The Non-Commissioned Baby. Maureen Child

were no husband and kids in her future. All of those dreams had died with Bill eight years ago.

      Well, that’s a good start on the summer, she told herself. Drown yourself in a tidal wave of self-pity. Always a great party favor. Designed to win friends and influence people.

      “Psst!”

      Laura frowned and looked to her right, but she didn’t see anyone.

      “Psst!” The voice was a little louder this time.

      Studying the hall carefully, Laura finally spotted one of the apartment doors opened no more than half an inch. Staring at her through that narrow gap was one bright blue eye.

      “Are you talking to me?” Laura asked hesitantly.

      The door opened a hairbreadth wider, displaying a bit of the face that eye belonged to. A woman. Small, birdlike features, lined and etched by time, topped by wispy, snow white hair. “Are you going in there?” the woman asked.

      “Yes,” Laura answered with what she hoped was a friendly smile. Maybe the woman was too afraid to step into the hallway. But heck, the nightly news was enough to terrify Laura, for that matter. “I’m here to look after the baby.”

      “You look after yourself, missy,” the woman said softly. “That one in there, he’s a ladies’ man.”

      “Is he really?” Laura turned a speculative eye on the door from behind which she could still hear the baby’s cries.

      “You don’t look his usual type,” the woman continued. “But I thought you should be told. Forewarned is forearmed, you know.”

      With that intriguing statement, she closed her door. In quick succession, Laura heard four locks slam home.

      Interesting start to a new job, she thought. Yet she couldn’t help wondering what Captain Ryan’s type was.

      Then she dismissed the old woman’s warnings, steeled herself and lifted her right hand to knock. She stopped short when she heard a man shouting to be heard over the baby.

      “Yeah?” he asked. “If Laura Morgan’s so great, why isn’t she here yet? I had to take the baby to the grocery store! And it wasn’t pretty!”

      Laura drew her head back and stared at the closed door as if she could see through the heavy wood to the angry man inside.

      “Peggy,” he shouted, “this isn’t funny.”

      Laura had to smile. Peggy Cummings’s sense of humor was one of the things she liked best about her.

      “I need help,” he said. “Where the hell is this friend of yours, anyway?”

      That cue was just too good to pass up. Quickly, she rapped her knuckles against the door.

      It opened immediately.

      The harried-looking man clutching a cordless phone to his ear stared at her. Well, he didn’t match the description given to her by his sister. Peg had described her brother as “gorgeous, meticulously neat and with enough self-confidence for three healthy people.”

      The man in front of Laura now, though, looked wild. Short hair standing almost on end, he wore a white T-shirt stained with several different types of baby food, and a wet patch on his sharply creased trousers, which clung to his thigh. Bare feet only added to the image of a man on the edge.

      None of that did a thing to take away from his good looks, though. His sharply defined features, strong jaw, straight nose and slightly full lips worked together to form a man too handsome for his own good. Peggy hadn’t lied. He was gorgeous. Yet it wasn’t only his face that was attractive. There was a strength about him that seemed to call to her. A knot of warmth uncurled in her stomach, sending ribbons of awareness spiraling through her limbs.

      She breathed deeply, shifting her gaze to his eyes. A pale, icy blue, they seemed to look straight into her soul, poking and prodding to discover her secrets.

      Laura shook her head slightly and looked away from his even stare deliberately. One thing she certainly didn’t need was to start getting fanciful.

      “I think she’s here,” he said into the phone. “Call me later.”

      He punched the disconnect button and set the phone down on a small table near the door.

      “Are you Laura?” he asked, his blue-eyed gaze sweeping up and down her body in a flat second.

      Instinctively, she stiffened, forgetting all about that instant, momentary bolt of attraction. Straightening her shoulders, she lifted her chin slightly. She had to do that anyway, to look him in the eye, but she hoped that the action looked defiant to him. Laura knew exactly what he was seeing when he stared at her.

      A thirty-year-old woman, no makeup, wide brown eyes, dust brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. She wore comfortable penny loafers, baggy jeans and an oversize sweatshirt that proclaimed Ain’t Life Grand? across the front.

      Not very impressive, maybe. And as his neighbor had pointed out, probably not his type at all. But at least she could take care of a baby without looking as though she’d waded bare-handed through a war zone.

      “Yes,” she answered stiffly, giving him the same slow once-over that he had given her. “Jeff Ryan?”

      He nodded abruptly, stepped past her into the hall and grabbed up her suitcases. Dropping them next to the wall, he closed the front door, then faced her.

      “Where the heck have you been?” he demanded. “I expected you a half an hour ago.”

      She winced against the blare of the TV combining with the baby’s cries. Pitching her voice a bit louder than normal, she snapped, “The plane was delayed.”

      Before he could comment on that, Laura sailed past Jeff Ryan into the unbelievably messy apartment. She paused long enough to turn off the TV, then followed the baby’s screams to a basket set on the floor. Inside that straw-colored wicker bed, the infant lay on a handmade quilt, its chubby arms and legs pumping madly against the air.

      Laura’s heart melted.

      Forgetting all about the man coming up behind her, she bent down, scooped up the baby and cradled it close to her chest. “It’s all right, sweetie,” she murmured as she rocked slowly back and forth, her right hand smoothing up and down the baby’s back. “You’re all right now. Laura’s got you.”

      The screaming stopped.

      The baby relaxed against her, its tiny body trembling as it sniffed and hiccuped.

      “That’s amazing,” Jeff said softly, clearly afraid to break whatever spell Laura had woven around the child.

      “Not really,” she said, sparing him a quick sidelong look. “A little comfort goes a long way.”

      He pushed one hand through the little bit of hair allowed by military regulations and shook his head as he looked over the wreckage of his living room.

      “I could use a little comfort myself,” he admitted. “She hasn’t been that quiet all day.”

      A girl.

      “What’s her name?”

      “According to the papers, it’s Miranda. Miranda Powell.”

      “Well, hello, Miranda Powell,” Laura whispered. She kissed the little head that was nestled just beneath her chin.

      The baby’s fingers tugged at the material of her sweatshirt, but Laura felt the small pulls all the way to her heart.

      Jeff collapsed onto the cluttered sofa, then winced, lifted one hip and reached beneath him to pull a halfempty baby bottle out of his way. Tossing it onto the floor with a fatalistic shrug, he turned his gaze back to Laura. “You’re not what I expected,” he said.

      She was rarely what anyone expected and had long ago ceased to care. But she was already in love with this baby. Laura wanted the job