His Forever Family. Sarah M. Anderson
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primal way and Liberty had responded.
The baby sighed in what she hoped was contentment and she felt her heart clinch. “Such a good boy,” she said, leaning down to kiss his little forehead.
Sirens came screaming toward them. Then the paramedics were upon them and everything happened fast. The baby was plucked from her arms and carried into the ambulance, where he wailed even louder. It tore her up to hear him cry like that.
At the same time, a police officer arrived and took statements from her and Marcus. Liberty found herself half listening to the questions as she stood at the back of the open ambulance while the medics dug out a pacifier and wrapped the baby in a clean blanket.
“Is he going to be okay?” she asked when one of the paramedics hopped out of the back and started to close the door.
“Hard to say,” the man said.
“Where are you taking him?”
“Northwestern is closest.”
Marcus broke off talking with the cop to say, “Take him to Children’s.” At some point, he’d put his shirt back on. It looked far worse for wear.
The paramedic shrugged and closed the doors, cutting Liberty off from the baby. The ambulance drove off—lights flashing but no sirens blaring.
The cop finished taking their statements. Liberty asked, “Will you be able to find the mother?”
Much like the paramedic, the cop shrugged. She supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, she’d barely survived childhood because, aside from Grandma Devlin, people couldn’t be bothered to check on little Liberty Reese. “It’s a crime to abandon a baby,” he said. “If the mother had left the baby at a police station, that’s one thing. But...” He shrugged again. “Don’t know if we’ll find her, though. Usually babies are dumped close to where they’re born, and someone in the neighborhood knows something. But the middle of the park?” He turned, as if the conversation was over.
“What’ll happen to the baby?” Marcus asked, but Liberty could have told him.
If they couldn’t find the mother or the father, the baby would go into the foster system. He’d be put up for adoption, eventually, but that might take a while until his case was closed. And by then, he might not be the tiny little baby he was right now. He might be bigger. And he was African American. That made it that much harder to get adopted.
She looked in the direction the ambulance had gone.
The cop gave Marcus a sad smile. “DCFS will take care of it,” he said.
Liberty cringed. She did not have warm and fuzzy memories of the Department of Child and Family Services. All she had were grainy memories of frazzled caseworkers who couldn’t be bothered. Grown-up Liberty knew that was because the caseworkers were overwhelmed by the sheer number of kids in the system. But little-kid Liberty only remembered trying to ask questions about why her mom or even Grandma Devlin wasn’t going to come get her and being told, “Don’t worry about it,” as if that would make up for her mother’s sudden disappearances.
What would happen to the baby? She looked at her arms, wondering at how empty they felt. “Marcus,” she said in a hoarse voice as the cop climbed into his cruiser. “We can’t lose that baby.”
“What?” He stared at her in shock.
She grabbed on to his arm as if she was drowning and he was the only thing that could keep her afloat. “The baby. He’ll get locked into the system and by the time the police close his case, it might be too late.”
Marcus stared down at her as if she’d started spouting Latin. “Too...late? For what?”
Liberty’s mouth opened and the words I was a foster kid—trust me on this almost rolled off her tongue. But at the last second, she snapped her mouth shut. She’d created this person Marcus saw, this Liberty Reese—a white college graduate, an excellent manager of time and money who always did her research and knew the answers. Liberty Reese was invaluable to Marcus because she had made herself valuable.
That woman had had nothing in common with Liberty Reese—the grubby daughter of an African American drug addict who’d sold herself on Death Corner in Cabrini-Green to afford more drugs, who’d done multiple stints in prison, who hadn’t been able to get clean when her daughter was shipped back to foster care for the third time, who couldn’t tell Liberty who her father was or even if he was white, who’d given birth to a baby boy addicted to heroin and crack and God only knew what else.
That’s not who Liberty was anymore. She would never be that lost little girl ever again.
She looked back in the direction the ambulance had gone. That little baby—he was lost, too. Just as her brother had been in the few weeks he’d been alive. Completely alone in the world, with no one to fight for him.
Liberty would not allow that to happen. Not again.
She opened her mouth to tell Marcus something—she wasn’t quite sure what, but something—except nothing came out. Her throat closed up and tears burned in her eyes.
Oh, God—was she about to start crying? No—not allowed. Liberty Reese did not cry. She was always in control. She never let her emotions get the better of her. Not anymore.
Marcus looked down at her, concern written large on his face. He stepped closer to her and cupped her chin. “Liberty...”
“Please,” she managed to get out. “The baby, Marcus.” But that was all she could say because then she really did begin to cry. She dropped her gaze and swallowed hard, trying to will the stupid tears back.
The next thing she knew, Marcus had wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his chest. “It’s okay,” he murmured, his hand rubbing up and down her back. “The baby’s going to be fine.”
“You don’t know that,” she got out, trying to keep herself from sinking against his chest because Marcus Warren holding her? Comforting her?
The feeling, the smell of his body—awareness of Marcus as a man—blindsided her. Want, powerful and unexpected, mixed in with the panic over the baby and left her so confused that she couldn’t pull away like she needed to and couldn’t wrap her arms around him like she wanted to. She was rooted to the spot, wanting more and knowing she couldn’t have it.
Marcus leaned back and tilted her head up so that she had no choice but to look him in the eyes. It wasn’t fair, she thought dimly as she stared into the deep blue eyes that were almost exactly the same color as Lake Michigan on a clear day. Why couldn’t he be a slimeball? Why did he have to be so damned perfect, hot and rich and now this—this tenderness? Why did he have to make her want him when she didn’t deserve him?
He swiped his thumb over her cheek, brushing away a tear she hadn’t been able to hold back. “It’s important to you?” he asked, his voice deep. “The baby?”
“Yes,” was all she could say, because what else was there? Marcus Warren was holding her in his arms and comforting her and looking at her as if he’d do anything to make her happy and dammit all if this wasn’t one of her fantasies playing out in real life.
“Then I’ll make it fine,” he said. His thumb stroked over her cheek again and his other hand flattened out on her lower back. One corner of his mouth curved up into a smile that she knew well—the smile said that Marcus Warren was going to get exactly what he wanted.
And although she knew she shouldn’t—couldn’t—she leaned into his palm and let herself enjoy the sensation of Marcus touching her. “You will? Why would you do that for me?”
Something shifted in his eyes and his head dropped toward hers. He was going to kiss her, she realized. Her boss was going to kiss her and she was not only going to let him, she was going to kiss him back. Years of wanting and ignoring that want seemed to fall away.
But he didn’t. Instead, he said, “Because you’re important