A Bride For Jackson Powers. Dixie Browning
Yeah, I kind of suspected as much.”
The woman glanced around, probably searching for someone who looked like a wife and mother. There were plenty of likely looking candidates as far as age was concerned, only none of them belonged to him and Sunny.
“Um…maybe I could hold your place in line while you…uh…”
“Change her drawers? You mean right here?” Jax dodged as a utility cart beeped its way through the throng.
“I’m pretty sure I saw a changing table in the ladies’ room.”
“The ladies’ room. Now, why didn’t I think of that?” Jax’s conscience was broadsided by a pair of silver-gray eyes the size of half dollars. Sarcasm wasn’t going to help matters. Besides, she didn’t deserve it, she was only trying to help.
It was the first thing he noticed about her, after the voice. Those eyes. Because it beat staring at the foulmouthed fathead in front of him, he took a moment to size up the rest. Either she was an elegant idiot or a model fresh off a tropical assignment. At first glance, her face struck him as too thin to be called pretty. Her skinny skirt, splashed with big, colorful blossoms, came down to her ankles and was topped off with a few baggy layers that wouldn’t stand a chance against this weather. He hoped to hell she had something warmer stashed away in a locker. That yellow thing draped around her shoulders wasn’t going to do the job.
“Look, I’m really sorry, miss. I know you’re only trying to—” Suddenly Sunny lunged. The woman flung up her hands in an instinctive gesture to catch her.
“I guess she’s hungry, too,” Jax said, a note of desperation edging into his voice. “I offered her a bottle, but she wasn’t interested.” He bounced the baby some more, the only noticeable effect of which was to make her pitiful cries waver.
Where was his secretary when he needed her?
Where was Sunny’s mother when he needed her?
Hell, for that matter, where was any woman when a man really needed them? One thing he’d learned over the course of nearly four decades was that women were about as dependable as the weather. Nothing had ever happened to change his mind to any great degree.
“This damned ice gets any thicker,” the guy in front grumbled, “we won’t get out of here till the Fourth of July. Where the hell is all this global warming when you need it, somebody wanna tell me that?”
Jackson Powers, who answered to Jax, J.M. and Mr. Powers, came close to regretting the impulse that had made him race directly from his office to Norfolk International, where he’d taken a seat on the first plane headed west. Thank God he kept a razor and a toothbrush at his office. He’d stuffed those and the report he’d been working on into his briefcase.
When he’d gotten the call from Carolyn Tribble, a woman with whom he’d had a short, pleasant fling out in San Diego about a year and a half ago, he’d been in the middle of negotiating the case of the single-hulled tanker, Panamanian registry, that had sunk off the Jersey coast back in October and was threatening the entire area with a massive oil spill. It had taken him a couple of minutes to place her.
“Jackson, this is probably going to come as a surprise,” she’d said, “but you have a six-month-old daughter.”
Surprise? Try stunned disbelief. Try instinctive denial. He never took chances when it came to sex. “What makes you think it’s mine?” he asked cautiously.
“Well, hon, the timing, for one thing. You were the only man I slept with after I filed for divorce. I was real careful about that because Stu was having me followed. Anyway, right after you flew back east I came down with this flu thing that dragged on for weeks, and sex was the last thing I was interested in, so you see, she has to be yours. That’s why I put your name on her birth certificate. Besides, she’s got your forehead and all that thick black hair, and I’m a natural blonde, remember? We talked about it that night I—”
“Look, are you sure about this? I always take precautions.”
“Remember that night in the bathtub, when you got that big bruise on your—”
“Okay, so maybe we slipped up once, but—”
“Slipped down, actually. It’s a wonder we didn’t break our necks. And it was twice, in case you’ve forgotten the next morning. That’s when we saw your bruise, remember?”
There was a long silence, during which Jax tried to recall the details of the encounter in question.
“Um…a daughter, you say.” His mind had raced frantically, weaving the shocking news into a totally unrelated memory from the distant past. “Carolyn? You still there? Look, how about if we got married? I know it’s a little late, but—”
“Oh, Jackson, you are so sweet! Thanks, but no thanks. That’s just what I’d have expected from you, though. You’re a genuine throwback, a real gentleman. What I was sort of hoping was that you’d already have a wife by now, and maybe you and she could…you know, like maybe adopt her? I mean, Sunny’s my baby, too, after all, and I do want the best for her.”
“A daughter. I have a daughter,” he remembered repeating numbly, unable to absorb the impact.
She had gone on to tell him all her reasons for not having an abortion, and how she’d honestly intended to be a wonderful mother, but that was before she’d become seriously involved with this guy from the State Department. “So you see, I’ll be traveling all over Europe the next few years, doing a lot of entertaining, and a baby’s not going to fit into that kind of life-style. What Sunny needs is two loving parents and a real home. Jax, that’s absolutely the only reason I’m putting her up for adoption, because she’s a perfect doll. You’ll adore her. Everyone does.”
He started to speak, but she wasn’t finished. “So I thought I’d give you first choice, but if you can’t take her, I won’t have any trouble finding someone to adopt her. In that case, though, I’ll still need your signature.”
That was Carolyn. Strikingly attractive, highly intelligent, totally self-centered. He wasn’t sure he could tolerate being married to her, but for the sake of their child he’d been willing to give it a shot.
So now here he was, stuck in a socked-in airport in Chicago on his way back to Norfolk with a baby that had his forehead and his thick black hair.
Jax’s hair was straight and laced with gray, while Sunny’s was soft as down and curly, but one look at that small pink face and he’d known. Known it in the marrow of his bones, or wherever such knowledge was centered. She was his, all right—toothless grin, fat pink cheeks, navy-blue eyes and all. His daughter.
“I could take her for you.”
“Huh?” His attention swerved to the tall, thin woman with the clear gray eyes and the quiet voice.
“Into the ladies’ room, I mean. To change her diaper. You could stand guard outside the door if you’re worried. Not that I’d blame you, because you read about things every day—kidnappings and all, I mean. And I’m a stranger, so it pays to be cautious.”
Caution fought with desperation. Desperation won. “Shh, Sunny, it’s going to be all right.” After only a moment’s hesitation, Jax handed his daughter over to the woman in the long, flowered skirt, the thick-heeled sandals and the layers of baggy sweaters on top. He was no expert on women’s fashions. Most of the women he associated with in the course of his work wore tailored suits. As for the others—the ones he took to dinner, a show, and occasionally to bed—they always looked pretty, but he’d never spent much time analyzing what they wore.
“Yeah, if you wouldn’t mind, I guess she’d be more comfortable. There’s powder and diapers and stuff in here—” He handed over the large pink bag and the carrier, then braced himself to wait. “Her name’s Sunny,” he called as an afterthought.
He could only hope he was doing the right thing. What he knew about babies could be scratched