Borrowed Baby (2 page)

"No, of course not, but..." Her voice trailed off as she looked up at him, confused.

Griff allowed a small smile to appear beneath the trim, dark brown mustache. "Lady, you look like you've already got enough trouble, what with four kids—"

"Four?" Her brows jumped together as her head swung around, the freshly made ponytail slicing the air as she turned. "I had five when I started out."

"Get off me, Nathan!" a muffled voice cried. Winston.

She turned back around. "Five," she asserted, relieved.

"Five," Griff echoed dubiously and shook his head. He had thought the day of the large family had gone. After seeing this family in action, he could well understand why that particular setup was becoming extinct.

He tipped his hat and took a step back from her car. "Drive carefully."

She grinned at him. The man had a heart after all. You learn something everyday. "Definitely," she promised with a wink.

That wink was most likely what had gotten her pregnant in the first place, he thought. It had "sexy" written all over it. Her husband probably couldn't keep his hands off her. Not that he blamed him. Looking somewhat apprehensive and harried, there was still something captivatingly attractive about the woman.

Griff turned and walked back to his car. Seating himself behind the steering wheel, he watched and waited for her to pull away.

Liz waved at him, feeling almost giddy at the reprieve. Then, turning on her ignition again, she was on her way, ready to rescue her about-to-be-burnt cake. The argument in the back seat had resumed, but she barely paid any attention.

Griff shook his head. He must be getting soft in his old age. Either that or the taco had gone to his brain and done serious damage. Muttering a disparaging comment, Griff turned his patrol car toward the station off Jamboree. He rubbed his stomach, making small, concentric circles with his large hand. It didn't help.

Under normal circumstances, he would have given the woman a ticket even if she had so many children that she had to strap them to the roof of her car. Maybe he was just having an off day. Or maybe it was the fact that her eyes reminded him of Sally. Not the shade so much as the wide-eyed innocence. Of course, a woman with five children could hardly be called innocent by any stretch of the imagination.

What the hell, one ticket wouldn't make or break the department and it wasn't as if she had flagrantly disregarded the stop sign. Rolling stops were just possibly the main source of revenue in Bedford. Overlooking one was no big deal.

Still, he was surprised at himself. He had never looked the other way before. He believed in rules and regulations. That was why he had become a policeman in the first place. Without structure, without order, there was nothing, he reminded himself as he pulled up in front of the precinct. Everyone needed structure in their lives, even if they had nothing else.

Nodding at several officers on their way out, Griff walked into the newly constructed building adjacent to the new city hall. The city had only been incorporated for eighteen years. Everything was new in Bedford. Only he felt old. An odd way to be at twenty-seven, he thought darkly as fragments from his past came and went through his mind.

"Hey, Griff, why so glum? Couldn't find anyone speeding today?" C. W. Linquist called out as Griff walked by him on the way to the locker room.

"Nope, just another peaceful day in paradise," Griff quipped.

C. W. followed him into the locker room. The sound of running water was heard from the shower area as officers coming off duty prepared to meet more pleasurable challenges that evening.

C.W. nodded toward the showers. "Hey, how about joining Ernie and me tonight? Ernie found a great singles' club. We're trying it on for size right after we grab a bite to eat. Might find something there to take the starch out of your mustache." C.W. nudged him. Five years older and a full six inches shorter, C.W.'s elbow dug into Griff's waist.

Griff opened his locker and took out the shirt he had left hanging there. "I like my mustache starched, C. W. Thanks just the same."

He stripped off his uniform shirt and tossed it into his duffel bag. Griff saw C.W. looking at the taut, muscular torso with unabashed envy. While the rest of them indulged in pizza, Griff spent his time in the gym.

C.W. straddled the bench as he pulled off his shoes and dropped them into his locker with a thud. "C'mon, Griff. I never see you go out with the ladies. Don't you ever like to cut loose?"

Griff tucked his fresh shirt into the waistband of his jeans. "No, it takes the edge off."

"Someday, fella," C.w. predicted, ''that edge is going to slice you in half."

Griff didn't care to be analyzed, especially not when he was suffering with hearburn. "Well, then that'll be my concern, won't it?" He picked up his bag and headed toward the door.

"You know your problem?" C.W. called after him. "You think life's too serious."

Griff stopped at the double doors and turned to look over his shoulder at the slightly overweight, redheaded policeman. "Well, isn't it?"%

C.W. shook his head. "No, it's what you make it, Griff."

"Yes," Griff agreed, leaving. "It is."

He supposed that he could have gone along with C.W. and Ernie, Griff thought as he drove home. After all, the man didn't mean any harm. He was just trying to be friendly. But being friendly didn't really have a place in Griff's life. He wasn't certain that he even knew how to be friendly anymore. Polite, yes. Civil, definitely, but friendly? Spending an evening exchanging small talk about trivialities that neither person really cared about? That was just a waste of his time, a waste of effort. And he had wasted far too much effort trying to make contact in his lifetime, had tried too hard and wouldn't think about trying again.

He learned his lessons well.

It was growing dark earlier and earlier now that Christmas was drawing near. Hardly four o'clock and dusk was quickly approaching. He thought again of the woman he had failed to ticket today. C.W. would probably have tried to make a little time with her, undoubtedly flirting outrageously. C.W. wouldn't be hampered by the fact that the woman was obviously married and the mother of four, no five, Griff corrected himself, remembering the muffled voice that called out from beneath one of the other boys.

Why would someone so young want to tie herself down with so many kids? he wondered.

Love, a small voice within him seemed to whisper.

Griff's thoughts came to an abrupt halt. Where had that come from? He would have thought that he'd grown sufficiently past notions like that. Besides, that many kids didn't mean love—it meant pandemonium.

He drove into his development and found himself taking the long road toward his block. Curiosity prompted him to drive down Chambers Street. He saw the dusty yellow Honda parked in the driveway. He slowed down then drove on. There was no reason to hurry. There was nothing waiting for him at home. Nothing and no one. No attachments. And that was just the way he wánted it.

His life was exactly the way he wanted it. He was aware that he stated the fact to himself a bit too emphatically, but dismissed it.

When he turned onto his block and neared his tidy, three-bedroom house, he was surprised to see that there was someone standing on his front steps, waiting. At first glance, he thought it might be the woman  he had stopped, but he rejected the idea as being absurd. She had no way of knowing where he lived. Besides, there was no reason for her to seek him out. He hadn't given her a ticket.

He squinted slightly. The fading light made it difficult to distinguish the figure at first. And then...

The last fifteen feet to his driveway unfolded in slow motion as he suddenly recognized the person standing before his house.

Sally.

After all this time. Sally.

For a moment, he was transported back in time. Once again, it was just Sally and Griff, Griff and Sally. Two against the world. Tough odds, but he had beaten them. He had managed to keep them together, from foster home to foster home.

As far back as he could remember, he was all that Sally had had. And she was all he had.

Vaguely, he remembered a limp-looking woman with tired eyes watching as a man beat him. He remembered biting his lip not to cry, not to cry so that Sally wouldn't be afraid. And then a tall, pretty lady who smiled and smelled of soap had come and taken him and Sally away, down a long, dim corridor. The beatings stopped after that. So did the rage and the hurt. And all the feelings. All but one. Protective- ness. He always felt that he had to protect Sally. She was so little. And she cried so easily. But she stopped crying when he sang to her. And she believed him when he said that things would get better. No matter what, Sally always believed.

Only he didn't.

Griff pulled up short and was out of the car, walking like a man in a daze. "Sally?"

The petite brunette nodded, flashing a brave smile. "Surprise." The small mouth trembled and the smile dissolved as tears suddenly formed. "Oh, Griff, I don't have anywhere to go!"

Griff put his arms around the sobbing girl he hadn't seen in two years and held his sister close. "Yes, you do. You're home."

But as he held her, he became aware that there was something between them, something Sally was holding. It squealed. Griff moved back abruptly as if he had been burned.

Sally was holding a baby.

Griff stared down at the bundle, dumbfounded. "Um, when did—?"

Sally pulled back the blanket from the child's face. "Six months ago. Griff," she said, her hopeful eyes on his face, "this is your niece, Cassandra."

It took Griff a full minute before the shock had passed and he could speak again. "Sally, we've got a lot of talking to do."

Chapter Two

Griff unlocked the front door feeling both sad and apprehensive. And angry. A baby. How could she have gotten herself into this much trouble? Glancing over his shoulder, he noticed that Sally stood in the open doorway, looking a little uncertain. The anger softened. "Nothing's changed since you left," he assured her.