Susan Crosby - Heart of the Raven

She straightened. “What do you mean you don’t know where she is?”

“She sold him to me for ten thousand dollars, then she left.”

It took her a second to comprehend what he’d just told her. “Seriously?”

“Signed, sealed and delivered.”

She sat on the sofa but kept her hand on the basket as Heath related what happened.

“What do you think?” she asked. “It sounds like she was emotional.”

“Definitely. But there are all kinds of emotions, Cassie. I can’t pretend to know what she was feeling. I only know the truth of what’s here in front of me—my son. He needs me to take care of him now, no matter what happens in the future.”

She looked into the bassinet as the baby stirred. “Yes. First things first.”

“I doubt the paper she signed will hold up in court.”

“I doubt it, too. But it’s a start. You need to have him checked by a pediatrician. You need his birth certificate as soon as it’s available. And he needs a name.” The baby’s eyes opened. Cassie smiled at him. “You need a name, don’t you, sweet pea?”

Heath lifted the baby out of the basket. “Daniel. Daniel Patrick.”

“That’s nice. Is there some significance?”

“My father’s name—before he turned hippie and started calling himself Journey.”

“You’re the product of hippies?” Cassie laughed.

He didn’t react, just stared at her for a few seconds, but she couldn’t figure out why.

“It’s the truth,” he said finally. “My mother calls herself Crystal. They live on a commune in New Hampshire.”

“Did you grow up there?”

“Yeah. I couldn’t wait to go away to college.”

There was fondness in his voice, though, indicating he might have resented his upbringing then but not now.

“They’re into macrobiotic diets,” he added.

“That’s grains and vegetables, isn’t it?”

“It’s cardboard.”

She smiled. “I like steak.”

“Me, too. And ordering in.”

Daniel started to fuss. Cassie clenched her hands. She wanted to hold him, but Heath hadn’t offered, so she leaned close and sang. “The itsy bitsy spider—”

“Don’t.”

Startled at his vehement tone, Cassie sat back. The baby wailed. “Don’t what?”

“Sing.” He bounced Daniel.

“Why not? Babies love singing. It calms them.”

“I don’t have to explain myself.” He tried to shush the baby, who had worked up a full head of steam.

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