Have Baby, Will Marry Read online

  “Doesn’t seem like he’s a barker.”

  “That’s right. He’s great. Quiet. Likes to go for walks.” He smiled just a bit, to show her he was kidding around. “Kind of like me.”

  She stared at his chest again. “Oh, really.” No answering smile.

  “I’m Weaver, by the way. Weaver Reed.” He held out his hand.

  “Molly Michaels.” Her fingers, long and slender, came toward his reluctantly.

  Bam! Her hand slid into his and he felt it like a hammer blow to the head. She retreated quickly, but not before he saw the recognition in that silver gaze. Chemistry. Pure sizzle and fire. She knew it, too.

  Nothing ventured, nothing gained, he encouraged himself. “Could we get together sometime?” He wouldn’t be around for long. “Soon?”

  Her eyes widened. Her lips pursed, then thinned to a disapproving line. “No, thank you.”

  “Ah.” It had been years since he’d been this disappointed. Not since that first couple at the family services agency had decided against adopting him. “Boyfriend? Husband?”

  She stared at his face, his chest, his face again. “Wife? Child?” she said, as if he were an idiot.

  Now his eyes widened. He could feel air hitting newly exposed whites. “Wife? Child?” he repeated.

  Her expression matched his puzzlement. “What’s her name?” she asked abruptly.

  “Her name?” he repeated again. Who was she talking about?

  She gestured toward his chest, which she’d seemed so fascinated with earlier.

  Weaver looked down. And then he felt the flush rush across his face. He wasn’t a stupid man, really. But she was an exceptionally beautiful woman, and he just hadn’t been thinking straight. Thinking at all.

  He’d forgotten all about Daisy Ann.

  He’d thought a whole slew of other dumb things.

  “Oh, God,” he said. A comment sure to up your intelligence in her estimation, Reed. “Let me explain,” he started, then broke off, unsure how to begin.

  “I’m listening.”

  He noticed her toe was tapping, too, so he jumped into the middle of the story before her patience evaporated. “I inherited all this.” He waved his arms to indicate the house and the cars. “Guardianship of the baby, too.”

  Her gaze left his face and traveled down to the snoozing Daisy Ann.

  Weaver cupped the baby’s downy head with his palm. “She’s only four months old.” And I promise she’ll have a family. No way would she grow up in foster homes the way he had.

  “Inherited from whom?” Creases of concern lined Molly’s forehead.

  “From my cousin and his wife. I’d only met him once. He tracked me down about fourteen years ago.”

  “And he left you everything? Including his baby?” She shook her head. “I don’t get it.”

  “Jim and his wife were killed in a light plane crash.” He stroked the baby’s head. “I was named in their will.”

  Surprise showed all over her face. “Why you? No offense, but if he’d only met you once…”

  He nodded, understanding her shock. Hell, he’d nearly had a heart attack when he’d found out. “We’d exchanged letters over the years, and Jim and Ellen were big on family ties. They’d met in an orphanage. I was Jim’s only family.” Like Weaver, they’d played the please-won’t-somebody-adopt-me game. Like Weaver, no one ever had.

  He looked down at Daisy’s head. But I’ll find two parents for you. A real family. “And now I’m selling everything off to put in trust for Daisy Ann.”

  Molly didn’t seem to be in a hurry anymore. He went on to tell her he had a job in Maryland. Not what he did, but just that he was heading back to the East Coast as soon as possible. And because he didn’t want to get into talking about his job or his background, he didn’t tell her he had to find someone else to adopt Daisy Ann.

  As he suspected, Molly Michaels was a kind woman. She remained cool, maybe even cooler once she heard he was intent on returning to Maryland, but she volunteered to take Patch. She was a first-grade teacher, living in her parents’ house just around the corner until September.

  Yeah, a nice lady. She touched a gentle finger to Daisy Ann’s hair when she left. Patch looked sort of anxious but consented to being led off without a whimper.

  After they’d walked out of sight, Weaver remembered a million things he wished he’d told her. That Patch liked the kind of food with the chuck wagon on the package. That he needed to go out first thing in the morning, but after that he was content until about 5:00 p.m.

  That Weaver regretted like hell they’d never explore the sizzle and burn that arced between them.

  2

  Satisfaction settled over Molly as she wandered about the kitchen the next morning, making coffee and stepping behind, over and around Patch.

  She sat in the breakfast nook, her coffee just a shade hotter than the dog’s breath against her bare knee. Patch seemed as eager to build their relationship as she. He’d followed her around yesterday evening, slept on the floor beside her bed last night, been full of doggy smiles this morning.

  “The perfect substitute,” she said, stroking his black-and-white head.

  The corners of his serrated lips turned down. Back to that, are we?

  Maybe he had a right to resent his role as a replacement, but she hadn’t wished for the well of emptiness in her life. In the last couple of years, though, her hormones had surged with each baby gift she’d bought. Even when she was honored as the godmother to two children and taught a roomful of bright and shiny faces every weekday from September to June.

  But now she had her dog.

  “Yep. Now I’m perfectly satisfied,” she told Patch. “What more could a woman want?”

  He whined a little, as if he didn’t believe her.

  Okay, okay. So she’d been thinking about Weaver Reed. Not that she wanted him or anything, not that, but it was an intriguing situation. A handsome hunk of single man, the guardian of a tiny baby girl.

  A man looking for the fastest train out of town.

  Been there, done that, she reminded herself.

  So, intriguing situation or not, she was staying clear of Weaver and his baby. “I’ve got you,” she said, sliding her hands over Patch’s warm, soft fur. “What more could a woman want?”

  A knowing glint entered the dog’s soft brown eyes. That’s the second time you’ve asked me that

  Weaver stared dully at early morning through the kitchen window as he paced by on another tour of the house. Daisy Ann rode in his arms, eyes at half-mast. He passed her room but didn’t bother trying to lay her in her crib. Oh, no, he’d made that mistake already, three times during the night. The minute he set her down she started wailing, to be quieted only by endless pacing about the house. He’d never been so tired in his life.

  A guy didn’t go through seven foster homes between the ages of zero and eighteen without learning something about babies. He’d changed diapers, wiped runny noses, made numerous peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. But he’d never had the total care of an infant.

  The nanny had established a routine he tried his best to follow. He was even pretty adept at the diapers with the tapes and could give a bath without losing his hold of slippery baby skin. But sleep. Ah, that was another matter altogether. For some reason, Daisy seemed to want to wait out the sandman from the shelter of his arms.

  After three nights of this, he was approaching the fraying end of his rope. Sleep deprivation might go a long way in explaining the misunderstandings with Molly Michaels yesterday afternoon. As well as his unprecedented physical reaction to her.

  But he hadn’t time to think of that. He had phone calls to make, an appointment with his attorney, some sort of temporary child care to arrange for Daisy. Oh, yeah, and dishes and laundry, and if somebody didn’t buy this place real soon he was going to have to take the For Sale sign off the goddamn lawn mower and put it to use.

  As if she could read his frustrated thoughts, Daisy Ann start
ed wriggling and let out a fretful cry. Weaver sighed. “It’s okay, baby.” He adjusted her position and patted her awkwardly on the back. “Cousin Weaver’s right here.”

  His only happy thought was of Patch. Though he missed the dog’s good-natured company, he hoped that Patch’s adoption was the first event of a domino effect. The dog, the cars, the tools, the house…Daisy Ann.

  That thought set her off. “You’re a mind reader, lady,” he said, changing her position again. She snuffled unhappily against his neck, and he picked up the pace, his mind sliding back to his yard-long To Do list.

  A round of barking broke into his mulling over of item ten. Familiar barking.

  Apparently challenged by the noise level, Daisy Ann upped her wailing as Weaver pulled open the front door. He groaned. Patch was back, alone.

  Weaver sighed, letting the crying-barking duet wash over him. This is the worst day of my life.

  She couldn’t be more than two minutes behind Patch, Molly thought as she trotted around the corner and up the block. She’d gone out front to weed her mother’s flower garden, and Patch had followed close beside her. It seemed obvious he wasn’t going to run off.

  Which showed you how much she knew about dogs.

  She’d turned just in time to see him heading toward Weaver’s, and so now she followed Patch, intent on getting him back, maybe even before the man realized she’d lost the dog.

  Uh-oh. Scratch that thought. Even from the sidewalk she saw the tableau: dog, man, baby. Déjàvu.

  Only different this time, she discovered as she walked up the terra-cotta steps. Dark circles etched Weaver’s eyes, and the baby who’d been sleeping yesterday was awake and cranky. Molly’s heart squeezed in sympathy for them both.

  Just get the dog, she admonished herself. She couldn’t afford to get involved with any other temporaries.

  “Come on, Patch!” she called from about ten steps away. “Sorry. Guess he just wanted to come by for a visit”

  “You’re not returning him?”

  The relief in Weaver’s voice pulled her four steps closer. She shook her head “I just hope he’s not trying to tell me something.”

  Weaver’s smile was a pale ghost of the day before’s. Her heart squeezed again.

  “So this is the baby,” she found herself saying as she walked even closer.

  “Daisy Ann.”

  Daisy Ann had wide blue eyes, fat baby cheeks and blond hair like chick fuzz. Red blotches from crying mottled her skin. And it was scary as heck that Molly still thought the little girl gorgeous. She gently stroked the fretful infant’s little hand. “Hi, you.”

  The baby hushed. Patch leaned against her leg in obvious approval.

  Weaver gave another ghost smile. “Daisy Ann says hi back.” He appeared to perk up a little. “Would you like to hold her?”

  “No,” Molly said hastily. She tried stepping away but found Patch wedged against the back of her legs. “No, thank you.” Admiring was one thing. Touching was trouble.

  Weaver’s wide shoulders sagged, and the baby made some mini grousing noises.

  “Is she hungry?” Molly couldn’t help asking. “Does she need a new diaper?”

  He shook his head. “Took care of those fifteen minutes ago. She seems to be the Muhammad Ali of fighting sleep. A champion.”

  Molly reached down and grasped Patch’s collar. “I should be going, then.”

  “See you around.”

  “Mmm.” She should hope against it.

  As Molly turned, a parcel service truck screeched to a halt at the bottom of the drive. A uniformed man jumped out to carry a thick manila envelope up the steps. Eyeing the burdened Weaver behind her, he shoved the package in Molly’s empty hand. “Have a nice day!”

  He had the truck in gear and was flying up the street before she had a chance to reply. Molly glanced at the address. “For you,” she said, turning.

  Weaver backed up, staring at the package as if it were a shivering mass of spiders and snakes. “For Weaver Reed?”

  She checked again. “Yes.”

  He groaned, obviously a man in deep distress.

  None of your business, Molly told herself sternly. Asking will only involve you. She walked forward, holding out the package.

  He retreated.

  She frowned. “Aren’t you going to take it?”

  “I don’t think I should be alone right now,” he said, wary eyes still on the envelope. “Tell me you’ll come in for coffee.”

  She shook her head. “I shouldn’t bother you.” She tightened her fingers around Patch’s collar. “Take the package and we’ll go.”

  The dog whined. Daisy Ann whined, too, sounding as though she was determined to win this round against sleep.

  “You’d be doing me a favor,” Weaver said.

  Oh, no.

  “If that envelope holds what I think it does, I could really use a shower before facing it…but I hate to put Daisy down when she’s crying.”

  Molly should go now. Turn around before she got any nearer to the cute baby and the handsome man. She tried hardening her marshmallow heart. What did she need them for? Didn’t she have her baby substitute?

  “If you’d just hold her while I take a quick one, I’ll make you a great cup of coffee.” He grimaced. “Okay, I lied. I’ll make you a passable cup of coffee.”

  “Well…”

  Like all men, he could sniff out hesitation from a mile off. And like all men, he used a dirty trick to get what he wanted. “We’ll switch. The package for her.” He held out little Daisy Ann. “Just for a couple of minutes?”

  Patch leaned hard against Molly and she stumbled forward. Weaver took that as eagerness, she supposed, because she found herself relieved of the parcel and with Daisy Ann in her arms. Warm and cuddly.

  Molly glared at the pleased-looking Patch. “It would serve you right if I think she’s better than you.”

  The dog sat on his wagging tail. I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.

  Molly didn’t think the remark deserved a response, and as Weaver was looking at her funny, she shut her mouth and followed him into the house. Holding Daisy Ann so the baby’s head rested in the shallow cup of her shoulder, Molly rhythmically patted the infant’s back. Weaver showed her into the kitchen, then disappeared down a hallway.

  She cradled the infant in her arms to get a better look at Daisy Ann’s face. Drowsy eyes. A little smile now quirking up the corners of her baby mouth.

  If admiring a baby was one thing, and touching a baby was trouble, what did that make holding one?

  Desperately sweet.

  Molly groaned softly. This was a really bad idea.

  Weaver made the best possible use of the free minutes. He attempted sleeping and showering at the same time.

  Shoulders propped against the tiled wall opposite the showerhead, he reveled in the heated spray on his chest and allowed his eyes to close.

  But visions of the ominous envelope kept popping into his head. More paperwork, of course, from Baker, Baker, Baker and Kennedy, Attorneys at Law. Another sharp tooth of the legal trap in which he found himself.

  He’d have to pore over this new set, as well as the legal stuff already on his desk and take care of Daisy Ann. And the laundry and the dishes—But he’d already made himself crazy with that list.

  Though he’d made a few tentative queries about child care two days ago, he’d still been arrogant enough to suppose he could take care of Daisy Ann and everything else. Now he had to get serious.

  He’d ask Molly for advice. She was a local and an elementary schoolteacher. Surely she would have a few ideas.

  Dressed in his last pair of clean jeans and a T-shirt, Weaver hurried down the hall to rescue Molly. He’d taken longer cleaning up than he should have, but now he felt half-alive again. He’d make her that cup of coffee he promised and pick her brain for the best possible day-care sources.

  In the kitchen doorway he paused.

  The aroma of freshly brewed coffee
entered his bloodstream like life-giving plasma. Daisy Ann, cocooned in her infant seat, snoozed away in the middle of the kitchen table. Molly sipped from a steaming mug as she slipped yesterday’s dishes into the dishwasher.

  The silence, the fragrance and the vision hit Weaver with the impact of a brick through a windshield.

  Ask Molly to be the nanny!

  No calls to make, no interviews to schedule, no wasting time. She was a teacher and obviously great with kids. If Molly would agree to be Daisy’s nanny, just for a few weeks until he was cleared out of here, then he could make today’s appointment with the lawyer. Have the house picked up enough for a decent showing if the realtor called. Open up the newly delivered envelope and get to work.

  A perfect plan, with only a couple of glitches. Glitch one: He ran his eyes up the length of Molly’s lean legs. Traced the sleek fall of her hair. A lick of heat streaked through him. If he spent day after day with her, what would happen to that fire?

  You’ll control it, Reed. He’d have to, because he needed someone for Daisy Ann a hell of a lot more than he needed a woman. As pleasant as he was sure it would be, a relationship with Molly would only be temporary, and Daisy Ann could be a lifetime if he didn’t get something else figured out soon. Both women certainly wanted someone more interested in sticking around than he was.

  Which left only glitch two: Could he get Molly to agree?

  He sucked in a deep breath. “Hi there,” he said, and put on a friendly smile.

  She started. “H-hello.” She grabbed the long hem of her ragged T-shirt and stretched it down, obviously a nervous gesture.

  “You made the coffee. Thanks.”

  She smiled a little. “Mine’s generally better than passable. Try it?”

  “Sure.” He crossed the kitchen floor and poured himself a cup, immediately swallowing a long drink of the stuff. “Great,” he pronounced.

  She smiled and pushed away from the countertop. “I’ll leave, then.”

  “But—but—”

  She paused, one dark eyebrow winging up.