A Baby to Love Page 6

  “Keep looking.”

  She opened a door in the den that led to the two-car garage and stuck her head inside. “Empty. The police officer said my car is still over at Anne’s house.” After one glance at the papers Ms. Kilcuddy had given her, she’d recognized Anne’s address as the same one where her accident had taken place and an inexplicable fear tightened her chest.

  “I’ll give you a ride over there to pick it up tomorrow.”

  For a moment, she felt as though she had an angel watching out for her to compensate for everything else she was going through. “Thanks.” What was she thinking? No angel had such boldly handsome features and such confident sensuality.

  Avoiding his gaze and uncomfortable with the direction her thoughts kept taking, she opened the doors to a lavish wall entertainment center. “No photo albums, just stacks of magazines.”

  “What kind?”

  “Decorating, landscaping, architecture High fashion, entertainment and a television guide.”

  “Sounds like you’re well-read.” He joined her, handing her the unfinished sundae. “Maybe you kept a journal or diary in the bedroom.”

  “I’m going to tear this place apart from top to bottom. There have to be answers somewhere.” She glanced at the mantel over the fireplace. “What kind of woman doesn’t have pictures of family?”

  “Maybe someone who doesn’t have a camera.”

  She scooped up a mouthful of rocky road and let the chocolate melt over her tongue. “Or someone with something to hide.”

  He sat on one end of the mahogany-trimmed humpback sofa and raised his bowl in a salute. “This flavor ice cream is good stuff. As for the photos, maybe your family’s house burned down and you had to start over.”

  She took the library chair opposite him. The entire conversation didn’t seem real to her, as if they spoke about someone else, unconnected to her in every way. Except she couldn’t let her memory loss and sense of isolation deter her from figuring out the truth. Her life might depend on what she discovered. “Possibly I don’t have a family.”

  “Maybe you’re the kind of person who carries memories in her heart.”

  His words caused a lump to rise in her throat. Unwilling to let him know how much his tender words touched her, she hid behind silence.

  With a mischievous grin, he rescued one of his cherries from an avalanche of hot fudge and held it by the stem above her lips. “Maybe this will sweeten your thoughts.”

  She leaned forward, took the cherry between her lips and plucked the fruit from the stem between his fingers. “Mmm.” If only she could accomplish everything she wanted by simply making a request. “I didn’t find any additional clues to my identity in the bedroom, either.” She swallowed the cherry with a small sigh. “This house reminds me of a model home.”

  “Because of the decorating?”

  “Because there’s no mail, no magazines, no pictures.” And she still hadn’t found her missing gun. “This house could belong to anyone. It’s a showpiece without warmth.”

  “I don’t know.” His eyes twinkled. “It seems middling warm to me. Of course, you could raise the temperature if you sat here.” He patted the spot on the sofa beside him.

  Something in his blue eyes dared her to take a chance. After that brief kiss, cuddling against him held an appeal too strong to deny. But even as she scooted beside him, her thigh pressed to his, she wondered if encouraging him was a mistake. His charm could distract her when she should be concentrating on finding out who had threatened her. “You realize I could be married.”

  “I don’t think so. You don’t wear a ring.” He spooned up the last of his hot fudge, a thoughtful glint in his eyes. “Did you find any male clothing in the bedroom? A pair of extralarge slippers beside the bed? A set of dentures by the bathroom sink?”

  “I might have been such a horrible wife, my husband moved out and left me.”

  It felt good to lean on him, and she put her problems aside for a moment. He curled his arm over her shoulder, and she snuggled against him, breathing in his spicy scent of bay rum cologne.

  He licked the last of the hot fudge off his spoon. “Then again, you might have murdered your exhusband and thrown away the gun.”

  She jerked in his arms and lightly punched his shoulder. “That’s not funny.”

  He didn’t let up his teasing. “Or maybe since the bill collectors call here in the middle of the night, you’re after my money.”

  Her body molded itself to his contours. Weary and yet oddly alive and optimistic, she sighed contentedly and let him cradle her against his side. “I didn’t think interns earned much.”

  “We don’t. My grandmother left me a trust fund.”

  She chuckled, enjoying the way he’d made light of her amnesia until her worries seemed ridiculous. And she appreciated that as appealing as the thought was, he wasn’t pressing her for another kiss. Right now she needed comfort—not raging hormones she was unprepared to handle. “So I faked my amnesia to meet a young and rich doctor?” She reached up to her bandage. “I assure you, if I was that hard up for a date, placing an ad in the personal section would have been easier. I can just see my ad now. ‘Wanted, rich intern who specializes in mystery women and has experience with baby boys.’”

  “Is that why you let me stay? My experience with children?”

  “Sure.” She swallowed the last bite of her ice cream, pushed away her thoughts of a stalker just outside her front door and teased him in return. “Do you want to play Mrs. Doubtfire?”

  He wiggled his brows. “I’d rather play doctor.”

  She laughed, her pulse racing, but she returned the topic to safer ground. “Where did you learn so much about kids?”

  She yawned, and it seemed natural to place her head on his shoulder. His hand soothingly caressed her upper arm. “I have six brothers and sisters.”

  “Let me guess. You’re the oldest.”

  “Yeah. Dad’s a cardiac surgeon. He wasn’t around much, so I used to help Mom with the little ones.”

  “And you intend to follow in your father’s footsteps?” She yawned again.

  He kissed her forehead. “Enough conversation, sleepyhead. I think you’re ready for bed. Don’t worry about me, I’ll take the couch.”

  “But—” She rose to her feet.

  He rested his palm in the small of her back and gave her a gentle push in the direction of her room. “Go. You need sleep. Doctor’s orders.”

  Exhausted, she did as he suggested, instinctively knowing Jeff wouldn’t come on to her unless she was ready. She looked in on Alex, who slept sucking his thumb. She admired a handmade pillow in bright colors that matched the draperies, thinking the room had been only half-prepared for a baby, since the shelves meant for toys were still empty. Too tired to dwell on what she couldn’t remember, she staggered to bed. The minute her head hit the pillow and she closed her eyes, she fell asleep.

  She awakened the next morning to the phone ringing on the nightstand. Opening her eyes, she sneaked a look at her clock. Seven a.m. Sleepily she reached for the receiver.

  “Hello.”

  “You aren’t still in bed?” The woman sounded horrified. “You’re late for the staff meeting. If you don’t leave soon, you’ll miss your eight-o’clock.”

  She bolted upright. Eight-o’clock what? The puzzle swept away the last of her sleepiness. Chelsea matched and identified the voice on the phone with the one on her answering machine. “Sandy?”

  “Yes.”

  “I had an accident yesterday.” Chelsea paused and thought hard. How much should she tell this woman?

  “Are you okay?” Sandy sounded efficient, not overly concerned.

  Oh, yeah, she was okay, all right. She’d lost her memory, discovered she was a mother, been attacked and received a threatening phone call. Life was just peachy.

  Chelsea kept her sarcasm to herself. “I’ve a few stitches in my scalp, nothing that won’t heal in a week.” She thought it odd the other woman didn
’t ask what happened, and continued, “But I’ve forgotten some things. The good news is the doctors expect my memory to return to normal in a day or two.”

  Alex started to fuss, but Chelsea heard Jeff’s footsteps and then his husky voice murmuring to the baby. She shouldn’t leave the care of the child to him, and yet this phone call was her first link to someone who could tell her something about her life. Sandy might even know why the phone caller last night had said Chelsea owed him or her.

  She gripped the receiver tighter. “Sandy, are we friends?”

  “When you hired me, you said we were to have only a business relationship. You wanted a secretary to do what she was told and to keep her nose out of your personal affairs.”

  Chelsea winced. “That sounds…cold.”

  “Our relationship is professional. Have I done something wrong?”

  “Uh, no. Nothing like that.” Unwilling to admit too much yet, Chelsea dug for more information. “Tell me about my eight-o’clock appointment.”

  “It’s with Mark Lindstrom at Benedict Academy.”

  Her secretary wasn’t exactly forthcoming with information. But then Chelsea was supposed to know the details. She opened a drawer to her nightstand and pulled out a pad and pen. Beneath the pad rested a personal phone directory. Finally! She’d found a clue that might lead her to discover what kind of trouble she was in. Her pulse raced at the possibilities.

  She forced her mind back to the conversation. “Can the meeting be delayed?”

  “Do you want to risk losing him? Surely you haven’t forgotten the near-fiasco the last time we put him off?”

  Of course she had forgotten. But forewarned, she wouldn’t repeat the mistake. Chelsea excitedly flipped pages while they spoke, realizing the book contained a wealth of information—if only she could decipher her notation system. “Memory of my recent business deals are a little shaky. What’s at stake?”

  Sandy sounded puzzled, as if she thought Chelsea was testing her. “The solvency of this firm depends upon your sewing up the account. Your appointment is crucial.”

  Great. Winding her finger around the phone cord, Chelsea contained a groan. She didn’t know what business she worked for or what her job was, but the firm could go bankrupt if she didn’t land the account. So what else could go wrong?

  She took a deep breath and let out the air slowly. “Please explain to Mr. Lindstrom that I spent yesterday afternoon in the hospital and ask him to reschedule for ten o’clock. I’ll just have to miss the staff meeting. Could someone fill me in?”

  Her remarks were met with a long, taut silence. She must have said something out of character.

  Finally Sandy spoke. “Without you, there is no staff meeting Have you forgotten you own Classy Creations?”

  Damn. She’d made a vital mistake. Now, despite her reluctance, she’d have to say more than she would have liked. “Uh, Sandy. I’m going to level with you. I’d appreciate if you keep what I’m about to say confidential.”

  “That’s why you hired me. I can keep a secret.”

  “Good. I have total amnesia.”

  Sandy gasped. “What happened?”

  “I’ll explain when I get to work. If there’s a problem with rescheduling Mr. Lindstrom, please get back to me. Otherwise, I’ll see you at ten.”

  “Yes, Ms. Connors.”

  Chelsea didn’t want to alarm her employee or make obvious changes until her memory returned. Yet at the same time she desperately needed her secretary to apprise her of the other employees, the business, her plans. In short, she needed a friend. “Sandy, how long have we known one another?”

  “Three years.”

  “Then call me Chelsea, okay?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Chelsea hung up the phone, wrote the name of her firm, Classy Creations, on a memo pad conveniently placed by her bed. She’d look up the company’s address in the phone book, call a cab and see what she could discover about her life. For the first time since she’d lost her memory, she was eager to go forward.

  With a good night’s sleep, the day seemed brighter, like an adventure about to begin. And last night’s horror she pushed to the back of her mind. The throbbing in her head had almost disappeared. She threw a bathrobe over her T-shirt and, with the personal planner in hand, she followed the smell of perking coffee to the kitchen.

  A pitcher of orange juice sat on the table. Waffles popped out of the toaster. Some hostess she was—she hadn’t even cooked breakfast or helped make up Jeff’s bed last night. She’d left him to find his own linens, and he was the one who’d gotten up to tend the baby.

  Jeff sat in the rocker feeding little Alex the last of a bottle. Alex wore a cute jumpsuit with a red-andwhite-striped shirt. Not only had Jeff fed the baby, but he’d probably changed his diaper, too.

  And he’d taken over her responsibilities without losing one whit of his masculine appeal. Jeff’s clothes weren’t the least bit rumpled, and she wondered if he’d slept in his shorts or nude.

  An image of his golden skin amid rumpled sheets heated her cheeks. Don’t think it, she sternly ordered herself. She couldn’t get involved—not until her memories returned and she knew her own mind. Not until she found out who was behind the attack at the hospital and the nasty phone call last night.

  With a charming smile, he glanced at her as she entered the kitchen. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

  “Yes.” After a few false starts, she found the right cabinets and took out plates, silverware and cups to set the table. “What about you? The sofa couldn’t have been comfortable.”

  “I can sleep anywhere. It’s a trick I learned to get through med school. But you have a guest bedroom. I slept next to Alex. The little guy didn’t let out a peep all night.”

  “How am I going to thank you for everything?” She waved her hand in a gesture that encompassed Alex.

  “I’ve been thinking about that.” In the soft morning light, Jeff’s blue eyes twinkled, looking more mischievous than she remembered. Recalling the solid feel of him against her on the couch, somehow she knew she’d enjoy whatever he’d conjure.

  Picking up Alex, Jeffrey placed him over his shoulder and rubbed the baby’s back. “Today is my last day of work before vacation. I intend to celebrate the end of this rotation over dinner at the Crab Café. Come with me?”

  “After all you’ve done, I should be cooking you dinner.” She frowned. “But then I’m not sure if I know how to cook.”

  He laughed, his rich chuckle bathing her in a warm glow. His skin was sun kissed, as if he’d spent the summer sailing on Chesapeake Bay and not in the hospital. But what she liked most about his features were the tiny laugh lines radiating from the corners of his brilliant blue eyes, crinkles that indicated he laughed easily and often.

  “I’ll pick you up at seven. You should be fine surrounded by co-workers.” His eyes blazed with banked embers. “But I’ll still be thinking about you.”

  His concern, mixed with decidedly male interest, shot a warm rush of heat through her. “Is the restaurant nearby?”

  “Actually it’s closer to town.”

  “No need for you to drive out of your way. Why don’t I meet you there?”

  Alex burped and drew their attention.

  “If you don’t have a sitter, bring the little guy, too.”

  She nodded agreement, her palms itching to carry the baby again. She yearned to cling to Alex fiercely, not because the baby needed reassuring, but because she ached to hold someone. “Here, I’ll take Alex so you can eat.”

  She went to Jeff, and he handed her the baby. She still held Alex a bit awkwardly but soon rearranged her arm in a natural position. His little body snuggled against her waist. Mimicking the way Jeff carried Alex, she almost felt comfortable.

  She half expected Alex to scream. But the baby seemed fascinated with her robe. His tiny fingers rubbed against the velour as if he couldn’t get enough of the silky feel.

  Did the baby miss his mother?
How horrible for Anne not to live long enough to see her child grow to adulthood. And the poor little fellow would never have memories of his birth mother.

  Chelsea vowed to find out all she could about Anne so she could tell Alex stories when he was old enough to understand. Hopefully the police would bring Anne’s murderer to justice long before Alex began asking awkward questions.

  Jeff spread a baby blanket over the floor and drew her from her thoughts. He placed a rattle and a stuffed teddy bear on the blanket. “You need to eat, too. Put him on his tummy by the toys. He’s too young to wiggle much.”

  She did as he said, oddly reluctant to release the soft bundle. “How long until he can crawl?”

  “Each baby is different. He’ll be up on his hands and knees rocking first. You’ll have plenty of warning before he’s mobile. Some babies are good wiggle worms, though Alex seems content to stay in one place for now. Enjoy it. Once he’s on the move, he’ll be a handful.”

  Over breakfast she ate and flipped through the pages of her appointment book. Apparently she used initials to identify people. W.B. and M.L. were used frequently, along with several others, and she guessed these to be business related.

  One notation did stick out. Two months ago, she’d written “Obsession,” circled it and underlined it three times. But she had no idea to what the word referred. It seemed both ironic and irritating that every time she learned something about herself, she had not fewer but more questions that needed answers.

  Trying to put the puzzle behind her, she told Jeff about Sandy’s call. And her missed eight-o’clock.

  “What are you going to do with Alex?” he asked.

  “Take him with me. Apparently I own the company, so I won’t be fired for lack of child care.”

  Jeff raised a cup of black coffee to his lips. “And what do you do for a living?”

  “I’m not sure. The name of the firm is Classy Creations.”

  “You could design anything from furniture to houses to clothes.”

  And “Obsession” could refer to the name of a perfume or a line of clothing, a book or even a movie.

  She paused, a piece of waffle drizzled with syrup halfway to her mouth, wishing she could decipher her shorthand notes on the calendar inside the personal planner. “My secretary said this meeting is important. After I find my office, am I going to know how to do my job?”