“I’m desperate, Marissa, and you’re the only one I could think of who can help me.”

“You’re in trouble with the law?” Marissa asked.

Blake shook his head, knowing that, as a criminal attorney, she had to ask. “No—at least not yet.”

Only the slightest flicker of surprise crossed her features before she regained her composure. “You’ve committed a crime?”

He shook his head. “The man who left you was an idiot.”

Her puzzled expression created a tiny line between her eyebrows, and his fingers itched with an unexpected urge to reach over and smooth it away.

“Then what do you want from me?” she asked.

“I want you to help me with a baby.”

Verdict: Daddy

Charlotte Douglas

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

The major passions of Charlotte Douglas’s life are her husband—her high school sweetheart to whom she’s been married for over three decades—and writing compelling stories. A national bestselling author, she enjoys filling her books with love of home and family, special places and happy endings. With their two cairn terriers, she and her husband live most of the year on Florida’s central west coast, but spend the warmer months at their North Carolina mountaintop retreat.

No matter what time of year, readers can reach her at charlottedouglas1@juno.com, where she’s always delighted to hear from them.

Books by Charlotte Douglas

HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

591—IT’S ABOUT TIME

623—BRINGING UP BABY

868—MONTANA MAIL-ORDER WIFE *

961—SURPRISE INHERITANCE

999—DR. WONDERFUL

1027—VERDICT: DADDY

HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE

380—DREAM MAKER

434—BEN’S WIFE

482—FIRST-CLASS FATHER

515—A WOMAN OF MYSTERY

536—UNDERCOVER DAD

611—STRANGER IN HIS ARMS *

638—LICENSED TO MARRY

668—MONTANA SECRETS

691—THE BRIDE’S RESCUER

740—THE CHRISTMAS TARGET

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

“We have a problem.”

Marissa Mason’s receptionist jerked her head toward the law office waiting room behind the closed door at her back.

Eyeing her usually calm employee with concern, Marissa closed the computer file of the legal brief she was preparing. Seldom did anything perturb small and scrappy Kitty Stancel, not even the most hardened criminals who came to Mason and Mason for representation, but something—or someone—had definitely spooked her today. Behind her designer glasses, Kitty’s brown eyes were wide with alarm, and her voice had an uncharacteristic tremor when she spoke.

“What’s going on?” Marissa reached for the phone, ready to dial 911.

“Big guy in the waiting room. I told him you weren’t seeing clients this afternoon, but he insisted. He has this wild, desperate look. Says he isn’t leaving until he’s talked with you, even if he has to spend the whole day and night waiting.”

“What’s his name?”

“Blake Adams. He’s not one of our regulars. I’ve never seen him before.”

Blake Adams.

The familiar name threatened to inundate Marissa in a sea of nostalgia, but before she succumbed to a cruise down memory lane, she had to make certain the man in the waiting room was the same Blake Adams she had known so well and not some total stranger.

After shoving from her chair, she circled her desk, motioned Kitty aside and opened her office door the slightest crack. The tiny slit gave her a view of the reception area, where the man sat cooling his heels, dwarfing the Danish-Modern chair with his tall body, one work-booted foot tapping an impatient rhythm on the beige Berber carpet.

Marissa’s heart stuttered at the sight: long, tall and tanned, the man in the waiting room had shaggy black hair, a chiseled jaw, high cheekbones and startling gray eyes. His big hands were clasped between knees bared by cargo shorts that displayed well-muscled calves above the tops of his work boots. A spanking-white, short-sleeved polo shirt revealed his knotted biceps and sported the logo Adams Landscape Designs with a stylized palm tree embroidered above the pocket.

Marissa grabbed the doorknob to support her weakened knees. It was her Blake, all right. Not the lean, lanky insecure boy she’d known and loved, but a mature man, even more attractive than the teenager had been. “Beefcake,” her sister, Suze, would call him, a man with the physique and steamy sex appeal of those featured on calendars of firefighters and police officers.

Marissa gave herself a mental shake and tried to slow her pulse and order her racing thoughts. She doubted anyone produced calendars of hunky landscape designers, and even if they did, Blake’s glowering expression would negate his participation. He looked ready to chew nails and spit.

Marissa eased the door closed and turned to Kitty. “What’s he done?”

Marissa was a defense attorney, and since Blake had demanded to see her, she assumed he was in trouble with the law. All her clients were, in one way or another. Lots of folks in Dolphin Bay had prophesied years ago that Blake, with his checkered background, would probably end up behind bars. But Marissa hadn’t.

Sure, Blake had been impulsive, even reckless at times. She recalled that August night when she was thirteen, when Blake had thrown rocks at her bedroom window to awaken her. He’d talked her into sneaking out of the house at midnight to go down to a darkened stretch of beach. They had lain on their backs and watched the spectacular shower of Perseid meteors until just before dawn. She’d been grounded for a week for that particular trick, but the experience had been worth it.

Then there’d been the time he’d enlisted her help to steal a dog from old Mr. Sellars, who’d kept the poor animal chained in a shadeless yard with no food, water or shelter. They’d taken the pathetic pooch back to her garage, where Blake fed it, bathed it, then dyed it black with Grecian Formula that had cost him a week’s allowance. Once the dye had dried, they’d placed the dog in the basket of her bike and ridden to Clearwater, where they turned the lucky pup over to Doris Fitzgerald, who ran an animal rescue service out of her home. Checking later, they’d learned that Doris had placed the dog in a loving home with a lonely old man who’d needed a canine friend.

Yes, Blake had often bent the rules, but he’d never hurt anyone. Marissa hadn’t paid any attention to the local consensus that the untamable boy was eventually destined for jail. She’d known him too well to believe such nonsense.

Or had she?

Evidently, he had fulfilled the expectations of the small-town gossips or he wouldn’t be sitting in her waiting room now, demanding to see a defense attorney and effectively terrorizing her usually unflappable receptionist.

“He wouldn’t tell me what his problem is,” Kitty answered. “Refused to speak with anyone but you. Not even your father.”

Marissa raised her eyebrows in surprise. Morgan Mason, her father and senior partner of the firm, had a reputation as one of the foremost defense attorneys in the nation, right up there with Alan Berkowitz and Johnny Cochran. Morgan had appeared on Court TV as a commentator and special guest and had taken part in many of the country’s highest profile cases. If Blake Adams had broken the law, he was an idiot not to demand to see her father. Marissa couldn’t figure why he wanted her instead, or how he’d even known she was here. She’d only been back in town a few weeks, joining her father’s practice after her divorce was final.

Shoving away the pain that always surfaced at the memory of her disastrous marriage and its bitter ending, she nodded to Kitty. “Let me finish this brief. Then I’ll buzz you to send him in.”

Kitty looked skeptical. “If he doesn’t eat me alive first.”

Marissa shook her head. “Not Blake.”

“You know him?”

“We grew up together. He’s a good guy.”

Kitty frowned. “That’s what they all say.”

“This one really is.”

“Then what’s he doing in your office?”

“That,” Marissa said, her curiosity piqued, “is what I’ll have to find out.”

BLAKE GAZED at the closed door of Marissa Mason’s private office where the skittish receptionist had disappeared. Now would be a good time to escape. Coming here had been a mistake.

He glanced at his watch. If he broke a few speed limits, he could still make his appointment with the developer and cinch the deal on landscaping three new malls scheduled for construction in the Tampa Bay area. Those projects would triple his income for the year, not to mention cement his reputation as one of the premier landscape designers on Florida’s central Gulf Coast. Remaining in Marissa’s office and following his present course would bring him nothing but trouble.

So why was he still sitting here and not making tracks?

He raked his fingers through his hair and resisted the urge to stand and pace. The events of the morning had blown his mind, and he struggled to get his thoughts in order. Staying might lose him the deal of a lifetime, and what would it get him?

A meeting with Marissa, for one thing.

That fact alone had its appeal. He hadn’t seen her since Christmas vacation of their freshman year in college. Since then she had graduated from law school, married and moved away, divorced—according to the local gossip—and finally returned to Dolphin Bay to join her father’s law practice. A lot had happened in eighteen years. He hoped she’d agree to see him, that the fact that they’d been good pals from elementary through high school would offset his not answering her letters in college.

Marissa had been one of the few kids on her side of the tracks who’d had anything to do with a boy who’d been moved continually from one foster home to another. She and Blake had spent weekends during the school year and entire summer vacations sailing Marissa’s small boat to the barrier islands. There they’d searched for shells on the white sand beaches, counted osprey nests in the tall pines, and routed sting rays by shuffling their feet through the clear shallow waters. She’d been more fun than any of the guys he’d known. And more accepting of him.

They’d also studied together. Marissa had helped him with English composition and French, and he’d explained to her the mysteries of calculus and trigonometry. They’d made a good team. Nothing romantic, just good buddies, and they’d lost touch when Marissa went to the University of Florida and Blake was awarded a scholarship to North Carolina State.

He looked forward to seeing Marissa again, but meeting with her about the problem at hand would open a whole can of worms that would take time and energy away from his increasingly successful career.

Better for him just to forget the whole scheme. He’d been crazy to think of it in the first place. He pushed to his feet to leave.

At the same moment Marissa’s office door opened, and the receptionist approached, looking as if she were afraid he’d snap her in two.

“Ms. Mason will see you in a few minutes.” Kitty Stancel, according to the nameplate beside her computer, scurried behind her L-shaped desk, as far from Blake as the room’s arrangement allowed.

Imagining the criminal element that frequented this particular waiting area, Blake didn’t take her skittish attitude personally. She’d probably learned to be leery in order to survive such an environment.

He nodded. “I have to make a phone call—”

With obvious reluctance, Kitty indicated a phone on her desk. “You can use that one.”

Blake shook his head. “Thanks, but I have my cell phone. I’ll just step outside.”

On the sidewalk in front of the law office, just a block from Dolphin Bay’s picturesque main street with its attractive brick sidewalks, trendy restaurants and antique shops, Blake punched the developer’s number into his cell phone. After canceling this morning’s appointment and rescheduling for the next day, he cut the connection and glanced around.

Blake loved Dolphin Bay, close enough to Tampa and St. Petersburg for the convenience of shopping and sports and cultural events, yet maintaining all the attributes of small-town America. When he’d received his degree, he hadn’t hesitated to return here, even though he had no family or special friends to welcome him. The place had always been home, the only one he’d ever really had.

Ever since his unknown mother had deserted him at age three on a park bench at the marina, he’d been lucky enough to remain in foster homes in Dolphin Bay, instead of being bounced from town to town like a lot of other kids who were never adopted. Even if he had no relatives here, he’d found a permanence of place and had put down roots. He belonged in Dolphin Bay, and now he had a satisfying job, a home of his own and plenty of good friends to round out the package.

Those facts strengthened his sense of purpose, and he strode back into Marissa’s office, determined to carry out his plan, crazy or not.

The receptionist looked up when he walked in. “Ms. Mason will see you now.”

Blake hurried into the office, then stopped in surprise. The attractive woman standing in a wash of sunlight streaming through the tall window wasn’t the freckle-faced, ponytailed girl he’d remembered. Her smile was the same, with the fetching dimples exactly as he recalled. And her eyes, a sparkling hazel, more green than brown, held the same warm welcome they always had. The ponytail had been replaced by a sleek shoulder-length cut that framed her face, and the sun streaks in her honey-blond hair were still there, though whether supplied now by sun or a skilled beautician, he couldn’t tell.

Instead of the shorts and T-shirt that had been her childhood uniform, Marissa wore a stylish camel-colored suit that complemented her hair, accented her tiny waist and small breasts, and showcased long, slender legs, clad in shimmering stockings in a matching hue. The gawky, skinny girl had matured into a stunning woman. Just the sight of her made his mouth go dry, and he was glad when she spoke first, giving him a chance to regain his bearings.

“Hello, Blake. It’s been a long time.” Her voice had changed, too, its pitch lowered to a sultry timbre that caressed his ears.

“Hey, Marissa. Thanks for seeing me on such short notice.”

She motioned him to a chair in front of her desk, then sat behind the mahogany monstrosity, as big as the boat they had sailed when they were kids. He figured in her business, the huge piece of furniture kept her at a safe distance from the felons she represented.

“How’s your dad?” Blake asked.

Her affection for her father was evident in her smile. “He’s in California now, representing Brad Tyler.”

“The movie star who shot his wife?”

“Who allegedly shot his wife,” she corrected with a grin.

“And your mom?”

“Same as always.” Her love for her mother tempered her voice, reminding Blake how, in his solitary existence as a child, he’d envied the closely knit Mason family. “Except now she has grandkids, as well as the four of us to keep up with.”

“Any of them yours?”

At the pained expression that flitted across her face, he wished he could snatch the question back, but Marissa recovered quickly. “Suze has two boys, Wally has twin girls, and Jake and his wife are expecting in the spring.” She leaned forward, lessening the distance between them. “You’ll have to come to dinner one night. Mom would love to see you.”

“You’re living at home?”

“Hard to find a place of my own during tourist season. Besides, I want to make sure Dad and I are compatible working together before I make a permanent move.”

A wave of disappointment washed over him at the possibility of her leaving Dolphin Bay again. “So how’s it working out?”

“Better than I thought. I was afraid he’d treat me as if I were still a child, but he’s pretty much given me free rein. I choose my own cases, although we consult with each other often.”

She raised one feathery eyebrow and skewered him with a searching, green-eyed glance. “You didn’t terrorize my receptionist just to catch up on my family. Besides, at what I charge for an hour’s consultation, you’ll want to cut to the chase.”

He spread his hands palms upward in a gesture of apology. “I’m sorry if I frightened your receptionist, but I’m desperate, Marissa. You’re the only one I could think of who can help me.”

She leaned back in her chair, her laser gaze still locked on his face. “You’re in trouble with the law? Have you been arrested?”

Blake shook his head. “No—at least not yet.”

Only the slightest flicker of surprise etched her features before she regained her composure. “You’ve committed a crime?”

“Not exactly.”

Her puzzled expression created a tiny line crinkling the smooth skin between her eyebrows, and his fingers itched with an unexpected urge to reach over and smooth it away.

“Then what do you want from me?” she asked.

A crazy idea, he thought again, but he was committed now. He might as well tell her. “I want you to help me with a baby.”

Chapter Two

Marissa’s hazel eyes widened in shock, and a deep flaming crimson worked its way from the deep vee of her white silk blouse to her cheeks.

“Help you with a baby?” Her voice had a strange, strangled quality.

Oh, God, he thought with a groan, she’s taken this all wrong.

“It’s not like it sounds,” he insisted.

Marissa took a deep breath, and her weak smile seemed forced. “If it is, it’s the most bizarre proposition I’ve ever received.”

“I already have a baby,” he blurted.

“You’re married?”

He couldn’t tell if her expression showed more surprise or disappointment. “No.”

This time her frown was unmistakable. “I see.”

He shifted in his chair in frustration. His clumsy explanations were only muddying the waters. “Agnes Whitcomb has the baby.”

This time Marissa’s face reflected shocked disbelief. Her eyes grew rounder and her jaw dropped. “You had a baby with Agnes Whitcomb?”

“No! Agnes is taking care of the baby while I’m here.” The absurdity of her assumption made him bite back the urge to laugh. Dear sweet Agnes, a spinster who had baby-sat almost every kid in town, was approaching fifty-nine, long past childbearing age. “Maybe I’d better start at the beginning.”

Marissa looked skeptical. “I don’t need the details of your affair.”

“I didn’t have an affair—”

“Your love life, then.”

“I don’t have a love life, either.” Damn. He shouldn’t have admitted that, but she’d caught him by surprise.

She cocked that feathery eyebrow again in a manner that made him realize anew how attractive she’d become. “Then how did you end up with a baby?”

He squirmed as if he were on the witness seat. Marissa had certainly learned how to grill someone effectively with pointed questions. He was glad she was on his side—or, at least, he hoped she would be when she learned the whole story.

“Someone left the baby on my front porch,” he explained. “This morning.”

Marissa reeled back in her chair as if she’d been slapped. “Someone deserted a baby? On your doorstep? You’re kidding!”

Blake pushed his fingers through his hair. “Wish I were. I stepped out just after dawn for the newspaper. A wicker laundry basket was in front of my door. Looked like it was filled with towels. I thought someone had left laundry by mistake. Then I heard a little whimper, and the towels moved.”

“The child wasn’t visible?”

He shook his head. “My next thought was that I’d been snookered by someone dumping a litter of kittens. That’s the last thing Rambo and I need.”

“Rambo?”

“My dog. He’s a golden retriever, and he doesn’t like cats. I peeled back a layer of towels—”

“It’s a wonder the baby could breathe,” Marissa muttered indignantly. “That’s no way to treat a child. Were there any signs of physical abuse?”

“None. The most beautiful and perfect little baby girl looked up at me with big blue eyes and smiled.” He felt his heart soften into Silly Putty at the memory. “She had a note pinned to her dress. It said, ‘Please look after my baby. I know she’ll like living with you. I can tell by the yellow roses growing around your door.”’

Marissa shook her head. “The law is supposed to prevent that sort of thing.”

“What law?” Blake needed to know the legality of his situation. That’s why he’d come to Marissa.

“Desperate women were abandoning newborns in Dumpsters. The state passed a statute a few years ago that guaranteed that if the mothers would leave the children at a hospital, doctor’s office, or fire station, no charges would be filed, no questions asked.”

“Really?” That piece of legal information pleased him. Maybe the problem left on his doorstep wasn’t as big as he’d thought.

“Just last week,” Marissa said, “a man dropped off an hour-old infant at a Tampa fire station. The baby’s up for adoption now.”

“She isn’t a newborn.”

Marissa frowned, an expression that did nothing to diminish her prettiness. “And since I assume your house is neither a fire station, doctor’s office, or a hospital, that law wouldn’t apply in this case anyway. How old is she?”

“I know nothing about babies,” Blake said, “so I took her right away to Agnes. She lives next door.”

Marissa’s eyes lighted. “You bought the old Thompson place?”

“Six years ago.”

“I always loved that old bungalow. Built in the twenties, wasn’t it?”

Blake nodded. “Agnes estimates Annie is about three months old.”

“Annie? The note gave her name?”

“No name. But with her bright red curls, blue eyes, and the fact that she’s an orphan—” he shrugged, feeling sheepish again “—I decided to call her Annie.”

An ironic smile quirked a delectable corner of Marissa’s mouth. “Maybe you should rename Rambo Sandy.”

Blake felt panic setting in again. “I can’t keep the baby.”

“You’re not the family type?” Marissa asked. “Or you don’t like children?”

“I’m single, I live alone, and I know nothing about infants. Never been around one. That’s why I hightailed her over to Agnes first thing. And why I want to hire you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re sure this baby isn’t yours?”

“Of course I’m sure!”

He had to stop confessing that his love life was nonexistent. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been interested in having a relationship. With his business taking off, he’d been either too busy or too tired the past several years for any kind of social life, other than zoning out with the guys on a weekend afternoon to watch a Bucs game or a DVD of the latest action film.

Suspicion sharpened her features but didn’t affect her prettiness. “No former girlfriend left in the lurch the past year or so?”

“If this baby was mine, I’d step up to the plate and take responsibility.”

“And you’re sure she isn’t?” she asked again.

Her tone of voice and steely-eyed gaze made him feel like a bug skewered on a pin. She’d earned her reputation for ruthless cross-examination. “I’m sure.”

She studied him carefully, as if watching for some subtle sign that he might not be telling the truth. Then, apparently satisfied, she nodded. “But I don’t understand why you’ve come to me. You should be talking to a family law attorney. Or someone at the Department of Children and Family Services.”

“Already have. Vienna Pitts—”

Marissa’s mouth twisted with apparent disgust. “Is that old bat still alive? I remember how she used to scream at us not to play on the sidewalk in front of her house.”

“Alive and well,” Blake said with a grimace, “and unfortunately living across the street from me and watching my every move. She must have seen me find the baby and instantly alerted DCF.”

“And?”

“They came to my house and wanted to take Annie.”

“So what’s the problem? That’s their job. They’ll try to locate Annie’s mother and, in the meantime, find the baby a foster home.”

“A foster home. That’s the problem,” Blake said with more feeling than he’d intended.

“You want to keep her?” Marissa’s low, throaty voice rose an octave in surprise. “But you just said—”

“I can’t keep her. But I don’t want her placed in a foster home. A kid needs a real family. Her own mom and a dad. That’s why I came to you.”

MARISSA SANK BACK in her chair and studied Blake with a mixture of admiration and dismay. She remembered how he’d always hungered to belong to a family of his own, how he’d envied her big, boisterous household and had felt like the odd man out, even when her mom made a point to include him in their special celebrations and gatherings.

“Blake, I’m a defense attorney,” she reminded him gently. “This is a civil not a criminal matter. You need a specialist in family law.”

“Won’t a family lawyer just advise me to turn Annie over to DCF?”

“That’s my advice, too. Or we can contact the head of Family Continuity Programs. They’re in charge of caring for abandoned newborns and children who are wards of the state in this county.”

Blake scowled. “Then a sheriff’s detective will pick up Annie, and from what I heard on the news the other day, they’re so overloaded with cases, the kid could be warehoused in a crib in the corner of his office for days until a foster home is available.” He shook his head. “There has to be another way. Can’t I at least get temporary custody until I find the right family who’ll adopt her?”

Marissa didn’t know whether to hug him or hit him. On the one hand, this gentle giant warmed her heart with his concern for a stranger’s baby. On the other, he hadn’t a clue what he was in for if he received even temporary custody of Annie.

“Who’s going to look after the child? Rambo?” Her sarcasm was intentional. She hoped to jolt Blake into accepting reality.

The strong planes of his face split into an appealing grin. “Actually, Bo’s really good with children. Every kid on the block’s in love with him.”

“I doubt the Department of Children and Families would deem him a fit caretaker,” she countered dryly.

“I’ll find someone to look after Annie until I locate the right family,” Blake said. “Agnes would be perfect for taking care of her. But first I want to make sure the authorities can’t take the baby away.”

“Why didn’t they take her this morning?”

A guilty expression settled across his tanned features. “I told them I didn’t have a baby. I even allowed them to search the house. I let them think Vienna Pitts is losing her marbles in her old age and was imagining things when she called them.”

Marissa shook her head at his boldness. “Apparently nosy Mrs. Pitts didn’t see you take the baby to Agnes.”

“That old busybody can’t see me come or go when I use the rear entrance,” he said with obvious satisfaction. “I use the back door a lot.”

Marissa sighed. She knew her duty, even though her heart was on Blake’s side. “As an officer of the court, I must advise you to contact the police and turn the child over to DCF.”

“I won’t do that.” His eyes, like gray thunderheads, sparked with heat lightning, and the angle of his taut square jaw underlined his determination. “She’ll end up lost in the system. I won’t sentence her to the same kind of childhood I had.”

Marissa heard the pain of his lonely youth in his words. She also remembered his stubborn streak. They’d butted heads often as kids, and most of the time, Blake had prevailed. But not this time. “Then I have no choice but to alert the authorities myself.”

“I can’t let you do that.” His voice was low, even, unwavering.

“And how do you plan to stop me?” Marissa reached for the phone.

With a swiftness unexpected in so large a man, he stood, reached to the baseboard, and jerked the phone cord from the wall. Before Marissa could recover from her shock, he’d rounded her desk. With one graceful and powerful motion, he lifted her from her chair and slung her over his shoulder.

“Blake!” she screeched in alarm and pounded his back with her fists. “Put me down!”

“Not yet.”

Even through the layers of clothing that separated them, she could feel the rumble of his voice deep in his chest. She was all too aware of his arm gripping her buttocks and his intoxicating male scent, a mixture of sunshine and sandalwood. Strangely, however, she felt no fear. Blake was apparently as impulsive and reckless as she remembered, but a man so concerned over a stranger’s baby wasn’t about to harm his old friend.

As if she weighed no more than a bag of gardening mulch, he pivoted easily and headed out of her office, past the receptionist’s desk where Kitty sat in openmouthed astonishment.

Marissa tossed her head to clear her hair from her eyes and confronted her receptionist from her upside-down view. “It’s okay.”

“You’re sure? Shouldn’t I call the police?” Kitty yelled after her as Blake strode toward the exit.

Marissa bit back an affirmative reply. Blake was no criminal, and she had no fear for her own safety. Wherever he was taking her, maybe she’d have a chance to talk some sense into him before he ended up in jail.

“No,” Marissa yelled back to Kitty. “If anyone asks, tell them I’m taking the rest of the day off.”

“That’s it?” Kitty shouted. “You’re sure?”

Marissa could tell Kitty thought her boss had lost her mind. Maybe she had. After all, a man could change a great deal in eighteen years. But before she could amend her instructions to the receptionist, Blake had carried her outside and closed the door behind him.

Marissa caught a glimpse of the Adams Landscape Designs logo on the side of the pickup truck before he dumped her into the passenger seat. His face was only inches from hers as he secured her seat belt, and his smoky gray eyes were pleading, his breath warm on her cheek.

“Just give me an hour, Rissa,” he begged, using her childhood nickname. “Hear me out and meet the baby. Lawyers come up with loopholes that criminals use to beat the system all the time. All I’m asking is that you try to find a loophole for Annie. If you can’t and still want to call the police…”

He drew back, closed the door and circled the car. Marissa considered fleeing but didn’t. First, Blake had always been able to outrun her, and, from the looks of him, he was in even better shape now than he had been as a boy. Second, curiosity held her fast. She wanted to see this child who had mesmerized a grown man.

Besides, she’d always loved children. Had always longed for children of her own. When she’d married Harry, three years after graduating from law school, he’d led her to believe he wanted a big family, too.

As Blake pulled away from the curb, the old bitterness tightened her chest. Harry had led her to believe a lot of things, none of them true. Her father, who’d learned to read people well in his line of work, had warned her about Harry from the beginning, but she’d been too infatuated to listen, too blinded by the man’s good looks, slick charm, silver tongue and her own raging hormones to observe the obvious.

She’d expected a marriage like her parents had, one of mutual love, devotion, humor and unfailing friendship. When she’d realized the man she’d married was all talk and no substance, she’d been too embarrassed to admit her mistake. She had tried to make the marriage work to avoid I-told-you-so from friends and family members who’d seen instantly what she’d been too besotted to notice until months after the honeymoon.

Their relationship had turned rocky, but Marissa had hoped that having children would settle Harry down. She’d yearned for a baby to hold in her arms and nurture, but Harry had refused to start a family. He always had an excuse: they were too young; they didn’t have enough money; they needed to buy a house first.

And when they had grown older, saved money and bought a house, Marissa pressed again for children. But Harry had made himself scarce. At first Marissa believed that he was working too hard, spending long hours on the road in his sales job—until she found the motel receipt in the suit that she was taking to the cleaners, a receipt for a double occupancy room.

She’d confronted Harry, and he’d denied it, claimed the double occupancy was a clerical error. She’d believed him because she’d needed to. What woman wanted to admit her husband was cheating on her? But as Harry grew more distant, colder, even cruel in his remarks and attitude, Marissa had taken matters into her own hands. She’d hired a private investigator who’d often been engaged by the law firm where she worked. The private eye had dug up enough dirt to bury Harry. Photographs and all.

The evidence had forced Marissa to admit what she’d spent seven years trying to avoid. The man she thought she’d married didn’t exist. Her husband, Harry, was a selfish, greedy womanizer who’d taken from Marissa all their married life and given nothing back, neither the love and respect she deserved nor the children she’d wanted so desperately.

Thanks to her knowledge of the law and her connections in the legal community, Marissa had divorced Harry so quickly he’d staggered with shock. He’d begged her to take him back, promised to drop the little slut he’d been shacking up with for the past five years. By this time, Marissa had lost her blinders and regained her self-esteem. She had recognized that Harry loved only the prestige and income that had come with a successful attorney for a wife. And she had walked away with only one regret.

She was thirty-six years old. Time was ticking away on her biological clock, and she was facing the fact that she might never have the big family she’d dreamed of since she was a little girl.

And now, as if rubbing salt in a wound, she was being driven against her will to see a baby that some woman, one too stupid to realize how lucky she was to have a child of her own, had abandoned.

“You okay?” Blake’s deep voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Just ducky.” Marissa couldn’t keep the edge from her words. “It isn’t every day I get manhandled and kidnapped.”

“I’m sorry.”

He sounded sincere, and she felt instant regret that she’d taken out her anger at Harry and at her own stupidity on Blake. She was overreacting but couldn’t seem to help herself.

“I didn’t know anyone else I could trust,” Blake added, “so I’m counting on you.”

“What’s trust got to do with this?”

He tossed her a radiant smile that eased the hurt of her lingering memories. “I figured any other attorney I contacted would have called the cops right away.”

“I would have if you’d let me.”

“Your receptionist would have called them if you’d told her to.” He reached across and gently squeezed her hand. “But you didn’t. And I’m grateful for your giving me a chance.”

His touch pleased her more than she wanted to admit. “I never promised not to turn you in.”

“Like I said before, you attorneys come up with loopholes all the time. When you see Annie, you’ll want to find one for her.”

“If nothing else, I want the woman caught who was heartless enough to abandon her own child.”

“Maybe she’s not heartless,” Blake countered reasonably. “Maybe there’re extenuating circumstances we know nothing about.”

“Right. Like having a kid cramps her style.”

The look he threw her this time was quizzical. “I guess dealing with criminals does that to you.”

“Does what?”

“Makes you cynical.”

She shook her head. How could she admit that her former husband, not her job, had hardened her attitude? It wasn’t something she wanted to recognize, much less talk about. “I’m just being realistic. And you should be, too.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You say you want custody of this baby until suitable parents are found. Do you have any idea how long that could take?”

He shrugged, clearly unconcerned. “With so many couples out there looking for a baby to adopt, it shouldn’t take long.”

“The legal red tape alone could take months, a year or more. And what if you grow fond of Annie during that time? Will you be prepared to hand her over to strangers?” She was taking her frustration out on him again, but she was helpless to stop herself. “And in the meantime, while you’re waiting for the right parents, since you have a business to run, who will take care of this baby?”

“I’ll hire Agnes.”

She cast him a dubious glance.

“I make good money,” he insisted. “I can afford it.”

“It takes more than money to be a good parent,” she snapped.

“Why are you so upset?”

“Aside from being manhandled and kidnapped?” she said, bristling again.

“All other things being equal,” he replied in his calm, composed way that only fueled her irritation.

How could she respond to that comment when all other things weren’t equal? How stupid would she sound if she answered that her dissatisfaction came from the fact that a woman who had a baby hadn’t wanted it, and Marissa, who hungered for a child like dry ground for water, hadn’t a hope of being a mom?

She forced herself to take a deep breath, disengage her emotions and look at the facts. She’d learned long ago to ignore her personal feelings when handling a case. Feelings clouded her judgment. Blake might be a childhood friend, but he was first and foremost her client. She couldn’t give her best legal advice if her own desires were riding roughshod over her reasoning.

“I apologize for snapping at you,” she said. “You’ve placed me in difficult circumstances, and I haven’t handled them well.”

Blake shook his head. “No need to apologize. I’m the one who’s taken advantage of an old friend. I’m sorry I’ve put you in a tough spot.”

“Sorry won’t solve this dilemma.”

“I’m sure between the two of us, we can think of something that will.”

The two of us.

Just like old times, Marissa thought. As a teenager, she’d often dreamed of growing up and marrying Blake, but he’d never treated her as more than a friend. She couldn’t help wondering how her life would have turned out if she’d actively pursued him, been somehow lucky enough to spark his interest and had become Blake’s wife instead of Harry’s. She squelched that thought, having learned long ago not to waste time over might-have-beens.

The logo on his shirt caught her eye. “Adams Landscape Designs. You own the company?”

“Yep, it’s all mine.”

“I thought you wanted to be an astronaut. You were crazy about outer space. Remember how you used to draw me star charts?” Memories of summer nights spent stargazing with the breeze heavy with the smell of jasmine inundated her, making her wish she was twelve again.

“Being an astronaut wasn’t in the cards.” He laughed. “Literally.”

“What cards?”

“When I was a freshman, my roommates and I went to the state fair. They insisted on having their futures told by a tarot reader.”

Marissa made a face. “I don’t believe in the occult.”

Blake grinned. “Me, either. But in this case the gypsy lady was right.”

“You had your fortune told?”

“Not exactly. I was just along for the ride. But as my buddies were leaving, the tarot reader smiled at me, flipped a card, and said there would be a lot of green in my future.”

“Green?” Marissa laughed. “And you thought she meant money?”

“I didn’t think about it at all until the next semester when I took my first botany course. I was hooked immediately, changed my major to landscape design, and the rest, as they say, is history.”

The shine in his eyes melted her cynicism and sent the years tumbling away. Suddenly she felt like a teenager again, a time when life had been good and wondrous and filled with endless possibilities.

“And you don’t regret not being an astronaut?”

“Hey, I’ve got the greatest job in the world. I can take a boxy house or ugly commercial building, design and install an appropriate landscape, and make it a showpiece. And my work isn’t hidden in some dark corner of an art gallery. Thousands of people view it every day.”

Blake’s happiness wasn’t fake. It seemed to originate deep inside. She envied him. Marissa hadn’t felt that kind of happiness since…since she’d been a kid hanging out with Blake Adams.

She pictured him bent over his drawing table. “I never thought of you as the artistic type.”

“My work’s much more than sketches on paper. I like the physical aspects, too. When I plant with my crews, they work harder, smarter and faster. And I don’t need to spend time in a gym to stay fit. Plus, I get plenty of fresh air and sunshine.”

Blake had always loved the outdoors, had hated being cooped up inside for any length of time. And he definitely had no need now for a gym or personal trainer. With his fitted shirt and shorts, she could easily see that the skinny kid she’d known had developed very appealing muscles in all the right places.

Why hadn’t some lucky woman scooped up such a great catch and married him long ago? She wondered how many women had tried and failed, and, if they’d failed, why? Was it Blake’s satisfaction with his single status that had gotten in their way?

Blake rounded the corner, turned into the driveway of his house and pulled around to the back of the residence before cutting the engine.

Marissa had only a fleeting glimpse of the structure, but she could tell his renovations had been extensive. He’d preserved the charm of the old arts-and-crafts-style bungalow and updated it in the process. And the landscaping, complete with yellow climbing roses around the front porch, set off the soft gray siding of the house like a frame complements a work of art.

She had barely a minute to contemplate his home before the back door of the adjoining house flew open. A short, rotund little woman scampered down the steps and raced across the yard toward them. High color stained her apple cheeks, her gray hair stood in disarrayed wisps, and her blue eyes held a wild look behind gold-rimmed granny glasses.

“Uh-oh.” Blake released his seat belt, jumped from the truck and called to the older woman. “Everything okay, Agnes?”

Marissa didn’t need her father’s people skills to tell by a glance at the baby-sitter’s face that something was terribly wrong. She’d never seen Agnes so agitated. Marissa hurried from the car to join Blake.

“Thank God you’re back!” Agnes blurted to Blake, ignoring Marissa in her distress. “I’ve been calling your cell number but couldn’t reach you.”

Blake pulled his phone from the pocket of his shorts. “I must have turned it off when I made a call earlier. What’s wrong? Is Annie all right?”

“It’s awful,” Agnes cried. “Just awful!”

With that, the little woman, whom generations of Dolphin Bay children had been unable to upset, burst into sobs.

Chapter Three

Touched by Agnes’s distress, Blake placed a consoling arm around her shoulders. His neighbor was the closest thing to a mother he’d ever had. From the day he’d first moved in beside her, she’d plied him with home-cooked meals, freshly baked cookies, friendly introductions to the neighbors and unconditional acceptance. And she was his staunchest ally and coconspirator against the tyranny of their mutual enemy, Vienna Pitts. To see Agnes so visibly disturbed wrung his heart.

“Is Annie all right?” he repeated, afraid that by leaving the baby with his neighbor, he’d created a situation that had caused both Annie and Agnes grief.

“The little darling’s sleeping like a rock.” Agnes wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. “It’s my older sister, Patricia, in Sarasota. She’s had a stroke. I have to go to her as soon as possible.”

“Of course you do.” Marissa’s calm, no-nonsense tone reassured Blake, who, in his concern for Agnes and Annie, was glad the attorney was there. “What can we do to help?” Marissa added.

Agnes flashed Marissa a teary smile of recognition mixed with gratitude. “Good to see you again, Marissa, dear. If you can help take care of the baby, I’ll leave immediately. I’ve already packed.”

Blake noted the tremor in Agnes’s hands and her distraught tone. “No way I’m letting you drive to Sarasota in your state of mind. You’d have an accident before you reached the Sunshine Skyway.”

“But I’ll need my car to get back and forth to the hospital.”

“I’ll drive you in your car,” Blake said, “and catch a bus back.”

Marissa shook her head. “I’ll drive Agnes in her car. You can follow in your truck and bring me home.”

Agnes hugged Marissa. “You’re a sweetheart.”

“But what about Annie?” Blake felt a sudden panic. He’d counted on Agnes to help with the infant. How could he take care of the baby without Agnes’s guidance and assistance?

“I have a carrier in my car,” Agnes said. “We’ll take her with us, then switch the carrier to your truck for the ride home.”

“That’ll work,” Marissa said. “Blake, you get the luggage. I’ll take care of the baby.”

Momentary relief surged through him at Marissa’s offer, but concern closed in again when he realized that Marissa’s help would only be temporary. With her law practice, she’d have no time for baby-sitting. His thoughts whirled like tires in deep mud, but he couldn’t come up with a solution for his dilemma. He shook away the effort. First things first, and right now he had to get Agnes to her sister’s bedside ASAP.

Agnes scurried into the house with Marissa close on her heels. Blake followed.

In the attractive and tidy family room, Agnes’s suitcase stood on the floor beside the crib the older woman kept for her baby-sitting clients. Blake reached for the luggage, and Marissa peered into the bed at the sleeping child. Blake stopped short, entranced by the glow on Marissa’s face.

With rosy lips parted, green eyes shining and a softness to her expression that gently twisted his heart, Marissa gazed at Annie as if in awe.

“She’s beautiful,” Marissa said softly.

Blake couldn’t decide who was the more breathtaking: the adorable infant with brilliant strawberry-blond curls, long eyelashes sweeping flushed cheeks and a rosebud mouth—or his childhood friend.

He had to clear a lump in his throat before he spoke. “She’s a cutie, all right.”

Stuffing tissues in her purse, Agnes bustled out of her bedroom. “I’m ready if you are.”

Tearing his gaze from the charming picture Marissa and Annie made, Blake grabbed the suitcase. Marissa scooped the child in her arms so expertly Annie didn’t stir from her deep sleep.

“There’s a diaper bag.” Agnes pointed to a table beside the crib. “I filled it with supplies I keep on hand for baby-sitting.”

Blake had to give his neighbor credit. Even in her concern over her sister, Agnes hadn’t lost her usual efficiency.

Marissa swung the bag over her shoulder and cradled Annie in her other arm. Blake held the door open for her and, as they exited past him, was struck by the melange of fragrance, baby powder mixed with Marissa’s subtle wisteria perfume. Agnes followed and closed and locked the door.

While the women climbed into Agnes’s car, Blake went to his back door, where Rambo stood waiting, tail wagging furiously in greeting, a lopsided grin on his canine lips. “C’mon, Bo. Do your business, then hop in the truck. We’re going for a ride.”

Bo woofed in delight, turned a few ecstatic circles and bounded to his favorite elm tree to relieve himself. Sometimes the dog took almost an hour to sniff and mark every bush and tree in the yard. But he either was excited about a ride or sensed the urgency in Blake’s voice, because he loped immediately to the truck and jumped into the rear seat of the cab as soon as Blake opened the door.

As a result, Marissa and Agnes were only a block ahead when Blake turned out of his drive onto the street.

“We’re going to Sarasota,” Blake told Bo, “so Agnes can take care of her sister who had a stroke.”

Blake had long ago stopped questioning the logic of speaking to an animal who couldn’t talk back. As intelligent as Bo was, Blake figured the dog understood most of what he said. Besides, talking to his pet made living by himself less solitary.

“That’s Marissa, my old high-school friend, with Agnes.” Blake flicked his turn signal and followed Agnes’s car onto the main drag that led to the interstate. “I hadn’t seen her in eighteen years, but she’s as easy to talk to now as she was when we were teenagers.”

Bo woofed in response.

“She’s almost as easy to talk to as you are, boy,” Blake said with a grin. “Except you don’t argue with me. I’m going to need some powerful persuasion to get her to help me with Annie. Marissa’s always been a straight shooter. Now that she’s an attorney, I don’t know if she’ll bend the rules like we did sometimes when we were kids.”

Recalling Marissa’s appearance when he’d first seen her again in her office and her expression when she gazed at Annie, Blake couldn’t help thinking that Marissa’s unwillingness to bend rules wasn’t the only thing about her that had changed. Years ago, Blake had considered her a good pal, just like one of the guys. No way could he ever look at her in that same way again. She’d grown into a stunning woman, one who heated his blood and quickened his pulse, especially when he recalled the trim fit of her very professional suit, showing off her undeniable attributes from head to toe. And her wisteria fragrance was enough to drive a man wild. How could any male juror keep his mind on a trial when Marissa stepped in front of the bench?

“She’s grown up to be quite a woman.”

Bo rested his head on the back of Blake’s seat, licked his master’s ear and whined.

“She likes dogs,” Blake assured Bo, hoping Marissa would be around often enough to get to know Bo well.

He shook his head to force his longing thoughts away. Marissa may have turned into a mouthwatering adult female, but that fact was no concern of Blake’s. He wasn’t looking for a woman to call his own. He’d decided long ago that marriage and family life were out of the question for him. Bounced from one foster home to another while growing up, he’d never learned how to deal with intense relationships. He’d be a disaster as a husband and a father, probably even as a lover, because he wasn’t equipped with the skills to maintain lasting intimate ties to anyone—except Bo, of course, who forgave all Blake’s shortcomings.

“No reason, though,” he said over his shoulder to Bo, “that Marissa can’t still be our buddy. Right, boy?”

Bo barked in enthusiastic agreement and stuck his head out the open driver’s window, his grin widening as his fur blew in the wind, while Blake struggled to make the sophisticated Marissa of today fit the image of his old teenage pal—and failed.

TWO HOURS LATER, with Agnes safely settled at her sister’s bedside and Annie asleep in the carrier in the back seat beside Bo, Blake headed the truck north over the Sunshine Skyway Bridge toward Dolphin Bay. The startlingly vivid lavender, mango and rose of the sunset over the Gulf of Mexico reminded Blake anew why he loved the area. He and Marissa had watched hundreds of sunsets together as kids, and the sight made him feel young again, ready to tackle anything. Even taking care of a three-month-old infant until he found her a good home.

Beside him, Marissa pulled her gaze from the spectacle of the setting sun. Keeping his attention on the traffic, from the corner of his eye, he caught her staring at him. She was even more beautiful than he’d first thought, with her hair ruffled by the wind and one silken leg crossed over the other, revealing a delectable knee and shapely thigh where her skirt had crept higher.

Feeling suddenly awkward at the turn his thoughts had taken, he strove for a neutral subject. “Lucky that the doctors could intervene so quickly with Patricia.”

Marissa nodded. “Today’s medications, if administered in time, can alleviate the effects of a stroke. She should be out of the hospital in a few days.”

“But Agnes plans to stay a couple weeks. She’ll wait on Patricia hand and foot once she’s out of the hospital. Lucky sister. If I was sick, there’s no one who’d take better care of me than Agnes. Once when I was down with the flu, she almost drowned me in chicken soup, hot toddies and tons of sympathy.”

Marissa twisted on the seat toward him and intensified her gaze. “You realize,” she said in a no-nonsense tone, “that you have no choice now but to turn Annie over to the authorities.”

“Because Agnes can’t take care of her?” Blake shook his head. “I’ll hire a nanny. I’m sure there’re plenty of competent people out there who can help me care for Annie until the right adoptive parents come along.”

Marissa sighed, her warm breath stirring the air in the truck and Blake’s senses, as well. “That’s not the point.”

“Sure it is. How can you hand a sweet little angel like Annie over to a cold impersonal system? It’ll break her heart.”

“Foster parents aren’t monsters.” Marissa’s frustration with him was evident in her firm statement and the jut of her very pretty chin.

“Some are,” Blake said quietly, struggling with memories he’d promised himself he’d forget.

Marissa sat silent for a moment, as if digesting what he’d said. When she spoke again, her voice had lost its edge, her posture relaxed. “But you really have no choice. Everyone will know you have her. Unless you leave town with the baby.”

“I can’t leave. I have a business to run.” Blake reminded himself of the appointment he had with the developer the next morning, the appointment he’d canceled today because of Annie.

“Dolphin Bay’s a small town,” Marissa continued. “Eventually someone’s going to turn you in. Vienna Pitts has already tried.”

In the back seat, Bo emitted a low growl at the mention of his neighbor’s name.

“I’ll have to turn you in myself,” Marissa continued, “if you don’t. Not reporting an abandoned child is a criminal offense.”

He glanced at her sharply before returning his gaze to the road. “You’re sure of that?”

“I can’t name the exact statute, but I’ll bet my law degree that’s the case.”

Blake tightened his grip on the steering wheel and didn’t attempt to hide his disgust. “All I want is to keep a sweet little kid safe, and that makes me jail bait? What a country.”

Marissa placed her hand on his arm, and his flesh tingled beneath the smooth warmth of her skin. “Look at it this way. What if Annie had been left on old man Sellars’s front porch?”

“The guy who abused his dog?” Blake shuddered at the memory of the sad, emaciated little pooch.

“Imagine how he’d treat an infant.”

“I don’t even want to go there,” Blake admitted.

“That’s why the laws are on the books, to protect children from falling into the wrong hands.”

“But I’m not like Sellars. I just want to help her.”

“I know that.” Her immediate agreement stroked his ego. “But the law doesn’t, the courts don’t. Not without a proper investigation. And if you’re serious about helping Annie find the right parents, the last thing you need is to get on the wrong side of the system. They’re the ones you’ll have to work with to make sure Annie’s placed in a good home.”

Blake kept his eyes on the traffic while his mind went into overdrive. Motivated by memories of his own unhappiness as a child, he’d hoped he could spare the little bundle deposited on his doorstep the same fate. Too confident that he could simply follow his heart and do what was right, he’d counted on a smart lawyer to manipulate the system in her favor. Behind him, Annie stirred and cooed in her carrier, obviously awake but also content. How could he place her in the same circumstances that had caused him so much grief?

“Any suggestions?” he asked Marissa. “Not that I’m agreeing to turn her in,” he added quickly.

“I know what caring for Annie means to you,” she said softly.

Her empathy wasn’t empty words. More than anyone else in the entire world, Marissa knew what he’d been through, knew how often, just as soon as he’d begun to put down roots, develop attachments to his foster family and feel as if he belonged, something had occurred that necessitated his removal to another foster home.

In his first placement, it had been his foster mother’s discovery that she was pregnant with twins. Suddenly there was no room for a rambunctious five-year-old who wasn’t their own. In his second home with an older couple, Mr. Flint had had a heart attack, and his wife, burdened with his care, couldn’t keep up with eight-year-old Blake. And then there were the Barbers, the place in his memory where he refused to go. Marissa, however, had seen his welts and bruises. Covering up the evidence of abuse in summer shorts and T-shirts had been all but impossible.

Beside him, Marissa sat silently for a long time, seemingly lost in thought as they exited the Skyway and headed through St. Petersburg on the interstate.

“Do you trust me?” Her unexpected question broke the stillness.

Blake flashed her an appreciative look. “That’s why I came to you in the first place.”

“Then let me think about this and make a few calls when we get back to your house.”

“You won’t turn me in?” Blake wondered for an instant if his trust had been misplaced.

“Not until we’ve exhausted every option,” she said. “But I’d be lying if I promised not to. I have a responsibility to the law. And to Annie.”

Her last statement hurt. “I feel a responsibility to the kid, too.”

MARISSA SAT in the authentic Stickley arts-and-craft-style chair, with its deep, comfy cushions, and cradled Annie in her arms. Bo curled at her feet. The friendly animal had taken a liking to the child and dogged the steps of whoever held her. Opaque sage-green draperies, drawn across the windows at Marissa’s back, shielded the room from the prying eyes of Vienna Pitts, ever vigilant across the street.

The child’s weight felt comforting against Marissa’s heart and filled her with a soothing contentment. Annie sucked the last of the formula from the bottle provided by Agnes, and her tiny eyelids fluttered. Even though the baby was dropping into sleep, Marissa was reluctant to place her in the crib Blake had moved from Agnes’s house into his living room. She liked too much the feeling of completeness that holding Annie provided.

Blake came in from the kitchen with an earthenware mug of steaming coffee and set it on a table by her elbow. With his own mug he settled into the chair opposite hers in front of the hearth. Instead of flaming logs, inappropriate in the Florida heat, the fireplace held a massive terra-cotta pot of verdant, healthy ferns, a testament to Blake’s skill with plants. His simple but impeccable taste was evident in every corner of the room, from its pale camel-colored walls to the rich-honey finish of the heart-of-pine floors, and the Hal Stowers beachscapes on the walls. Blake’s business must be booming for him to afford such art. She smiled inwardly, glad that the homeless friend of her childhood finally had such a special place of his own.

“Did you finish your calls?” he asked.

She nodded. While he’d moved baby equipment from Agnes’s and fixed a supper of Spanish bean soup and grilled cheese sandwiches, she’d called her mother to say she wouldn’t be home until later. Then she’d tracked down Debbie Arnold at home. Debbie, whom she’d known in law school, had opened a family law practice in Dolphin Bay after graduation.

Marissa stiffened at the thought of what she had to tell Blake, felt Annie jerk in response and forced herself to take a deep breath to relax. “You’re not going to like what I have to say.”

Bo raised his chin from his paws, cocked his ears and turned his head, homing in on the distress in her voice.

His gray eyes bleak, Blake peered at her over the rim of his coffee mug.

To delay delivering bad news, she rose, carried Annie to the crib and tucked her in. Bo followed, turned around three times, then lay beneath the crib. Marissa would have liked to hold the child longer, to appreciate her baby scent and relish the weight of the infant in her arms, but she recognized the folly of growing attached to a baby she might never see again.

Resisting the urge to comfort Blake with a hug, she returned to her chair. No other man she knew would have placed himself in Blake’s position, creating so much trouble for himself for an unknown baby. How had such deep kindness developed in someone who’d received so little of it as a child?

And Blake had always been kind, she reminded herself. She remembered the time in middle school when he’d wiped away her tears after the class bully had teased her for being a skinny runt. Blake had insisted that good things came in small packages, then made her laugh by telling silly jokes. She wished now she could tell him what he wanted to hear.

Instead, squaring her shoulders, she came out with the harsh truth. “There’s no getting around it. You have to give Annie to the authorities. If you don’t, you could face charges.”

“What kind of charges?”

“Serious ones. Interference with custody is a felony offense.”

Obviously undeterred by the dire possibilities, he set his handsome mouth in an unyielding line. “I can’t accept turning her in. There has to be another way.”

She hesitated, not wanting to fan false hopes, but he had to know the facts. “There is a slight possibility you could get her back.”

Hope suffused his face with an appealing light, like a kid who’d just been granted a special wish. How could a man look so mature and yet so boyish at the same time? Women all over Dolphin Bay had to be throwing themselves at his feet, even though he’d insisted earlier in her office that he had no love life.

“How soon could I get her back?” he asked. “Immediately?”

“No.”

“How soon?”

“Maybe a few days…but most likely not at all.”

He slumped in his chair as if resigned to the inevitable. “What do I have to do?”

Sensing his distress and hurting for him, Marissa switched into her objective legal mode, both for his sake and her own. She had to suppress her feelings to prevent them from coloring the facts. “First thing in the morning, you call the Child Protection Investigation Department of the county sheriff’s office. They’ll pick up Annie.”

“What’ll they do with her?”

“Debbie Arnold, my friend who practices family law, promises they’ll put her in a good temporary foster home. She’s agreed to act as the child’s legal representative, pro bono. She’ll make certain that Annie’s well taken care of.”

Blake nodded, so obviously dejected Marissa had to squelch again the urge to hug him and struggled to regain her objectivity. “Debbie thinks she can get you a hearing with Judge Standiford within a couple days.”

Blake’s expression brightened slightly. “And the judge will return Annie to me until she’s adopted?”

“Whoa, not so fast. There’s another aspect we haven’t considered.”

Blake cocked his head. “What?”

“Annie’s mother.”

“The judge can’t give her back to a woman who abandoned her.” Blake looked horrified. “What if the mother does it again?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Sounds cut-and-dried to me,” he said grimly. “Obviously, her mother didn’t want her.”

“It appears so,” Marissa agreed, “but child protection investigators will have to locate the mother. First, because abandoning her child is a criminal offense—”

“Locked up, she couldn’t have Annie back,” Blake said with clear satisfaction.

“Although abandonment is a third-degree felony, women who abandon their children aren’t always sent to jail,” Marissa said. “The court considers all the circumstances. Annie’s mother may have had a very good, even if misguided, reason for leaving her baby on your porch.”

“But if Annie’s placed in foster care, I have a shot at getting temporary custody?”

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