Читать книгу The Baby Surprise - Victoria Pade - Страница 8

K eely Gilhooley found the address she was looking for and pulled her conservative sedan up to the curb in front of the house.

The circa 1940s modest red-brick two-story was trimmed in white and surrounded by a covered porch that was bordered halfway up by brick.

Keely couldn’t tell from the street if anyone was home, but since she hadn’t found any other addresses for the renowned freelance wildlife photographer who owned the place, she didn’t know where else to connect with him on a Monday afternoon.

She turned off the engine and checked the computer printout on the passenger seat.

Eighteen thirty-four—that was the number on the paper, that was the number on the house. The home of Devon Tarlington.

Keely sighed, resigned to what she had to do but not liking it. How could anyone like being put in an uncomfortably awkward position against her will?

She was used to locating people—that was her job. She and her sister Hillary ran Where Are They Now?, an organization that specialized in tracing people, mostly via the Internet. But once they’d done that, they turned the information over to their client and it was up to the client to contact or confront the person. This was the first time Keely had had both to find someone and face him. And with news she certainly didn’t want to deliver.

But there was no other choice. She and Hillary had been left holding the bag—in a manner of speaking. And then Keely had lost the coin toss with Hillary that determined which of them had to meet Devon Tarlington. So it was up to her.

“Ready or not, here I come,” she announced, getting out of the car and heading up the walk.

On the way she kept an eye on the enormous picture window to the right of the front door. But still she couldn’t tell if, on the other side of it, someone was watching her approach.

There were five cement steps to take her onto the porch and as she trudged up them she was wondering what kind of reception she would have if Devon Tarlington was home. She was wondering what kind of person he was. Would he be some big, hulking, scary guy who might not separate the message from the messenger? Who might blow up at her?

The porch didn’t have any furniture on it. No warm wicker. No slatted chair swinging from chains. No flowerpots. Not even a welcome mat to give her hope that he might be a friendly sort. It was October in Colorado and those things could all have been put away for the winter, she reasoned. Plus, on the positive side, there wasn’t a huge, grizzly-toothed dog or an Approach At Your Own Risk sign, either.

But still she was wary.

As she went up to the front door she caught a glimpse of herself reflected in the oval of beveled glass that filled the center of the top half of the oak panel. She took a quick assessment of her appearance, trying to see if she could give herself a don’t-even-think-about-messing-with-me air to protect herself in case Devon Tarlington didn’t take kindly to what he was about to find out.

Her long, curly red hair had been even more riotous than usual this morning so she’d had to pull it into a scrunchie at her crown. That seemed like a mistake now. How tough was a scrunchie, after all?

She had on jeans and a red turtleneck, and that was okay. No frills or fluff. No nonsense. But she had applied a little mascara and blusher, so she practiced narrowing her green eyes to look intimidating if the need arose.

It didn’t help. She doubted she could convince anyone she was a brute of a woman. She just had to hope she didn’t need to be.

In any event, she squared her shoulders to at least appear stronger and braver than she felt, and rang the doorbell.

She didn’t have to wait long before the door opened and when it did she was slightly taken aback at her first glimpse of the man standing on the other side. Not because he was frightening. He was just that good-looking.

He was tall—over six feet to her five foot five—and extremely well built, with long legs, a narrow waist and hips, and shoulders and pectorals that seemed to go on forever. And all of it was attached to a dream of a face that was angular and sharp-edged, with deep-set blue eyes the color of new denim, a straight nose, agile lips with just a hint of a sardonic upturn to their corners, and dark brown hair that was cut short and left slightly mussed on top.

“Can I help you?” he asked when she just stood there gawking instead of introducing herself.

It took Keely a moment to realize she was staring and not speaking. Finally she yanked her wits back in order and said, “I’m looking for Devon Tarlington.”

Now why had her voice come out sounding like a lame-duck freshman addressing the senior captain of the football team who also happened to be the class president voted most hunky boy in the school?

And it didn’t help when those nimble lips eased into a sexy, sexy half smile. Or when, in a second taste of deep, rich baritone, he said, “That’s me.”

Keely reminded herself why she was there, drew herself up a second time, put on her most professional face and said, “My name is Keely Gilhooley—”

He laughed.

The jerk had the nerve to laugh at her name.

“Keely Gilhooley?” he repeated. “And with that flaming red hair? You wouldn’t happen to be a little Irish, would you?”

“A little,” she said facetiously, trying to maintain her pique when his half smile turned into an endearing grin and he stretched a long arm up the edge of the door, shifting his weight more to one hip than the other with an innate sensuality.

“It’s great hair, by the way,” he said then, not like a come-on but as if he genuinely liked her hair. Which put power to the compliment.

But again Keely reminded herself that this was not some kind of social event and that, considering what she’d come to tell this man, he was about the last guy on earth she would want anything to do with even if he was traffic-stoppingly handsome and disarmingly charming.

“May I come in?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Why do you want to?” he countered.

Keely took out one of her business cards and handed it to him.

He took it and read from it. “Where Are They Now?”

“We’re a people-locating service,” Keely informed him.

“Is somebody looking for me or are you just going door-to-door to drum up business?”

“Someone is looking for you.”

“Who?”

“Well, actually, me. But it would be better if we talked inside, in private.”

The grin reappeared. “You’re who’s looking for me and you want privacy?”

Keely ignored the insinuation—and the fact that he seemed to be enjoying himself so much. “Yes, I’m who’s looking for you. Sort of. And it’s privacy I think you’ll want for what I have to tell you.”

Slightly full eyebrows arched, but only in mock wariness. “That sounds ominous. Or maybe it’s just supposed to so I’ll let you inside and then you’ll hit me over the head and have your way with me.”

The idea of having her way with him lit a bit of a spark somewhere in the recesses of Keely. But she ignored it. “Could we just go inside and talk?”

“Is it something I’m going to want to hear?”

“I don’t know you, so I really couldn’t say.”

“It must not be that I’ve won a million dollars or something.”

“No, it isn’t that you’ve won a million dollars.”

“And you don’t know if it’s something I’ll think is bad or not?”

“No, I don’t know that.”

“But it could be that I’ll think it’s good?”

He was toying with her and already she knew that Devon Tarlington was incorrigible.

And she was also already wishing that that obvious streak of bad boy wasn’t so appealing.

But once more she fought to rise above that appeal.

“Do you want to know what I have to tell you or not?” she said, bluffing because there was no way she was leaving here without telling him what she’d come to tell him.

“Let’s see…” He pretended to think about it, studying her face the entire time and—to his credit—not once letting those denim-blue eyes drop below her chin. “A fiery redhead shows up at my door unannounced and wants a secret meeting with me to tell me something important enough for her to have put effort into finding me….”

“I don’t need a secret meeting with you. Just a private one,” she amended.

But the amendment didn’t seem to matter to him because he went on scrutinizing her a moment longer before he pushed off the door and said, “Okay. I can’t resist.” Then he swept an arm in belated invitation and tacked on, “Please, come in.”

Finally, Keely thought as she stepped into his entryway, waiting near the staircase directly ahead of the door while he closed it and turned to face her.

“Would the living room be private enough?” he asked with a poke of his sculpted chin in that direction.

“I think so,” she said, preceding him when he waited for her to.

The room that went with the picture window had clearly been decorated without a woman’s touch. There weren’t any knickknacks or plants or pictures on the walls. There was only a large brown leather sofa and matching overstuffed chair, a coffee table littered with remote controls and TV listings, and an entertainment center complete with big-screen television, VCR, DVD player and an array of stereo equipment that Keely thought she’d need a six-month training course to operate.

“Have a seat, Keely Gilhooley,” he suggested.

Keely ignored the teasing repetition of her name and chose the overstuffed chair to sit on while he perched on the closest arm of the sofa, angled in her direction.

“Now, tell me why you ‘sort of’ came looking for me,” he said, using the words she’d said to him.

“I was looking for you, but not on my own behalf,” she qualified.

“And on whose behalf were you looking for me?” he asked as if this were all nothing more than an amusement to break up an afternoon.

“On behalf of Clarissa Coburn.”

Devon Tarlington didn’t find that name so amusing. His face sobered into a full-out scowl and his blue eyes clouded with instant anger.

“Clarissa Coburn and I have nothing to say to each other,” he said flatly, definitively, devoid of any of the warmth that had been in his voice a split second earlier.

“I’m afraid it isn’t that simple,” Keely said. She was no longer worried that Devon Tarlington might be the kind of man who would strike out at her. She could tell he wasn’t. But that still didn’t make what she had to say any easier.

“It seems pretty simple to me,” he said. “Clarissa Coburn is history and there isn’t anything—anything—to do with her that I’m interested in.”

“She has a son,” Keely said, dropping the bomb to halt what she could see was about to turn into her eviction. “An eight-month-old baby. Harley. And he could be yours.”

She felt bad. The poor guy was so shocked the color drained from his face.

But he rebounded in a hurry and, in a louder voice, said, “Mine? You have to be kidding.”

“I’m not, believe me. This isn’t something I would joke about.”

He shook his head, staring at the floor now rather than at her as if he were replaying something in his mind or trying to get a grip on her announcement. In the process, several things flashed across his expression. Disgust. Disbelief. Denial—or at least the urge to deny. Finally, what looked like anger.

His jaw clenched a few times and his gaze returned to Keely. “Did you say this baby could be mine? Does that mean he might not be?”

The next part was even harder to say. “He could be yours or he could belong to a man named Brian Rooney,” she said quietly.

But for some reason that didn’t come as the additional shock she’d thought it would. It almost seemed to relieve him somewhat.

“Of course,” he said caustically.

So he’d already known there had been someone else with Clarissa at the same time he was with her. Keely had wondered.

But then it registered that the reason he was relieved by that fact was because he hoped Harley was the other man’s child and she couldn’t help feeling protective of the baby who was now in her charge.

She tamped down on that, though, just as she kept having to tamp down on noticing how amazingly handsome Devon Tarlington was. Her own emotions were not relevant in this. She was merely the outsider facilitating what needed to happen from here on.

With that in mind, she continued. “Clarissa has disappeared and left Harley behind. But not before arranging with a lawyer to have custody of him relinquished to his father. As soon as it’s determined which of you is his father.”

That seemed to dissolve whatever small amount of relief Devon Tarlington felt, and every remarkable angle, every chiseled plane of his face tensed all over again.

“So she’s bailed on her own baby, too,” he said through a tight jaw.

“Yes.”

“Where is he?”

That simple question and the concern it showed went a long way in redeeming him.

“Harley is with my sister Hillary. Clarissa had us appointed his temporary guardians until paternity is established and then we’re to turn him over to his father. He’s a great baby, though. Adorable. Even-tempered. As sweet as he can be….”

Okay, she was letting her own emotions rise to the surface again. She had to stop that.

“I’m sure you’ll like him,” she finished feebly.

“Clarissa didn’t have any idea which of us is the father?”

“None.”

Devon Tarlington’s expression was still like a storm cloud and Keely knew she’d tapped into something that was deep and dark for him. But she had to admire the control he was exhibiting. And she appreciated that he didn’t seem to be confusing the message with the messenger the way she’d been afraid he might.

Still, for another long moment, he didn’t speak. He stared off into the distance, pensively, apparently working to absorb this turn of events.

Then he said, “So what now?”

“You were easy to locate. But I haven’t found Brian Rooney yet.”

Devon’s jaw pulsed yet again. Then, in a stilted voice, he said, “Both Brian and I are from a small town out on the eastern plains—Dunbar. You might start looking there. That’s where his family is and they’re bound to know something about him.”

So the two men knew each other. They were even from the same place. A small town. Had they merely been acquainted with each other, or had they been friends? Keely wondered.

But she didn’t pry.

“Is there any chance Brian knew Clarissa was pregnant?” Devon asked then.

“Clarissa said in the letter she left that neither of you knew. Which means that once I locate this other man I’ll have to go to him in person because I don’t think it’s news that should be given over the telephone, especially by a stranger. Plus I’ll need to get some blood from him for typing and DNA comparison—if the blood type alone isn’t conclusive. So really, I’m at the very beginning of this.”

“You’ll need blood from me, too, then, right?”

“Right.”

Devon Tarlington shook his head again, his disgust blatant now. “I can’t believe this.”

“I know it’s a lot to digest,” Keely said softly. “But honestly, it isn’t a joke.”

“Yeah, at the end Clarissa wasn’t quite as many laughs as she started out to be,” he said wryly, more to himself than to her. “So what do you want me to do? Go to my doctor or what?”

“I’ve made arrangements with an independent lab to do the testing. You’ll need to go in to have blood drawn. I haven’t taken Harley in yet, but I will, and then the three samples will be looked at for a match,” she explained.

“Are you sure there’s only two possibilities?” he asked then.

“For who could be Harley’s father? I’m just relaying what I’ve been told—Harley’s dad is either you or Brian Rooney.”

Devon Tarlington nodded, then shook his head yet again, clearly having trouble believing this.

But in spite of that he said, “I can’t go to the lab tomorrow, I have a business meeting that’ll take most of the day. How about Wednesday?”

“Okay.” She was grateful that he wasn’t putting up more of a fuss. She had been worried that he might refuse and she hadn’t had a contingency plan if he did.

“And the baby—did you say he’s with you and your sister now?”

“Yes. We share a house and he’s staying with us.”

“Is that all right with you and your sister?”

Again his concern for someone other than himself earned him points with her. “My sister and I are crazy about him, so yes, it’s okay that he’s with us.”

Devon Tarlington seemed to hesitate then and whatever was going through his mind must have disturbed him because the frown lines were back between his brows before he said, “Maybe I should meet him.”

“It probably wouldn’t do any harm,” Keely agreed.

He sighed once more, obviously struggling fiercely with the possibility of fatherhood. “How about tomorrow? In the evening?” he suggested.

“That would be fine,” she answered, working to fight the slight eruption of excitement she felt at the prospect of seeing this man again herself, an excitement she knew she had no business feeling.

And since she didn’t really have anything else to say to him, she stood to go. “Thank you for not hitting the ceiling,” she said as she did.

Devon Tarlington stood, too, and walked her back to the front door. “I couldn’t very well hit the ceiling with you. You didn’t have anything to do with this, did you?” he asked with a hint of that smile that he’d flashed so easily before he knew what she was there to tell him.

“No, I just wasn’t sure what kind of a reaction I might find. I didn’t think this would be particularly welcome news.”

“Yeah, it probably would have been better to hear that Miss Keely Irish-Eyes Gilhooley had looked me up for something a little more tantalizing,” he agreed in a deep, devilish tone that let her know he’d returned to the teasing he’d greeted her with, albeit more subdued. “But it was nice to meet you anyway.”

“You, too,” she countered, still trying to hide just how nice it was.

“I’ll probably need your address for tomorrow night,” he said then, as if it had just occurred to him.

“Oh. Yes, you probably will need that.”

She took another of her business cards out of her purse, wrote her address on the back and handed it to him, watching as he read it simply because she couldn’t take her eyes off him.

“This is close by,” he said when he glanced from the card to her again.

“It took me about ten minutes to get here.”

“So all this time you’ve been right under my nose and I didn’t even know you were there.”

“Well, not right under your nose, but not too far from here. About six blocks.”

“Strange to think of that,” he mused for no reason she understood.

So, rather than commenting on it, she said, “Then I guess I’ll see you tomorrow evening.”

“Bet on it,” he answered decisively as she said goodbye and left him standing in the doorway.

And as she returned to her car, Keely wondered if he’d forgotten that he was coming to her place to meet his potential son rather than to see her.

But it gave her a dangerous little thrill just the same.