Shotgun Baby

by Tara Taylor Quinn

A BLUE-CARPETED HALLWAY lined with closed doors on either side stretched before them. Most of the doors had white-lettered plastic signs pasted on them, and Robbie strode forward, reading each one they approached. If she left it up to Con, they’d be back in the car. She’d seen the hunted look in his eyes the second he’d stepped into the building.

  “Here it is,” she said, finding the door marked playroom. Karen Smith, the social worker who’d volunteered to supervise this meeting, had thought it best to have Con see the baby in an impersonal atmosphere. So far, the social-services representatives were treating Con like a headache they knew would even-tually disappear. If Robbie hadn’t been so angry for Con’s sake, she’d have felt sorry for them. They didn’t have a clue who they were dealing with.

  Con stood frozen beside her, so she reached for the doorknob.

  “Wait.” His jaw was tense, his body tight as if poised for battle. Her heart twisted. How many times had she stood by and watched Con fight for what should have been rightfully his? Fight—and lose. She wasn’t going to let him lose this time.

  “Putting if off isn’t going to make it any easier, Randolph,” she said.

  Con nodded and opened the door himself.

  She saw the baby almost immediately. His carrier seat was in the middle of a small table that was rimmed with an army of empty miniature wooden chairs.

  “Ms. Blair? Mr. Randolph? I’m Karen Smith. It’s nice to meet you.”

  Robbie was only vaguely aware of the tall young woman who came forward to shake Con’s hand. She couldn’t pull her gaze from the baby sleeping just a few feet in front of her. So small. So defenseless.

  Con’s son.

  “Ms. Smith.” Con’s voice rumbled beside her, as terse as always. No pleasantries there.

  She needed to run interference for him, to show some social graces before they blew this altogether, but still she stared at the child, feeling as if she’d been poleaxed. The baby was too precious for words.

  She glanced over at Con, wondering if he felt the same strange attachment she felt to the little being, who was completely unconscious of their presence. Con was staring at the baby, too. She’d never seen him look scared before, but she suspected that was just what she was seeing in his tense wide-eyed expression now.

  “May I hold him?” Robbie asked the social worker, afraid for Con, afraid for the baby he’d unknowingly given life to. Would either of these two Randolph males have the chance to give each other the love they both deserved?

  “Of course.” Karen stood aside as Robbie moved toward the sleeping infant.

  She slid her hands beneath his little body and lifted him gently into her arms. His warmth, his weight as he settled against her, was immediately soothing.

  Nothing had felt so right in her life.

  “Oh, my God, Con, he looks like you!” she cried softly, studying the baby’s perfect little features, his dimpled chin, his tiny baby nose. She wasn’t ever going to be able to let him go. She looked at his father again and had to consciously restrain herself from going over and holding him, too.

  Con remained just in front of the closed door, staring at the child in her arms, his eyes smoldering with emotion. He swallowed, once, with an effort.

  “Come, Mr. Randolph. Meet Joey,” Karen said, reaching for Con’s elbow.

  He moved away from her, instead, taking a seat in one of the armchairs in the waiting area of the play-room, his gaze never leaving the baby Robbie held. He’d wrapped himself in control.

  Robbie could see the doubt in Karen’s eyes as she watched Con, could almost hear the negative thoughts whirring through the social worker’s mind. But Karen didn’t know Con like Robbie did. She had no idea how fiercely Con felt those things that touched him, how difficult it was for him to deal with those feelings. She didn’t know, as Robbie did, that Con would give up his life to protect this child he couldn’t yet approach.

  She walked over to Con, perched on the arm of his chair and willed him to stay put.

  “Look at him, Con. He’s got your chin.”

  Con looked. And swallowed again. His hands gripped the arms of the chair as if he was ready to push off. But he didn’t. His gaze never left the baby.

  Robbie picked up one limp little hand. “Look at his fingernails!” she exclaimed in hushed tones. “They’re so tiny.” She could hardly believe how perfeet this small being was, or how fiercely she felt the need to protect him from whatever life had in store.

  “He’s got all ten fingers—” she looked down “—and toes.”

  Con nodded.

  “He’s perfectly healthy, though he does top the size charts,” Karen said, coming over to join them. She sat in the chair across from them, leaning to rest her forearms on her knees. Robbie felt like a fly under a microscope beneath her watchful eye.

  “When’s his blood work due back?” Con asked abruptly.

  “We should have the results sometime next week.”

  Con nodded again. “I’ll have his room ready.”

  “Slow down there, Mr. Randolph. There’s no guarantee you’re going to get the child even if it turns out he’s yours.”

  “He’s mine.” Robbie heard the anger in Con’s voice, though she doubted the social worker did. Con had perfected the art of concealing his feelings by the time he was ten. Just as she’d learned to read what he kept hidden. Most of the time.

  “It would really be best if you didn’t keep telling yourself that Not until we’re certain,” Karen said. “And like I said, even if he’s yours, there’s still no guarantee you’ll get him.”

  Robbie knew Con wouldn’t thank her for it, but she couldn’t sit quietly by while Karen hurt him. “Joey’s his,” she said, looking from Con to the baby she held. “You can tell just by looking at them. Joey’s got the same dimple in his chin that Con does.”

  The social worker looked from Con to the baby. “Maybe so, but it’s important that you both under-stand. Being Joey’s father in no way means Mr. Randolph will get the child. There are many other things to consider.”

  “Such as?”

  Karen noticed the steel in Con’s voice that time. She looked a little less sure of herself as she answered him. “There’ll be a thorough background check on you, for one.”

  Con nodded, undaunted.

  “You’ll have to be able to prove an ability to support the child.”

  Con nodded again, holding Karen’s gaze unwaveringly.

  “And most importantly your lifestyle will be examined. The judge will want to be certain that the life you have to offer this child is the one best suited to him.”

  Robbie sensed Con’s barely perceptible flinch. How she wished there was some way she could take away his pain. As hard as he’d tried, Con had never measured up, not in the eyes of his foster parents, not in the eyes of the school system and most especially, not in his own.

  “And quite frankly, Mr. Randolph,” Karen continued, garnering confidence again, “from what we’ve seen so far, I don’t think you should count on getting the child. As far as the courts are concerned, you abandoned him. And we have a family, a two-parent family, already approved to adopt him.”

  “I did not abandon my son.”

  “So you say. That’s for the court to determine." Karen paused. “And the fact still remains that you do not appear to have much to offer the child. Certainly not when compared to the childless couple whose whole lives will revolve around him.”

  “I’m his father. I offer him that.”

  “If indeed you are his father, you’d be a single father at best. I’m sorry, Mr. Randolph. If you were at least married, maybe you’d have a better chance, but as things stand…”

  Here it comes, Robbie thought, her chest tightening. She’d feared that it would. But could she really do it? Could she tie herself to Con knowing he’d never love her the way she loved him? Could she risk his finding out how she really felt?

  “There’s no law against single parenting.” Con wasn’t backing down. Robbi
e breathed a small sigh of relief. Maybe they wouldn’t need her drastic solution.

  “No,” Karen said. “But statistics do show that a child has more opportunity to prosper in a two-parent home. And that’s not the only issue here. You’re an FBI agent, Mr. Randolph. Your job is incredibly dangerous. What becomes of Joey if anything happens to you?”

  Con was silent and Robbie could tell Karen knew she’d scored. The woman’s features relaxed as if her battle was won.

  “But even danger aside, you work long hours, odd hours. You’re gone for days at a time. Who’d watch your son then?”

  “A sitter.”

  Robbie held Joey closer. The sleeping baby sighed and nestled contently against her breast.

  “You’re asking the judge to place the child with a sitter, rather than a complete family unit who’ll love him, who’ll be there for him?” Karen asked.

  “He’s my son.”

  Karen sat forward, clutching her hands together, her eyes worried again. Robbie realized that the woman truly cared about little Joey, about his future. “Please try to understand, Mr. Randolph,” Karen said. “If indeed Joey is your son, you’ve got to want what’s best for him. That’s all the court wants, too.”

  “A boy needs his father.”

  “Yes, sir. But he needs a mother, too.”

  They were going to lose him. Robbie could see the writing on the wall as clearly as if it had been emblazoned there. Suddenly the baby stretched in her arms, opening his innocent blue eyes to frown up at her. Who are you? his gaze seemed to ask. But he didn’t cry.

  “He’ll have a mother,” Robbie said. There was no more time to think about it. She couldn’t let Con lose his son. She couldn’t lose this precious child.

  “He will?” Karen said, glancing from her to Con. “I understood from Sandra Muldoon that you weren’t currently involved, Mr. Randolph.”

  “I’m n—”

  “He is with me,” Robbie blurted, before Con blew things once and for all. He’d never be able to live with himself if the courts gave his son away. “Con asked me to marry him just this morning.” Robbie couldn’t believe she was saying the words even as she heard them come out of her mouth. Marriage to Con would be sheer torture, loving him as she did. But she just didn’t see any other way. Without a wife, Con wasn’t going to get Joey.

  She was strong. She’d been loving Con for years without anybody’s being the wiser. She could handle this marriage. She was sure she could. Especially with compensation like Joey. She’d be a mother. And half a dream come true was better than none, wasn’t it?

  Yes, she was positive she could handle it.

  Until she glanced over at Con. He was looking at her through the eyes of a stranger. A stranger she’d just committed herself to marry.

  “Congratulations,” Karen said, smiling for the first time since they’d entered the room.

  Joey started to cry.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  No! CON KNEW he had to stop this craziness. Now.

  But how? Karen Smith was right. He had nothing to offer the child. At least nothing of any merit— unless he married Robbie. She was the only good in his life. Always had been.

  But he couldn’t marry her. He couldn’t even think about marrying her.

  The baby was working himself up into a real squall. Robbie held him higher and started bouncing him.

  “Here, let me have him,” Karen said, coming over. “He’s probably hungry.”

  Con looked at Robbie, saw the pleading in her eyes, and realized his entire life hinged on this moment. He had to come through—whether he thought he could or not.

  “I’ll take him,” he said, staking his claim, his right to be the one to see to the boy’s needs. He reminded himself over and over of the plastic toy he’d practiced on for all those hours. He could do this. He reached for his son.

  A slow smile broke out across Robbie’s face, and if he didn’t know better, he’d think there was a hint of tears in her eyes as she handed the baby to him. “You’ve got a ball player there, Randolph,” she said, her words as tough as ever.

  His kid was a little heavier than the plastic one; squirmy, too, but Con forced himself to concentrate on getting it right. He kept one hand under the baby’s head, just like Robbie had shown him the other night, and used his other to support the body. The little boy’s face was red and all scrunched up as he howled his displeasure.

  “You got a bottle?” he asked Karen as if he’d been doing this all his life. But he was sweating. And shaking, too. His kid sure had a healthy set of lungs.

  “His foster mother left one. I’ll get it,” Karen called, pulling a bottle from the diaper bag on the table beside the baby’s carrier seat. “It’s still warm." She handed the bottle to Con.

  “What kind of formula is he on?” Robbie asked, raising her voice to be heard over the baby’s crying.

  Con took the bottle. Formula. Right. He remembered Marie Mitchell talking about that once.

  “He’s on soy milk,” Karen said, taking her seat across from them. “He was pretty colicky there for a while, but the soy milk seems to have helped.”

  Con looked at the wailing baby in his arms. The kid’s face was still all screwed up and red, but suddenly, out of nowhere, Con felt like grinning. He was doing it. He was holding his son.

  “You might want to give him that bottle.” Robbie said, leaning over to try to guide the nipple into Joey’s tiny mouth.

  “Wait for it to cool,” Con said, jerking the bottle back. Warm milk was disgusting. He wasn’t going to force it on his kid.

  The baby continued to cry, though he quieted for a moment when Con started to bounce him gently.

  “It’s supposed to be warm, Randolph,” Robbie said, smiling. “He’ll get stomach cramps if it’s not warm. Now feed the poor thing.”

  She reached over again, guiding the bottle to the baby’s mouth. Con just held on.

  The baby latched on to the nipple, pulling it into his mouth with a strength that amazed Con, and the room was instantly silent except for the loud sounds of Joey’s sucking. The kid had an appetite. Almost as if he’d stepped outside himself, Con saw what was happening. Saw and was filled with the strangest conglomeration of feelings.

  He was feeding his son.

  “WE CAN’T GET MARRIED.” Con sat at his breakfast bar, smoking a cigarette, a cold beer on the counter in front of him. They’d been at it for more than an hour, ever since they’d returned from downtown.

  “We’re getting married, Con. Get over it.” He’d given Robbie her own pack of cigarettes, but she was sharing his, anyway. What was it with the woman? Did she really think it made a difference to her lungs whose cigarettes she smoked?

  “It’ll never work.”

  “It has to work.”

  “Just because you think something is best doesn’t make it so.”

  “It does if I refuse to believe anything else. Joey needs us, Con. Can you honestly sit there and tell me you’re going to let him down?”

  Here we go again. They’d been traveling in circles and Con was getting nowhere but dizzy. She was leaving him no choice—he had to be blunt.

  “You’re my only real friend, Rob.”

  “And you’re mine.” Her eyes went soft on him.

  He hated it when they did that.

  “What better basis for a partnership?” she asked.

  “And how long do think we’d stay friends?” he shot back.

  Robbie shrugged, fiddling with her cigarette in the ashtray between them. “I guess that depends on us, doesn’t it?” She looked up at him with her “I mean business” look.

  Con sighed. He was in for a long day.

  “We can do this, Con. It’s because we’re such good friends that it will work. We understand each other. We’re going into this with our eyes open. Neither of us has false expectations.”

  Con didn’t come up with an immediate counterargument, and that bothered him. He wasn’t going to let her talk him into this
. He couldn’t marry her.

  “This is a big house, friend,” she said. “I think we can manage to share it without killing each other.”

  Sharing the house with her wasn’t the problem. Marriage was. “For how long?”

  She blinked. “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it. As long as it takes, I guess.”

  He pinned her with a relentless stare. “What? A year? Two, maybe?”

  “Is that what you want?”

  “I don’t want. Period.”

  “If it would make you feel better, we can put a time limit on it, but I think it might work better if we just say we’ll stay together until one of us isn’t satisfied anymore.”

  Again Con didn’t have an immediate counterargument, only a gut feeling that this was all wrong. They smoked silently for a couple of minutes. Both of them regrouping, he was afraid.

  “Why?” he suddenly blurted, finding that he had to know.

  “Why what?”

  “Why are you doing this? You’ve always had dreams of your big white wedding, your knight in shining armor. Why ruin that by tying yourself to me?”

  “My knight stood me up.”

  Her mouth smiled, but her eyes didn’t. He wished he hadn’t asked.

  “He could be waiting on your doorstep tomorrow,” he told her awkwardly, rusty in the platitude department.

  She shook her head. “I’m not the type of woman a knight rescues, Con. He wants someone soft and feminine. Someone who needs rescuing, makes him feel like a man. Someone who wears makeup.”

  Con took a long swig of beer. He was getting in way over his head. “You don’t want me, Robbie.”

  “I want to help you. I want to be Joey’s mother." She looked up at him. “And I want a wedding ring. I want the guys at work—and their wives—off my back. I want to be invited to parties again, parties that you have to be part of a couple to attend. I want someone around to help me move the TV when I’m tired of where it is.”

  “You never said you were having troubles at work.”

  “I’m not. Not really. You can’t blame the guys, Con. Their wives just don’t like it that they hang out with a woman all the time. A single woman.”