“Well, damn the police and their double homicide and bomb threats, anyway,” Grant groused. “We have an abandoned baby here. And frantic parents out there somewhere. What’s more important than that? Taxi!”
Laura glanced at the sleeping little boy whose apple cheek rested against her bosom. “Do you really think they’re frantic, Grant?”
Laura looked up to see Grant lowering his arm and staring at her. “What do you mean? Sure they are. Wouldn’t you be?”
“Well, of course I would,” Laura protested as a very unexpected wave of protectiveness washed over her. Her arms tightened around the little tyke she held. “He’s precious. And so helpless. I’m just hoping, for his sake, that there’s a simple answer to all this, Grant. A mix-up of some sort. Like his mom thinks his dad has him. And he thinks she does. Something like that. You read about that all the time.”
Grant smiled at her and gave her arm a reassuring squeeze that warmed her all the way through. “Yes, you do. And I’m sure that’s it. Something simple.”
Laura nodded, returning her attention to the trusting bundle in her arms. Okay, she didn’t really believe the scenario she’d just offered. Where was the baby’s coat? His food? A warm blanket? Proof that someone cared about this tiny stranger she’d dubbed Tucker. And what was his real name? Wouldn’t his parents have met up by now and realized their mistake? Wouldn’t they have called her firm? Or the police? But nobody in the whole of New York City seemed to be missing him. Nobody.
“You don’t look convinced, Laura.”
A bit startled—had he been watching her?—Laura shifted her gaze to Grant’s handsome face. A frown deepened the lines on either side of his generous mouth. “I’m not,” she admitted. “Are you?”
His frown became a slow smile, one at his own expense. “No. Hell, his parents may not even be on this continent, as we speak. They could be jet setting around the world, leaving him with his nanny. And the nanny could have dumped him when her boyfriend left for California. Who knows?”
Laura stared at Grant, recognizing the scenario he offered as similar to his childhood. The wealthy, absent parents. A succession of nannies. She’d always wondered if he knew how lonely he sounded when he spoke of his upbringing. What a poor little rich boy he’d been. And here he was, still defending his parents’ lack of attention to him. Her heart suddenly lurching for him, Laura conceded, “You’re probably right. There could be any number of explanations.”
“Yes, there could be,” Grant said, sounding stubborn. “But you know, Laura, not one of them is good enough. We’re talking about a baby here. You know he wants his mother. What kind of a woman would abandon her own child?”
“Excuse me?” Laura retorted. “His mother?” Her face pruning with some unexpected, unacknowledged, long-denied, much-suppressed mothering feminist instinct, Laura snapped, “Can we talk about his father? Where’s the dad? Is he at some bar or sitting in front of a TV somewhere?”
“Well, how would I know? And do you hear yourself, Laura? You’re judging people you don’t even know.”
“I am? What about you, Grant Maguire? You said—”
“Shh.” Grant gripped her arm firmly. Looking around, he whispered, “I know what I said. But cool it with my name, okay? We’re drawing a crowd here. Can the sleazy tabloid photographers be far behind? How would you like to be front-page news?”
Laura jerked her attention to her sidewalk companions. Sure enough, a crowd. A very interested crowd. With cameras. Oops. Turning her back to the bystanders and leaning into Grant, she said under her breath, “Fine. But I get to be mad about this. Not you. You’re not the one who went from here to maternity in the space of an afternoon. I am. I’m the one who went to work this morning feeling like Murphy Brown and came out June Cleaver. Not you. See this?” She hefted the sleeping child. “I’m the one left holding the evidence.”
Grant sobered, his expression as hard as his whispered words. “And where have I been, Laura? Right here at your side. That’s where. Every step of the way.”
Her long-repressed anger chose that moment to bubble over. “Well, how long do you suppose that will last…this time?”
Grant stiffened. “About as long as you’ll last being a mother, would be my guess. Don’t worry. You only have to do it for a couple hours. Until the police get hold of a caseworker or someone like that. Then this little boy will be off your hands. And you won’t have to care about anybody.”
With that, Grant went back to hailing a cab. He muttered something under his breath only a part of which Laura caught—I don’t know what I was thinking earlier—before he blurted, “What the hell’s the problem here? Are there no taxis left in this city?”
Laura stood there blinking, chilled and yet burning. Could she have sounded like a bigger wretch? Heck, could she have chosen a more public place for her bout of nastiness? Could her outburst have drawn more grinning, whispering attention their way? She glanced at Tucker. And felt even worse. He was vulnerable. Innocent. And so alone…like Grant had been all his childhood. And then it dawned on her—Grant saw himself in this baby.
Laura slumped, wanting to kick her own behind all around the city block while calling herself names, every one of which she felt she deserved. Feeling this way and even knowing Grant had as much to apologize for as she did, she huffed out her breath, told herself someone had to be the adult here and went about setting things to rights. “Gra—I mean…hey, you?”
He lowered his arm and turned to her, waiting. It was there in his eyes. The censure. The hurt. And, yes…the realized guilt. After all, he was the one who’d walked out on her all those years ago. She’d only spoken a truth. But probably one that didn’t need to be said. At least, not in the way she’d said it.
“I’m sorry,” she blurted. “I didn’t mean it like that, what I said about you. Or the baby. Like I can’t wait to hand him over to the first passing person willing to take him off my hands. It’s just that I never thought I’d—I mean, I don’t—”
“Laura,” Grant cut in. “It’s okay. You don’t have to explain anything to me. This…the baby, me…we’re pretty big shocks. I know that. And I’m sorry for reacting like I did. It’s just that this little guy, I don’t know, touched some chord inside me.”
Laura’s whole demeanor softened. “I know. I just…well, I just want you to know that I’m not mad at him. At the baby. I have nothing but sympathy for him. No, I’m mad at whoever dumped him. I mean, I may not personally want to get married and have children, but—”
“You don’t?” Grant’s voice held surprise. “You’ve decided that? You mean ever?”
Laura frowned. Somehow, her words and the decision behind them when said aloud to Grant Maguire sounded as empty as her stomach was right now. But out loud she assured him, “I do. I mean forever. I decided that on the day you—Well, years ago. But it doesn’t mean I’m not sensitive to children, that I don’t have feelings for an abandoned one.”
Grant’s frown became a quick smile. “No one ever said you didn’t. But forever is a long time.” He turned away and waved down a cab, which began slowing in front of them just as camera-armed men and women began the flashing and popping that heralded the arrival of the paparazzi.
Blinking, turning away, huddling into Grant, Laura felt her face heat with thoughts of where these shots would turn up. And the questions they would generate. Just then, Tucker sighed in his baby sleep and rooted his little face against her bosom. Which caused Laura to lose all contact with her sanity and her hair to stand on end. “Grant? We need food. Now.”
Grant stopped in the act of reaching for the cab’s back-door handle to turn to her, frowning as the cameras flashed in his face. “Food? Laura, can we please discuss this inside the cab?”
“Oh, you bet we can. Look at him. Look what he’s doing.”
Grant stared at the rooting baby. His eyebrows slowly rose. “Well, I have to admire his taste…so to speak.”
“That is not helping,” came Laura�
�s singsong response through gritted teeth.
Grant chuckled. “Okay, Plan B.” With that, he opened the door of the cab and assisted Laura and her bundle in. He followed her, closed the door and scooted next to her, an arm along the seat back, all but around her as he huddled over her as if trying to protect her from the cameras’ public eyes. Then he called to the burly, attentive driver, “Get us out of here. Just drive.”
“You got it, mister,” the man said. The cab took off with a squealing of tires that left the paparazzi yelling and chasing after them.
Once they were safely away, Grant leaned forward to tap the baseball-cap-wearing driver, “Take us to—” Grant’s expression blanked. He turned to Laura. “Where do you live?”
Laura froze in her inept settling of the suddenly cranky Tucker to meet Grant’s questioning gaze. “That’s Plan B? My place was Plan A. But Plan B is now Plan A, and it needs to involve baby food. Seriously.”
Grant frowned, looked confused and admitted as much. “I’m lost.”
“Join the club, mister,” the cabbie said. “Where we headed?”
Laura huffed out her breath, then gave their driver her address. Men.
“You got it, lady,” he said. “All you had to do was say so.”
Laura turned to Grant, hating the sudden tears that swamped her vision and blurred his face. If it weren’t for Grant’s warm and reassuring presence next to her, she’d lose it. Grant seemed to sense that. His demeanor softened as he squeezed her arm. “Hey, you. It’ll be okay. I swear. We’ll get you home and then I’ll go get the baby something to…eat, I guess.”
Heartened by his touch, by his seemingly earnest desire to help, Laura calmed down. “I appreciate everything you’re doing, Grant And I don’t mean to act like such a shrew. I’m just…scared I’ll do the wrong thing, I guess. And he’s so little. I’d just die if I hurt him or—”
“You’re not going to hurt him, Laura. And as for the rest of it…Well, I owe you. We both know that.”
Laura found it hard to hold his gaze. This was twice he’d said something about their past. But still, she heard herself forgiving him. “It’s okay. That was a long time ago. We were both young and stupid. Bygones.”
“No, it’s not okay. I was wrong. And I’d like to make it up—”
A wailing, mysteriously muffled, cut off Grant’s words. Then it registered, if not on the Richter scale, at least with Laura. The baby. I forgot the baby. With frantic fear streaking through her, she jerked her gaze downward and saw the baby as a disfiguring, coat-covered lump off to her side. Shrieking, she fished him out of the smothering folds feet-first and finally got him turned upright. Over the baby’s screeches, she turned to Grant and yelled, “Dear God, I nearly—he’s hungry, Grant. Do something.”
“I know. I hear,” Grant yelled. “But I have no idea what to get him. Or where. And you’d think I would, given my position at the Tucker Company, wouldn’t you? But we don’t do food. Just clothes. And I—”
“Hey! You two in the back seat?”
Grant and Laura turned to the cabbie, who managed to make himself heard over Tucker’s continued wailing. “This is a very touching moment and all, Mr. Maguire—” Laura exchanged a look with Grant “—but maybe I could make a suggestion?”
“Is it anything helpful?” Grant yelled, his voice laced with New York savvy wariness.
Apparently unoffended, the cabbie shrugged and yelled, “Yeah. I got four kids of my own.”
Grant gave Laura a bright thumbs-up and said, “In that case, sir, you are a godsend—and in for a big tip. Suggest away.”
“I thought you’d never ask. Okay, we take you two home. Which, by the way, I shoulda known. Best part of town,” their baby mentor yelled over his shoulder as he worked his cab through the choking, honking traffic.
“That was Plan A, remember?” Laura yelled as she patted the still-fussing Tucker’s back. “That’s where you came in.”
The cabbie glanced in the rearview mirror. Laura met his black-eyed gaze as he said, “Excuse me. I wasn’t finished. Hold him up, Mrs. Maguire. The baby, that is. Dandle him on your knee. They like that. They like to bounce.”
Mrs. Maguire? Laura shot a look at Grant, who grinned and waved his hand, as if to say, Let it pass. All right Fine. Then she mouthed, Dandle? Grant shrugged, his eyes wide and lost.
“Under his arms,” the driver directed. “Hold him up. Let him balance on your knees and bounce himself. Otherwise, he’s gonna be yelling his head off all the way home.”
Wanting to avoid that nightmare at any cost, Laura did as she was directed. Sure enough, Tucker sobered, quieted and then, lo and behold, balanced and bounced and cooed and clapped his chubby little mitts together. Laura’s shriek of happiness matched the baby’s. “Look! He likes it!”
Wearing a sappy grin, Grant reached over her to allow Tucker to hold his finger and wave it around, too. “Hallelujah,” he said.
“Yeah. I told you he would,” their driver said, sounding like a smug old hand at this. Into the relative quiet, he continued outlining his plan. “Okay, now on the way to your place, there’s a grocery with everything you need—Hey, shouldn’t you two know this stuff by now? Your baby’s got to be eight, nine months old. Oh, wait—you got nannies and maids that do that stuff, right?”
This was getting out of hand. “No, we don’t Because this baby’s not ours,” Laura offered, grinning desperately at Tucker, praying for his lightened mood to last. “We’re not married. And we don’t know whose baby this is.”
The taxi veered to the curb and stopped. The cabbie turned to face them, suspicion written all over his pugnacious face. “Excuse me, lady?”
Laura suspected that she and Grant—and Tucker—looked like guilty children with their hands caught in a cookie jar. “No, it’s okay,” she rushed to assure him. “Remember you picked us up at the police station? They know all about the baby. We’re keeping him for now. Until a report is filed and his parents can be found.”
The man continued to stare at them. Individually. First Laura. And then Grant. And then Tucker. And finally Laura again. “Really,” she felt compelled to add. “Seriously. It’s okay. We’re legitimate.” It wasn’t working. So she added, “Remember the crowd? All those cameras? That’s because he’s Grant Maguire. Just like you said earlier.” Then she turned to Grant. “Show him.”
“Show him what, Laura?” Grant asked pointedly.
But the cabbie raised a stop-right-there hand and assured them, “This ain’t that kinda cab. So, okay, you’re Grant Maguire. And she ain’t Mrs. Maguire. And this ain’t your baby. But it’s all legit. Whadda I care? All I do is give rides to people who want to get from point A to point B.” Having settled that, he went back to his plan. “So, on the way to the lady’s place, we’ll stop at this grocery—they’re nice people. You should get to know them. And I’ll go in with you and show you what you’ll need to set yourselves up. How’s that sound?”
“Like a twelve-course dinner featuring Chateaubriand and a two-hundred-year-old French wine,” Grant quipped.
The cabbie raised an eyebrow at him, faced forward and muttered, just loud enough to be heard, “Yeah, that was probably what you two yuppies would-a fed the kid, too, without my help.”
And the scary thing was, Laura knew, he was probably right Fearing for Tucker, fearing that she would innocently and ignorantly do something that would hurt the baby, like give him coffee in his bottle first thing in the morning—it was, after all, how she woke herself up—Laura stared into the little boy’s chubby face, hoping, absurdly enough, for some sort of reassurance from him.
He winked at her.
3
NINE O’CLOCK. At night. Grocery store gone to, baby stuff picked up. Baby fed, but sloppily. Adults—Chinese take-out, delivered and eaten. No less sloppily. And now, like a lurking ogre, many dark and alonewith-the-baby hours lay between Laura and please-anybody-help-me daylight. Changed out of her Tucker-baptized suit into her pink and fleecy swea
tpants, thick socks and a long T-shirt, standing next to Grant—who’d be leaving at any moment, she just knew it—Laura looked from her wristwatch to the child innocently sleeping in the pulled-out dresser drawer on the floor of her softly lit loft bedroom.
Sheet-wrapped sofa pillows crowded the deep drawer and cushioned Tucker’s weight without folding around him. Thank you for that tip, nice lady at the grocery store. The baby’s tiny fists rested to either side of his head. So far, so good. Not. Panic set in—but quiet panic, so as not to awaken the little boy. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea, Grant,” Laura blurted softly. “Maybe you should take Tucker home with you.”
Bent over, his hands resting on his knees as he aided Laura in her helpless staring at the sleeping baby, as if it were a duty assigned them both, Grant looked at her, frowning. He whispered, “Who’s Tucker?”
“Him.” Laura pointed to the baby.
Grant’s eyebrows rose. Then a slow grin tugged at his mouth as he looked from Laura to the baby and back to her. Still keeping his voice low, he said, “You’re kidding. His name is Tucker? That’s unbelievable. How’d you know?”
Laura let out her breath. “Well, obviously I didn’t. And I still don’t. His real name could be Edgar or Skippy, for all I know. So I just…call him that.”
“You do?” Grant straightened, his expression still warm and amused as he put his hands on his waist. His rolled-up shirtsleeves exposed his well-developed, tanned forearms. The man must own a gym. “You named him Tucker? Like in Tucker the Bear? That’s…I don’t know, kind of sweet.”
Laura felt suddenly too warm and too aware of their proximity. He was taking this all wrong. At least that’s what she told herself as she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Sweet had nothing to do with it. It just seemed like the obvious choice at the time. Especially since—and God only knows why or how—our proposed new Tucker the Bear logo is. on the front of his sleeper.”
From Here To Maternity Page 4
