home. But in answer to your query…’ She took a deep breath. ‘You’re asking is this the place you leave babies?’ Her brows creased together in a frown. Her urge was to slam the door in the stranger’s handsome face, but if there was a baby involved then she couldn’t do that. ‘Do you have a baby?’
‘Well, yes,’ the man said as if he was apologising. He smiled again. ‘I’ll bring her in, shall I?’
She followed the man to his car and, with Gabbie still clinging to her side, she waited as the man extricated a bundle from the rear of his fancy car. The infant was in a carry-cot and at least she’d been properly strapped in. In this job she’d seen babies in cardboard boxes—bureau drawers—anything.
But this little one was no neglected waif. The stranger was lifting her—if inexpertly. He was holding her as if she was made of glass, and the baby was a miniature version of himself. She was just beautiful!
She was the most beautiful baby Wendy had ever seen, and Wendy had seen a lot of babies.
The baby had the same soft blond-brown curls as the man, and the same twinkly green eyes, creasing into delight now that she was being lifted. She was wrapped all in pink—there was no possibility of mistaking this little girl for a boy!—and she looked about five or six months old.
And…her eyes said it for her: this was indeed a wonderful world. She was plump and well cared for and happy. Wendy, accustomed to seeing the most awful things that people could do to their children, sighed with relief that at least this baby was healthy.
‘I’m leaving tonight—I need to be in New York by the weekend,’ the man was saying. He held the baby awkwardly in his arms, proffering her toward Wendy. ‘But you’ll take care of her, won’t you? After all, that’s your job.’
There was only one answer to that. ‘No,’ Wendy said softly, and her eyes met his. Steady and sure, Wendy’s were eyes that had seen the worst the world had to offer, and then some. She’d thought nothing could surprise her—but it always did. ‘It’s not my job. Caring for your baby is your job.’
‘You don’t understand.’ He was still extending his pink, wrapped bundle, but Wendy wasn’t accepting. She held Gabbie’s clutching fingers with one hand, and kept her free hand firmly by her side.
‘I assume this is your daughter,’ she told him. She must be. The likeness was uncanny. ‘I’m not sure what’s happening here, Mr…’
‘Grey. I’m Luke Grey. And, no, she’s not my daughter.’
‘Mr Grey,’ she said and took a deep breath. ‘Mr Grey, you don’t just dump babies when you wish to go to New York. Or anywhere for that matter.’ Her voice was calm and unflappable, her training coming to the fore. ‘But you’re right. I don’t understand. Explain it to me.’
‘This is not my baby!’ But he broke off before he could go any further. Anyone would. An outraged yell from behind them was enough to break off conversations three blocks away.
It was Craig. Of course. Wendy turned to see a small boy emerge onto the veranda. He was holding a toy fire engine, and his expression said the end of the world had arrived. Right now! Which was nothing unusual. Craig’s calamity rate was usually one disaster every hour or so, and he was behind schedule.
‘Wendy, Sam broke the hook on my fire engine,’ he wailed, his voice still loud enough to announce his catastrophe to the whole of Bay Beach. ‘He broke the hook off my crane. Wendy, it’s broken…’
‘Don’t worry, Craig, I have glue,’ Wendy called to him, as if broken fire engines were normal. As they were. ‘Put it on the kitchen table, and I’ll fix it. But first…’ she gave Luke’s car an appreciative glance, which Luke didn’t appreciate at all ‘…look what’s in our driveway,’ she told the little boy. ‘Call Sam and Cherie, and bring them out to see this man’s really nice car.’
Then she managed a tiny internal chuckle as she watched Luke’s face go blank in dismay. No matter. Whatever human disasters were around, this car would give her children some pleasure.
It certainly did. The wailing switched off like a tap. ‘Wow!’ Stunned, five-year-old Craig stared at the sports car as if it had landed from Mars. ‘Is it real?’
‘Don’t touch it,’ Luke said immediately, and Wendy’s inner chuckle strengthened. What harm would a few sticky fingers do?
‘Bring your baby inside, Mr Grey,’ she told him. ‘You still need to explain.’
‘Will you take her?’ he said, and his voice was pleading. He held out his arms. ‘She’s…she’s wet.’
‘Babies often are,’ Wendy said placidly, still refusing to take his bundle. She led Gabbie up the veranda steps, leaving him to follow, like it or not. ‘Okay, we’ll change her nappy and then you can tell me all about your problems. But no, Mr Grey, I won’t take her. You carry your baby until I understand what’s going on.’
‘She’s not my baby.’
‘That’s what you said before.’ Seated now in Wendy’s kitchen, Luke was still holding his baby. Wendy had changed the little one’s nappy and wrapped her in dry blankets but then she’d handed her right back. Now she was making coffee while Luke sat uncomfortably with his beaming bundle and tried not to be distracted by what was happening out the window.
There were three children playing in his car. They couldn’t do any real harm, he decided, but he sent up a small prayer anyway. Please… The gorgeous leather upholstery would wipe clean…
‘So who’s baby is she?’ Wendy watched where his glance lay, and then dragged his attention back indoors. She handed over a mug of coffee and settled herself. Gabbie made a beeline for her lap and stayed close. Instinctively Wendy’s arms came around her and held tight. On Luke’s lap, his baby gurgled and chuckled and reached for the mug. There were two adults and two responsibilities. And a whole lot more outside…
‘You wouldn’t like to get those kids away from my car?’ he said uneasily.
‘Watch your coffee,’ she reminded him. ‘Babies burn and she can reach it. You can move your car onto the kerb if you’re uncomfortable.’ She refused to be ruffled. ‘While it’s in my yard I can’t drag the children away from it.’
‘Then will you hold the baby while I shift it?’ he begged, and she shook her head.
‘No, Mr Grey.’ She wasn’t taking his baby while he went to move his car. Instinct told her she’d never see him again.
And he saw exactly what she was thinking. He stared over the table at her, anger flaring. ‘Look, I could have just dumped her and run,’ he snapped.
‘And you didn’t.’ She nodded, not warming to the man in the slightest. He might have a smile to knock a girl sideways, but he wasn’t coming across well at all. He was a darn sight more worried about his car than his baby. ‘That’s very noble of you.’
The censure in her tone was obvious, and his brows snapped together in anger.
‘You think I’m a rat.’
‘It’s not my job to think anything of the kind,’ she told him. ‘I’m paid to worry about children—not to make judgements about the people who are caring for them. Or not caring for them.’
‘Hey, she was dumped on me!’
‘Really?’ Her grey eyes widened in polite disbelief and she looked from man to baby and back again. ‘You know,’ she said softly, ‘she looks very like you.’
‘I’d imagine she does,’ Luke said bitterly. ‘Of all the stupid…’ His eyes flew to Wendy’s again, the anger still there. ‘But she’s not my daughter. I swear.’
‘You’re related though?’
‘I guess we are,’ Luke said slowly, and for the first