When his office door opened, Quentin was relieved that he didn’t have to pursue his last thought. Then he noticed the grim look on the sheriff’s face. Tucker Malone was tall, imposing and probably intimidating to someone on the wrong side of the law. His brown hair showed silver at his temples. His eyes, the color of dark chocolate, hid secrets that Quentin had a feeling were painful. Not a stretch, since he’d been an undercover detective for the Chicago police department. Quentin didn’t know the sheriff well, but he liked and respected him.
He held out his hand. “Good morning, Tucker.”
“Quentin,” the sheriff answered, firmly clasping his outstretched hand.
“Have a seat,” he said, indicating one of the leather wing chairs resting in front of his desk. Then he sat down on the other side.
“Thanks. But this isn’t a social call,” the sheriff answered, lowering himself into the chair.
“Oh?”
“It’s about the twins abandoned at the day-care center.”
Quentin had heard that the sheriff had been called in because no one had claimed the babies. Since then, Tucker had been following up every lead. But Quentin had no idea why he’d come to see him. He had no information to aid in the search.
Tucker cleared his throat. “There was a rattle found with the twins’ belongings when they were left at Hannah’s.”
“I didn’t know that.”
He nodded. “Good. I’ve been trying to keep details quiet. Cleaner that way.”
“Did it lead you to the mother?”
“No. But maybe the father.” The man’s piercing gaze never wavered.
Quentin tensed as he went cold inside. “What are you implying?”
Tucker pulled a long-handled, tarnished metal rattle from his shirt pocket. “I think this might belong to you. It’s silver. Expensive. And has the McCormack crest on it.”
“Are you sure?” Quentin asked. Stunned didn’t come close to describing how he felt.
“The markings are faint so it took me a while to place it. But you’d know best.” He held it out.
Quentin hesitated a moment. “Will I smudge any fingerprints?”
One corner of the sheriff’s mouth turned up. “You’ve been watching too many cop shows on TV.” He shook his head. “It was dusted for prints, but we couldn’t get a clean set.”
Quentin took the rattle and examined it. Several moments later anger sliced through him as he recognized the nearly worn-away family crest. What the hell was going on? “This is a McCormack heirloom, all right.”
“Any idea why it was with the twins?”
He shook his head. “Not a clue.”
“Would it have something to do with you being their father?” Tucker asked grimly.
“No.”
“That’s it?”
“I can do self-righteous indignation as well as the next guy. I could raise my voice and pound on the desk, but it wouldn’t make my answer any more true. I’m responsible about that sort of thing.” He remembered using almost the same words to Dana. “I’m as certain as I can be that I have not fathered any children—let alone the boy and girl left at Hannah’s.”
“I’d like to keep the rattle. It’s still evidence,” Tucker explained. Quentin handed it over. Some of the sheriff’s tension seemed to ease as he took the long silver handle and replaced it in his pocket. “You didn’t give the rattle to anyone?”
“No.”
“Do you have any idea how it came to be with the babies?”
“No.”
“Who would have access to it on the estate?”
“Everyone who comes into the house. There’s a display of heirlooms in one of the bedrooms. And you’ve been in Storkville long enough to know that there are numerous social and charitable functions held at the McCormack estate. I’ll check with my mother and see if she’s noticed anything missing.”
He nodded. “You do that. In the meantime, you might want to have a DNA test.”
“But I—”
“If you’re innocent, Quentin, you have nothing to worry about. Why not take steps to clear your name? It’s the only way to be sure.”
The man had a point. “I’ll call the lab and make an appointment.”
Tucker stood up. “Good.” He went to the door, and started to turn the knob. “Quentin?”
“Sheriff?”
“I just want you to know that I’m keeping this investigation as quiet as I can.”
“Thanks, Tucker.”
“I’m not doing it for you. I don’t want this case compromised by publicity. If it’s the last thing I do, I will find out who those kids belong to.” His voice was laced with anger and something that felt like regret.
Then he was gone.
Quentin ran his hand through his hair. In spite of his own denials, he realized that there was a good chance the sheriff believed he had abandoned those babies. If he was ever lucky enough to have children, no way would he turn his back on them. Still, it was a good thing he’d made his donation to Hannah’s day-care center anonymously. That information, along with the rattle, would probably convince Storkville’s lawman that he was guilty beyond a doubt.
He didn’t care what Tucker Malone thought. But if Dana Hewitt heard of the suspicions regarding him, what would she think? Nothing good, he figured. And he realized he wanted her favorable opinion. He picked up the phone. One DNA test ASAP.
After hours, Quentin looked out his office window. The day had started out with a visit from the sheriff and had gone downhill from there. He was glad it was over.
He studied the lights in businesses up and down Main Street. He could almost see Bassinets & Booties from here. A vision filled his head: mahogany hair, gray eyes, full lips. Dana. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman he’d tried to forget after their first meeting.
“Mission impossible,” he said ruefully.
Since their encounter the previous evening, his thoughts of Dana had heated up. And not just because she’d baptized him with the contents of her coffee cup. He’d spent a restless night dreaming of running his hands through her hair, kissing her until they both went up in flames. His intercom buzzed, startling him.
He swiveled his chair away from the window and answered. “Yes, Doleen?”
“You have a visitor.”
He wasn’t expecting anyone. This was the way his day had started. He groaned. Not Sheriff Malone again. Since he wasn’t the babies’ father, what more could there be to talk about? His stomach knotted when he remembered his own secret. Had Tucker discovered that he was the day-care center’s anonymous benefactor?
“Who is it?” he demanded, dreading the answer.
“A woman and three adorable children,” Doleen answered, a smile in her voice.
Dana and her kids, he thought. He’d tried all day to shake his dismal mood. Now he was as excited as a teenage boy going to the prom with the most popular girl in school.
“Send them in,” he said.
A moment later, his office door opened and Lukie raced toward him. Quentin stood in