Cradle and All Read Free Page B

terrible coffee—and drink in this mouthwatering man who was muscle everywhere she looked. His self-knowledge and scintillating sex appeal were such a compelling combination.
    “This isn’t a social call,” Anne said, ignoring the offered chair. “I’m here to talk about this baby. Father Christen—”
    “Call me Tom.”
    Oh, no. Appreciating this good-looking man was one thing. Getting personal with him was quite another. She was here on business and she was sticking to it. “That baby must be placed in the hands of the proper authorities right now.”
    “And what proper authorities would that be?” Tom asked.
    The deep timbre of his voice hadn’t changed. But something about his eyes belied his easy conversational tone.
    “I’ll call Child Care Services,” Anne said. “They’ll put him in a foster home until his mother can be located.”
    “Child Care Services will not return this baby to his mother even if they’re able to find her.”
    Anne didn’t know how he’d done it, but she suddenly felt herself on the defensive. “She’d have to face charges for abandoning him. But it’s possible—depending on the circumstances and her willingness to get her act together and provide a safe and healthy environment for her baby—that they would eventually be reunited.”
    “And how many times have you seen that happen?” he asked.
    “It’s not always in the best interest of a baby to be reunited with its birth mother,” Anne said.
    “So instead he gets dumped in some foster home.”
    Anne didn’t miss the sudden, albeit subtle change from his conversational tone. “What do you have against the foster care system?” she asked.
    The baby stopped feeding and began to fuss. Tom put the bottle aside, held the baby up and gently rubbed its back. It burped, spitting up all over Tom’s shoulder.
    He looked around, probably for something to wipe up the spit. But all the available dishcloths had already found similar use, and the paper towel roll was empty. Spying a box of tissues, he pulled one out and swiped at his shoulder.
    The baby’s fussing escalated into a cry. Tom spread the blanket across the kitchen table and laid the baby on top of it. He set about removing the wet diaper, which turned out to be several sheets of paper towels secured around the baby’s bottom with duct tape.
    “You didn’t answer my question, Father Christen,” Anne yelled, trying to be heard over the wailing baby.
    “A baby belongs with his mother,” Tom yelled back.
    “Not with a mother who abandons him.”
    “This baby wasn’t abandoned. He was left with me so that I could care for him.”
    “Without enough diapers or the right formula? What kind of a mother would do that?”
    “You don’t know the circumstances, Anne.”
    “Tell me about them.”
    “It’s a confidential matter,” Tom said.
    “You’re refusing to tell me?”
    “Would you tell me about confidential courtroom matters?” Tom asked.
    Anne didn’t know which urge was stronger—the one to strangle him or the one to run her hands across his smooth, muscled chest and see if it could possibly be as warm and hard as she imagined.
    Out of the corner of his eye Tom saw Anne shake her head in frustration. He wished he could explain so that she would understand.
    The crying baby kicked his feet, impeding Tom’s progress as he removed the damp paper towels and threw them into the wastebasket. There was a flat, pink rash on the baby’s tiny chest and tummy. Was that rash hurting him? Tom wondered. Was that why he cried so much?
    “There’s a fresh roll of paper towels in that drawer over there,” he said, gesturing to an end cabinet. “Would you hand it to me?”
    He heard Anne moving behind him, opening the drawer. A moment later she was standing close beside him.
    “Well, I can give you points for creativity when it comes to diapers, if nothing else,” she said as she held out the paper towels.
    Tom recognized Anne’s tough, by-the-book