﻿For a long time Dalton stood right where he was, holding the baby, not sure whether to move or breathe. Then the coffeepot finished its cycle with a final gurgle, popping Dalton out of his stupor. “Hey, kid,” he said, thinking that would get the baby to move.

But she only snuggled closer.

He turned to talk to her again, to tell her he was no one she wanted to get comfy on, but when he did he caught a whiff of her shampoo. A sweet, fresh scent, with a touch of something he thought was called chamomile.

Beneath his nose, her hair was as soft as feathers, tickling lightly against his skin. He paused, inhaling the baby-light scent, allowing himself that one second of pretending.

Pretending she was his. That he was Sabrina’s father. He trailed a finger along the peachy soft skin of her cheek, the fantasy of this being his family, his life, continuing. He nuzzled Sabrina’s soft head and imagined carrying her upstairs, putting his daughter to bed and then shutting the door. To cross the hall and join Ellie…

Praise for Shirley Jump:

‘BOARDROOM BRIDE AND GROOM is well plotted,

and all of the characters are beautifully realised. While

it’s often humorous, keep some tissues handy too.’

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

About SWEETHEART LOST AND FOUND

‘This tale of rekindled love is right on target:

a delightful start to this uplifting, marriage-orientated

series [The Wedding Planners].’ —Library Journal.com

About NYT bestselling anthology SUGAR AND SPICE

‘Jump’s office romance gives the collection a kick,

with fiery writing.’

—PublishersWeekly.com

New York Times bestselling author Shirley Jump didn’t have the will-power to diet, nor the talent to master under-eye concealer, so she bowed out of a career in television and opted instead for a career where she could be paid to eat at her desk—writing. At first, seeking revenge on her children for their grocery store tantrums, she sold embarrassing essays about them to anthologies. However, it wasn’t enough to feed her growing addiction to writing funny. So she turned to the world of romance novels, where messes are (usually) cleaned up before The End. In the worlds Shirley gets to create and control, the children listen to their parents, the husbands always remember holidays, and the housework is magically done by elves. Though she’s thrilled to see her books in stores around the world, Shirley mostly writes because it gives her an excuse to avoid cleaning the toilets and helps feed her shoe habit. To learn more, visit her website at www.shirleyjump.com

Dear Reader

I had such fun writing DOORSTEP DADDY! It brought back all those memories of having my children, of those early days when they were babies. Both the difficulties and the joys of raising little ones— and especially those sleepless nights!

Like all new mums, I made lots of mistakes and had tons of joyous days. My favourite moments of all, though, were the quiet ones. The naps on the sofa, when the baby fell asleep on my chest and I could just watch her sleep, or feel the rise and fall of that little chest. The laughter of my son, who had this deep chortle that got me every time and made it impossible to stay mad at him for more than a split second, no matter what he’d spilled or painted or ‘fixed’.

Every age has had its challenges and rewards. There were the bedtime stories and the kisses, the drawings and the basketball games, the road trips and the endless questions. My children have enriched life for my husband and I, and I can’t imagine life without them. They make every day an adventure, and bring a dash of excitement to everything we do.

But most of all they are my heart, and though they’re now way past the age of preschool and kindergarten, and closer to the age of sleepover camp and learning to drive, I still get teary on that first day of school and have a hard time saying goodbye. If I could, I’d keep them close for ever.

Until then, I’ll just keep on trying to preserve every moment I can, and look forward to grandchildren!

Shirley

DOORSTEP DADDY

BY

SHIRLEY JUMP

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my children. Every day with you is a precious gift,

and I thank God for blessing me with

two of the most wonderful children in the world.

CHAPTER ONE

HE CREPT silently into the bedroom, his footsteps muffled by the hearty drumbeat of a summer thunderstorm.

He raised the knife, pausing only long enough to delight in the quick flash of lightning that illuminated his victim’s terrified face, before—

“Dalton, I need your help!”

Dalton Scott let out a curse. Then another one. His neighbor. Viola Winterberry, one of those people who needed favors like trick-or-treaters needed another chocolate bar, was somewhere downstairs.

Interrupting. Again.

“I’m working, Mrs. Winterberry. On the book,” he called down.

“I know,” she said, her voice rising in volume as she climbed the stairs toward his office, “but I have—”

“I’m on a deadline.” He shouted the words, heavy on the hint-hint.

Actually, he was way past his deadline.

“But you have to—”

“And if I get disturbed, I lose my concentration.” He’d told her that a hundred times, yet she still walked in uninvited. It was his own fault. He’d forgotten to lock the door after he retrieved the paper this morning.

He needed a guard dog. A big one.

Aw, hell. It wouldn’t matter. His writing stunk, dog or not. Concentration or not. He’d already missed his deadline, ticked off his editor, nearly destroyed his career.

What else could go wrong?

“I have an emergency,” Mrs. Winterberry said, poking her curly gray head into his office and into his line of vision. “I know you said not to bother you, but I’m desperate, Dalton. Desperate. You said anytime I needed a favor, you’d help me out.”

She’d been desperate last week when she needed a cup of sugar from him so she could make her special raspberry cake. Desperate the week before when she needed him to come by immediately to change a lightbulb. Desperate the week before that when she’d called him four times in one day because she was sure the noise she was hearing outside her window could only be caused by an intruder.

“I’ve been calling you,” Mrs. Winterberry said. “For ten minutes.”

“I unplugged my phone.” On purpose, he’d add, but that would offend her. And told her she was the reason he kept his phone disconnected when he worked.

He liked Mrs. Winterberry. She had that grandmotherly look about her, with her seemingly endless supply of cookies and muffins, and her mother-hen ways, but that package came equipped with a tendency to pop in unannounced, needing something almost every five minutes. When Dalton really needed to get this incredibly overdue book done.

“I’m sorry to bother you again, Dalton, but this time I really do need you. My sister…” Mrs. Winterberry’s face flushed, and something churned in Dalton’s gut, telling him this wasn’t a lightbulb or a too-high can on Mrs. Winterberry’s kitchen shelf, “my sister had a heart attack and…” She pressed a hand to her mouth. Her light blue eyes began to water.

Immediate regret flooded Dalton. He leapt to his feet, and crossed to the older woman, then stood there, helpless, not quite a friend, but not quite a stranger, either. In that next-door-neighbor-limbo of too distant to give a hug. Not that he was the hug type anyway. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Winterberry. Ah, do you need a ride to the hospital?”

“No. But I do need you to…” She gave him a hopeful smile. “Watch Sabrina.”

“Sabrina?”

Mrs. Winterberry made a vague wave toward the downstairs. “Yep. She’s sleeping downstairs. All her things are there.” Mrs. Winterberry started to leave.

“Wait. Who? What things?”

His neighbor poked her head back in. “I thought I told you. I’ve been looking after her for a neighbor. Ellie Miller? She lives in the little house across the street? You know, the brown one with the…”

Dalton looked back at his computer, not listening to the long-winded house description. Daylight was burning, as was his editor’s short-fused temper. And he was no closer to being done. He had no time or desire to be watching so much as a neighbor’s houseplant. “Mrs. Winterberry, isn’t there another—”

“Don’t worry,” she interrupted, misinterpreting what he was about to say. “I left Ellie a message. She should be here any minute. Surely, you can watch Sabrina until then? Besides, it will probably be good for you. Give you a whole new perspective for your work.” Satisfied his non-answer was a yes, Mrs. Winterberry headed for the door of his office and down the stairs, her mind clearly on her sister and not on anything else. “Thank you!”

Before he could say yes or no, Mrs. Winterberry was gone. A second later, he heard the front door slam.

Dalton bit back a groan. Why had he ever shared the angst of a writer with his next-door neighbor? He’d been living alone too long, that was for sure. And now she’d left him with Sabrina, whoever that was. Probably the neighbor’s cat. Mrs. Winterberry, self-proclaimed friend of the furry, was well-known for taking on people’s pets when they went out of town.

Just great. Now he had a pooch or a cat to contend with. Well, it could be worse. He could be stuck with—

A piercing wail cut through the quiet of his house. No, it didn’t cut, it viciously slashed the silence. “What the—?”

Dalton ran out of his office and into the massive, two-story great room, spinning, searching for the source of the sound. At first, in the huge space, he couldn’t find the thing, praying it was a disc in his CD player, or someone outside, a screech of a teenager doing a one-eighty on the cul-de-sac, and then finally, his gaze lighted on a bundle of pink blankets squirming in a plastic rocker kind of thing on the floor by his favorite armchair.

A kid.

He crossed the room, moved the blankets to the side. And faced his worst nightmare. A baby.

Hell, no. Not a kid. He didn’t do kids.

Ever.

Regardless, there was one. Kicking and screaming. And in his living room.

Its mouth was open in a cavernous O, the sound coming from its lungs reaching decibels usually reserved for deaf rock bands. Dalton was half tempted to put the blanket back, return to his office and shut the door. Except someone would eventually show up on his doorstep, demanding he do something about the human noisemaker. And besides, even he wasn’t grumpy enough to leave a baby screaming in the middle of his living room.

“Hey,” he said. “Hey!”

The baby kept screaming.

“Hey!” Dalton repeated, louder this time. “Cut it out. I’m not in the mood.”

This time, the baby stopped. Looked at him. All blue eyes and red cheeks. A sliver of a memory raced through Dalton.

Damn.

He closed his eyes for a second, but that only made the past push its way out of the mental closet and into the forefront of Dalton’s brain. He opened his eyes and let out a breath. It was better when the baby had been crying, loud enough to keep him from hearing himself think. He took three steps back, putting some distance between himself and the bundle of pink, and in the process, between his mind and those memories. They dissipated a little, but didn’t disappear. Not entirely.

He needed to get this kid out of here. That’s what he really needed to do.

Then he could work. Try to wrangle that manuscript back into something resembling readable, and at the same time get his career back in order.

“Listen, kid. I’ve got work to do. You can just sit there and be quiet. I’m going to see if Mrs. Winterberry is still here and tell her to find someone else. There’s no way I can babysit.” He wagged a finger in the infant’s direction. “And I mean it. Not a peep out of you, understood?”

The baby blinked, grabbed the edge of her blanket with her fist. Probably scared into submission.

Good. Now he could concentrate again.

He headed for the front door. Hopefully, he could catch Mrs. Winterberry before she pulled out of her driveway. The elderly woman wasn’t exactly a speed demon behind the wheel.

As soon as he was out of the kid’s line of sight, the wailing began again. Apparently, someone didn’t take direction well. Dalton opened the door anyway, stuck his head out, and saw—

No one. Not a soul. Mrs. Winterberry’s driveway, two doors away, was empty and silent, her familiar gray car gone.

Leaving him stuck.

He spun back toward the baby. “Stop. I mean it.” He wagged a finger at the kid. A gurgle, a blink, and then a few sputters before she stopped.

He stared at her. She stared at him. Trusting. Almost… happy.

Damn. No way. He couldn’t do this. He hadn’t been around a baby since—

Well, he simply wasn’t going to watch her. That’s all there was to it.

The problem? He didn’t see another available adult human option. He was “it” and he hadn’t even asked to play tag.

Dalton crossed his arms over his chest. “So whose kid are you? Mrs. Winterberry said you belong to someone named…” He thought a second. What had she said? “Elsie? Emmie.”

The kid was no help. There was no answer. Just some blinking. A blubbering lip.

“Don’t start.”

She whimpered, and threatened to let loose one more time. He shifted his weight and then did what he’d been hoping he wouldn’t have to do—

He bent down and got close to the kid. There had to be a name tag or something on her. First, he inspected the car seat, bringing it forward and back, turning it right, left, sending the toys on the handle jingling and jangling. Hoping for an “If Lost, Return To” sticker.

Nothing.

He lifted the blankets, peeking underneath an inch at a time, wishing kids came equipped with a Paddington Bear tag. What was wrong with America? Really, all kids needed a stamp or GPS tracking or something so they could be sent back to whence they came.

But this one had nothing. And that meant Dalton was stuck with his worst nightmare and the one thing he, of all people, shouldn’t be left in charge of.

A small child.

Ellie Miller’s day had done nothing but get busier. Her best intentions had been derailed before she’d even arrived at work, given the number of e-mails and messages that had greeted her. Not to mention the meetings that had followed, one after another like dominoes. She let out a sigh and sank into the leather chair behind her desk, facing the inch-thick stack of pink message slips, accompanied by a furiously blinking phone. One two-hour meeting, and her afternoon had exploded in her absence.

If she wasn’t stuck in meetings half the day— most of which were about as productive as trying to fill a hole-riddled bucket—she’d get much more done in a quarter of the time.

So much for her plan to leave early and spend the afternoon with Sabrina.

The tear in her heart widened. Every day, the ache between wishing she was home, and the need to be here at work, at a job she once thought she loved—but more, needed to keep to pay the bills, to keep her and Sabrina afloat, carved a deeper hole in her gut. How did other women do it? How did they balance the family and work worlds?

“One pink message slip at a time,” Ellie muttered to herself and started flipping through the papers. As a producer for a newly launched celebrity interview TV show in the hot Boston market, downtime wasn’t a word in her vocabulary. It wasn’t a word she could afford, much less worry about.

Besides, she’d worked for years to reach this rung on the career ladder, to finally have a chance to prove herself capable. Okay, so it wasn’t exactly what she’d gone to college for. This job was a bit of a detour from what she’d dreamed of while attending Suffolk University. Still, the television work would serve well on her résumé and could lead to what she really wanted down the road— or at least she kept telling herself that as she sat through another of Lincoln’s pointless meetings. Either way, she’d probably be destroying her career if she walked away now.

Ellie sighed. Not that her bank account could even entertain that option.

The pressure of being everything—mother, father, provider—weighed on her, more and more every day. Ellie tried to ignore it. She was a single mother. No amount of worry was going to change that situation. Even if sometimes she wondered whether she was handling the job very well.

Ellie glanced at Sabrina’s picture, her heart clenching at the sight of her sweet eight-month-old, then she glanced back at the pile of missed messages. Work. A means to a better end.

Connie had marked the same checkbox on every one of the message slips: URGENT. Everything about this new job fit into that category, considering they’d hit the air a week ago. Finding guests, slotting stories—it all slammed into Ellie’s days like a five-day-a-week hurricane.

At least a third of the messages had Mrs. Winterberry’s name at the top. Ellie smiled and passed by those without reading them. She usually saved those for lunch, like a personal dessert, for when she had time to marvel over the details of Sabrina’s day and call Mrs. Winterberry back. Mrs. Winterberry was a great babysitter—but one who thought she should call and report on every bottle feeding, every diaper change, every coo and gurgle.

Details that Ellie loved to hear—but that also made her miss her daughter more. If only she could be the one hearing those coos. Or be the one on the other end of those bottles. Every morning Ellie dropped off Bri—

And seemed to leave a part of her heart behind.

Regardless, Mrs. Winterberry had been a godsend. She watched Sabrina for a very reasonable fee—one much cheaper than any daycare in Boston would have charged. She’d seen the dire straits Ellie had been in, taken pity on her—and probably fallen in love with Sabrina’s big blue eyes.

Who wouldn’t? Sabrina, in Ellie’s personal opinion, was the cutest baby in the entire world.

Ellie picked up the picture of her daughter and traced Bri’s face. “I miss you, baby,” she whispered. “I’m doing the best job I can.”

Then she replaced the image on her desk, and got back to work. For now, Mrs. Winterberry’s messages would have to wait. If Ellie got too distracted by thoughts of Sabrina, she’d never get anything done.

Instead, she returned the call of a celebrity guest who was having second thoughts about her appearance on the show. Something about “thigh confidence,” Connie had noted.

A knock sounded on Ellie’s door and Connie poked her head inside. “I see you got your messages. Surprised you’re still here.”

“Are you kidding me?” Ellie paused, waiting for the ring on the other end. “With this stack to return, I’ll be lucky to leave before next year.”

From out in the hall, she heard Lincoln calling her name. “Ellie! Meeting in fifteen! Be ready!”

Damn. She’d forgotten to prepare that list of potential closed captioning sponsors for Lincoln. Yet another thing to add to a day that already seemed impossible. She ran a hand through her hair and told herself she could do this.

Connie’s brows knitted in confusion. “So, you’re okay with what Mrs. Winterberry did?”

At the celebrity’s office, a bored receptionist picked up. “Hi,” Ellie said, “this is Ellie Miller, returning Julie Weston’s call. Is she in?” The receptionist muttered something that could have been assent, then classical hold music filled the line. Ellie glanced back at Connie. “What did Mrs. Winterberry do now? Let me guess. Take Sabrina to the mall and spoil her mercilessly? I swear, that woman is a saint. She’s bought more clothes for my daughter than I have.”

“Yeah, well, read your message,” Connie said, wagging a pen in the direction of Ellie’s desk. “Babysitter-of-the-Month had to dump your kid and run. Her sister was sick or something. I couldn’t really hear her. Lincoln was in the middle of a rant.”

Just as Julie said hello, Ellie hung up on her and started rifling through the stack of messages again. Connie had organized them chronologically, and as Ellie flipped wildly, she saw the story take shape. “Mrs. Winterberry called. Needs you to call back. May need to leave early.” “Mrs. Winterberry again. Sister is sick. Needs you to come home.” “Mrs. Winterberry can’t reach you. Leaving Sabrina with a neighbor.”

A rising tide of worry flooded Ellie’s chest. She ripped her cell phone out of her purse—still off from earlier, from the meeting, a Lincoln rule— never, ever interrupt a meeting with a phone call. Damn. At the same time she pressed the power button, Ellie pointed at the name below the word “neighbor” and glanced at Connie. “Neighbor? What neighbor?”

Ellie barely knew anyone in her neighborhood. She’d lived there just over a year and a half, and hadn’t been outside to do much more than mow the lawn—and even that was sporadic. Her entire life was wrapped up in work, and Sabrina.

“Some guy named…uh, Dave or Dalton or something, I think. Again, Lincoln, screaming. Sorry. Lives uh…” Connie leaned forward, peering at her illegible words. “Across the street? At…529? Maybe 527? Sorry, El. The phone was ringing off the hook and that new voice mail is so spotty, people kept getting bounced back to me. Between that and Lincoln, I was having a heck of a time keeping up.”

Ellie wanted to scream at Connie, to tell her that was no excuse for missing the details, but she had pitched in a time or two herself to work the front desk and knew how insane it could get. Plus, she didn’t have time. Sabrina was with a stranger— and that had Ellie’s heart racing. Her little girl was probably completely upset by the change in her environment, schedule, caretaker. Ellie could swear she heard Sabrina’s cries from here. She shouldn’t have gone to work today. She should have stayed home, stayed with Bri.

But that was an impossible dream. The job situation that Ellie had always wanted—but couldn’t have.

She swung her purse over her shoulder and shoved away from her desk, clasping the last message in her hand. “I’ve got to go. Will you tell—”

“Lincoln,” Connie finished, with a nod and a comforting touch on Ellie’s arm. “I’ll face the firing squad for you.” She grinned. “Now, go.”

“Thanks.” Ellie was already out of her chair and out the door, hurrying past Connie and down the stairs, bypassing the elevator to hustle down the three flights of stairs to the parking garage. Within minutes, she was in her car and on her way to her house, trying hard to concentrate on the road, not the fact that she didn’t know this Dave/Dalton/whoever he was from a hole in the wall, and an hour had already passed since Mrs. Winterberry left the message. A thousand things could have gone wrong in that period of time.

But Mrs. Winterberry was responsible. Surely, she had left the neighbor babysitter with the list of numbers to reach Ellie. Mrs. Winterberry wouldn’t have dumped her baby with just anyone.

Would she?

For the hundredth time since the death of her husband, Ellie wished she had a spouse to share this burden with, another parent to take on the emergencies. The late nights. The fretting over every detail.

At a stoplight, she dialed Mrs. Winterberry’s cell phone number. “Mrs. Winterberry, thank God I reached you.”

“Ellie! I’m so sorry I had to run out today. Don’t you worry, Dalton Scott is a great babysitter. He comes from a family of twelve, you know. He’s got lots of baby experience.”

A whoosh of relief escaped Ellie. “Good.”

“You didn’t think I’d leave your baby with just anyone, did you?”

“Of course not.”

Mrs. Winterberry laughed. “He’s a very nice man, you know. A very nice man.”

“I’m sure he is.”

“He’d be nice for you. It’s time you moved on, dear. Dealt with…well, dealt with losing your husband. I know, because I lost my Walter and it was the hardest thing I ever went through. You have a little one to think of. You need a man in your life, not just for you, but for that precious baby.”

It was a familiar discussion. One Ellie had had a hundred times with her neighbor. But what Viola didn’t understand was that moving on after Cameron’s death involved a lot more than just dating a new guy. “Mrs. Winterberry, I don’t have time—”

“No better time than now,” she interrupted. “Well, dear. I have to get back to my sister. She’s in rough shape but she’ll be okay.”

“Oh, Mrs. Winterberry. I’m so sorry.”

“I probably have to stay a couple days. Maybe longer. I hate to leave you in a lurch, but—”

“Don’t worry. Stay as long as you need. Take care of your sister. I’ll be fine.”

“Thank you, dear. I’ll call you tomorrow. Give that little girl a kiss for me.”

Ellie promised to do so, then hung up. She gripped the steering wheel and prayed for strength for the days ahead. Without Mrs. Winterberry’s kindness, wisdom—and most importantly, her second set of hands—Ellie would be lost.

Stress doubled in Ellie’s gut. She could tick the worries off, worries that had multiplied minute-by-minute in the months since she’d been widowed. Being a single mom. Paying the bills, the mortgage, a mortgage she’d taken on when there’d been two incomes, and been left to pay with one. Raising her child alone, juggling late-night feedings and diaper changes, while still managing to get to work, and be a star performer eight to ten hours a day. At the same time, the even-more-powerful desire to be a star mom. To give her all to her daughter, who needed her, and depended on her for everything. Every morning, Ellie woke up to trusting blue eyes that believed in Ellie to be a supermom, who could do it all.

And here, Ellie felt like she was barely balancing any of it.

Finally, she pulled onto her street. She parked haphazardly against the sidewalk opposite to her house, then paused outside the two houses. 527 or 529?

She should have asked Mrs. Winterberry. Damn.

The crying answered the question for her. She could hear her daughter’s cries through the open windows of 529, a massive two-story contemporary with a brick front she had noticed from time to time. A beautiful house, one of the nicest in the neighborhood. Ellie pressed the doorbell, then rapped on the oak door, resisting the urge to just barge in.

No answer. Sabrina kept crying.

Anxiety pattered in Ellie’s chest. She rang the bell a second time, then knocked again, harder, more urgent this time. “Dalton? It’s Ellie Miller. Mrs. Winterberry left Sabrina here, and I’m her—”

“Go away. I’m busy.”

Sabrina cried louder.

Oh God. Was she hurt? What kind of guy was he? Despite Mrs. Winterberry’s endorsement, he sounded grumpy. A horrible babysitter. Ellie turned the handle, said a silent prayer it would open, and—

It did.

Throwing Ellie into sheer chaos. Sabrina crying, squirming, in her car seat. The scent of a dirty diaper filling the room like it had exploded, and taken no prisoners in doing so. And at the far end of the room, one hand pinching his nose, the other holding aforementioned diaper in the manner usually reserved for toxic waste, a tall, dark-haired man with a scowl.

“What are you doing to my baby?”

From far across the room, he stepped on a trash can pedal, tossed the diaper inside, then, once the can slammed shut, turned to her, his scowl deepening. “What am I doing? What is she doing is more like it. That kid should come with a condemned sign.”

Ellie shot him a horrified glare, then hurried over to Sabrina, unclipping the safety belt before taking her out of the seat, and brought the baby to her chest. The scent of baby powder met Ellie’s nostrils, sweet and pure. Ellie held her daughter tight, the warm, familiar body fitting perfectly into her arms. “Momma’s here, sweetheart, Momma’s here.”

Having her child against Ellie felt like coming home. As if the world had been careening out of control all day, and suddenly everything had been righted again. Ellie let out a breath, her nerves no longer strung as tight as piano wire.

And every time, Ellie expected Bri to simply melt into her mother’s touch, to calm gently. Coo and gurgle, like other babies. Be happy, content, like a commercial for motherhood, just like Ellie had dreamed during her pregnancy. But it never seemed to work that way.

As usual, Sabrina didn’t calm down. She kept on crying, the volume rising, rather than lowering. Ellie did everything the books and Mrs. Winterberry had recommended. Rubbed Bri’s back. Whispered in her ear. Started to pace. The baby, still worked up, continued to squirm and kick against Ellie’s midsection. Clearly, being in the hands of another hadn’t made Sabrina happy.

Ellie tried not to take the cries personally, but still…

She did.

“Come on, sweetie, it’s okay.”

Sabrina didn’t agree. Her feet kicked. Her fists curled into tight circles. Her mouth opened and closed, letting out cry after cry. Ellie walked back and forth, circling the burgundy leather sofa, her high heels sinking into the plush carpet, creating a rippled path in Dalton’s living room.

And still Sabrina didn’t quiet. “Shh,” Ellie soothed, nearly on the verge of tears herself. She tried so hard to be a good mother and still she had yet to connect, to get the baby to be happy. Was it because she was working too much? Because she came home too tired at the end of the day? Or was she simply a terrible mother? “Shh.”

“Can’t you get her to be quiet?” Dalton finished washing his hands, then exited the kitchen, tossing a dish towel over his shoulder and onto the counter as he did.

“What do you think I’m trying to do?” Ellie said, and kept pacing.

“By the way, even though I’ve seen you across the street, I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced. I’m Dalton Scott,” he said, extending a hand. “Reluctant temporary babysitter.”

Ellie shifted Sabrina to the opposite shoulder, hoping that would help. It didn’t. “Ellie Miller. Thanks for watching her.” She let out a gust. “I apologize for being hard on you earlier. I know how difficult it can be to balance a million things at once, especially with an eight-month-old. The diapers, the crying. It can get to the best of us, even me.”

“Yeah. Well, don’t ask me to do it again.” He gestured toward the baby with his head. “Unless you send earplugs.”

“Sorry. She’s not usually this difficult.” Well, maybe not for other people. Either way, Ellie wasn’t telling the truth and showing herself to be Completely Awful Mom of the Year. Ellie again changed Sabrina’s position, but if anything that made the cries intensify. Ellie drew in a breath, trying to work up some more patience into a day that had already been extra frustrating. “Come on, baby, calm down. Okay?” Sabrina kept on crying, nearly squirming out of Ellie’s arms.

“Hey, you,” Dalton said, putting his face in near to Sabrina’s, his voice low, stern. No-nonsense. Ellie turned her focus away from him, trying not to notice the intensity of his blue eyes, the deep waves of his dark hair. The muted notes of his cologne. He said it again, a third time, each time waiting for a break in the baby’s cries. “Cut that out.”

Sabrina turned and looked at him. Then, to Ellie’s surprise, she snarfled, then paused, her chest still heaving, like she was about to burst into tears again. But didn’t.

“That’s right. We talked about this, didn’t we?” he went on. “None of that—not in my house.”

Ellie stared at him. A feeling of hurt filled her chest. He had done what she, as Sabrina’s mother, had not been able to do. In seconds. With a few words. And here she’d practically stood on her head, and gotten nowhere.

She was Bri’s mother, she was supposed to have a natural touch with her own baby. And here came this guy, a total stranger, who presto-whammo, calmed Bri with a few words and a look?

What did that say about Ellie? Had it gotten to the point where Sabrina was closer to her sitters than her own mother?

Was this the price she paid for working too much?

“You got her to stop crying,” Ellie said.

“I didn’t get her to do anything. I just told her to quit.” He scowled again—Ellie didn’t think the man had another facial gesture—and turned away. “Now that she has, you both can get out of my hair. And I can get back to work.”

Then he turned on his heel, and marched up the stairs. A second later, a door slammed upstairs.

Ellie’s jaw dropped. How rude.

She didn’t need his attitude, and Sabrina definitely didn’t need to be around such a disagreeable human being. Ellie grabbed the car seat and started to reach for the diaper bag. Then she stopped.

Where was she going to go? Back to work, Sabrina in tow?

That would never work. She’d tried that— once—when Mrs. Winterberry had been sick, and it had been a disaster. Sabrina was like any baby—needy and demanding—and bringing her into the chaotic, busy environment of Revved Up Productions just added to the office zoo. Lincoln, the epitome of stress, had become even more stressed, and nearly fired her on the spot. And now that Sabrina was starting to crawl, taking her to work would be an epic disaster.

Working at home didn’t fare much better. Every time a call came in, Sabrina would inevitably need a bottle, a diaper change or rocking at the same time. A screaming baby and a phone call—not a good mix.

Every day, Ellie was forced to make a choice, and inevitably, Sabrina was the loser, because in the end, what had to come first was paying for the roof over their heads, a roof she could barely afford on her own. She’d been trying so hard, and feeling like she’d failed every day. And now—

What was she going to do?

Lose her job?

Reality slammed into Ellie. Mrs. Winterberry wouldn’t be back for several days, at least. Ellie had no back-up plan—she’d had no time, in fact, to put one in place, and kept thinking tomorrow, tomorrow she’d find another sitter who could fill in if something like this arose.

Now that someday was here and Ellie was thrown into chaos. With Sabrina caught in the middle of the storm. Ellie buried her face in the sweet scent of that innocent, trusting face, a face that believed Ellie would do the right thing, would always keep the world on an even, perfect keel.

And once again, Ellie was alone, desperately navigating a rushing river with an oar-less boat.

How was she going to manage this? She clutched Sabrina tighter, trying to hold on to her emotions, her life, her sanity—and suddenly it all got away from her, escaping in a gush of tears as she realized Mrs. Winterberry’s absence meant one thing.

If Ellie Miller didn’t find a miracle in the next five minutes, she’d lose her job. And in the process, lose everything that mattered to her.

CHAPTER TWO

“WHAT the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Dalton stared at the woman and her kid, standing in his sacred space. He’d stalked up to his office, figuring they would find their own way back out the front door. After all, she’d let herself in, she could damned well let herself out. But no, she’d gone and followed him.

“You…you can’t walk away…I need help.”

And worse, she was crying.

“I need to work. And you need to go home.” He turned back to his computer. Pretended he didn’t see the tears. But they bothered him all the same. If there was one thing Dalton Scott couldn’t take, it was tears.

He stood in front of his desk for the second time that day as helpless as a fish on dry land, while Ellie Miller held her baby and cried.

“You’re right. This is my problem, not yours.”

“Exactly.” He sat down in his chair. Pulled his keyboard closer.

She didn’t leave. He could tell. Because he could still hear her crying.

“It’s just…”

He let out a long sigh and turned around. “Just what?”

“I…” She bit her lip. “I don’t know what else to do.”

“Hire a babysitter.”

“I did. She’s not here.”

“Hire another one.” He turned back to his computer. Looked at the words on the screen. They were all horrible. Every last one of them. Dalton started hitting the backspace key. In the last hour, this book had multiplied badness.

“It’s not that easy.”

She was still here? He spun back toward the woman and her kid. “I’m trying to work here.”

Aw, damn, the tears were really pouring down her face. They’d made rivers on her cheeks. Even the kid was staring at him, as if saying what are you going to do about this?

Well, he knew what he wasn’t going to do. He wasn’t going to let them stay here, in his office. This was his domain, and already Mrs. Winterberry had been here, disrupting his train of thought. He had enough problems writing, without adding these two into the mix.

“Let’s go back downstairs,” he said, practically shooing them out the door. “Get a cup of coffee or something.”

Why did he have to add that? His goal was to get them out the door, not serve hot beverages.

A moment later, though, the woman and her kid were in his living room. She lowered herself onto the leather seat, a whisper of relief flickering across her delicate features. She dropped the car seat to the floor, and propped the kid on her lap, holding the baby tight against her chest. Together, they looked like bedraggled street orphans. Dalton almost—almost—felt his heart going out to them.

Well, just for that he wouldn’t make any coffee. He dropped into the opposite armchair, watching the tears continue to stream down her face, still feeling about as comfortable as a porcupine in a roomful of balloons. He handed her a box of tissues from the endtable. “Here.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

She paused, and then her big green eyes met his, watery lakes filled with an ocean of thoughts.

“Are you better now?”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t seem it.” Man, he could have just let it go at her “yes,” but he seemed to have this overwhelming compunction to get involved today.

She glanced down at the tissue, clasped in front of her. “I can’t go back to work, not with Sabrina. And I can’t go home, because I can’t afford to call in sick until Mrs. Winterberry comes back. I’m barely paying my bills as it is. Without Mrs. Winterberry, I’m stuck and I don’t know what I’m going to do…” She started crying again, the tears falling in a slow stream, disappearing into the fuzz on her daughter’s head.

Did he have a “please pull at my heartstrings, I’ll help anyone today” sign in his front yard or something?

As much as Dalton wanted to tell her “too bad, lady, you’re on your own,” he couldn’t get the words out, not when he saw those tears, the slump in her shoulders, the despair on her face. He cleared his throat. “What you need is…”

Ellie looked up.

“Someone to watch the kid.”

“You would do that?” The hope that filled her face blossomed like a sunflower.

“I never said…”

“It would only be for a day or two.”

He put his hands up. “Lady, I have a job here. And it’s not going so well lately. Kids are an interruption—”

“I know, I know. I’ve tried working at home with her and it was so hard.”

Aw, that hope in her voice. He wanted to counteract it. Yell at her. Tell her he had his life just the way he liked it, thank you very much and get out of my house, but she was looking at him like he was her savior, and when he opened his mouth to say go home, find another option—

He couldn’t do it.

“Really, you’d be helping me so much. I can’t even begin to—”

“Then don’t,” he interrupted. If she started to thank him one more time, he’d tell her no. He hadn’t even agreed to watching her kid, had he? No. He was going to tell her to find someone else. Yes. That’s what he’d do. He had a book to finish. A career to salvage. He didn’t need a baby underfoot, and he’d tell her so. Right now. “If I watched your kid for a couple days it would be a complete in—”

She sprang out of the chair and crossed to him, as if she might hug him. “Oh, thank you! You saved—”

“Will you stop thanking me?”

What the hell did he just do? And worse, what did he just say?

Oh, he was stuck now. She already assumed he was going to watch the kid. What was he going to do? Tell her no? And start the waterworks up again?

Quickly, he turned and headed toward his kitchen, away from this new burst of emotion, and most of all, the potential for a hug from her and the kid. She’d taken his words and assumed he said yes and now he was in a mess. A mess of his own making.

From his own stupid words. Apparently, his lack of writing ability extended to his verbal ability, too.

“I’m going to make some lunch,” he called over his shoulder. “You, ah, want some?”

It was a lame change of subject. An escape, really. But suddenly he’d had to get away from those eyes, from that burst of joy on her face. It had been so powerful, so…

Trusting.

As if she’d just put her whole world in his palms.

She had no idea what she was doing. And he should have thought before he’d opened his big, idiot mouth.

He didn’t want a kid in his house. Definitely didn’t need a kid in his house. He’d almost had this one out the door and here he’d accidentally invited it to stay for a couple of days by not saying what he’d meant to say fast enough. And all because she’d started crying. He was definitely getting soft. Maybe if he got in the kitchen, he could make her a ham sandwich and in the meantime, come up with a way to get out of this deal. A way to soften the blow of saying, hey, I changed my mind. Find another neighbor.

Clearly not reading his mind—or his need for space—Ellie trotted right along behind him and into the kitchen, the kid in her arms. “I’m so glad you offered to watch her. I really am desperate. My job is—”

“I don’t need to hear the details.” He opened the fridge, ducked his head inside, trying to head off further personal information.

She was a hard woman to ignore, and not just because she kept on following him. Dalton had no idea how he had missed this particular neighbor. Well, being a hermit for the last three months didn’t help, but still, he had to have been blind not to notice this curvy brunette, with her vivid green eyes and full crimson mouth.

A mouth that wouldn’t quit bugging him.

“I’m a producer for a new TV show for Channel 77, and the demands on my time right now are incredible. Missing a day of work is out of the question. In fact—” she flung out her wrist and looked at her watch “—I need to get out of here before my boss has a coronary. But before I go, I really want to ask a few more questions. An interview, of sorts.”

“Now you want to interview me? I already watched your kid. She came back to you intact, fed, and clean, didn’t she?”

Ellie ignored that credential. “What do you do for a living? Are you available from eight to six every day? If this is going to interfere with your job, I’ll need to make some arrangements.”

He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m a writer. I work here. It’s a pretty flexible job.”

The kid perked up in the woman’s arms. Apparently, the job impressed the under-one-year-old set.

“You must be doing pretty well. I mean, you have a really nice house.”

He scowled. “Maybe I have a wealthy patron to support me.” She didn’t need to know how he’d started out as a successful writer, hitting the top of the charts, then slammed into a major block and plummeted to the bottom. Or how he’d spent the last year struggling to whip this latest opus into an acceptable form. How he’d sweated over every word, every page, and still ended up ripping out seventy percent of what he’d written. Because this book, just like the last few, was lacking the one element his editor had been on his back to add—

Emotion.

She smiled. “Will you still be able to balance your writing with watching my daughter? I don’t want to take away from your work.” She shifted the baby, who was watching him as intently as a puppy hoping to get lucky with a crumb. What was it with this kid? He seemed to have some kind of mesmerizing effect on it.

Must be the stranger thing. She didn’t know him, ergo, she just stared. Like he was a shiny new toy.

“I’m…stuck right now. I have time to watch a kid.” No, he wanted to scream at himself. He did not have time to watch a kid. But then again, this woman did need help. And it hadn’t been so awful this morning. Maybe he could suck it up for a few more hours, until she found some other neighbor to take on her and her baby. If he was lucky, the kid would nap the whole time.

“Stuck?” Her brows lifted in a question. “What do you mean?”

He pushed off from the counter and took a step closer to her. “Listen, this isn’t about my book writing skills. I offered to help you out and watch your kid. That’s all.”

Okay, Dalton. So much for saying you changed your mind.

“You’re right,” she said. “It’s just, as a new mother, I tend to get pretty overprotective, which means I also get really personal. So I’m sorry if I asked too many questions. I just want to make sure that if she cries or needs something, you’ll be there.”

“Beck and call guy, that’s me.” The words were meant to reassure Ellie, but in the back of his head, he wondered what he was getting himself into. Taking care of a baby all day?

Him?

He had his life just the way he liked it. Alone, and quiet. He didn’t need a kid around.

But this woman clearly needed someone to help her out—and it wouldn’t kill him to be a nice guy for twenty-four hours. Would it?

Ellie shifted the baby to the other hip. The kid protested the move with a series of cries. Ellie rubbed her back, peppered kisses across her forehead, and Sabrina quieted. She laid her head on Ellie’s shoulder, her eyes beginning to shut. A surge of something Dalton refused to name rose in his chest—a feeling from long ago, one he’d pushed away.

At the same time, Ellie’s cell phone began to ring. She dug it out of her pocket, let out a gust, muted the phone, then stuffed it back. As soon as she did, it started ringing again, which made the baby give up on the sleeping thing. Ellie brushed her bangs out of her face, then fished the phone out one more time and answered it. “Hi, Lincoln,” she said, continuing to rub the kid’s back with the other hand—making the whole balancing act look way too complicated to Dalton. The baby started to whine, so Ellie tried a pacifier that was attached to the kid by a clip and a ribbon, but the kid spat it back. Ellie returned to the back rub, but this time, the circular motion’s magic failed. “Yes, I’m on my way. Of course I have available child care. I just had to stop by for a—” She paused. “I know, I know this meeting’s important. Wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’ll be—” An embarrassed smile took over her face. “He hung up. He’s a little tense.”

Lincoln. A boyfriend? Boss?

Husband?

The kid voiced a protest, as if she understood what the cell phone’s ring meant.

Ellie held out the baby toward Dalton. “I have to go. Thank you again.”

“You’re leaving? Already?” Now that the moment was here, panic gripped him. She was leaving him with the kid? Now? Why had he made this offer? What had he been thinking?

“Is that a problem? I thought you just said you could watch Sabrina.”

“Yeah, well I hadn’t expected you to be leaving so soon.” He glanced at the clock. Only eleven in the morning. Six o’clock seemed like eons away.

“Believe me, I wish I didn’t have to leave,” she said, bringing the baby back to her chest and holding her tight again. “If I could take Bri with me, or find a different way to work and still be with her…” Her voice trailed off and she let out a sigh. “But I can’t.” Ellie gave the kid another bunch of kisses, and this time whispered something nonsensical against her skin.

Dalton swallowed hard. “You should go,” he said, even though he wanted her to stay. He simply couldn’t watch that look on her face for one more second.

It opened up way too many doors he’d thought he’d firmly shut a long time ago.

“You’re right, I need to go. One more thing. If anything happens to Sabrina,” she said quietly, a mother bear growl deep in her voice, “I’ll sue you for everything you’re worth, and throw you into jail until you’re a hundred and ten.”

“I thought you trusted me.”

She looked up from her kid’s head. “I need you. I don’t trust you. I don’t trust anyone. Sabrina is all I’ve got and—” Her phone started up again. Ellie rolled her eyes, then flipped it open. “On my way, I swear.” The phone went back in her pocket, and was exchanged for a business card. “My cell phone number is on there, as is my office phone. Call me every half hour and give me an update.”

“Update on what? If she burped?”

“Yes.”

“You’re kidding me. Kids do nothing all day. They eat, they poop, they sleep. There. That’s your update.”

Her jaw dropped in horror. He expected her to tell him off, but instead she turned away. A second later her shoulders were heaving and then, she was doing it again—

Crying.

Well, not exactly crying, more, holding her kid and looking like she might let loose with the waterworks at any second. Damn. He hadn’t been around this much estrogen since he lived at home.

He stood behind Ellie, his hands at his sides, useless and awkward. His chest constricted, lungs caught. A part of him said to reach out and hug her.

The other part said not to get involved. He listened to that part, deciding it was the side with more sense.

She nuzzled at the kid’s head, as if she was breathing in her hair. Dalton focused his gaze on the name branded across his refrigerator and avoided the private moment as best he could. Except it was right there in his kitchen. Inescapable.

“I hate leaving you. I hate it,” she said, more to herself than the baby, her voice nearly a whisper.

“Then quit,” Dalton suggested. Ever Mr. Helpful.

“I can’t. I have to pay the bills.”

“Then quit complaining.”

She wheeled around. “You are the most unsympathetic man—”

“I’m not unsympathetic. I’m matter-of-fact. The way I see it, you have two choices. Quit, or buck up.” Half of him said he should reach out, swipe away the tears on her face, and a small part of him ached to do just that. But he didn’t know her and she’d probably deck him if he touched her. “Moaning about it isn’t going to get you anywhere.”

“I just had a baby. I’m…hormonal. You could be a little understanding.”

“I’m being logical.”

“You probably think I’m a basket case. All I’ve done is cry today. It’s just…” She drew in a breath, let it out again. “I’ve got a lot going on personally and I’ve had a really bad day at work, and then, with this whole Mrs. Winterberry thing and seeing you with her, it brought up every emotion I try to keep bottled up.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. So he didn’t say anything.

“Every time I’m at work, I miss Sabrina like crazy. I’m like any new mom, I guess. You practically have to pry her out of my arms.” Her face softened, nearly melting with love and the kind of heartbreak that told him a part of her gut wrenched in half when she left her kid behind every morning.

Dalton might not be the nicest guy in Boston, but even he could see this was hard on her. Where was her husband? And why wasn’t he stepping up to share the burden? Either way, it wasn’t Dalton’s place to get involved, at least not beyond this temporary babysitting thing.

“I do have a crowbar in the garage, and I’m not afraid to use it,” he teased, tossing Ellie a grin, waiting until she echoed the smile, and when she did, it was as if a ray of sunshine had burst right there in his living room.

It hit him in the gut. Hard. Before he could think about how that felt, he stepped forward, figuring he better take the lead or she’d be working her way through another box of tissues on him. He took the kid out of her arms, holding the baby gingerly, like she was a sack of C-4 explosives, keeping her from too much direct contact.

“Now get to work,” he said to Ellie, his tone gentler than he’d ever heard it, surprising even him. “And hurry back.” He gestured toward the door. “Because I don’t do overtime.”

Ellie’s mind should have been on the guest sitting across from her. A three-time soccer champ, lauded the world over, not for his skills, but for his ability to woo women and rugged good looks that had propelled him—and his soccer ball— into the realm of teenage girl fantasies, splashing his mug across every under-eighteen-year-old’s wall around the country.

But Ellie couldn’t concentrate on the young athlete. Instead, she kept thinking about a certain irascible dark-haired, blue-eyed writer. She couldn’t imagine him cooing to and spoiling Sabrina the way Mrs. Winterberry did, but she didn’t think he’d neglect her or anything. He’d be efficient. As he called it, matter-of-fact. And for some reason, Sabrina seemed to take to him.

Find him fascinating.

It was something about his eyes.

The deep blue of them, perhaps. The way they tossed and turned, like an uneasy ocean. Sabrina certainly didn’t notice all those details.

But Ellie did.

Noticed them in a visceral way that she hadn’t noticed about a man in a long, long time.

Not since Cameron. Ellie closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. She’d vowed to move on with her life, to put the past where it should be—in the past. To not feel guilty because Cameron had told her to move on, to live her life.

To find someone else. A husband for herself. A father for Sabrina. Because he wouldn’t be here to do the job himself.

“You’re sure the lighting will be on my good side?” Barry Perkins asked. He took a comb out of his pocket, perfected already perfect blond hair, then flashed her a gleaming smile. “Because my fans will expect that, of course.”

“Of course.” Vanity, thy name is Barry Perkins. Ellie glanced down at her notepad, to jot a note about “good side,” then felt her face heat. Instead of finding notes about the soccer player, her pad was covered with doodles of the letter “D.”

She had Dalton on the mind. Not a good thing. Especially because the man annoyed her to the -nth degree. How anyone could be so grumpy, she had no idea. It certainly explained why she’d never seen him before. He defined the word “hermit.”

She glanced at the picture of Sabrina on her desk. Was he holding Sabrina right now? Was her daughter laughing? Or crying? Or sleeping peacefully? Ellie’s gaze darted to the phone, and she had to curl her fist tight around her pen to resist the urge to call Dalton and check up on the baby.

“You’ll have filtered water in my dressing room, right? Along with dark chocolates, with raspberry centers? Make sure there aren’t any strawberry or, God help me—” he pressed a hand to his forehead “—any coconut ones. Raspberry only.”

Ellie forced a patient smile to her face. “Certainly.”

Scheduling bottled waters and personalized chocolates for male divas wasn’t the life she had envisioned when she’d found out she was pregnant, and getting used to it had been a hundred times harder than Ellie had expected. She hadn’t, in fact, expected to be working at all for the first year or two after Sabrina had been born. Cameron was supposed to be the breadwinner. She was supposed to be able to stay home with Bri, put her career on a temporary hold, and then get back into the swing of things.

Then Cameron had died, and Ellie had been thrust into the role of breadwinner, dual parent, homeowner, everything, all at once. The plan had gone horribly awry, and when she was here at her office at Channel 77, she simply couldn’t think about Sabrina, because when she thought about all she was missing, it drove her insane.

And down the road, the thought of not seeing those first teeth, first steps, first words—

Forget it. Ellie was either going to have to hook up full-time video surveillance or find some kind of work-at-home job. The separation would surely kill her otherwise.

“I’ll have my manager fax a list of my other requirements.” The soccer player rose, then straightened his shirt, smoothing out invisible wrinkles. “I look forward to being the featured guest on your show.”

If Ellie told him he was a five-minute segment following a former President, the soccer star would undoubtedly bolt—along with his supply of raspberry chocolates. He’d probably throw a major temper tantrum, which would take time Ellie didn’t have. She wanted to get out of here on time—so she could get back to Sabrina. And if she was lucky, Lincoln would keep his afternoon golf date with the head of the TV station, and Ellie might even be able to sneak out early.

So instead she worked up another smile, shook the soccer player’s hand, and walked him to the door. As soon as he left, and the female buzz in the office had died to manageable decibels, Ellie picked up her office phone and dialed Dalton’s house.

So much for keeping her focus on her job. Maybe that video surveillance thing wasn’t such a far-fetched idea after all.

“Hello?” He answered on the third ring. Barked, really.

“It’s Ellie. Ellie Miller. You’re watching my daughter?”

“You think I have so many kids over here I’d be confused over which one belongs to who?”

“You are watching my daughter, aren’t you?”

“Not really.”

“What?”

“Calm down. She’s sleeping. That does not require me to stare at her, watching each and every breath.”

Ellie wanted to argue back that it darn well did, but she knew better. Even she didn’t watch every one of Sabrina’s breaths, though there had been many times when Sabrina had been first born, especially in those last few precious days of maternity leave, that she had noted every blink, every movement, wanting to commit every second to memory. Even now, she felt as if she was missing so many millions of moments, ones she’d never be able to recoup. The familiar ache deepened. The walls closed in around her. The room had never felt more like a cage. “Then what are you doing?”

“Do you want all the details? Including any bathroom breaks? Or just the overall minute-by-minute?”

“Just the overall.”

“She ate. I changed her diaper. She fell asleep. After she crawled all over my house. You should have warned me.”

“Warned you?”

“Yeah, that the kid moves. I didn’t know she was mobile. It was like following the Road Runner.”

“I missed the first time she crawled,” Ellie said softly. “Mrs. Winterberry called me and described every second of it. But it wasn’t the same.”

“Oh.” Dalton paused a second. “Sorry to hear that. Well, she crawled around a lot. Got her knees all dirty. Guess I need to get my cleaning lady in here more.”

“Then what?”

He thought a second. “Then she fell asleep. So I went to work. You called. Interrupted my work. Now, can I get back to—”

“Did you burp her? Rock her? Make sure she has her pacifier? And her special blanket? If she wakes up and doesn’t have those things, she’ll get upset.” Worry crowded Ellie’s shoulders. She should never have left Sabrina with Dalton. He didn’t know her daughter. Sabrina’s likes and dislikes. How she preferred to sleep, with her blanket tucked under one arm, her pacifier nearby, but not in her mouth. Her favorite toy always around when she was on the floor—a vinyl mouse that squeaked when Sabrina squeezed it.

What if the baby got upset? Missed her mother? There were a million details to watch, and if Dalton missed one, Sabrina would cry, and the guilt would just kill Ellie.

Ellie should be there. “When was the last time you checked on her? Made sure she was okay?”

“Boy, you are tense, aren’t you? I’ve been around kids before. She’ll be fine.”

But something wavered in his voice, and doubt rocketed through Ellie’s gut. Mrs. Winterberry had assured her Dalton had plenty of experience with children.

Then why did he sound unsure? As if he doubted he’d know what to do, should his stare- into-her-eyes technique fail?

Had Ellie asked enough questions? Had she interviewed him thoroughly? Or left too fast this afternoon?

“Are you positive you don’t want me to—”

“Ellie,” Lincoln said, popping his head into her office, “meeting in three minutes.”

“Dalton, can I call you back in a second?” When he agreed, she hung up and turned her attention to her boss. “I’ll be there, Lincoln.”

“Good. And bring your notes about the soccer diva-dude. We have to re-hash this morning’s meetings. Seems no one got a clear picture of what I wanted. We need another run-through of the whole show.” He ran a hand through his thick shock of white hair. A tall man given to loud suits, Lincoln had this perpetual look of stress about him, no matter what he did or what time of day it was. “Maybe you can get through to everyone. And translate my gobbledy-gook into something the rest of those morons will understand. I tell you, it’s like working with a bunch of monkeys around here.”

Ellie was tempted to tell Lincoln it was less about morons, and more about his insistence on keeping his staff caged in the conference room for one unproductive hour after another. “Lincoln, maybe if you didn’t have so many meetings…”

“Ellie, meetings are essential. They’re where all the best ideas are born. Or they would be, if I actually employed people who possessed the brain cells to foster ideas. That’s why I need you, Ellie. You’re my right-hand woman. I swear, I couldn’t function around here without you.”

“You don’t need seven hundred meetings a week to function, Linc.”

He shook his head, refusing to have this argument. He started to walk away, then returned. “Oh, and Ellie, before I leave today, I wanted to tell you, I need you to create a script this afternoon. I need it on my desk first thing tomorrow.”

“Create a script? Today?”

“Yeah. You know that celebrity chef, the one with the new book? Apparently he can’t do anything but cook and read. So I need you to write him up something that makes him look and sound intelligent and entertaining.” Lincoln smiled. “I know you can do it, Ellie. You’re my can-do person. Let’s have this meeting, then.”

Ellie laid her head on her desk. So much for her plan to knock off early. Even if Lincoln wasn’t here to oversee her, she had enough work to fill the entire rest of the day.

Every time she thought she’d get some time for herself…

It evaporated like rainwater on hot summer pavement. How she hated this job. But if she quit, how would she support Bri? Where else would she work? Any other job in television would be just as demanding. Ellie sighed, then reached for the phone and called Dalton back.

When he answered, the first thing she heard was Sabrina’s loud wails, cutting through the phone lines like razors. Ellie’s pulse quickened, mother’s instinct beating inside her, telling her to go to her child—

“Is everything okay?”

“It’s fine. She’s crying. I gotta go.”

“No, wait. Is she wet? Does she need to eat?”

Dalton let out an exasperated breath. “I don’t know yet. That’s why I’m trying to get off the phone and find out. Now are you going to let me go do that or not?”

Let Dalton hold Sabrina, let Dalton calm her down. The jobs she, as Sabrina’s mother, should be doing—instead of heading in for yet another stupid, aimless meeting.

Did she have a choice? Lincoln trusted her to come up with something fabulous in the next three minutes. And right now, on her legal pad, her idea of fabulous looked a lot like letter D’s.

“Wait,” she said before Dalton could hang up.

Another exasperated gust. “What? Kid crying here, you know.”

The knot of growing tension in her gut told her this arrangement with Dalton couldn’t work. Her, sitting here, miles away from Sabrina. Missing her baby more and more every day, missing the scent of her, the feel of her in her arms, a pain that refused to stop. Her mind concocting ten thousand different possible scenarios of Dalton falling asleep, leaving the stove on, forgetting Sabrina at the park—

“I have an idea,” Ellie said, knowing even as she said the words that there was no way she could make this work—and no way she could afford not to make it work, at least, for her heart. Money- wise, it was another story. “And I promise, you’re going to love it.”

“That’s what my mother told me when she signed me up for ballroom dancing lessons when I was ten,” Dalton said. “And I can tell you from personal experience that ‘I have an idea’ and ‘you’ll love it’ doesn’t always go together in my book.”

CHAPTER THREE

BY THE time Ellie showed up on his doorstep, Dalton had thrown in the towel, raised the white flag, and tossed up his hands in surrender. The kid—who had originally been calmed with a stare—now wanted him to do the one thing he’d vowed not to do.

To be held.

He would feed her, change her diaper. Lay her down for a nap. Pick her up momentarily, basically just long enough to unload her again on the floor or into the car seat.

But walk around with the kid on his shoulder? No. Not part of the job description. And not something he, of all people, should be doing. For one, he had a childhood history of butterfingers with babies. His mother hadn’t nicknamed him Dropsy Dalton for nothing. For another, he and babies didn’t…bond well.

But there was more to it than that. Much more. A history Dalton didn’t like to think about—

And wouldn’t.

This was a temporary gig, one he’d taken on in a moment of clear emotional weakness, which meant he wasn’t about to try to change that pattern. And he didn’t have to. Before he knew it, he’d be done with the whole thing.

He was sitting in his armchair, pushing at Sabrina’s car seat with his toe, rocking her back and forth. She had the plug in her mouth, but she was still managing to cry around it. Dalton was praying in his head for Sabrina to just give up the battle and go back to sleep.

Then his doorbell rang, and he heard knocking. “Dalton? It’s Ellie.”

Salvation had arrived.

He pulled open the door and let her in. “Finally. You’re here. She’s missed you.” Actually, he’d probably missed Ellie more—strictly in a take-back-this-kid sense, of course.

A smile took over Ellie’s face. The kind that socked Dalton in the gut and hit him with an almost envious feeling. Had anyone ever looked at him like that? Ever been that happy to see him at the end of the day? “I can hear that.” She brushed past Dalton, beelined for the car seat, unsnapped the kid, and picked her up. A second later, she had the kid against her chest, working the circles again, and had quieted her down. Somewhat.

“You all set? If so, I’ll go back to work.” He handed Ellie the diaper bag, practically throwing it onto her shoulder.

“Wait. You haven’t even heard my idea. Remember? I mentioned it to you on the phone?”

“Tell me later.” He started toward his office. “You’re here. My shift is over.” Okay, so it was only three in the afternoon, probably too early for his shift—if that’s what he could call it—to be anywhere near over, but Ellie was here, and that was good enough for him.

He was done. D-O-N-E. And not a moment too soon. What had he been thinking? Trying to take on a baby, of all things? He couldn’t do this. Shouldn’t do this.

All day, he’d tried to tell himself he could keep his distance. Not be taken in by those baby blue eyes and that gummy smile. That being with this kid wouldn’t open up those doors he’d worked so hard to shut. Or disrupt his life.

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