The baby was gurgling behind Justin, but other than that there was only the sound of his breathing.

He was close enough that she felt the movements of his chest with every breath. Warmth licked through her as their eyes met, and the heat in his gaze incinerated the grin right off her face. His hair was soft under her fingers, his body hot as it pressed into hers, his mouth sweet and urgent, and somehow the universe was finally just as it should be.

The baby interrupted, her soft gurgles changing into a whine that told them she would be wanting some attention very soon.

The kiss ended, but their embrace didn’t. Not right away.

“Laura…” he whispered, his mouth at her ear, and his arms tightened around her. She turned her face into his neck, and felt at home. In fact she felt…in love.

Things were getting way out of hand.

Hannah Bernard always knew what she wanted to be when she grew up—a psychologist. After spending an eternity in university studying toward that goal, she took one look at her hard-earned diploma and thought, “Nah. I'd rather be a writer.”

She has no kids to brag about, no pets to complain about and only one husband, who any day now will break down and agree to adopt a kitten.

Their Accidental Baby is Hannah’s second book for Harlequin Romance.

Books by Hannah Bernard

HARLEQUIN ROMANCE®

3762—BABY CHASE

Their Accidental Baby
Hannah Bernard

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To everyone at eHarlequin.com’s WR board. May SubCare always bounce with happy news.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ONE

LAURA tilted her head back and peered upward at the path ahead, shoulders slumped in fatigue. Endlessly stretching toward the summit, the way up looked exhausting and treacherous.

But at journey’s end, there was sanctuary.

This wasn’t exactly Mount Everest. Just an apartment building in Chicago’s suburbs. All she had to do was climb three floors, and she would get to her cozy little apartment, close the door and forget all about there being a world outside.

The shades of the maples lining the quiet street gave testament to it already being autumn. And here she’d hardly noticed the summer, except as a hot distraction; a need to daily give thanks for the air-conditioning in her office; and the lingering smell of barbecue in the air as she dragged herself home late at night.

There just weren’t enough Fridays in a week.

Weekend.

For once she wasn’t working at all. She didn’t even have any homework to do. Two days off, to do anything she wanted. She could take a long bubble bath, put soft music on the stereo and daydream. She could pick a book from the huge pile that somehow had taken up permanent residence in her laundry basket and read—if she could keep her eyes open. She could shake the dust off that sweater she’d started to knit before Young & Warren had hired her six months ago. Or she could call some of those friends who probably assumed she was dead and buried and they’d missed the funeral.

Of course, there was also housework. She’d run out of dishes for her morning cereal three days ago. Not that it had mattered much, since the milk had gone bad a few days before.

She hadn’t even had clean underwear this morning and, after twenty seconds of torturous deliberations, had decided to go without.

Bad idea.

After a whole morning of sitting in meetings, imagining that everyone present had to know this scandalous fact, could see it on her face, if not on her bottom, she’d used her ten-minute lunch break to run to the nearest store and buy a multipack of cheap underwear that would see her through the next week. Putting them on in the tiny cubicle that served as the ladies’ room had been a feat that would have earned her the praise of her yoga instructor—if she still had the time to attend classes.

But at least now she knew. The women’s magazines lied. Going without underwear did not make you feel sexy. Just uncomfortable and naked.

If she could have spared more than ten minutes, she wouldn’t currently be wearing green and pink cotton underpants with smiley faces and writing on them. In French. She’d never learned any French, but considering the cheap price and the location in the discount bin, she could only hazard a guess that it said something women generally did not want written on their underwear.

Not that it mattered. It wasn’t as if anyone was seeing her underwear these days, let alone anyone who spoke French. She grimaced. Life was so busy right now that it was as well that Mr. Right wasn’t showing up. She’d just have to shoo him away and ask him to come back later.

“Hi. Bye.” Justin Bane, her neighbor, rushed past her, a blurry figure in black leaving behind the warm scent of leather and sandalwood, and had vanished farther up the stairs before she’d even drawn breath to return his greeting.

Of course he could move fast. He wasn’t wearing heels. Or green underwear with coded messages in French. He didn’t work her hours, either. He even had the energy to sing in the shower, and he was used to moving fast on that motorbike. Nope, three flights of stairs wouldn’t be a problem for him.

Ten steps up, seventy to go. She took another deep breath and pulled herself up one more step with a mighty groan. She’d moved to the suburbs to get away from a tiny apartment overlooking two major streets, but what had possessed her to rent an apartment on the third floor, in a building where the elevator was always on the fritz? Right, she’d been young and stupid six months ago. Convinced she could handle anything the world threw at her, even a daily trek up three flights of stairs, now that she had finally landed her dream job.

She sighed. Dreams weren’t all they were cracked up to be. Eighty-hour weeks and extinct weekends hadn’t figured prominently in her fantasies during those long years in law school.

Housework probably couldn’t be avoided. But not tonight. And not tomorrow. Maybe Sunday she’d feel up to challenging tasks like loading the washing machine or the dishwasher. Tonight she’d order takeout and camp out in front of the television until reality blurred into a Hollywood fantasy and she forgot all about legal briefs, courtrooms, divorces and custody battles.

Her stomach growled.

Food. Oh, yes, that was another plan for this weekend. There had hardly been time to eat at all this week. Or last weekend, or the week before. Fruit or candy bars stuffed in her mouth while running between weekends had been a luxury. Hot meals were just a distant memory. Her mouth watered just at the thought of cooking aromas and the imagined calories gave her enough energy to conquer a few more steps.

Of course, she passed Justin’s apartment on the way to her door every evening, and her nose told her he did not make do with fruit and candy bars. He seemed fond of spicy chicken and home cooked pizza, the smells making her stomach whine in yearning and her own pinnacle of kitchen achievements—grilled cheese sandwiches—taste like recycled paper.

Her stomach growled again, and she winced at the hunger pangs, promising to eat properly this weekend. Perhaps she should invite a friend over, and cook something ambitious. Hamburgers, perhaps. Or grilled cheese sandwiches with actual cheese in them.

Of course that meant she had to go shopping too.

She groaned, and used the impetus of the unwelcome thought to propel her up another step, which took her up to the first floor. She was one third of the way up. She celebrated by leaning against the wall and closing her eyes for a bit. Tomorrow she’d think about shopping. Tonight she wouldn’t do anything at all. Getting home was challenge enough.

Two floors to go.

“Are you sick?”

The voice was only inches away. She forced her eyes open, and looked into concerned dark eyes. She shook her head slowly in response to his inquiry. Justin, again. She hadn’t even heard him run down the stairs. And there was no question that he had run. He always moved fast.

The leather jacket gone, he stood there in a crumpled black shirt and black jeans, hands in his pockets as he loomed over her, even though she was wearing those dreadful heels. She tried not to inhale. That one sniff of male pheromones as he’d rushed past her on his way up had been enough of a mocking temptation for one day, and she hadn’t even seen him dismount his bike this time.

She’d never had much of a thing for motorbikes, but boy, did this one wear them well.

She stared up into those dark brown eyes and inwardly stomped on that reluctant crush she’d had on him ever since he’d moved in. It was absurd. She was much too old to have crushes.

Wasn’t she?

Justin touched her forehead for a second as if to check for fever, then lifted her head to look into her eyes. He grabbed her wrist and put his fingers on her pulse. What was he, a doctor? Someone had told her he was a teacher, but he didn’t look much like any teacher she’d ever had. Perhaps they’d been wrong, and he was really a doctor. Maybe if she stopped breathing, he’d resort to the kiss of life. Not an altogether unpleasant notion.

Justin frowned. “Laura, your pulse is racing. And unless you’re running up and down the stairs for exercise, you’ve been more than five minutes just getting up to here. What’s wrong?”

Justin the gallant neighbor, coming to the rescue, completely unaware that her pulse had a crush on him, and had started galloping at his touch. What next? She had visions of him sweeping her up in his arms and carrying her up to her apartment, where he’d carefully lay her down on the couch.

She closed her eyes to better concentrate on the fantasy. His arms would be strong but gentle, his movements sure and confident, an intimate look in those dark eyes and a sensual smile on his lips as he fulfilled her every desire. A soft sigh escaped her as she thought about the delights he could bring her, the things he could do to make her hum with pleasure.

Cook, clean, and fetch the remote control.

Ah, yes. Men could have their uses, if only they’d cooperate.

“Laura?” She pried her eyes open just in time to see him lean closer, and outrage filled her with some extra energy when she realised he was trying to smell her breath.

“I’m not drunk!” she protested, pushing herself away from the wall, straight into him. His arm went over her shoulder as if to keep her from falling and her face got squashed against his chest.

Oh, no. Now would not be a good time to take a breath, she reminded herself, just as her lungs decided the opposite. Too much proximity to Justin was not a good thing. It just made her wonder what it would be like to hitch a ride on his motorcycle—despite her motorcycle phobia.

She pushed herself away, inhaled, grabbed her briefcase and squirmed past him with determined moves. The next flight of stairs taunted her. They were steep. They were long. But she could conquer them.

“Don’t worry about me,” she said over her shoulder to Justin, who was standing there with his hands on his hips, hovering over her. “I’m just exhausted. Some of us don’t have the luxury of a forty-hour week, you know!” She didn’t know precisely what Justin did for a living, how true the “teacher” rumor was—but he was always home before she was. He never seemed to work weekends, either.

Envy was a powerful thing. If she was honest with herself, his lack of overtime was probably the prime reason she resented him. That, and the home-cooked pizzas. She hardly knew him, so there wasn’t any real, logical reason, but she told herself that it was because of his arrogance. Men who rode flashy motorcycles were always too arrogant for their own good.

Of course, if she dug deeper, which she wasn’t necessarily interested in doing, she might find that the real reason was that he hadn’t shown the slightest bit of interest in her during the six months they’d been living side by side. Some friendly neighborly chat when they met on the stairs, yes, some fascinating ten-second discussions about the weather and the state of the front yard, but that was it.

She turned her head to look at him, and sent him a glare to match his own stare. Yep, she was definitely peeved. Not that she was actually interested, despite that silly crush. He wasn’t her type, even if she had time for irrelevant things like the mandatory search for a soul mate, true love and happily ever after. It was just a matter of pride. It wouldn’t kill him to send her a flirty smile every now and then.

“That’s some exhaustion,” Justin remarked, following on her heels as she plodded up a few steps. “You’re dead on your feet. Are you sure you’re not sick?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just tired. And hungry. It’s my own fault. I spent my lunch hour—not that it’s actually an hour, more like ten minutes—buying underwear. So I haven’t eaten anything since this morning.” She frowned in thought, and didn’t really care she was rambling. “No wait, I guess I haven’t eaten at all since yesterday. There wasn’t anything edible in the kitchen this morning. I was going to get a sandwich somewhere, but then I was too busy all day.”

“You bought underwear instead of eating. I see.” He stepped up beside her and looked her over. “You’re scrawny. I could easily carry you upstairs.”

Carry her upstairs?

Fantasy was one thing, reality was something else altogether. “I’m not an invalid,” she grumbled and grabbed the banister, hauling herself up one more step. Scrawny? That put her in her place. Why couldn’t he have said thin? Slim? Slender? All those were positive, alluring, sexy. Scrawny, on the other hand, was not sexy. It conjured up images of famine victims or stray cats, and she wasn’t quite that far gone. Yet.

So that was it. He liked his women voluptuous. No wonder she hadn’t received any of those sexy smiles. “I can make it,” she grumbled, and conquered another step, just to show him.

“At least let me carry your briefcase for you. It looks heavy.”

“Okay. Thanks,” she added grudgingly, as she handed him her black leather briefcase. It had been brand-new when she started at the firm, but it wasn’t surprising that it was already showing signs of wear. “Be careful, though. The weight of the world is in there.”

It did indeed feel like the weight of the world was in her briefcase. She wasn’t quite sure how a rookie like herself ended up assigned to all the difficult custody cases the firm handled, but they were interfering with her sleep and her peace of mind, and she badly needed both. In many cases, these were no-win situations, with the children as the biggest victims.

Sometimes she really hated her dream job.

Justin took her briefcase, and for a second, she actually felt better. Step by step, she made it to the second floor, with Justin following quietly. Fatigue returned with a vengeance then, and she slid down to sit on the top step, desperate for just a few minutes to gather her strength. She rested her head on her knees and groaned, embarrassed to be showing such weakness in front of Justin. But she really was running on empty. “I’ll just rest for a minute, Justin. If you go on up ahead and leave the briefcase by my front door, that’ll be great.”

A curse exploded out of Justin’s mouth. He leaned over her, dumped the briefcase in her arms and scooped her up. She opened her mouth to protest and stiffened in an effort to get out of his arms, but he had carried her the rest of the way before she could even get a word out. “Yes, definitely scrawny,” he repeated under his breath. “You weigh next to nothing. No wonder you have no energy.”

Laura would have protested, but she couldn’t. Mostly because the body contact jolted all air out of her, and replaced it with liquid fire at being pressed against him. He smelled far, far too good.

Starvation did funny things to your body chemistry.

“Keys,” he barked, as he was standing at her front door, not even breathing hard from the exertion. He wasn’t looking like he would be putting her down any time soon, either. “What are you trying to do to yourself, Laura? You have to know your own limits or you’ll make yourself sick.”

Mr. Protective, wasn’t he? Should she be calling him Mr. Mom? “Let me down,” she mumbled into his neck. Later, she’d be indignant over his interference. Right now, she was too busy being mortified over the surge of lust that had assailed her as soon as he’d taken her into his arms. The things exhaustion and hunger did to your brain. Short-circuited all the sensible centers and made you lust after men you had no business—or time—to lust after.

He was warm. Solid. Still smelled of leather, even though he wasn’t wearing his jacket anymore. What she really wanted to do was to put her arms around his neck and cuddle closer, preferably fall asleep right there, and then, when she woke up, things could get interesting.

There was no denying it. Her latent crush on her neighbor, almost forgotten in the hectic first months of her new job, had resurfaced in full force.

“Well?” Justin asked impatiently.

She surfaced from her rumination to realize he still hadn’t put her down. She squirmed a bit, but stopped since it just reminded her tired body of where it was and with whom. “Justin, let me down. My keys are in the briefcase, I need to get them out.”

A sense of loss ambushed her when he did as she asked, dropped her to her feet and stepped away. She cursed herself as she got her keys from the briefcase. Home, sweet home, just inches away. She should be thinking of the comfort of her home, not the comfort of Justin’s arms. She should be thinking of sliding under the covers of her bed—alone.

As the key finally slid into the lock—it only took four attempts—she looked up at him and tried for a smile. She was too tired for a confrontation over his bossy behavior. And he’d meant well, probably. Actually, she realized, he hadn’t done anything wrong. It wasn’t his fault there was a voice screaming inside her head, telling her to grab the front of his shirt and yank him inside with her. “Thanks for your help, Justin. I would have made it up here by myself eventually, but thanks, anyway.”

He grabbed her arm, preventing her from entering her apartment. “Is there someone you can call? Someone to stay with you? You don’t seem to be in any condition to be alone right now.”

“I’ll be fine. Really, there’s no need to worry about me. Thanks.” She slipped her arm from his grasp and escaped inside, shutting the door behind her. The briefcase fell forgotten to the floor as she leaned against the door, eyes closed. After a moment she heard Justin’s footsteps retreat, and then the sound of his own door closing.

She contemplated just dropping down on the floor for a nap instead of trying anything more ambitious tonight. The instruments of torture known as high-heeled shoes continued to squeeze her feet, and her shirt stuck to her back. She needed a shower, a change of clothes, food and sleep, in that order, but right now, a weekend spent curled up right there on tiles that hadn’t seen soap and water in too many weeks didn’t sound too bad.

Two seconds later adrenaline flooded her system, abolishing the exhaustion as surely as a whole weekend of sleep.

There was someone inside her apartment.

Laura snatched the briefcase up off the floor and held it in front of her as a shiny leather shield, standing immobile in a defensive posture as she stared in the direction of the sound.

The noise had come from her bedroom. Heart racing, she tiptoed closer—no mean feat in those shoes—and stuck her head out into the open space between the living room, the bedroom and the entrance. She couldn’t see anything. The bedroom door was half-closed.

She held herself still, trying to think despite the panic. Had she left that door half-closed this morning? Her head started to hurt as she tried to dig up details of the hectic morning. She couldn’t remember. Barely breathing, she looked in the other direction, toward the living room. Nothing out of the ordinary there. Nothing seemed to have been taken.

But she’d definitely heard something.

She couldn’t hear anything now, but that might be due to the blood pounding in her ears, a combination of fear and rage, bludgeoning its way through the numbing exhaustion. She was a private person; the thought of someone entering her home without permission, rummaging through her belongings, was abhorrent, more horrible than the thought of them actually stealing her few valuables.

Fear and rage battled for a few moments, and fear won. It made no sense to confront the burglars. She should escape while she could, call the police from a neighbor’s apartment, and let them deal with it, even if it meant that the thugs would have time to get away. There was no other choice. Under normal circumstances she wouldn’t stand a chance of overpowering a man on her own, and in her current condition, probably not even if he actively cooperated.

Still clutching her leather shield, Laura had almost backed all the way out the front door, when she heard the low sound coming from her bedroom a second time. She paused, listening hard. The noise was difficult to define. It wasn’t anything breaking, not a grunt from someone trying to lift her computer out of the window, not a voice, not even footsteps. Just a…sound.

She hesitated, remembering the last time she’d thought there was a burglar in the place. She’d shot out of there and attacked Justin’s door screaming until he had opened it, then wrapped herself around him, trembling and stuttering, overcome with terror. At the time he’d just moved in next door, and as first impressions went, this one must have been…unique.

He’d been nice, she grudgingly admitted. Patronizing, yes, but helpful and polite. He’d managed to disentangle her from his body with the lure of offering her a calming cup of coffee, and after he’d finally managed to decode her incoherent stutters, he’d led her to the phone. He’d even pushed the buttons for her when her fingers shook too hard to press 9-1-1. Of course, as a typical male, he’d wanted to check out the situation himself, but she’d grabbed hold of him again and refused to let him leave.

The police had arrived, although they took long enough for her to get comfortably stuck in the role of “hysterical female” in the eyes of her new neighbor. The policemen had entered the apartment, badges gleaming, guns at ready, machismo in motion, and after a brief search removed the offender. Uncuffed.

The villain turned out to be a gorgeous white kitten with a nametag that said Angel, still washing her face as she rested snug in the arms of the policeman, purring her catty little heart out. The damage was minimal: she’d dug Laura’s leftover tuna sandwich out of the garbage and had a little feast on the kitchen floor. Nothing a mop wouldn’t fix. And nothing seemed to be missing, the two policemen had informed her with identical smirks on their faces, and added that they’d be sure to book and pawprint the perpetrator before returning her to her family.

Justin, leaning against his doorjamb with arms crossed on his chest as he watched the show, seemed to enjoy this part of the action. He’d shared a knowing grin with the cops. None of them actually said it out loud, but Laura could almost hear them mutter “women” in a tone that should have gone out with black and white television.

She bit her lip and reconsidered her options. Nope, a repeat performance of her woman-in-jeopardy act was not the solution.

There was a sound from the bedroom for the third time. Not anything breaking, not the rough voices of thugs with panty hose on their heads complaining about a nylon allergy. Just a soft sound that could very well come from a cat.

To make sure she had an escape route, Laura opened the front door wide, and propped it in place with a shoe. She backed all the way out of the apartment and stood fidgeting, wondering what to do. Check out the situation herself? Or call the police, after all? She’d have to borrow a neighbor’s phone for that. There was only one phone in apartment, and it was in the bedroom.

She swore to buy a cell phone first thing tomorrow. Sometimes it seemed she was the only person on the planet without one.

“Everything okay?” Justin was at his door, arms crossed and a rather suspicious look on his face as he stared at her with narrowed eyes. “What’s wrong?”

He did not deserve those good looks, she thought, not for the first time. In fact, it was quite irritating, the way she almost felt compelled to sigh in admiration every time she got a look at that chiseled face and the wavy brown hair that looked even softer than hair in conditioner commercials.

And his eyes…Nope, she wouldn’t even go there. She didn’t want to think about his eyes. Thankfully she didn’t often see them up close. Those dark eyes framed by mile-long lashes reminded her of chocolate, and everybody knew chocolate was a sinful sensual indulgence. They could distract you even when there was potentially a homicidal maniac inside her apartment.

Definitely not good for you.

Justin shook his head and walked closer. “You’re white as a sheet. And you’re not talking. What’s up?”

Laura stared into chocolate-brown eyes as he approached. Yep. Delicious. His brow was creased in worry, but there was also a tiny smile on his lips, and she drew her brows together in a frown, trying to decode it. Was this a friendly neighbor smile, or a “women!” smirk? Was he remembering a hysterical woman with her arms wrapped around his neck, shrieking panicked nothings in his ear, doing a “helpless female” imitation like something from the eighteenth century?

Justin stopped right in front of her. “Laura, are you sure you’re not sick? I should call a doctor.”

Her spine stiffened and she straightened, giving him an excellent facsimile of a carefree smile. The corners of her lips almost moved and all. “No, thank you, everything’s fine.” He didn’t move away, so she turned back to her apartment. “Really, I’m fine. Thanks for your concern.”

Justin’s gaze searched her face. He didn’t look happy, but shrugged and turned around, vanishing inside his own apartment and leaving Laura alone with her predicament. She didn’t want to admit it, but she felt a bit better, knowing her neighbor was home. All she had to do was scream, and he’d hear it through the thin walls.

She took a determined step forward ending up on the right side of the wide open door.

Of course it wasn’t a burglar, she soothed herself. Why was she so quick to panic? She’d probably left her bedroom window open again, and Angel had decided to check if tuna was still on the menu. The cat lived somewhere close by; those green eyes and white whiskers made a regular appearance in the street. So far, Laura’s withering glares had seemed to have done the intended job of letting the cat know she was less than welcome on a repeat visit. But perhaps the temptation of tuna had been too much for the creature.

She wouldn’t again let a curious cat chase her into Justin’s arms. She would march in there and chase the cat out of there herself. This time, Angel could be the one seeking shelter with Justin.

Grabbing an umbrella, just in case the trespasser was more menacing than the furry little beast, she double-checked that the front door was still open as an escape—either for herself or for the cat—and crept toward the bedroom. The door was half-closed, and a slight draft confirmed her suspicions of having left the window open.

Muscles tense and both hands clutching the umbrella, she peeked inside the room. Everything looked just as she’d left it, the afternoon sun illuminating the dusty surfaces all too well: the rumpled bed she hadn’t made, the overflowing bookcase and the overturned crate that served as her night table.

No burglar. And no cat.

She left the umbrella against the wall, straightened up and pushed the door fully open. All this for nothing. That sound she’d heard must have been something from outside, or maybe the window creaking.

She stalked inside the room and sat down on the bed. That was that. Just as well she hadn’t panicked. Much.

Sitting down had been a mistake, she realized. Now she’d have to stand up again, if only to close the front door. She sighed, postponing the ordeal, and idly contemplated the upturned crate with its miniature mountain of books and paper. Okay, it was high time to get a proper nightstand. She could afford it. She could afford a lot of things now, and it was time to stop worrying about every dime.

Then something moved just behind her on the bed and before she’d even acknowledged the movement she was standing pressed against the wall, not realizing she was screaming until her throat hurt and the screeching sound echoed off the wall and exploded in her own ears.

Justin grabbed a dish of leftover pizza out of the fridge and put it in the microwave. Irritation was making him edgy, and he wasn’t sure why he was reheating pizza right now. He wasn’t even hungry.

His neighbor needed a baby-sitter. She practically lived at her office, dragged herself home late at night looking like a ghost on a hunger strike, and when at home she didn’t seem to do much more than sleep. There was hardly ever a sound from her place, even through the thin wall.

Except when she showered. Her bathroom was just on the other side of his shower tiles. She took long showers. They sometimes coincided with his. In his weaker moments, he stood there in his own shower and lived every moment of hers. He had this crazy urge to wash that long brown hair for her. Maybe this was what they called a fetish. Maybe he was a shampoo-and-conditioner fetishist.

She was also thin, and getting thinner. No wonder, if she used her breaks to shop for clothing, instead of eating.

Women!

He stared at the pizza, turning in slow circles inside the humming microwave. It would be neighborly to bring over some food, wouldn’t it? Wasn’t it the gesture of a friendly old lady, living next door, concerned for the welfare of her neighbor? It wouldn’t smack of a secret admirer who’d spent too many hours listening to her shower, would it?

He grimaced at himself, as familiar visions of soapsuds and glistening skin intruded on his altruistic thoughts. In the last few months he’d come up with ideas for all sorts of interesting things to do with a washcloth.

He’d have to adjust his fantasies, though. The way she was losing weight, he could probably occupy himself in the shower by counting her ribs.

Justin cursed himself and yanked the microwave door open, three seconds before it was due to stop. Laura was not his type. There was vulnerability in her eyes that marked her strictly off limits to someone like him. He wasn’t a saint, but he tried not to get involved with women who expected more than he would ever want to give.

He’d just take her the damn pizza, and be done with it.

He was at the door when the scream ricocheted through the building. Adrenaline pounding through his body, he yanked the baseball bat from the umbrella stand, and half a second later was at Laura’s door.

CHAPTER TWO

IT’S just the cat, just the cat, someone chanted in her ear and she realized it was herself. She forced herself to look at the bed, expecting the white Angel to be sitting there, looking accusatory over the lack of tuna.

But no.

Laura blinked when the shape on the bed took form. It wasn’t a cat. It was bigger than a cat, not as furry, and probably wasn’t obliging enough to lick itself clean.

A baby.

She squeezed her eyes shut and counted to twenty before opening them again. Maybe stress had caught up with her. After all, she’d been working fourteen hours a day for almost two weeks now. Yes, it had to be stress. Stress working with her biological clock to create the illusion of a tiny baby sleeping in her bed. Her biological clock had probably been awakened by the unusual stimulus of a real life male in close proximity. The child had to be an illusion. For one, if it had been a real baby, it would have woken up when she screamed.

Yes. That was it. It had to be an illusion. She opened her eyes, feeling better already.

The illusion was still there.

Still sleeping. Looking very, very real, tiny nose, chubby cheeks, long lashes and all. The soft baby-snore convinced her that the infant was for real.

Illusions didn’t snore.

How could there be a baby lying in the middle of her bed? In her locked apartment? She pinched herself. If it wasn’t an illusion, perhaps it was a dream?

Nope. No such luck.

“Laura?”

Mr. Chocolate Eyes again, his voice also chocolate smooth as it snaked through the small apartment, even raised in urgent inquiry. She groaned. He must have heard her scream, and, ever gallant, come to the rescue.

“Laura?” he called again. “I heard you scream, and the door is open. I’m coming in, okay? I’m calling the police.”

She shot to her feet and out in the hallway, just as Justin barged into the apartment, body tensed for fight, cell phone in one hand, a baseball bat in the other.

“I’m fine,” she said, trying for a smile. “No need for the police. There’s no danger. I was just startled. Sorry if I scared you.”

His eyebrow rose. “The scream turned my blood to ice. What was it?”

Laura tugged at her hair, not sure herself what was going on. “There’s nothing wrong.” Exactly. There was just a strange baby lying in her bed.

“Do we have another cat burglar?”

“Haha,” she said dutifully, grinding her teeth at the reminder. “Yes. I mean, no. Not precisely.”

“Dog burglar?”

“Well, since you ask, it’s actually a baby burglar. Did you see anyone around today?”

“No, I just got home the same time as you did.” Justin slid his cell phone into his pocket. “Baby burglar? What are you talking about?”

“Someone left a baby in my apartment.”

“I see.” He left the baseball bat leaning against the wall. “Guess I won’t be needing that. You mean you’re baby-sitting?”

“Apparently. Only I have no idea whose baby it is. Come see.” Without giving him the chance to decline, she turned toward her bedroom again, relieved to hear him follow. This was too much to handle alone.

“See?” She moved around to the other side of the bed to give him an unobstructed view. She pointed at the evidence. “A baby. He was just lying there when I got home.”

Justin stared down at the sleeping intruder. “I see,” he repeated.

“Well, what do you think?” she asked impatiently, when he didn’t seem about to elaborate.

He looked at her with a crooked smile. “Well, your diagnosis is correct. It is a baby.”

“Are you always this patronizing, or is it something I bring out in you?”

He didn’t answer, but bent over the child for a closer look. “He’s okay, isn’t he?” he asked. “Just sleeping, not unconscious or anything?”

“How should I know? He was just lying there when I got home,” she said. Shock was dissipating and confusion settling in instead. “He looks fine, he’s breathing fine and everything. And he was making some sounds before.” Scaring the wits out of her, just like Angel had.

She slid down to sit on the edge of the bed, not taking her eyes off the child for one second. Despite the way she had screamed, the infant was fast asleep, both hands up above his head, as he nearly vanished into the soft duvet. If he’d been closer to the edge she could have sat down on him, she thought in horror. His hair was coal black and slightly curly. The tiny fists were curled, half inside the sleeves of his sweater.

All in all, a pretty adorable kid, if you were the motherly type. He was dressed in a green and white sweater, green overalls and white socks, a green pacifier hanging from a clip. In one fist he was clutching a green teething ring.

We have our first clue, Laura’s hysterical side interjected quite cheerfully, as she reached out and tentatively touched a green garment. This baby must be Irish.

Okay. She had to stop panicking and start thinking. What was this baby doing here? Thank God he was asleep. She didn’t have a clue about babies. Her experience was more or less limited to having been one, once upon a long ago, and she didn’t think that would be much help.

Think. Whose baby could this be? Why was he there? She did not know this baby. She didn’t know a lot of babies, and none of them had keys to her apartment.

“Who is he?”

Laura started. She’d almost forgotten Justin was here. “I told you, I have no idea who he is. I don’t know anyone with an infant. Heck, I don’t even know any heavily pregnant women. Do you suppose he’s a newborn?”

“I have no idea. It’s been a while since I’ve been around babies.”

She cocked her head to the side as she checked the child’s size. “I’d guess he was a few months old. He looks far too big to give birth to. Of course, they always do.”

“Yeah, well, nature knows what she’s doing.”

“Easy for you to say. Nature didn’t give you a uterus and forget to include the zipper.”

He looked at her across the bed, frowning. “Do you have some sort of a childbirth phobia?”

Laura brought her fingers to her temples, trying to keep her voice a whisper in the hope that the child would stay asleep until this nightmare ended. “Listen to us, we’re both babbling. What do I do about the kid? I can’t believe this is happening to me.”

Justin shrugged. “I’m sure the kid won’t be any more happy about it than you are, when he wakes up. Are you sure you don’t know his parents? Why would someone leave him here of all places? And how did they get in? Does someone have a key?”

“I don’t know his parents! And I don’t know how they got in. It’s possible that I left the window open.”

Justin straightened up and crossed to the window. He leaned out to examine the frame. “No, you didn’t. It’s been forced open.”

“I told you, a baby burglar,” Laura said. She felt hysterics emerge from within and head for the surface. No. Not again. She’d be calm and efficient, and do what needed to be done—call the police.

And she would not wrap herself around Justin like a princess who’d finally located her knight in shining armor, never mind how good he looked in his leather jacket. “I thought this was a safe neighborhood.”

“It is.”

“Right. I feel so safe now, knowing that anyone can just climb the fire escape and use a crowbar to force their way into my bedroom.”

“There’s something out here,” Justin muttered, still at the window, but she was too preoccupied to pay much attention.

She reached for the phone on the bedside table. “I’ll call the police.”

Justin was beside her in a flash, and the weight of his hand descended on hers, stopping her from grabbing the phone. “Wait. Don’t call the police yet.”

“Why not?”

“We don’t know what’s going on here. If you call the police, that kid will be in foster care before you know it. If this is a friend’s child, or some sort of a misunderstanding or a mistake, it will be hell for the parents to get him back. They might not get him back at all.”

“Well, if they leave their child like this, they damn well deserve to go a few rounds with the authorities! Anything could have happened to him while he was alone here.”

“He wasn’t alone.” Justin was looking toward the window. “See?” He pointed.

Out on the fire escape there was a small green tote bag.

“His mother or father probably waited out there for you to come home, making sure he would be safe.”

“Maybe there’s some explanation in that bag.”

Justin crossed the room to the window and leaned out for the bag. Laura jumped to her feet just as Justin picked it up. “Don’t! There might be fingerprints!”

He wasn’t listening, but unzipped the bag, and rummaged inside. “There’s a note.”

“Wait!” Laura dashed to the bathroom and fetched tweezers. Law school did have its uses. She ran back and picked up the note from where it was wedged in between baby clothing. It was lined paper, ripped out of a notebook. Empty on one side, six words scrawled in green ink on the other side: Good luck, will be in touch.

“What sort of a note is that?” Disappointed, Laura let the note drop to the nightstand-crate.

“Sounds like a note from someone who knows you and is trusting you with her baby.”

“I don’t know this baby,” Laura repeated for what seemed like the millionth time.

Justin upended the bag on an empty spot on her bed. There wasn’t much in it, just clothes and mainly undergarments. He went through the pile, meticulously looking at each item before putting it back into the bag.

“Well, we know two things about the mother. The clothes are good quality, so she’s not lacking in money. And she’s a tree hugger.”

“How do you know?”

Justin lifted a pile of white things. “Environmentally friendly diapers. She doesn’t use disposables for her son.”

Not only a baby, but a baby with old-fashioned diapers. Suddenly the problem had multiplied. Laura backed away. “You mean the kind you wash instead of stuffing in a bag and throwing away?”

“Yep.”

Yuck. “That’s it. I’m calling the police.”

“Because of washable diapers?”

“That was the last straw, yes.”

Justin let the diapers fall back to the bed. “You can’t do that, Laura. Someone trusts you to look after her baby. Someone who may be in trouble. You can’t betray their trust and give their baby to Social Services.”

“Why do you talk about Social Services as if I’m delivering the baby to total doom? They are there to protect children.”

“I know. And they do, the best they can, when there is no one else there for the child. But now there is someone else.”

“There is? Who?”

Justin rolled his eyes. “You. The person the parents trusted with their baby.”

“I don’t know this baby.”

Justin shrugged. “His mother or father could be an old friend perhaps? You must have some friends you haven’t seen in a few months, maybe even a year or two?”

“Well, yes…” She slid down to sit on the bed. A small fist waved in the air as the baby’s dream was disturbed, but he settled down again and Laura allowed herself to breathe. A few more minutes of peace, that was all they had. He had to wake up any minute now. “Of course. I’ve been so busy lately that I’ve almost lost touch with even my closest friends. Then there are friends from college, from my summer jobs. High school friends. But I can’t believe any of them would dump their infant baby on me without a word.” She stood, careful not to disturb the baby again. “Let’s talk in the living room, where we don’t disturb him.”

Justin followed her, bumping into her back when she stopped short at the sight of her living room.

“Oh, damn.”

Justin put his hand on his shoulder and pushed her to the side. “Wait here, I’ll go first. Looks like it was a burglar after all.”

How embarrassing. “No…this is how it usually looks these days.”

His look was incredulous, and embarrassment made her lash out at him.

“Well, maybe you’re the perfect housewife, Justin, but I’m not. I’m swamped with work. I was so exhausted that I didn’t think I’d make it up the stairs! I don’t know how this happened…but things just pile up and then all of a sudden it’s Messville. Ordinarily I’m not a slob. So don’t judge me.”

“Hey, what did I say?”

“Nothing. But you’ve got expressive eyes.”

Eyes she’d made the mistake of looking into from close up. Hypnotizing. A woman would throw away her map and happily get lost in there for days.

Justin gestured to the sofa. “Can we move the…stuff away and sit down?”

“Sure.” She grabbed an armful of papers and books and dumped it on top of the diminishing mountain of clean laundry on the coffee table. At least she knew for a fact there wasn’t any underwear there. “There. Have a seat.”

He did. “Do you know any tree huggers?”

Laura dropped down by his side, fatigue seeping into her bones again now that the adrenaline was getting the picture: no one to fight or flee, just diapers to change. Probably not an event worthy of a full-scale hormonal attack. “I know a lot of environmentally conscious people, yes. People who are into recycling and conserving the rain forests.”

“Good. That narrows it down.”

“Are you suggesting I take my phone book and call all the recyclers in there and ask if they’d happened to drop a baby off in my apartment today?”

“We could also just wait for the mother to call.”

“Or the father. Or both. We don’t know who left him here.”

“That’s true.”

Her head fell back against the sofa. “The right thing to do is to call the police. We don’t know the story. He might have been mistreated for all we know.”

“He seems to be well cared for. Even his clothes are color-coordinated.”

Laura shook her head. “I can’t, Justin. Even if I wanted to…” She shook her head again. “It’s illegal. If the parents don’t come for the child and we have to bring in the police I could be disbarred.”

“I’ll take responsibility.”

“What?”

He made an impatient gesture. “The baby was found in my apartment. It was my decision to wait for the parents to contact me.”

“Lying to the police?”

“Adjusting the truth microscopically.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Are you a lawyer, too?”

He chuckled. “No.”

“What is it you do, by the way? Mrs. Carlson upstairs talks about you as ‘our resident teacher.’ Any truth in that, or is it just her nerve pills speaking?”

“She’s right. I have a teaching diploma, but I mostly work as a speech therapist.”

Speech therapist. Of all the occupations in the world, she wouldn’t have guessed that one in a million years. It didn’t go with the motorbike. She made a mental note to pry further later. “Why is this so important to you?”

“I know what foster care can be like. I don’t wish it on an infant.”

There was obviously a story behind that statement, delivered in a clipped tone devoid of emotion.

“I’m sorry you had a bad experience, but foster care is often excellent, handled by caring, loving people.”

“Yes. And sometimes it’s not.”

“Be reasonable, Justin. You don’t know who left him here and why. His parents may be searching for him. If we don’t turn him in, that’s kidnapping. He’ll be well looked after by the authorities.”

“This is a tiny baby, just a few months old. He needs care. He needs bonding. Do you know what happens to infants who don’t bond with a caretaker in the first few months? They may never recover.”

“He’ll get good care. He’ll get better care, better bonding, with someone who knows what they’re doing.” She gestured at the two of them. “And neither of us does. Neither of us has even the time to look after a baby.”

“We’re capable. I’ve got the time, and I want to help.”

“So you just want to take this baby?”

Justin’s sigh suggested she was being extremely difficult. “I’m not suggesting we steal him, Laura. Just that we look after him while we try to track down his parents. There has to be a reason he was left here. We’ll figure it out and find his parents.”

“And then what? We give him back to people who left him alone on a strange doorstep?”

“I don’t know. We don’t know the circumstances. We’ll deal with that when the time comes.”

She shook her head. “Justin, you’re not thinking clearly. The only logical thing to do is to turn this over to the police and Social Services. They know what to do.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. There are good people there, of course there are. Probably the majority. But there are no guarantees. He might also be neglected. He might be shuffled between places. He won’t know the security of one caretaker, one home, while he’s away from his folks. He’ll be much better off with us until we can find his mother.”

“I don’t know. I could really get in trouble. We could get in a lot of trouble.” Laura groaned. Calling the police, Social Services, anyone who would deal with the situation was suddenly imperative.

“Obviously this is someone you know, Laura. Probably an old friend. And she said she’d be in touch. She’ll probably call in a day or two, explain everything. Or come by and pick up the baby.”

“A day or two?” Frustrated, Laura bit her lip hard. “Do you have any idea how many diapers I’d have to change in a day or two?”

“No.”

“Me neither! I don’t know anything about babies. It’s for the best if we call the police. He’ll be safe then.”

“Look.” Justin looked grim and determined. “I’ll help, okay? Between the two of us we should be fine.”

“But what if this baby has been kidnapped? We’d be accomplices to a felony. His mother could be searching for him right this minute.”

“We’d have heard on the news if there was a baby missing.”

“Not necessarily. Maybe he was kidnapped and the parents warned not to call the police.”

“And the kidnappers just randomly choose an apartment, one apartment in this complex, to keep him safe meanwhile? So in a few days they’ll be knocking on your door asking you to return him so they can claim their ransom?”

She gritted her teeth. “Or, they are counting on us to return him through the police. So they won’t get caught when returning him.”

“Isn’t that a rather far-fetched idea?”

Why did he have to sound so reasonable and she so hysterical? Those were stereotypical roles she did not approve of, and besides, she was making sense and he wasn’t.

“It’s not a big deal, Laura. If nobody is in touch in a day or two, then we’ll go to the police, okay?”

There was a noise from the bedroom. Laura and Justin were at the door instantly. In the bed, the baby stirred. Laura held her breath and noticed Justin did the same, as the baby’s eyes fluttered open, revealing dark blue eyes. The child looked at them, surprise widening his eyes. Any time now, Laura thought in resignation. He would open that rosebud mouth and start screaming for his mother.

The baby opened his mouth and laughed. He had two tiny teeth in his lower gum and used both of them to hack at Laura’s heart.

Maybe he would be better off here with them after all. Just while they sorted out this mess with his parents.

“Looks like he’s quite happy to be here,” Justin said.

“We need diapers for him,” Laura said, giving in, just for the time being. “That first diaper change will not be the old-fashioned way, rain forests or not.”

“No argument from me.”

“And then once we have some diapers, we actually have to change his diaper.”

“We?” Justin stepped back. “Oh, no. I have to help with the diapers, too?”

Laura stared at him and sputtered. “This was your idea! You’re expecting me to handle the dirty stuff? Are you nuts? If I had my way, that kid would already be in the hands of professional diaper changers. Either you’re in, or I turn the kid in.”

Justin’s eyes narrowed at her tone. “Is this a joke to you?”

“Not even close. And we still have that diaper to change.”

“I don’t think I know how to.”

“Well, not to worry. We’re two fully competent professional adults. We can change a diaper. First things first: we need to buy some diapers.”

“That’s right.” Justin looked relieved. “We need some diapers.”

They were both at the front door when they noticed the other one was there, too.

“I’m going to buy the diapers,” Laura stated firmly.

“No, I am. You’re exhausted. Even if you make it to the store, you’re in no shape to make it back up the stairs. You can stay here and rest with the baby.”

Hah! Nice try. She could see the panic in his eyes. It wasn’t concern for her that made him want to be the one to escape for half an hour. No. He was just as terrified at the thought of being left alone with the child as she was.

“I’m not staying here alone with him. I don’t have a clue when it comes to infants. That wasn’t covered in law school.”

“How hard can it be? Just watch him, make sure he doesn’t…do whatever it is babies can do to harm themselves.”

Laura took a step forward, but he did, too, wedging them stuck in the open doorway.

Stalemate.

Laura gave up. “We’ll both go and take him with us, okay?”

Laura had never before realized what a huge section of the supermarket was dedicated to babies and all their paraphernalia. Just the diaper racks seemed to stretch for miles. The selection was daunting. She’d never imagined all the factors that needed to be taken into account.

“How much does he weigh?” She peered at a diaper package. “More or less than six pounds, do you think?”

“More. Definitely more,” Justin said darkly, adjusting the baby on his shoulder. He was still behaving, gurgling and smiling, and hadn’t screamed once. It couldn’t last. It was just a matter of time before he realized that there was something very wrong with the world. If he didn’t realize it sooner, he most definitely would in a while, when he had two novices trying to change his diaper.

“Okay. More or less than fifteen pounds?”

Justin lifted the child up and hefted him experimentally. “Hmm…fifteen pounds sounds about right.”

“That doesn’t help. One package is for babies who weigh ten to fifteen pounds, the other for babies weighing fifteen to twenty pounds. So which is it?”

Without looking at the markings, Justin grabbed one of the packages out of her arms and tossed it in the cart. “This one.”

Laura shrugged. “Fine.”

“What more? We need bottles, don’t we? And formula?”

“Definitely,” Laura chirped. “Unless you’re planning on breastfeeding him.”

Three kinds of formula landed in the cart and he didn’t even pretend to smile at her brilliant wit.

“What about baby food?” Justin asked, pointing at the opposite shelves. “That stuff in the jars? Do we need that?”

“I don’t know when they start eating baby food. And we don’t know how old he is.”

“We’ll just buy a few different jars, and see if he wants any of it, okay?” He didn’t wait for an answer before moving the cart to the baby food section.

“Diapers, food. What else do babies need?”

She gnawed her lip. “Wet-wipes? Pacifiers? Special soap perhaps?”

“Sounds reasonable. A few toys, perhaps. And a teddy bear. There is a toy department around here somewhere.”

“A teddy bear?”

He looked at her defensively. “Every kid needs a teddy bear. Especially when all on his own without his folks around.”

“You’re right.” She grinned. “I still have mine, sitting on top of the bookshelf in the bedroom. He even has both his eyes, but his front paw is bandaged. Do you still have yours?”

“I didn’t have one. We’ll have to find a sturdy one for the baby.”

“Yes.” She held her arms out for the baby, and pointed to a shelf too high for her to reach. “Get that lotion, please. Also the big box of wet-wipes over there. And you’re right, Patrick looks like an active boy. He’ll need a strong and sturdy teddy.”

“Patrick? Why are you calling him Patrick?”

“Well, we have to call him something, don’t we?”

Justin stopped in the middle of the aisle, wet-wipes in one hand, lotion in the other. He stared at her with a look of warning. “Laura, don’t get attached to this baby.”

“You’re warning me not to get attached? You’re the one who wants to risk imprisonment and a criminal record just to keep him with us.”

“Shh!” Justin hissed, looking around to see if anyone had heard her. “Are you trying to get us arrested? At least I’m not giving him a name.”

Laura’s arms tightened around Patrick. “I refuse to call him ‘baby.’ It dehumanizes him.”

Justin shrugged, tossing the boxes into the cart. “Okay. We’ll call him Patrick. Why Patrick, anyway?”

“He looks Irish. All this clothes are green.”

“Irrefutable logic,” he remarked dryly.

Patrick finally started crying on the way home. It wasn’t surprising, after all, the poor little guy hadn’t been changed, and hadn’t gotten anything to eat or drink since he’d woken up.

“Maybe we should go to my apartment,” Justin suggested, turning to the right without waiting for her to agree. “It’s not as…There’s more…room there.”

Laura rolled her eyes. “You mean less mess.”

“That, too.”

“I know, I live in a pigsty,” Laura sighed. “I’ve been working fourteen-hour days. I need a wife. I even had to go without underwear this morning.”

Justin looked back at her and she blushed. “I’m wearing underwear now!” she stated. “I already told you, I bought some during my lunch break.”

“Right.”

Great. Now she had her hunky, baby-loving neighbor imagining her naked under her prim working suit. She disguised her mortification by looking around Justin’s apartment. It was a mirror of her own, but a lot neater than her own place had been in months. Yes, he had definite potential as a housekeeper.

There was large microwave container sitting on a small stool by the front door. She raised an eyebrow. “Takeout?”

Justin followed her gaze and shrugged. She even thought he looked a bit embarrassed. “I was going to take it to you, when you screamed. You looked hungry.”

“You were going to bring me food?” Laura was touched. Something tearlike even made it to her eyes and she blinked, blaming it on exhaustion. “Justin, that’s so nice of you.”

“Yeah, well, you still haven’t eaten, have you? It’s cold by now, but if you still want it, we can reheat it.” He grabbed the container and made his way into the kitchen. “It’s not like it’s anything fancy,” he warned over his shoulder. “Just leftover pizza.”

“Homemade?” she breathed.

“Well, yes. How did you know?”

She dodged the question, not wanting to explain to him the way her nose had been picking up the wonderful scents from his kitchen for months now. “First things first, a bottle for the little one.” She looked at the child, squirming on Justin’s shoulder. “He’s really hungry. I’ll get the bottle, if you take care of him in the meantime. Where do you keep your kettle?”

“It’s right there on the countertop. We’ll be in the living room.”

She measured the formula carefully and before too long had a full bottle of warm white liquid. She tested the temperature and erred on the side of too cold, then hurried into the living room where Justin was busy being unsuccessful at calming baby Patrick down. “Here.”

Justin passed her the baby. “Feed him. I’ll go warm up the pizza for you.”

Patrick gulped down the milk, making Laura feel terribly guilty. The poor baby must have been starving.

“Here. Eat this.” Justin put a plate on the table, filled with the most delicious pizza Laura had ever seen, topped with enough cheese to fulfill her calcium requirements for a month. He’d brought a huge glass of milk, too. She raised an eyebrow. “Milk? With pizza?”

“It’s good for you. Give me the kid, and feed yourself.”

Smiling at his gruff tone, Laura handed him the child and started work on the pizza. Ravenous, she managed to finish before Patrick finished his bottle. But as soon as the bottle was empty he was crying again, and showed no interest in a second helping.

“Okay, diaper time. He’s probably wet, too. Or worse.” Laura felt more awake after her meal, and a lot stronger. Taking charge, she grabbed the baby out of Justin’s arms. Women had been handling babies since the beginning of mankind. She had to have some kind of instincts on how to do this. “Can you get some towels to lay him on?”

Before long, the baby was lying on the floor on top of two thick towels and they were getting ready to take that diaper off. It was a cloth diaper, wet and heavy. With a grimace Laura removed it from the baby’s sticky bottom and dumped it in the bag that Justin held ready. That was one diaper that wouldn’t be washed.

She was reaching for the wet wipes when she noticed Justin staring down with a funny look on his face.

“What? What’s wrong?” she asked, even as she followed his gaze and gasped at what she didn’t see.

“Isn’t there a little something missing?” Justin asked dryly.

CHAPTER THREE

“HE’S a girl!” Laura exclaimed.

Justin snorted. “You get top marks for observation skills, Laura. Why did you think she was a boy?”

“I just assumed she was a boy when I first saw her.” Laura shrugged, staring at “Patrick’s” face. “She looked like a boy to me. I don’t know. It didn’t even occur to me that she might be a girl.”

The little lady’s face scrunched up at this news, and she started crying again. Justin patted her cheek. “There, there,” he soothed the child. “She didn’t mean it. A dress and a bow in your hair and you’ll be as feminine as they get. We’ll get you something pink, promise.” He looked at Laura, gesturing at the baby. “Now that I look at her, it seems obvious that she’s a girl. Those eyes and the long lashes. Obviously a girl.”

“Exactly! Her eyes are the kind reserved for boys, who don’t appreciate them and spend most of their adolescence wondering if they can trim their lashes.” She pointed at him. “You’re a case in point.”

Justin blinked. “I trimmed my lashes?”

“I don’t know about that. But you do have gorgeous eyes.”

Justin looked at her with something unreadable in those dark eyes until she was biting the inside of her cheeks in an effort to keep from blurting out something no doubt as stupid as her last remark. “Uh, thank you,” he said at last and she hurried to change the subject.

“You’re welcome. Now, can we go back to the diaper business?”

“Sure.”

Laura rolled up her sleeves and turned her teeth on her lower lip in punishment for having actually gushed over the man’s looks to his face.

Especially the same day he’d called her scrawny.

But there was no time to wallow in bruised pride. There was important work ahead. A diaper had been removed and another one—this one not out of the middle ages—had to be installed in its place.

Procrastinating a minute, she lined up the wet-wipes and lotions, which was tricky since they needed to be within her reach, but out of Patrick’s…Pat’s reach. Then she got to work at washing and drying a bottom that was slightly pink.

“Darn it,” she muttered, feeling guilty. The new diaper was obviously long overdue. “She has a rash. I hope those lotions fix it. Poor thing.” She picked up the three bottles and examined the instructions. “Hey, we can choose between instructions in French, Spanish and Japanese.”

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