The Only Solution(4)

       
           



       

"Neither," she snapped. "I told you, the baby's mine. And I'm doing just fine  –  I have no need to extort money from anyone."

He smiled a little. There wasn't much humor in the expression, and the  momentary flicker of white teeth had a threatening edge. "Then why did  you make that phone call?"

She could almost feel the net closing in around her. She turned her back  on him and closed her eyes in pain. There had to be a way, an  explanation which would get her out of this spot.

"If she's really your baby, Miss Miller..." he began suggestively.

The silence stretched out until Wendy's nerves were raw. "What?" Her voice cracked.

"Then you won't mind letting me see her. I'm a great admirer of babies. You might even say I'm a connoisseur."

Wendy minded. She was uneasily aware that anyone who saw that child and  compared Rory's coloring with her own would have serious questions about  the child's parentage. The eyes alone  –  Rory's clear blue, Wendy's deep  golden brown  –  would cast doubt on the whole idea.

He went on relentlessly. "Shall we say, eight o'clock, your apartment?"

She swallowed hard. "She'll be in bed." Maybe, if he didn't see Rory's eyes...

But this man was no fool, and he would not settle for a casual inspection.

"Then you can wake her, can't you?" He picked up his briefcase. "And Miss Miller... Don't try to vanish."

She put her chin up. "I wouldn't think of it. I have nothing to hide."

The corner of his mouth quirked once more, as if he was ever so slightly  amused. "Not only would it make you look very guilty," he said gently,  "it wouldn't accomplish anything. I've hunted you down once. If I have  to, I'll do it again."





CHAPTER TWO



Wendy stayed beside her desk, spine rigid, until he was out of sight. Then she sagged into her chair.

How had he found her? She'd given her name on the telephone that day,  but he hadn't seemed to hear it. And though he had asked where she was  calling from, she hadn't told him  –  though she supposed Phoenix would  have seemed a logical place to start looking.

Oh, what did it matter? The fact was he had found her, and now she had to deal with the reality.

She considered cancelling her interview, because heaven knew she wasn't  in the best frame of mind for it. But her financial situation was  desperate enough as it was. If there was any chance of actually getting a  job, she couldn't afford to let it pass.

In any case, she couldn't do anything between now and eight o'clock to  change the facts. She obviously couldn't make Rory look more like her.  And if she sat around for the next few hours and wondered what Marissa's  brother was likely to think or say or do, she'd simply drive herself  nuts. She might as well do something positive with her time.

Marissa's brother. Why hadn't the woman ever mentioned him? She could at  least have warned Wendy about that forceful attitude of his, and the  air of always getting his own way. If Wendy had known what she might be  dealing with …

But of course Marissa hadn't anticipated the problem. She hadn't  expected to die. And just knowing of her brother's existence  –  or even  his arrogance  –  wouldn't have made any difference to Wendy at all. No  warning could have prepared her for the way he seemed to take up all the  space in the room and raise the temperature by about ten degrees. She'd  never experienced anything like it. No wonder her brain hadn't been  functioning quite right.

She was thinking about that when the interviewer called her name, and  she stumbled over her own feet on her way into his office. The interview  went downhill from there, and by the time it was finished, her only  emotion was profound gratitude that it was over and now she could go  pick up Rory and get her regular dose of infant adoration.

Rory, however, was tear-drenched and in no mood for smiling. "What's the  matter, darling?" Wendy asked as she cuddled the baby close.

"She's been fussy all day," Carrie said. "I think she might be cutting a tooth."                       
       
           



       

"So early?"

Carrie shrugged. "She's a bit young, but there's a little swelling in her gum."

Wendy put her fingertip into the baby's mouth to check for herself, and  Rory clamped down on it and gnawed as if the pressure felt good. "I see  what you mean," Wendy said wryly.

"You might pick up a teething ring so you have it on hand."

Wendy went a few blocks out of her way in order to stop at a discount  drugstore. Ordinarily she would have chosen the shop right on her route,  but now every penny was going to count.

She tossed the gel-filled ring into the freezer to chill, took off  Rory's sweater, and put the baby down on a blanket in the middle of the  bedroom floor so she could change from her suit into jeans and a cotton  sweater. Wendy had learned the hard way why dry-cleaners loved babies.  From now on, every item that entered her wardrobe was going to have to  be washable.

Rory announced in no uncertain terms that she'd noticed supper was  running late, and she didn't approve. Still barefoot, Wendy scooped her  up and headed for the nursery. Every piece of clothing Rory owned needed  washing, and if she could take the first load down to the laundry room  before she fed the baby, she might manage to be done before midnight.

But one look at Rory's face told her the laundry would have to wait at  least till after her bottle, so Wendy settled into the rocking chair.  Once the baby's initial hunger was satisfied, with the warm milk  soothing the ache in her gum, she was contented and again ready to  gurgle and play.

Wendy felt her own mood lighten a little in response. Don't borrow  trouble, she told herself. Maybe the Burgess creature wouldn't show up  after all.

Rory was more interested in blowing bubbles with her cereal than in  eating it, and she managed to spread it so far that a bath was the only  answer. Wendy was just drying the child's hair  –  and feeling distinctly  grubby herself  –  when the doorbell rang. The baby twisted around on the  changing table, trying to locate the sound.

Wendy said, "Just stay still for another minute and you can see for  yourself who's out there. Though I don't promise you'll be thrilled with  the results."

Rory grinned at her and tossed her rattle off the table.

The bell had rung twice more  –  the last time long and impatiently  –   before Wendy reached the door. The man in the hallway looked her over  slowly, from disheveled hair trailing in wisps from a tired french braid  to bare toes twisting in the carpet. One dark eyebrow went up slightly.

Wendy wanted to hit him. So what if she looked a bit harried at the  moment? The baby was clean and dry and contented; nobody could possibly  say Rory was neglected!

Eventually he seemed satisfied with his inspection of Wendy and turned  to study the baby. Rory stared back, wide-eyed and somber, and then  ducked her head into Wendy's shoulder.

"A little shy, is she?" he asked.

"Oh, she likes the people I like," Wendy said before she thought. She  bit her tongue hard as he stared at her, and then started over. "She  seems to be cutting a tooth, so she's a bit off-color today."

The baby peered at him, her face still mostly hidden in Wendy's sweater.  He reached into the pocket of his trench coat and drew out a set of  keys, big ones made of brightly colored plastic. He dangled them  casually a foot from Rory's face, and said, "Hello, there, sprout. I  believe I'm your Uncle Mack."

Wendy had known, of course, that he wasn't likely to accept her story,  but the words came as a blow nonetheless  –  and a surprise. "Mack?" she  repeated. "I thought you said your name was – "

"Samuel MacKenzie Burgess," he said calmly. "It's a tradition in the Burgess family to name oldest sons after their fathers."

"It would be," Wendy muttered.

He smiled a little.

Rory took a left-handed swipe at the keys and missed. Mack Burgess moved them a little closer, but he was still watching Wendy.

"However, the confusion caused by having two Samuels in the house would  be unbearable," he went on. "Calling me Sammy would have worked till I  was old enough to object, I suppose, or Little Sam  –  except I've been  taller than my father since I turned sixteen. All in all I think my  mother's solution was a better one. Make her maiden name my middle one,  and use it from the beginning."