What the Baby Knew
Autore
Ingrid Weaver
Letto da
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Capitoli
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Chapter 1
An ordinary man wouldn’t have heard the noise. Not over the drone of the ceiling fan or the splash of tepid water that trickled into the sink. No, the sound was too low, too subtle to attract attention, like a whispered sigh or a stealthy footstep in the grass.
But Quinn Keelor wasn’t an ordinary man.
With a flick of his wrist Quinn shut off the water, then straightened up and turned around more quickly than he should have. Pain knifed through his back at the sudden movement, but he ignored it as he’d been trained to do, holding himself motionless while he concentrated on his surroundings. He was a long way from the jungle, or the ocean, but Quinn reacted reflexively, scanning the garage, his senses alert for anything out of place, for whatever unknown intruder had triggered this adrenaline rush.
Stainless steel tools and discarded engine parts gleamed in the harsh glow from the bare bulbs overhead. The car he’d towed in this morning was in the center of the floor, its hood propped open, the crumpled fender he’d pried off still beside the wall where he’d left it. Beyond that was his father’s red tool cabinet, the crate with the new radiator and the bench with the discarded wrappings from the burger he’d eaten an hour ago.
The air was thick with July humidity, stirred up by the gently thumping blades of the fan, bringing with it the smells of metal and grease and damp cement. Beyond the gaping blackness of the open door, a scattering of stars silhouetted the oak at the side of the lane. Red smudges of taillights from a passing car winked through the fence that separated the yard from the street. In the distance a dog barked and a train whistle whined into silence.
Nothing out of place, nothing threatening. Only the ordinary evening sounds he’d grown up with.
What the hell was the matter with him? Quinn thought, blowing out the breath he’d been holding. This was good old Maple Ridge, Ohio, not some nameless dot on a map or another high-security mission base. How much longer was it going to take for that fact to sink in?
A sudden movement overhead caught his gaze. In a blur of white, a moth fluttered around the lightbulb. Fragile wings beat against glass in a subtle, stealthy whisper...like a footstep in the grass.
Quinn shook his head as he reached for his cane, disgusted with himself. Not only was he jumping at shadows, he was letting an insect send him into full alert. Time to call it a day before he did something even more stupid. He finished cleaning up and shrugged on his shirt, then walked over to the switch he’d installed last month and hit the button to lower the door. Creaking and shuddering, the heavy panel slid down the track and locked into place. After a quick check around the garage, Quinn pulled his keys from the pocket of his jeans and headed for the office. He turned off the interior lights, switched on the outside flood, then pulled open the back door and stepped out.
If it hadn’t been for the training he’d been doing his best to forget, he would have stumbled over the objects on the doorstep. Instead, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the shadow just in time to shift his weight to the side.
“What the hell—” It looked as if someone had dumped their old clothes in front of the door. Next to a blanket-covered bundle, there was a large canvas bag that bulged with uneven lumps. Quinn scowled, shielding his eyes to peer past the glare of the floodlight on the pole in the center of the yard, but he could see no sign of whoever had left this here. He prodded the side of the bag with the tip of his cane and heard a faint gurgle of liquid from within.
Maple Ridge didn’t have the big city problems of bag people or the chronically homeless. From time to time drifters passed through, sometimes taking shelter in one of the junkers beside the garage, but Quinn hadn’t seen anyone hanging around lately. Could this stuff belong to someone like that? His scowl deepening, he leaned down for a closer look.
The bag was packed so full that the zipper hadn’t been completely closed. He reached out to open it, then paused, his hand inches from the zipper’s tab. Up until a year ago, he would have been more cautious about touching anything that was unfamiliar like this. It could have been rigged with explosives, or it could have been meant as bait to set him up for a sniper’s bullet. One tug on the zipper could activate a timer. A minute’s unguarded curiosity could expose him to—
“That was then, Keelor,” he muttered to himself. “This is now. You’re spooking at another damn moth.” He completed his motion, grasping the tab and tugging the zipper open.
Released from the pressure that was holding the sides of the bag together, the contents sprang upward. Scraps of fabric, pale bits of terry cloth and cotton spilled into his hands. He dropped them on the ground and reached into the bag, pushing his hand through more fabric scraps until he touched a hard plastic object. Curling his fingers around it, he pulled it out and tilted it toward the light.
About seven inches long and two inches in diameter, the clear plastic bottle was filled with white liquid that had the consistency of...milk.
“What the hell is this?”
But Quinn knew. He’d never had any reason to get this close to one. Still, he had no trouble recognizing what he held. With those volume markings on the side and that brown plastic nipple on the top, it was absolutely unmistakable.
Since when did derelict drifters start carrying around a baby bottle full of milk?
Shifting the bottle to his other hand, Quinn picked up one of the bits of fabric he’d dropped. A row of lace formed a cuff on the top edge, and an impossibly tiny curve shaped the bottom into a—it was a miniature sock.
Hell, this bag wasn’t full of fabric scraps, it was full of baby clothes.
And just as Quinn was trying to figure out why someone would dump a bag full of baby supplies on his doorstep, the bundle of blankets beside his foot let out an impatient wail.
The rear bumper of her old Renault rattled alarmingly as Rachel Healey turned past the fence and started up the lane. Tightening her grip on the steering wheel, she eased back on the accelerator yet again. When that van had rear-ended her outside Springfield, the damage had seemed minor. She didn’t think there was any need to delay her return just to get her car repaired, but with every mile since then, the noise from the back end had gotten worse. She suspected some of the clamps on the muffler had been knocked loose as well as the bumper. At least she’d made it this far without having to pick pieces of her car off the road, but what the highway hadn’t done, the potholes in the lane to Keelor’s Garage threatened to finish.
“Terrific,” Rachel muttered.
The floodlight in front of the garage glared through her windshield as she passed the trees at the edge of the yard. The big door was shut tight, the interior dark. Wonderful. Keelor’s Garage was evidently closed for the night.
Rachel paused, letting the engine idle as she considered her options. She had assumed Doug Keelor would still be here and would be willing to give her a ride home. She could try to drive there herself, but from the sound of it, her car might not make it that far. The only other choice was to leave the car here and walk.
Swallowing a yawn, Rachel steered toward the graveled parking area in the side yard. She turned off the ignition, then closed her eyes and did a few slow neck rolls to ease the tightness in her shoulders. The trip was finally starting to catch up with her, but she knew it wasn’t only the long hours behind the wheel that caused this tension. This happened every time she visited her mother.
But Ann Healey was happy, she reminded herself. She was in good health, was surrounded by friends and had just been promoted to chief accountant at the insurance company where she worked. She was content, just like her daughter.
The visit had gone smoothly, as it always did. They never argued because they agreed about everything from their taste in music to their politics. Her mother was a wonderful role model. She was proud of Rachel’s career and her accomplishments, and she approved of every decision Rachel had made with respect to how she handled her life. Furthermore, Ann was staunchly independent, just as she encouraged her daughter to be, so there wasn’t any guilt or recrimination or possessive demands when it was time for Rachel to leave.
Then why did each visit leave Rachel more and more drained? Why was she restless and vaguely dissatisfied each time she returned home?
Shaking her head, Rachel reached for her purse. She was tired, that was all. It had been a long drive, and she still had a long walk ahead of her. Once she got home and got a good night’s sleep, everything would look better in the morning. She took an envelope from her purse, scribbled a quick note of explanation on it for Doug, then sealed the keys inside. She’d slip this under the office door and call him tomorrow.
She got out of the car, taking a deep breath of the muggy air. Crickets and a train whistle. Another warm July night in Maple Ridge. The walk wouldn’t be that bad, and she could use the exercise, considering the way she’d been sitting behind the wheel most of the day—
“You! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
The voice was deep and rough, vibrating with anger. Rachel whirled around in time to see a tall figure move toward her from the other side of the garage. One glance and she knew it wasn’t Doug. No, this man had no comfortable paunch, no silver hair, no ready, generous smile. She drew in her breath. For an instant, a bubble of fear closed her throat as she realized how isolated she was here, alone in the dark.
But the fear swiftly dissolved into a confused jerk of recognition. This man wasn’t Doug, but he wasn’t a stranger, either. His straight blond hair, the tilt of his head, the set of his broad shoulders...it all stirred an echo of an old image that was buried somewhere deep, too deep, in a place she didn’t want to remember....
“Oh, my God,” she breathed. “Quinn?”
No, this couldn’t be Quinn Keelor. This man was older. Harder. And he walked with a cane....
Realization burst over her. It was Quinn. She’d heard he’d come back to Maple Ridge at the beginning of the summer. She’d also heard he’d been in some kind of accident. Fifteen years had passed since she’d last seen him, but she would know him anywhere. His face and body were etched into her memory as indelibly as a childhood scar. She’d thought that particular memory had grown over, that it had healed with time, but all it took was one glimpse and she knew she’d been wrong.
“I should call the cops,” he said, striding toward her. He closed the distance between them with surprising speed, despite his uneven gait. He’d always had a certain animal grace, whether he was running for a touchdown or leaning over to look under a car hood. His entire body would move in har mony, as if he had perfect control over every muscle and joint. But the control he exerted now looked strained, as if he commanded not through natural ease but through sheer force of will.
Her pulse thudding, her knees suddenly weak, she somehow managed to hold her ground. She was a grown woman, she reminded herself. And he was a grown man. Oh God, was he ever. Her gaze traveled from the damp hair that brushed the top of his collar to the bare skin of his chest. Lean, washboard ripples of muscle showed between the edges of his unbuttoned shirt. His jeans rode low on his slim hips, his belt buckle skimming just below the shadow of his navel.
She swallowed hard. She should have known this would happen. Considering the size of Maple Ridge, she should have known she would run into him eventually. But she couldn’t possibly have anticipated the impact he would have, not after all these years. He belonged to a chapter of her life that was finished. It was carefully closed and locked away. So why was she reacting to him like this?
It must be surprise, or maybe the fatigue from the trip and the stress of visiting her mother. Her defenses were down, that was all. He was just a man, like any other. He was no longer the town’s golden-boy football hero she had loved with all her adolescent heart.
Oh, God, how she had adored him. Fully and completely, with the all the painful intensity of a devoted puppy. She’d watched all his games, she’d saved every article from the paper that mentioned his name. She’d clipped his picture from her high school yearbook to keep in a locket around her neck. Her teenage years had revolved around devising opportunities to be near him.
Of course, he’d never known. No one had known. She’d kept her pathetic secret to herself. She’d been too easy a target for the teasing of her classmates. She’d already endured too much of the cruelty that was passed off as humor. Even now she didn’t want to picture the humiliation she would have suffered if her secret had ever been discovered, if anyone had found out that a girl like Rachel Healey was in love with Quinn Keelor.
“Lady, you’ve got some serious explaining to do,” Quinn snapped.
She squared her shoulders. “You don’t need to shout. I thought the garage was closed when I got here. I didn’t think anyone would mind if I just left it here overnight—”
“I should call the cops. I can’t believe anybody would do that.” Quinn stopped in front of her, his free hand curling into a fist at his side. “Of all the stupid, irresponsible stunts.”
Why was he so angry? The Quinn of her childhood had had a ready smile for everyone, just like his father. But there was no glimmer of friendship in those sky-blue eyes, no trace of a smile at the corners of his tightly compressed lips. In the glare from the floodlight his face was all harsh planes and angles, distant and unforgiving.
The envelope with her car keys crackled beneath her fingers as she held it up. “I’m not abandoning it. I was going to call in the morning to explain.”
He swore under his breath, his eyebrows shooting upward in an expression of incredulity. “And in the meantime, you were just going to leave it there?”
“Well, yes. You have the space. I thought you could get to it whenever you had the time.”
“I can’t believe this,” he repeated, reaching out to grab her arm. He tugged her forward as he turned back the way he’d come. “What kind of mother are you, anyway?”
Rachel’s sandals skidded on the gravel as she tried to dig in her heels. “Mother? Quinn, what on earth are you talking about?”
“Whatever sick game you’re playing, I’m not going along with it, so you can just take your kid and—”
“My what?” She jerked her arm from his grasp and stopped moving. “What did you say?”
Quinn swore again, but he kept on going. “That’s it, I’m calling the cops.”
For a moment Rachel remained where she was, staring at his back as he strode away. His injuries from that accident must have been serious if he still needed a cane, but she hadn’t heard any rumors about brain damage. Poor Quinn. What a tragedy if his keen mind was impaired.
Over the sound of Quinn’s retreating footsteps, Rachel heard an infant’s muffled wail. She glanced around the yard. Aside from a shiny red tow truck and a rusty cube van on the other side of her compact, there were no other cars in sight. And aside from her and Quinn, there were no other people, either. The Keelors’ garage was set back from the road, separated from the closest neighbors by an overgrown privet hedge. Considering the lack of wind and the humidity, it was possible for sound to carry that far, but...
The wail rose in volume to a high-pitched, angry squeal. Quinn increased his pace and disappeared around the corner of the building.
That cry hadn’t come from the neighbor’s, Rachel thought. From the sound of it, that cry had come from the back of the garage.
Without hesitating further, she shoved the envelope with her keys into her purse and sprinted in the direction Quinn had taken.
The back door of the office stood ajar. Rachel got as far as the threshold before she skidded to a stop. An old metalshaded goosenecked lamp threw a cone of light over the desk in the corner. And in the center of the desk, dressed in a one-piece pale pink flannelette sleeper and snugly nested amid a heap of rumpled blankets was...
“That’s a baby,” she breathed.
The child was only an infant, probably not more than twelve pounds, or older than two months. And judging by her pink clothing and the pink blankets she was lying on, she was probably a girl. An adorable, angelic little girl. With her plump cheeks, fine blond hair and tiny, delicate features, she looked as sweet and innocent as a cherub.
Why on earth was there a cherub in the office of Keelor’s Garage? It couldn’t possibly be Quinn’s...or could it? He had been gone a long time. And apart from the major events like his ill-fated marriage and his decision to join the Navy, the details of his life were a mystery to her. What did she know about the man he was now?
While Rachel’s brain was struggling to come to terms with what her eyes were seeing, the adorable little angel let out another wail With her mouth wide-open, her eyes screwed shut, the infant arched her back and waved her tiny fists in the air. Chin quivering with each gasping sob, she screamed her anger with a force that left Rachel’s ears ringing.
Quinn was fumbling in a bag that was on the chair behind the desk. “Hang on, kid,” he muttered. He turned toward the baby, then glanced up. As soon as he caught sight of Rachel, he waved her over impatiently.
She rounded the desk, her mind churning with questions, but before she could ask the first one, Quinn straightened up and stepped back.
“Can you make it stop?” he shouted at her over the baby’s crying.
“What?”
“Is it sick or something?” he shouted back. “Is that why you left it?”
“Why I—” She shook her head. “Why I left it? Left what?”
He gestured impatiently. “The kid.”
She couldn’t make any sense of his words, not with the din created by this baby’s crying. But whatever Quinn’s mental problem was, it could wait. The baby was obviously in distress. She dropped her purse on the floor and quickly scooped the child up in her arms.
The change of position momentarily surprised the baby enough to break the rhythm of her cries. Rachel shifted the baby to her shoulder, pressing her to the warmth of her body as she rubbed her back. “All right, sweetie,” she crooned. “You’ll be all right now. You’ll be fine. No one’s going to hurt you. Just calm down.” She kept up her murmured assurances, not really listening to what she was saying as she swayed from side to side in an attempt to comfort the baby.
Quinn retreated to stand beside a filing cabinet, then crossed his arms and glared at Rachel. “Okay, what’s the story?” he asked.
“Story?” Rachel frowned at him over the child’s head, but she did her best to keep her voice steady. “How dare you treat a child like this? I don’t know what your problem is, but—”
“My problem? You’re the one who should be reported to the cops.”
She stepped past Quinn to gain more room to move as she paced the floor with the baby. “I would think you’d be more concerned with the welfare of this child than with me leaving my car in your yard overnight I told you, I was going to call and explain in the morning.”
“What the hell does your car have to do with this?”
“Quit shouting,” she said, jiggling the baby up and down as she paced. “You’re scaring her.”
He muttered something that was mercifully inaudible, watching her while she made several circuits of the small office. Two endless minutes later, the baby’s cries tapered off to snuffling whimpers. When Quinn spoke again, his voice was low and tightly controlled. “If you didn’t want the kid to be scared, then maybe you should have thought of that before you came here.”
Against her breast, Rachel felt the baby quiver with a gasping hiccup. The whimpers gradually subsided into restless shudders. She pressed her cheek to the top of the tiny head. “Shh, sweetie. You’ll be okay.” She glanced around the cluttered office. This was no place for a baby. Except for the crumpled blankets on the desk, there wasn’t anywhere to put her down. The canvas bag Quinn had been fumbling with appeared to be full of baby supplies, but apart from that, it didn’t look as if he had made any attempt to accommodate this child.
No wonder the baby had been crying, Rachel thought. She felt a sudden surge of anger at his blatant neglect of her. “When was her last feeding?”
“How the hell should I know?”
Still rubbing the baby’s back in soothing circles, Rachel walked to stand directly in front of Quinn. Tilting back her head, she glared into his eyes.
Fifteen years ago she used to dissolve into a tongue-tied puddle when she’d been this close to him. Echoes of her old feelings still swirled through her brain, but she was no longer the same girl. She’d come too far, she’d worked too hard to make sure she wasn’t the same girl. “Look, Quinn. I don’t care what kind of personal problems you have, but you have a responsibility to care for your child properly. You owe her a decent—”
“My child?” He narrowed his eyes and leaned closer. There was plenty of anger in his steady blue gaze, but no trace of madness. A muscle twitched in his cheek as he clenched his jaw and spoke through his teeth. “That’s not my child and you know it.”
“How would I possibly know that?”
“Honey, your sex habits are your own business, but I don’t make a practice out of forgetting the women I’ve slept with.”
“What?”
His gaze roamed boldly down her body before he focused once more on her face. “Believe me, I would have remembered the experience if I’d slept with you.”
Her mouth dropped open in shock. “But, Quinn—”
“I don’t know how you know my name, but as much as I’d like to have had the pleasure, I’ve never met you before in my life.”
“But—”
“And you’ve got a hell of a lot of nerve lecturing me about responsibility,” he went on. “What the hell were you thinking when you left your kid on my doorstep like a bundle of old newspapers? What if I had gone home earlier? What if it had started to rain? What if a stray dog had wandered by? Dammit, lady, you should be locked up for putting a kid into danger like that.”
The baby released a snuffling sigh, her tiny body finally relaxing as she snuggled her head trustingly into the curve of Rachel’s shoulder.
It took a moment for Quinn’s words to sink in. When they finally did, Rachel felt the shadowed office spin around her, then settle into a different reality as everything he had said slowly began to click into place.
She glanced at the darkness beyond the office door, then twisted around to look at the desk. The blankets that the baby had been lying on were hastily bunched into lumps that formed a makeshift barrier to prevent the baby from rolling onto the floor. On the chair beside the desk, the canvas bag overflowed with tiny socks and terry cloth sleepers. At least two bottles full of milk gleamed from inside, as well as a folded stack of what had to be diapers.
“This is unbelievable,” she murmured. “Do you mean to tell me that someone abandoned—” She swallowed hard, feeling the baby’s body quiver with the aftermath of its frantic sobs. “Someone abandoned this innocent child? Here?”
“Damn right. Why did you do it?”
“Me?” Rachel turned around to face him once more.
“Quinn, this isn’t my child. I would never do something so cruel.” She shook her head. “No wonder you reacted the way you did when you saw me. You thought I was the one who left her.”
Some of the anger faded from his gaze. “Well, didn’t you? From what you said—”
“I came here tonight to drop off my car,” she continued, more pieces of their earlier conversation clicking into place. “I assumed the garage was closed. I was going to slip my keys under the office door and call your father in the morning.”
He rubbed his eyes, then raked his fingers through his hair and muttered an oath. “When I saw your car pull in, I’d assumed you were coming back for the kid.”
“Yes, I realize that now.”
He looked at the child in her arms. “That’s not your baby?”
“No.”
“Damn.”
“And you were mistaken about something else, too.”
“What?”
“We have met before, Quinn.”
His gaze moved to her face. His brow furrowed, but there was no trace of recognition in his expression.
It was understandable, Rachel thought. It had been a long time, and she’d changed. Many people who’d known her back then had trouble recognizing her now. “I’m Rachel Healey. We were in high school together.”
“Rachel Healey?”
Of course he wouldn’t remember her. Why should he? “It’s been fifteen years,” she said quickly.
He looked at her features one by one, scrutinizing her in a way that brought warmth tingling to her cheeks. When he reached her eyes, he paused, the lines on his forehead smoothing out. “Rachel ... Healey?”
Oh, God. Maybe she should have left well enough alone. She’d seen this reaction before. She knew what was coming next, some comment about how much she’d changed, how much better she looked now that she’d lost all that weight, how he never would have guessed she was the same girl....
And just like that the old insecurities flooded through her on a familiar wave of humiliation.
Blimp. Lardo. Beluga.
She’d heard them all. No doubt Quinn had, too. That’s why her real name hadn’t rung a bell. Sure, he’d never taken part in the teasing, probably because most of the time she’d been beneath his notice. Yet because he hadn’t been cruel, in her blind devotion she’d built him up in her memory into an impossible ideal. He’d been popular, athletic and physically perfect. He’d been everything she wasn’t. Now he was going to make some insensitive remark that would prove once and for all what an incredible fool she’d been to spend her adolescence worshiping him....
“You were in my English class in our senior year,” Quinn said, his gaze intent, as if he were looking right through her to the past she didn’t want to remember. “You tutored me in Shakespeare, right?”
She nodded. To her, it had been more than tutoring; it had been bittersweet torture. All those hours of secret yearning, all those lonely nights replaying the sound of Quinn’s deep voice as he’d spoken of love and fate....
But that meant nothing to her now. She had changed far more than her appearance. “It was a long time ago, Quinn.”
“Yeah, but you haven’t changed at all.”
She hesitated. “What?”
He gestured toward the baby. “You were always good with kids.”
“Oh.”
“You used to baby-sit for my cousin, right?”
“Yes, I did.” She watched him warily, waiting for the inevitable comment about her weight
“Thought so. You used to work in the nursery at the church, too, didn’t you?”
“I’m surprised that you would have remembered something like that.”
“Sorry about yelling at you earlier.”
She nodded, still wary. So far there wasn’t any hint of repulsion or pity in his gaze. But it was only a matter of time....
“And I apologize for that crack I made about your sex life,” he went on.
“You were angry. So was I. And it was completely understandable that you’d jump to the wrong conclusion when you saw me, considering the circumstances.” She stroked the back of the baby’s head, her fingers lingering on the short, silky blond tufts. “I can’t believe someone would deliberately leave their child like this.”
“Damn, I really thought you were the kid’s mother.”
“And I thought you were her father.”
“Well, I’m not”
The sincerity in his voice made her want to believe him. “And you have no idea who left her here? Or why?”
“No.”
“Didn’t you find anything in the bag?”
“I didn’t get a chance to look. I had just brought the kid inside and unwrapped her from all these blankets when I saw the headlights from your car.” He strode to the door of the office and looked outside, then swung the door shut and moved purposefully toward the desk. Picking up the telephone, he started to punch in a number.
“What are you doing?” Rachel asked.
“What I should have done in the first place. I’m calling the police.”
“No, wait!”
He paused. “Why?”
Rachel felt the baby stir against her and tightened her hold protectively. “If you call them, this baby will end up with some social worker and—”
“It would be better off than with its mother.”
“We don’t know that. We don’t know the mother left her. Maybe it was the father. And maybe we’re jumping to the wrong conclusion about this, too. What if it’s nothing but a simple misunderstanding?”
“Seems clear enough to me. The kid’s mother chose a doorstep at random and left her kid. Probably ended up here because it’s one of the last lanes before the edge of town.”
“But why would she leave her baby at a garage instead of a house? It doesn’t make sense.”
“None of it does. The sooner I can get the kid someplace she belongs, the better.”
The baby bumped her face restlessly against Rachel’s shoulder, her body tensing before she let out a sudden wail.
Quinn looked alarmed. “What’s wrong now?”
“She’s probably hungry,” Rachel said. Shifting the baby to her other shoulder, she squeezed past him and picked up the canvas bag from the chair. She tipped the bag over in the center of the desk. Diapers, a large can of powdered formula and two bottles rolled out. “I just can’t believe anyone would deliberately abandon this innocent baby,” she persisted.
“Like I said, the situation seems clear enough to me,” Quinn muttered, completing the number.
With her free hand, Rachel was reaching for one of the bottles when a flash of white paper caught her eye. She pushed aside a diaper and grasped the edge of an envelope. “Wait a minute. I found something.”
“What is it?” Quinn asked, covering the receiver’s mouthpiece.
Tilting the envelope toward the lamp, Rachel read the scrawling handwriting across the front.
Disappointment stabbed through her, but she told herself the feeling was totally misplaced. Her memory of Quinn had been nothing but an impossible ideal, so it shouldn’t matter to her in the least if his denials of paternity had been too hasty. She knew by painful experience that plenty of men didn’t want to take responsibility for their children. After all, her own father had chosen to abandon her.
She swallowed hard. Seeing Quinn again...finding an abandoned child...this really was a night for opening up old scars, wasn’t it?
“You might want to hold off on that call,” she said.
“What?”
“I don’t think this baby ended up on your doorstep at random.” She held the note out to Quinn. “Here. This is addressed to you.”
