English Girl in New York (8 page)

This was a chance to clear the air between them.

But she was torn. There was a buzz between them.

They were both feeling it. She liked the flirtation. It made her feel good. It made her feel normal again. Even though there was nothing about this situation that was normal.

She barely knew Dan, but just being in his company made her feel safe. The way he'd reacted to the abandoned baby. The way he'd immediately gone out into the snowstorm to look for the mother, even if he really didn't want to. The way he wasn't afraid to roll up his sleeves and help take care of a baby, even with no experience.

But what would happen right now if she told him?

She could almost get out a huge crystal ball and predict it. The moment she said the words,
‘I had a stillbirth last year. My daughter died,'
it would kill anything between them stone dead. It would destroy this buzz in the air.

It would destroy the first feel-good feelings she'd felt in over a year.

So, no matter how hard this was, and for what were totally selfish reasons, she wanted to stay. She might feel a sense of duty, a sense of responsibility towards Abraham, but that wasn't all she was feeling.

And right now she wanted to do something for herself.

For Carrie.

Was that really so selfish?

She took a deep breath and turned around to face him.

It would be so easy. It would be so easy to lean forward just a little and see what might happen.

To see if this buzz in the air could amount to anything.

To hold her breath and see if he was sensing what she was feeling—or to see that it had been
so
long that her reactions were completely off. Completely wrong.

He reached up and touched her cheek. ‘Carrie?'

She swallowed, biting back the words she really wanted to say and containing the actions she really wanted to take.

She didn't want anything to destroy that tiny little buzz that was currently in her stomach. It felt precious to her. As if it was finally the start of something new.

‘How about I take the first shift? I'll sleep on the sofa next to the crib and do the first feed and change at night. You can take over after that.'

She kept her voice steady and her words firm.

She could see something flicker behind his eyes. The questions that he really wanted to ask. He nodded and gave her a little smile.

‘Welcome to your first night shift, Carrie McKenzie.'

She watched his retreating back as she sat down on the sofa.

Was she wrong about all this?

Only time, and a whole heap of snow, would tell.

CHAPTER SIX

C
ARRIE
STRETCHED
ON
the sofa and groaned. The early morning sun was trying to creep through the blinds. It was brighter than normal, which probably meant it was reflecting off the newly laid white snow. All thoughts of everything returning to normal today vanished in the drop of a snowflake.

There was no getting away from it—Baby Abraham was hard work.

She hadn't had time last night to feel sorry for herself and neither had Dan—because Abraham had screamed for three hours solid. She certainly hadn't had time for any romantic dreams. It seemed neither of them had the knack for feeding and burping a new baby.

‘Carrie?' Dan came stumbling through the doorway, bleary-eyed, his hair all rumpled and his low-slung jeans skimming his hips.

She screwed up her eyes. Bare-chested. He was bare-chested again. Did the guy always walk about like this? Her brain couldn't cope with a cute naked guy this early in the morning, especially when she was sleep-deprived.

She pointed her finger at him. ‘If you wake him, I swear, Dan Cooper, I'll come over there and—'

‘Cook me pancakes?'

She sighed and sagged back down onto the sofa, landing on another uncomfortable lump. ‘You have the worst sofa known to man.' She twisted on her side and thumped at the lump. ‘Oh, it's deceptive. It looks comfortable. When you sit down, you sink into it and think,
Wow!
But sleeping on it?' She blew her hair off her forehead. ‘Not a chance!'

‘Wanna take the bed tomorrow night?'

With or without you?

She pushed the wayward thought out of her head. How did parents ever go on to have more than one child? Hanky-panky must be the last thing on their minds.

She stood up and stretched. Abraham had finally quietened down around an hour ago. He was now looking all angelic, breathing steadily as if sleeping came easily to him.

‘The offer of pancakes sounds good. Do you think you can cook them without waking His Lordship? Because at this rate, ancient or not, Mrs Van Dyke's going to have to take her turn babysitting.'

Dan nodded. ‘Right there with you, Carrie. For some reason I thought this would be a breeze. You've no idea how many times I nearly picked up the phone to call Shana last night and beg her to come and pick him up.'

Carrie leaned against the door, giving him her sternest stare. ‘Well, maybe you need to think about that a little more.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘You've been pretty down on Abraham's mum. We're presuming he was just born. But what if he's actually a few days old? Maybe she was struggling to cope. Maybe she's young—or old—and didn't have any help. Maybe she's sick.'

The dark cloud quickly descended over Dan's face again. ‘Stop it, Carrie. Stop trying to make excuses for her. And if Abraham's not newly born, then where were his diapers? Where were his clothes? And no matter how hard she was finding it to cope—is that really a good enough reason to dump a baby on a freezing doorstep?'

She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I'm just throwing it out there, Dan. I'm not trying to make excuses for anyone. What I am going to do is take a shower and change my clothes.' She headed over to the door. ‘I'll be back in ten minutes and I expect my breakfast to be waiting.' She gave him a wink.

He lifted his eyebrows. ‘Hmm, getting all feisty now, are we? I think I preferred you when you were all
please help me with this baby.
'

She picked up the nearest cushion and tossed it at his head. ‘No, you didn't,' she said as she headed out the door.

‘No. I didn't,' he breathed as he watched her head upstairs.

* * *

Carrie took a few moments to pull open her blinds and look outside.

A complete white-out with no signs of life. Not a single footprint on the sidewalk. Every car was covered in snow, with not a single chance of moving anywhere soon. It seemed that New York City would remain at a standstill for another day.

For a moment she wished she were in the middle of Central Park. Maybe standing at Belvedere Castle and looking out over the Great Lawn, or standing on Bow Bridge watching the frozen lake. It would be gorgeous there right now.

She didn't care that it was closed because of the snowfall. She didn't care about the potential for falling trees. All she could think about was how peaceful it would be right now—and how beautiful.

But with daydreams like this, was she just looking for another opportunity to hide away?

She tried to push the thoughts from her head. There was too much going on in there. What with virtually bare baby and bare-chested Dan, her head was spinning.

She switched on the shower and walked through to her bedroom, stripping off her clothes and pulling her dressing gown on while she waited for the water to heat.

The contents of her wardrobe seemed to mock her. A sparkly sequin T-shirt. Trying too hard. A red cardigan. Impersonating Mrs Van Dyke. A plain jumper. Frumpy.

She pulled out another set of jeans and a bright blue cap-sleeved sweater. It would have to do.

Her eyes caught sight of the silver box beneath her bed and her heart flipped over.

It was calling her. It was willing her to open it.

She couldn't help it. It was automatic. She knelt down and touched it, pulling it out from under the bed and sitting it on top of the bed in front of her.

Her precious memories, all stored in a little box. But how could she look at them now after she'd just been holding another baby?

It almost seemed like a betrayal.

She ran the palm of her hand over the lid of the box. Just doing it made her heartbeat quicken. She could feel the threat of tears at the backs of her eyes.

She couldn't think about this now. She just couldn't.

Steam was starting to emerge from the bathroom. The shower was beckoning. She couldn't open the box. Not now. Not while she was in the middle of all this.

For the contents of that box she needed space. She needed time.

She needed the ability to cry where no one could hear. No one could interrupt.

She sucked air into her lungs. Not now. She had to be strong. She had to be focused. Her hand moved again—one last final touch of the silver box of memories—before she tore herself away and headed inside, closing the door firmly behind her.

* * *

There was a whimper in the corner. Dan's pancakes were sizzling; was the noise going to wake the baby? He sure hoped not. He didn't know if he could take another cryfest.

The television newscaster looked tired. He'd probably been stuck inside the New York studio all night. The yellow information strip ran along the bottom of the news constantly. Telling them how much snow had fallen, how the city was stranded, all businesses were closed, food supplies couldn't get in. Nothing about how to look after a newborn baby.

It was time to do an internet search again. They must have done something wrong last night. There was no way a baby would cry like that for nothing. At least he hoped not.

He tossed the pancakes and his stomach growled loudly. He was starving and they smelled great.

A jar of raspberry jam landed on the counter next to him. She was back. And she smelled like wild flowers—even better than pancakes.

‘What's that for?'

‘The pancakes.'

‘Jelly?' He shook his head. ‘Pancakes need bacon and maple syrup. That's what a real pancake wants.'

She opened his fridge. ‘Pancakes need butter and raspberry jam. It's the only way to eat them.'

He wrinkled his nose, watching as she flicked on the kettle.

‘And tea. Pancakes need tea.'

He grimaced. ‘You might be out of luck, then. I've only got extra-strong coffee.'

She waved a bag at him. ‘Just as well I brought my own, then.'

Dan served the pancakes onto two plates and carried them over to the table, pulling some syrup from his empty cupboards and lifting the brewing coffee pot. ‘I can't tempt you, then?'

Something flickered in her eyes. Something else. Something different. She gave him a hesitant smile. ‘I'm an English girl. It's tea and butter and jam all the way.'

They both knew that the flirtation was continuing.

And right now he wanted to tempt her. The cop in him wanted to forget about the mountain of paperwork he'd need to complete about this baby. The cop in him wanted to forget about the investigation that would have to be carried out.

The guy in him wanted to concentrate on the woman in the lovely blue sweater sitting at his table with her jar of raspberry jam. He wanted to reach over to touch the curls that were coiling around her face, springing free from the clip that was trying to hold them back. He wanted to see if he could say something to make her cheeks flush even pinker than they currently were. He wanted a chance to stare into those cornflower-blue eyes and ask her what she was hiding from him. What she was guarding herself from.

He lifted the maple syrup and squirted it onto his pancakes. She was concentrating on spreading butter on her pancakes smoothly and evenly with one hand while stirring her tea with the other hand.

He'd opened the blinds partly to let a little natural light into the apartment. And seeing Carrie McKenzie in the cold light of day was more than just a little shock to his system.

The girl was beautiful. From the little sprinkle of freckles over her nose to the way she wrinkled her brow when she was concentrating.

He'd felt a pull towards her last night, when he'd seen her in the dim lights of his apartment. But now he had a chance to look at her—to really look at her—and all he could think about was why on earth he hadn't noticed her before.

How on earth could he have stayed in an apartment building with someone so incredibly pretty and not have noticed? He could just imagine the cops at the station if they ever got wind of that.

Carrie put a teaspoon into the jam jar and spread some jam onto her pancakes. ‘Are you going to watch me eat them, too?' she asked, a smile spreading across her face.

He jerked backwards in his seat. ‘Sorry. I was just thinking.'

‘About Abraham?'

Wow. No, Abraham was the last thing he'd been thinking about, and as if in indignation there was a squawk from the crib. Dan set down his cutlery, gave a sigh and waved his hand at her as she went to stand up. ‘Stay where you are—you're still eating. I'm finished. Maybe he's hungry again. I sterilised the bottles so we should be fine.'

It was amazing how quickly you could learn to make a baby bottle. A few minutes later he lifted Abraham from the crib and settled him onto his shoulder for a bit.

‘Carrie? Does he look okay to you? What do you think about his colour?'

She set down her mug of tea and walked over. ‘It's kind of hard to tell.' She shrugged her shoulders. ‘We don't really know anything about the ethnicity of his parents, so I'm not entirely sure what normal will look like for him.'

She walked over to the window and pulled the blinds up completely. ‘Bring him over here so I can get a better look at him.'

Dan carried him over and they stood for a few seconds looking at him in the daylight. ‘He looks a tiny bit yellow, don't you think?'

She nodded. ‘Jaundice. Isn't it supposed to be quite common in newborns?'

He gave her that smile again. The why-are-you-asking-me-something-I-couldn't-possibly-know smile.

They both glanced at the computer. Carrie took a few seconds to punch in the words and then—nothing.

She turned towards him. ‘Looks like your internet has just died.'

‘Really? It's usually really reliable. Must be the weather.'

She stared out the window. ‘It must be something to do with the snow. I hope the power supply doesn't get hokey. That sometimes happens in storms back home.'

He looked at her with an amused expression on his face. ‘Hokey?'

She raised her eyebrows. ‘What? It's a word.'

‘Really? Where?'

She gave him a sarcastic smile. ‘I'd look it up for you online but your internet is down.'

‘Ha-ha. Seriously—what are we going to do about Abraham? Do you think it's dangerous? I mean, he's drinking okay and—' he wrinkled his nose ‘—he certainly knows how to poo.'

She raised her eyebrows at him. ‘Really? Again? Then maybe you should phone a friend. It's a bit like the blind leading the blind here. I guess you'll need to phone Shana. There really isn't anyone else we can ask.'

He gave her a smile as he walked over to put Abraham on the dark towel to change him. He could only imagine the chaos going on at Angel's Children's Hospital right now. Last thing he wanted to do was add to Shana's headache. But he wanted to make sure that Abraham was safe in his care. Screamer or not, he wanted to do the best he could for this baby.

‘Do you think this is how all new parents feel? As if they don't know anything at all?'

Carrie turned her back and walked over to the countertop, picking up her mug of tea. Trying to find the words that would counteract the tight feeling in her chest. She was trying so hard. So hard not to let these things creep up on her. Then—out of the blue—some random comment would just cut her in two.

She set her mouth in a straight line. ‘Most new parents would have a whole host of textbooks or family to ask—we don't.'

He pulled his mobile from his pocket. ‘I guess I'll phone Shana, then.' He dialled the number and waited for Shana to be paged, pressing the button to put her on speakerphone as he wrestled with Abraham's nappy.

‘What?'

Not good. She sounded snarky. ‘Shana, it's Dan.'

‘Is the baby okay?' Straight to the point as usual. Did she ever stop—just for a second?

He took a deep breath. ‘We're not sure. Abraham looks kinda yellow. Carrie thinks he might be jaundiced.'