The Baby Surprise (2 page)

Because she could tell that Olivia was still hurting, and because she knew better than anyone that a man couldn't be forced to feel something for a child he didn't want, she'd dropped it.

And Olivia had never told her anything else about her baby's father, not even his name, which meant that Paige had a lot of questions for Lieutenant Colonel Zach Crawford.

She headed back downstairs now, determined to get some answers.

 

Zach was still standing in the hallway where she'd left him, his feet shoulder-width apart, his hands clasped behind his back. Paige recognized the military stance but, in conjunction with the uniform, it left her feeling anything but “at ease.”

She moved toward the kitchen, and he fell into step behind her. She'd spent countless hours in this room, usually with Ashley or Megan or both, and she'd never felt as if the space was small. But something about Zach's presence made her feel…crowded. She was far too aware of him—his
impressive height, his obvious strength, his overwhelming masculinity.

She glanced at him as she reached for the empty carafe from the coffeemaker, and she swallowed hard when she found those intense and stunningly blue eyes on her. The tug of attraction came again, and she found herself as annoyed as she was baffled by it.

Of all the times for her body to suddenly decide it had been in stasis for too long, now was not a good one. And even if it had been a good time, Zach Crawford was definitely not a man she should ever find herself attracted to. Not just because of the uniform, but because he had once been intimately involved with one of her best friends.

It occurred to her that the uniform might have been why her friend had never told her about the man who had fathered her child. Because Olivia knew something of Paige's history with her father, she knew Paige would question her decision to get involved with a man who could never make her or their daughter a priority in his life.

She was considering this as she turned on the tap to fill the carafe. “Do you want coffee?” she asked Zach.

“I've been on the go since oh-five-hundred,” he told her. “I would love coffee.”

She'd been up since oh-five-hundred herself—5:00 a.m. to nonmilitary people—and she would have preferred to skip the coffee and sink into her mattress and into the oblivion of sleep as peacefully as Emma had finally done.

But she knew she wouldn't get any sleep tonight—not until she had some answers to the questions that had been swirling through her brain since Lieutenant Colonel Zach Crawford had spoken the two words that continued to echo in her mind.

Emma's father.

If it was true, if Lieutenant Colonel Zach Crawford really
was the father of Olivia's baby, that simple fact would change everything.

Paige worried over the possibility as she put a filter in the basket and measured out the grounds.

It was easy to see how Olivia might have been attracted to the man. Over and above the fact that he was six feet three inches of mouth-watering masculinity, he moved with a sense of purpose and carried himself with an aura of command that were as much a part of who he was as those blue, blue eyes.

She reached into the cupboard for two mugs and filled them from the carafe.

“Cream? Sugar?” she asked him.

“Just black, thanks.”

She handed him one of the mugs and added a splash of milk to the other.

He waited until she'd taken a seat at the pub-style table in the dining room, then sat down across from her.

“I understand you worked at Wainwright, Witmer & Wynne with Olivia?” She nodded.

“You were good friends?”

“Since our first year at law school together,” she told him.

“She never mentioned you to me.”

“She never mentioned you to me, either,” she told him. “In fact, she never said anything about Emma's father.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Nothing at all?”

“The only thing she ever told me, and only when I asked where the baby's father fit into the picture, was that he wasn't interested in playing any role in his child's life.”

He scowled at that. “I might not have been thrilled by the news of her pregnancy, if she'd ever bothered to tell me, but she had to know there was no way in hell I would abandon my child.”

“If Olivia never told you she was pregnant, how did
you find out? And how do you know that you are Emma's father?”

“Well, at this point, I'm not one-hundred-percent certain,” he admitted. “But I have a letter from Olivia that says I am, and I have no reason to disbelieve it.”

“You just said Olivia lied.”

“She lied to
you,
” he clarified, “if she told you that I didn't want to know my child. Because the truth is, I didn't know about the baby. Not until I got home from Afghanistan and found the letter she'd left for me.”

“Olivia died five-and-a-half months ago,” Paige told him, with an ache in her heart that was more for the child who would never know her mother than for the premature end of her friend's life.

A shadow—grief? regret?—momentarily clouded those stunning blue eyes, but then it passed and he nodded. “I found that out when I went to your law firm to find her. The receptionist told me about the accident.”

“No one knows why she was in New Jersey,” Paige admitted.

He sipped his coffee, then set the mug down again. “I live in Trenton,” he told her. “Or maybe it would be more accurate to say that I have an apartment about five minutes from the base, which is where I sleep when I'm in town.”

“She went…to see you?”

He nodded, confirming another fact that seemed to give credence to his claim of paternity. Of course, Paige wasn't going to take his word for it, nor was she simply going to hand over a child on the basis of his say-so.

“My landlord told me a young woman stopped by looking for me early in the new year. When he told her I was overseas, she left a letter for me.”

“Do you have the letter?”

He took it out of the inside pocket of his jacket and passed it across the table to her.

Apprehension whispered through her as she picked up the envelope. Her fingers trembled as she lifted the flap and pulled out the single page.

P
aige sucked in a breath, startled to see the words clearly written there, supporting this stranger's claim to the little girl in her care. She wanted to crumple the letter in her fist, to stuff the paper back in the envelope and tell Zach to take it away, to tell him to go away—far away from Emma. But she forced herself to read on.

When she was done, she refolded the letter and tucked it in the envelope again, then slid it across the table to him. She picked up her half-empty coffee cup then set it down without drinking, her stomach churning.

“With all due respect, I have no intention of giving up custody of Emma just because you showed up on my doorstep with a letter that claims you're her father.”

“A letter written by her mother,” he pointed out.

She couldn't be one-hundred-percent sure that Olivia had actually written the letter. In an age of computers and e-mail and text messaging, she honestly didn't recognize the
handwriting as her friend's. However, why would this man be here now if he didn't believe it was true?

“Even so, Olivia never identified you as the father on Emma's birth certificate,” she reminded him.

“Did she name anyone else?”

She ignored his question. “I was Olivia's birthing coach—I went to prenatal classes with her and I was in the delivery room when Emma was born. And through it all, Olivia never once mentioned your name. And, contrary to what is in that letter, she claimed that Emma's father knew of the pregnancy but wanted no part of his child.”

“That was the lie,” he said again.

And the contents of the letter he carried certainly bore that out. But she wasn't ready to give up, she wasn't ready to have her heart torn out of her chest, and she knew that was what would happen if he took Emma away.

“Still, I think the best course of action right now would be to have a paternity test.”

He frowned into his empty mug, then pushed back his chair to refill it. “Fine,” he said. “How soon can we get that done?”

“I can make some calls tomorrow,” she told him. “But probably not until sometime next week.”

His scowl deepened.

“And you're going to need a lawyer,” she told him.

“Aren't you a lawyer?”

“Yes, but I'm not going to represent you.”

“Why in hell do I need representation?”

“Because…” She hesitated, not wanting to give him any ideas about seeking custody if that wasn't a course of action he'd already considered. Maybe he didn't want Emma with him—maybe he just wanted to meet the little girl he believed was his daughter. So all she said was, “Because you should make sure you understand all of your rights and responsibilities.”

“I'm aware of my rights and responsibilities,” he assured her. “And I intend to be a father to my daughter.”

Which still didn't tell her whether he was looking for full custody or standard every-other-weekend noncustodial parent access or occasional visits during his periods of leave.

“For how long?” she asked.

He frowned at the question. “What do you mean?”

“When do you have to report back for duty?”

“July seventh.”

Which was actually longer than she'd expected and still not nearly long enough if he was serious about building a relationship with Emma. “So why are you even here?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, why did you bother to come all this way, feign an interest in being a father to the child you claim is your own, if you're going to go wheels up again in a few weeks?”

“I'm not feigning an interest,” he said. “And I'll go wheels up again because that's my job.”

“And if Emma is your daughter, who will take care of her while you're doing your job?”

 

Zach was taken aback, not just by Paige's question—which demonstrated the glaringly obvious fact that he hadn't thought very far ahead when he'd embarked on this journey—but by the disapproval in her tone.

Okay, so maybe he didn't have all of the answers. Maybe he didn't have
any
of the answers. But he was determined to do the right thing and, as far as he could tell, being a father to his daughter was the right thing.

“I don't know,” he admitted. “But I'll make arrangements.”

“You mean day care,” she guessed.

“Didn't you have her in day care?”

“Olivia had found a babysitter who lives close to the office.
It's a more personal environment than a day care and Emma's happy there.”

“That's great,” Zach said. “Except that I live in New Jersey.”

Paige dipped her head, her coppery hair falling forward to hide her face, but not before he saw the tears that filled her eyes.

He silently cursed himself for his insensitivity. Because he knew that as much as he'd been completely blindsided by the news that he had fathered a child, this woman had been just as shocked to find him standing at her door. For the past five-and-a-half months she'd been raising Emma. She'd been responsible for the day-to-day care of his child and, with a few simple words, he'd threatened to destroy the foundation of that relationship.

He impulsively reached across the table and touched a hand to her arm.

She jolted at the unexpected contact. Or maybe she'd been startled by the electricity that suddenly crackled in the air. It had sure as hell startled him.

She looked at him now, and he saw both wariness and awareness in the depths of her dark brown eyes. He'd expected her to have green eyes to go with the red hair. Instead, they were the color of rich, dark chocolate and sinfully tempting. His gaze dipped to her mouth, to lips that were naturally pink and sweetly curved, and he found himself wondering if they would taste as good as they looked.

Whoa—totally inappropriate thought there.

This woman was the legal guardian of his daughter, and it was unlikely he would gain either her trust or sympathy by making a move on her within two hours of meeting her. But he couldn't deny he was tempted.

Of course, he'd been overseas for the past year and a half and hadn't been with a woman for even longer than that. In fact, he hadn't been with anyone since the last weekend he'd
spent with Olivia…likely the weekend their daughter had been conceived.

Thinking of Emma reminded him why he was there, and he dropped his hand from Paige's arm. But the air continued to crackle, the tension continued to build.

“I don't want us to be adversaries,” he said at last.

“I don't see how we can be anything else, not if it's your intention to disrupt Emma's life.”

“I want to get to know my daughter. How is that disruptive?”

“The disruption will come when you disappear from her life as abruptly as you appeared in it.”

She spoke with such conviction he guessed it was likely that she'd grown up with a father who was a transitory presence, too. He knew he had no hope of defending himself against her personal demons, so he only said, “Maybe we should continue this conversation tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“Because I just got home last night, I read Olivia's letter this morning, then drove from Trenton to Syracuse to Pinehurst, all the while trying to get my head around the fact that I have a fourteen-month-old child I didn't know anything about before today.”

“I thought you'd be going back to New Jersey tomorrow, if not sooner.”

“You mean you wished I was.”

She didn't deny it.

“I'm not going anywhere until we figure this out,” he assured her.

“Unless duty calls,” she guessed.

“I have almost two months.”

But the skepticism in her eyes warned that she knew it was a promise he couldn't make and confirmed that Paige's apparent disapproval of his career was about more than the
possibility of his deployment interfering with his ability to get to know Emma.

“Then I guess I'll see you tomorrow,” she said.

“What time is good?”

“Not oh-five-hundred,” she warned.

He smiled. “How about oh-nine-hundred?”

“A much more civilized hour.”

Zach wished her a good-night and made his way to the door.

His first meeting with Paige Wilder hadn't gone as well as he'd hoped. But nothing had gone quite as he'd expected since his plane had touched down at McGuire Air Force Base twenty-eight hours earlier. From the shocking news revealed by Olivia's letter to his unexpected and undeniable reaction to Paige Wilder, his life was suddenly FUBAR.

Yet, as he made his way to his SUV, he realized he was whistling and already looking forward to tomorrow.

 

Zach had spotted a couple of hotels on Main Street when he'd driven through town earlier, so he started to retrace his route, figuring he would check into the first one that he came across. He found “Hadfield House—A Bed-and-Breakfast” first. The sign outside promised private baths and hot breakfasts, but Zach only cared that there was an empty bed because he was too exhausted to go much farther.

Thankfully he always traveled with a duffel bag packed with a change of clothes and some basic toiletries—he certainly hadn't planned on staying overnight. He hadn't planned on being gone more than a few hours—just long enough to make the trip into Syracuse, talk to Olivia, demand an explanation for the letter and her silence, and try to figure out what the hell they were supposed to do now.

The news that Olivia was dead had been as much a shock as her revelation about the baby. And although he grieved the death of the vibrant young woman, he was also frustrated
by the realization that he wouldn't ever have the opportunity to confront her and demand answers to the questions that crowded his mind.

Early that morning, when he'd read Olivia's letter—and reread it over and over again, as if doing so might somehow change the words that were written—he'd tried to call her, but both her home and cell numbers were out of service. At the time, he'd been more annoyed than concerned by the realization, but he'd decided that the conversation they needed to have should be face-to-face, and he'd driven to the apartment building she'd lived in while they were dating.

When he got there, he found that her name was no longer on the tenant directory and his inquiries of the landlord only revealed that she no longer lived there. His next stop was the law firm where she worked, and when he walked through the heavy glass doors of the law offices of Wainwright, Witmer & Wynne, he'd been confident that he was getting closer to the answers he sought.

It was the receptionist—Louise Pringle, according to the nameplate on her desk—who'd told him, with tears in her eyes, that Olivia had been killed in a motor-vehicle collision more than five months earlier.

He'd had to swallow around the lump of guilt and regrets that had lodged in his throat before he could ask, “Did she have her baby with her?”

“Oh, no. Paige was babysitting the little angel, and thank the good Lord for that.”

Relief shuddered through his system, assuring him that, although the news about the baby had rocked him to the very core, he wanted a chance to know his child, to be a father to his little girl.

“Paige?” he prompted.

“Paige Wilder. She's another one of the attorneys here. She has legal custody of Emma now.”

“Is it possible for me to see Ms. Wilder?”

“She's out of town,” the efficient Louise had said, consulting the schedule on her computer. “But Victoria Lawrence might be able to squeeze you in around two o'clock tomorrow.”

“Thanks, but I really need to see Ms. Wilder,” he had said. “Do you have a number where I could contact her?”

The older woman had started to shake her head, but then she eyed the uniform again and paused. “I really can't give out that kind of information,” she said. “Maybe if you left your name and number and the reason you want to speak with her, I could contact Paige and ask her to get in touch with you.”

“It's a personal matter.”

The furrow in her brow deepened, but when she looked up at him again, her eyes suddenly widened. “Oh, I didn't realize.”

“Didn't realize?” he prompted.

“You're Emma's father.”

Her matter-of-fact assertion had taken him aback. Although he had originally gone to the law offices to see Olivia about that possibility, he'd been completely unprepared to hear a stranger echo his short-term girlfriend's allegation.

“What makes you say that?” he asked, as wary as he was curious.

“She has your eyes,” Louise told him.

“Crawford blue” was how his mother had always referred to the color that each of her children had inherited from their father.

Although blue was a common eye color, he'd had enough people comment on the unique shade of his to realize that “Crawford blue” was distinctive. But he couldn't say for certain whether or not Olivia's child had the same color eyes because she'd been asleep when he arrived at Paige Wilder's door.

He hadn't looked at her closely enough to see if there was any other resemblance. Maybe he hadn't wanted to. He was
willing to do the right thing by his child, if Emma was his child, but, if he was honest with himself, he wasn't sure he was prepared to tackle fatherhood and everything it entailed at this point in his life. He hadn't thought much about having kids at all, except in the vaguest of terms and somewhere in a still-distant future.

He was thirty-seven years old, long past the age when most of his contemporaries had settled down with a wife and kids. Some of them were even on their second or third wives, which was not a path he had any desire to follow.

But if he'd fathered a child, as Olivia claimed, he
would
be a father to that child.

And so he'd taken the address Louise had discreetly slipped to him and he'd found Paige Wilder and Emma.