BEVERLY BARTON - Wanted - Father for Her Baby - Keeping Baby Secret / Five Brothers and a Baby / Expecting Brand's Baby

“Would you believe I had blond hair and blue eyes when I was a baby?” he said.

“What?” Turning her head sideways, she glanced over at him.

“I had blond hair and blue eyes like Andrew. So his eyes could turn gray later on and his hair might not stay blond like yours.”

She laid her head on his shoulder. “I was bald when I was born. Well, actually, I think I had some white fuzz, but it wasn’t much. I have a couple of baby pictures that a distant relative sent me when I contacted her after I grew up and started searching for any family I might have.”

“That’s right. You grew up in foster homes, didn’t you?”

“Uh-huh. After my parents died, I got shuffled from one foster home to another, until I was fifteen and wound up with Debra and Jerry Schmale.”

“Debra? The same Debra who’s Andrew’s nanny?”

“That’s right.” Leenie yawned.

“How’s she doing after her surgery?”

“I spoke to her doctor earlier today and he said she should be able to go into a private room tomorrow. Debra’s a wonderful person, the only real mother-figure I ever had that I can remember. My own mother died when I was four and I can barely remember her.”

“I grew up in a fairly conventional family. Mom, dad and an older sister. Then when I was twelve my parents divorced. Ripped us to shreds. My sister went with Mom and I lived with Dad.”

“It must have been difficult for you.”

“Pure hell. You see, my mother had taken a lover and my father wanted to make her pay for her sins.” Frank glanced at Leenie, her eyes shut, her lips slightly parted, her breathing soft and even.

“Did you hate your mother after that?” Leenie asked, her voice hushed.

“Yeah, I hated her for a long, long time, but that’s all in the past now,” Frank said, looking at the way Leenie’s eyelids closed and realizing what she needed was sleep. He moved on to more mundane topics and Leenie melted against him as she began drifting off to sleep. He kept talking quietly until he knew she was fast asleep, then he eased her down into the bed so that her head rested in his lap. He pulled the folded quilt at the foot of the bed up and over her. While she slept, he watched her. Drank his fill of her.

He admitted to himself that he’d missed Leenie while they’d been apart. He’d missed seeing her, talking to her, having sex with her. She was the first woman since Rita who’d stirred something inside him other than lust.

But you don’t love her, Frank told himself. She’s special. She’s the mother of your child. But you do not love her.

He caressed her hair and the side of her face tenderly. “Get some rest, Slim. I’m here now. You won’t have to go through this alone.”

Andrew dangled helpless over the deep, dark well, a large hand holding him by the nape of his tiny neck. The hand loosened its grip and released the baby. His frightened cries echoed in the blackness as he fell down, down, down. God, no…no…no! Leenie tried to reach out and grab her son, but her efforts were useless. All she could do was scream in terror.

“Leenie…Leenie…wake up.”

Strong masculine hands grasped her shoulders and shook her gently. She tried to fight him, fear spiraling through her alarmingly.

“Slim, it’s me—Frank. Wake up. You were having a nightmare.”

She opened her eyes suddenly and stared into Frank Latimer’s concerned gray eyes.

“Oh, Frank, it was awful. Someone dropped Andrew into a deep well. He was crying…crying for me.”

Frank pulled her up off the bed and into his arms, his strength enveloping her. She clung to him, her mind and nerves rioting. “It was just a bad dream,” he told her.

“I know.” She burrowed her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. “But he’s out there—lost.” She lifted her head and stared at Frank. “We have to find him. Please, tell me that we can save him. Make me believe that he’s not lost to me forever.”

Frank brushed loose strands of hair out of her face. His hand lingered, his fingertips caressed. And then he withdrew. She felt the emotional withdrawal as keenly as the physical release. He eased out of bed, his back to her, and said nothing for several awkward minutes.

“Frank?”

“I’ll do everything I can, but…” He turned halfway toward her, his jaw tense, his gaze unfocused as he glared off into nothingness. “I don’t make promises I can’t keep. I’ve already sworn to you that I would move heaven and earth to bring Andrew home, and I meant it. I’ll do everything humanly possible. But the honest truth is that even though I’d do anything to rescue Andrew, I can’t promise you that I can bring him back to you safe and sound.”

Her heart lurched, then sank. This wasn’t what she’d wanted to hear. She had thought he would reinforce his earlier vow to rescue Andrew and had longed to hear him say those comforting words. Even knowing Frank wasn’t a miracle worker, she believed in him. He was her last best hope.

“What time is it?” she asked, needing the mundane to keep her sane, to take her mind out of the horrific abyss that sucked her in and kept repeating terrifying mental images of her baby’s death.

Frank glanced at his wristwatch. “Nearly fourthirty.”

“I slept quite a while.” As she stretched, every muscle in her body cried from the tension that had played havoc on her physically, mentally and emotionally.

“You needed the rest. Your friend Haley said you haven’t slept since Andrew’s abduction.” Frank glanced at the stacked empty dishes on the tray. “You should try to eat some supper later on.”

“You’re beginning to sound like a mother hen—telling me to rest and to eat.”

“It’s the training,” he told her. “Part of the regimen for looking after someone is making sure they take care of themselves. A Dundee agent is an allaround bodyguard. He or she tries to not only protect the client, but see to their well-being.”

“And am I a client? Is that how you think of me now?”

“You’re putting words in my mouth again, Slim.”

“I’m only interpreting what I hear you say.”

“You’re misinterpreting,” he said. “And you’re being argumentative. Why? Are you angry with me for some reason?”

Was she angry with him? Yes. No. Maybe.

Leenie got out of bed, rubbed the back of her sore neck and slipped on her shoes. Had Frank taken her shoes off after she’d fallen asleep? More of his allaround bodyguard duties? Was that it—the reason she suddenly felt so hostile toward him? Because he’d acted as if his kindness to her wasn’t anything personal?

“I’m angry with the world right now,” she admitted. “Besides, I believe that should be my question, not yours. After all, you’re the one who has every right to be angry and upset with me for keeping Andrew’s existence a secret from you.”

He shot her a quick glance, then looked away before he replied, “I told you before that now is not the time for us to be at cross purposes, that once Andrew is safely home will be time enough to—”

“To what? For you to tell me what you really think, how you really feel?”

“I don’t know how I feel. I don’t want to dig too deep right now.” He looked at her. “You’re hurting enough for both of us. I need to stay as detached and as unemotional as possible.”

“Can you do that? Can you be unemotional when it comes to Andrew?”

Could he actually remain detached where his own child was concerned? If so, then he certainly wasn’t the man she’d thought he was. But then again, she didn’t really know Frank Latimer. He was a stranger with whom she’d had a passionate fling. She knew without a doubt that he was an incredible lover. Considerate. Attentive. She knew he liked his coffee black, his whiskey straight and his loving frequent. But beyond the obvious, she knew nothing, except what little he’d told her today. And the same held true for him—he didn’t know who the real Lurleen Patton was.