A Baby In His In-Box. Jennifer Greene

another time. Here you go.” She lifted Dylan and plopped the wriggling chunk into his arms. “I changed his diaper, and I put out some toddler baby food on the counter. The directions said you could microwave it but you’ll need to be careful it’s not too hot.”

      She was trotting for the front door faster than a filly in a sulky race. “You’re sure you won’t stay for dinner—?”

      “Positive.” She opened the front door.

      “Molly, wait.” Dylan whacked him on the ear with a baby fist. Flynn heard alarm bells of anxiety clanging in his ears—and not just because the baby had given him a boxer’s whack. “I appreciate your helping me out. I owe you a big thanks.”

      “No sweat. You’re welcome.”

      Flynn let the baby down, since there was no holding on to the contortionist anyway. Dylan immediately quit squawking, plunked down on all fours and took off again. Molly had her hand on the doorknob, looking as primed to take off and escape from him as the kid had been. He cleared his throat. “Look, I can see you’re uncomfortable with me. I don’t know what to say, how to make that right. But you and I never had a problem communicating before—”

      “And we don’t now. There’s no reason business should be different than usual tomorrow.”

      “Business,” he echoed. “There wasn’t business on your mind earlier this afternoon. Or on mine. Believe me, I understand that it was Virginie’s visit that changed that...and it’s not like I’m blaming you for judging me—”

      “I’m not judging you,” she said swiftly. Too swiftly. He saw her swallow hard, and finally she turned to face him. She didn’t give up her hold on that doorknob, but her voice turned soft. Molly soft. “I’m judging me, Flynn. You’re right—we were becoming close. And that was never a good idea—not for me. Everything that happened this afternoon has underlined for me that I really don’t know you.”

      “You’re upset because of the baby, which God knows, I understand. But I don’t know that Dylan is mine—”

      “The baby’s not the problem. At least not exactly. I hope I’d never tar anybody with a judgmental feather for making that kind of mistake. Everyone makes mistakes. And that particular one, couples have been making since the beginning of time.” She hesitated. “But if a woman like that attracted you, Flynn, you and I honestly have nothing in common. We couldn’t possibly value any of the same things.”

      “You’ve lost respect—”

      “Yeah, I think that’s fair to say.” Her eyes mirrored the most uncomfortable kind of honesty. “You can be a real trial to work with, McGannon. You bellow and you’re stubborn and you tend to railroad everyone in your path. But you’ve got a huge heart and an incredibly creative mind—I’ve never seen you judge anyone or fail to listen to their point of view. From the first day on the job, I admired you. Respected you. Enormously.”

      Mentally Flynn dismissed those minor details about his bellowing and stubbornness. Maybe it had taken Molly a couple of months to really believe his bark was worth peanuts—and that he really hated people kowtowing to him. But she hadn’t been intimidated by him in a blue moon.

      Respect was a different issue entirely. Flynn hadn’t known she felt that “enormous respect.” But he could feel the loss of it now—hear it, in her velvet-soft voice—and it hurt like a knife stab in his gut.

      Instinctively he stepped toward her, wanting to reach her, touch her. He told himself the impulse wasn’t sexual—and yet he knew it was. When he’d kissed her before, all the nuisance life differences between them disappeared. The connection had always been real, honest, and hotter than fire. Something about that chemistry created a strange, alien feeling of belonging—and maybe Flynn had never understood it, but he had a dread-sinking sensation that he’d never have that feeling again. Not with anyone. Not like with Molly. And if he just kissed her...

      But the look in her eyes stopped him. She didn’t back away from him. She didn’t move at all in those seconds, yet she faced him with this sudden, soft, naked vulnerability in her eyes. It was a look that said I’m a strong, tough cookie with a weakness. A weakness for you. And yeah, she’d dive under—maybe—if he kissed her. But that wasn’t the same as her willingness.

      It wasn’t the same as her wanting him.

      His hand fell. Then both hands jammed into his pockets, buried out of sight as if he was trying to bury that impulse to touch her. “Molly, this whole story isn’t done. There hasn’t been time to talk to you—I haven’t even had a chance to try and explain—”

      She shook her head quickly, firmly. “You don’t owe me any explanations, and I’m well aware you’ve just had your life turned upside down. But so has that baby. Love him, Flynn. And honestly, I need to go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

      She latched the door closed on her way out. No slam. Not even the sound of a click. She was just gone. Faster than the light bulb switched off, and leaving him with an odd, scratchy feeling in his throat.

      Abruptly, though, Flynn heard a crash. He pivoted on a heel and hightailed into the living room. The floor lamp by his leather reading chair was lying on the ground, the shade rolling and punctured. The accident could have happened by osmosis, but somehow he suspected another culprit. As a point of fact, if the baby were hurt, he was going to have to shoot himself. And how could such a tiny kid manage to topple a sturdy five-foot lamp?