whatever was bothering him.

  He’d always been her greatest example.

  Howard’s eyes closed for longer than a blink. When he opened them again, he didn’t meet her gaze. And for the second time fear struck a cold blow inside her. Focus on the problem, she told herself. Not on how she was feeling.

  To do that, she had to know the problem.

  “What’s going on, Dad?” There was no doubt that his call to her asking her to come home had to do with more than missing her. How much more, she had to find out.

  “Owens Investments was audited this past spring.”