Do You Take This Child? Page 7

  Though he wasn’t aware of it at first, he couldn’t help humming to himself.

  Walking into his editor’s office, Slade lifted the lid on the huge white box he was carrying and placed it in front of the man on his desk.

  Andrew Wendell raised his eyes from the keyboard he had been pecking at. The cursor on the blue screen hovered between two paragraphs, blinking impatiently.

  “Well, you look pretty pleased with yourself for a man who’s a day late reporting in. Lucky for you your articles got here in time. Nice piece of work, Garrett. Welcome back.” Doughnuts were a particular weakness for Andy, though no one would have ever known it to look at his rail-thin body. He eyed the box like a man who hadn’t eaten in days. “What’s the occasion?”

  Slade pushed the box closer to him until it was almost under his elbow. “Have a doughnut, Andy. I just had a daughter.”

  Andy claimed a jelly doughnut while eyeing a second one covetously. “A daughter?” he echoed incredulously.

  Munching, Andy scratched what was left of his faded rust-colored hair and stared at the man he had long since given up trying to pigeonhole. It had taken less than a month of working together for him to ascertain that Slade Garrett was one of a kind. And one was enough. But that one, he’d also found, was very essential to him.

  “You been holding out on us?” Slade was known to have a strange sense of humor at times. It helped offset the sobriety of the events he covered. Was this his idea of a joke? “I didn’t even know you were married. Or don’t people like you do things like that anymore?”

  Slade picked up the framed photograph on Andy’s desk. It was a family portrait of Andy, his wife, who was a head taller than he was, and his daughters. All five of them. Studying it, Slade wondered what that would be like, to have five daughters. He wondered how Sheila felt about large families.

  Boy, talk about a turnaround, he mused. He’d certainly done one in the past day.

  He returned the photograph to its place. “Done. As of this afternoon”

  It seemed as if all the hair Andy had lost had somehow found its way to other places on his face. His brows appeared to get thicker every year. He arched one now as he studied his best foreign correspondent while making short work of the doughnut. “Cutting it a little close, aren’t you?”

  That only added to the sense of excitement he felt. Slade grinned, making himself comfortable in the roomy, cracked upholstered chair by Andy’s desk that he strongly suspected had once been part of the man’s own collection at home before his wife had opted to redecorate.

  He laid his ankle across his thigh. “When did you know me not to?”

  That was what gave Slade an edge as a reporter. Andy nodded as he licked his red-stained fingers. A dot of red found its way to his shirt, and he muttered under his breath.

  “That’s the truth, all right.” Finished, Andy didn’t hesitate to select another one. “How come doughnuts? Aren’t cigars still the tradition?”

  Amused, Slade watched the man eat. Maybe he should have brought five dozen instead of four. He’d forgotten about Andy’s tapeworm. It was either that, or he was harboring an alien inside of him. Andy could outeat anyone on the floor with no ill effects, no visible weight gain.

  Slade shook his head in reply. “Not with the new no-smoking laws in the building. Besides, I don’t want anything triggering me again.” Not that he actually thought it would. Once he’d made up his mind about something, he stuck by it. And he’d made up his mind to stop smoking. “This time I’ve quit for keeps.”

  “Yeah, I can remember the promises I made with each new kid.” Andy eyed the photograph on his desk as if he were really seeing it for the first time in a long while. “A daughter, eh?” He chuckled softly to himself as he shook his head. “Can’t say I can picture you with anything under the age of eighteen bouncing on your knee.”

  “You’re going to have to start.” And so was he, Slade thought, steeping himself in the idea. Every time he thought of it, it was like opening up a huge Christmas present all over again. A Christmas present he hadn’t even known was waiting for him. It added to the intensity of the rush he experienced at each interval.

  “Welcome back, stranger. I heard you were here.”

  The words mingled with a rustle behind him and the scent of expensive perfume. Slade only had enough time to turn around before Laura Moore planted a friendly kiss on his mouth.

  The hug he returned was quick and perfunctory. Laura was surprised at the lack of feeling she detected. Recovering nicely, she stepped back and glanced at the box on Andy’s desk.

  “Are we celebrating something?”

  Andy rather than Slade pushed the box toward her. “Yeah, Garrett’s descent into fatherhood.” He eyed his gossip columnist for a reaction. They had a gossip mill of their own at the newspaper, and it had pegged Garrett and Moore as an item. “He’s got himself a daughter. A wife, too.”

  Laura’s eyes darted down to Slade’s face a shade too quickly. It was true. She could see it. Amusement covered the sharp prick of disappointment she felt, at least for now.

  “You’re kidding.” She selected a pink, heavily frosted, doughnut. At the moment, the calories didn’t count.

  He and Laura had shared some warm nights together, but it had all been more in friendship than anything else as far as he was concerned. Slade counted Laura among his friends. “Nope. It’s your fault, really.”

  Her brows arched in genuine surprise. “This one you’re going to have to explain to me.”

  Yes, Slade thought. It really was due to Laura that he’d met Sheila. And, apparently, his destiny, as well. “If I hadn’t gone to cover for you at the fund-raiser at Harris Memorial just before I went on assignment, I would have never met her.”

  The doughnut didn’t taste as good as it should. Her smile was spasmodic. “Just call me Cupid. What’s her name?” Slipping into gear, Laura prodded for more information.

  “Dr. Sheila Pollack.” He’d married a doctor. He grinned to himself. That should make his mother happy. She had never expected him to marry anyone. Neither had he,

  One favor and she was out of the running. Fate was really fickle sometimes, Laura thought with a pang.

  The name was familiar to her. “Weren’t her parents the ones spearheading the affair for the new obstetrics wing?”

  Slade leaned over and took a doughnut himself. He hadn’t eaten very much in the last twenty-four hours and it was catching up to him. “The same.”

  Laura blew out a breath, and with it, any residue of frustration that lingered. She knew how to roll with the punches.

  “I asked you to cover the affair, not have an affair and cover the doctor,” she reminded Slade with a wicked grin.

  Their eyes held for a moment. Their times together had been good, Slade thought. But all that was in the past. He intended to do justice to his new role. And his new family.

  “Water under the bridge, Laura.” He had details to see to, Slade thought, rising. “I’ll check in with you later,” he promised Andy.

  “He’s off-limits now, Laura.” Andy’s voice was gentle, but firm.

  Laura allowed herself one sigh as she watched Slade walk through the outer office. “He always was, Andy. He always was.”

  A splitting headache greeted her as Sheila opened her eyes. It didn’t take any deep analysis to know that the pain had nothing to do with her physical condition and everything to do with her marital one.

  The realization jumped up at her like an old-fashioned jack-in-the-box just as the last note was played.

  Married.

  She had married Slade. Somewhere in between gut-wrenching contractions, she had ground out the words “I do” to the questions of a wispy little man dressed in black, and had married Slade Garrett.

  Had she lost her mind?

  Pressing a hand to her forehead, Sheila sighed deeply. She couldn’t even blame her impulsive action on the mind-clouding effects of drugs. She hadn’t been given any medication. T
his colossal error she found herself in the middle of was nobody’s fault but her own.

  Hers and that silver-tongued journalist who had the capacity to unravel her the way no one else had ever even come close to doing.

  She held her head in her hands. So what was she going to do now?

  “How are you feeling, Dr. Pollack?”

  Startled, Sheila looked up. She hadn’t even heard anyone enter the room. With effort, she collected herself and forced a smile to her lips. She thought she recognized the young nurse, but wasn’t certain.

  “Groggy. Achy.”

  The nurse nodded. “Well, you know that’s to be expected. I’m Alice,” she told Sheila in case the doctor wanted to ring for her later. Competently, she took Sheila’s vital signs and noted them on the chart clipped to the foot of the bed. Everything was on target. Finished, she smiled. “Would you like me to bring the baby to you?”

  Her baby. She’d had a girl. Exactly what she’d hoped for.

  Sheila nodded. “Please.” She sat up higher in the bed, smoothing out her blanket. “Remind me why I went through all this in the first place.”

  Without another word, Alice left the room. She returned within a few minutes. Tiny mewling sounds were coming from the bundle in her arms. A maternal look entered her eyes as she held the infant to her for a moment longer.

  “We took a survey on the floor.” She beamed at Sheila. “Everyone thinks she’s the prettiest baby in the nursery.”

  That made it unanimous, Sheila thought. She leaned forward to take the infant into her arms. As she felt the light weight, warmth flooded through her to such a degree, it startled her.

  Hers.

  Her own baby. It was hard to believe it was really true. She’d held so many others in her arms, yet this felt different. So very different. She wanted to do so much for this tiny being in her arms. Give her wings. Protect her.

  Diametrically conflicting emotions bounced off one another in a flurry of confusion. She’d hoped she’d get it all straight by the time the baby graduated high school.

  Sheila smiled knowingly at the nurse. “You have to say that.”

  Alice shook her head with feeling. “Oh, no, it’s true. She is.”

  Sheila looked down at the tiny puckered face of her daughter and fell hopelessly in love all over again. Most babies had heads that were a little misshapen, but not hers. The perfectly shaped little head was fringed in dark brown hair. Dark brown, like Slade’s, with eyes the color of the sky.

  “Yes, I suppose it is. She is beautiful,” Sheila whispered in awe.

  Alice lingered a moment longer. For a change, there weren’t many mothers on the floor, so she could afford to dawdle for a couple of minutes. “Do you have a name for her yet?”

  A name. Sheila had thought of her tiny tenant as Baby for so long that she hadn’t thought to select a name for her child. She’d been too busy, she thought ruefully, silently apologizing to the child in her arms.

  “How about Rebecca?”

  The deep male voice rumbled across her skin. Shaking off its effect, Sheila looked up to see Slade entering the room.

  Six foot two, and all of it trouble, she thought, pressing her lips together. Married. She must have been crazy.

  “Rebecca?” she repeated slowly, turning the name around on her tongue and in her mind as the nurse quietly withdrew from the room.

  Slade came up to stand beside her and look down at his daughter. The sight had the effect of a one-two punch and brought him to his knees, humbled. Seeing her, he still couldn’t quite believe it, even though he now had the license making it all legal in his pocket, awaiting Sheila’s signature.

  “It’s my mother’s name. I was always kind of partial to it.”

  “Rebecca,” Sheila repeated again, looking down at her daughter. Trying it on for size. “Rebecca Susan.” She added her own mother’s name to the combination. “Such a big name for such a tiny thing.”

  Almost hesitantly, he reached over and touched the baby’s clenched fist. Touching the miracle he had had a hand in creating. Just as in the delivery room, something tightened, swiftly and hard, within his stomach. He’d taken on adversaries of all kinds in the years he’d been a journalist. Lived through and seen things that would make the average man quake in his living room.

  So how was it that something so small could reduce him to the consistency of warmed-over oatmeal?

  “Becky Sue, then?” he suggested, looking at Sheila for approval.

  “Becky Sue,” Sheila echoed, unconsciously nodding. A smile curved her mouth as she tested out the sound. “Becky.”

  The baby made a noise that sounded very much like a squeak.

  Sheila laughed to herself. Such a sweet sound, she thought. “Well, she likes it.”

  Slade nodded, as if he’d expected nothing else. Less than a day old and she already held him in the palm of her hand. “I guess it’s unanimous, then.”

  Sheila raised a brow as she looked at Slade. The sight of his profile, so close, so compelling, reminded her how she had gotten into this situation in the first place. “Don’t I get a vote?”

  He knew he could pull up a chair, but somehow, that didn’t seem close enough. Slade remained where he was, standing beside Sheila and the baby, absorbing the sensations the proximity created. He shrugged in reply to her questions.

  “This is classic democracy at work, Sheila. ‘Rebecca’ wins, two to one.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “But you can still come in on the winning side if you like.”

  “Thanks a lot.” She laughed as she shook her head and looked at the baby. Rebecca Susan. She liked the sound of that. But she couldn’t just agree. He wouldn’t expect it of her. “You just steamroll over everything, just like in your articles, don’t you.”

  Slade looked at her, surprised and pleased. “You’ve read my articles?”

  Sheila shrugged, reaching for nonchalance to cover the sudden self-consciousness she felt. “A few. I was just curious what you sounded like on paper.”

  She didn’t want to admit that reading the articles had managed to hearten her. That though she’d had no intentions of getting in contact with him about the pending blessed event, reading his words, seeing events through his eyes, had somehow made her feel closer to him. And be proud of the conviction and power she found there. And she’d even started a small scrapbook of his articles for the baby, to tell her about her father when the time came.

  It had helped.

  He crossed his arms before him. “So, what did you think of my work?” He knew better than to expect flattery, but that wasn’t what he was after. He genuinely wanted to know what she thought.

  His articles had been compassionately vivid, bringing the scenes he witnessed into her life. But telling him that seemed in the nature of pandering. It didn’t fit the fledgling relationship they had. Sheila smiled at Rebecca, who was now trying to eat her fist, and raised her eyes to his. “This is the best example.”

  If she was expecting a display of ego, Slade thought, she was going to be disappointed. He’d already reached that conclusion himself. “No argument.”

  His answer had her softening a little and brought them closer to the same side. Without realizing it, she’d placed them on opposite ends of the court, opponents, though she couldn’t have stated what they were on opposite sides about if she were asked. It was just the way she’d viewed him and their situation.

  Sheila sighed and shook her head. “This is highly unorthodox, you realize.”

  “Sheila—” Slade made himself comfortable on the corner of her bed as he faced her “—I’ve been in and out of so many places, places that suddenly became new countries overnight, seen people who had everything when they went to sleep the night before wake up to total poverty, watched once-picturesque spots become blighted with bodies and blood. I don’t think I really know what ‘unorthodox’ is anymore.”

  She didn’t have his frame of reference, she had only her own. Except for that one night, her life
had been led on the straight and narrow.

  She held her infant daughter close to her heart and looked up at the child’s father. “This is it, trust me.”

  Impulsively, he leaned forward and cupped the back of her head. As the very breath stopped within her lungs, Slade brought his mouth down to hers.

  The kiss began like a whisper of a song on her lips. His whisper. It grew until the song became a symphony that enveloped her, taking her out of the normal trappings of her life and putting her in a place only lovers visited.

  If they were very, very lucky.

  It took her a moment to get the room to stop spinning. Dazed, she looked at him for an explanation. “What was that for?”

  He built on the word she’d used. “I trust only what I can see and touch.” And besides, he’d wanted to do that for the last nine months. That and more. But more, he knew, was going to have to wait.

  She swallowed, wondering why her heart thudding against her rib cage wasn’t startling the baby. “And kiss, obviously.”

  His smile was the most sensual one she’d ever seen. “We all have our own way of touching.”

  She had to keep her mind, what was left of it, at any rate, on what she wanted to say to him. “I wasn’t in my right mind yesterday—”

  He didn’t want to hear about any regrets. Not until he’d had an opportunity to erase them for her. “I was,” he interjected mildly.

  They weren’t two teenagers who’d gotten drunk and driven over the border to Mexico for a quickie wedding. They were two professionals who had somehow managed to get a quickie wedding in the middle of the hospital. It was too bizarre for words.

  Unable to put it into anything that might sound vaguely coherent, she stared at him. He looked sane, but she had her doubts.

  “Are you trying to tell me you still want to go through with this?”

  The grin only broadened, telling her she was right. “How am I doing?”