In Protective Custody. Beth Cornelison
she saw nothing, not the first rattle or diaper, indicating he’d expected to care for a baby tonight.
She watched him bounce the infant, awake now and crying again, while he yanked clothes from the drier and jammed them into a grocery sack. More evidence he planned to leave again as soon as she did.
He spared her a brief glance. “Listen, the baby’s seat is still in the back of your car. Could you leave it on the driveway for me when you go?”
On the kitchen counter, his answering machine played his messages. “Jordie won’t make Friday’s game. He has a dentist appointment. Thanks, coach!”
A beep signaled the end of the current message.
“Are you divorced?” She blurted into the silence before the next message began.
His head came up with a jerk. His expression clearly said her bluntness stunned him. “Uh, yeah. Why?”
“It’s obvious no woman lives here.”
He gave her a slow nod then went back to grabbing clothes to stuff in the paper sack. “You’re sharp.”
“You also don’t have anything here for a baby.”
His chin lifted a notch, his expression guarded. “No.”
“Max, it’s Cheryl,” a woman on the answering machine said. “Where you been hiding, handsome? Call me.”
Laura spread her hands. “How are you going to feed him or change his diaper with no supplies?”
Before he could answer, the next message began playing.
“Caldwell, we know you have the baby!” The voice on the machine spat venom. Icy shivers snaked up her spine.
“He belongs with us, and nothing you can do will stop—”
The man crossed the floor in two steps and slapped the stop button on the answering machine.
Laura gaped at him, speechless. Her heartbeat drummed in her ears. Acid churned in her stomach.
He turned a hard glare at her, his face drawn and grim. “I’m really in a hurry. I need you to go now.”
Chapter 3
Accusation burned in the blond woman’s eyes. Deep inside, Max squirmed uncomfortably. Her unspoken disapproval and doubts chafed a raw wound inside him. Jennifer had given him that same look too many times, whether he deserved it or not. And, as with his ex-wife, this woman’s glare caused a flicker of guilt, of responsibility, of disappointment.
Max knew he could explain the situation to her, try to make her understand, but that would take valuable time he didn’t have. He had to get back on the road. Quickly.
Besides, as she’d put it, why should she believe him? He’d already lied to her—lies that nettled his conscience but which he’d deemed necessary to get results. He glanced down at his charge. Emily’s son.
Yes, results were what mattered.
However, if he didn’t say something to answer the suspicion blazing from her turquoise eyes, she’d be on her cell phone to the cops the minute she left his driveway.
Max released a breath that hissed through his teeth. “It’s…not what you think.”
“Oh? And what am I thinking?” She crossed her arms over her chest and furrowed her brow.
The pose emphasized the swell of her breasts, and Max’s libido kicked hard. He’d been trying not to let her beautiful figure distract him. But like any red-blooded male, he’d noticed and appreciated her lush curves anyway. If his current circumstances were different…
The baby whimpered louder, and he cringed. The woman had nailed it when she suggested he wasn’t prepared to care for a baby. She didn’t know how right she was.
He took the woman by the arm and tugged her toward the door. “I really don’t have time now to explain, but I’m perfectly within my rights to have this child. His mother knows he’s with me. That’s how she wants it. Now, if you’d just go—”
She shrugged out of his grip. “And the baby’s father? What does he want?” Her incisive gaze dared him to contradict his previous assertion that he was the infant’s father.
He thought of the baby’s real father, Joe. A man involved with drugs—smuggling, most likely, since his father owned a shipping company. A man who’d put Max’s sister in harm’s way, whose enemy had murdered him and shot Emily, whose family now tried to usurp custody of Emily’s son. What a scum. Anger for what Joe had cost Emily heated Max’s blood. The baby was better off without Joe’s negative influence.
For all intents and purposes, Max was his nephew’s father for the time being.
But Max also knew the Rialtos would show up at his door any minute, and he didn’t have time to explain the nuances of the situation, hoping to convince her of the truth. Anthony Rialto’s message made it clear his energy was better used getting the baby out of town. Hidden. This unplanned return to his house, thanks to his car being trapped at the accident, was costing him valuable time.
Max decided changing his story concerning the baby’s paternity now would be counterproductive. And the woman’s suspicions already ran high.
“I’m his father. I don’t need anyone’s permission to have my son with me, and I don’t owe you any explanations beyond that.” With a hand at the small of her back, he tried again to hustle the woman toward the door. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get moving. I promise to make a trip to the grocery for diapers and baby food, okay?”
He fished in his pocket for her car keys and extended them to her.
She stepped forward and snatched the keys, her gaze darting briefly to his sobbing nephew. “Formula.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “What?”
She flipped her mane of golden waves over her shoulder with an impatient huff. She turned her attention to the baby, shifting her weight uneasily, clearly chomping at the bit to try her hand again at quieting the squalling baby. “A newborn doesn’t eat baby food,” she said loud enough to be heard over his nephew’s screams. “They drink mother’s milk or formula. Do you know what brand to buy? Did his doctor say anything about soy?”
Soy? Formula? Damn. She could speak a foreign language, and he’d have a better chance of making sense of it. Frustration and impatience roiled inside him. He didn’t have time for this!
“Formula, milk, whatever! I’ll figure it out. Lady, I’m in a hurry here—”
“So you’ve said. Why the hurry? What’s going on here?”
The resounding wails of his nephew, letting them know in no uncertain terms what he thought of his uncle’s ability to care for him, fed his agitation. A pang of sympathy for the baby, stuck with his inept uncle, jabbed his gut. Bouncing the baby on his arm, Max fell back on what he did best when under stress. Pace.
He needed a plan.
In this case, his goal was simply to get rid of this woman and get out of town before the Rialtos came knocking.
“Don’t do that!” The blonde scowled and reached for the baby.
“Don’t do what?” Feelings of futility sharpened his tone. He hated the sense of helplessness and ignorance that had swamped him the minute he stepped out of the hospital.
“Ever heard of shaken baby syndrome?” She plucked his nephew from his hands and cuddled the infant to her chest. “You can’t bounce him around like that. He’s too little and that much shaking can damage his brain.”
Hell! Brain damage?
He noted with satisfaction that his nephew didn’t calm down for her, either. With a flash of envy, he watched the baby nuzzle his face into her breast. Lucky kid.