by Marta Perry
Whatever friendliness had been in his eyes vanished. “I’d like to talk about this.” His uncompromising tone told her the situation wasn’t going to turn suddenly easy. “About the woman, Tina.”
“Do you remember her now?” She didn’t mean the words to sound sarcastic, but they probably did. She bit her lip. There was just no good way to discuss this.
“No.” Luckily he seemed to take the question at face value. “Do you know when she was here?”
“Emilie was born in June. Tina said she’d been here the previous summer and stayed through the fall.” He could count the months as easily as she could.
He frowned. “Tourist season. They come right through the autumn colors. That means there are plenty of transient workers in town. People who show up in late spring, get jobs, then leave again the end of October.” He shook his head. “Impossible to remember them all or keep track of them while they’re here.”
She’d left her bag on the pie-crust table. She flipped it open and took out the photograph she’d brought. A wave of sadness flooded her as she looked at the young face.
“This was Tina.” She held it out to him.
He took the photo and stood frowning down at it, straight brows drawn over his eyes. She should be watching for a spark of recognition, she thought, instead of noticing how his uniform shirt fit his broad shoulders, not a wrinkle marring its perfection. The crease in his navy trousers looked sharp enough to cut paper, and his shoes shone as if they’d been polished moments before.
He looked up finally, his gaze finding hers without the antagonism she half expected. “How did you meet her?”
She bit back a sharp response. “Isn’t it more pertinent to ask how you met her?”
His mouth hardened in an already hard face. “All right. I recognize her now that I’ve seen the picture. But I never knew her name. And I certainly didn’t have an affair with her.”
That was progress, of a sort. If she could manage not to sound as if she judged him, maybe he’d move toward being honest with her.
She tried to keep her tone neutral. “How did you know her?”
“She worked at the café that summer.” He frowned, as if remembering. “I eat a lot of meals there, so she waited on me. Chatted, the way waitresses do with regulars. But I didn’t run into her anywhere else.”
His dark gaze met hers, challenging her to argue. “Your turn. How did you get to know her?”
“She answered an ad I’d put on the bulletin board at the corner market. She wanted to rent a room in my house.”
His eyebrows went up at that. “Sorry, Counselor, but you don’t look as if you need to take in boarders.”
“I didn’t do it for the money.” She clipped off the words. Her instincts warned her not to give too much away to this man, but if she wanted his cooperation she’d have to appear willing to answer his questions. “My husband had died a few months earlier, and I’d taken a leave from my job. I’d been rattling around in a place too big for one person. The roomer was just going to be temporary, until I found a buyer for the house.”
“How long ago was that?” It was a cop’s question, snapped at her as if she were a suspect.
“A little over a year.” She tried not to let his manner rattle her. “I knew she was pregnant, of course, but I didn’t know she had a heart condition. I’m not sure even she knew at first. The doctors said she never should have gotten pregnant.”
“What about her family?”
“She said she didn’t have anyone.” Tina had seemed just as lonely as Anne had been. Maybe that was what had drawn them together. “We became friends. And then when she had to be hospitalized—well, I guess I felt responsible for her. She didn’t have anyone else. When Emilie was born, Tina’s condition worsened. I took charge of the baby. Tina never came home from the hospital.”
His strong face was guarded. “Is that when she supposedly told you about me?”
She nodded. “She talked about the time she spent in Bedford Creek, about the man she loved, the man who fathered Emilie.”
He was so perfectly still that he might have been a statue, except for the tiny muscle that pulsed at his temple. “And if I tell you it was a mistake—that she couldn’t have meant me...?”
“Look, I’m not here to prosecute you.” Why couldn’t he see that? “I’m not judging you. I just want your signature on the papers. That’s all.”
“You didn’t answer me.” He took a step closer, and she could feel the intensity under his iron exterior. “What if I tell you it was a mistake?”
It was all slipping away, getting out of her control. “How could it be a mistake? Everything she said fits you, no one else.”
He seized on that. “Fits me? I thought you said she named me.”
She took a deep breath, trying to stay in control of the situation. “While she was ill, she talked a lot about...about the man she fell in love with. About the town. Then, when we knew she wasn’t going to get better, we made plans for Emilie’s adoption.” She looked at him, willing him to understand. “I’ve been taking care of Emilie practically since the day she was born. I love her. Tina knew that. She knew I needed the father’s permission, too, but she never said the name until the end.”
She shivered a little, recalling the scene. Tina, slipping in and out of consciousness, finally saying the name Mitch Donovan. “Why would she lie?”
“I don’t know.” His mouth clamped firmly on the words. “I’m sorry, sorry about all of it. But I’m not the father of her baby.”
She glared at him, wanting to shake the truth out of him. But it was no use. It would be about as effective as shaking a rock.
“You don’t believe me.” He made it a simple statement of fact.
“No.” There seemed little point in saying anything else.
* * *
Mitch’s jaw clamped painfully tight. This woman was so sure she was right that it would take a bulldozer to move her. Somehow he had to crack open that closed mind of hers enough for her to admit doubt.
“Isn’t it possible you misunderstood?” He struggled, trying to come up with a theory to explain the unexplainable. “If she was as sick as you say, maybe her mind wandered.”
For the first time some of the certainty faded in her eyes. She stared beyond him, as if focusing on something painful in the past.
“I don’t think so.” Her gaze met his, troubled, as if she were trying to be fair. “We’d been talking about the adoption. Certainly she knew what I was asking her.”
“Look, I don’t have an explanation for this.” He spread his hands wide. “All I can say is what I’ve already told you. I knew the girl slightly, and she was here at the right time. I don’t know how to prove a negative, but I never had an affair with her, and I did not father her child.”
Something hardened inside him as he said the words. He didn’t have casual affairs—not that it was any of Anne Morden’s business. And he certainly wasn’t cut out for fatherhood. If there was anything his relationship with his own father had taught him, it was that the Donovan men didn’t make decent fathers. The whole town knew that.
“If you were to sign the parental rights termination...” she began.
He lifted an eyebrow. “Is that really what you want, Counselor? You want me to lie?”
Her soft mouth could look uncommonly stubborn. “Would it be a lie?”
“Yes.” That much he knew. And he could only see one way to prove it in the face of Anne’s persistence and the mother’s dying statement. “I suggest we put it to the test. A blood test.”
That must have occurred to her. It was the obvious solution. And her quick nod told him she’d thought of it.
“Fine. Is there a lab in town?”
“Not here.” He didn’t even need to consider that. “We can’t have it done in Bedford Creek.” He hoped he didn’t sound
as horrified at the thought as he felt.
“Why not?” The suspicion was back in her eyes.
“You’ve obviously never lived in a small town. If the three of us show up at the clinic for a paternity test, the town will know about it before the needle hits my skin.”
“That bad?” She almost managed a smile.
“Believe me, it’s that bad. Rebecca Forrester, the doctor’s assistant, wouldn’t say a word. But the receptionist talks as much as my dispatcher.”
“The nearest town where they have the facilities—”
“I’d rather go to Philadelphia, if you don’t mind.” She shouldn’t. After all, that was her home turf.
“That’s fine with me, but isn’t it a little out of the way for you?”
“Far enough that I won’t be worried about running into anyone who’ll carry the news back to Bedford Creek.” It was a small world, all right, but surely not that small. “I have a friend who’s on the staff of a city hospital. He can make sure we have it done quickly. And discreetly.” Though what Brett would say to him at this request, he didn’t want to imagine.
“This friend of yours—” she began.
“Brett’s a good physician. He wouldn’t jeopardize his career by tinkering with test results.”
She seemed to look at it from every angle before she nodded. “All right. Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow, it is.”
He forced his muscles to relax. Tomorrow, if luck was with him, a simple screening would prove he couldn’t possibly be the child’s father. Anne Morden would take her baby and walk back out of his life as quickly as she’d walked in.
He should be feeling relief. He definitely shouldn’t be feeling regret at the thought of never seeing her again.
Chapter 3
Anne made the turn from the Schulkyll Expressway toward center city and glanced across at her passenger. Mitch stared straight ahead, hands flexed on his knees. He wore khaki slacks and a button-down shirt today, his leather jacket thrown into the back seat, but even those clothes had a military aura.
Nothing in his posture indicated any uncertainty about her driving, but she was nevertheless sure that he’d rather be behind the wheel.
Well, that was too bad. Riding to Philadelphia together had been his idea, after all. He’d said his car was in the shop, and if she thought he wanted to drive the police car on an errand like this, she’d better think again. He’d ride down with her and get a rental car for the return.
The trip had been accomplished mostly in silence, except for the occasional chirps from Emilie in her car seat. Mitch probably had no desire to chat, anyway, and her thoughts had twisted all the way down the turnpike.
Was she doing the right thing? A blood test was the obvious solution, of course, and she’d recommended it often enough to clients. She just hadn’t anticipated the need in this situation. She’d assumed a man in Mitch’s position, faced with the results of a casual fling, would be only too happy to sign the papers and put his mistake behind him.
But it hadn’t worked out that way, and his willingness to undergo the blood test lent credence to his denials. She was almost tempted to believe him.
What was she thinking? He had to be Emilie’s father, didn’t he? Tina would certainly know, and Tina had said so.
They passed a sign directing them to the hospital, and her nerves tightened. Maybe she shouldn’t have agreed to let Mitch make the arrangements, but it sounded sensible, the way he had put it. They could be assured speed and secrecy through his connection.
“I hope your friend is ready for us.” She glanced at her watch. Dr. Brett Elliot had given them an afternoon appointment, and they should be right on time.
“He’ll be there.” Mitch’s granite expression cracked in a reminiscent smile. “In high school Brett was always the one with the late assignment and the joke that made the teacher laugh so she didn’t penalize him. But medical school reformed him. You’d hardly guess he was once the class clown.”
Somehow the title didn’t sound very reassuring. She glanced sideways at Mitch, registering again his size and strength. “Let me guess. You must have been the class’s star athlete.”
He shrugged. “Something like that, I guess.”
The hospital parking garage loomed on her right. Anne pulled in, the sandwich she’d had for lunch turning into a lead ball in her stomach. In an hour or two, she might know for sure about Emilie’s father.
Mitch’s friend had said he’d be waiting at the lab desk. Actually, he seemed to be leaning on it. Unruly hair the color of antique gold tumbled into his eyes as he laughed down at the woman behind the desk. So this was the boy who’d charmed everyone—all grown up and still doing it, apparently.
“Mitch!” He crossed the room in a few long strides and pumped Mitch’s hand. “Good to see you, guy. It’s been too long.”
Brett’s face, open and smiling, contrasted with Mitch’s closed, reserved look, but nothing could disguise the affection between them. Mitch clapped him on the shoulder before turning to Anne and introducing her.
Brett gave her the same warm grin he’d been giving the woman at the desk, but she thought she read wariness in his green eyes. Then he turned to Emilie, and all reservation vanished.
“Hey, there, pretty girl. What’s your name?”
“This is Emilie.”
“What a little sweetheart.” He tickled Emilie’s chin, and even the eight-month-old baby responded to him with a shy smile and a tilt of her head.
Brett gestured toward the orange vinyl chairs lining the empty waiting room. “Since we’ve got the place to ourselves, let’s have a chat about what we’re going to do.”
The woman behind the desk muttered an excuse and disappeared into the adjoining room. Anne took a seat, Emilie on her lap, and vague misgivings floated through her mind. These are Mitch’s arrangements, she cautioned herself. This is Mitch’s friend.
Brett pulled his chair around to face them. “The first step is to do a preliminary screening of blood type and Rh factors. We’ll be able to give you those results right away.”
“They’re not definitive in establishing paternity.” She didn’t mean to sound critical, but she’d handled enough cases to know it usually went farther than that.
“Not entirely.” Brett didn’t seem put off by her lawyer-like response. “But there are some combinations that can exclude the possibility of paternity, and that’s what we look for first.”
Another objection stirred in Anne’s mind. “Don’t you need the mother’s blood type to do that?”
“Yes, well, actually I got the information from the hospital where Emilie was born.”
He exchanged a quick glance with Mitch. Obviously they’d arranged that when they talked, too.
“My military records show my blood type.” Mitch frowned. “We could have gotten them.”
“This is faster than waiting for the military to send something,” Brett said, before Anne could voice an objection. “And in a legal matter, we can’t just rely on your word.”
Mitch’s mouth tightened, but he nodded.
“Okay, so if the screening rules Mitch out,” the doctor continued, “we stop there. If it doesn’t, that still means he’s one of maybe a million people who could be the father. So we go to DNA testing at that point. It takes longer, but it’ll establish paternity beyond any doubt.”
Emilie stirred restlessly on Anne’s lap, as if to remind her she’d had a long, upsetting couple of days. Anne stroked her head. “I understand.”
“Let’s get on with it.” Mitch seemed ready for action, and she half expected him to push up his sleeve on the spot.
“Fine.” Brett started toward the laboratory door.
Ready or not. Anne picked up Emilie and followed him, suddenly breathless. She’d know something, maybe soon.
Mitch’s stony
expression didn’t change in the least when the technician plunged a needle into his hard-muscled arm. Emilie wasn’t so stoic. She stiffened, head thumping hard against Anne’s chest, and let out an anguished wail that tore into Anne’s heart.
“Hey, little girl.” Mitch’s voice was astonishingly gentle. One large hand wrapped around the baby’s flailing foot. “It’ll be over in a second, honest.”
When the needle was gone, Emilie’s sobs subsided, but Anne didn’t have any illusions. The baby was overtired and overstimulated, and she desperately needed to have her dinner and go to sleep. That wouldn’t hurt her mother any, either.
“It’s all right, darling.” She stroked Emilie’s fine blond hair. “We’ll go home soon.”
Brett nodded. “This won’t take long. Make yourselves comfortable in the waiting room, and I’ll bring you some coffee.”
A few minutes later they were back in the same chairs they’d occupied earlier. Anne tried to balance a wiggling Emilie while digging for a bottle of juice in the diaper bag. The juice remained elusive.
“Here, let me hold her.” Before she could object, Mitch took the baby from her. He bounced Emilie on his knees, rumpling the knife-sharp crease, his strong hands supporting the baby’s back.
The ache between Anne’s shoulder blades eased. She watched Mitch with the baby, realizing the ache had just shifted location to her heart. If Mitch was Emilie’s father...
She bent over the diaper bag to hide the tears that clouded her eyes. Ridiculous to feel them. Nothing had changed. She blinked rapidly and fished the juice bottle out.
“I’ll take her now.” She flipped the cap off and dropped it in the bag.
Mitch shook his head and reached for the bottle. “Give yourself a break for a few minutes. I can manage this.”
She leaned back, watching as he shifted Emilie’s position and plopped the nipple into her mouth.
“You didn’t learn that in...the Army, was it?”
He nodded. “Military Police. Matter of fact, I did. A couple of my buddies had families.”
She thought she heard a note of censure in his voice. “You have something against that?”