A Baby to Love

by Susan Kearney

  Her secretary emptied the pitcher of water onto some ferns. “Try the ‘Print.Ben’ file.”

  Her stomach settled a bit. “Thanks. It’s going well.”

  Sandy’s startled eyes opened wide, and Chelsea realized she didn’t usually give her secretary a running commentary of her progress.

  Suddenly Sandy grinned and gave her a thumbs-up signal. “The contract is in the back of the file folder I gave you.”

  Chelsea confidently returned to her office to find Mark staring at a sleeping Alex. “Perhaps in eighteen years, he’ll enroll at Benedict Academy.”

  “I’d want my son to attend a coed college. Admitting women may increase your applications from men.”

  Mark seemed to like that idea, too, and she made a note of it. Following Sandy’s advice, Chelsea found the complete file. On the oversize monitor, the printed ads leapt off the screen, drawing the eye to the spectacular colors. Mick, her art director, had been right. The color mock-ups were fantastic.

  “I’m impressed.” Mark nodded as she paged down through a series of ads expressing the theme of welcoming women to the famed military school.

  She gave him time to absorb and appreciate the simple elegance of the clean copy. Finally, she handed him the contract. “Your board of directors will want to review these numbers.”

  “They usually follow my recommendations.” He took the contract without glancing at it. “We’d considered the issue of admitting women to our program before you suggested this slant.”

  “It’s progress, the wave of the future. You can’t go wrong to capitalize on it.”

  Opening his briefcase, he slid the contract into a pocket folder, careful not to wrinkle a page or so much as bend a corner. Briskly he shut the case and spun the lock.

  “Thank you, Chelsea. I should be back to you within the week.”

  When they shook hands, his palm was cold, just like the man. “I’ll look forward to hearing from you.”

  As he gripped her hand firmly, he looked into her eyes. And she felt nothing but satisfaction of a pitch well delivered. Mark’s blue eyes didn’t give her that same warm, fuzzy sensation in the pit of her stomach that Jeff’s did. Yet both men were handsome. What made one man so appealing while the other left her indifferent?

  Jeff’s and Mark’s looks might one day disappear. Yet Jeff would still retain his wonderful mixture of humor and compassion because those traits were inherent to his character. As she accompanied Mark toward the door of the inner sanctum, she realized how much she preferred Jeff’s casual grace to Mark’s stiff marching. If she had to depend on a man in a crunch, she’d much prefer Jeff at her side.

  When they walked by the stroller, Alex cooed. Chelsea hesitated, wanting to see Mark out but reluctant to leave the baby.

  “I can see myself out.” Mark glanced down at Alex, who was busily stuffing the corner of his blanket into his mouth. “Looks like someone’s hungry.”

  Chelsea chuckled. “I’d better feed the little fellow.”

  She picked up the baby, noticed he needed a diaper change and pulled a bottle of formula out of the bag beneath the stroller. As she popped off the nipple and set the bottle in the microwave next to the minibar, she spied Mark talking with her secretary. She supposed a little interest in Sandy couldn’t hurt to win the Benedict account.

  Listen to me. Her thoughts sounded cold, as if she approved of any behavior to win an account. Is that how she’d built this firm at such a relatively young age? Perhaps her heartless attitude had created an enemy that now wanted her dead.

  As she changed Alex’s diaper, she recalled the reactions of the few employees she’d met. Respectful characterized the way they treated her. While dislike might be too strong a word, indifference might be accurate. But indifference didn’t drive someone to murder. What she needed was information about herself and her past, and she intended to find out more at the first opportunity.

  Taking the bottle out of the microwave, she replaced the nipple and tested the warmth of the formula on her wrist. Alex spied the bottle and waved his arms with enthusiasm.

  “I’m going to feed you, tiger. Let’s take you over by the desk so I can read while you feed.”

  But the reports on her desk didn’t hold her attention. Repeatedly her gaze wandered to the tiny bundle in her arms. Since just before he’d come into her life, she’d had trouble: her amnesia, then an attempt on her life and the phone calls that hinted that the danger was still there. But little Alex was the innocent party in all this. With his fingers curled into his palms, his tiny fists clutched the bottle. Blue eyes stared straight into hers while he sucked down his second breakfast.

  And while she dug into her past, she couldn’t neglect him. She intended to work through lunch, but perhaps this afternoon she could take time out to purchase additional diapers and formula. Jeff had bought enough to last a few days, but she’d already learned that running out could prove disastrous.

  “There’s a phone call from your attorney on line one.” Sandy’s voice startled the baby, and the nipple popped out of his mouth. Gently she eased it back in before picking up the phone and punching the correct button.

  Now what? “Hello.”

  “I’ve got good news and bad news. Which do you want first?”

  She gripped the receiver tighter. “Just tell me.”

  “The bank agreed not to start foreclosure proceedings. So we’ve bought you some time.”

  This was the good news? She held back a gasp. “How long?”

  “Thirty days. Can you sew up the Benedict account by then?”

  “I think so.” Should she confide in her attorney and mention her amnesia? Her palms grew sweaty, and her fingers slipped on the bottle.

  “I talked my partner into waiting to send our invoice.”

  They’d never agree to wait for their money if they thought someone wanted her dead. Don’t tell him. Let them think everything is under control. Sure, everything was just fine and dandy if she didn’t think about someone trying to kill her. “And the bad news?”

  “Mary and Tom Carpenter’s attorney called me again.”

  Again? Little clues she picked up reminded her that just because a subject was news to her didn’t mean she hadn’t discussed the situation with others. But who were Mary and Tom Carpenter?

  “And?” she pressed, hoping to gather details without revealing her amnesia.

  “The Carpenters are going to try and take Alex from you.”

  She almost dropped the phone. “What?”

  “Since Mary is Anne’s stepsister and part of a married couple, they want a chance to convince a judge they are better equipped than you to raise a child.”

  She gasped and blurted, “No!” Anne had left the baby to her, so the Carpenters probably hadn’t been close to her. But Chelsea wondered if their claim to Alex might be valid

  Surprise entered her attorney’s tone. “You don’t want to settle?”

  Had she indicated she’d be willing to give up the baby? She looked down at Alex in her lap. He’d finished his bottle and was trying to catch his toes with his fingers. Give him up without a fight? Never again feel his warm little body in her lap, smell the scent of his baby powder, watch his cheeks form those adorable dimples? Not a chance.

  Her tone came out sharper than she intended. “No one is going to take Alex from me.”

  “Fine. Since your finances are strapped, I’ll start delaying tactics.”

  “Can they win? Will their claim to Alex stand up against Anne’s will?”

  “I can’t give you a guarantee. But we’ll give them a full-fledged battle. Sure you won’t change your mind?”

  “Not this time.” Chelsea cuddled Alex to her breast. She wanted to live long enough to help him grow to adulthood—not because she’d promised a friend she couldn’t remember, but because the baby had brought a sweetness to life. He filled an emptiness she hadn’t known existed. Because of Alex, she found herself looking forward to the coming years, and she’d f
ound the courage to face her loss of memory instead of crawling into a hole to hide. “I won’t change my mind. Some people grow on you.”

  JEFF SHOULDERED HIS WAY through the lunchtime crowd in the hospital cafeteria and set his tray down at a table for two. “How about some company?”

  Garrick, the hospital’s med-evac helicopter pilot, gestured with a callused palm to the extra chair. “Have a seat,” he drawled with a Western twang. “Make any grave mistakes today?”

  “Very funny.”

  The tall, broad-chested pilot laid aside his magazine and moved his tray to make room for Jeff. “We still on for tonight?”

  Ever since Garrick had flown one of Jeff’s emergency patients to the hospital rooftop last year, Jeff had considered him a friend. Although their backgrounds were similar, both being from wealthy families, Garrick came from a different part of the country. He’d grown up in the saddle on a ranch in New Mexico—a ranch so large, his dad needed a helicopter to visit the far ranges. Garrick had come east for his education and flew for the hospital’s night shift.

  Jeff had settled into an easygoing friendship with the sky jockey. Sometimes they double-dated; more often just the two of them sailed or water-skied without female company. After the intensity of the hospital, Jeff enjoyed a change from the usual medically related conversations of his colleagues.

  “Actually I’ve got a date tonight,” Jeff admitted, knowing Garrick wouldn’t mind his cancellation of their tentative plans to go bowling.

  “Anyone I know?”

  “Chelsea came in by EMS. She has amnesia.”

  Garrick stopped chewing. “Has her memory returned?”

  “Not yet.”

  Garrick rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “You sure can pick ‘em.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I thought the residents were supposed to give you interns enough to do, taking care of your patients in the hospital. In, being the operative word here. Must you follow the pretty ones home to be sure they’re all right, too?”

  “You got me. She is pretty.” Jeff laughed and dug into his Caesar salad. “But Chelsea’s strong.”

  Garrick shook his head, his lip curving into a grin. “Are you telling me she’s lost her memory and she’s not vulnerable? No way. I should take you for a ride over the city,” Garrick teased. “Maybe the altitude would clear your head.”

  “You know I don’t like heights.”

  “How can you be afraid of a little fresh air when you don’t mind working up to your elbows in blood and guts?”

  “Only you could compare a rational fear with saving a life.”

  Whenever Garrick suggested a helicopter ride, Jeff regretted telling him about the time another kid had dared him to jump off the railroad trestle into the river. When Jeff had refused to jump from the bridge, someone had pushed him. And he’d never forgotten that swooping, sickening fall before he smacked water hard as concrete. Sometimes he suspected Garrick made the offer to enjoy watching him squirm.

  “Flying my chopper is not like falling off a bridge,” Garrick insisted. “You’re strapped in. There’s machinery around you.”

  “I’ll stay on the ground, thank you very much.” Although Jeff reluctantly flew in airplanes, the mere thought of only a plastic bubble between him and thousands of feet of empty space made him break into a sweat.

  “Chelsea might find a helicopter ride romantic.”

  Romance would have to wait until he was sure she was safe. Holding back last night had been a form of torture. After that one chaste brush of his lips against hers, it had taken all his control not to deepen the kiss. But he’d read the alarm in her gaze and recognized he’d lose her unless he went slowly. He wondered if she knew he’d barely slept. While he’d tossed and turned, imagining what it would be like to really kiss her, she must have slept soundly in her bed. Because despite her worries, her skin practically glowed over breakfast. Focusing on her problems was the only way he’d managed to resist sweeping her into his arms.

  And this morning he’d already picked up the phone three times to call her but hung up instead. Sensing that his lengthy silence revealed more than he wished to his friend, Jeff explained, “We haven’t gotten to romance yet.”

  “Sure.” A wide smile creased Garrick’s face. “That’s why you came to work today wearing the same clothes you went home in last night.”

  Jeff frowned. “You were off yesterday. How could you possibly know what I was wearing?”

  “I flew in an accident victim this morning. The nurses—”

  “The nurses.” Gossip spread faster than a virus in this place.

  “So let me get this straight.” Garrick pushed back his chair and sipped his iced tea. “You spent the night, didn’t even score and you’re asking her out again tonight. What gives?”

  Jeff shrugged, reluctant to explain that Chelsea thought someone had tried to kill her and that she might be in danger. It just sounded too far out to be possible. “Why are you so interested?”

  Refusing to be sidetracked, Garrick ignored Jeff’s question and persisted. “Have you explained to her your I’m-not-going-to-get-married-ever attitude?”

  Jeff winced at Garrick’s sarcasm. “Chelsea has amnesia. She’s more interested in finding out about her past than planning her future.”

  “Right.”

  “I’m just helping out.”

  “Right.”

  “So I like her a lot. No big deal.”

  “I assure you flying with me is much safer than falling in love.”

  “Cynic. Besides, you’re getting ahead of yourself here. I slept in her guest room.”

  “Exactly. If you got a little and wanted more, I wouldn’t be worried.” Garrick’s blue-black eyes twinkled. “But you’re going back for more anyway.”

  Garrick rarely pressed. Clearly he suspected Jeff was holding out on him. Finally he changed the subject but still got in a last dig. “You know the nurses say the only way to get a doctor to make a house call is to marry him, don’t you?”

  Jeff’s beeper went off, saving him from a reply. “It’s from ICU. Gotta go.”

  As he hurried to the elevator that would shuttle him to ICU, Jeff could no longer deny that his interest in Chelsea was not simply doctor-patient. He liked Chelsea as a person. Who was he kidding—he more than liked her. Every time his gaze met hers, his heart fibrillated against his ribs, his pulse skyrocketed and he felt an overwhelming need to be close to her. She was disturbing to him in every way, physically and mentally.

  He admired the strength with which she dealt with her amnesia. He’d kept expecting her to fall apart, but she never had.

  And as fate tossed each challenge at her—the arrival of a baby she didn’t know how to take care of, plus the possible attack followed by the threats—she hadn’t flinched from her responsibility to Alex.

  He admired her loyalty to a friend she couldn’t remember. Approved of the way she’d taken custody of a child she didn’t know. And perceptive guy that the pilot was, Garrick must have sensed Jeff’s fascination with Chelsea Connors.

  Jeff could have made excuses for his interest and told Garrick that she’d needed help with the baby. He could have mentioned the threatening phone call. But he’d jump at even a flimsy excuse to be with her again.

  The way she’d taken to the baby appealed to him. She’d been unable to hide her worry when Alex wouldn’t stop crying. Obviously the baby had already touched a place in her heart.

  Fast work, tiger. Could he do as well?

  Jeff stepped out of the elevator into ICU. Was Garrick right that he wanted a part of Chelsea for himself? He’d been anxious all morning, wondering about her day, her appointment, and he couldn’t rationalize the worry away. He had this hunch that leaving Chelsea alone had been a mistake.

  BACK AT CHELSEA’S OFFICE, shortly after lunch, the phone rang.

  “It’s Dr. Jeffrey Kendall,” Sandy told her over the intercom. “You want to take it?”

/>   “Sure.” Chelsea punched a button, surprised at how eager she was to hear his voice. “Hello.”

  “How’s it going?”

  Excited that he’d called for seemingly no more reason than to talk about trivialities, she told him about her day. “Not much. I took a cab, stopped at the bank for some cash and shopped for diapers and formula. The trip tired Alex out.”

  “Are you managing okay?”

  She grinned, proud that she was doing so well, pleased that he cared. “Alex is napping in his stroller in my office corner. But you should have heard him screaming during Officer Russo’s call.”

  “What did he want?” Although Jeff’s tone remained casual, she sensed he was now more alert.

  “He asked how I was doing. But I suspect he was really checking to see if my memory’s returned.”

  “Don’t try to force it. It’ll come.” The warmth in his tone reassured her more than his words of encouragement.

  “Russo did mention my car’s still parked in front of Anne’s house. He thinks I was probably in the process of moving the baby’s boxes when I fell.”

  “You sound as if you don’t believe him.”

  “I don’t know what to think.” Unsure whom to trust or what she should know, she was glad Jeff wanted to be her friend. She imagined him in his sexy blue scrubs and hoped they could be a lot more than friends. But that would have to wait until she learned more about her past.

  “After dinner we’ll pick up your car. I don’t want you going back there alone.”

  “Thanks.”

  She hung up the phone, more than appreciative of his offer. And not just because she enjoyed Jeff’s company. Returning to the house where Anne had been murdered, where Chelsea’s own “accident” had occurred, left her uneasy. She couldn’t explain the dread that overcame her but likened her apprehension to a horror movie where the victim walked down the steps into a darkened basement, scary music played, and one just knew something bad would happen. At least Jeff had agreed to go with her.

  But before she met with Jeff, she had a good afternoon of work ahead of her. She needed Sandy to bring her up to speed on Classy Creations’ personnel and finances. Maybe she’d find a clue to who wanted her dead.