English Girl in New York(3)

She pushed open the window a little, letting in a blast of cold air.  Thank goodness for thermal jammies, bed socks and an embossed dressing  gown.

She held her breath and listened. There it was again. It was like a mew.  Was it a cat? Downstairs, in the apartment underneath, she could hear  the faint thump of music. It must be the cop. He obviously wouldn't be  able to hear a thing. She didn't even know his name. Only that he must  be a cop because of the uniform he wore. Tall, dark and handsome. But he  hadn't looked in her direction once since she'd arrived.         

     



 

Who had left their cat out on a night like this? Her conscience was  pricked. What should she do? Maybe it was just a little cat confused by  the snow and couldn't find its way home. Should she go downstairs and  investigate? She glanced down at her nightwear. It would only take a few  seconds. No one would see her.

She could grab the cat from the doorway and bring it in for the night.  Maybe give it a little water and let it curl in front of the fire. A  cat. The thought warmed her from the inside out. She'd never had a cat  before. It might be nice to borrow someone else's for the night and keep  it safe. At least she would have someone to talk to.

She opened her door and glanced out onto the landing. Everyone else was  safely ensconced in their apartments. Her feet padded down the flights  of stairs, reaching the doorway in less than a minute. She unlocked the  heavy door of the brownstone and pulled it open.

No.

It couldn't be.

She blinked and shut the door again. Fast.

Her heart thudded against her chest. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Her  brain was playing horrible tricks on her. Letting her think she was safe  and things were safely locked away before springing something out of  the blue on her.

Maybe she wasn't even awake. Maybe she'd fallen asleep on the sofa  upstairs, in front of the flickering fire, and would wake up in a pool  of sweat.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

She turned the handle again, oh-so-slowly, and prayed her imagination  would get under control. Things like this didn't happen to people like  her.

This time her reaction was different. This time the cold night air was  sucked into her lungs with a force she didn't think she possessed. Every  hair on her body stood instantly on end-and it wasn't from the cold.

It was a baby. Someone had left a baby on her doorstep.





CHAPTER TWO

FOR A SECOND, Carrie couldn't move. Her brain wouldn't compute. Her body wouldn't function.

Her ears were amplifying the sound. The little mew, mew, mew she'd  thought she'd heard was actually a whimper. A whimper that was sounding  more frightening by the second.

Her immediate instinct was to run-fast. Get away from this whole  situation to keep the fortress around her heart firmly in place and to  keep herself sheltered from harm. No good could come of this.

But she couldn't fight the natural instinct inside her-no matter how  hard she tried. So she did what any mother would do: she picked up the  little bundle and held it close to her chest.

Even the blanket was cold. And the shock of picking up the bundle chilled her.

Oh, no. The baby.

She didn't think. She didn't contemplate. She walked straight over to  the nearest door-the one with the thudding music-and banged loudly with  her fist. ;Help! I need help!'

Nothing happened for a few seconds. Then the music switched off and she  heard the sound of bare feet on the wooden floor. The door opened and  she held her breath.

There he was. In all his glory. Scruffy dark hair, too-tired eyes and  bare-chested, with only a pair of jeans clinging to his hips-and a  bright pink plaster cast on his wrist. She blinked. Trying to take in  the unexpected sight. His brow wrinkled. ;What the-?'

She pushed past him into the heat of his apartment.

;I need help. I found this baby on our doorstep.'

;A baby?' He looked stunned, then reached over and put a hand around her  shoulders, pulling her further inside the apartment and guiding her  into a chair next to the fire.

;What do I do? What do I do with a baby? Why would someone do this?' She  was babbling and she couldn't help it. She was in a strange half-naked  man's apartment in New York, with an abandoned baby and her pyjamas on.

This really couldn't be happening.

Her brain was shouting messages at her. But she wasn't listening. She couldn't listen. Get out of here.

She stared down at the little face bundled in the blanket. The baby's  eyes were screwed shut and its brow wrinkled. Was it a girl? Or a boy?  Something shifted inside her. This was hard. This was so hard.

She shouldn't be here. She absolutely shouldn't be here. She was the last person in the world qualified to look after a baby.

But even though her brain was screaming those thoughts at her, her body  wasn't listening. Because she'd lifted her hand, extended one finger and  was stroking it down the perfect little cold cheek.

* * *

Dan Cooper's day had just gone from unlucky to ridiculous. He recognised  her. Of course he recognised her. She was the girl with the sad eyes  from upstairs.

But now she didn't look sad. She looked panicked.

He was conscious that her gaze had drifted across his bare abdomen. If  she hadn't been banging on the door so insistently he would have pulled  on a shirt first. Instead, he tried to keep his back from her line of  vision as he grabbed the T-shirt lying across the back of his sofa.         

     



 

He looked back at her. Now she didn't look panicked. She'd stopped  babbling. In fact, she'd stopped talking completely. Now she just sat in  front of the fire staring at the baby. She looked mesmerised.

His cop instinct kicked into gear. Please don't let her be a crazy. The last thing he needed today was a crazy.

He walked over and touched her hand, kneeling down to look into her  eyes. He'd heard some bizarre tales in his time but this one took the  biscuit. ;What's your name?'

She gave him only a cursory glance-as if she couldn't bear to tear her  eyes away from the baby. ;Carrie. Carrie McKenzie. I live upstairs.'

He nodded. The accent drew his attention. The apartment upstairs was  used by a business in the city. They often had staff from their  multinational partners staying there. His brain was racing. He'd seen  this girl, but had never spoken to her. She always looked so sad-as if  she had the weight of the world on her shoulders.

He racked his brain. Had she been pregnant? Would he have noticed? Could she have given birth unaided upstairs?

His eyes swept over her. Pyjamas and a dressing gown. Could camouflage anything.

He took a deep breath. Time was of the essence here. He had to ask. He had to cover all the bases. ;Carrie-is this your baby?'

Her head jerked up. ;What?' She looked horrified. And then there was something-something else. ;Of course not!'

A feeling of relief swept over him. He'd been a cop long enough to know a  genuine response when he saw one. Thank goodness. Last thing he needed  right now was a crazy neighbour with a baby.

He reached over and pulled the fleecy blanket down from around the  baby's face. The baby was breathing, but its cheeks were pale.

The nearest children's hospital was Angel's, all the way up next to  Central Park. They wouldn't possibly be able to reach there in this  weather. And it was likely that the ambulance service had ground to a  halt. He had to prioritise. Even though he wasn't an expert, the baby  seemed okay.

He stood up. ;How did you find the baby?'

Her brow wrinkled. ;I heard a noise. I thought it was a cat. I came downstairs to see.'

He couldn't hide the disbelief in his voice. ;You thought a baby was a cat?'

Her blue eyes narrowed as they met his. His tone had obviously annoyed  her. ;Well, you know, it was kinda hard to hear with your music  blaring.'

He ignored the sarcasm, even though it humoured him. Maybe Miss Sad-Eyes  had some spunk after all. ;How long since you first heard it?' This was  important. This was really important.

She shook her head. ;I don't know. Five minutes? Maybe a little more?'

His feet moved quickly. He grabbed for the jacket that hung behind the door and shoved his bare feet into his baseball boots.

She stood up. ;Where are you going? Don't leave me alone. I don't know the first thing about babies.'

He turned to her. ;Carrie, someone left this baby on our doorstep.' His  eyes went to the window, to the heavy snow falling on the window ledge  as he slid his arms into his jacket. ;Outside, there could be someone in  trouble. Someone could be hurt. I need to go and check.'

She bit her lip and glanced at the baby before giving a small cursory  nod of her head. He stepped outside into the bitter cold, glancing both  ways, trying to decide which way to go. There was nothing in the snow.  Any tracks that had been left had been covered within minutes; the snow  was falling thick and fast.

He walked to the other side of the street and looked over at their building. Why here? Why had someone left their baby here?

There were some lights on in the other apartment buildings on the  street. But most of the lights were in the second or third storeys.  Theirs was the only building with lights on in the first floor. It made  sense. Someone had wanted this baby found quickly.