by Linda Cajio
He was silent for a long moment. “There’s nothing to disrupt.”
A strange feeling of relief ran through her.
“And you?”
She tensed, then shook her head.
“I see. Well, Tiger, looks like you’re the only complication around here. I wish I knew his name.”
“To the authorities he’s ‘Baby John Doe’ ” she said, glad the subject had been changed.
Dan grinned. “We’re his temporary guardians, so why can’t we give him a temporary name?”
She liked the idea. In fact, she had a perfect name. “How about Blaine?”
“Blaine!”
“Sure.”
“Bl-ainnnne.” He drew it out comically.
“Blaine,” she said firmly. “I love the name. I always thought that if I had a little boy I would name him Blaine.”
“Blaine’s … okay.” Dan’s smile held a hint of a smirk. “Now Christopher is a great name. Sturdy, plain, straightforward.”
She made a face. “He sounds like a wallflower at the Harvest Dance. Blaine has more pizzazz, more spice.”
“Now he sounds like an ad for Mexican food.” He turned to the baby cradled in his arms. “So what do you think, Tiger? Christopher? Or Blaine?”
A rude noise erupted from the baby’s diaper as if in answer.
She and Dan looked at each other, then burst into laughter.
“You have to be over twenty-one to vote, kid,” she said to the baby.
“Are you going to budge from Blaine?” Dan asked.
“No. Are you going to give up Christopher?”
“Not if Blaine’s the alternative.”
“I think there’s a law against arguing at this hour,” she said, flopping back in her chair. “Now what?”
“Flip a coin.”
She gasped. “Danny! We cannot flip a coin to decide a baby’s name!”
He grinned lopsidedly at her. “Why not? It’s fair, and each of us has a fifty-fifty chance of giving the child his name.”
“It sounds too sensible, so it makes me suspicious as hell.”
“Lawyers don’t know what common sense is.”
“Very funny.”
“Just get the quarter.”
“Right.”
She went into her bedroom and returned with a coin.
“Heads, Christopher. Tails, Blaine,” Dan suggested.
“I can’t believe we’re flipping a coin for a baby’s name,” she muttered, and flicked the quarter into the air.
She missed catching it on its downward journey, and it rolled under the coffee table. Scrambling on her hands and knees, she edged under the table and peered at the coin.
“Damn,” she muttered.
“What does it say?” Dan asked.
She crawled out from under the table and sat up. She gazed at the baby, who gazed back as he avidly sucked on the nipple of the bottle.
She smiled. “Hi, Patrick.”
“Patrick!”
The baby grinned around the nipple and stretched his hand in her direction. Dumbfounded, Angelica looked up at Dan.
“I just threw that out as a joke, to tease you,” she said slowly. “But do you suppose it’s his real name?”
“It’s a common enough name,” he said, staring at the baby. “In any case, he likes it.”
“Well, so much for flipping a coin,” she said, and took the baby’s fingers in hers. “Hi there, Patrick. I guess you do get a vote after all.”
“It fits,” Dan said. “Hearing it, I can’t imagine him being called anything else.” His voice dropped lower. “Just as I can’t imagine you being named anything other than Angelica.”
The way he said her name sparked a sensual awareness deep inside her. She wished she could think of something pithy to say that would dispel it, but instead all she had was a lame, “And Dan fits you.”
“Then we’re Dan and Angelica and Patrick.”
The trio of names hit her like an express. They sounded right together. Her mind automatically carried it one step further.
They sounded like a family.
“Dan? I can’t find any socks! Did you get socks for Patrick?”
Dan forced his bleary gaze away from the hypnotic dripping of the coffeemaker in Angelica’s kitchenette. Babies should only be found by people who suffered from chronic insomnia, he decided.
Finally rousing himself enough to answer, he called out, “Yes. They’re somewhere in that stuff.”
“I can’t … Never mind.”
Straightening from the counter, he stared down at his own bare feet and wished he had the energy to get his own socks. He’d managed a shirt and pants so far, and he figured he ought to be grateful for that. It might be as far as he got today. Little Patrick had gone back to sleep right after his bottle, only to wake up around six-thirty, an hour ago. At least he’d joined the baby in slumberland for a few hours.
He found it hard to believe that just yesterday morning he had arisen to silence and privacy. This morning had been all noise and bustle, with no thought to whose space was whose.
The truth was, he kind of liked it.
Angelica came around the corner of the kitchenette just as the last of the coffee dripped through. She looked fresh as a daisy compared to him.
“I hope,” she said, “that coffee is loaded with caffeine. Megagrams of it.”
“We can but pray,” he said, getting out a mug for her. He poured the coffee—strong, hot, black coffee. As he handed the mug to her, he realized both her hands were free. “Where’s the baby?”
“In his crib, talking to Bryant Gumbel.” She pointed behind her with her thumb as a grunt came from the sitting room. “Can’t you hear him?”
Dan grinned as he listened to Patrick coo and yip at the host of the “Today” show. “He probably wants to get hold of the guy and shred that polished image.”
A worried look came into her eyes. “Miss Canfield … Martha’s … coming today. I don’t know when, but I want all of us to look perfect.”
“He’s been here one day, and we haven’t lost him or dropped him. We’re not doing too badly.”
“True. And look at all our on-the-job training.”
“We’ve kept our cool, and managed.” He sipped his coffee, and instantly felt a pulse return to his body. “I might be cool, but I’m getting too damn old to go without sleep.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, smiling gently at him. “You have that world-weary Indiana Jones look. Just the thing to impress Mitch Garner when you continue the negotiations today.”
“Ahhh …” Damn! He’d completely forgotten about telling her negotiations had broken down with Mark IV. He took a deep breath, gazed straight into her eyes, and said, “Mitch won’t be around to see it.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I lost my patience with him and broke off negotiations,” he said into his mug.
“You lost—” She stared at him. “After lecturing me about getting emotional, you lost your patience?”
“My temper,” he mumbled in correction, and explained what had happened.
Angelica smiled evilly. “Well, well …”
“You said you wanted to look perfect for Martha,” he reminded her. “You better get started.”
A pretty flush covered her face. “Do I look that bad?”
She looked warm and soft and sexy in her green sweater and jeans, he thought. Her hair was pulled back, and he had the sudden urge to kiss the satiny flesh of her neck.
“Wellll …” he began neutrally.
“We’ll talk later,” she promised, and disappeared with her coffee.
He sighed with relief as he watched her go. Deciding he needed nourishment before he faced one of Angelica’s talks, he ordered breakfast from room service, then joined the baby in the sitting room.
“How’s shore leave treating you, buddy?” he asked Patrick, who was dressed in a sailor outfit.
Patrick laughed, while trying to
pull his socks off.
“First you’ve got to find a girl, then you start taking off your clothes,” Dan said, and lifted the baby out of the crib. “Let’s talk about the birds and the bees. I think you need a lesson, son.”
He played with the baby until room service arrived. He was mildly surprised to feel almost human. Must be the baby, he thought, remembering a saying about children keeping one young. He certainly didn’t feel young, but at least he was awake. With food, he might even feel alive. He hoped.
After dismissing the waiter, he called Angelica and sat down at the table with Patrick on his lap. The baby instantly dropped his rattle and reached for everything, and Dan patiently moved silverware and china out of his reach. He picked the rattle up and handed it to the child, and it went right to the mouth. Unfolding the newspaper, he decided that all the craziness wasn’t so bad. In fact, he enjoyed the baby. And he had seen a side of Angelica that surprised and intrigued him.
He’d have to do something about that, he thought.
He scanned the front page, then froze when he read Baby Found In Hotel headlining a brief article. He realized it must have been released by State Social and Health Services to entice someone to come forward with knowledge about the baby. He tightened his hold on Patrick as he began to read the article.
One sentence instantly leaped out at him: Daniel Roberts, prominent Seattle businessman, and his fiancée, Angelica Windsor, discovered the male infant in Roberts’s hotel room.…
He had been angry with her yesterday about the engagement business, but he’d understood why she had done it. In fact, he wasn’t sure whether he had been angry that she’d said it … or that there was no truth to it. But he’d never considered any real consequences to the “engagement” until now.
The telephone rang in his room. His stomach churning, he went to answer it.
“Hello?” he said cautiously, shifting Patrick, who was trying to eat the telephone cord, to his other hip.
“Daniel, what’s all this about finding a baby, and being engaged, and why didn’t you call me right away?”
Dan closed his eyes. One big consequence he hadn’t expected was on the other end of the line. He drew in a deep breath and opened his eyes.
“Hi, Mom.”
Four
“When is the wedding?”
Angelica stifled a grown at that eternal question and rushed to answer it. “We haven’t set a date yet.”
The reporter from JMB-TV in San Francisco looked disappointed at the neutral reply. She ought to be used to the question by now, Angelica thought in frustration. Every media article about Patrick had played up the ready-made family angle because of the “engagement.” And that meant a lot of questions about the impending nuptials. Since the first little article had appeared five days ago, the press had clamored for interviews. Martha Canfield had asked her and Dan to participate, in an attempt to get more information from someone about Patrick. So far no one had come forward. The press, however, was still jamming the sitting room with people and equipment every day. In fact, several TV stations and newspapers in San Francisco had picked up on the Seattle coverage and now wanted to carry the story because of Angelica’s ties to that city.
Forcing herself to keep smiling for the camera, she glanced at Dan who was seated next to her on the couch. His smile held a hint of smugness. She supposed he was entitled. So far he’d been the focus of a hail of questions and congratulations. Clearly, he was enjoying her turn on the rack. That he hadn’t killed her yet was a miracle.
One little lie had snowballed into an avalanche of deceit. It could only happen to her, she thought in disgust. Her life had become a roller coaster ride of confusion, awkwardness, exhilaration, and exhaustion. She knew things wouldn’t be easier when the media left and she and Dan were alone. She would be all too aware of him then. It was becoming harder and harder to suppress that awareness, as well as her longing for something more between them than joint guardianship of Patrick. Mornings were the worst, when they would meet at the coffee pot. His sleep-husky voice and tousled just-got-out-of-bed look made her yearn to drag him back—to her bed. That was bad, she acknowledged. Very bad.
“Now I understand that neither of you has ever had children,” the reporter said. “How has it been suddenly having a baby to care for?”
Angelica smothered another sigh. Obviously, this woman wasn’t any more imaginative than the other reporters. Every one so far had also used the angle of inexperienced couple suddenly in charge of a baby.
She fought the urge to say: “We’ve dropped him four times, given him pizza and soda, and once accidentally threw him out with the bathwater.” Nobody would appreciate the joke except Dan. They had their instructions, which helped tremendously, plus daily advice from Martha during her visits. They were feeling a little less helpless, and Patrick, thank goodness, was a happy-go-lucky baby. Either that, or he was being extremely patient.
To her amusement, Dan answered with what he called his short, sanitized version of the truth. “It’s been hectic, but we’ve managed.”
Patrick, who was posed between her and Dan, let out a scream of delight, waved his arms, then grabbed the heavy gold chain she was wearing and yanked it. The Star of the Show clearly wasn’t about to let the attention drift far from him.
“Well, Patrick’s been having fun,” Dan quipped.
“Thanks,” Angelica muttered, as he helped her disentangle her jewelry from Patrick’s grasping fingers. She absently slung the chain behind her so it hung down her back out of reach and said to the baby, “You could get ten to twenty for that stuff, kid.”
Everybody laughed, and the reporter looked inordinately pleased at capturing a spontaneous moment on film.
Angelica held her patience through the rest of the questions. It seemed especially ridiculous now to sit through them, knowing perhaps a minute of the interview would make it on the air. Patrick loved the fuss, she admitted, smiling indulgently as he grinned and “talked” for the camera. The interview wound down at last.
Almost.
“And now if you two would kiss for the camera.”
“What!” she and Dan exclaimed in mutual astonishment.
“A kiss.” The reporter chuckled, as she looked expectantly at them. “The people at home will love it, Angelica.”
Angelica cleared her throat as her brain scrambled for a quick but acceptable excuse.
Dan laid his hand on her arm, drawing her attention. His gaze held amused annoyance at first, then she caught a fleeting glimpse of something else as he leaned forward. Before she could protest, his lips settled on hers gently, almost chastely … and for altogether too long. She felt as if she’d suddenly plunged into swirling rapids, and she sensed within Dan an intensity barely held back. He finally lifted his head and smiled benignly at her. Suddenly conscious of the camera, she tried not to gasp for breath. All the air seemed to have left her body.
“Well, that was terrific,” the reporter said. “The entire interview was terrific. Thanks so much for doing it.”
“You’re welcome,” Dan said, looking as unruffled as ever.
Angelica managed to pull herself together enough to nod her agreement.
It was another half-hour before the JBM-TV people finally left, and Angelica could ask the question that had been burning inside her for quite some time.
“Was that necessary?” she demanded as she laid Patrick on the changing table. It was set up in a corner of the sitting room they both now termed “the baby’s room.” She began to remove Patrick’s “good” clothes.
“Was what necessary?” Dan asked as he handed her a diaper.
“Kissing for the camera.”
“Why wouldn’t an engaged couple kiss? You want pajamas or a playsuit?”
“Pajamas. I want to try to get him to nap.” Dan set a pair on the end of the table as she returned to her original subject. “Dan, this is complicated enough without playing for the camera.”
“It must have been a
lousy kiss, since you’re complaining.”
“No—”
“Ahhh!” he interrupted, grinning. “Then it was a great kiss.”
“No!” She set her jaw, resisting the urge to do him bodily harm. Instead, she struggled to get the squirming Patrick changed. Dan stood by and helped as needed. Since they had started doing things together, rather than fight over the privilege, it had become automatic to help each other with the baby. Dan’s assistance mollified her slightly.
“I’m only saying we play games for the media alone, okay?”
“We’ll see.”
“Dan—” The telephone rang, and she swore silently. “That’s probably Martha wanting to know how things went. You talk to her.”
“That’s cruel and inhuman punishment,” Dan said.
“I know,” she replied sweetly. “Answer the phone, Danny.”
Grumbling, he went to answer the telephone. Angelica had Patrick ready by the time he returned. Without a word, he took the baby to give him his bottle.
“Martha is pleased,” he announced, once he settled in a chair with Patrick. He gazed at Angelica for a long moment. “She’s positive the wider coverage will bring someone forward about Patrick.”
An odd weariness settled into Angelica’s bones at the thought of progress made in Patrick’s case. She knew he would leave when a good home was ready, but she was really starting to hate the thought of that happening.
Not wanting to talk about it, she sat down on the sofa and changed the subject to something else that had been bothering her lately. “You know, Dan, you don’t need to take time off from your company like you have been. I can take care of Patrick by myself.”
“I hope not in the same way you handled giving Patrick his bath the other day.”
“It was only a little water,” she said in her defense.
“About seven gallons worth, all over the bathroom floor.”
“Well, you were no better warming his bottle.”
“I never would have thought they could melt like that,” he said musingly, then added, “It’s only fair for me to pitch in, Angelica, and do my half. I can work out of the suite for a short time, too, like you’re doing. Besides, you’d never let me hear the end of it if I left you all the dirty work. Barring diapers, of course.”