“Eighteen months.”
“She can’t be mine,” he protested, unwilling to believe what Deb was saying.
“The certificate is in the diaper bag if you want to check,” Deb was saying. “And so is her health care card. You’ll need that if she gets sick.”
“Why didn’t Lila tell me about her?” he insisted as the baby squirmed. “She never said anything about this pregnancy.”
“She said you two never talked after you split.”
That much was true. Lila’s petition for divorce had been a shock, but at the same time a small relief. In spite of his last-ditch effort to keep the marriage going, when he’d received the papers he’d decided not to contest it. Nor had he had any desire to be in contact with her.
The proceedings had been a financial drain. Once Denny had walked away from Lila with precious little in the bank and a bitter taste in his mouth after having to sell the family ranch, he couldn’t face her again. Apparently the feeling had been mutual. He’d never heard from her over the past two years.
“I told her to tell you but she said something about how you wouldn’t believe her. But I pushed and she promised me she would. Obviously she didn’t.” Deb shot a pointed look at the little girl in his arms.
“Anyhow, when she got sick I took care of Ella, but I got another job and another boyfriend and can’t take care of the munchkin anymore. You know me. Not crazy about kids. Then I figured, hey, she’s your kid. You should be the one to do it. Took me a bit to track you down, and so here you are. Clothes are in the suitcase, diapers in the bag. She drinks out of a sippy cup and doesn’t like strawberries. There’s more info on a paper in the suitcase.”
Denny’s brain spun a few more times as he tried to regain his balance. Tried to regain control of the situation.
“What about your parents? Do they know about this?”
“Of course they do. But they told me that I had to do the right thing and find you. Besides, after Lila died, they left on some project out in Bolivia. Can’t get hold of them until they call me. And they won’t be back for about a month or so. So here I am.”
The information she threw at him was like a landslide. One thing after another, leaving him feeling buried.
“How did you find me?” was all he got out as the little girl wriggled in his arms.
“My boyfriend’s friend did some carpentry work for a guy who drove a truck. We met him at a bar. Found out the guy used to work for you. He gave us your number.”
Might have been Stewart, a driver he had fired a couple months back. Probably had it in for him, Denny thought. Awesome.
Then the little girl whimpered and he jiggled her, still not sure what he was supposed to do, trying to find a way to reason with Lila’s sister. Trying to wrap his head around Lila’s death.
Then Deb took a step back and waggled her fingers at the child. “Be good for Daddy, Ella,” she said. Then, without another word, she turned and strode down the hallway and around the corner.
What? She was leaving the baby behind?
Denny looked from the now-empty hallway to the howling little girl, trying to figure out which emotion to hang on to. Fear. Anger. Confusion.
Concern for the little girl in his arms.
“Deb,” he called out, “come back here. We need to talk about this. This can’t be my baby.”
But the only thing he heard was the echo of Ella’s pathetic cries.
Of course his phone would chime right then. He yanked it out of his pocket as if hoping to find some answers there. But it was just his sister Olivia. Asking him to send her money again.
He’d deal with that later.
Then the door to the bookstore opened and there stood Evangeline, her shining hair flowing in waves over her shoulders, her white dress giving her an ethereal look.
And she was looking at him as if he was crazy.
“Everything okay?” she asked, though clearly she could see it wasn’t. He was holding a crying baby and yelling at an empty hallway.
Denny looked from Evangeline to Ella and felt his heart sink.
What was he supposed to do with a baby?
Chapter Three
“Do you need a hand?” Evangeline asked, the howls of the little girl catching at her heart.
She had heard a commotion in the hallway and, curious, had stepped out just in time to hear a baby crying. Then she saw the little girl in Denny’s arms and heard him calling out to someone named Deb.
The baby was screaming now, batting at Denny with her hands.
Denny looked as if someone had punched him in the stomach. He leaned against the doorjamb like a sailor on a storm-tossed boat clinging to a mast.
Pity rushed through her at his confusion.
“Yeah. No.” He grabbed his head with his free hand, tousled his long, thick hair, then shook his head.
The child’s howls were piercing. She flailed, arching her back, looking wildly around as if seeking a familiar face. Denny patted her back with one huge hand, looking completely at a loss.
Big, fat tears spilled down the little girl’s cheeks and her sorrow caught at Evangeline’s heart.
Without thinking, she took the little bundle of brokenhearted humanity out of Denny’s arms and held her close.
Then she caught a whiff of something unpleasant.
“She needs a clean diaper,” Evangeline said.
Denny dragged his hand over his face and looked down at the bag lying at his feet.
“Deb said something about diapers in here,” he mumbled, his eyes flicking from the bag to the empty hallway as if hoping this Deb person would return.
“Give me a minute,” Evangeline said, rocking the child as she walked back into her store. It was almost closing time anyway, so she locked up and turned the sign over. She’d get the lights later.
Then she walked back through the quiet store, the little girl’s sobs subsiding somewhat.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Evangeline cooed, holding her close as she walked back to the apartment. Denny was still standing in the hallway, looking as stunned as he had a few moments ago.
“Let’s get her cleaned up,” Evangeline said, cutting him a quick glance. “Bring the bag to the bathroom. I’ll take care of this.”
Sticky hands clung to her and Evangeline’s heart stuttered as she held the little girl close. Poor little person, she thought, clearly remembering the times she’d gotten dumped, in this very building, on her aunt’s doorstep upstairs when her father decided it was time to go.
She had been a lot older but often just as upset.
“It’s okay. It’s okay,” she murmured, rocking the baby as her sobs slowly subsided into hiccups. Then, when she took in a last, shuddering cry, Evangeline gently pulled back, her hand on the little girl’s shoulder.
Chocolate-brown eyes, the same color as Denny’s, stared back at her, tears still sparkling on eyelashes as long and thick as Denny’s.
“This can’t be my baby,” she had heard him yell. But in spite of his protest the little girl bore a striking resemblance to him.
“Here’s the bag,” Denny said from behind her.
Evangeline nodded, gently laying the baby on the counter.