Who's That Baby?. Diana Whitney
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quirked a brow. “Guess you just have a hankering to get that old heart broken again, huh?”
“Samantha never broke my heart.”
“Oh, that’s right. It was your ex-wife who broke your heart. Samantha just laid the pieces out and stomped them a little flatter.”
With some effort, Johnny unclenched his jaw, dug a familiar agenda packet out of his in basket. “I need you to take over the school-board meeting tonight.”
“Sure, no problem.” Spence popped the final bite of sandwich in his mouth, wiping his hands on the napkin as he chewed. He retrieved the agenda, gave it a halfhearted glance, then tossed it aside. “If you don’t tell me what’s going on with Samantha, you leave me no choice but to turn Myra loose. Once that old bloodhound gets the scent, there won’t be any stopping her. Whatever you’re trying to hide will be all over town before sundown.”
Johnny closed his eyes, swallowed a surge of panic. “It’ll be all over town by noon, I imagine. I’m meeting Claire at the child-care center after lunch.”
“Claire?” Spence perked up. “Who’s Claire?”
“Claire Davis. She’s on the pediatric staff at the clinic.”
Spence nodded as if that made sense. He leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees, and he waited. There was no sense in putting it off. If Johnny trusted anyone in this town, it was Spence McBride. They’d known each other in high school, although they hadn’t been close back then. They’d become good friends since Spence returned to Buttonwood a few months ago and brought his ranch-law expertise to Johnny’s law firm.
Yes, Johnny trusted Spence as much as he was capable of trusting any human being. Even if he didn’t, there wasn’t much point in keeping a secret that would be all over town by the end of the day. Buttonwood would be buzzing about the mysterious dark-eyed baby that Johnny Winterhawk was caring for. Speculation would run rampant.
Most of it would be true.
“So,” Spence prodded, “are you going to tell me why you’re looking for Samantha?”
Johnny sighed. “Because I want to find out why she left our child on my doorstep last night.”
Whatever Spence had been expecting to hear, that obviously wasn’t it. If he hadn’t already finished his sandwich, he probably would have choked on it. As it was, his face turned beet-red, his breath caught in his throat and his jaw drooped like a broken gate on a rusty hinge while Johnny methodically related grisly details.
Spence wiped his forehead, visibly shaken. “You’ve got a kid,” he muttered. “Wow. Better you than me.”
“Thanks for the support.”
“Cripes, what are you going to do?”
Johnny wished he knew. Still, he heard himself uttering the same mantra he’d repeated last night. “It’s temporary. Samantha will be back any time now.”
He’d almost begun to believe it, until the phone rang.
“Hope you’re sitting down,” Hank said. “You’re not going to like this.”
It was nap time at the Buttonwood Child Care Center, although one wouldn’t have noticed from the chorus of tiny voices, grunts and fusses emanating from the cheery sleep room. Colorful mats were arranged in neat rows on the clean, carpeted floor, some topped by thumb-sucking toddlers dozing drowsily, some supporting youngsters who kicked, rolled, sang and hummed with dogged determination to keep their eyes open to the bitter end.
Three women hovered among the throng, offering drinks of water, tucking thin covers over wriggling bodies, then moving into the infant room to check sleeping babies in their cribs.
Across the room, Joy Rollings waved. “I’ll be right with you, Claire.”
“Take your time,” Claire called back. Johnny wouldn’t arrive for another thirty minutes or so. “I’m early.”
A wail from the baby room captured the day-care owner’s attention. As Joy went to check on the source of the displeased cry, Claire shifted Lucy in her arms, and went to wait in the deserted play area.
The moment Claire entered the sunlit room strewn with bright toys and tiny, child-size furnishings, she spotted the lonely figure at the far end of the playroom. “Rachel?”
Startled, Nurse Rachel Arquette spun around, absently cupping one hand around her bulging belly. Her eyes widened in surprise. She offered a thin smile of greeting. “Dr. Davis, how nice to see you.”
Claire lifted Lucy against her shoulder, and picked her way through the clutter of discarded toys. “You look wonderful,” she said, although the woman actually looked fatigued and terribly sad. “How are you feeling?”
As if reading the worry in Claire’s eyes, Rachel forced a brighter smile. “I’m fine, just fine. Thank you for asking.”
A lot of people had been asking about Rachel Arquette lately. More specifically, they’d been asking about the mysterious father of Rachel’s child. Speculation had been creative, widespread and not always kind. The latest grist for the gossip mill had been the constant attention heaped upon Rachel by Dr. Dennis Reid, the clinic’s pompous and controlling chief of staff.
Anyone with half a brain could see that Reid had designs on Rachel, and Claire suspected him as the source of the rumor that he was in fact the father of her unborn child. It was possible, Claire supposed, although Dennis Reid certainly didn’t seem to be Rachel’s type.
Actually, Reid didn’t seem to be anyone’s type. He was universally disliked by the nursing staff for his arrogance and high-handed manner, and held in relatively low regard by clinic physicians for basically the same reasons. Still, he was Claire’s boss, so she was careful to keep her opinions to herself.
Meanwhile, Rachel had refused to respond to the growing curiosity about her child’s father by becoming sadder and more withdrawn each time Claire had seen her.
“I’ve been hoping you’d attend our Lamaze classes,” Claire said.
Rachel glanced away. “I’m a nurse. I already know how to breathe.”
The reply was issued softly, without rancor. Claire’s heart went out to her. Instinctively, she touched the woman’s thin shoulder. “There’s more to the classes than perfunctory exercises, hon. We support each other, share our joys, our worries. We’re a family.”
A shimmer of moisture brightened Rachel’s eyes. She took a shaky breath, clamped her lips into a tight smile and focused on the wriggling infant in Claire’s arms. Her lips loosened; her breath slid out all at once. “Ohh, who do we have here?”
A ridiculous pride puffed Claire’s chest as she shifted the infant to allow Rachel access. “This is Lucy. I’m watching her for a friend. Isn’t she beautiful?”
“She is precious,” Rachel whispered, stroking a tiny hand with her fingertip. “I just love babies.”
Claire hiked a brow, aimed a pointed look at Rachel’s pregnant tummy. “Under the circumstances, I’m glad to hear that.”
A bubble of genuine laughter from Rachel warmed Claire’s heart, but it lasted only a moment before the sadness returned to Rachel’s eyes. She circled a protective palm over her stomach. “I can’t wait for my son to be born. He’s all I have now.”
Claire hesitated. “Rachel—”
“Goodness, look at the time.” She stepped back, averting her gaze, her body language pulling back into herself. “It’s been lovely seeing you again.”
As she brushed past, Claire spun around, managed to touch her wrist, stopping her. Rachel met her gaze slowly, sadly.
“Here,” Claire said, fumbling in the pocket of her blazer with her free hand to retrieve one of her business cards.