“Don’t be silly,” she said briskly, determined to stick to her non-involvement policy. “I just met her. What can I do?”
“Help me figure out why she won’t stop crying. She’s been like this since I got her.”
Breanna stared up at Maggie with water-filled eyes and hiccuped her sobs. Maggie steeled herself against the tears, but when the little girl dropped to all fours and crawled forward until she grabbed Maggie’s pant leg and pulled herself upright, Maggie knew she couldn’t walk away.
She cast a disparaging glance at Joe before crouching down to the little girl’s level. “Hi sweetie,” she crooned. “What’s wrong?”
Immediately, Breanna raised her arms and sniffled.
Maggie’s heart hadn’t hardened enough to deny this precious and clearly unhappy baby a hug. Giving in to the inevitable, she lifted the youngster off the floor and tucked her expertly on one hip as she swiped Breanna’s tear-streaked face. “What’s wrong with your world, little one?”
Breanna laid her head on Maggie’s shoulder and quieted.
Joe mumbled something under his breath—something that sounded like ‘what wasn’t wrong?’
“What did you say?” she asked.
He rubbed his face at the same time his shoulders seemed to slump as if in relief. “Nothing.” Then, “She likes you.”
Maggie would have been perfectly satisfied if the little girl had ignored her and crawled in the opposite direction. “She just recognizes a soft touch.”
“Soft touch or not, do you mind staying for a while? Until she settles down for longer than thirty seconds and my ears stop ringing?”
She wanted to refuse, but his hopeful expression, coupled with her own goal to begin building some sort of rapport with him, convinced her to agree. “OK, but only for a few minutes.”
“Great. Have a seat while I fix her breakfast.”
Maggie followed him into a small kitchen where the sink was overflowing with dirty dishes. From the way he paused to frown, then sigh at the sight, she suspected he was normally as meticulous in his house as he was on the job. Clearly, his daughter had upset his entire routine and style of living.
She sat at a table covered with pizza boxes and take-out containers as the little girl clung to her like a sandburr; nothing short of something drastic would convince her to let go, so Maggie simply let her hang on.
“To be honest, I expected to find you with your head in the toilet, not taking care of a baby,” she commented, politely ignoring the mess.
“After the past two days, I wish you had,” he said dourly.
Maggie chuckled, somewhat amused that she was finally seeing a different side to the organized, everything-in-its-place Joseph Donatelli. “It can’t have been that bad.”
“It was worse,” he said glumly, rubbing the two days’ worth of dark whiskers on his face before he began preparing baby formula with actions testifying to an obvious lack of experience. “I haven’t slept for more than a few hours at a time and neither has she. I honestly don’t know how she has the energy to keep going.”
Strangely enough, his less-than-immaculate appearance only made him seem more human, more vulnerable, and far more appealing than he already was. He looked like a man in desperate need of a woman’s touch and she had to stop herself from wanting to be the one to give it to him. As much as she hated to think that he’d denied his own child, she couldn’t ignore the way he had to read directions for such a simple task. OK, so he didn’t talk about his daughter, but maybe he had a good excuse…Maybe her mother lived in another state; maybe he didn’t have access to his child until now, maybe it was too painful to discuss a baby who wasn’t a part of his life. But whatever the reason, as her partner, he deserved the benefit of the doubt.
“You haven’t done this very often, have you?” she asked softly, noticing how he spilled the formula as he poured it into a bottle and struggled to attach the nipple.
“Clearly, my incompetence shows,” he said wryly.
“I wouldn’t call it incompetence,” she said, trying to minimize his obvious failing. “Awkwardness, perhaps, but if you do anything often enough, it will become second nature. Before long, you’ll be able to fix her formula in your sleep.”
He cast a baleful glance in her direction. “Mixing formula is one thing. Understanding what to do to keep her from crying all day long is another.”
“Given enough time, you’ll learn that, too,” she predicted. “Didn’t you spend any time with her while her mom was around so she’d learn you weren’t a stranger?”
“No.”
“Then maybe you should call her and explain the problems you’re having,” she suggested. “She may—”
“No.” He shook his head for emphasis. “I can’t.”
How typical of the Joe Donatelli she knew. He could never admit failure, never admit he might be wrong or couldn’t handle a situation. She wanted to think his Italian heritage came into play, but she had enough males in her family to suspect his stubbornness was just a guy thing.
“Of course you can,” she said impatiently. “Admitting you’re out of your depth isn’t the end of the world.”
“Her mother’s dead,” he said flatly. “I’m on my own.”
Dead? He had a far bigger problem than she’d realized…“I’m sorry,” she murmured.
He raked his hair with one hand. “That makes two of us.”
“I assume it was recent,” she said slowly, testing his reaction.
Silently, he brought a small bowl of baby cereal and a jar of strained peaches to the table, then mixed some of the formula into the cereal. His jaw was clenched, and Maggie waited for his answer.
Finally, he nodded. “A week ago. Car accident on the other side of town. She apparently hydroplaned and struck a telephone pole.”
Maggie thought for a moment. “Oh, yes. I remember reading about the accident in the newspaper. That was Breanna’s mother?”
“Yeah,” he admitted gruffly. “That was Dee.”
“If I remember right, the guys from Station Two responded.”
“We did.”
Suddenly, it all became clear. He’d been more taciturn than usual on that particular Friday when they’d worked together. She’d assumed his grumpiness had been because he’d pulled an extra shift at Station Two on his regular day off to cover their staff shortage, but obviously she’d been wrong.
“And you were on the scene,” she guessed.
Again he nodded, his eyes bleak. “Yes.”
Maggie leaned back in her chair and stared at him as he began feeding Breanna, hardly able to reconcile everything she’d learned with her own perceptions. It was always difficult to lose a victim, but to know that individual on a personal level made it even more so. “I’m so sorry,” she said again. “You should have told us.”
“It wouldn’t have changed the final outcome.”
“No, but we could have supported you in your loss.” Then she added, “Do the guys at Station Two know?”
“I told them Dee and I were friends. Which we were.”
“Friends who had a baby.” Her mind raced with scenarios and possibilities of why Joe hadn’t told anyone about his daughter. Either he didn’t trust anyone with the information or he was as shallow in his relationships as Arthur had been. Neither option sat well.
“I