Читать книгу Verdict: Daddy - Charlotte Douglas - Страница 9

Marissa’s hazel eyes widened in shock, and a deep flaming crimson worked its way from the deep vee of her white silk blouse to her cheeks.

“Help you with a baby?” Her voice had a strange, strangled quality.

Oh, God, he thought with a groan, she’s taken this all wrong.

“It’s not like it sounds,” he insisted.

Marissa took a deep breath, and her weak smile seemed forced. “If it is, it’s the most bizarre proposition I’ve ever received.”

“I already have a baby,” he blurted.

“You’re married?”

He couldn’t tell if her expression showed more surprise or disappointment. “No.”

This time her frown was unmistakable. “I see.”

He shifted in his chair in frustration. His clumsy explanations were only muddying the waters. “Agnes Whitcomb has the baby.”

This time Marissa’s face reflected shocked disbelief. Her eyes grew rounder and her jaw dropped. “You had a baby with Agnes Whitcomb?”

“No! Agnes is taking care of the baby while I’m here.” The absurdity of her assumption made him bite back the urge to laugh. Dear sweet Agnes, a spinster who had baby-sat almost every kid in town, was approaching fifty-nine, long past childbearing age. “Maybe I’d better start at the beginning.”

Marissa looked skeptical. “I don’t need the details of your affair.”

“I didn’t have an affair—”

“Your love life, then.”

“I don’t have a love life, either.” Damn. He shouldn’t have admitted that, but she’d caught him by surprise.

She cocked that feathery eyebrow again in a manner that made him realize anew how attractive she’d become. “Then how did you end up with a baby?”

He squirmed as if he were on the witness seat. Marissa had certainly learned how to grill someone effectively with pointed questions. He was glad she was on his side—or, at least, he hoped she would be when she learned the whole story.

“Someone left the baby on my front porch,” he explained. “This morning.”

Marissa reeled back in her chair as if she’d been slapped. “Someone deserted a baby? On your doorstep? You’re kidding!”

Blake pushed his fingers through his hair. “Wish I were. I stepped out just after dawn for the newspaper. A wicker laundry basket was in front of my door. Looked like it was filled with towels. I thought someone had left laundry by mistake. Then I heard a little whimper, and the towels moved.”

“The child wasn’t visible?”

He shook his head. “My next thought was that I’d been snookered by someone dumping a litter of kittens. That’s the last thing Rambo and I need.”

“Rambo?”

“My dog. He’s a golden retriever, and he doesn’t like cats. I peeled back a layer of towels—”

“It’s a wonder the baby could breathe,” Marissa muttered indignantly. “That’s no way to treat a child. Were there any signs of physical abuse?”

“None. The most beautiful and perfect little baby girl looked up at me with big blue eyes and smiled.” He felt his heart soften into Silly Putty at the memory. “She had a note pinned to her dress. It said, ‘Please look after my baby. I know she’ll like living with you. I can tell by the yellow roses growing around your door.”’

Marissa shook her head. “The law is supposed to prevent that sort of thing.”

“What law?” Blake needed to know the legality of his situation. That’s why he’d come to Marissa.

“Desperate women were abandoning newborns in Dumpsters. The state passed a statute a few years ago that guaranteed that if the mothers would leave the children at a hospital, doctor’s office, or fire station, no charges would be filed, no questions asked.”

“Really?” That piece of legal information pleased him. Maybe the problem left on his doorstep wasn’t as big as he’d thought.

“Just last week,” Marissa said, “a man dropped off an hour-old infant at a Tampa fire station. The baby’s up for adoption now.”

“She isn’t a newborn.”

Marissa frowned, an expression that did nothing to diminish her prettiness. “And since I assume your house is neither a fire station, doctor’s office, or a hospital, that law wouldn’t apply in this case anyway. How old is she?”

“I know nothing about babies,” Blake said, “so I took her right away to Agnes. She lives next door.”

Marissa’s eyes lighted. “You bought the old Thompson place?”

“Six years ago.”

“I always loved that old bungalow. Built in the twenties, wasn’t it?”

Blake nodded. “Agnes estimates Annie is about three months old.”

“Annie? The note gave her name?”

“No name. But with her bright red curls, blue eyes, and the fact that she’s an orphan—” he shrugged, feeling sheepish again “—I decided to call her Annie.”

An ironic smile quirked a delectable corner of Marissa’s mouth. “Maybe you should rename Rambo Sandy.”

Blake felt panic setting in again. “I can’t keep the baby.”

“You’re not the family type?” Marissa asked. “Or you don’t like children?”

“I’m single, I live alone, and I know nothing about infants. Never been around one. That’s why I hightailed her over to Agnes first thing. And why I want to hire you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re sure this baby isn’t yours?”

“Of course I’m sure!”

He had to stop confessing that his love life was nonexistent. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been interested in having a relationship. With his business taking off, he’d been either too busy or too tired the past several years for any kind of social life, other than zoning out with the guys on a weekend afternoon to watch a Bucs game or a DVD of the latest action film.

Suspicion sharpened her features but didn’t affect her prettiness. “No former girlfriend left in the lurch the past year or so?”

“If this baby was mine, I’d step up to the plate and take responsibility.”

“And you’re sure she isn’t?” she asked again.

Her tone of voice and steely-eyed gaze made him feel like a bug skewered on a pin. She’d earned her reputation for ruthless cross-examination. “I’m sure.”

She studied him carefully, as if watching for some subtle sign that he might not be telling the truth. Then, apparently satisfied, she nodded. “But I don’t understand why you’ve come to me. You should be talking to a family law attorney. Or someone at the Department of Children and Family Services.”

“Already have. Vienna Pitts—”

Marissa’s mouth twisted with apparent disgust. “Is that old bat still alive? I remember how she used to scream at us not to play on the sidewalk in front of her house.”

“Alive and well,” Blake said with a grimace, “and unfortunately living across the street from me and watching my every move. She must have seen me find the baby and instantly alerted DCF.”

“And?”

“They came to my house and wanted to take Annie.”

“So what’s the problem? That’s their job. They’ll try to locate Annie’s mother and, in the meantime, find the baby a foster home.”

“A foster home. That’s the problem,” Blake said with more feeling than he’d intended.

“You want to keep her?” Marissa’s low, throaty voice rose an octave in surprise. “But you just said—”

“I can’t keep her. But I don’t want her placed in a foster home. A kid needs a real family. Her own mom and a dad. That’s why I came to you.”

MARISSA SANK BACK in her chair and studied Blake with a mixture of admiration and dismay. She remembered how he’d always hungered to belong to a family of his own, how he’d envied her big, boisterous household and had felt like the odd man out, even when her mom made a point to include him in their special celebrations and gatherings.

“Blake, I’m a defense attorney,” she reminded him gently. “This is a civil not a criminal matter. You need a specialist in family law.”

“Won’t a family lawyer just advise me to turn Annie over to DCF?”

“That’s my advice, too. Or we can contact the head of Family Continuity Programs. They’re in charge of caring for abandoned newborns and children who are wards of the state in this county.”

Blake scowled. “Then a sheriff’s detective will pick up Annie, and from what I heard on the news the other day, they’re so overloaded with cases, the kid could be warehoused in a crib in the corner of his office for days until a foster home is available.” He shook his head. “There has to be another way. Can’t I at least get temporary custody until I find the right family who’ll adopt her?”

Marissa didn’t know whether to hug him or hit him. On the one hand, this gentle giant warmed her heart with his concern for a stranger’s baby. On the other, he hadn’t a clue what he was in for if he received even temporary custody of Annie.

“Who’s going to look after the child? Rambo?” Her sarcasm was intentional. She hoped to jolt Blake into accepting reality.

The strong planes of his face split into an appealing grin. “Actually, Bo’s really good with children. Every kid on the block’s in love with him.”

“I doubt the Department of Children and Families would deem him a fit caretaker,” she countered dryly.

“I’ll find someone to look after Annie until I locate the right family,” Blake said. “Agnes would be perfect for taking care of her. But first I want to make sure the authorities can’t take the baby away.”

“Why didn’t they take her this morning?”

A guilty expression settled across his tanned features. “I told them I didn’t have a baby. I even allowed them to search the house. I let them think Vienna Pitts is losing her marbles in her old age and was imagining things when she called them.”

Marissa shook her head at his boldness. “Apparently nosy Mrs. Pitts didn’t see you take the baby to Agnes.”

“That old busybody can’t see me come or go when I use the rear entrance,” he said with obvious satisfaction. “I use the back door a lot.”

Marissa sighed. She knew her duty, even though her heart was on Blake’s side. “As an officer of the court, I must advise you to contact the police and turn the child over to DCF.”

“I won’t do that.” His eyes, like gray thunderheads, sparked with heat lightning, and the angle of his taut square jaw underlined his determination. “She’ll end up lost in the system. I won’t sentence her to the same kind of childhood I had.”

Marissa heard the pain of his lonely youth in his words. She also remembered his stubborn streak. They’d butted heads often as kids, and most of the time, Blake had prevailed. But not this time. “Then I have no choice but to alert the authorities myself.”

“I can’t let you do that.” His voice was low, even, unwavering.

“And how do you plan to stop me?” Marissa reached for the phone.

With a swiftness unexpected in so large a man, he stood, reached to the baseboard, and jerked the phone cord from the wall. Before Marissa could recover from her shock, he’d rounded her desk. With one graceful and powerful motion, he lifted her from her chair and slung her over his shoulder.

“Blake!” she screeched in alarm and pounded his back with her fists. “Put me down!”

“Not yet.”

Even through the layers of clothing that separated them, she could feel the rumble of his voice deep in his chest. She was all too aware of his arm gripping her buttocks and his intoxicating male scent, a mixture of sunshine and sandalwood. Strangely, however, she felt no fear. Blake was apparently as impulsive and reckless as she remembered, but a man so concerned over a stranger’s baby wasn’t about to harm his old friend.

As if she weighed no more than a bag of gardening mulch, he pivoted easily and headed out of her office, past the receptionist’s desk where Kitty sat in openmouthed astonishment.

Marissa tossed her head to clear her hair from her eyes and confronted her receptionist from her upside-down view. “It’s okay.”

“You’re sure? Shouldn’t I call the police?” Kitty yelled after her as Blake strode toward the exit.

Marissa bit back an affirmative reply. Blake was no criminal, and she had no fear for her own safety. Wherever he was taking her, maybe she’d have a chance to talk some sense into him before he ended up in jail.

“No,” Marissa yelled back to Kitty. “If anyone asks, tell them I’m taking the rest of the day off.”

“That’s it?” Kitty shouted. “You’re sure?”

Marissa could tell Kitty thought her boss had lost her mind. Maybe she had. After all, a man could change a great deal in eighteen years. But before she could amend her instructions to the receptionist, Blake had carried her outside and closed the door behind him.

Marissa caught a glimpse of the Adams Landscape Designs logo on the side of the pickup truck before he dumped her into the passenger seat. His face was only inches from hers as he secured her seat belt, and his smoky gray eyes were pleading, his breath warm on her cheek.

“Just give me an hour, Rissa,” he begged, using her childhood nickname. “Hear me out and meet the baby. Lawyers come up with loopholes that criminals use to beat the system all the time. All I’m asking is that you try to find a loophole for Annie. If you can’t and still want to call the police…”

He drew back, closed the door and circled the car. Marissa considered fleeing but didn’t. First, Blake had always been able to outrun her, and, from the looks of him, he was in even better shape now than he had been as a boy. Second, curiosity held her fast. She wanted to see this child who had mesmerized a grown man.

Besides, she’d always loved children. Had always longed for children of her own. When she’d married Harry, three years after graduating from law school, he’d led her to believe he wanted a big family, too.

As Blake pulled away from the curb, the old bitterness tightened her chest. Harry had led her to believe a lot of things, none of them true. Her father, who’d learned to read people well in his line of work, had warned her about Harry from the beginning, but she’d been too infatuated to listen, too blinded by the man’s good looks, slick charm, silver tongue and her own raging hormones to observe the obvious.

She’d expected a marriage like her parents had, one of mutual love, devotion, humor and unfailing friendship. When she’d realized the man she’d married was all talk and no substance, she’d been too embarrassed to admit her mistake. She had tried to make the marriage work to avoid I-told-you-so from friends and family members who’d seen instantly what she’d been too besotted to notice until months after the honeymoon.

Their relationship had turned rocky, but Marissa had hoped that having children would settle Harry down. She’d yearned for a baby to hold in her arms and nurture, but Harry had refused to start a family. He always had an excuse: they were too young; they didn’t have enough money; they needed to buy a house first.

And when they had grown older, saved money and bought a house, Marissa pressed again for children. But Harry had made himself scarce. At first Marissa believed that he was working too hard, spending long hours on the road in his sales job—until she found the motel receipt in the suit that she was taking to the cleaners, a receipt for a double occupancy room.

She’d confronted Harry, and he’d denied it, claimed the double occupancy was a clerical error. She’d believed him because she’d needed to. What woman wanted to admit her husband was cheating on her? But as Harry grew more distant, colder, even cruel in his remarks and attitude, Marissa had taken matters into her own hands. She’d hired a private investigator who’d often been engaged by the law firm where she worked. The private eye had dug up enough dirt to bury Harry. Photographs and all.

The evidence had forced Marissa to admit what she’d spent seven years trying to avoid. The man she thought she’d married didn’t exist. Her husband, Harry, was a selfish, greedy womanizer who’d taken from Marissa all their married life and given nothing back, neither the love and respect she deserved nor the children she’d wanted so desperately.

Thanks to her knowledge of the law and her connections in the legal community, Marissa had divorced Harry so quickly he’d staggered with shock. He’d begged her to take him back, promised to drop the little slut he’d been shacking up with for the past five years. By this time, Marissa had lost her blinders and regained her self-esteem. She had recognized that Harry loved only the prestige and income that had come with a successful attorney for a wife. And she had walked away with only one regret.

She was thirty-six years old. Time was ticking away on her biological clock, and she was facing the fact that she might never have the big family she’d dreamed of since she was a little girl.

And now, as if rubbing salt in a wound, she was being driven against her will to see a baby that some woman, one too stupid to realize how lucky she was to have a child of her own, had abandoned.

“You okay?” Blake’s deep voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Just ducky.” Marissa couldn’t keep the edge from her words. “It isn’t every day I get manhandled and kidnapped.”

“I’m sorry.”

He sounded sincere, and she felt instant regret that she’d taken out her anger at Harry and at her own stupidity on Blake. She was overreacting but couldn’t seem to help herself.

“I didn’t know anyone else I could trust,” Blake added, “so I’m counting on you.”

“What’s trust got to do with this?”

He tossed her a radiant smile that eased the hurt of her lingering memories. “I figured any other attorney I contacted would have called the cops right away.”

“I would have if you’d let me.”

“Your receptionist would have called them if you’d told her to.” He reached across and gently squeezed her hand. “But you didn’t. And I’m grateful for your giving me a chance.”

His touch pleased her more than she wanted to admit. “I never promised not to turn you in.”

“Like I said before, you attorneys come up with loopholes all the time. When you see Annie, you’ll want to find one for her.”

“If nothing else, I want the woman caught who was heartless enough to abandon her own child.”

“Maybe she’s not heartless,” Blake countered reasonably. “Maybe there’re extenuating circumstances we know nothing about.”

“Right. Like having a kid cramps her style.”

The look he threw her this time was quizzical. “I guess dealing with criminals does that to you.”

“Does what?”

“Makes you cynical.”

She shook her head. How could she admit that her former husband, not her job, had hardened her attitude? It wasn’t something she wanted to recognize, much less talk about. “I’m just being realistic. And you should be, too.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You say you want custody of this baby until suitable parents are found. Do you have any idea how long that could take?”

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.