It was the receptionist—Louise Pringle, according to the nameplate on her desk—who’d told him, with tears in her eyes, that Olivia had been killed in a motor-vehicle collision more than five months earlier.
He’d had to swallow around the lump of guilt and regrets that had lodged in his throat before he could ask, “Did she have her baby with her?”
“Oh, no. Paige was babysitting the little angel, and thank the good Lord for that.”
Relief shuddered through his system, assuring him that, although the news about the baby had rocked him to the very core, he wanted a chance to know his child, to be a father to his little girl.
“Paige?” he prompted.
“Paige Wilder. She’s another one of the attorneys here. She has legal custody of Emma now.”
“Is it possible for me to see Ms. Wilder?”
“She’s out of town,” the efficient Louise had said, consulting the schedule on her computer. “But Victoria Lawrence might be able to squeeze you in around two o’clock tomorrow.”
“Thanks, but I really need to see Ms. Wilder,” he had said. “Do you have a number where I could contact her?”
The older woman had started to shake her head, but then she eyed the uniform again and paused. “I really can’t give out that kind of information,” she said. “Maybe if you left your name and number and the reason you want to speak with her, I could contact Paige and ask her to get in touch with you.”
“It’s a personal matter.”
The furrow in her brow deepened, but when she looked up at him again, her eyes suddenly widened. “Oh, I didn’t realize.”
“Didn’t realize?” he prompted.
“You’re Emma’s father.”
Her matter-of-fact assertion had taken him aback. Although he had originally gone to the law offices to see Olivia about that possibility, he’d been completely unprepared to hear a stranger echo his short-term girlfriend’s allegation.
“What makes you say that?” he asked, as wary as he was curious.
“She has your eyes,” Louise told him.
“Crawford blue” was how his mother had always referred to the color that each of her children had inherited from their father.
Although blue was a common eye color, he’d had enough people comment on the unique shade of his to realize that “Crawford blue” was distinctive. But he couldn’t say for certain whether or not Olivia’s child had the same color eyes because she’d been asleep when he arrived at Paige Wilder’s door.
He hadn’t looked at her closely enough to see if there was any other resemblance. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to. He was willing to do the right thing by his child, if Emma was his child, but, if he was honest with himself, he wasn’t sure he was prepared to tackle fatherhood and everything it entailed at this point in his life. He hadn’t thought much about having kids at all, except in the vaguest of terms and somewhere in a still-distant future.
He was thirty-seven years old, long past the age when most of his contemporaries had settled down with a wife and kids. Some of them were even on their second or third wives, which was not a path he had any desire to follow.
But if he’d fathered a child, as Olivia claimed, he would be a father to that child.
And so he’d taken the address Louise had discreetly slipped to him and he’d found Paige Wilder and Emma.
He’d found his daughter.
And seeing the baby in Paige’s arms had absolutely terrified him.
He’d seen and experienced some unbelievable things during his years in the Air Force, all without batting an eye. But the sight of that beautiful little girl, so small and vulnerable and completely dependent, had nearly knocked him on his ass.
After Zach left, Paige stood beside Emma’s crib, tears streaming down her cheeks as the truth of the situation sank in. She could try to block Zach Crawford at every turn, she could stall him with all kinds of legal maneuvering, but her efforts would only delay the inevitable. Because she knew too well that the interest of a previously unknown father was a significant change in circumstances that could—and would—successfully challenge her custody decree.
And losing Emma would break her heart.
Why did you do it, Olivia? Why did you lie about Emma’s father?
Of course, her friend couldn’t answer her questions now, and Paige found herself cursing in frustration. And then she felt guilty for cursing a woman who had died so young and so tragically—a woman who had been one of her closest friends and yet, in retrospect, a woman she wasn’t sure she had really known at all.
If I’d known, I would have been prepared for the possibility that Emma’s father might show up someday. Instead, you let me fall in love with this child, never guessing that Zach Crawford might show up and want to take her away.
She had no doubt that was what he planned to do. A man who had risen to the rank of lieutenant colonel was undoubtedly dedicated, honorable and trustworthy—definitely not the type of man to walk away from his own child.
But maybe Emma wasn’t his child. Maybe, despite Olivia’s letter, her friend was mistaken about the baby’s paternity. Because aside from the eye color, she really hadn’t seen any resemblance between Zach and Emma. The man was a complete contrast to the child. He was so solid and strong and—
The mental image was so vivid that her heart actually skipped a beat, and Paige cursed herself for the uncharacteristic weakness. She wasn’t usually the type of woman to get all fluttery and tongue-tied over a handsome man, and letting her imagination run wild with respect to Zach Crawford wasn’t just futile—it was dangerous.
I don’t want us to be adversaries.
But they were, and she needed to remember that and forget that the lieutenant colonel had stirred feelings she hadn’t felt in a very long time.
Chapter Three
Zach didn’t usually dream. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say that he didn’t usually remember his dreams. But when he bolted up in bed early the next morning, the details were fresh in his mind and his heart was pounding hard and fast from the adrenaline that had surged through his system.
He scrubbed his hands over his jaw, blinked away the last remnants of slumber and reminded himself that it had only been a dream.
But it had felt so unbelievably and terrifyingly real.
He was flying an F-22 Raptor in enemy skies when the jet suddenly started to spin. He couldn’t get the plane under control and he was dropping fast. He swore and he prayed, then he reached for the ejection handle.
But he felt no relief when he successfully punched out, only an escalating sense of panic when the parachute failed to deploy. Then he glanced down and saw that there was a baby sitting in his lap. A tiny little girl who looked up at him with wide, trusting blue eyes. And all he could do was hold on to her and fervently pray as they plunged toward the ground.
He pushed himself out of bed and strode toward the bathroom. A quick flick of his wrist had the shower running, and he stripped away his briefs and stepped under the pounding spray, desperate to clear the lingering shadows of the dream from his mind.
He didn’t need a psychiatric assessment to know that learning he was a father had sent his whole world spinning out of control. What worried him more was to think that maybe the dream hadn’t simply been a manifestation of his own fears but an omen—a warning that his sudden appearance in Emma’s life could tear her away from the safety and security of the life she had with her legal guardian.
And suddenly