Santa's on His Way

by Lisa Jackson

  She fingered the note again, turning it over and studying the single white page decorated with a stenciled sprig of holly. Who had sent her the baby and cryptic message? Obviously someone who knew her and knew where she lived. Someone who trusted her with this baby. But who?

  Was the child unwanted? Kidnapped? Stolen from a hospital? Taken from her cradle as her parents slept? Part of a divorce dispute? Her head thundered with the questions that plagued her over and over again.

  She’d called the airport and found that Portland International was closed, all flights grounded. She’d tried to reach her brother in Atlanta, but all outside circuits had been busy and she figured Joel would eventually call her.

  “So it looks like it’s just going to be you and me,” she told the infant as she changed her diaper and sprinkled her soft skin with baby powder. “You can have a bottle and I’ll open a can of chili.”

  The child yawned and stretched, arching her little back and blinking those incredible crystal-blue eyes. “You’re a cherub, that’s what you are,” Annie teased. She let her worries drift away and concentrated on keeping the fire stoked, the baby dry, clean, and fed, and allowing Riley outside where the snow reached his belly and clung to his whiskers.

  Late in the afternoon while Carol was napping in her basket, Annie checked on the horses, then poured herself a cup of coffee and started writing notes to herself about the baby. The infant was less than a month old, Caucasian, with no identifying marks—no birthmarks or moles or scars—in good health. So who was she?

  Though she tried to suppress it, an idea that the child might have been abandoned—legitimately abandoned—kept crossing her mind. Could it be possible? The note was addressed to her so . . . But why would someone who so obviously cared about the infant leave her in freezing weather? No, that didn’t make sense—

  “Stop it, McFarlane,” she growled at herself as Riley lifted his head and stared at the door. He barked sharply, then jumped to his feet. “What is it?”

  Bam! Bam! Bam!

  Riley started barking like crazy as the person on the other side of the door pounded so hard that the old oak panels seemed to jump.

  “Hush!” Annie hurried to the door. “Who is it?” she yelled through the panels, then smoothed away the condensation on the narrow window flanking the door so she could see outside.

  She nearly gasped when she saw the man, a very big man—six feet two or three, unless she missed her guess. His face was flushed, his gaze intense, his long arms folded firmly across his chest.

  Liam O’Shaughnessy. In the flesh.

  “Oh, no—” she whispered and her stomach did a slow, sensual roll. Liam was the one man of all of Nola’s suitors that Annie found sexy—too sexy.

  And right now he was livid, his face red with fury—or the bite of the winter air. Blond hair, damp from melting snowflakes, was tousled in the wind. Wearing a suede jacket, jeans, and boots covered in snow, he was poised to pound on the door again when he caught sight of her in the window. His eyes, when they met hers, were as blue as an arctic sea and just as violent.

  “Help me,” she said under her breath.

  Nervously, she licked her lips. Never in her life had she faced such a wrathful male. His jaw was square and set, his blond eyebrows drawn into a single unforgiving line. Power, rage, and determination radiated from him in cold, hard waves.

  “Open the damned door or I’ll break it down,” he yelled as the wind keened around him and caused the snow-laden boughs of the fir trees near the porch to sway in a slow, macabre dance. “Annie McFarlane—do you hear me?”

  Loud and clear, she thought, and swallowing against a mounting sensation of dread, she yanked on the door handle. Without waiting for a word of invitation, he stepped inside.

  “Where is she?” he demanded, stomping snow from his boots.

  “Who?”

  “Your sister!”

  “Nola?” Annie asked, remembering that he’d once been her sister’s lover, but only for a little while, or so Nola had confided. Their brief affair had ended abruptly and badly. Nola had been heartbroken, but then she’d been heartbroken half a dozen times because she always fell for the wrong kind of guy.

  “Nola isn’t here.”

  He frowned, snow melting on the shoulders of his rawhide jacket as well as in his hair.

  “What do you want with her? I thought you broke up—”

  “There was nothing to break,” he said swiftly. “But, it appears she and I have a lot to discuss.”

  “You do?” Why was he here, looking for her in the middle of this storm?

  “So she isn’t here, eh?” He seemed to doubt her and his restless gaze slid around the room, searching the shadowy nooks and crannies as if he expected to find Nola hiding nearby.

  “No. I haven’t seen her in months.”

  “Close relationship.”

  “It is—not that it’s any of your business,” she said, bristling at his condescending tone. “Now, was there something else you wanted?”

  His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Just to find your sister. She seems to have disappeared.”

  “No, she hasn’t. She’s just . . . well, she takes off for little mini-vacations every once in a while.”

  “Mini-vacations?” His laugh was hollow and the corners of his mouth didn’t so much as lift. “I’m willing to bet there’s more to it this time.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Then where is she?” His nostrils flared slightly. “Where does she go on these—what did you call them?—mini-vacations. That’s rich.”

  “Look, I don’t have any idea. Nola sometimes just takes off, not that it’s any business of yours.”

  He snorted. “It’s my business, all right.”

  “Sometimes Nola goes to the beach or the mountains—”

  “Or Timbuktu, if she’s smart.” He wiped a big hand over his face as if he were dead tired. “If you want to know the truth, I really don’t give a damn about Nola.”

  “But you want to find her?”

  “Have to is more like it.” He raked the interior of the cabin with his predatory gaze once more. “Her beautiful carcass could rot in hell for all I care.”

  That did it. Annie didn’t need to take insults from him, or any other man, for that matter. “I think you should leave.”

  “I will. Once I get some answers.”

  “I don’t have any—”

  Carol coughed softly and O’Shaughnessy’s head snapped around. Without a word he crossed the living room, tracking snow and staring down at the baby as if he were seeing Jesus in the manger.

  “Yours?” he asked, but the tone of his voice was skeptical.

  She shook her head automatically. There was no reason to lie, though she felt a wave of maternal protectiveness come over her. “I—I found her.”

  “What?” He touched Carol’s crown with one long finger. The caress was so tender, his expression so awestruck, that Annie stupidly felt the heat of unshed tears behind her eyes. “Found her? Where?”

  “On the front porch. Last night.”

  He looked up, pinning her with that intense, laser-blue gaze. “Someone left her?”

  “Yes. I guess.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Nola.” He scowled and picked up the basket. “Figures.”

  “You think my sister brought a baby here?” Annie laughed at the notion.

  “Not just any baby,” he said, his expression turning dark. “Her baby. And mine.”

  “What?” she gasped.

  “You heard me.”

  “But . . . Oh, God.” He couldn’t be serious, but she’d never seen a man so determined in all her life. He glanced down at the beribboned basket. A muscle worked in his jaw and when he looked up again, the glare he shot Annie could have melted steel. “Listen, O’Shaughnessy, I don’t know what you’re talking about, what you’re saying. I—you—we don’t have any idea if Nola did this.”

  “Sure
we do.”

  “Nola’s never been pregnant.”

  “Give me a break.”

  “Really. I know my sister and I’m sure . . .” Her words faded away. What did she really know about Nola? When was the last time they’d talked besides a quick chat on the phone? The last time Annie had seen Nola had been months ago.

  “You’re sure of what?” he spat out.

  “She would have told me about a baby.” Or would she have? Nola knew how much Annie had wanted a child, how crushed and forlorn she’d been after each miscarriage . . . was it possible?

  For you, Annie. Sweet Jesus, was the note in Nola’s loopy handwriting? Her knees gave way and she propped herself against the back of the couch. As if he’d read her thoughts, he nodded grimly and reached for the basket.

  No! “Wait a minute—” But he was already tucking the wicker holder under one strong arm.

  She was frantic. He intended to take the baby away! Oh, God, he couldn’t. Not now, not yet, not after Annie had already lost her heart to the little blond cherub.

  “O’Shaughnessy, you can’t do this.”

  “Sure I can.” His face was a mask of sheer determination. “If you hear from Nola, tell her I’m looking for her, that we need to talk.”

  “No! You can’t. I—I mean—” She threw herself across the room and placed her body squarely between him and the door. Fear and pain clawed at her soul at the thought of losing her precious little baby. “Don’t leave yet.”

  “It’s time. Give Nola the message.”

  “But the baby. You can’t just take her away and—”

  “I’m her father.”

  “But I don’t know that. In fact, I don’t know anything about you or the baby or—” Oh, God. In such a short time she’d come to think of the baby as her own even though the notion was impossible.

  “Look, Annie, I won’t hold you accountable as long as you don’t give me any trouble, but tell Nola this isn’t over. When I find her—”

  “What? You’ll what?” Her heart was racing, her head ached, and she knew she’d never let him take the child. She reached for the basket, brushing his sleeve with her hand. “You . . . you can’t just barge in here and take the baby and leave.”

  “Can’t I?”

  “No!”

  His face was etched in stone, his countenance without a grain of remorse. Without much effort he sidestepped her, brushed her body aside, and reached for the doorknob with his free hand. “Watch me.”

  CHAPTER 3

  “You’re not going anywhere with that baby, O’Shaughnessy.” Annie wasn’t letting the baby out of her sight. Not without a fight. She squeezed between him and the door again. Riley, the scruff of his neck standing on end, growled a low, fierce agreement. “How do I know she’s yours?”

  “She’s mine, all right. Just ask your sister.”

  Annie glared up at him and felt the heat of his gaze, the raw masculine intensity of this giant of a man, but she wasn’t going to back down. Not to him. Not to anyone. He seemed to think that Nola was really Carol’s mother. But it couldn’t be . . . or could it? Was it possible? Who else would know that she desperately wanted a baby, that she would care for an infant as if it were her own, that in her heart of hearts, she would love the child forever? “Now why don’t you back up a minute, okay? You’re trying to convince me that you and Nola—who, as I heard it, only dated you a short while—that you had a baby together.”

  “Looks like it.” Blond eyebrows slammed together and his jaw was hard as granite. But Annie wasn’t going to let him buffalo her.

  “Why didn’t I hear anything about it?” she demanded.

  “Why didn’t I?”

  “What?” She was having trouble keeping up with all the twists and turns in the conversation.

  “You know your sister. Figure it out. Just like her to try and hide the kid here.” He started to pull on the doorknob, but Annie pressed her back against the hard panels and put all her weight into holding the door closed. “Get out of the way.”

  “No! You just stop right there. I don’t know that this baby has any connection to Nola.”

  “Sure.”

  “I am sure,” she said, her anger elevating with her voice. “This child”—she jabbed at the basket swinging from his right arm with her finger—“was left on my doorstep in the middle of a storm and then you . . . you—how did you get here?”

  “It was tricky. I have four-wheel drive,” he conceded. “And a lot of sheer grit.”

  That much was true. She didn’t know much about him, but she believed that with his determination he could literally move mountains.

  “Just listen for a second,” he insisted, and she notched her chin up an inch. “I thought you knew all about her pregnancy.”

  “I haven’t seen her in months. She was . . . busy with something, something she wouldn’t talk about.”

  A trace of doubt darkened his gaze. A musky scent of aftershave mingled with the smoky odor of burning wood. God, he was close. “But you knew Nola was going to have a baby.”

  Shaking her head, Annie sighed and rammed fingers of frustration through her hair. “Nola never said a word. For all I know, you could be lying.”

  “I don’t lie.”

  “No, you just storm into a person’s house and take what you want.”

  A muscle jumped in his jaw and every muscle in his body seemed tense, ready to unleash. His words were measured. “I don’t know why Nola left the kid here, but—”

  “You don’t even know if she left the baby here.”

  He hesitated, his lips pursing in vexation. His gaze, icy-blue and condemning, narrowed on her. Obviously he was trying to size her up, to determine how much she really knew.

  Annie swallowed hard and tried to ignore the rapid beating of her heart. “Didn’t . . . didn’t you say you never talked to Nola?” she pressed. He was so close that the rawhide of his jacket brushed against her breast. “How do you know that this baby is hers—or yours, for that matter?”

  “Who else’s?”

  “I don’t know, but until I do, the baby stays.”

  His smile had all the warmth of the arctic sea and yet she had the fleeting thought that he was a hot-blooded man. Passionate. Bold. Fierce one second, tender the next. “You’re going to stop me from taking her?” That particular thought seemed to amuse him.

  “Damned straight.”

  “You’re half my size.”

  “I—I don’t think this is a matter of physical strength.” She’d lose in a minute to a man who was hard and well-muscled, all sinew and bone. “But I won’t give her up without a fight, O’Shaughnessy.”

  “It’s a fight you’re gonna lose.”

  “I don’t think so.” She tried to appear taller as she looked up at him and tossed her hair over her shoulders. “If I can’t convince you, then I guess I’ll just have to call the police. They already know about the baby, anyway. A deputy by the name of Kemp is supposed to come and take a statement from me after they check and find out if there are any missing infants in the area. He could be here any minute. So—why don’t you and I just wait for him?” She folded her arms over her chest. “I’ll even make the coffee.”

  “We don’t need the police involved.”

  “They already are.”

  “Damn!” He shook his head. “That was a foolish move.”

  “It wasn’t ‘a move.’ I just wanted to find out where she came from.”

  “Sure.”

  “I did.”

  “Doesn’t matter. What’s done is done.” His muscles seemed to stiffen even more at the mention of the authorities and the lines of his face deepened. For some reason he didn’t want the police involved and for the first time Annie felt a niggle of fear. Who was this man? What did she know about him other than he’d seen her sister a few times, dropped Nola when he’d gotten bored with her, then landed smack-dab in the middle of Annie’s living room with some ridiculous story about Nola having a baby—this baby! No
ne of it made any sense.

  “Fine,” he relented. Muttering something under his breath about headstrong women who didn’t know when to back off, he crossed the short distance to the grouping of chairs and couch surrounding the fireplace and set the basket on the floor near a small table. Throughout it all, Carol slept peacefully.

  Annie breathed a long sigh of relief. Now, at last, she was getting somewhere and, fool that she was, she felt that she didn’t have anything to fear from Liam—well, other than the possibility that he might take the baby from her.

  She settled onto one of the arms of the couch while he warmed the backs of his legs by the fire. “So, now, why don’t you start over and tell me why you came here—you said something about looking for Nola.”

  His jaw slid to one side and Annie was struck again at how sexy he was when he was quiet and thoughtful. “That’s right. I need to find your sister. I just found out a couple of days ago that she’d been pregnant and had a baby—presumably mine, considering the timing. Jake found birth records. No father was listed, but I’m sure that the kid’s mine.”

  Her heart plummeted. Obviously he’d done his homework and she knew in an instant that her short-lived chance at motherhood was over. “Who—who is Jake?”

  “A friend.”

  “Oh.”

  “He’s also a private detective.”

  Great. She’d hoped his farfetched story would prove wrong. “So you came here looking for Nola or information about her and just happened to stumble on the baby.”

  “Yep.” He rubbed his jaw and avoided her gaze for a second, concentrating instead on the snow piling in the corners of the windowpanes. “There’s another reason,” he admitted.

  “Which is?”

  Leaning his hips against the side of the fireplace, he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose for a second as if he could ward off a headache. “Let’s just say Nola and I have some unfinished business that doesn’t involve the baby. I only found out about her”—he added as he cocked his head in the direction of the basket—“because Jake found out. I had no idea Nola was pregnant.”

  “She didn’t tell you?” she asked, standing and walking to the basket to see that Carol was still sleeping.