Cassidy's Kids. Tara Quinn Taylor

you don’t know how,” Megan said softly. But her eyes were filled with compassion, not blame. “Looking after children came naturally to you, sweetie, but you’ve been around babies all your life. And grew up with brothers and sisters. What kind of example did Sloan have?”

      None. Unless you could call a womanizing absentee father and an alcoholic mother role models.

      Beth hugged her knees up to her chest, facing the couch where Ellie still sat. “He’s got one hell of a lot of nerve coming to you,” she said.

      Ellie wanted to think so. She sat on the edge of the couch, her hands clasped between her knees.

      “And yet, who more natural for him to come to than the only person who’d ever taken the time to get to know the boy inside the man?” Megan said. “Especially a woman who’s a natural with children.”

      “I haven’t held a baby in more than ten years,” Ellie said. And then remembered. At least, not until a couple of nights ago. But one night of baby holding didn’t count.

      “Caring for children is not something you forget,” Megan said gently.

      “You think I should have told him I’d help?” Ellie asked, feeling like a little girl again, not wanting to disappoint her mother.

      “Not necessarily,” Megan replied, surprising her. “I’m just not sure I understand why you didn’t.”

      “Because the jerk broke her heart!” Beth jumped up and faced her mother.

      “They were friends, Beth. It’s not his fault Ellie fell so deeply in love with him.”

      “That’s ancient history.” Ellie stood, too. She wasn’t going to have them all feeling sorry for her again.

      “Then why’d you say no?” Megan asked again.

      “I don’t have time.”

      The excuse embarrassed Ellie even as she said it. She was busy, yes, but if no one else knew that she kept herself busy on purpose, Megan did. Her mother knew how much extra work, over and above her duties, Ellie had been doing at the clinic.

      Moving toward the bedroom half of the suite, Megan pulled down her comforter and fluffed the pillows on her side of the bed. “Life’s short, El,” she said.

      Ellie’s gaze wandered over to the side of the bed that had remained undisturbed every single night since her father’s death. It was almost as though the empty space offered some kind of comfort to her widowed mother, a testimony to the man who still owned the empty places in Megan’s heart.

      “You think I should help him,” Ellie said.

      “I don’t,” Beth protested. “At least, not if you don’t want to.”

      “I think you should do what you feel is right, Ellie. Just make sure you know what it is you really feel.”

      Her mother made it sound so easy.

      CHAPTER FOUR

      TIPTOEING PAST the nurse’s open door, Ellie slid into the nursery, unable to fight the urge to make this nocturnal visit. She hadn’t seen baby Cody up close since she’d held him the other night. But since she’d caught Chelsea spying on him, she’d needed to connect. To assure herself that he really was just fine.

      To find out why he was pulling at her all of a sudden.

      He didn’t have any answers for her.

      “I have to help Sloan just to shut up the press, to protect the family’s reputation,” she whispered softly to the sleeping baby. Cody found the excuse so flimsy that he didn’t even bother to acknowledge that she’d spoken, she thought wryly. Not with so much as a puckering of his baby brow. “Okay,” she continued softly, “part of me wants to help him.” She held her breath, waiting to see if the announcement garnered any reaction. It didn’t.

      Breathing a sigh of relief when Cody didn’t move, Ellie relaxed a bit. The truth wasn’t so shocking, after all. “There will have to be stipulations, of course,” she told the baby, her voice gathering confidence, if not volume. “I’ll only be able to offer whatever spare time I have. This can’t interfere in any way with my job at the clinic. With my long-term goals.”

      Cody didn’t disagree. His little tummy still rose and fell methodically with every breath he took. Ellie knelt down beside the crib, resting one hand on the baby’s mattress.

      “And I will in no way delude myself as to Sloan’s feelings for me this time,” she told him categorically. They had to be very clear on this point. “Loving him the first time almost killed me.”

      With a deep release of breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding, Ellie sat down on her heels. It felt damn good to finally get that confession off her chest.

      “You probably haven’t figured all of us out yet, but I’m pretty uptight as people go.” Confessing felt so good, she couldn’t seem to stop. “I tend to be serious—not fun and sexy like Beth.”

      Stopping to make certain that the baby wasn’t paying attention, that she wasn’t hurting his sensibilities by mentioning the sex thing, Ellie watched his little lashes where they lay against his cheek. He was so beautiful. So innocent and trusting.

      As were the little imps Sloan had had propped against his hips the other day.

      “I’m not going to fall in love with him again,” she told the sleeping infant. “Men like Sloan aren’t attracted to women like me—but that’s okay,” she added hurriedly. “I’m at peace with that. I have my family—which includes you, little man—and I have my job, which I love. Together you all make up the solid foundation upon which my life is based…”

      By the time Ellie finally returned to her bed, the night was half gone. But she spent the remainder of it enjoying a surprisingly peaceful sleep.

      SARA WALKED QUIETLY through the administrative department of Maitland Maternity, only vaguely aware of the hot take-out container warming her hands. Her boss, Shelby Lord, had asked her to deliver breakfast to R. J. Maitland, and she was going to do just that, in spite of the fact that the billionaire family intimidated the hell out of her.

      His secretary’s desk was empty. Shelby had said all she had to do was leave the eggs Benedict with Dana Dillinger. She hadn’t said the woman might not be at her desk.

      Damn. Now what did she do?

      Looking from the warm container—which wasn’t going to be warm indefinitely—to the cracked door of the president’s office, Sara shifted her weight from foot to foot.

      She might not know much at the moment, but she was fairly certain that R. J. Maitland wasn’t going to be too happy with cold eggs. She’d only been at the diner next door for a couple of days, but she’d already heard enough about the workaholic eldest Maitland sibling to know that much. She knew, also, that she needed her job—desperately. At the moment, it was all she had.

      “Excuse me, sir?” She pushed open the door.

      R. J. Maitland, bent over his desk, didn’t even look up.

      “I’ve brought your breakfast,” Sara tried again.

      He continued to scribble something across the page in front of him.

      Not knowing what else to do, and fretting about the customers and tips she was missing back at the diner, Sara tiptoed forward, placed the container on his desk.

      “Thank you.” The words were slightly muffled, aimed as they were toward the desk.

      “You’re welcome,” she said automatically.

      She left the room as quickly as she’d come, pretty sure that R. J. Maitland didn’t even know she’d been there. For all the attention he’d paid her, he’d probably thought she was his secretary—the woman who delivered his food to his desk on a fairly