Bringing Up Baby Page 9

  Tears of frustration filled her eyes. So much for impressing Colin with her cooking. After one look at her ruined dinner, he’d consider her a world-class dummy—even if she didn’t confess to the rosecolored laundry.

  Amanda’s babbling noises drew her attention to the playpen, where the baby raised herself on her knees and hands, twisting her bare bottom in the air. Her diaper lay in a corner, where she’d wiggled out of it. Devon hadn’t fastened the sides tightly enough.

  Defeated, she dropped into a chair, folded her arms on the kitchen table and rested her head on them. Everything she’d touched lately had turned to disaster. Maybe she was losing it. Maybe she really had started the fire and forgotten to set the parking brake. She almost hoped so. She was too tired to handle the idea that someone was out to get her.

  WHEN HE RETURNED from the hospital, Colin found Devon asleep at the table and Amanda playing barebottomed in her playpen. He quietly lifted the child, carried her to her crib and, after securing her diaper, left her there to sleep.

  The kitchen reeked with the smell of scorched food. When he checked the burned contents of the pot, the efforts Devon had made with the meal touched him. Felicia had always been too busy to cook and had insisted on eating out every night.

  He tiptoed back to the family room and ordered a pizza on the extension phone. When he returned to the kitchen, Devon had awakened and was surveying her surroundings with the expression of a battlefatigue victim.

  “I burned dinner.” Her bottom lip quivered, but she squared her shoulders and looked him in the eye. “And that’s not the half of it.”

  He reached into a cupboard for wineglasses and a corkscrew and withdrew a bottle of zinfandel from the refrigerator and tucked it under his arm. “I wouldn’t wish what you’ve gone through the past two days on my worst enemy. Come into the family room and have a drink.”

  “But what about dinner?”

  “I’ve ordered pizza.”

  Her attention flew to the playpen. “Amanda?”

  He clasped her elbow and guided her down the hall. “She’s asleep in her crib.”

  Devon collapsed onto the sofa, and Colin sat beside her. With a few twists, he uncorked the zinfandel, filled the glasses and handed her one.

  “How’s Mike?” she asked.

  Her concern touched him. “No change. Doc Packard says he can come home soon.”

  “I meant what I said about his staying at my house.”

  He reached out and traced a fingertip from the corner of her eye across her cheek, noting how, even though exhaustion etched her face, she’d agreed to take on another burden. In her unselfishness, she was nothing like Felicia. In fact, Devon Clarke was unlike any other woman he’d ever met.

  “With Amanda,” he said, “and all the work that needs to be done to your house before the interview, taking care of Dad would be too much.”

  “Looking after someone you care about is never too much,” she insisted. “You just do it.”

  The late-afternoon sun bathed her face in diffused light and created a golden aura around her shortcropped curls as she smiled up at him with shining eyes and lips moist with wine. Without stopping to think, be lowered his head and covered her lips with his.

  For an instant, she returned the pressure, and he slipped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss. Her soft curves molded against him, and desire hammered through every nerve ending of his body. He slid his hands down the smoothness of her arms, savoring the velvety texture of her skin beneath his fingertips.

  The firm pressure of her hands against his chest pushed him away, and she stared at him with bewilderment. “What are you doing?”

  He reined in his galloping senses and grinned. “Practicing.”

  She picked up her glass and sipped her wine, then smoothed her crumpled skirt. “I’m no expert in these matters, but I’d say you’re quite competent. Why do you need practice?”

  “Have you forgotten already?”

  “Forgotten what?”

  “The Sara Davis interview. We’re supposed to be man and wife, remember?”

  She flushed. “But that’s all make-believe.”

  “All the more reason we need the practice.” The taste of her, her subtle beauty combined with her vulnerability and her compassion toward his father had provoked a driving hunger in him. He reached for her again, but the chime of the doorbell interrupted.

  “The pizza’s here,” she said with a bright smile and a hint of breathlessness.

  With regret, he rose to answer the door.

  “How CAN YOU PULL this wedding off without jeopardizing your identity?” Colin asked as he backed the pickup down the drive and headed toward the shopping mall.

  Devon studied him over Amanda’s velvety curls. His attitude had changed two nights ago when she’d burned the pot roast. He’d become less critical, and although he had spent most of his time either working at her house or visiting the hospital, when be returned home, he’d continued to help with Amanda with such an easy grace, natural calm and obvious delight, he’d eased her anxieties about parenting. But he hadn’t attempted to kiss her again, and she couldn’t decide if she was disappointed or relieved.

  During that time, in between caring for the baby, Devon had managed to launder the smoke from her wardrobe and household linens and plan a seaside wedding.

  “I contacted a Tampa travel agency,” she explained, “one that books tours for foreign tourists who stay in hotels on the beach. The agency’s arranged for a busload of foreign visitors to attend our wedding at sunset and enjoy the local color, so to speak.”

  “You told the agency who you are?”

  She retrieved the toy Amanda had tossed and handed it back to her. “Of course not. I just explained we were new to the area, didn’t know many people and didn’t want to celebrate our marriage alone. With a free buffet and champagne after the ceremony, the agency can provide their clients with an evening’s entertainment for the cost of a charter bus.”

  “Clever girl.” He threw her an ambiguous smile. “The tourists will have left the good old U.S. of A. when the Davis special airs, so Amanda Donovan’s secret identity is safe.”

  She nodded. “And I’ve hired a videographer with a reputation for discretion.”

  This time, the warmth of his smile was genuine. “With Dad on the mend and your house ready for occupancy tomorrow, it looks like things are under control.”

  “Don’t tempt fate,” she warned, trying to ignore the traitorous race of her pulse at his engaging smile.

  “Me?” he said with a laugh. “There’s not a superstitious bone in my body.”

  She pulled her rebellious thoughts from how enticingly those bones were structured. “Do you have your list?”

  He patted his shirt pocket. “Gray tuxedo, pleated shirt—but does the cummerbund have to be pink?”

  “Sorry. That’s the way I described it in my column, so Sara will be expecting it.” She stared out the window at the passing landscape, and the glass reflected her worried frown. “Not everything is under control.”

  He turned into the mall parking lot and headed toward an empty space near the entrance. “What do you mean?”

  “We still don’t know who started the fire at my house or why. Or who caused my car to roll across the street.’’

  He parked the truck and turned toward her. Amanda dozed peacefully between them, and the only sound above the idling motor was the gentle whoosh from the air-conditioning vents. The recirculated air teased her with the musky scent of his after-shave.

  “If it wasn’t you,” he said in a dubious tone, “then maybe they were isolated incidents, a random arsonist, a faulty parking brake.”

  She shook her head. “Both events occurred after Amanda arrived. What if someone’s trying to harm her?”

  “What would anyone stand to gain by harming a sweet little kid?” His stare intensified, and she looked away.

  How could she admit that, according to the prov
isions of the documents Farnsworth had left her, if anything happened to Amanda, Devon would become the sole recipient of her ample trust fund? Colin already thought she’d caused the accidents. If he learned about the money, he might put two and two together and come up with five, concluding she’d tried to harm the child for financial gain.

  Why should you care what he thinks? an inner voice taunted. The man will be out of your life for good when the interview is over. The thought provided no satisfaction.

  She adjusted her sunglasses, tied a white silk scarf low on her brow and topped it with a wide-brimmed straw hat to hide her appearance while she shopped for a bridal dress. She’d already withdrawn cash from the bank so identification would be unnecessary when she paid for her purchases.

  While she unfastened Amanda from her carrier, Colin removed the umbrella stroller from the back of the truck and snapped it open. She lowered the child into the stroller and stood to find him contemplating her disguise.

  “I feel like I’m shopping with Mata Hari,” he said. “Maybe you should put a mustache and fake nose on the kid, just to be safe.”

  “Very funny.” She gazed at him with alarm. Colin’s good looks, his unforgettable physique and face, made him stand out in a crowd. “Babies tend to look alike, but people will remember you.”

  He opened his mouth as if to protest, then returned to the cab of the truck, where he removed his sunglasses from the visor and put them on. “Okay?”

  She shook her head. “Not enough of a change.”

  “You should have thought of this before we left the house. I don’t know what I can do now…”

  His glance fell on his toolbox in the truck bed. He pulled out a can of hand-cleaning gel, scooped out a dollop and rubbed it into his thick hair. With a pocket comb, he raked the hair off his forehead and plastered it to his head. His hair, previously the color of rich coffee, gleamed almost black.

  Devon giggled and wrinkled her nose at the heavy odor of pine. “The style’s a little outdated, but I doubt your own father would recognize you.”

  “Dear old Dad,” he said with a mocking grin. “He’s the one who got me into this.”

  She placed her hand on his arm. “I can’t thank you enough. I don’t know what I’d have done without your help.”

  His warm flesh beneath her fingertips sent a tingle up her arm, and she withdrew her hand as if she’d scorched it.

  “It’s Dad you should thank.” His words were brusque, but his smile was friendly as he pushed the stroller toward the mall entrance.

  They parted company on the first level. Colin took the escalator to Travino’s on the second floor, and Devon and Amanda continued down the concourse to the mall’s largest department store.

  “May I help you?” The salesclerk who met her just inside the bridal department didn’t look a day over fifteen.

  “I need a dress for an outdoor wedding.” Devon’s heart sank at the number of crowded racks before her. When she’d fabricated her wedding column, she’d kept the description of the bridal gown simple, but even so, finding a match would take work. “Something tea-length with a full skirt and off-the-shoulder neckline, suitable for a wedding on the beach.”

  The clerk eyed Amanda, who was reaching for a bouffant skirt that protruded into the aisle. “This your first wedding?”

  Devon pried the baby’s chubby fingers from a swatch of peau de soie and moved the stroller beyond the reach of the dresses. “What?”

  The clerk nodded toward Amanda. “I was just wondering if you wanted white or a pale color.”

  “Of course I want white. This is my niece. I’m baby-sitting today.” The lie rolled off her lips with such ease, her conscience tweaked her.

  “I have a couple of dresses that might work.” The clerk moved to the back of the store and began sorting through one of the crowded racks.

  Devon rolled Amanda toward a display counter and studied the headpieces exhibited among blue garters and prayer-book covers.

  “I’ve found just the dress,” the clerk called to her after a few minutes.

  Devon turned as the clerk approached with a stunning gown of imported cotton trimmed with an offthe-shoulder collar of Battenberg lace.

  “It’s beautiful. What do you think, Amanda?” She looked behind her.

  The stroller and Amanda had disappeared.

  Chapter Seven

  When your baby begins to crawl, safety must be your most important priority. A house that is perfectly safe for adults presents a multitude of hazards for a curious child.

  Amanda Donovan, Bringing Up Baby

  Devon’s throat closed in panic. Someone had taken Amanda.

  “What’s wrong?” the clerk asked.

  “The baby—help me find her,” Devon screamed over her shoulder as she raced down the aisle, batting aside tulle and taffeta to search for the missing child in the deserted bridal section. Her pulse thundered in her ears, and she forced herself to keep moving, while her legs, petrified by fear, felt like wood.

  “I’ll notify security,” the clerk called to her.

  Devon hurtled through each department on the first floor, striving to catch a glimpse of anyone pushing a stroller, cornering shoppers to ask if they’d seen anyone with a baby, but no one had noticed a stroller or a child.

  When she returned to the bridal section, a mall security guard had arrived.

  “Are you the child’s mother?” he asked.

  “No.” Her mind reeled, and in her panic she couldn’t remember the he she’d told the clerk about Amanda. “I’m her guardian.”

  Attracted by Devon’s frantic search and the guard’s presence, a small crowd had gathered in the bridal section.

  “I’ll need a description,” the man said.

  She took a deep breath and clasped her hands together to stop their shaking. “A baby girl, six months old, blond hair, brown eyes. She’s wearing a navy blue dress with a sunflower applique and a navy hat with a sunflower on the brim. Her stroller is the collapsible kind with umbrella handles.”

  “We have a possible kidnapping on the first level. Be on the lookout…” The security guard spoke into a small radio attached to his shoulder and repeated the description.

  The clerk dragged a chair from the fitting room and grasped Devon’s arm. “I think you’d better sit down.”

  Devon sank onto the chair but couldn’t stop trembling. Poor little kid. Who would do this and why? A number of sinister possibilities flooded her mind, and she shoved them away. They were too horrible to think about.

  “Did you see anyone else around before the baby disappeared?” the security guard asked.

  She pictured the deserted bridal department and shook her head.

  “What’s going on here?”

  She didn’t recognize the slick-haired stranger until he removed his sunglasses and knelt beside her. When Colin circled her shoulders with his arm, his consoling warmth eased her tremors, and she leaned into the solid comfort of his embrace.

  “Where’s Amanda?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.” She bit her Up to keep from crying.

  “You the father?” the guard asked him.

  “No, I’m a friend of Ms. Clarke’s. Where’s the baby?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out,” the man said. “The police are on their way.”

  Colin wiped a tear from Devon’s cheek, then took her hands in his. “Tell me what happened.”

  She sagged against him. “I was looking at headpieces in that display. One minute Amanda was in her stroller beside me, the next minute she was gone.”

  She lifted her head as a policeman shouldered his way through the crowd. After conferring with the mall security guard, he approached Devon and Colin. “Do you know anyone who might want to take the child?”

  Devon shook her head.

  The police officer pulled out a notebook. “You’re the guardian?”

  “That’s right.” She glared at him. “Shouldn’t you be looking for her inst
ead of questioning me?”

  “Just stay calm, ma’am,” the cop said in a soothing tone. “Mall security and several members of our force are searching for her now. The child’s not involved in a custody battle, is she?”

  “I have full legal custody—her parents are dead.”

  The policeman shrugged. “I had to ask. Often when children are abducted, the noncustodial parent is the culprit.”

  Noncustodial. She remembered Farasworth’s insistence that Amanda be kept from her father’s half brother, Ernest Potts, whom he’d described as unprincipled. Was the man unscrupulous enough to kidnap his niece?

  Where was Amanda now, and what was she doing? Was she crying, longing for a familiar face? Devon recalled how the baby often giggled with delight at the sight of her, and she choked back a sob.

  A high-pitched, nasal voice interrupted her thoughts. “I have to talk to the cops. Somebody’s left a kid all alone in the ladies’ lounge.”

  A middle-aged woman with frizzy blond hair and a cheekful of chewing gum forced her way through the crowd.

  “Where?” Colin asked.

  The frowsy blonde propped one hand on an ample hip, lifted the other, tipped with blood red nails, and pointed toward an alcove behind the small-appliance department. The cop took off at a run with Colin close behind. They reappeared a few seconds later with Colin carrying a solemn-faced Amanda while the cop pulled the stroller behind him.

  “Amanda!” Devon stretched out her arms, and tears of relief flooded her eyes as she reached for the child. Amanda’s face lit up with delight and recognition.

  “She’s fine. Happy as a pig in mud and doesn’t even need a diaper change.” Colin handed Amanda to her and drew them both into his arms.

  “You oughta know better, lady,” the blonde taunted, “leaving the kid alone like that.”

  Devon felt Colin’s muscles go rigid.

  “She didn’t,” the clerk said. “The baby was with her when she came in. I saw them.”

  The blonde shrugged and faded away into the crowd.