The Baby Consultant. Anne Marie Winston

ever been a time when you didn’t wrap every man you met around your finger?”

      To her surprise, Jillian’s cheerful, confident smile wavered for a moment. “Once,” she said, and grimly added, “but never again.”

      There was an awkward silence for a moment. Frannie could see that Jill would reject any comfort or sympathy, so she strove for a light note. “You know, you and Jack Ferris would make a good pair.”

      “Puh-leez!” Jill held up her two index fingers in a playful sign of the cross, as if to ward off the idea. “I’ve met Jack. He’ll still be flirting when he’s ninety. He’s a handsome hunk, all right, but definitely not for me—I like a man I can control.”

      Deirdre giggled. “Forget Jack, then. He’s really, really bad on a leash.” Then she turned to Frannie. “So you went to see him? What did he say about your idea for a brochure?”

      “He was going to work up a rough draft and price it for me. He was supposed to get back to me the next day. But it’s been over two weeks,” Frannie said. She raised her eyebrows and looked at Deirdre. “He wasn’t what I expected. He’s not the kind of man I’d think you’d be comfortable around.”

      Dee shrugged. “Jack and I grew up on the same street. My brother played lacrosse with him. He was just another brother underfoot for years.”

      Jillian eyed Frannie. “So what did our Miss Brooks think of Ferris the Flirt? Does that man make you drool, or what?”

      “I thought you weren’t interested in him.” She knew she was avoiding a direct answer.

      “Just because I don’t want to marry the man doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the way he wears his jeans.” Jillian winked at Dee. “So what did you think?” she said again.

      “Like you said, he’s a flirt.” Frannie shook her head. “When he turns on the charm, a woman just wants to fall at his feet. Which I’m sure many of them do. Which I’m sure feeds his ego nicely.”

      “Did you fall at his feet?” Jill feigned shock. “I thought you were immune to flirtatious men.”

      “He’s not like that,” Dee protested. “Jack’s a nice guy. I don’t think he’s the kind who carves a notch in his bedpost.”

      “But we need to find out,” added Jill. She pointed at Frannie. “You’re elected.”

      “I don’t think so.” Frannie laughed, then sobered. “Besides, I’m less than impressed with his tardy response. I’m not sure I’d want to use him, even if his prices are reasonable.”

      “That’s not like Jack,” Deirdre said. “I rarely see him anymore, but unless he’s changed, he’s very prompt, especially with business matters.”

      “Oh, well.” Frannie dismissed the topic as the waitress approached to take their lunch order. “At this point all I want is to get my portfolio of photos back. I need it to show to potential clients.”

      Two hours later she was staring in openmouthed shock at Jack Ferris’s estimate for a brochure, which had arrived in her afternoon mail. And Dee said his rates were reasonable? Since Deirdre also had her own small business, Frannie had assumed she was as frugal as Frannie herself. Maybe she was. But one thing she knew was that it was going to be a while before Brooks’ Bridals could afford to advertise.

      Quite a while.

      It was a disappointing thought. She’d been pleased—no, more like ecstatic—at the success she’d had since opening her business. Coming to a city, even a small one like Westminster, alone had been terrifying for a girl who’d lived with a large family all of her life. It had been strange not having anyone to take care of at first, so she’d thrown herself into her work.

      And it certainly had paid off. She’d hired her first assistant seamstress recently, and four months ago she had brought in a part-time coordinator who went to the weddings and fussed over the last-minute details of making brides appear perfect. But it looked like she’d have to wait awhile before she grew any more. Especially if these were the current rates of advertising.

      She went to the telephone and looked up the number for Your Ad Goes Here, Jack Ferris’s company. The same girl who’d greeted her the day she’d been at his office answered the phone, and when Frannie asked for Jack, explained that he was out of town and was expected home soon. Frannie had to settle for leaving a message.

      Five days later, she tried again. This time a canned message played and recorded her call. The same message was on the machine every day for the rest of that week, saying little except that the agency was temporarily closed due to a family emergency.

      By the following Friday, Frannie was out of patience with Jack Ferris and his appalling business manners, family problems or not. This time she looked up his home number and tried it.

      No answer, just his machine.

      Doggone it, enough was enough. She’d been patient, and relatively pleasant, for a month now. This was inexcusable.

      She needed those photos. If Jack Ferris wouldn’t answer his phone, she was going to camp on his doorstep until she got back her portfolio.

      

      The address turned out to be a pretty brick condo that looked spacious and pricey from the outside. She rang the bell five times, but no one answered, and she heard no voices or noise from inside. As she expected, the door was locked. Dam that man! In addition to being an annoying flirt, he was irresponsible. She’d told him during their meeting that she couldn’t be without the photos for very long. He’d promised to call her within the week.

      One week. Hah! Soon it would be four of them. She’d noticed a framed university diploma on his wall, so she knew he’d been taught to count. Obviously the lesson hadn’t stuck.

      The condo was an end unit. Anger made her bold and she marched around to the back and mounted the two-level wooden deck. There was a sliding glass door just to the left of an enormous barbecue grill, and she walked over and peered inside. The vertical blinds were pulled back, and she could see a kitchen with a dining area and beyond that, the beginnings of a living room. The counters were nearly immaculate, spoiled only by a lone coffee cup resting on its side and a newspaper which had spilled from the counter to the floor.

      Weird. The place was immaculate otherwise. Those two small hints at sloppiness didn’t fit. None of her brothers could manage to pick up after themselves, but it wasn’t selective. Everything they owned was a jumbled mess. Maybe Jack had a cleaning lady who just hadn’t been in yet this week.

      Still... something bothered her. It looked almost as if Jack had gone tearing off somewhere in a tremendous hurry, and hadn’t been back since.

      Well, it was none of her concern, she told herself firmly, as she descended the wooden steps and walked back the way she had come. All she wanted was her property back. Then he could—

      A silver sports car pulled into the driveway beside her van just as she opened the driver’s door. Through its windshield, she caught a glimpse of Jack Ferris’s face, which was obscured by the frame as the car slid to a smooth stop beside her.

      Finally! She was elated. It was rare for her to get angry, and rarer still for her to utter so much as a sharp word, but several choice ones sprang to the front of her mind. She started to step around to the driver’s side, but stopped in her tracks, staring through the passenger side window. In the passenger seat was strapped an infant car seat.

      And in the car seat was what appeared to be a very young baby, screaming its little head off.

      Before the sight really had time to register, Jack popped out of the car exactly like a child’s jack-in-the-box, arms waving wildly and hair disheveled. Only no one pushed him back down into his box. He sprinted around the car, sparing Frannie a distracted, mildly puzzled glance and a “Hi,” as he tore open the passenger door and started to release the restraints holding the infant in place.

      With