Chapter Two
Mitch didn’t want to get testy, but between Brad and his cohorts at the police station and those viper-tongued mercenaries in white at the hospital, this was the tenth time he’d been asked about the baby’s name, and he’d only had the kid for a couple hours! Jenny’s query proved to be one too many.
“You tell me!” he snapped, throwing up his hands. “Haven’t you heard anything I said? We haven’t been formally introduced yet. I’m only assuming the kid is Savannah’s. Until I get her to admit it—Ah, heck.”
It came as no surprise that the baby began whimpering again. Reduced to feeling more of a heel than before, Mitch shut his eyes and shook his head. Until today he’d been known as a pretty levelheaded, calm guy. But thanks to this situation he was beginning to feel as if he was one step away from a straitjacket.
Jenny’s look spoke volumes as she began rocking the baby and making soothing sounds. She reminded Mitch of his school days, when he would get reproving looks for talking in class or passing notes to his latest focus of interest.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, just as he had at eight, twelve, fifteen, and so on. He added a crooked smile, hoping it worked as well as it used to.
After only seconds, Jenny relented. “You’re under a great deal of pressure. I understand that. But you are going to have to watch the tone of your voice. This little one may not understand the words you say, but she can sense the angry tone.”
“I’m not angry, I’m frustrated. And scared. But I know what you said makes sense.” Everything made sense coming out of her mouth. It’s when he spoke that things ceased to add up. “You’re very good at this. At adapting.”
“I have the easier role here. This isn’t my shock to handle.”
“Thanks for understanding that...that this is a shock to me.” He wondered if she understood the depth of his gratitude and the concern his gratitude triggered.
“But you are going to have to think of a name for this baby.”
Gently nudged out of his musing, he frowned. “Look, I told you...” He paused. Reconsidered. “Is that fair? I mean, she probably already has a name.”
“One, at least. McCord.”
Struck by the reality of the situation all over again, Mitch experienced a strange, almost surreal feeling. He stared down at the tiny bundle in Jenny’s arms. To think he’d recently been accepting the possibility that he might never marry or have children. His own childhood hadn’t been all that great, what with his parents divorcing when he was barely out of diapers, and then bouncing him from one home to another for years as they played out their animosities, using him as both weapon and trophy. He’d vowed that no kid of his was going to have to go through that. Yet here was blood of his blood—his daughter—and Savannah had already pulled a coup by dropping the child on his front steps!
Lost in thought, he wasn’t aware of Jenny rising until she stood directly in front of him and eased the baby into his arms. “What... Oh, I don’t think—”
“Take her. Be careful to support her head and neck, though. Her bones are incredibly fragile at this age.”
So were his nerves. Mitch felt alarm bells going off throughout his body. The kid wasn’t small, she was minute! He’d slept on pillows that weighed more. Holding her gave him the most panicky feeling, as if she might slip through his arms! Incredible.
“You feel as if you’re embracing a miracle, don’t you?”
“Something damned breakable, at any rate.”
“You’re a very lucky man, Mitch.”
Despite the lump that threatened to form in his throat, he didn’t quite know if he believed her. Granted, this was one cute kid, but the circumstances under which she’d come into his life simply underscored how little he deserved to be holding such a healthy and lovely child. Good grief, he and Savannah had been beyond careless, they’d been stupid.
“What do you think I should call her?” he murmured, lifting his bewildered and troubled gaze.
The smile that perennially hovered around Jenny’s mouth blossomed into a full-fledged grin. “Whatever you like, I suppose. In a way, Savannah’s forfeited her right to name her. What feels good to you? People often name a daughter after a mother or grandmother, or some relation they care deeply about.”
He thought of his family—or rather lack of one. That narrowed things down a great deal. So much so that he had nothing to offer.
After several seconds Jenny said, “Your mother’s alive, isn’t she?”
Sometimes cockeyed optimists were more headache than antidote. “Here’s a news flash—I would name this baby Pepperoni before I named her after my mother.”
“Aha. Guess her d-i-v-o-r-c-e from your dad is still a touchy subject. Okay, then...surely there’s some other name that’s stood out in your mind as being special? Something traditional like Ann, or Kathy, or Mary? Names that are stronger like Taylor or Madison? How about—”
“Mary.”
“Exactly. Um, you like that?”
She sounded somewhat taken aback by his choice. “What’s wrong with it? You’re the one who suggested something traditional first.”
“I know, but it’s...maybe too old-fashioned? For you, I mean?”
Since when was he not supposed to like old-fashioned? The name had a comforting sweetness to it. Besides, he wanted his daughter to be called something that made her think twice about following in her parents’ footsteps, about reacting in haste and succumbing to restlessness, about not thinking of consequences enough.
“I’ll go with Mary,” he said with new resolve. Mary... for as long as he had her.
Jenny stroked the blond peach fuzz at the top of the baby’s head before putting her little finger into the child’s tiny hand and shaking gently. “Hello, Mary McCord. How nice to meet you.”
The infant responded with a fleeting smile.
Mitch sucked in a quick breath. “Did you see that?”
“I think you have a smart young lady there, McCord.”
“Yeah.” He rode a wave of pride high, and exhaled in pleasure.
“What do you say I give you a few pointers as I change her?”
“Change her?” The two words brought him back to earth with a resounding thump that left his insides quaking.
“This may be a news bulletin, my friend, but a sum of what goes into this cutie is going to come out the other end. In other words, I’ve a hunch that the milk I just fed her has had time to work. I’d rather walk you through the diaper-changing process now, so you don’t call me at two in the morning in a panic.”
“You’re right, of course, but—Oh, man. Jenny, diapers?”
“You want to play, you gotta pay, Friendly Skies. Gran made a few diapers out of some old T-shirts we had, but I hope you picked up some disposables. Something tells me you won’t be up to handling the washable kind.”
She had that right. He had yet to deal with the idea that when he left here, he would be taking the baby with him. Having to take Jen’s teasing on top of that was asking a bit much. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself. To think all these years I believed you weren’t capable of saying anything that wasn’t kind or supportive.” He thought that might earn him some expression of regret or chagrin.
She grinned irreverently. “Who did you think you had as a neighbor? The Flying Nun?”
Not quite. Maybe more like what’s-her-name from The Sound of Music. But he supposed he had no right to expect her to be different than the others. This was, after all, nothing less than he deserved. On the other hand...
“Poor McCord. You look like a character in those old silent movies who finds himself racing down the street with a steering wheel loose in his hands.”
“Actually, I feel worse.”
Jenny nodded, studying him. “It’s not your situation that brings out this side of me,” she began more gently, “so much as the way you typecast me. You don’t really know me, Mitch. You shouldn’t assume that you do.”
But the way he’d seen her had bee
n safe, and he couldn’t begin to explain that without dropping himself into a different stew altogether. Glum, he gazed down at the baby.
Jenny muttered something under her breath. “Oh, stop acting like an abused basset hound, and come with me. I’ll show you what to do.” Something new and flirtatious lit her eyes. “Maybe you’d better strip first, though.”
“Excuse me?”
“Lose the jacket and tie.” She took the baby from him. “And roll up your sleeves. As I told you before, working with babies can be rough on your wardrobe.”
As annoyed at her spunkiness as he was wary about what lay ahead, Mitch did as directed, set the two items over the back of a dinette chair, then followed Jenny. They went in the opposite direction Fiona had gone, but the sound of the old woman grinding away at her knitting machine while the TV blared was loud enough to muffle their steps.
Jenny led him around the stairway and down the hall. Mitch noted old family photographs placed in groupings on the wall like stepping stones along a garden path. Most captured moments in various stages of Jenny’s childhood: costumed as a teddy bear for her first Halloween, her first day of school, her first visit with Santa, the budding entrepreneur’s first lemonade stand, her first two-wheeler, her senior prom—he never did get a glimpse of the guy who took her. She didn’t give him time to linger, which he decided was just as well. Who needed reminders that Jenny had been a delightful and charming child?
Once in the dusty-pink-tiled bathroom, Jenny set the baby on a thick towel folded on the vanity. The setup told Mitch that she’d already changed the child at least once during his absence. A small stack of makeshift diapers was piled neatly by a bottle of baby lotion and powder. Mitch eyed the plastic containers as Jenny ran water into the sink, and deduced that she must use the stuff herself. That would explain her wonderful skin, and why she always smelled uniquely fresh and young. It also reminded him of why it was wise to keep as much distance as possible between them.
Seduced by baby products...ridiculous.
Only when she shut off the water and dipped her elbow into the bowl, did he snap out of his brooding. He frowned. “What are you doing?”
“Checking the temperature. What feels acceptable to our fingers could well burn her tender skin. The wrist and elbow are usually more sensitive. You try it.”
Pushing up his sleeve a bit more, Mitch did. “Feels tepid to me.”
“That’ll be more than enough for her. Now, go ahead and unwrap her.”
He froze. “I’d prefer to watch...at least once.”
“You know that you learn faster by doing. And you know full well that I’m not going to let you do something that could hurt the child.”
She proved as good as her word. For the next several minutes she corrected him a number of times as she supervised and assisted him. Once again Mitch thought that for someone without children of her own, she was impressively competent. And she was able to be kind when criticizing. That had him sending up another prayer of gratitude that she wasn’t more like her grandmother.
He could have done with less physical contact, though. Time after time their hands brushed together, or she wove an arm between or around his to show him how to balance the child in the crook of his arm during bathing, how to apply the lotion and powder, where the pins needed to go. He could have lived a full life without being reminded that Jenny’s skin could compete with the newborn’s for softness, or experiencing her breast pressed intimately against his upper arm, or discovering that her body fit ever so nicely against his. By the time they were refastening the baby’s sleeper, Mitch’s mouth felt as dry as if he’d just come through a West Texas dust storm.
“Good for you,” Jenny said, ever the good cheerleader. “In a few more days you’ll be able to do this in the pitch dark if you have to.”
“I’d rather not. As it is, I can’t imagine doing this a couple dozen times a day,” he muttered, using his sleeve to wipe at his sweaty forehead. “I feel as if I’ve run the Boston and New York marathons back-to-back.”
A soft laugh bubbled from Jenny’s lips. “Don’t exaggerate. You’re going to be wonderful with her.”
“Now who’s exaggerating?” Clipped at the knees by his strong awareness of her, Mitch let his gaze roam over her glossy hair, her radiant profile. He didn’t know whether it was his gruff tone, or his obvious gratitude, but in the next second she shifted and he found himself made more vulnerable by looking straight into her eyes. Inches apart, he would only have to duck his head to discover at last if her dewy lips would feel half as good as they looked and taste as sweet as the stuff she concocted in her kitchen.
It was Jenny who turned away. With deft movements she quickly finished wrapping the baby in the blanket. “Between the two of us, I’m sure we can keep Mary comfortable. What do you say, sweetie?” she asked the baby as she lifted it into her arms again.
Mitch stood alone in the bathroom before he realized just how smoothly he’d been manipulated. Like a minnow being toyed with by a wily bass, she’d drawn him in and spit him out. As intrigued as he was annoyed, he hurried to catch up with her.
“What do you mean, the two of us? I’m the one who has to figure out how to deal with her through tonight. That is, unless you could come next door with me and help me get her settled?”
“An invitation to The Bachelor Pad? Be still my heart.”
He supposed he deserved that, since he’d never before let her beyond the screen door. What she couldn’t know was that his motive had always been based on self-preservation.
“If you’re expecting to see satin sheets and handcuffs, you’re going to be disappointed.”
Her answering look was the picture of innocence. “I doubt you’d need the toys and hardware.”
Following that with a comment about wanting to inform her grandmother where she would be, Jenny left him for a moment. Mitch used the brief respite to justify what he was doing; Jenny had a tendency to make him forget. After years of dealing with her wistful looks and hopeful invitations, her behavior a few moments ago had come as quite a surprise. Her actions had clearly signaled no. But what had he seen in her eyes? What was going on?
Jenny returned and they exited her house. Once outside Mitch noticed how much the weather had deteriorated. The sky had grown much darker, and the wind had picked up to the point that Jenny had to fold one corner of the blanket over the baby’s face to protect her. After unlocking the side door on his brick home to let Jenny get the baby to safety, Mitch hurried to his car to collect the things he’d picked up from the hospital and during his brief stop at the Baby Boutique.
“We have a crib up in the attic that you’re welcome to use,” Jenny told him as he joined her inside and set the boxes and bags on the kitchen table.
“Thanks, but don’t forget, I’m not sure I’ll have the baby long enough to trouble with all that.”
Her expression fell. “I thought—Didn’t you say you didn’t approve of what Savannah had done?”
“If she is the mother. Remember, I also said I don’t have proof. Until I find Savannah and she admits to this, any long-term decisions about the baby, and settling her in here, should be put on hold.”
Jenny’s expression told him what she thought of his hedging again. “And how are you going to get Savannah to do that? Do you have any idea where she is?”
“No. But Brad referred me to a detective he’s worked with before. Says the guy’s reliable. I’ll try making a few phone calls myself, and if they don’t pan out, I’ll give him a call.”
“It would seem to me that if she went to this much trouble to leave Mary without talking to you, she won’t be taking any calls from you, either.”
That had crossed his mind, too. “I still have to make the gesture.”
“Too bad it’s at the expense of your daughter.”
Mitch stiffened. “I appreciate the help, Jen, but don’t push too hard, okay?”
“One comes with the other, McCord.” But having said her piec
e, she quickly fixed a pleasant smile on her face and glanced around. “So this is how it looks in here.”
He eyed the kitchen that was a cool two-tone blue, as opposed to the sunny yellow, white and green of Jenny’s place. It also stood out for its lack of cooking accoutrements; and since he rarely prepared his own meals, it lacked the delicious smells that had emanated from the Stevenses’ stove.
“Home sweet home,” he drawled as a deep roll of thunder rumbled something in the house.
“Going to give me a tour?”
“It’s just a house, Jen. Four walls and a decent tax write-off.”
“It’s your home. Your daughter is going to sleep here. If it’s too grim, too drafty, too stuffy, someone has to point that out to you.”
But he wasn’t wild about her wandering around the place, analyzing and judging, not to mention touching, so that no matter where he stepped or sat in the future, mental images of her would flash before his eyes. “I’d rather be going for root canal work than doing this,” he mumbled, running a hand over his hair.
“Pardon?”
“I said I’m not the most consistent housekeeper. You don’t know what you might be in for.”
“Nonsense. So far everything looks fine to me.”
She kissed the baby on the forehead, and ventured toward the living room, also dark, despite the white walls. It was decorated in greens and browns with old but solid furniture, most of which hadn’t been replaced or moved since Mitch’s father bought the house. The center of focus was the big-screen TV and extensive video and CD collection.
“I have a feeling the only thing I’ll end up mentioning is that this place is too shut up,” she told him.
She slowed to browse through the built-in book-shelves where the tapes and CDs were stacked. Mitch couldn’t remember the last time he’d dusted them.
“This is a surprise.”
He edged closer. “What is?”
“Your video collection could be mine—a heavy dose of comedy, but some serious drama, too.”
“I have fairly diverse taste, but prefer a story to have some meat to it.”
Baby In A Basket Page 3
