Suddenly Daddy and Suddenly Mommy

by Loree Lough

Jaina chose to ignore his “our boy” reference. Despite his earlier protestations, her father seemed as enamored of the baby as her mother. She was about to warn her parents not to get any more emotionally involved when her mother said, “On our way back to the diner in the morning, we’ll stop off at the grocery store, buy Liam more disposable diapers, some baby food, cereal—”

  “Well, don’t buy too much,” Jaina cautioned, “because this is a very temporary arrangement at best.” She rubbed noses with Liam. “Isn’t that right, cutie?”

  “Mmumm,” Liam said with an emphatic nod of his head.

  The tiny bell above the door tinkled as Ray pulled it open. “G’night, honey. See you bright and early.”

  “Bright and early,” she returned, locking the door behind them, and then to Liam, “with fifteen grocery bags full of stuff and all for you, whaddaya bet?”

  Grinning, he grabbed her ears. “Buffoo,” he said, “buffoo!”

  Jaina blew kisses against his cheek. “Buffoo yourself,” she said, laughing as she turned out the lights.

  But the playful behavior did nothing to block the warning that echoed in her head. This baby is not yours, Jaina. This is a temporary arrangement at best. Temporary…

  The contents of her bottom dresser drawer lay in a heap at the foot of her bed, and Liam lay snoozing contentedly on the downy quilt she’d lined it with. Jaina had tried to sleep in the bed with the baby in the drawer on the floor beside her. But it had seemed so far away that she’d tossed down her comforter and cozied up beside his makeshift crib to watch him sleep.

  It had been a mistake because, just as his young mother had predicted, Jaina fell feet over forehead in love with Liam Connor Buchanan.

  She’d had every intention of calling Skip the moment she closed the door to her apartment. But there had been a myriad of excuses. It was after ten. The baby needed a bath. She had a load of laundry to do. She hadn’t eaten since lunch. Telling herself she’d phone her pal first thing in the morning, she’d snuggled up beside Liam, fully intent upon sleeping there all night long.

  But she hadn’t slept a wink. Instead, she’d watched his every move.

  She looked at him now as gentle breaths sighed from him with barely a sound, the corner of his mouth lifting occasionally in the beginnings of a soft smile. What are you dreaming about, little one? she wondered. What sweet pictures do you see?

  Dozens of times during the night, she’d reached out to tuck a wayward blond curl behind his ear, to pull the clean white T-shirt down to cover his fat little tummy, to marvel at the long, lush lashes that dusted his pink cheeks. Do you miss your mommy? she’d asked silently when he’d wrapped his hand around her finger. Of course you do. She could only hope the Almighty would see fit to give Liam a short memory so the pain of separation would quickly fade away. Still, Jaina knew this much: if by some miracle, she was allowed to keep him, she would abide by her unspoken promise to Kirstie Buchanan. She would show Liam his mother’s photograph often and tell him about the loving young woman whose last thoughts had been of him and him alone.

  Jaina pictured Kirstie, tall and lithe, with gleaming waist-length blond hair, huge blue eyes and a quick, easy smile made all the more remarkable by the reasons that had brought her to The Chili Pot in the first place. With a child to worry about, she didn’t belong here, and she certainly didn’t look as if she belonged in a cancer-treatment program.

  Jaina could imagine Kirstie on a high school stage, doing a top-notch performance of Juliet, or Bianca, or Lysistrata. She’d be a marvelous actress, Jaina thought, because she’d certainly succeeded in hiding the sadness that must have prompted her trip from Chicago in search of the uncle she’d never met.

  Had she been married and quickly widowed, or had Liam been born out of wedlock? How had Kirstie supported Liam all these months? And who had minded him while she worked to keep a roof over his head and food in his belly? Kirstie had done a fine job caring for him, and the proof was in the baby’s rosy, dimpled cheeks, his sweet and calm disposition, his clean-as-new clothing.

  “You were taking a terrible chance, Kirstie,” Jaina said, tucking the sheet under his chins for the hundredth time, letting her knuckles gently graze the boy’s cheek. She’d caught herself doing that a lot. It was becoming a habit, this stroking and tickling and kissing, a habit that would be hard to break. “You were taking a chance, leaving this precious gift with me. How did you know I’d do right by him?”

  Something Rita had said time and again as Jaina was growing up echoed in her mind now. She’d been burning with fever, and on one of Rita’s many trips to her bedside, Jaina had asked, “Mom, how do you know what to do for me?” Her mother had perched lightly on the edge of her bed and smoothed back Jaina’s bangs. “A mother knows instinctively what’s best for her child.” She’d said it so matter-of-factly, Jaina believed it. And she believed it to this day. Whether a big-toe blister, a broken wrist or a bout with the flu, her mother had always known exactly what to say and do to comfort her daughter. “How do you know I’m capable of love like that?” Jaina asked Liam’s missing mommy.

  Kirstie had known, Jaina realized, because like Rita, the girl operated from a base of deep and abiding faith. Could this stranger have more in common with her mother than Jaina did? Could she have shared something with Rita…something that was only a dim memory to Jaina?

  Maybe Mom’s right. Maybe God is giving you a chance at motherhood through Liam….

  Jaina blinked and shook her head. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she chided herself. Still, she wouldn’t complain too terribly hard if Skip’s advice was that she should keep the baby…at least until a suitable foster family could be located. It made perfect sense, really, since the boy had already been abandoned once.

  Jaina sighed, thinking of the recurring dream she had at least once a week since the accident. It had been a mistake to get into Bill’s car, and she’d recognized that right from the start. The error in judgment was something she’d have to live with for the rest of her life, and the dream was her mind’s way of dealing with the ugly fact that if she’d listened to the silent warning that had gonged in her head that night…

  But she hadn’t listened.

  Jaina glanced at the calendar page.

  June 22.

  Her heart thundered and her pulse pounded. What could it mean that Liam had come into her life eight years to the day since the accident?

  She eased away from his side and tiptoed into the kitchen. Five thirty-five, if the glowing green numerals on the microwave clock were correct. She’d preset the coffeemaker for five-thirty and now inhaled the pleasurable aroma that filled the air. A cup of steaming hot coffee would be the perfect distraction.

  Curiosity more than anything else prompted her to slide the phone book from the shelf under the kitchen counter. Plopping it onto the faux chopping-block surface, she opened it to the yellow pages and turned to the Lawyers listing.

  Her forefinger passed quickly down the column. “‘Baker, Beckley, Bloom, Brown,’” she read softly. The voice froze in her throat as her finger came to a halt beneath one name. “‘Connor L. Buchanan, Specializing in Criminal and Divorce Law,’” she whispered, “‘371 Court House Drive, Ellicott City.’”

  The baby’s full name is Liam Connor Buchanan….

  Her heart clenched with dread. She’d been hoping this search wouldn’t turn up anything but more questions, and that those questions would require further research, which would take time. Although she’d tried to rationalize it as attending to small details, it was a stalling tactic, she knew, nothing more—a stratagem that would buy her a few more precious hours with Liam.

  “Well, that was smart, Jaina,” she muttered. “Now that you’ve found him, you don’t have any choice but to call him.”

  Or did she?

  Buchanan had no idea his niece had been to see him or that she’d decided against leaving her baby in his care. And what he doesn’t know won’t hurt me.

  Jaina glanced at the
clock. Five forty-three. Ordinarily, she’d be at work, preparing for the breakfast rush. It was really too early to phone most places of business. On the other hand, if she called now and he wasn’t in, she could leave a message. And of course he wouldn’t be in. Then the ball is in his court. If he doesn’t call me back, I’m off the hook.

  Jaina grabbed the phone and quickly dialed Buchanan’s number.

  She’d expected a secretary’s recorded voice to recite a series of instructions for leaving a message. Instead, a vibrant baritone answered, “Connor Buchanan here.”

  Jaina wished she’d given at least a moment’s thought to what she’d say if a human being answered. But who’d have thought a lawyer would be in his office at this hour? “Um, uh, Mr. Buchanan?”

  “Yeah.”

  Jaina blamed the early hour for his abrupt tone of voice. She cleared her throat. “This is, uh, my name is, um, I’m Jaina Chandelle, and I, uh…”

  A brief pause, then, “And you what, Miss Chandelle?”

  He’d all but barked the question. If he talked that way when Kirstie stopped by, no wonder she was afraid to leave Liam with him!

  “I have to be in court by nine,” he continued, his low-pitched voice harsher still, “and I’m in the middle of preparing a brief.”

  Jaina didn’t know what had caused his attitude, but she’d had about enough of it. “Then let me be brief,” she snapped. “I have something important to discuss with you concerning a relative of yours.”

  She heard a frustrated, exhausted sigh. “For your edification, I have no living relatives, Miss Chandelle—if that’s your name—so save the con job.”

  “Con job? This isn’t—”

  “Look, I’ve had it with these nuisance calls. Thanks to caller ID, I’ve got your number…in more ways than one. I wasn’t born yesterday, Miss Chandelle. Either you’re casing the joint, or—”

  “Casing the joint? You think I want to rob you?”

  “Either that, or this is a clear-cut case of telephone harassment. Now I’m gonna give you some free advice. I’ve earned my reputation as a hardnose. You want to find out why, just bug me again.”

  “Bug you? Bug you! I didn’t call you to—”

  He chuckled quietly.

  “I was only trying—”

  The chuckle became a full-fledged laugh.

  “You’re laughing at me? When the only reason I was calling was—”

  “Wait a minute,” he interrupted, his voice softer now. “I wasn’t trying to ridicule you—”

  But Jaina never heard Buchanan’s apology because she’d hung up the phone. She hurried over to the infant seat set up on the countertop to scoop a now wide-awake baby into her arms. “Guess it’s time we called my old buddy Skip,” she said, blowing a raspberry onto Liam’s cheek.

  And her heart soared at the sound of his merry giggle. Quite a contrast to his uncle’s rasping complaints…

  “What’s the big frown about?” Pearl McKenzie asked in her motherly fashion. “You haven’t even had my coffee yet this morning.”

  Connor shrugged one shoulder. “I got a strange call this morning.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Well, unpleasant as they are, you ought to be used to things like that now. Don’t these pesty people have anything better to do with their time?”

  Connor leaned back in his chair and met the older woman’s eyes. “Wasn’t like the usual ones, and despite being a pest,” he said, grinning slightly, “she had a very pleasant voice.”

  The white-haired woman raised a brow. “You don’t say?”

  Connor held up his hands in mock surrender. “Now don’t get any ideas. I can assure you I have no designs on a stranger who calls me at five-thirty in the morning.”

  “Five-thirty! What did she want at that hour?”

  He shrugged the other shoulder. “Something about a relative.”

  Pearl dropped her considerable bulk into one of the chairs across from his desk. “Of yours?”

  He nodded.

  “Hmm…”

  He met her eyes, narrowed his own. “Hmmm what?”

  “Well,” Pearl began, tapping a pencil against the file folder in her lap, “I was just wondering…” She dipped her head lower, looked at him over the rim of her purple-framed reading glasses. “Do you suppose this woman has anything to do with the girl who was in the office yesterday?”

  “The rude little brat who ran out of here without rescheduling, you mean?”

  “The one who ran out of here as if she had a pit bull snapping at her heels, I mean…thanks to the way you were going at it on the phone with the district attorney.”

  He recalled the argument he’d had with Andy Nelson. He had really lost it, he recalled. Connor sat forward, clasping his hands on the desktop. “What did you say the girl’s name was?”

  Pearl stepped into the outer office, then returned with an appointment book. “Kirstie Buchanan. I remember because she spelled her last name exactly the way you do. Yes, yes, here it is.” She removed her glasses and used the earpiece as a pointer. “Says here she wanted to talk to you about a custody matter.” Sliding the spectacles back into place, she cooed, “Oh, and you should have seen that little fella. Cute as a bug’s ear, and my oh my, what a flirt! You want me to call this woman? Ask her to come in?” Pearl added.

  Connor winced, remembering the way he’d spoken to her on the phone. Somehow she’d gotten the impression he was poking fun at her, when in reality, he’d been laughing at himself for being so all-fired certain she’d been another one of the prank callers.

  If Kirstie Buchanan was indeed related to him in some way, and the caller had some information about her, it could only involve Susan. He hadn’t heard a word from or about his missing sister in nineteen years. The girl Pearl had described was the right age to be Susan’s daughter…. He’d had a private detective on the case for such a long time that he’d forged a strong friendship with the man. But two years ago, he’d called off the search. Connor preferred not to think about the reasons why Susan couldn’t be found.

  “No, I’d better schedule this one myself.”

  “Better make it snappy, then,” Pearl suggested with a nod toward the clock. “You only have half an hour to get your ornery self down to the courthouse.” Standing, she placed the message on his desk, then headed unceremoniously toward the door. “So,” she began, one hand on the doorknob, “you think she sounded cute, eh?”

  “Cute? Nobody is cute at 5:30 a.m. Now do me a favor and get me the Chandelle…I mean the Adams file, will ya?”

  “Sure thing, Mr. B.”

  He heard her snickering as she closed the door. Shaking his head, Connor picked up the phone and dialed. He counted five rings and was about to hang up when a woman answered.

  “Good morning. The Chili Pot.”

  He’d only heard it once, but he’d have recognized that lovely voice anywhere. “Miss Chandelle?”

  A slight pause, then, “What do you want?”

  He’d cross-examined plenty of witnesses who’d pulled this kind of stunt; it was apparent to Connor’s practiced ear that Miss Jaina Chandelle was putting on a hard-gal act for him. But even her best efforts at toughness hadn’t dulled the music in her voice.

  “First of all,” he began, “I’d like to apologize for being so abrupt with you earlier—”

  “Po-ta-to, po-tah-to,” she snapped. “You say ‘abrupt,’ I say rude.”

  She was quick-witted and feisty. He liked that. Smiling, he said, “Touché. Not that it’s any excuse, but I get a lot of prank phone calls, some of them rather nasty. Unfortunately, I assumed yours was another one of them.” He hesitated. “And, in all fairness, you have to admit it was a bit early for a business call….”

  Connor tensed as he listened to the moment of silence. Had she hung up? He hoped not because… He relaxed some when she said, “I suppose you’re right. Sorry.”

  “You haven’t done anything to apologize for,” he admitted. “But let me get to the poin
t. I have to be in court—”

  “At nine. So you said during our last conversation,” she finished for him.

  Chuckling despite himself, he continued, “I’d like to schedule a meeting with you, to discuss this, er, this relative of mine.”

  “When?”

  “Any time after one.”

  “Today?”

  “Yes…if that’s convenient for you—”

  “Hold on, will you?”

  He listened to the sounds of muffled whispering—a man’s voice, another woman’s…a baby? Connor dismissed the disappointment simmering in his gut. Too bad, fella, he told himself. The lady’s married…and she has a kid.

  “I can be there at one-thirty.”

  At her request, he gave her directions to his office. And though he’d done it hundreds of times for hundreds of clients, it seemed to take longer to explain the route to Jaina Chandelle than it had ever taken before.

  It wasn’t until Connor had hung up that he understood why. For a reason he couldn’t explain, he hadn’t wanted to end the conversation. When he returned the receiver to its cradle, he frowned at the feelings bubbling inside him. How can you miss someone you don’t even know?

  Chapter Two

  His secretary’s voice crackled through the intercom. “Oh, Mr. Buchanan…Miss Chandelle is here.”

  He didn’t have to see Pearl’s face to know what that singsongy voice was all about. She was likely wearing her matchmaker grin again. Sometimes, Connor wished he’d remarried for no other reason than to quell her desire to find his Miss Right. Pearl’s heart was in the right place—he had to give her that—but she’d never even come close to introducing him to the woman of his dreams. If she thought Jaina Chandelle was that woman, well, this time his secretary had really missed the mark.

  He wondered if she’d look anything like she sounded. He hoped not, because if she did, he was a goner for sure. Connor stood, stuck out his chin and straightened the knot of his silk tie. After the way he’d spoken to this…to Miss Chandelle earlier, he was determined to show her he could behave like a civilized gentleman. He strode purposefully toward the door and flung it wide open. Smiling as she breezed toward him, he extended a hand. “Connor Buchanan, Miss Chandelle. Can I get you a soda? Some coffee?”