Nancy Holland - Found - One Secret Baby

Aaron? And the cat was only familiar with one man? Morgan’s mood went sour again.

“Guys.” Both cats looked at her. “Off the sofa.”

They both jumped down and sauntered away, tails high.

“Smudge and Sylvester. Rescue cats. Brothers. Neutered.”

“Where did you set up the paintings?” he interrupted gruffly. “In your mother’s studio?”

A shadow flickered in her eyes. “You can only display one or two at a time in there. I picked out a dozen and put them in the dining room.”

She led him across the tiled entry to where she’d leaned the larger paintings on the chairs that went with the undistinguished dining table and split the smaller ones between the buffet and sideboard. He could see at once that the prospect of selling dozens of these paintings would make the art dealer’s heart pound with avaricious delight.

Rosalie stood in the archway between the entry and dining room while Morgan Danby wandered from painting to painting, occasionally picking one up to hold it to the sunlight.

With an effort, she managed not to fidget with the stress of having this man within yards of Joey’s bedroom, despite the fact that Joey himself was safely down the street on his playdate.

At least she wasn’t afraid of Mr. Danby, even if he did claim Charlie for a brother. Maybe it was because the change from suit and tie to a blue shirt that accented those killer eyes and jeans that hugged his admirable physique made him look like the proverbial guy next door.

If the guy next door was a movie star. Too bad such an attractive package was wasted on such an arrogant, and for her, dangerous man. When he’d tried to be friendly, to act like the careless charmer he appeared to be, the effect had been pretty devastating.

At the same time, the melancholy she sensed under all the charm made her want to know more about him. He’d tolerated her cats, who tried even Aaron’s patience. Mr. Danby seemed to care about his stepmother. And he’d understood how Rosalie felt about her mother’s paintings.

Reality jolted her back a step. Being physically attracted to Morgan Danby was bad enough. She didn’t dare allow herself to like the man.

Finally he picked out one of the smaller paintings, an iris in vivid purple. “This will be a good sample, and that.” He pointed to one of the larger ones, a hillside of poppies and lupins with a single scrub oak to one side. “Do you have any more with children in them?”

She shook her head. “Just the one in my office. My mother gave it to me as a Christmas gift one year. She wasn’t interested in people as subjects. She thought it was intrusive to try to show what someone ‘really’ looked like. She preferred flowers.”

“Luckily flowers sell well.”

“I’m not doing this for the money.”

He nodded absently and handed her the smaller painting. “Would you mind carrying this out to the car for me while I get the larger one?”

For a moment her body quivered with relief that he was leaving. She took the painting and followed him out to the shiny black sports car.

Mrs. Peterson across the street was making a show of raking her already perfectly manicured lawn, eyes fixed on the stranger’s expensive car.

“Nice day,” she called with a wave.

Rosalie waved back. Once Morgan clicked the car’s locks, she opened the door and bent to set the smaller painting on the passenger seat.

“How’s Joey?” Mrs. Peterson asked.

Rosalie straightened so quickly out of the car’s narrow doorway that she hit her head hard enough to make her ears ring. “He’s fine.”

Morgan’s face twisted for a moment, then went bland and cold.

She didn’t dare do anything that might lead to a conversation between him and her neighbor, so she stood there, holding her breath.

Mrs. Peterson gave her a long look. “Well, give Joey a hug for me,” before she gave up the pretense of raking and disappeared around the side of her house.

“Joey? I thought his name was Aaron.”

Ordinarily the disdain in Morgan’s voice would have annoyed Rosalie, but under the circumstances she could have kissed him for his mistake.

Relief slumped one hip against the car. Or maybe it was the idea of kissing Morgan had made her knees so wobbly.

“Mrs. Peterson gets confused,” she said.

“Humph.” He put the larger painting behind the seat, slammed the passenger door shut, and went around to the driver’s side.

She stepped away from the car. “Thank you for showing the paintings to your friend.”

“I’m an art lover, what can I say?”

His smile made her heart want to burst into sappy, sentimental songs.

This man was the enemy, she reminded herself. Even if he was a spectacularly gorgeous enemy.

“I’ll let you know what the dealer says.”

She sighed when he drove off, unsure whether it was from relief or longing.

Morgan realized too late it was a mistake to call Lillian from the condo that afternoon before he called Rosalie to report back on his visit to the art dealer.

“You’re not giving up?” his stepmother asked plaintively.

“I’ve run out of leads, and I need to get back to work.”

“You believe what that woman told you?”

He thought a moment. “Yes. I’m sure she was telling the truth.”

“Men can be so stupid when it comes to a pretty face.”

He started to say Rosalie’s face wasn’t pretty, but it was. Very pretty. Maybe beautiful. When she forgot to be wary and angry.

“If you couldn’t get anywhere with the sympathy angle, have you tried the famous Danby charm to get her to tell you where my grandchild is?”

“Lillian, there is no grandchild.”

“Without a death certificate, you can’t be sure of that.”

“But I can’t get a death certificate if I don’t know the child’s name, or when or where it may have died.” Or was born.

He sat up straighter in his chair.

Damn. Why hadn’t he realized that there could be more than one reason Márya wasn’t pregnant when she came to L.A.? The blasted lady lawyer might have tricked him after all.

“Morgan, talk to her one more time.”

He would definitely talk to Ms. Walker one more time. The sexy, scheming little …

Sexy? How could he still think of the lying lady lawyer as sexy?

“All right, Lillian.”

Luckily, the art dealer’s enthusiasm for the paintings by Ms. Walker’s mother gave Morgan a perfect pretense for seeing her again. He said goodbye to his stepmother and punched in Ms. Walker’s number. A few minutes later he disconnected with a smile. An appointment for Monday afternoon was perfect.

The first thing Rosalie noticed when Morgan walked into her office on Monday afternoon was that he didn’t have the two paintings with him.

Well, that was the second thing she noticed, after taking in how good he looked in designer black jeans, white shirt, and brown suede jacket. She couldn’t stop herself from smiling at him. She gestured him to a chair and sat down, expecting a report on his visit to the art gallery.

Instead she got a sucker punch to the gut.

“How many weeks’ pregnant did you say Márya Mendelev was when you first met her?”

“Three months’.”

He watched her face carefully as she answered, but it was the truth. That was what she’d said. She knew she was a bad liar, so she’d made a mental note of her exact words.

Still, her heart beat a jerky rhythm from the surprise attack she’d barely managed to deflect. What had happened to make him suspicious again?

“And she filed for protection in L.A. three months later?”

Rosalie remained frozen, afraid any move, the slightest change in facial expression, might give her away. “Approximately. I’d have to check the exact date.”