Matchmaking Baby

by Cathy Gillen Thacker

  Liz tilted her head to study him as Steve unlocked and opened the door to his quarters.

  “Is Joanie dating anyone now?” Steve asked, leading the way into the small but comfortably decorated two-room suite. He had the feeling if anyone knew what was going on in Joanie’s heart and mind, it was Liz Jermain.

  “Not since her engagement ended.”

  Steve tensed. Joanie had been engaged?

  Liz paused. “You don’t know about Dylan?”

  Steve shook his head and wondered what else he didn’t know about Joanie.

  “Well, perhaps one day she’ll tell you about it.” Liz opened the window next to the door, letting in the breeze. “Do you need help with your bags?”

  Steve shook his head. “I’ll walk back and get them.” He wanted to be settled as soon as possible so he could continue with his plan.

  THE WOMAN WATCHED Steve Lantz leave the staff quarters with Liz Jermain at his side. As soon as the coast was clear, she pushed the stroller out into the sunshine. Beneath the ruffled pink-and-white canopy, little Emily slept on, blissfully unaware of what was about to happen.

  Her gloved hands shaking, the woman parked the stroller by the latticework-sided private entryway of unit 110 to keep Emily safely out of sight for the moment. Making sure the envelope was still taped to the toddler’s sweater, the woman tiptoed nervously to unit 108. Please be open, she wished fervently.

  It wasn’t.

  Frowning, the woman stepped to the left and gazed inside the open window. It was set low, two feet off the ground. She had no idea if any of the staff rooms connected, never mind units 110 and 108 specifically, but if she could remove the screen, she could get inside 108, just by stepping over the windowsill….

  “C’MON, PUPPY. Stop playing games with me. Just come here and let me pet you,” Joanie coaxed, hiding the leash she’d brought with her in the pocket of her blazer and getting down on her knees.

  The golden retriever, stolen beach sandal clamped between his teeth, danced back and forth playfully, staying just out of Joanie’s reach.

  Joanie leaned forward. The puppy jerked back and took off running full speed in the direction of the main building of the hotel. Joanie scrambled to her feet and dashed after him, her heels sinking in the soft grass. Irritated, she pulled off her gray suede shoes and, with one shoe in each hand, raced across the soft, manicured lawn. But the faster she ran, the faster the puppy ran.

  Realizing the futility of trying to outrun the wily little creature, Joanie stopped at the edge of the formal gardens to catch her breath. As much as she wanted to go for help, she didn’t dare, for fear she would lose sight of the puppy again. Jermain Island was three miles long and five miles wide. There were dozens of places he could disappear to and tons more mischief he could get in. He’d already knocked over fifteen flowerpots on the front porch of one of the twelve private estates, taken a dip in the surf, chewed up someone’s towel on the beach and, last but not least, stolen someone’s sandal.

  The puppy, realizing he was no longer being chased, swung around and headed back her way. Tail wagging playfully, he approached her, but again, stayed just out of reach.

  With one hand on the leash in her pocket, Joanie dangled a shoe in front of him with the other. “Isn’t this pretty?” she said softly, wishing the pup hadn’t managed to lose his collar, too. If he still had a collar, it would have been a lot easier for her to grab hold of him. “Wouldn’t you like to chew on this for a while?”

  The rambunctious pup dropped the sandal he was carrying. Joanie started forward. He danced back. She held her ground. He eyed her cautiously and started to approach her again when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a woman in a white trench coat, scarf and sunglasses taking off the screen of a staff-quarters window. Joanie didn’t have to be hit over the head to know a burglary in progress when she saw one.

  Forgetting the puppy, she yelled, “Hey! You!” Slipping her shoes back on, she started toward the prowler, who was still a good fifty yards away. “What do you think you’re doing?” she shouted.

  The woman dropped the screen and took off around the side of the building. Joanie swore and broke into a run. No sooner had she gotten up to speed than she heard panting behind her. The puppy snatched playfully at her skirt, got a piece and held on tight. Joanie groaned as she felt the fabric rip. The puppy danced off, a mouthful of fabric held tight in his jaws, and much to Joanie’s chagrin, disappeared around the corner after the burglar.

  Not sure what to do first, Joanie headed for the screen lying on the ground. She was not surprised to see the room being broken into was unit 108. Steve Lantz’s. Of course. If they had a celebrity on the premises, they would have the problems that came with celebrities, like overzealous fans and tabloid reporters. Or at least, she knew that was how he would define this. Just as he’d once—

  No! Joanie stopped herself firmly. She was not going to think about that. Not again.

  She hiked up her ripped skirt and stepped across the threshold of the window and into the room. Nothing seemed to be disturbed, she noted, as she strode across the floor, reached for the phone and dialed. “Security? We’ve got an emergency. Staff quarters, unit 108.”

  “I KNEW YOU WERE MAD at me, but isn’t ripping my window screen out just a bit excessive?” Steve asked, dropping his duffel bag in the doorway. It hit the floor with a soft thud.

  Joanie whirled to face him. At five eleven, she was accustomed to physically holding her own with most men. Steve was one of the few men who could make her feel dwarfed. “I just caught someone trying to break into your room,” she said.

  “Uh-huh.” Steve folded his arms on his chest and looked around. His glance tracked the spill of tousled golden curls falling from a side part over Joanie’s shoulder before returning to her long-lashed blue eyes. “So where is he?”

  “It was a she,” Joanie specified, refusing to become flustered by him. With a straight back, she stalked closer. “She was wearing a trench coat. She’s not here because she ran off.”

  His silver-gray eyes gleamed with mischief. “That how your skirt got ripped—from chasing her?” he questioned.

  “No.” Joanie bristled and moved around Steve, so she was standing in the portal and he was inside the room. “The puppy ripped it with his teeth.”

  “What puppy?”

  Joanie leaned against the latticework wall and glanced around, irritated to find that the grounds outside the staff quarters were perfectly quiet. “He was here just a minute ago.”

  “Uh-huh.” Steve strode into the unit to check out the bedroom and bath. When he returned to the main room, he cast her an even more skeptical look.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” Joanie said, stepping into the unit. “I’m not making this up.”

  He lifted one broad shoulder, let it fall. “Did I say you were?” he asked.

  He didn’t need to, Joanie thought furiously. “It’s in your eyes,” she said.

  “Ah.” He nodded at her with mock gravity. “So now you know what it’s like to try and give a highly improbable but true explanation to a disbelieving third party.”

  Joanie flushed and found it necessary to turn her back on him again. She crossed her arms. “If you’re talking about that night I caught you…” she began in a strangled voice.

  “What else?” An edge of irony in his voice, he came up behind her and rested both his hands on her shoulders.

  Joanie drew a shaky breath. Trying not to notice how gentle and right his hands felt on her, she whirled to face him. “This is hardly the same thing.”

  His eyes filled with unrepentant mischief, and he dropped his hands. “Looks exactly the same thing to me—because I don’t see a burglar nor any real evidence of one, except for that screen being off, and I don’t see a puppy, either.”

  Joanie started to push her heavy fall of hair away from her face, but found the ends curled around the hotelemployee badge pinned above her left breast. Looking down, she tried to untangle it
and, though her fingers were unbearably clumsy, finally managed. “You heard me say at the front desk a few minutes ago that one was on the loose,” she said.

  Steve leaned forward. “For all I know you could have been making that up as a cover.”

  “Honestly!”

  His glance narrowed. “Doesn’t feel good, does it, to have someone thinking the worst of you,” he taunted softly.

  Joanie blew out a weary breath. He was reminding them both of a night best forgotten. She regarded him with all the passion and temper of a woman betrayed. “Will you please stop this?” she said.

  One corner of his mouth tilted up. “If that’s the way you want it.”

  “It is.”

  “Hm.” Steve’s glance traveled over her slender legs, then slowly, impertinently, returned to her face. “So. What happened to your shoes?”

  Joanie flushed again. Noting the soles of her shoes were covered with mud and blades of grass, she’d taken them off upon entering his quarters to avoid soiling his freshly vacuumed carpet. “They got muddy when I was chasing the puppy.”

  “Right,” Steve said disbelievingly. “Of course. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that.”

  “There was a puppy. I mean there is. He’s been causing havoc on the island all morning.”

  Steve grinned, looking pleased he’d gotten her so riled.

  “Honestly, I don’t know why I even bother talking to you,” Joanie muttered, then to her relief, saw reinforcements were on the way.

  “Got a problem here, Ms. Griffin?” Howard Forsythe, the chief of hotel security, stepped in. Howard was tall and lean, with gentle, assessing eyes and receding dark brown hair. A former customs officer, he had been with the resort for five years.

  “Yes.” Joanie quickly explained what had happened.

  Howard examined the quarters front to back, then returned to ask, “Anything missing?”

  Steve shook his head. “Not that I can see,” he said. “I guess the person didn’t get inside.”

  Suddenly the three of them heard what sounded like the giggle of a very young child. They looked at one another in surprise. There were no children in the staff quarters. The giggle came again. It was followed by a little bark.

  “There’s the puppy now.” Joanie said.

  She stepped outside and looked in the direction of the sound. The golden-retriever pup was lying on the walk in front of her unit with a mangled blue envelope clutched between his jaws.

  “Oh, no,” Joanie groaned. Now the pup had gotten into someone’s mail.

  “Help me, guys,” she said to Howard and Steve. Then stopped. Stared. The puppy wasn’t alone. There was a beautiful little girl in a pink-and-white stroller on her front doorstep. The child was grinning happily, watching the puppy. She had a crumpled blue piece of stationery in the other hand. To Joanie’s consternation, there wasn’t an adult in sight.

  “I’m going to check around for that woman,” Howard said, already moving on. “What did you say she was wearing, Joanie?”

  “A long white trench coat and scarf.”

  Howard nodded and moved around back, out of sight.

  “Puppy!” the little girl announced, pounding the shiny silver rim of her stroller seat emphatically. “Me d’ink!”

  “What’d she say?” Steve frowned.

  “I’m not sure.” Joanie stared at the little girl with the halo of golden blond curls and pretty gray-blue eyes. Try as she might, she couldn’t place her. Not with any one family, either those that were guests at the resort or island residents. And after nearly a year and a half on the job at Bride’s Bay, Joanie was sure she knew just about everyone on Jermain Island.

  Aware that the precious little girl was waiting for some reaction to her demands, Joanie looked at Steve. “I think she’s either telling us there’s a puppy who needs a drink or telling us there’s a puppy and she needs a drink.” She watched as the golden retriever jumped up unexpectedly and ran across the lawn toward a group of unsuspecting hotel guests. Joanie could tell by their youth and their attire that they were the college students checking in for the mentoring conference.

  “In any case, I have to wonder where her mama is,” Steve said, in Joanie’s ear.

  “Me, too,” Joanie murmured, concerned.

  The little girl held out her hands to Joanie. “Up!” she said.

  Joanie wasn’t sure if she should pick up someone else’s child, and she didn’t have a lot of experience with babies. But this child’s parents didn’t seem to be around at the moment, so…

  The toddler made the decision for her by sliding a foot up onto the seat and turning around. Afraid she would fall, or at the very least tip over the stroller in her attempt to crawl out if left to her own devices, Joanie held out her arms to the little girl. “Honey, let me help you.”

  The little girl stopped in midclimb, turned her face up to Joanie’s and regarded her with huge blue-gray eyes. Wordlessly she handed Joanie the crumpled piece of blue notepaper she had in her hand. Joanie took it, hoping whoever had lost this mail would understand that both a puppy and a baby had gotten to it first. The little girl held out her hands. “Em-lee up!” she demanded again.

  Joanie picked her up. Steve, his expression as captivated as Joanie’s moved closer. Emily reached out and patted his shoulder, as if testing the hardness of the muscle beneath her fingers.

  Joanie’s heart raced at his nearness. And the knowledge that the crisis had caused her to drop all the defenses she’d erected between them, at least for the moment. And that, in turn, left her feeling vulnerableand breathless.

  “What’s on the notepaper?” he asked curiously.

  “I don’t know.” Joanie shifted the toddler onto one hip and shook out the paper with her free hand. She turned it so she could see it and read the elaborate calligraphy aloud:

  Because there was no other way, I cared for Emily and was glad to do it. But now at eighteen months she needs so much more than I alone can give her. I know this isn’t what you expected, but trust me when I tell you that Emily belongs with you. So give it your best shot, and remember to keep her blankie and teddy close at hand. I’ll be in touch to work things out as soon as I can. Until then, Fiona.

  “Fiona,” Joanie murmured. Who the heck is Fiona? Completely mystified, Joanie looked at Steve.

  He plastered a hand across his broad, muscled chest and stepped slightly away. “Don’t look at me. She wasn’t in front of my door,” he said, then pointed to the number 110 on the door directly behind Emily’s stroller. “Who’s unit is this?”

  Joanie bit her lip. “Mine.”

  “Well, well. And no one else lives here with you?”

  “No.”

  His eyes lasered hers. “Then…?”

  “Obviously there’s been some mistake,” she said.

  “I would guess so, if someone abandoned this little girl.”

  Joanie shook her head in confusion. “Let’s not jump the gun here. She may not be abandoned. Maybe this note was meant for someone else and someone just expects me to baby-sit while the real parent is located. It wouldn’t be the oddest request I’ve ever had as a concierge.”

  Although it was one of the most heartless, Joanie thought. Emily was obviously at the climbing stage. Who knew where she would have run off to or what she would have gotten into if Joanie hadn’t come along? She could have been seriously hurt. Kidnapped. At the very least, seriously frightened.

  Steve lifted a brow. “Surely if someone left her with you, Joanie, he or she must trust you.”

  Joanie blushed and felt, oddly, even more inept. She didn’t know why, but when she was around Steve, she wanted to be completely self-possessed and in control. “Not a clue,” Joanie admitted.

  “You’re saying you’ve never seen this child before?”

  Joanie studied the toddler again. “No. I haven’t.”

  “Then it doesn’t make sense,” he said, clearly exasperated.

  “You’re telling me,” Joanie repli
ed, feeling all the more baffled in the face of his impatience. She looked down at the toddler, who was happily fingering the delicate lacy edges of her Peter Pan collar and the gold pin she’d pinned to the throat of her silk blouse.

  Joanie tucked her finger beneath Emily’s chin and lifted the cherubic face so they were eye to eye. “Honey, who brought you here?” Joanie asked Emily softly. “Where’s your baby-sitter or whoever was watching you? Can you tell me, honey?”

  Emily regarded Joanie solemnly, clearly not understanding.

  “Who was pushing you in the stroller?” Joanie tried again, pointing to Emily’s stroller. “Who was pushing Emily?”

  Suddenly Emily grinned, as if she now understood Joanie’s questions. She rested both chubby little hands on Joanie’s shoulders, then pointed at the gold pin at Joanie’s throat. “Geh Mama,” she said.

  Stunned, Steve looked to Joanie. “Is this your baby?”

  Chapter Two

  “No, this is not my baby!” Joanie snapped, looking as confused as Steve felt.

  He towered over her. “You’re right. This baby is not yours alone. It’s our child. Damn it, Joanie, how could you not have told me we’d had a child together?”

  Joanie shook her head at him in mute admonition. “I didn’t tell you because Emily is not our child.”

  “Then who’s the father?” Steve demanded, his glance traveling from Joanie to Emily and back again. “Dylan?”

  Joanie’s soft lips curved in a smile. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were jealous,” she taunted.

  She was right about that, Steve thought. He was jealous. He couldn’t bear the thought of her with another man, any more than he could imagine himself making love with another woman. Since the two of them had broken up, he hadn’t been tempted once. “You didn’t answer me. Is Dylan the father of your baby?”

  “You’re on the wrong track, Steve.”

  “Meaning?”