“You’re a lawyer, huh?” asked the small-town police chief.

“Well, Counselor, whose battle are you here to win?”

Anne’s mouth tightened. But then, one hardly expected the police to look kindly on defense attorneys. And most times the feeling was mutual.

“I’m representing myself.” She glanced down at eight-month-old Emilie, who banged her rattle on the stroller tray. “And my daughter. I’m here because…” How could she say this?

She forced the words out. “Because I believe you are Emilie’s biological father.”

Chief Mitch Donovan stared at her, shifted the stare to the baby, then back to her. If his eyes had softened slightly before, when they assessed Emilie, that softness turned to granite now when his gaze met hers.

“Lady, you’re crazy. I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

MARTA PERRY

wanted to be a writer from the moment she encountered Nancy Drew, at about age eight. She didn’t see publication of her stories until many years later, when she began writing children’s fiction for Sunday school papers while she was a church education director. Although now retired from that position in order to write full-time, she continues to play an active part in her church and loves teaching a class of lively fifth- and sixth-grade Sunday school students.

The author lives in rural Pennsylvania with her husband of thirty-seven years. They have three grown children.

Desperately Seeking Dad
Marta Perry

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will direct your paths.

—Proverbs 3:5-6

In loving memory of my parents-in-law, Harry and Greta Johnson. And, as always, for Brian.

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

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Letter to Reader

Chapter One

“I believe you’re my baby’s father.” Anne Morden tried saying it aloud as she drove down the winding street of the small mountain town. The words sounded just as bad as she’d thought they would. There was absolutely no good way to announce a fact like that to a man she’d never met.

In her mind and heart, Emilie was already her child, even though the adoption wasn’t yet final—even though the father hadn’t yet relinquished his rights.

He would. Fear closed around her heart. He had to. Because if he didn’t, she might lose the baby she loved as her own.

The soft sound of a rattle drew her gaze to the rearview mirror. Emilie, safe in her car seat, shook the pink plastic lamb with one chubby fist, then stuck it in her mouth. At eight months, Emilie put everything in her mouth.

“It’ll be all right, sweetheart. I promise.”

Emilie’s round blue eyes got a little rounder, and her face crinkled into a smile at the sound of Anne’s voice…the voice of the only mother the baby had ever known.

Fear prickled along her nerves. She had to protect Emilie, had to make sure the adoption went through as planned so the baby would truly be hers. And confronting the man she believed to be Emilie’s biological father was the only way to do that. But where were the right words?

Anne spotted the faded red brick building ahead on the right, its black-and-white sign identifying it as the police station. Her heart clenched. She’d face Police Chief Mitch Donovan in a matter of minutes, and she still didn’t know what she’d say.

Help me, Father. Please. For Emilie’s sake, let me find a way to do this.

A parking spot waited for her in front of the station. She couldn’t drive around for a few more minutes. Now, before she lost her nerve, she had to go inside, confront the man, and get his signature on a parental rights termination.

For Emilie. Emilie was her child, and nobody, including the unknown Mitch Donovan, was going to take her away.

Parking the car, getting the stroller out, buttoning Emilie’s jacket against the cool, sunny March day—none of that took long enough. With another silent, incoherent prayer, Anne pulled open the door and pushed the stroller inside.

Bedford Creek didn’t boast much in the way of a police station—just a row of chairs, a crowded bulletin board and one desk. A small town like this, tucked safely away in the Pennsylvania mountains, probably didn’t need more. She’d driven only three hours from Philadelphia, but Bedford Creek seemed light-years from the city, trapped in its isolated valley.

“Help you?” The woman behind the desk had dangling earrings that jangled as she spun toward Anne. Her penciled eyebrows shot upward, as if she were expecting an emergency.

“I’d like to see Chief Donovan, please.” Her voice didn’t betray her nervousness, at least she didn’t think so.

That was one of the first things she’d learned as an attorney—never let her apprehension show, not if she wanted to win. And this was far more important than any case she’d ever defended.

The woman studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Chief!” she shouted. “Somebody to see you!”

Apparently the police station didn’t rely on such high-tech devices as phones. The door to the inner office started to move. Anne braced herself. In a moment she’d—

The street door flew open, hitting the wall. An elderly man surged in from outside, white hair standing on end as if he’d just run his fingers through it. He was breathing hard, and his face was an alarming shade of red. He propelled a dirty-faced boy into the room with a hand on the child’s jacket collar.

The man emerging from the chief’s office sent her a quick look, seemed to decide her business wasn’t urgent, and focused on the pair who’d stormed in.

“Warren, what’s going on?” His voice was a baritone rumble, filled with authority.

“This kid.” The man shook the boy by his collar. “I caught him stealing from me again, Chief. Not one measly candy bar, no. He had a whole fist full of them.”

Maybe she’d been wrong about the amount of crime in Bedford Creek. She was going to see Mitch Donovan in action before she even confronted him.

She looked at him, assessing the opposition as she would in a courtroom. Big, that was her first thought. The police uniform strained across broad shoulders. He had to be over six feet tall, with not an ounce of fat on him. If she’d expected the stereotypical small-town cop with his stomach hanging over his belt, she was wrong.

“So you decided to perform a citizen’s arrest, did you, Warren?” The chief concentrated on the mismatched pair.

She couldn’t tell whether or not amusement lurked in his dark-brown eyes. He had the kind of strong, impassive face that didn’t give much away.

“Not so old, after all, am I?” The elderly man gave his captive another little shake. “I caught you, all right.”

“Take it easy.” Donovan pulled the boy away. “You’ll rattle the kid’s brains.”

The boy glared at the cop defiantly, eyes dark as two pieces of anthracite in his thin face, black hair that needed a trim falling on his forehead. He couldn’t be more than ten or eleven, and he didn’t appear to be easily intimidated. She wasn’t sure she could have mustered a look like that—not with more than six feet of muscle looming over her.

“Okay, Davey, what’s the story? You steal from Mr. Van Dyke?” His tone said there wasn’t much doubt in his mind.

“Not me. Must have been somebody else.”

The boy would have been better off to curb his smart remarks, but she’d defended enough juveniles to know he probably wouldn’t.

“Empty your pockets,” Donovan barked.

Davey held the defiant pose for another moment. Then he shrugged, reached into his jacket pockets and pulled them inside out. Five candy bars tumbled to the floor.

“You know what that is, kid? That’s evidence.”

“It’s just a couple lousy candy bars.”

“And I’ve got a couple lousy cells in the back. You want to see inside one of them?”

The kid wilted. “I don’t…”

“Excuse me.” Little as she wanted to become involved in this, she couldn’t let it pass without saying something. Her training wouldn’t let her. “The child’s a minor. You shouldn’t even be talking to him without a parent or legal representation here.”

His piercing gaze focused on her, and she had to stiffen her spine to keep from wilting herself.

“That right, Counselor?”

He was quicker than she might have expected, realizing from those few words that she was an attorney.

“That’s right.” She glared at him, but the look seemed to have as much impact as a flake of snow on a boulder.

“If she says—” Davey caught on fast.

“Forget it.” Donovan planted his forefinger against the boy’s chest. “You’re dealing with me, and if I hear another complaint against you, you’ll wish you’d never been born. Stay out of Mr. Van Dyke’s store until he tells you otherwise.” He gestured toward the door. “Now get out.”

The boy blinked. His first two steps were a swagger. Then he broke and ran, the door slamming behind him as he pelted up the sidewalk.

Anne took a breath and tried to force taut muscles to relax. At least now she didn’t have to deal with Donovan over his treatment of the boy. Her own business with him was difficult enough.

The elderly man gathered the candy bars from the floor, grumbling a little. “Kids. At least when you were his age, you only tried it once.”

A muscle twitched in Donovan’s jaw. Maybe he’d rather not have heard his juvenile crime mentioned, at least not with her standing there.

“You tripped me with a broom before I got to the door, as I recall. You slowing down, Warren?”

The old man shrugged. “Still give a kid a run for his money, I guess.” He shoved the candy bars into his pockets. “I’m going to the café for a cup of coffee, now that I’ve done your work for you.” He waved toward the dispatcher, then strolled out.

Donovan turned, studying her for a long, uncomfortable moment. Her cheeks warmed under his scrutiny. He gestured toward his office. “Come in, Counselor, and tell me what I can do for you.”

This was it, then. She pushed the stroller through the door, heart thumping. This was it.

The swivel chair creaked as he sat down and waved her to the visitor’s seat. Behind the battered oak desk, an American flag dwarfed the spare, small office. Some sort of military crest hung next to it. Donovan was ex-military, of course. Anne might have guessed it from his manner.

Maybe she should have remained standing. She always thought better on her feet, and she was going to need every edge she could get, dealing with this guy.

Anne leaned back, trying for a confidence she didn’t feel, and resisted the urge to clench her hands. Be calm, be poised. Check out the opposition, then act.

Mitch Donovan had that look she always thought of as the “cop look”—wary, tough, alert. Probably even in repose his stony face wouldn’t relax. He could as easily be an Old West gunfighter, sitting with his back to the wall, ready to fly into action at the slightest provocation.

She took a deep breath. He was waiting for her to begin, but not the slightest movement of a muscle in his impassive face betrayed any hint of impatience. This was probably a man who’d buried his emotions so deep that a dynamite blast wouldn’t make them surface.

“I realize I have no standing here, Chief Donovan, but you shouldn’t have questioned the child without his parents.” That wasn’t what she’d intended to say, but it spilled out more easily than her real concern.

“I wasn’t questioning, Counselor. I was intimidating.” His lips quirked a little. “Who knows if it’ll do any good.”

“Intimidating.” There were a lot of things she could say to that, including the fact that he certainly was. “Please don’t call me ‘Counselor.’”

His brows lifted a fraction. “But I don’t know your name.”

Intimidating, indeed. She was handling this worse than an Assistant District Attorney newly hatched from law school.

“Anne Morden. I used to be with the Public Defender’s Office in Philadelphia.” She could hardly avoid identifying herself, but some instinct made her want to keep him from knowing where to find her—to find Emilie.

He nodded, but his face gave no clue as to his thoughts. Strength showed in the straight planes and square chin. His hair, worn in an aggressively military cut, was as dark as those chocolate eyes. Even the blue police uniform looked military on him, all sharp creases and crisp lines.

“A Philadelphia lawyer. Around here they say if you want to win, you hire a Philadelphia lawyer.” His gaze seemed to sharpen. “So whose battle are you here to win, Ms. Morden? Not Davey Flagler’s.”

“Davey? No.” The boy had been only a preliminary skirmish; they both knew it. For an instant she was tempted to say she represented someone else, but knew that would never work. The plain truth was her only weapon.

“Well, Counselor?”

Her mouth tightened at the implied insult in his use of the title. But one hardly expected police to look kindly on defense attorneys—and most times the feeling was mutual.

“I’m not representing anyone but myself.” She glanced down at Emilie, who banged her rattle on the stroller tray. “And my daughter. I’m here because—” The words stuck in her throat. How could she say this? But she had to.

With a sense that she’d passed the point of no return, she forced the words out. “Because I believe you are Emilie’s biological father.”

Impassive or not, there was no mistaking the expression that crossed his face as her words penetrated—sheer stupefaction.

Donovan stared at her, shifted the stare to the baby, then back to her. If his eyes had softened slightly when they assessed Emilie, that softness turned to granite when his gaze met hers.

“Lady, you’re plain crazy. I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

For an instant Anne was speechless. Then she felt her cheeks color. He thought she meant they…

“No! I mean, I know you haven’t.” She took a deep breath, willing herself to be calm. If she behaved this way in court, all her clients would be in prison.

His eyes narrowed, fine lines fanning out from them. “Then what do you mean?” The question shot across the desk, and his very stillness spoke of anger raging underneath iron control.

“Emilie…”

As if hearing her name, Emilie chose that moment to burst into wails. She stiffened, thrusting herself backward in the stroller.

Anne bent over her. “Hush, sweetheart.” She lifted the baby, standing to hold her on one hip. “There, it’s all right.” She bounced her gently. “Don’t cry.”

The wail turned to a whimper, and Anne dropped a kiss on Emilie’s fine, silky hair. Maybe she shouldn’t have brought the baby with her, but she couldn’t bear the thought of being away from her in this crisis.

The whimpers eased, and Emilie thrust her fingers into her mouth. Anne looked at the man on the other side of the desk, searching vainly for any resemblance to her daughter.

“I didn’t put that well.” She cradled the baby against her. “I’m not Emilie’s birth mother. I’m her foster mother. I’m trying to adopt her.”

Donovan shot out of the chair, as if he couldn’t be still any longer. He leaned forward, hands planted on the desk.

“Why did you come in here with an accusation like that? What proof do you have?”

“I have the birth mother’s statement.”

That had to rock him, yet his expression didn’t change. “Where is she? Let her make her accusations to my face.”

“She can’t.” Anne’s arms tightened protectively around the baby, knowing this was the weakest link in her case, the point at which she was most vulnerable. And Donovan was definitely a man who’d zero in on any vulnerability. “She’s dead.”

Mitch stared at the woman for a long moment, anger simmering behind the impassive mask he kept in place by sheer force of will. What game was this woman playing? Was this some kind of setup?

“What do you want?”

The abrupt question seemed to throw her. She cradled the baby against her body as if she needed to protect it.

From him. The realization pierced his anger. Protecting was his job, had been since the moment he put on a shield. Assist, protect, defend—the military police code. Nobody needed protecting from him, not unless they’d broken the law.

“You admit it, then? That you’re Emilie’s father?”

He leaned toward her, resisting the urge to charge around the desk. It was better, much better, to keep the barricade between them.

“I’m not admitting a thing. I want to know what brought you here. Or who.”

Something that might have been hope died in her deep-blue eyes. “I told you. The baby’s mother said you were the father.”

“You also told me she’s dead. That makes it pretty convenient to come here with this trumped-up claim.”

“Trumped up?” Anger crackled around her. “I certainly didn’t make this up. Why would I?”

“You tell me.” It was astonishing that his voice was so calm, given the way his mind darted this way and that, trying to make sense of this.

One thing he was sure of—the baby wasn’t his. His jaw tightened until it felt about to break. He’d decided a long time ago he wasn’t cut out for fatherhood, and he didn’t take chances.

“That’s ridiculous.” Even her hair seemed to spark with anger, as if touching it might shock him. “I came here because I know you’re Emilie’s father.”

His life practically flashed before his eyes as she repeated those words. Everything he’d worked for, the respect he’d enjoyed in the two years since his return—all of it would vanish when her accusation exploded. If the story got out, it wouldn’t matter that it wasn’t true. By the time it had spread up one side of Main Street and down the other, all the denials in the world wouldn’t make it go away.

Those Donovans have always been trouble, that’s what people would say. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

“You’re wrong,” he said flatly. “I don’t know who that child’s parents are, but you’re not going to get anything out of claiming I’m her father except to cause me a lot of grief.”

The idea startled her—he could see it in her eyes. “I didn’t come here to create a scandal.” She stroked the baby’s back, her mouth suddenly vulnerable as she looked at the child.

“Good.” He almost believed she meant it, and the thought cut through his anger to some rational part of his mind. He had to start thinking, not reacting. He went around the desk and leaned against it, trying for an ease he didn’t feel. “Then why did you come?”

She thought he was capitulating, he could tell. A smile lit her face that almost took his breath away. A man would do a lot for a smile like that.

“All I want is your signature on a parental rights termination so the adoption can go through. Once I have that, Emilie and I will walk out of your life for good.”

“That’s all?”

She nodded. “You’ll never see us again.”

“And if I don’t sign?”

Her arms tightened around the baby. “I’ve taken care of Emilie since the day she was born. Her mother wanted me to adopt her. Why would you want to stand in the way?”

They were right where they’d started, and she wouldn’t like his answer.

“I don’t.” He leaned forward, bridged the gap between them and touched the baby’s cheek. It earned him a smile. “She’s a cute kid. But she’s not mine.”

She turned away abruptly, bending to slide the baby into the stroller. Emilie fussed for an instant, until Anne put a stuffed toy in front of her.

When she straightened, her eyes were chips of blue ice. “I’m not trying to trap you into anything.”

“I’d like to believe that, but it doesn’t change anything. I’m still not her father.”

She gave an impatient shrug. “I’ve told you the mother named you.”

“You haven’t even told me who she is. Or how you fit into this story.” He was finally starting to think like a cop. It was about time. “Look.” He tried to find the words that would gain him some cooperation. “I believe I’m not this child’s father. You believe I am. Seems to me, two reasonable adults can sit down and get everything out in the open. How do you expect me to react when an accusation like this comes out of nowhere?”

He could see her assess his words from every angle.

“All right,” she said finally. “You know what my interest is. I want to adopt Emilie.”

There had to be a lot more to the story than that, but he’d settle for the bare bones at the moment. “And the mother? Who was she? What happened to her?”

He gripped the edge of the desk behind him. He probably shouldn’t fire questions at her, but he couldn’t help it.

She frowned. Maybe she was editing her words. “Her mother’s name was Tina Mallory. Now do you remember her?”

The name landed unpleasantly between them. Tina Mallory. He wanted to be able to say he’d never heard of her, but he couldn’t, because the name echoed with some faint familiarity. He’d heard it before, but where? And how much of his sense of recognition did Anne Morden guess?

“How am I supposed to have known her?”

“She lived here in Bedford Creek at one time.”

In Bedford Creek. If she’d lived here, why didn’t he remember her? “I’m afraid it still doesn’t ring any bells.”

That was only half-right. It rang a bell; he just didn’t know why.

“Doesn’t the police chief know everyone in a town this small?” Her eyebrows arched.

Before he could come up with an answer, the telephone rang, and seconds later Wanda Clay bellowed, “Chief! Call for you.”

Anne’s silky black hair brushed her shoulders as she glanced toward the door.

He reached for the phone. “Excuse me. I have to do the job the town pays me for.”

He picked up the receiver, turned away from her. It was a much-needed respite. He let Mrs. Bennett’s complaint about her neighbors drift through his mind. He didn’t need to listen, often as he’d heard the same story. What he did need to do was think. He had to find some way to put off Anne Morden until he figured out who Tina Mallory was.

“We’ll take care of it, Mrs. Bennett, I promise.” A few more soothing phrases, and he hung up.

Anne looked as if she wanted to tap her foot with impatience. “Now can we discuss this?”

The phone rang again, giving him the perfect excuse. “Not without interruption, as you can see. Where are you staying?”

She stiffened. “I hadn’t intended to be here that long. Why can’t we finish this now?”

“Because I have a job to do.” His mind twisted around obstacles. He’d also better run a check on Anne Morden before he did another thing. He at least had to make sure she was who she claimed to be. “How about getting together this evening?”

“This evening?” She made it sound like an eternity. “It’s a three-hour drive back to Philadelphia, and Emilie’s tired already.”

He was tempted to say Take it or leave it, but now was not the time for ultimatums. It might come to that, but not if he could make her see she was wrong.

“Look, this is too important to rush. Why don’t you plan to stay over?”

“I’d like to get home tonight.”

Her tone had softened a little. At least she was considering his suggestion.

“Isn’t this more important?” He pushed the advantage.

She looked at the baby, then back at him, and nodded slowly. “It’s worth staying, if I can get this cleared up once and for all.”

Mitch took a piece of notepaper from the desk and scribbled an address on it. “The Willows is a bed-and-breakfast. Kate Cavendish will take good care of you.”

He considered it a minor triumph when she accepted the paper.

“All right.” Maybe she’d anticipated all along that this wouldn’t be settled in a hurry. “If that’s what it takes, Emilie and I will stay over. When can I expect to see you?”

He glanced at his watch, reviewing all he’d need to accomplish. “Say between six and seven?”

She nodded hesitantly, as if wary of agreeing to anything he said. “I’ll see you then.”

He didn’t breathe until she and the baby were gone. Then it felt as if he hadn’t breathed the whole time she’d been there. Well, the news she’d brought would rattle anyone.

Just how much stock could he put in what Anne Morden said? He leaned back in his chair, considering.

It didn’t take much effort to picture her sitting across from him. Cool composure—that was the first thing he’d noticed about her. She’d reminded him of every smart, savvy attorney he’d ever locked horns with, except that she was beautiful. Hair as silky and black as a ripple of satin, skin like creamy porcelain, eyes blue as a mountain lake.

Beautiful. Also way out of his class, with her designer clothes and superior air.

Well, beautiful or not, Ms. Anne Morden had to be checked out. He hoped he could find some ammunition with which to defend himself, before she blew his life apart.

He reached for the phone.

Chapter Two

A nne put a light blanket over Emilie, who slept soundly in the crib Mrs. Cavendish had installed in the bedroom of the suite. Nothing, it seemed, was too much trouble for a friend of Chief Donovan’s. No one else was staying at the bed-and-breakfast now, and Mrs. Cavendish—Kate, she’d insisted Anne call her—had given them a bedroom with an adjoining sitting room on the second floor of the rambling Victorian house.

The rooms were country quaint, furnished with mismatched antiques that looked as if they’d always sat just where they did now. The quilt on the brass bed appeared to be handmade, and dried flowers filled the pottery basin on the oak washstand. A ghost of last summer’s fragrance wafted from them.

She would have enjoyed the place in any other circumstances; it might have been a welcome retreat. But not when her baby’s future was at stake.

She had to get herself under control before her next unsettling meeting with Mitch Donovan. This afternoon—well, this afternoon she could have done better, couldn’t she?

Her stomach still clenched with tension when she pictured Donovan’s frowning face. She still felt the power with which he’d rejected her words.

She shouldn’t have been surprised. A man in his position had a lot to lose. The chief of police in a small town couldn’t afford a scandal.

The sitting room window overlooked the street, which wound its way uphill from the river in a series of jogs. Bedford Creek was dwarfed by the mountain ridges that hemmed it in. What did people in this village think of their police chief? And what would they think of him if they knew he’d had an affair with a young girl, leaving her pregnant?

They might close ranks against the stranger who brought such an accusation. A chill shivered down her spine.

If Mitch Donovan persisted in his denials, what option did she have? Making the whole business public would only hurt all three of them. But if she didn’t get his signature on the document, she’d live in constant fear.

What was she going to do? Panic shot through her. She pressed her hands against the wide windowsill, trying to force the fear down.

Turn to the Lord, child. She could practically hear Helen’s warm, rich voice say the words, and her fear ebbed a little at the thought of her friend.

Helen Wells had introduced her to the Lord, just as simply as if she were introducing one friend to another. Until Anne walked into the Faith House shelter Helen ran, looking for a client who’d missed a hearing, religion had been nothing but form. It had been a ritual her parents had insisted on twice a year—the times when everyone went to the appropriate church, wearing the appropriate clothing.

They’d have found nothing appropriate about Faith House or its director, Helen Wells—the tall, elegant woman’s embracing warmth for everyone who crossed her threshold was outside their experience. But Anne had found a friend there, and a faith she’d never expected to encounter. Helen’s wisdom had sustained her faith through the difficult season of her husband’s death.

Not that she was under any illusion her faith was mature. God’s not finished with you yet, Helen would say, wrapping Anne in the same warm embrace she extended to every lost soul and runaway kid who wandered into her shelter. The good Lord has plenty for you to learn, girl. But you have to listen.

God could help in this situation with Donovan. She had to believe that, somehow.

But maybe believing it would be easier if she had the kind of faith Helen did.

I’m trying, Lord. You know I’m trying.

A police car came slowly down the street and pulled to the curb in front of the bed-and-breakfast. She let the curtain fall behind her, her heart giving an awkward thump. Mitch Donovan was here.

In a moment she heard footsteps in the hall beneath, heard Kate greeting him—fondly, it seemed. Well, of course. Bedford Creek was his home. Anne was the stranger here, and she had to remember that.

By the time he knocked, Anne had donned her calm, professional manner. But after she opened the door, her coolness began to unravel. He still wore the uniform that seemed almost a part of him, and his dark gaze was intent and determined.

“Chief Donovan. Come in.”

He nodded, moving through the doorway as assuredly as if he were walking into his office. The small room suddenly filled with his masculine presence.

It’s the uniform, she told herself, fingers tightening on the brass knob as she closed the door. That official uniform would rattle anyone, especially combined with the sheer rock-solid nature of the man wearing it.

“Getting settled?” His firm mouth actually curved in a smile. “I see Kate gave you her best room.”

Apparently he hoped to get this meeting off to a more pleasant start than the last one. Well, that was what she wanted, too. You need his cooperation, she reminded herself. For Emilie’s sake.

“Any friend of Mitch’s deserves the nicest one—I think that’s what she said.” Anne couldn’t help it if her tone sounded a bit dry.

He walked to the window, glanced out at the street below, then turned back to her. “Kate said you took a walk around town.”

The small talk was probably as much an effort for him as for her. She longed to burst into the crucial questions, but held them back.

Cooperate, remember? That’s how to get what you want.

“I stopped by the pharmacy to pick up some extra diapers for the baby. The pharmacist already knew I’d been to see you.” That had astonished her. “Your dispatcher must work fast.”

The source of the information had to be the dispatcher. Mitch Donovan certainly wouldn’t advertise her presence.

He grimaced. “Wanda loves to spread news. And it is a small town, except during tourist season.”

“Tourist season?”

He gestured out the window, and she moved a little reluctantly to stand next to him.

“Take a look at those mountains. Our only claim to fame.”

The sun slipped behind a thickly forested ridge, painting the sky with red. The village seemed wedged into the narrow valley, as if forced to climb the slope from the river because it couldn’t spread out. The river glinted at the valley floor, reflecting the last of the light.

“It is beautiful.”

“Plenty of people are willing to pay for this view, and the Chamber of Commerce is happy to let them.”

“I guess that explains the number of bed-and-breakfasts. And the shops.” She had noticed the assortment of small stores that lined the main street—candles, pottery, stained glass. “Bedford Creek must have an artistic population.”

“Don’t let any of the old-timers hear you say that.” The tiny lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled as his face relaxed in the first genuine smile she’d seen. “They leave such things to outsiders.”

“Outsiders.” That seemed to echo what she’d been thinking. “You mean people like me?”

He shook his head. “They make a distinction between outsiders and visitors. Outsiders are people like the candle-makers and potters who want to turn the place into an artists’ colony. The old guard understands that, whether they approve or not. But visiting lawyers—visiting lawyers must be here for a reason.”

“So that’s why everyone I passed looked twice.”

He shrugged. “In the off-season, strangers are always news. Especially a woman and baby who come to call on the bachelor police chief.” His mouth twisted a little wryly on the words.

She’d clearly underestimated the power of the grapevine in a small town. But his apparent concern about rumors might work to her advantage.

“No one will know why I’m here from me. I promise.”

She almost put her hand out, as if to shake on it, and then changed her mind. She didn’t want friendship from the man, just cooperation. Just his signature, that was all.

“Thanks.”

He took a step closer…close enough that she could feel his warmth and smell the faint, musky aroma of shaving lotion. Her pulse thumped, startling her, and she took an impulsive step back, trying to deny the warmth that swept over her.

She must be crazy. He was tough, arrogant, controlling—everything she most disliked in a man. Even if she had been remotely interested in a relationship—which she wasn’t—it wouldn’t be with someone like him.

But her breathing had quickened, and his dark eyes were intent on hers, as if seeing something he hadn’t noticed before. She felt heat flood her cheeks.

Business, she reminded herself. She’d better get down to business. It was the only thing they had in common.

“Have you thought about signing the papers?” She knew in an instant she shouldn’t have blurted it out, but her carefully prepared speech had deserted her. In her plans for this meeting, she hadn’t considered that she might be rattled at being alone with him.

Whatever friendliness had been in his eyes vanished. “I’d like to talk about this.” His uncompromising tone told her the situation wasn’t going to turn suddenly easy. “About the woman, Tina.”

“Do you remember her now?” She didn’t mean the words to sound sarcastic, but they probably did. She bit her lip. There was just no good way to discuss this.

“No.” Luckily he seemed to take the question at face value. “Do you know when she was here?”

“Emilie was born in June. Tina said she’d been here the previous summer and stayed through the fall.” He could count the months as easily as she could.

He frowned. “Tourist season. They come right through the autumn colors. That means there are plenty of transient workers in town. People who show up in late spring, get jobs, then leave again the end of October.” He shook his head. “Impossible to remember them all or keep track of them while they’re here.”

She’d left her bag on the pie-crust table. She flipped it open and took out the photograph she’d brought. A wave of sadness flooded her as she looked at the young face.

“This was Tina.” She held it out to him.

He took the photo and stood frowning down at it, straight brows drawn over his eyes. She should be watching for a spark of recognition, she thought, instead of noticing how his uniform shirt fit his broad shoulders, not a wrinkle marring its perfection. The crease in his navy trousers looked sharp enough to cut paper, and his shoes shone as if they’d been polished moments before.

He looked up finally, his gaze finding hers without the antagonism she half expected. “How did you meet her?”

She bit back a sharp response. “Isn’t it more pertinent to ask how you met her?”

His mouth hardened in an already hard face. “All right. I recognize her now that I’ve seen the picture. But I never knew her name. And I certainly didn’t have an affair with her.”

That was progress, of a sort. If she could manage not to sound as if she judged him, maybe he’d move toward being honest with her.

She tried to keep her tone neutral. “How did you know her?”

“She worked at the café that summer.” He frowned, as if remembering. “I eat a lot of meals there, so she waited on me. Chatted, the way waitresses do with regulars. But I didn’t run into her anywhere else.”

His dark gaze met hers, challenging her to argue. “Your turn. How did you get to know her?”

“She answered an ad I’d put on the bulletin board at the corner market. She wanted to rent a room in my house.”

His eyebrows went up at that. “Sorry, Counselor, but you don’t look as if you need to take in boarders.”

“I didn’t do it for the money.” She clipped off the words. Her instincts warned her not to give too much away to this man, but if she wanted his cooperation she’d have to appear willing to answer his questions. “My husband had died a few months earlier, and I’d taken a leave from my job. I’d been rattling around in a place too big for one person. The roomer was just going to be temporary, until I found a buyer for the house.”

“How long ago was that?” It was a cop’s question, snapped at her as if she were a suspect.

“A little over a year.” She tried not to let his manner rattle her. “I knew she was pregnant, of course, but I didn’t know she had a heart condition. I’m not sure even she knew at first. The doctors said she never should have gotten pregnant.”

“What about her family?”

“She said she didn’t have anyone.” Tina had seemed just as lonely as Anne had been. Maybe that was what had drawn them together. “We became friends. And then when she had to be hospitalized—well, I guess I felt responsible for her. She didn’t have anyone else. When Emilie was born, Tina’s condition worsened. I took charge of the baby. Tina never came home from the hospital.”

His strong face was guarded. “Is that when she supposedly told you about me?”

She nodded. “She talked about the time she spent in Bedford Creek, about the man she loved, the man who fathered Emilie.”

He was so perfectly still that he might have been a statue, except for the tiny muscle that pulsed at his temple. “And if I tell you it was a mistake—that she couldn’t have meant me…?”

“Look, I’m not here to prosecute you.” Why couldn’t he see that? “I’m not judging you. I just want your signature on the papers. That’s all.”

“You didn’t answer me.” He took a step closer, and she could feel the intensity under his iron exterior. “What if I tell you it was a mistake?”

It was all slipping away, getting out of her control. “How could it be a mistake? Everything she said fits you, no one else.”

He seized on that. “Fits me? I thought you said she named me.”

She took a deep breath, trying to stay in control of the situation. “While she was ill, she talked a lot about…about the man she fell in love with. About the town. Then, when we knew she wasn’t going to get better, we made plans for Emilie’s adoption.” She looked at him, willing him to understand. “I’ve been taking care of Emilie practically since the day she was born. I love her. Tina knew that. She knew I needed the father’s permission, too, but she never said the name until the end.”

She shivered a little, recalling the scene. Tina, slipping in and out of consciousness, finally saying the name Mitch Donovan. “Why would she lie?”

“I don’t know.” His mouth clamped firmly on the words. “I’m sorry, sorry about all of it. But I’m not the father of her baby.”

She glared at him, wanting to shake the truth out of him. But it was no use. It would be about as effective as shaking a rock.

“You don’t believe me.” He made it a simple statement of fact.

“No.” There seemed little point in saying anything else.

Mitch’s jaw clamped painfully tight. This woman was so sure she was right that it would take a bulldozer to move her. Somehow he had to crack open that closed mind of hers enough for her to admit doubt.

“Isn’t it possible you misunderstood?” He struggled, trying to come up with a theory to explain the unexplainable. “If she was as sick as you say, maybe her mind wandered.”

For the first time some of the certainty faded in her eyes. She stared beyond him, as if focusing on something painful in the past.

“I don’t think so.” Her gaze met his, troubled, as if she were trying to be fair. “We’d been talking about the adoption. Certainly she knew what I was asking her.”

“Look, I don’t have an explanation for this.” He spread his hands wide. “All I can say is what I’ve already told you. I knew the girl slightly, and she was here at the right time. I don’t know how to prove a negative, but I never had an affair with her, and I did not father her child.”

Something hardened inside him as he said the words. He didn’t have casual affairs—not that it was any of Anne Morden’s business. And he certainly wasn’t cut out for fatherhood. If there was anything his relationship with his own father had taught him, it was that the Donovan men didn’t make decent fathers. The whole town knew that.

“If you were to sign the parental rights termination…” she began.

He lifted an eyebrow. “Is that really what you want, Counselor? You want me to lie?”

Her soft mouth could look uncommonly stubborn. “Would it be a lie?”

“Yes.” That much he knew. And he could only see one way to prove it in the face of Anne’s persistence and the mother’s dying statement. “I suggest we put it to the test. A blood test.”

That must have occurred to her. It was the obvious solution. And her quick nod told him she’d thought of it.

“Fine. Is there a lab in town?”

“Not here.” He didn’t even need to consider that. “We can’t have it done in Bedford Creek.” He hoped he didn’t sound as horrified at the thought as he felt.

“Why not?” The suspicion was back in her eyes.

“You’ve obviously never lived in a small town. If the three of us show up at the clinic for a paternity test, the town will know about it before the needle hits my skin.”

“That bad?” She almost managed a smile.

“Believe me, it’s that bad. Rebecca Forrester, the doctor’s assistant, wouldn’t say a word. But the receptionist talks as much as my dispatcher.”

“The nearest town where they have the facilities—”

“I’d rather go to Philadelphia, if you don’t mind.” She shouldn’t. After all, that was her home turf.

“That’s fine with me, but isn’t it a little out of the way for you?”

“Far enough that I won’t be worried about running into anyone who’ll carry the news back to Bedford Creek.” It was a small world, all right, but surely not that small. “I have a friend who’s on the staff of a city hospital. He can make sure we have it done quickly. And discreetly.” Though what Brett would say to him at this request, he didn’t want to imagine.

“This friend of yours—” she began.

“Brett’s a good physician. He wouldn’t jeopardize his career by tinkering with test results.”

She seemed to look at it from every angle before she nodded. “All right. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow, it is.”

He forced his muscles to relax. Tomorrow, if luck was with him, a simple screening would prove he couldn’t possibly be the child’s father. Anne Morden would take her baby and walk back out of his life as quickly as she’d walked in.

He should be feeling relief. He definitely shouldn’t be feeling regret at the thought of never seeing her again.

Chapter Three

A nne made the turn from the Schulkyll Express-way toward center city and glanced across at her passenger. Mitch stared straight ahead, hands flexed on his knees. He wore khaki slacks and a button-down shirt today, his leather jacket thrown into the back seat, but even those clothes had a military aura.

Nothing in his posture indicated any uncertainty about her driving, but she was nevertheless sure that he’d rather be behind the wheel.

Well, that was too bad. Riding to Philadelphia together had been his idea, after all. He’d said his car was in the shop, and if she thought he wanted to drive the police car on an errand like this, she’d better think again. He’d ride down with her and get a rental car for the return.

The trip had been accomplished mostly in silence, except for the occasional chirps from Emilie in her car seat. Mitch probably had no desire to chat, anyway, and her thoughts had twisted all the way down the turnpike.

Was she doing the right thing? A blood test was the obvious solution, of course, and she’d recommended it often enough to clients. She just hadn’t anticipated the need in this situation. She’d assumed a man in Mitch’s position, faced with the results of a casual fling, would be only too happy to sign the papers and put his mistake behind him.

But it hadn’t worked out that way, and his willingness to undergo the blood test lent credence to his denials. She was almost tempted to believe him.

What was she thinking? He had to be Emilie’s father, didn’t he? Tina would certainly know, and Tina had said so.

They passed a sign directing them to the hospital, and her nerves tightened. Maybe she shouldn’t have agreed to let Mitch make the arrangements, but it sounded sensible, the way he had put it. They could be assured speed and secrecy through his connection.

“I hope your friend is ready for us.” She glanced at her watch. Dr. Brett Elliot had given them an afternoon appointment, and they should be right on time.

“He’ll be there.” Mitch’s granite expression cracked in a reminiscent smile. “In high school Brett was always the one with the late assignment and the joke that made the teacher laugh so she didn’t penalize him. But medical school reformed him. You’d hardly guess he was once the class clown.”

Somehow the title didn’t sound very reassuring. She glanced sideways at Mitch, registering again his size and strength. “Let me guess. You must have been the class’s star athlete.”

He shrugged. “Something like that, I guess.”

The hospital parking garage loomed on her right. Anne pulled in, the sandwich she’d had for lunch turning into a lead ball in her stomach. In an hour or two, she might know for sure about Emilie’s father.

Mitch’s friend had said he’d be waiting at the lab desk. Actually, he seemed to be leaning on it. Unruly hair the color of antique gold tumbled into his eyes as he laughed down at the woman behind the desk. So this was the boy who’d charmed everyone—all grown up and still doing it, apparently.

“Mitch!” He crossed the room in a few long strides and pumped Mitch’s hand. “Good to see you, guy. It’s been too long.”

Brett’s face, open and smiling, contrasted with Mitch’s closed, reserved look, but nothing could disguise the affection between them. Mitch clapped him on the shoulder before turning to Anne and introducing her.

Brett gave her the same warm grin he’d been giving the woman at the desk, but she thought she read wariness in his green eyes. Then he turned to Emilie, and all reservation vanished.

“Hey, there, pretty girl. What’s your name?”

“This is Emilie.”

“What a little sweetheart.” He tickled Emilie’s chin, and even the eight-month-old baby responded to him with a shy smile and a tilt of her head.

Brett gestured toward the orange vinyl chairs lining the empty waiting room. “Since we’ve got the place to ourselves, let’s have a chat about what we’re going to do.”

The woman behind the desk muttered an excuse and disappeared into the adjoining room. Anne took a seat, Emilie on her lap, and vague misgivings floated through her mind. These are Mitch’s arrangements, she cautioned herself. This is Mitch’s friend.

Brett pulled his chair around to face them. “The first step is to do a preliminary screening of blood type and Rh factors. We’ll be able to give you those results right away.”

“They’re not definitive in establishing paternity.” She didn’t mean to sound critical, but she’d handled enough cases to know it usually went farther than that.

“Not entirely.” Brett didn’t seem put off by her lawyer-like response. “But there are some combinations that can exclude the possibility of paternity, and that’s what we look for first.”

Another objection stirred in Anne’s mind. “Don’t you need the mother’s blood type to do that?”

“Yes, well, actually I got the information from the hospital where Emilie was born.”

He exchanged a quick glance with Mitch. Obviously they’d arranged that when they talked, too.

“My military records show my blood type.” Mitch frowned. “We could have gotten them.”

“This is faster than waiting for the military to send something,” Brett said, before Anne could voice an objection. “And in a legal matter, we can’t just rely on your word.”

Mitch’s mouth tightened, but he nodded.

“Okay, so if the screening rules Mitch out,” the doctor continued, “we stop there. If it doesn’t, that still means he’s one of maybe a million people who could be the father. So we go to DNA testing at that point. It takes longer, but it’ll establish paternity beyond any doubt.”

Emilie stirred restlessly on Anne’s lap, as if to remind her she’d had a long, upsetting couple of days. Anne stroked her head. “I understand.”

“Let’s get on with it.” Mitch seemed ready for action, and she half expected him to push up his sleeve on the spot.

“Fine.” Brett started toward the laboratory door.

Ready or not. Anne picked up Emilie and followed him, suddenly breathless. She’d know something, maybe soon.

Mitch’s stony expression didn’t change in the least when the technician plunged a needle into his hard-muscled arm. Emilie wasn’t so stoic. She stiffened, head thumping hard against Anne’s chest, and let out an anguished wail that tore into Anne’s heart.

“Hey, little girl.” Mitch’s voice was astonishingly gentle. One large hand wrapped around the baby’s flailing foot. “It’ll be over in a second, honest.”

When the needle was gone, Emilie’s sobs subsided, but Anne didn’t have any illusions. The baby was overtired and overstimulated, and she desperately needed to have her dinner and go to sleep. That wouldn’t hurt her mother any, either.

“It’s all right, darling.” She stroked Emilie’s fine blond hair. “We’ll go home soon.”

Brett nodded. “This won’t take long. Make yourselves comfortable in the waiting room, and I’ll bring you some coffee.”

A few minutes later they were back in the same chairs they’d occupied earlier. Anne tried to balance a wiggling Emilie while digging for a bottle of juice in the diaper bag. The juice remained elusive.

“Here, let me hold her.” Before she could object, Mitch took the baby from her. He bounced Emilie on his knees, rumpling the knife-sharp crease, his strong hands supporting the baby’s back.

The ache between Anne’s shoulder blades eased. She watched Mitch with the baby, realizing the ache had just shifted location to her heart. If Mitch was Emilie’s father…

She bent over the diaper bag to hide the tears that clouded her eyes. Ridiculous to feel them. Nothing had changed. She blinked rapidly and fished the juice bottle out.

“I’ll take her now.” She flipped the cap off and dropped it in the bag.

Mitch shook his head and reached for the bottle. “Give yourself a break for a few minutes. I can manage this.”

She leaned back, watching as he shifted Emilie’s position and plopped the nipple into her mouth.

“You didn’t learn that in…the Army, was it?”

He nodded. “Military Police. Matter of fact, I did. A couple of my buddies had families.”

She thought she heard a note of censure in his voice. “You have something against that?”

His eyes met hers, startled, and then he shrugged. “Up to them. I just never figured family mixed very well with military police work.”

Emilie snuggled against him, fingers curling and uncurling on the bottle, eyes beginning to droop.

“I see you hung around enough to learn how to give a bottle.”

His face relaxed in a smile. The effect was startling, warming his whole countenance and demanding an answering smile she couldn’t suppress.

“Not too difficult. Besides, I could always give the babies back if they got fussy.”

“Of course.”

Something hardened in her at the words. The three of them might look, to the casual observer, like a family. That observer couldn’t begin to guess how skewed that impression was.

Emilie had fallen asleep in Mitch’s arms by the time Brett pushed through the door, a clipboard in his hand. Anne inhaled sharply and saw Mitch’s already erect posture stiffen even more.

“Well?” Mitch’s voice rasped. “What’s the verdict?”

Brett’s green eyes were troubled. “Skipping all the technical details, the bottom line is the tests don’t exclude you, Mitch. Your blood type means you could possibly be the father.”

“Me and a million other guys,” he snapped.

Anne’s mouth tightened. He’d obviously been hoping against hope he hadn’t been caught. Maybe now he’d give up this pose of innocence and sign the papers. But she had to show him she’d keep pressing.

“About the DNA test—” she pinned Brett with her gaze “—I’d like it sent to McKay Labs. I’ve dealt with them before. And I want a copy of the results sent directly to me.”

Brett blinked. “That’ll need Mitch’s permission.”

“You’ve got it.” Mitch moved, and Emilie woke. Her whimper quickly turned into a full-fledged cry.

Brett looked ready to escape. “Expect the results in three to four weeks, then.”

Anne nodded goodbye, trying to reach for the diaper bag and her crying child at the same time. “Let me have her.”

Mitch handed over the baby.

“There, sweetheart, it’s all right.” She rocked the baby against her, but Emilie was beyond comforting. She reared back in Anne’s arms, wails increasing.

Mitch picked up the diaper bag. “You can’t drive home alone with her in that state.” He took her arm. “Come on. I’ll drive you and then call a cab.”

She wanted to protest, but Emilie’s sobs shattered her will. She nodded, letting him guide her from the room.

The baby’s wails seemed to fry Mitch’s brain as he followed Anne’s directions through the city streets to a high-rise apartment building. He needed to think this whole thing through, but thought proved impossible at the moment. Who would imagine one small baby could make that much noise?

He took a deep breath as the cry reached a decibel level that had to be against the law inside a small car. Okay, he could handle this. It was no worse than artillery fire, was it?

Besides, it would soon be over. He’d deposit them at Anne’s and call a cab. He’d be back in Bedford Creek in a few hours, and the only contact he’d have with Anne Morden and her baby would be when the DNA test came back, proving he hadn’t fathered this child.

A padded, mirrored elevator whooshed them swiftly to the tenth floor. He took the baby, wincing at her cries, while Anne unlocked the door. He wanted only to hand her back and get out of there.

She scooped the baby into her arms as the door swung open, and her eyes met his. “This may not be the best time, but I think we should talk the situation over, if you don’t mind waiting while I get the baby settled.” She managed a half smile. “It won’t take as long as you might think. She’s so exhausted, she’s going to crash as soon as she’s been fed.”

He pushed down the desire to flee, nodded, and followed her into the apartment. Anne disappeared into the back with the baby, and he sank onto the couch, wondering when the ringing in his ears would stop.

Anne had sold the house she’d talked about and moved here with the baby. He’d found that out in the quick background check he’d run. He glanced around. Expensively casual—that was the only way to describe her apartment. Chintz couches, a soft plush carpet, a wall of books on built-in shelves with what was probably a state-of-the-art entertainment center discreetly hidden behind closed doors—all said money. Assistant public defenders didn’t make enough to support this life-style, but there was wealth in her family. This woman was really out of his league.

No question of that, anyway. All she wanted from him was his signature on the parental rights termination—not friendship, certainly nothing more.

Sometime in the last twenty-four hours he’d given up any thought that Anne was somehow attempting to frame him. No, all she wanted was to safeguard her child.

Unfortunately the one thing she wanted, he couldn’t give her. Someone else had dated the unfortunate Tina; someone else had fathered her child. But who? And why on earth had the girl said his name? The answers, if they could be found at all, must lie in Bedford Creek.

The baby’s cries from the back of the apartment ceased abruptly. Anne must have put some food in Emilie’s mouth.

He got up, paced to the window, then paced back. What did Anne want to talk to him about? What was there left to say?

He sat back down on the couch, sinking into its comfortable depths, and reached automatically for the book on the lamp table. A Bible. It nestled into his hand, and he flipped it open to the dedication page. To my new sister in Christ from Helen. The date was only two years ago.

Anne came back into the room, her step light and quick. She glanced questioningly at the Bible in his hand, and he closed it and put it back where he’d found it.

“She settled down, did she?”

“Out like a light.”

Anne sat in the chair across from him. Her dark hair curled around a face that was lightly flushed, probably from bending over the crib.

“You’re probably as beat as she is by this time.” She’d put in a couple of high-stress days, driving all the way with a baby, and on a mission like this.

“I could sleep a day or two. But Emilie won’t let me.”

She leaned forward and her hair brushed her shoulders, moving like a living thing. He had an insane desire to reach out, let it curl around his fingers, use it to draw her close to him.

Whoa, back off. Of all the inappropriate things he could be feeling right now, that was probably the worst.

“You wanted to talk.”

“Yes.” She nailed him with those deep blue eyes. “I hoped that you might be ready to sign the papers now.”

He should have seen it coming. She still wanted what she’d wanted all along, and the inconclusive blood test results had just given her another bit of leverage. But it wasn’t going to work.

“I know you don’t believe this, but I never went out with Tina Mallory. I did not father her child.” He took a breath, hoping he sounded calm.

She raised her chin stubbornly. “Then how do you explain Tina’s words?”

“I can’t. But there has to be an explanation somewhere. Someone in Bedford Creek must remember Tina, must know who she dated that summer. So while we’re waiting for the DNA results, I’ll do a little quiet investigating.”

Her hands twisted involuntarily, as if she were pushing his words away. He couldn’t blame her. She had what must seem to her to be incontrovertible proof of his guilt. All he could do was continue to protest his innocence.

“Bottom line is, I’m not going to sign anything that says I’m that child’s parent. I can’t, because it’s not true. In three or four weeks, you’ll know that as well as I do. Maybe by then I’ll be able to point you in the right direction.”

“I don’t want my private business splashed all over Bedford Creek.”

“Believe me, it’s in my interest to keep it quiet even more than it is yours. I’ll be discreet. But I’m going to start looking at this problem like a cop.”

Her eyebrows went up at that. “Funny, I thought you always had.”

He reminded himself that cops and defense attorneys went together like cats and dogs. “Look, Counselor, I am what I am.” Her sarcasm had effectively doused that spurt of longing to hold her, which was just as well. He stood, picking up his jacket. “I’ll be on my way now. I don’t suppose we’ll see each other again.”

“I’m afraid you’re wrong about that.” She stood, too, her gaze locked on his.

He gave an exasperated sigh. “You’re assuming that in three or four weeks you’ll have proof I fathered Emilie. I know you’re wrong.”

“Actually, that isn’t what I was thinking.” She took an audible breath, as if building up to saying something she knew he wasn’t going to like. “Emilie and I aren’t staying here. We’re going back to Bedford Creek until the results come in.”

“What?” He could only stare at her. “Why? Why on earth would you want to do that?”

“You’re right about one thing—the answers have to be in Bedford Creek. That’s where Tina became pregnant. That’s where the truth is. I can’t just sit here and wonder for the next month. I need to find out, no matter what.”

“After the results come—” he began.

She was already shaking her head. “I’m supposed to have a hearing on the adoption in a little over a month. Before then I have to resolve this, once and for all. And that means I’m coming to Bedford Creek.”

He lifted an eyebrow skeptically. “Don’t you mean you want to keep an eye on me?”

A faint flush warmed her smooth skin. “Let’s say I have a high respect for the power of a police uniform. I don’t want to see it used against me.”

He fought down the urge to defend himself. If a man found it necessary to defend his honor, it must be in question. He took a careful step back.

“No point in my telling you not to worry about that, is there?”

She shook her head. “I won’t interfere. You can pretend I’m not even there.”

“Now that I can’t do.” He smiled grimly at her perplexed look. “You’re forgetting—people in Bedford Creek already know you and Emilie came to see me. They’re probably speculating right this minute about where we are today. You can’t come back and pretend we don’t know each other, not in a small town.”

“I’ll say I’m there on vacation. You told me Bedford Creek is a tourist town. My presence doesn’t have to have anything to do with you.”

Obviously she hadn’t thought this far ahead. “Nobody would believe that. If you come back, we’ll have to keep up the illusion of friendship. And if we’re both going to be looking into what happened when Tina lived there, we’d better figure out a way to cooperate on this, or at least not step on each other’s toes.”

He could see just how unpalatable she found that, and at some level it grated on his pride. He wasn’t that hard to take, was he? It wasn’t as if he were asking her to pretend a romantic interest in him.

Her eyes met his, and he could read the determination there. “I suppose you’re right. You know a lot more about your town than I do. But I’m still coming. So that means we’re in this together, for as long as it takes.”

Chapter Four

“N ow let me help you with that.” Kate Cavendish took the bundle of diapers from Anne’s arms before she could object. “Believe me, I remember how much you need to bring when you’re traveling with a baby.”

“I can manage…”

But Kate was already hustling up the front steps to The Willows, white curls glistening in the late winter sunshine. She propped the door open with an iron doorstop in the shape of a cat, then hurried inside. Anne lifted Emilie from the car seat.

It was silly, she supposed, to be made uncomfortable by so much open friendliness, but she just wasn’t used to it. She could only hope Kate’s enthusiastic welcome wasn’t because the woman thought Anne was here to see Mitch.

That was ridiculous. It wasn’t as if they’d returned together. She’d taken two days to organize this trip. Surely she could take a brief vacation in Bedford Creek without the whole town jumping to conclusions about why she was here.

Kate was probably just delighted to have paying guests at this time of the year. No matter how many tourists might show up in the summer, early March was clearly a quiet time in Bedford Creek. She glanced up at the mountain ridge that cut off the sky. It was sere and brown, its leafless trees defining its bones. She shivered a little.

“Here we go, sweetheart,” she said to Emilie. “We’ll just pop you in the crib while Mommy unloads the car, all right?”

Emilie wiggled, her arms flailing in the pink snowsuit. After three hours in the car, she was only too ready to practice her new crawling skills. She wouldn’t be pleased at the crib, no matter how enticing Anne made it sound.

As they reached the center hall of the Victorian, Kate hurried down the winding staircase. The colors of the stained-glass window on the landing tinged her hair, and a smile lit her bright-blue eyes at the sight of the baby.

“Oh, let me take her, please. I’d just love to hold her.” Kate held out her hands.

Emilie leaned her head against Anne’s shoulder for a moment, considering, and then smiled, her chubby hands opening toward the woman. Emilie had apparently decided anyone who looked like Mrs. Santa Claus had to be a friend.

“You little sweetheart.” Kate settled the baby on her hip with the ease of long practice. “We’re going to be great friends while you’re here, I can just tell.”

“Thank you, Kate.” Anne touched Emilie’s cheek lightly. “I appreciate the help. It will just take me a few minutes to unload.”

“Take your time.” Kate carried the baby toward the wide archway into the front parlor. “We’ll get acquainted. I’m surprised Mitch isn’t here to get you settled. He’s always so helpful to his friends.”

Was that a question in Kate’s voice? Maybe this was her chance to refute any rumors the woman had heard. Or started, for that matter. She moved to the archway.

“Mitch and I aren’t that close. He probably didn’t even know when we were arriving.”

“Oh, I’m sure he did.” Kate turned from the breakfront cabinet, where she was showing Emilie a collection of china birds. “He keeps track of things. And when his old Army friend’s widow comes to visit…well, you can just be sure he’d keep track of that.” Kate’s round cheeks, like two red apples, plumped in a smile. “It’s so nice that you could keep in touch.”

“Old Army friend…how did you—” Leap to that conclusion—that was what she was thinking, but it hardly seemed polite to say so. She’d mentioned that she was a widow when she’d checked in the first time. Kate seemed to have embroidered the rest.

“Wanda had all sorts of ideas about why you were here.” Kate tickled Emilie’s chin. “I told her, ‘Count on it, that’ll be why. Mitch’s friends from the service have dropped by four or five times since he’s been back in Bedford Creek. That’s why Anne and her baby are here, too.’”

Mitch clearly knew his town a lot better than Anne did. She owed him an apology for thinking he was wrong about the stir her presence would create. As he’d said, she needed a reason to be here.

Anne opened her mouth and closed it again. What exactly could she say? Wanda, the dispatcher, had probably floated some much more colorful theories about Anne’s visit. If Anne denied Kate’s story, she’d just fuel the curiosity. She certainly wasn’t going to lie about it, but maybe the safest thing was to say nothing and let them think what they wanted.

“I’m sure Mitch is busy.” She settled on noncommittal. “I probably won’t see much of him while we’re here.”

Kate swung around again, eyebrows going up in surprise. “Not see much of him? Well, of course you will. After all, his house is right across the street.”

“Right—” She stopped. Anything she said now, she’d probably regret. Instead she headed back to the car for the next load, fuming.

So Mitch lived right across the street, did he? He might have mentioned that little fact about The Willows at some point in their discussion. He hadn’t wanted her to come back to Bedford Creek at all; that had been clear. He certainly didn’t want her to join in his investigation. But apparently he felt that if she did come, she should be under his eye.

Well, they’d get a few things straight as soon as possible. She was used to doing things on her own, and that wasn’t about to change now—

It looked as if she’d have a chance to tell him so in the immediate future, because his police cruiser was pulling up directly across from The Willows.

Mitch got out. He closed the door, hesitated a moment, and then headed straight for her.

“Anne. I see you arrived safely. Any problems?”

“Not at all.” She tried for a cool politeness. It would help, she thought, if she didn’t experience that jolt of awareness every time she saw his tall figure. “We just got in a few minutes ago.”

“I’ll take that.” He reached for the suitcase she’d begun to pull from the trunk, but she tightened her grip.

“I can handle it.”

“I’m sure you can.” His hand closed on the bag, his fingers brushing hers. “But why should you?”

“Because I don’t need any help.” Mitch Donovan had to be the only person in her life with the ability to make her sound like a petulant child.

They stood staring at each other, the bag trapped between them. Then his lips twitched slightly. “Something tells me that’s your favorite saying.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being independent.” She’d had to be, even when she was a child, even when she’d been married. She didn’t know any other way to behave.

You can’t do it all yourself, child. Helen’s voice echoed in her mind. Sometimes you have to let go and let God help.

“You can be independent and still let me carry your bag upstairs.”

She held on for another moment, then released the handle. With a half smile, he hoisted the bag, then grabbed a second one with his other hand.

Typical cop, she thought, following with an armload of her own. Give him an inch and he’d take a mile.

Unloading the car took only a few minutes with Mitch helping. She glanced around the same sitting room they’d had before, amazed as always at the amount of gear required by one small baby. Mitch set the stroller behind a bentwood coat rack.

“Looks like that’s it.”

She nodded. Maybe this was the chance she needed to set some ground rules for this visit. He had to understand that she wasn’t going to be a passive bystander to any investigation he planned.

“We need to talk. Have you found out anything more about Tina’s stay here?”

His eyebrows lifted. “It’s only been a day.”

“I don’t have much time, if you’ll recall. The hearing is in less than a month, and the results—”

The sentence came to an abrupt halt when Kate, holding the baby, stuck her head in the door. “Getting settled?”

Anne managed a nod, her heart thumping. In another instant she’d have said something about DNA testing, and Kate would have heard. She’d have to be more careful.

Mitch gestured toward the stroller. “Why don’t we take Emilie out for a walk? I’m sure she’s tired of being cooped up in the car.”

Now that was exactly what she didn’t want: to have the whole town see them together and speculate about them. “I don’t think so. I need to put things away.”

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