Matchmaking Baby

by Cathy Gillen Thacker

  “My turn to watch Emily?” she guessed.

  Steve nodded. “But I’ve got time for a cup of coffee. How about you?”

  “I’m due for one.”

  Together they walked to Joanie’s office. While Joanie settled Emily in a corner of the sofa with a drawstring bag of toys and returned two phone calls, Steve went down to the employee cafeteria and rounded up two coffees and a milk for Emily. He returned with a tray in hand and sat down, noting how fresh and pretty Joanie looked, her hair glowing golden in the morning light streaming through the window.

  Joanie frowned pensively as she stirred a lavish dollop of cream into her coffee. She sat down behind her desk, crossing her legs at the knee. As her skirt hiked up slightly, exposing a slender expanse of thigh, it was all Steve could do not to take her in his arms.

  “How’s your morning been?” Steve asked.

  “Not so good.” Joanie took a sip of coffee.

  Steve noticed Joanie looked disconsolate. Her baby blue eyes, so like Emily’s with their thick fringe of long, gold lashes, lifted to his.

  “It occurred to me last night that Fiona wasn’t necessarily Emily’s mother. She could be a friend or relative. Fiona could even be an alias for someone else. So I did a global search, looking for people who had requested cribs in their rooms during their stay. And from there, I looked at the types of requests the guests made of the front desk while they were here, because we put all that on computer.”

  This was news to Steve. “Everything?” he asked.

  Joanie nodded. “And we also keep records of any problems that occur. You know—” she waved a hand in his direction “—if someone gets careless or damages one of the rooms in some way. Or if they have a dispute about a bill or want to hire a sitter for their children while they have an evening out. It’s all there, under the guest’s name. Here, I’ll show you.”

  Joanie typed in Cunningham, Bradford W. on the computer keyboard that sat on the far corner of her desk. Steve read: “October 10, 10:00 a.m. Room service request made by Marilyn Cunningham. Scones and a pot of coffee—decaf.” Below that were other requests made during the Cunningham family’s stay: a deep-sea fishing lesson for the son, a request for a wake-up call by the father, a golf lesson for the mother and son together and half-a-dozen other room-service requests.

  “Boy, this is detailed,” Steve said.

  “And it’s very helpful, too, because if I look at these records and see there’s a big interest in deep-sea fishing, I can let them know about available charters in the area. And if there’s any dispute about the bill later on—you know teenage children ordering room service or making long-distance calls their parents don’t know about—then we can pin it down for them.”

  Steve glanced behind him to make sure Emily was okay; she was happily pulling apart some interlocking plastic blocks. “So you looked through all the records,” he said, turning back to Joanie.

  “Yes.” She put her elbow on the desk and rested her chin on her fist as she scowled at the screen in front of her. “Only this time I was looking for any babies named Emily.”

  Steve reached out to untangle a curly strand of her hair that had gotten tangled in the tiny gold hoop earring she wore.”Did you find anything on an Emily?” he asked, moving to sit on the corner of Joanie’s desk facing her, so he could see her and Emily with equal ease.

  “No, nothing.” Joanie rubbed the back of her neck, her frustration obvious. “I’m going to work on requests for baby bottles and diapers next.”

  Steve moved around her to knead the tense muscles. “But you don’t have much hope you’ll find anything, do you?”

  Joanie closed her eyes and, head thrown back, leaned into his touch. “No, not really.”

  Aware that her muscles had relaxed and that both he and the skin beneath his hands were getting entirely too warm, Steve dropped his hands. “So what next?” he said to Joanie.

  “I’m not sure.” Joanie stood, suddenly looking as restless as he felt. He didn’t know whether it was the small size of her office or just the fact they were both so tall, but he felt hemmed in.

  Joanie sighed and lowered her voice to a whisper. “The more time that passes, the more I think she has simply been abandoned to me, for whatever reason.” Her voice dropped another emotional notch. “And that, in turn, means that I need to take care of her, Steve.”

  “Even though technically she isn’t your responsibility?”

  “Yes.” Joanie searched his eyes. “You understand that now, don’t you?”

  He nodded. “I desperately wanted Emily to be ours and I just didn’t…I mean…” Steve paused before going on. “But whatever the case, she’s here now—with us. She needs us, Joanie.” Just like I need you.

  Joanie was silent a moment, her expression clouded with turbulent feeling. It was as if she wanted him to want her, Steve thought, and she didn’t. As if she wanted them to be connected by Emily, and she didn’t.

  The phone on her desk buzzed.

  Tearing her eyes from his, Joanie reached for it. “Hi, Liz. Yes. I’ll tell him.” Joanie cupped a hand over the receiver. “Liz says her grandmother can see you now in her suite.”

  “Great,” Steve said. “Tell her I’ll be right there.”

  At the mention of someone leaving, Emily looked up and said, “Bye-bye?” Joanie lifted Emily into her arms. “Yes, honey, Steve is going bye-bye,” she soothed in a loving voice.

  Emily held out her arms to Steve. “Kiss?”

  “Kiss,” Steve repeated as he bent to kiss Emily’s babyscented cheek and the top of her curly blond head. Then, unable to resist, he bent and kissed Joanie’s cheek and the top of her head, too. Her hair was soft, fragrant and scented with the intoxicating floral bouquet of her signature perfume. Memories of the kisses they’d shared the one night they were together hit him full force in the gut. It was all he could do to step away from her.

  It pleased him to note he wasn’t the only one affected by the brief, searing contact; Joanie looked a little shaken, too.

  She drew a quick breath, took her own step back, Emily still held lovingly in her arms. “I’ll see Emily gets some lunch and then I’ll take her outside to play,” she said. “You have to be at the conference luncheon today, don’t you?”

  Steve nodded, knowing he had to get out of there or he’d never want to leave. He touched Emily’s hair one last time, smiled down at her, more love than he’d ever expected filling his heart.

  He knew that Joanie was watching him, and he also knew that his action wasn’t reassuring her. From the look on her face, it had hit her just the opposite way.

  What now? he wondered, puzzling over her unexpectedly wary reaction. Was she bracing herself for a custody battle over Emily if Emily had been permanently abandoned, as they were beginning to suspect? Or just wishing that she—and/or Fiona—had never alerted him to Emily’s existence? Only time would tell.

  “MINE!” EMILY YELLED at the top of her lungs, grabbing her sturdy orange dump truck from the only other child on the small playground next to the swimming pool.

  “No! Mine!” a carrot-topped little boy slightly older and larger than Emily shouted back. He grabbed the truck with his chubby little hands and gave it a determined tug.

  Joanie shot the boy’s mother a nervous look. She wasn’t sure what to do in situations like this, having never been in them before, but working for peace seemed a sensible thing to do. “Emily, honey, why don’t you share your truck?” Joanie suggested, moving off the wooden park bench to referee the fracas in the sandbox.

  “Aaron darling, please give Emily her truck back,” the embarrassed mother—and hotel guest—said.

  “No!” Aaron shouted, and tugged even harder.

  Emily let out an outraged yell that could be heard, Joanie was certain, by the conference attendees streaming out of the hotel. Joanie glanced in that direction. Sure enough, Steve was with the group. He was flanked by Phoebe and Dennis, as well as several other college students. All
had turned and were looking in the direction of the shrieking toddlers. He frowned in her direction, as did Phoebe Claterberry. She said something to Steve, who shook his head, then smiled and said something to the others. Pivoting, he headed back for the hotel and disappeared inside.

  Meanwhile, the toddlers continued their argument. “Me play!” Aaron hollered.

  “No, mine!” Emily screeched. Hand flat on Aaron’s chest, Emily tried to push him away. Before Joanie could do much more than start to react, Aaron lost his balance and tumbled backward.

  “Oh, my gosh! Emily!” Joanie reprimanded, scrambling to help the little boy up.

  Red-faced and wailing, he pushed her away and ran to his mother. “I am so sorry,” Joanie said.

  “No, I’m sorry,” the woman said. “Aaron knows better than to try and take someone else’s toy.”

  “There’s no reason why they couldn’t share,” Joanie said. She knelt in front of Emily, who was hugging her dump truck with both arms. “Emily, it’s wrong to push someone. We don’t do that. If you can’t play nicely, we’re going to have to go inside,” she said gently but sternly.

  “Maybe this will help,” Steve said from behind them.

  Joanie and Aaron’s mother turned. Steve had two sandbox play kits in his hand. Joanie knew they’d come from the Bride’s Bay gift shop.

  He knelt in front of the kids. “Look what I have for you guys. Shovels and sieves and bright red buckets. And look, even funnels.” He handed each child an identical net bag of toys.

  “Aaron, what do you say?” his mother prodded.

  “Thank you,” Aaron said.

  “Emily?” Joanie prodded.

  “T’ank ooh,” she echoed obediently.

  As the two toddlers sat down in the sand and began working the toys out of the bags, Steve picked up the dump truck unobtrusively and hid it behind his back. “I’ll just get this out of here,” he whispered to Joanie, already gliding off as soundlessly as he had appeared.

  Joanie watched Steve head back to rejoin the students. Phoebe glanced again at Emily, and then turned her attention back to Steve.

  “Was that…who I thought it was?” Aaron’s mother asked in awe.

  “Yes. Steve Lantz, the Olympic athlete.”

  “He’s a natural dad,” the woman murmured.

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Joanie said, watching as Steve and Phoebe separated from the rest of the group and sat down beneath an umbrella at a poolside table. Clipboard in hand, Phoebe continued talking seriously to Steve. Both kept glancing almost surreptitiously at her and Emily as they talked.

  Joanie knew they were probably discussing the events scheduled for the rest of the conference. Steve would be participating in some but not all of the activities, and he probably needed to be updated on any last-minute changes. At least Joanie hoped that was all it was, because she needed to be able to trust Steve on every level to even think of starting up with him again.

  “NOT EATING AGAIN?” Steve asked Emily at dinnertime. He’d just walked into the employee cafeteria, where the grumpy toddler was seated in a high chair stubbornly ignoring her food.

  Joanie said worriedly, “She’s got to be hungry—she hasn’t eaten anything in at least six hours.”

  “And we’ve tried just about everything,” Columbia added.

  Steve looked at the two women. “Have you tried frozen vanilla yogurt and pureed fruit?”

  “No, but I’ll give it a whirl.” The head chef went back into the hotel kitchen.

  “What made you think of that?” Joanie asked.

  Steve shrugged and smiled, albeit a little mysteriously, Joanie thought. “Everyone likes milkshakes and fruit ‘smoothees.’ And if the new teeth Emily’s got coming in are hurting her, they should feel soothing on her swollen gums.”

  “You’re probably right,” Joanie said, still sure something was up.

  “You’re right,” Columbia said moments later, when Emily hungrily gulped the first spoonful of her shake, then opened her mouth for another bite. “That did hit the spot.”

  “I thought you didn’t know much about babies,” Joanie murmured.

  “I’m learning,” he said.

  So it would seem, Joanie thought, noting how handsome he looked in the white long-sleeved shirt and khaki trousers. Just what she needed. Did he have to look so gorgeous and energetic atthe end of a long business day?

  “What are your plans for this evening?” he said casually, dropping into the chair beside her.

  Joanie sighed and rubbed the flat of her hand across the crease in her white slacks. “Laundry. I had to purchase clothes from the gift shop for Emily just to make it through the day. Could you baby-sit her while I do the wash, or are you expected at the conference dinner tonight?”

  “I have an open invitation to join the group at any time, but I begged off this evening so I could spend it with you and Emily. So. Where do you want to camp out?” Steve’s gaze roved her sailor-collared navy sweater with its white knit tie. “Your place or mine?” He moved his gaze to hers.

  She flushed at the approval she saw in his eyes. “Mine. That way if Emily gets sleepy, we can just put her to bed in her crib.”

  Steve watched as Emily finished the last of the yogurt shake. “No further word from Fiona, I guess?”

  “No.” Joanie regarded Emily wistfully as she washed her sticky fingers and face with a warm washcloth. Steve helped her get Emily out of the high chair. They dispensed with their dishes, then headed outside, past the pool and the playground to the staff quarters in the converted stables. Steve carried Emily in his arms, her head resting on one broad shoulder.

  “And at this point,” Joanie continued confidingly, her steps effortlessly matching Steve’s, “I’m beginning to be afraid there won’t be any word. On the other hand—” Joanie reached up to stroke Emily’s tousled curls “—Emily is so cute and sweet and obviously so well loved, I can’t imagine anyone leaving her for long.”

  “I know what you mean.” Steve paused as Joanie unlocked the door to her unit. With his free hand, he opened the door and held it for her. “Do you think maybe we should take an ad out in the local papers?”

  “Saying what?” Joanie asked as she gathered up the soiled baby clothes and a few of her own, and put them in a small wicker laundry basket.

  “’Fiona, Emily needs you. We need you.’ Something like that.”

  Joanie added a container of detergent and fabric softener to her basket. Steve had a good idea, to be sure, but it was also, Joanie felt certain, a waste of money, time and effort.

  “What guarantee would there be that Fiona would see an ad, or if she did see it that it wouldn’t somehow make her feel pressured and scare her off?” Joanie asked practically.

  Steve shrugged. “None, but it’s better than doing nothing.”

  Joanie picked up the laundry basket and balanced it on her hip. “We don’t know for certain that Emily has been abandoned, Steve.” Even though it was beginning to seem as if she had.

  “But if we did know,” he persisted softly, boxing her in and looking down at her in a way that made her pulse race, “would you want to raise her?”

  It was an honest question, and it deserved a truthful answer. Slowly Joanie nodded. “Yes,” she said. “I would.”

  THE PROBLEM WAS, Joanie thought as she put the baby clothes in the washer, added detergent, set the dials for warm water and switched on the machine, that she was not the person who should be bringing Emily up. Emily needed a mother and a father and a good home. Not a single parent who knew even less than someone like Steve—an avowed novice—about caring for children. And not someone who would be juggling work and baby and wondering all the time if she was doing the right thing.

  Joanie knew Steve found this all very romantic and exciting, but the romance and the excitement would fade with time, and then what? Joanie recapped the detergent bottle. Would Steve turn to another woman as he had before? Would he lose interest in Emily, as well? And how would
Emily handle that? After all she’d been through, the little girl didn’t need to be abandoned on that score, too. Besides, she and Steve couldn’t just pick up where they’d left off as if nothing had happened, could they?

  “Ms. Griffin? I thought that was you.”

  Joanie whirled around to see Frances Flannagan standing in the open doorway of the staff laundry. As usual the white-haired guest from the Midwest looked a little lost, as if she still wasn’t quite sure how to handle the idea of vacationing alone.

  “Hi, Mrs. Flannagan,” Joanie said. “How were those golf lessons I set up for you?”

  “Oh, they were wonderful, thank you. I really like my instructor.” Mrs. Flannagan transferred her old-fashioned pocketbook from one arm to the other. “I have another session set up for tomorrow. How’s your day been? Did they ever find that little girl’s family?”

  Joanie smiled. It seemed the whole resort was talking about little Emily. “No, not yet,” Joanie reported. “But we’re working on it.”

  Mrs. Flannagan pressed a hand over her ample bosom. “I thought surely by now that the child and her family would’ve been reunited.”

  Joanie recapped the bottle of fabric softener. “Me, too.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “Steve Lantz is baby-sitting her, although I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be able to depend on him to shoulder a good deal of Emily’s care. After all, he has his own work and responsibilities.” And sooner or later her assistant, Jerry, was going to get tired of filling in for her.

  Joanie paused, her next idea occurring in a flash. Certainly it wouldn’t hurt to inquire. “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in baby-sitting Emily?” she asked Mrs. Flannagan.

  “Oh, dear, I’d like to, but to be perfectly honest I don’t think it’d be wise.” Mrs. Flannagan held up two rather arthritic-looking hands. “I’m not as fast or agile as I used to be, and children that age can be very active.”

  “I see your point.” Joanie agreed. “Emily is quite a handful.” She grinned, realizing in retrospect that her idea had been a little crazy, although she could still see the kindhearted but obviously lonely Mrs. Flannagan and the spirited little Emily getting on famously. “And we don’t want you running out of energy on your vacation,” Joanie concluded, reassuring the older woman.