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Licking her lips, she focused her attention back to her tiny patient. “You’re clearly upset by whatever has happened here tonight. I was trying to break the tension. I meant no offense.”
“Of course not.” He sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose. When he glanced up, the confusion in his eyes touched her. “It’s just that this is…quite personal.”
She considered that. “So I’ve gathered. Since you’ve requested my assistance, and since the wellbeing of an infant is at stake, I’m obliged to ask certain questions, and frankly you are quite obliged to answer them.”
A flush crawled up his throat. He coughed, glanced away. “My apologies, Dr. Davis. You’ve gone out of your way to be helpful, and I’ve repaid you poorly.”
Her heart fluttered. He was without a doubt the most perfect man God had ever created. Claire wondered if he was aware of that. “A nice cup of coffee would go a long way in paying my bill. You could use some yourself.” She issued a pointed nod toward a brandy snifter of amber liquid on the wet bar, remnants of the nightcap he’d mentioned on the telephone and ostensibly the reason he refused to drive the infant to the clinic. Claire had admired that about him. She also had an aversion to operating a vehicle after having imbibed even a moderate amount of alcohol.
“Coffee. Of course. How thoughtless of me not to have offered.” Clearly frustrated, he brushed his hand along the side of his head, spreading a new smear of powder across his ebony hair.
“Graying at the temples is a good look for you,” she said cheerily. Removing the baby’s pajamas, she grimaced at the wafting aroma. “I presume you didn’t get around to a diaper change.”
“Diaper?” He blinked as if unfamiliar with the word. Comprehension dawned slowly. “Diapers,” he repeated, seeming horrified at his oversight. “It didn’t occur to me….” His voice trailed off as he gazed helplessly from the red-faced, kicking infant on the table to the crystalized powder coating his hand.
Claire wondered how much of the formula had actually gotten into the bottle the indomitable Mr. Winterhawk had gamely prepared. She had to hand it to him; he’d certainly given it the old college try.
An irked squeak brought her attention back to the infant, who kicked her fat legs wildly and flailed a tiny fist against her tummy. Claire’s heart felt as if it had been squeezed. Babies were her business. She’d seen hundreds of them, all beautiful, all adorable.
There was something special about this black-eyed, button-nosed babe, something almost mythical and chilling. It was as if this tiny infant had the power of a magus, the eyes of an old soul trapped in a newborn body. She felt a kinship to the child, an instant bonding so sudden and forceful that her own body vibrated with it.
She brushed her knuckles across the silky soft baby cheek. “What is her name?”
Joh
“Lucy,” Claire crooned. “A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” At that moment, Claire fell utterly and completely in love with this precious infant. It wasn’t professional. It wasn’t even rational. But it was nonetheless real. And it would change the course of her life forever.
The coffee dripped quietly, its fragrance wafting through the kitchen to mingle with the peculiar aroma of warm milk and sweet powder. Joh
Claire Davis. So that was her name. It was a good name—strong, independent, yet delicate and feminine, like the woman who wore it.
Joh
Joh
From that moment on, he’d searched for the beautiful redhead every time he’d gone to the clinic, and made it a point to study her when she wasn’t looking. Now she was here, in his home, with light from his dining-room chandelier dancing in her hair with the sparkling hues of warm sherry in sunlight.
Every nuance was alluring, every smile, every dimple, every twist of auburn brow, every whisper from moist, full lips. Few women were natural beauties, but this one was. Her blue eyes were large, round, exquisitely framed with thick dark lashes that didn’t appear to have been coated with black goo that so many women seemed obliged to paint on themselves. A pale smattering of freckles shone golden across otherwise alabaster skin untinted by makeup. Her brows were pale, neatly plucked, but otherwise natural.
Yes, she was pleasing to the eye. But it was her ma
Joh
Claire Davis. Here. In his home. Holding both his past and his future in her very competent hands. He wondered if he could trust her with either.
Then realized that he had no choice.
Claire set her coffee cup aside and reread the note Joh
Please take care of Lucy. I have faith in you.
Samantha.
She swallowed hard, handed the note back to him. “This was pi
Joh
“May I assume that you are familiar with this Samantha person?” Although Claire had meant the question to be kind, Joh
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I presume so.”
“Presume?”
His shoulders squared slightly, increasing their impressive width. A powerful man, she noted, with an extraordinarily well-muscled upper body that provided a potent contrast to provocatively slim hips and lean legs that probably weren’t as long as they appeared. “Samantha and I were involved during the time the child was apparently conceived,” he said simply. “Since she has seen fit to bring Lucy to me, I must presume that the child is mine.”
Claire nodded. The infant was gorgeous, with dark skin, high cheekbones and exquisitely crafted Native American bone structure that mirrored her father’s. “She looks like you.”
Joh
The bewilderment and pain in his eyes struck Claire with unexpected force. “I can only imagine how unsettling it must be to suddenly discover you have a child.” Not to mention having that child dropped on the doorstep like the morning paper. A wave of anger surged through her chest, forcing her to take several calming breaths. “Have you contacted the authorities?”