Verdict: Daddy. Charlotte Douglas
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He shrugged, clearly unconcerned. “With so many couples out there looking for a baby to adopt, it shouldn’t take long.”
“The legal red tape alone could take months, a year or more. And what if you grow fond of Annie during that time? Will you be prepared to hand her over to strangers?” She was taking her frustration out on him again, but she was helpless to stop herself. “And in the meantime, while you’re waiting for the right parents, since you have a business to run, who will take care of this baby?”
“I’ll hire Agnes.”
She cast him a dubious glance.
“I make good money,” he insisted. “I can afford it.”
“It takes more than money to be a good parent,” she snapped.
“Why are you so upset?”
“Aside from being manhandled and kidnapped?” she said, bristling again.
“All other things being equal,” he replied in his calm, composed way that only fueled her irritation.
How could she respond to that comment when all other things weren’t equal? How stupid would she sound if she answered that her dissatisfaction came from the fact that a woman who had a baby hadn’t wanted it, and Marissa, who hungered for a child like dry ground for water, hadn’t a hope of being a mom?
She forced herself to take a deep breath, disengage her emotions and look at the facts. She’d learned long ago to ignore her personal feelings when handling a case. Feelings clouded her judgment. Blake might be a childhood friend, but he was first and foremost her client. She couldn’t give her best legal advice if her own desires were riding roughshod over her reasoning.
“I apologize for snapping at you,” she said. “You’ve placed me in difficult circumstances, and I haven’t handled them well.”
Blake shook his head. “No need to apologize. I’m the one who’s taken advantage of an old friend. I’m sorry I’ve put you in a tough spot.”
“Sorry won’t solve this dilemma.”
“I’m sure between the two of us, we can think of something that will.”
The two of us.
Just like old times, Marissa thought. As a teenager, she’d often dreamed of growing up and marrying Blake, but he’d never treated her as more than a friend. She couldn’t help wondering how her life would have turned out if she’d actively pursued him, been somehow lucky enough to spark his interest and had become Blake’s wife instead of Harry’s. She squelched that thought, having learned long ago not to waste time over might-have-beens.
The logo on his shirt caught her eye. “Adams Landscape Designs. You own the company?”
“Yep, it’s all mine.”
“I thought you wanted to be an astronaut. You were crazy about outer space. Remember how you used to draw me star charts?” Memories of summer nights spent stargazing with the breeze heavy with the smell of jasmine inundated her, making her wish she was twelve again.
“Being an astronaut wasn’t in the cards.” He laughed. “Literally.”
“What cards?”
“When I was a freshman, my roommates and I went to the state fair. They insisted on having their futures told by a tarot reader.”
Marissa made a face. “I don’t believe in the occult.”
Blake grinned. “Me, either. But in this case the gypsy lady was right.”
“You had your fortune told?”
“Not exactly. I was just along for the ride. But as my buddies were leaving, the tarot reader smiled at me, flipped a card, and said there would be a lot of green in my future.”
“Green?” Marissa laughed. “And you thought she meant money?”
“I didn’t think about it at all until the next semester when I took my first botany course. I was hooked immediately, changed my major to landscape design, and the rest, as they say, is history.”
The shine in his eyes melted her cynicism and sent the years tumbling away. Suddenly she felt like a teenager again, a time when life had been good and wondrous and filled with endless possibilities.
“And you don’t regret not being an astronaut?”
“Hey, I’ve got the greatest job in the world. I can take a boxy house or ugly commercial building, design and install an appropriate landscape, and make it a showpiece. And my work isn’t hidden in some dark corner of an art gallery. Thousands of people view it every day.”
Blake’s happiness wasn’t fake. It seemed to originate deep inside. She envied him. Marissa hadn’t felt that kind of happiness since…since she’d been a kid hanging out with Blake Adams.
She pictured him bent over his drawing table. “I never thought of you as the artistic type.”
“My work’s much more than sketches on paper. I like the physical aspects, too. When I plant with my crews, they work harder, smarter and faster. And I don’t need to spend time in a gym to stay fit. Plus, I get plenty of fresh air and sunshine.”
Blake had always loved the outdoors, had hated being cooped up inside for any length of time. And he definitely had no need now for a gym or personal trainer. With his fitted shirt and shorts, she could easily see that the skinny kid she’d known had developed very appealing muscles in all the right places.
Why hadn’t some lucky woman scooped up such a great catch and married him long ago? She wondered how many women had tried and failed, and, if they’d failed, why? Was it Blake’s satisfaction with his single status that had gotten in their way?
Blake rounded the corner, turned into the driveway of his house and pulled around to the back of the residence before cutting the engine.
Marissa had only a fleeting glimpse of the structure, but she could tell his renovations had been extensive. He’d preserved the charm of the old arts-and-crafts-style bungalow and updated it in the process. And the landscaping, complete with yellow climbing roses around the front porch, set off the soft gray siding of the house like a frame complements a work of art.
She had barely a minute to contemplate his home before the back door of the adjoining house flew open. A short, rotund little woman scampered down the steps and raced across the yard toward them. High color stained her apple cheeks, her gray hair stood in disarrayed wisps, and her blue eyes held a wild look behind gold-rimmed granny glasses.
“Uh-oh.” Blake released his seat belt, jumped from the truck and called to the older woman. “Everything okay, Agnes?”
Marissa didn’t need her father’s people skills to tell by a glance at the baby-sitter’s face that something was terribly wrong. She’d never seen Agnes so agitated. Marissa hurried from the car to join Blake.
“Thank God you’re back!” Agnes blurted to Blake, ignoring Marissa in her distress. “I’ve been calling your cell number but couldn’t reach you.”
Blake pulled his phone from the pocket of his shorts. “I must have turned it off when I made a call earlier. What’s wrong? Is Annie all right?”
“It’s awful,” Agnes cried. “Just awful!”
With that, the little woman, whom generations of Dolphin Bay children had been unable to upset, burst into sobs.
Chapter Three
Touched by Agnes’s distress, Blake placed a consoling arm around her shoulders. His neighbor was the closest thing to a mother he’d ever had. From the day he’d first moved in beside her, she’d plied him with home-cooked meals, freshly baked cookies, friendly introductions to the neighbors and unconditional acceptance. And she was