Borrowed Baby Read Free Page B

thought that she looked more like a baby than her daughter did, if that were possible. She looked so young, so lost. She was only twenty-one. Old enough, obviously, to have a child, and yet not nearly old enough for this kind of respon-sibility. She was as young as he was old.
    "It started out pretty terrific," she said, her voice small.
    "But—?"
    Sally shot Griff a defiant look. "I know what you're thinking, but Buddy loves me."
    Griff looked pointedly at Casie. "Obviously."
    "Don't get sarcastic, Griff," Sally pleaded.
    He realized that she needed him to understand. Just as he always had. Griff struggled to keep his temper and the explosive words that formed in his mind from falling off the tip of his tongue. "I wasn't being sarcastic, I was contemplating justifiable homicide."
    Sally looked away. "Buddy's just having trouble coping with all this. The baby, me, his career not going anywhere."
    "Good excuses." Griffs voice was cold, as was the fury he felt against his sister's lover. "And so he walked out on you."
    "Kinda."
    He straightened and crossed over to her until he was directly behind her chair. "What's that supposed to mean?" For a moment, his hand hovered over her head, wanting to stroke it, wanting to make everything all right. But he let his hand drop. He couldn't afford to let his emotions cloud his judgment. That was a luxury that belonged to other people, not to him.
    "It means I'm not sure."
    "He left his clothes?"
    "No."
    "His guitar?"
    "Look—" Sally's voice rose "—will you stop being a cop?"
    "I thought I was being your big brother."
    "Sorry." She looked down at the hands on her lap. She was clasping and unclasping them, as if trying to grab hold of something to make her strong. "You're right, I'm wrong."
    Griff turned back to the stove. The water was boiling madly, spilling over the top of the pot and creating billows of steam as it contacted the red-hot burner. He turned down the heat and reached for tongs to fish out the pouch of food. He forced himself to smile. "Well, at least you've learned a little good sense since you've been gone. I accept your apology. Let's start over."
    Cutting open the bag, he poured out the contents on a plate. Steam rose and left an airy trail as he brought the plate over to her.
    Sally bit her lower lip. "I wasn't sure if I'd still find you here."
    Griff placed a fork in front of her and then straddled the chair next to her. "Where would I go? This is our home, remember?"
    "It's your home."
    "No, it's ours," he emphasized, a touch of annoyance in his voice. "I bought it for us. So that we could be like normal people. Remember? Those were your words." He pointed to her plate. "Now eat before your dinner gets cold."
    Sally laughed. "You sound like a mother hen." Her expression softened. She reached across the table and placed her hand over his, her fingers curving. "Griff?"
    "Yeah?"
    "I love you."
    He became aware of his heartburn again. It suddenly seemed to have returned with a vengeance. He stood up. "I'll get your room ready."
    "Sentiment still embarrass you?"
    " Just eat before you waste away." He left the room.

    The insistent whimpering grew louder until it finally penetrated Griff's consciousness and forced him: to open his eyes. He rolled over in bed and looked bleary-eyed at the glowing red numbers on the digital' clock that sat on the nightstand. It took him over a minute to focus in. Four o'clock.
    What was that sound?
    And then it came back to him, Sally. The baby. That was it. The baby was crying.
    He sighed and sank back on his pillow. She'd take care of whatever it was that was ailing the kid.
    The crying persisted.
    How could something so small make so much noise? Maybe there was something wrong. He threw off the covers with a resigned sigh. Once he was awake, there was no going back to sleep. He might as well see if Sally needed help. As he rose, he automati-cally tugged up the cutoff shorts he always wore to bed, even on the coldest nights. Somehow,