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Authors: Francis Ray

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The soft smile on her face shook him. She had no idea how alluring she was to him or how much he wanted her. He was unsure of when his protectiveness of this one woman had begun to change into something
deeper, more intense than it had been before. Perhaps it had started the morning she thrust Manda into his arms and she had been so frightened.
Whenever, he had to get a handle on it. She only wanted his friendship, though at times he knew she wasn't sure she even wanted that. “Manda's been fed, bathed, and is in bed asleep. I'll get out of your way so you can get to bed.”
Her lips twitched. “I'm rather surprised I'm not in bed already.”
Zachary's breath caught as a vision popped into his head of them together on her wide bed, locked in each other's arms, his mouth on hers, their bodies straining to get closer.
Heat and a burning desire licked through his veins. “You looked so comfortable I didn't want to chance waking you by moving you.”
Liar
.
“Thanks.” Her face became shadowed. “Sleep is difficult at times.”
The need to hold and comfort her was suddenly overwhelming. He started toward her with the full intention of gathering her into his arms, kissing her, showing her that she was desired, wanted. He reached for her.
Her eyes fastened on his and he realized just in time what he had been about to do. Lightly he brushed his thumb across her cheek. He couldn't help himself. “Give yourself time.” He stepped back. “Good night.” Without a backward glance he left—unaware that Madison had lifted her hand to her cheek, unaware that it was the first time in over a year that a man had touched her with such aching tenderness.
 
 
Zachary arrived Sunday afternoon and took them to the Sonic drive-in for ice cream. Manda got it all over herself, Madison, and Zachary and thoroughly enjoyed doing so. It had taken a handful of napkins and Zachary's handkerchief to get her face and hands cleaned. Madison laughed the whole time.
“Sorry, I didn't know she'd get it all over your clothes. Guess we should have brought wet wipes.” Zachary chuckled. “I'll pay for the dry-cleaning.”
Madison started to tell him not to worry about her blouse, but the sound of the children laughing in the car next to them had her turning in that direction. Two little girls who looked to be no more than three or four years old were playing in the back while a young couple smiled indulgently in the front.
Were they as happy as they seemed or were they pretending, as she and Wes had done? Did they pretend to be faithful to one another, then go off with their lovers as Wes had done? Was he there when she needed him or, like Wes, did the man let the job take priority over his wife and their children?
Anger swirled though Madison. She looked away. Wes hadn't been there for their baby, yet he expected her to care for his baby by another woman.
“Have you contacted a private adoption agency yet?” she asked, her voice tightly controlled and devoid of emotion.
Everything in Zachary went still. “Mad—”
As if aware she wasn't going to like what he had to say, she cut him off. “Yes or no?”
“No.”
“Then, please do. I want this over in a couple of weeks.” Not wanting to see the disapproval in his face, she gathered up the soiled napkins. She was doing the right thing. She knew she was. “Manda going to live with another family is best. They'll never treat her differently because of who her father was … as I might.”
“You wouldn't do that.”
“You can't be sure of that any more than I am.” She began putting the used paper products in the holder their food had come in. “If you're finished, I think we should go back. It's time for Manda's nap.”
Zachary didn't say anything, just took the things from her, added his own trash, and got out of the truck to place it in the garbage can. Madison saw the slump of his shoulders, the weary way he walked. She glanced down at Manda. “I'm sorry, Manda. I'm just not sure I can do this right. Zachary is asking too much of me.”
As if aware of the seriousness of the situation, the baby simply stared. Madison felt tears prick her eyes. This was the right thing to do. She just wished it didn't make her feel so alone and petty.
T
UESDAY MORNING GORDON GLANCED at Camille Jacobs's business card, then back at the woman. She was well worth taking a second look. Cool and serene, she still gave off an aura of sexuality that had a man's mind wandering where it shouldn't go. Especially a man his age.
“Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Armstrong.”
The voice was low, hushed, the kind that whispered naughty things in a man's ear. He glanced at the card again. Nothing about her went with what he'd expect of a woman working in her profession. The navy-blue suit was prim enough, but the skirt just above the knee showed off a pair of great legs and trim ankles.
“You must be wondering why I'm here.”
He was wondering a great deal more than that. “I assume you'll tell me when you're ready.”
Camille tilted her head to one side. Gordon Armstrong wasn't what she'd expected. He was younger, for one thing, and much better looking. The gray scattered in his closely cropped black hair gave him a distinguished look, but it was the patience in his brown eyes that was most unexpected. People usually saw her card and either wanted to shove her out the door or know immediately who she was investigating.
“Are you aware that Madison Reed has assumed guardianship of Manda Taylor?”
“And who is Manda Taylor?”
Camille arched a brow. He'd answered her question, but managed to pose one of his own. “The child of the mother killed when Wes Reed stopped to render aid.”
“And what docs Madison's guardianship of a motherless child have to do with your department?” he asked.
“As the caseworker assigned the case it's my duty to ensure that this guardianship is the best for Manda,”
For the first time the brown eyes went hard. “So you're investigating Madison?”
Another question, and this time it was meant to intimidate. “Acquiring information.”
Pinning her with his gaze, Gordon tapped her card on his desk. “You've spoken to Madison, I suppose?”
“Yes.”
“When?” The question was sharp and accusing.
“Last Tuesday,” she answered, already bracing herself for his reaction.
“Four days after she buried her husband,” he flared, his black eyes pinning her to the spot. “What kind of woman are you?”
Camille didn't know how he'd managed to make a statement, accusation, and ask a question all in the same sentence, but he had. “It only takes a moment to inflict pain. It's my duty as a case—”
“And you think Madison would hurt a child?” His temper spiked.
“I don't know Madison Reed well enough to know what to think. That's why I'm here,” she answered calmly, despite the growing urge to defend herself.
“Madison is one of those special people who genuinely cares about others. It doesn't matter about race or social standing, wealth, or power, it's the individual. That's what keeps her show at the top and it's not fake. She's for real.” He stood. Six feet—plus of muscle and anger. “Good-bye, Ms. Jacobs.”
She's been tossed out before and would be again, but it didn't bother her any less. “I'd like permission to interview the other people who work on the show with her.”
“You don't need my permission to do that.”
“I do if I want to interview them while they're working. It would allow me to finish my report faster. But if your prefer, I can see them at their homes.”
He would have liked to toss her out on her shapely derriere. “I'll let you know tomorrow.” He came around the desk and opened the door. Picking up her bag, she started toward the door. She should have kept
going, but something in his gaze wouldn't let her. “I'm not Ms. Reed's enemy.”
“You sure aren't her friend, either.”
 
 
Louis Forbes's office was located in Highland Park, an address in Dallas that signified old money and the socially elite. In this exclusive area people thought nothing of buying a three-million-dollar house, then tearing it down to build a bigger, grander one. The name implied wealth, prestige, the A-list, “arrival” with a capital A. Louis Forbes counted himself in that number.
With a growing client list of the top names in the media and entertainment industry, Louis Forbes was accepted because of his connection to the famous people he represented. Rich was good, but rich and famous was even better, and name-dropping never went out of style.
“It's just like Madison to take in the baby even while she's devastated at Wes's death,” Louis Forbes said, sitting behind his swirl of glass desk in a two-thousand-dollar tailor-made suit. “Her good heart is what makes her show so popular.”
Camille studied Madison Reed's agent and felt as if she were being given a press release. He'd said all the right things, with just the right amount of concern and grief, but the genuine warmth she'd felt when talking with Gordon Armstrong wasn't there.
“Then you'll agree that she's a busy woman and about to get busier,” Camille said.
Louis eased back in his expensive leather chair, his grin wide and patronizing. “I'm sure you've heard that Rosie O'Donnell adopted three babies, and Ricki Lake has two kids. Having babies hasn't stopped them. It wouldn't be a problem for me to get the studio to hire a full-time nanny. Babies enhance and round out a woman's life, don't you think?”
Camille could almost see the wheels clicking in his condescending brain.
“Devastated talk-show host takes in motherless infant.”
It would make great press. Had that been Madison's intention? Camille hadn't thought so at first. “A nanny can't substitute for the mother.”
“No, no,” he quickly said, rocking forward in his seat. “I didn't mean that and since you said you've spoken with Madison, you know she's a hands-on kind of person.”
Interesting
, Camille thought. She hadn't thought that at all. “So you're saying Madison would assume the majority of caring for Manda herself.”
His grin came back, quick and full of confidence. “Exactly. Madison would smother the baby with love. Being with Madison is the best place that baby can be. I'll be happy to testify to that in court.”
Camille lifted an eyebrow. “Do you have some reason to think this case might go to court?”
Louis almost swallowed his tongue trying to backtrack. “No. No. I simply meant that I'd be willing to swear that Madison has the child's best interest at heart.”
I just bet you would
, Camille thought.
More press
. “I see. Thank you, Mr. Forbes, you've been very helpful.”
The smile came again. “You're welcome. Come back anytime.”
Camille reached for her bag on the floor and stood. “Thank you, I just might take you up on that.”
Louis waited until he was positive Camille Jacobs had enough time to leave the outer office before he buzzed his secretary. “Call Helen Bass at Channel 7 and tell her I have a scoop for her if I can go live on her
Noon Day
show Friday at the latest or it goes to Freeman at Channel 10. Tell her it's about fellow co-worker Madison Reed.”
 
 
“Why didn't you tell me?” Gordon demanded the instant Madison answered the door.
“Hello to you too, and tell you what?” Madison greeted, smiling up at Gordon.
He brushed by her, then glanced down the hallway and into the living room. “Where is she?”
The smile slid from her face. Muscles clenched in her stomach. “H-how did you find out?”
“Camille Jacobs,” he answered tightly, still annoyed that he had found the muckraker attractive. “She just left my office, but she wants to interview your show's production crew.”
“You can't allow her to do that!” Madison said, fear creeping over her.
“There's nothing I can do. I've already spoken to the station lawyers,” Gordon said. “The best I could do was put her off until Friday.”
Her stomach knotted. She should have realized that the child welfare
worker would interview people she knew. She had wanted to keep this quiet; now everyone would know. How long before speculation would begin about the parentage of the child? Did someone know already?
“Madison?” Gordon's hands closed gently around her arms. “Talk to me. Tell me what is going on.”
“I—I …” She trusted Gordon, but if she hadn't been able to tell him about her failing marriage, she certainly couldn't tell him about Wes's infidelity. “I need to call Zachary.”
She went to the nearest phone in the den and picked it up. The silence of the dead line mocked her. Down on her knees, she reached behind the end table for the line to reconnect the phone.
“Madison, what is it?”
Madison watched him watching her and saw the concern in Gordon's eyes. She was acting irrational, but Zachary had to do something. She hadn't bargained on this becoming public knowledge.
Moving her trembling hands aside, Gordon reconnected the phone. But before Madison could dial, he took her hands in his. “So what's the story about your houseguest?”
Madison followed the direction of his gaze to Manda asleep in the playpen. She had finally drifted off after her feeding at noon. They were establishing a routine that now included storytime after lunch and at bedtime.
“Didn't the social worker tell you?” Madison evaded.
By the narrowed look in Gordon's eyes he knew what she was doing. “I'd like to hear it from you.”
Think, Madison
. “She has no one except an elderly great-aunt in Amarillo.” She moistened her dry lips. “We both lost. I—I thought we might help each other.”
He studied her a long time. “Are you sure this is a wise decision?”
Her heart thumped. “What do you mean?”
“Come on and sit down and stop looking at me as if I'm the enemy. If the child is what you want, you have my support, but I want you to be sure.” Leading her to the nearby couch, he pulled her down beside him. “This is going to sound hard and cruel, but I have to ask. Are you trying to substitute her for the baby you lost?”
Bracing for a question about Manda's paternity, Madison hadn't expected this one. But since Madison had repeatedly asked herself the same
thing she had an answer. “No. No child will ever be able to replace the baby I lost. She was irreplaceable.”
“Come here.” He pulled her to him, his head bent to hers. “I had to ask.” He lifted his head and smiled. “Looks like introductions are in order.”
Madison looked over to find Manda standing in her playpen, her eyes wide and wary. Madison picked her up, then came back and sat next to Gordon. “This is Manda Taylor.”
Gordon reached a single finger toward the baby, but she shrank against Madison, her thumb going into her mouth. “She doesn't like strangers.”
“It's all right. Poor thing,” Gordon said, his face thoughtful. “Adrian and Adair were three when Karen died. Both stopped talking and started wetting the bed. It was tough on all of us.”
“But you made it through,” Madison said, unconsciously rubbing Manda's back in reassurance. “You kept it together. The twins are well adjusted, happy young adults who aren't afraid of tackling the world,” she said, referring to Gordon's eighteen-year-olds who were sophomore journalism majors at Howard University in D.C. Both maintained a 4.0 gradepoint average.
“I'm proud of them both, but if they get their tongues pierced as they keep threatening to do, you may have two more guests,” Gordon said, only half joking.
Feeling more at ease, Madison smiled. “You know you can't wait for them to come home from their internship at the newspaper in Austin.”

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