The Baby Consultant. Anne Marie Winston
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His other hand made patting motions in the air near the child’s kicking, cycling legs, as if he wasn’t quite sure how to go about comforting the baby. Then he turned to face Frannie.
“Uh, Miss Brooks, right?”
“Yes.” She strove to keep her voice crisp and professional, though it was getting more and more difficult to ignore the infant squalling between them. “I’ve been trying to contact you. I need my portfolio back. Immediately.”
Jack juggled the child into his other arm and reached behind the seat for a pale yellow diaper bag, stuffed to the brim. The child kept screaming. “Oh, man...” He shook his head. “I completely forgot you. I bet you’d like to clobber me.”
He straightened up and for the first time she saw how very weary he looked. His eyes were dull and red rimmed, and his hair was standing on end where it was long enough on the top. The squirming child slipped a little in his grip and Frannie reacted automatically, placing her hands beneath the baby’s tiny body. She couldn’t stand that screaming another minute. It cut at her soft heart and reminded her of all the nieces and nephews she’d rocked to sleep over the years.
“May I?” She slipped one hand up under the little wobbly head as Jack nodded immediately.
“Please,” he said, and it was heartfelt. He released the baby and Frannie automatically shifted it into a close embrace against her shoulder, cupping the padded bottom with one hand while the other rubbed small, soothing circles around the infant’s tiny back. She realized she had started a patter of gentle baby talk, rocking gently from side to side the moment the child settled into her arms, and she huffed out a breath of amused resignation at herself. Old habits came back dangerously easily.
Jack had gone around to the trunk and was lifting out a portable crib and several other bags. Buried beneath all the items he was balancing in his grip, he came around to Frannie’s side and peered down at the baby. The child finally was quieting, its little chest catching in occasional spasms as its sobs subsided.
“How’d you do that?” he demanded. “She’s been screaming since the moment we got off the plane.”
Frannie was astonished. “You’ve been flying with her?” She realized the child was a girl as she noted his use of the feminine pronoun.
He nodded. “It’s a long story. But I’m sure you’re not interested.” He hesitated. “Could you hold her until I get the stuff out of the car and set up this crib?”
Frannie nodded.
“The thing is,” he said over his shoulder as he started for the door, “your pictures are at my office. If you can wait until tomorrow, I’ll get my secretary to deliver them personally first thing in the morning. The office has been closed—that’s why you couldn’t reach anyone.” He shook his head. “I’m really sorry. I thought I had all the loose ends tied up.”
She trailed along behind him, crooning to the baby. Her portfolio seemed less important now, and she was ashamed of her anger. Whatever he’d been doing, Jack clearly hadn’t simply neglected to get her things back to her. “That would be fine.”
Stepping through the door, she took in the expensive furniture and the lush, deep pile of the carpet. Jack had dumped a pile of baby accessories on the couch and was pulling open the portable crib. Unfortunately, it was designed like most things that were advertised as easy to set up and take down. As fast as he pushed one side into place, another snapped back up. He finally got smart and planted one enormous loafer at one end, using his upper body to stretch the two opposing sides. That left one more side to be pulled into place, and Frannie took pity on him. She walked over and got a firm grip on the rail with her free hand. “Okay, now pull,” she said.
The crib popped open and Jack stood back with a sigh. “Thanks. Why don’t you just put her down in there while I get the rest of the stuff? She’ll probably play or something until I get unpacked.”
He was kidding. She hoped. Cautiously she pointed to a mechanism on the bottom of the crib. “You need to push this down to lock it into place. Otherwise, it could fold up with her in it.”
Jack stared at the little lever. “Oh.” He reached down and secured it. “It’s a good thing you’re here.”
“Um, I hate to be a busybody, but I don’t think she’s going to be very happy if I put her down.” Frannie glanced at the baby, who wasn’t screaming anymore, but was definitely beginning to root around, banging her little head against Frannie’s sweater in a vain quest for dinner.
Jack looked dubious. “Well, I’ll take her. I guess I can unpack with one hand.”
He started to reach for the child with a distinctly apprehensive expression on his face.
“Jack.”
“What?” He paused.
She waited, but he seemed genuinely oblivious to the infant’s increasingly restless behavior. Finally she said, “I think she’s hungry.”
He smacked himself in the forehead. “Of course! Why didn’t I think of that? The lady on the plane said she’d probably get hungry every three or four hours.”
This was getting stranger and stranger. Frannie couldn’t imagine what Jack Ferris was doing with this baby. Clearly, he didn’t have the faintest notion of how to care for her. “How long has it been since she was changed?” she asked.
He speared one hand through his hair and Frannie realized why it was standing on end. “I don’t know. I guess since...I think one of the flight attendants changed her.”
“You think? Where is her mother, Jack?” And why on God’s green earth would she entrust her to your care!
Jack’s shoulders sagged. “Her mother is dead.” He looked at the baby. “I’m all she’s got now.”
Her mother is dead. Whatever answer she’d imagined, that one had been far, far from even making the list. Slowly, she sank down on the edge of the sofa. The weight of the baby in her arms suddenly seemed vitally warm and alive, precious and fragile. She looked down at the little girl, noting the dusting of blond hair, the flushed cheek and tiny, perfect lips.
“Do you mean you’re keeping her?” She hated to keep asking intrusive questions, but her conscience would not, absolutely could not, let her walk away from this place until she was sure the infant was being properly cared for.
Jack sat down opposite her on a wide hassock. “Yes. I’m her legal guardian, and her only living relative.” His elbows rested on his knees, and his big hands dangled between them. He dropped his head.
This puzzle didn’t have enough pieces for her to even frame it up with all the straight edges. “Is she...are you the father?”
Jack’s head shot up. “Of course not!” He glared at her.
She shrugged. “It was a logical question.” The baby was growing angry again, and she stood and rocked her. “Maybe we’d better change her and feed her.”
“Right.” He stood, too, and looked around for the diaper bag. Then he hesitated, turning back to her. “Miss Brooks—”
“Frannie.” She smiled. “Miss Brooks is too formal for someone who’s about to get spit up on.”
“You’ll stay for a while?” His face lit up so pathetically she would have laughed if the whole situation wasn’t so sad. “I don’t want to intrude if you have plans, but I need a crash course in baby care. Just the basics, until I can take her to a doctor and figure out this whole deal.”
She wanted to tell him “the basics” were a major part of a young baby’s life, but she sensed he was about at the end of his rope. “Sure. I can stay for a while.”
He was a very different man from the self-confident flirt she’d met in his office last month. While she changed the baby—whose name, Jack said, was Alexa—he brought in the rest of the things he’d