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Ever since his unknown mother had deserted him at age three on a park bench at the marina, he’d been lucky enough to remain in foster homes in Dolphin Bay, instead of being bounced from town to town like a lot of other kids who were never adopted. Even if he had no relatives here, he’d found a permanence of place and had put down roots. He belonged in Dolphin Bay, and now he had a satisfying job, a home of his own and plenty of good friends to round out the package.
Those facts strengthened his sense of purpose, and he strode back into Marissa’s office, determined to carry out his plan, crazy or not.
The receptionist looked up when he walked in. “Ms. Mason will see you now.”
Blake hurried into the office, then stopped in surprise. The attractive woman standing in a wash of sunlight streaming through the tall window wasn’t the freckle-faced, ponytailed girl he’d remembered. Her smile was the same, with the fetching dimples exactly as he recalled. And her eyes, a sparkling hazel, more green than brown, held the same warm welcome they always had. The ponytail had been replaced by a sleek shoulder-length cut that framed her face, and the sun streaks in her honey-blond hair were still there, though whether supplied now by sun or a skilled beautician, he couldn’t tell.
Instead of the shorts and T-shirt that had been her childhood uniform, Marissa wore a stylish camel-colored suit that complemented her hair, accented her tiny waist and small breasts, and showcased long, slender legs, clad in shimmering stockings in a matching hue. The gawky, skinny girl had matured into a stunning woman. Just the sight of her made his mouth go dry, and he was glad when she spoke first, giving him a chance to regain his bearings.
“Hello, Blake. It’s been a long time.” Her voice had changed, too, its pitch lowered to a sultry timbre that caressed his ears.
“Hey, Marissa. Thanks for seeing me on such short notice.”
She motioned him to a chair in front of her desk, then sat behind the mahogany monstrosity, as big as the boat they had sailed when they were kids. He figured in her business, the huge piece of furniture kept her at a safe distance from the felons she represented.
“How’s your dad?” Blake asked.
Her affection for her father was evident in her smile. “He’s in California now, representing Brad Tyler.”
“The movie star who shot his wife?”
“Who allegedly shot his wife,” she corrected with a grin.
“And your mom?”
“Same as always.” Her love for her mother tempered her voice, reminding Blake how, in his solitary existence as a child, he’d envied the closely knit Mason family. “Except now she has grandkids, as well as the four of us to keep up with.”
“Any of them yours?”
At the pained expression that flitted across her face, he wished he could snatch the question back, but Marissa recovered quickly. “Suze has two boys, Wally has twin girls, and Jake and his wife are expecting in the spring.” She leaned forward, lessening the distance between them. “You’ll have to come to dinner one night. Mom would love to see you.”
“You’re living at home?”
“Hard to find a place of my own during tourist season. Besides, I want to make sure Dad and I are compatible working together before I make a permanent move.”
A wave of disappointment washed over him at the possibility of her leaving Dolphin Bay again. “So how’s it working out?”
“Better than I thought. I was afraid he’d treat me as if I were still a child, but he’s pretty much given me free rein. I choose my own cases, although we consult with each other often.”
She raised one feathery eyebrow and skewered him with a searching, green-eyed glance. “You didn’t terrorize my receptionist just to catch up on my family. Besides, at what I charge for an hour’s consultation, you’ll want to cut to the chase.”
He spread his hands palms upward in a gesture of apology. “I’m sorry if I frightened your receptionist, but I’m desperate, Marissa. You’re the only one I could think of who can help me.”
She leaned back in her chair, her laser gaze still locked on his face. “You’re in trouble with the law? Have you been arrested?”
Blake shook his head. “No—at least not yet.”
Only the slightest flicker of surprise etched her features before she regained her composure. “You’ve committed a crime?”
“Not exactly.”
Her puzzled expression created a tiny line crinkling the smooth skin between her eyebrows, and his fingers itched with an unexpected urge to reach over and smooth it away.
“Then what do you want from me?” she asked.
A crazy idea, he thought again, but he was committed now. He might as well tell her. “I want you to help me with a baby.”
Chapter Two
Marissa’s hazel eyes widened in shock, and a deep flaming crimson worked its way from the deep vee of her white silk blouse to her cheeks.
“Help you with a baby?” Her voice had a strange, strangled quality.
Oh, God, he thought with a groan, she’s taken this all wrong.
“It’s not like it sounds,” he insisted.
Marissa took a deep breath, and her weak smile seemed forced. “If it is, it’s the most bizarre proposition I’ve ever received.”
“I already have a baby,” he blurted.
“You’re married?”
He couldn’t tell if her expression showed more surprise or disappointment. “No.”
This time her frown was unmistakable. “I see.”
He shifted in his chair in frustration. His clumsy explanations were only muddying the waters. “Agnes Whitcomb has the baby.”
This time Marissa’s face reflected shocked disbelief. Her eyes grew rounder and her jaw dropped. “You had a baby with Agnes Whitcomb?”
“No! Agnes is taking care of the baby while I’m here.” The absurdity of her assumption made him bite back the urge to laugh. Dear sweet Agnes, a spinster who had baby-sat almost every kid in town, was approaching fifty-nine, long past childbearing age. “Maybe I’d better start at the beginning.”
Marissa looked skeptical. “I don’t need the details of your affair.”
“I didn’t have an affair—”
“Your love life, then.”
“I don’t have a love life, either.” Damn. He shouldn’t have admitted that, but she’d caught him by surprise.
She cocked that feathery eyebrow again in a manner that made him realize anew how attractive she’d become. “Then how did you end up with a baby?”
He squirmed as if he were on the witness seat. Marissa had certainly learned how to grill someone effectively with pointed questions. He was glad she was on his side—or, at least, he hoped she would be when she learned the whole story.
“Someone left the baby on my front porch,” he explained. “This morning.”
Marissa reeled back in her chair as if she’d been slapped. “Someone deserted a baby? On your doorstep? You’re kidding!”
Blake pushed his fingers through his hair. “Wish I were. I stepped out just after dawn for the newspaper. A wicker laundry basket was in front of my door. Looked like it was filled with towels. I thought someone had left laundry by mistake. Then I heard a little whimper, and the towels moved.”
“The child wasn’t visible?”
He shook his head. “My next thought was that I’d been snookered by someone dumping a litter of kittens. That’s the last thing Rambo and I need.”
“Rambo?”
“My dog. He’s a golden retriever, and he doesn’t like cats. I peeled back a layer of towels—”
“It’s a wonder the baby could breathe,” Marissa muttered indignantly. “That’s no way to treat a child. Were there any signs of physical abuse?”
“None. The most beautiful and perfect little baby girl looked up at me with big blue eyes and smiled.” He felt his heart soften into Silly Putty at the memory. “She had a note pinned to her dress. It said, ‘Please look after my baby. I know she’ll like living with you. I can tell by the yellow roses growing around your door.”’
Marissa shook her head. “The law is supposed to prevent that sort of thing.”
“What law?” Blake needed to know the legality of his situation. That’s why he’d come to Marissa.
“Desperate women were abandoning newborns in Dumpsters. The state passed a statute a few years ago that guaranteed that if the mothers would leave the children at a hospital, doctor’s office, or fire station, no charges would be filed, no questions asked.”
“Really?” That piece of legal information pleased him. Maybe the problem left on his doorstep wasn’t as big as he’d thought.
“Just last week,” Marissa said, “a man dropped off an hour-old infant at a Tampa fire station. The baby’s up for adoption now.”
“She isn’t a newborn.”
Marissa frowned, an expression that did nothing to diminish her prettiness. “And since I assume your house is neither a fire station, doctor’s office, or a hospital, that law wouldn’t apply in this case anyway. How old is she?”
“I know nothing about babies,” Blake said, “so I took her right away to Agnes. She lives next door.”
Marissa’s eyes lighted. “You bought the old Thompson place?”
“Six years ago.”
“I always loved that old bungalow. Built in the twenties, wasn’t it?”
Blake nodded. “Agnes estimates Annie is about three months old.”
“Annie? The note gave her name?”
“No name. But with her bright red curls, blue eyes, and the fact that she’s an orphan—” he shrugged, feeling sheepish again “—I decided to call her Annie.”
An ironic smile quirked a delectable corner of Marissa’s mouth. “Maybe you should rename Rambo Sandy.”
Blake felt panic setting in again. “I can’t keep the baby.”
“You’re not the family type?” Marissa asked. “Or you don’t like children?”
“I’m single, I live alone, and I know nothing about infants. Never been around one. That’s why I hightailed her over to Agnes first thing. And why I want to hire you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re sure this baby isn’t yours?”
“Of course I’m sure!”
He had to stop confessing that his love life was nonexistent. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been interested in having a relationship. With his business taking off, he’d been either too busy or too tired the past several years for any kind of social life, other than zoning out with the guys on a weekend afternoon to watch a Bucs game or a DVD of the latest action film.
Suspicion sharpened her features but didn’t affect her prettiness. “No former girlfriend left in the lurch the past year or so?”
“If this baby was mine, I’d step up to the plate and take responsibility.”
“And you’re sure she isn’t?” she asked again.
Her tone of voice and steely-eyed gaze made him feel like a bug skewered on a pin. She’d earned her reputation for ruthless cross-examination. “I’m sure.”
She studied him carefully, as if watching for some subtle sign that he might not be telling the truth. Then, apparently satisfied, she nodded. “But I don’t understand why you’ve come to me. You should be talking to a family law attorney. Or someone at the Department of Children and Family Services.”
“Already have. Vienna Pitts—”
Marissa’s mouth twisted with apparent disgust. “Is that old bat still alive? I remember how she used to scream at us not to play on the sidewalk in front of her house.”
“Alive and well,” Blake said with a grimace, “and unfortunately living across the street from me and watching my every move. She must have seen me find the baby and instantly alerted DCF.”
“And?”
“They came to my house and wanted to take Annie.”
“So what’s the problem? That’s their job. They’ll try to locate Annie’s mother and, in the meantime, find the baby a foster home.”
“A foster home. That’s the problem,” Blake said with more feeling than he’d intended.
“You want to keep her?” Marissa’s low, throaty voice rose an octave in surprise. “But you just said—”
“I can’t keep her. But I don’t want her placed in a foster home. A kid needs a real family. Her own mom and a dad. That’s why I came to you.”
MARISSA SANK BACK in her chair and studied Blake with a mixture of admiration and dismay. She remembered how he’d always hungered to belong to a family of his own, how he’d envied her big, boisterous household and had felt like the odd man out, even when her mom made a point to include him in their special celebrations and gatherings.
“Blake, I’m a defense attorney,” she reminded him gently. “This is a civil not a criminal matter. You need a specialist in family law.”
“Won’t a family lawyer just advise me to turn Annie over to DCF?”
“That’s my advice, too. Or we can contact the head of Family Continuity Programs. They’re in charge of caring for abandoned newborns and children who are wards of the state in this county.”
Blake scowled. “Then a sheriff’s detective will pick up Annie, and from what I heard on the news the other day, they’re so overloaded with cases, the kid could be warehoused in a crib in the corner of his office for days until a foster home is available.” He shook his head. “There has to be another way. Can’t I at least get temporary custody until I find the right family who’ll adopt her?”
Marissa didn’t know whether to hug him or hit him. On the one hand, this gentle giant warmed her heart with his concern for a stranger’s baby. On the other, he hadn’t a clue what he was in for if he received even temporary custody of Annie.
“Who’s going to look after the child? Rambo?” Her sarcasm was intentional. She hoped to jolt Blake into accepting reality.
The strong planes of his face split into an appealing grin. “Actually, Bo’s really good with children. Every kid on the block’s in love with him.”
