Come Fly With Me...: English Girl in New York / Moonlight in Paris. Fiona Brand

was feeling a bit flustered himself. Flustered that some gorgeous Brit was in his space. But this wasn’t about him. This wasn’t about Daniel Cooper and the fact he liked his own space. This wasn’t about the fact his relationships only lasted a few months because he didn’t want anyone getting comfortable in his home—comfortable enough to start asking questions. This was about a baby. A baby who needed help from two people.

      So, he did what his grandma had always taught him. Her voice echoed in his head. You get the best out of people when you compliment them—when you thank them for what they do.

      He reached over and touched Carrie’s hand. She was getting flustered again, starting to get upset. ‘Carrie McKenzie?’ He kept his voice low.

      ‘What?’ she snapped at him.

      Yep, he was right. Her eyes had a waterlogged sheen. She was just about to start crying.

      He gave her hand a little squeeze. ‘I think you’re doing a great job.’

      * * *

      The world had just stopped because she wasn’t really in it.

      This was one of those crazy dreams. The kind that had your worst type of nightmare and a knight in shining armour thrown in, too. The kind that made no sense whatsoever.

      She wasn’t here. She wasn’t awake.

      Her earlier thought had been true. She was actually fast asleep on the sofa upstairs. She would wake up in a few minutes and this would all be over. This would all be something she could shrug off and forget about.

      Except those dark brown eyes were still looking at her.

      Still looking as if he understood a whole lot more than he was letting on. As if he’d noticed the fact she was seconds away from cracking and bursting into floods of tears.

      But he couldn’t, could he? Because he didn’t really know her at all.

      Daniel Cooper was an all-action New York cop. The kind of guy from a romance movie who stole the heroine’s heart and rode off into the sunset with her. A good guy.

      The kind of guy who looked after an abandoned baby.

      She was trying to swallow. Her mouth was drier than a desert, and it felt as if a giant turtle had started nesting at the back of her throat.

      She looked down to where his hand covered hers. It was nice. It felt nice.

      And that was the thing that scared her most.

      When was the last time someone had touched her like that? At the funeral? There had been a lot of hand squeezing then. Comfort. Reassurance. Pity.

      Not the same as this.

      He smiled at her. A crooked kind of smile, revealing straight white teeth.

      A sexy kind of smile. The kind that could take her mind off the nightmare she was currently in.

      There was a yelp from the towel. Dan moved his hand and looked down. ‘I guess baby’s getting hungry. I’ll stick the bottles in the pot.’

      Carrie left the baby on the towel and started to look through the bags on the counter. Five prepacked cartons of formula, two different kinds of powder, more dummies and a whole mountain’s worth of baby wipes.

      She folded her arms across her chest as she watched Dan dangle the bottles and teats from his fingertips into the boiling water. ‘Clothes, Dan. What are we going to put on him?’

      His brow wrinkled and he shook his head. ‘Darn it, I knew I’d forgotten something. There weren’t any baby clothes in the general store, and there’s no place else around here that sells any. Can’t we just leave him in the diaper?’

      Carrie shook her head. ‘Want me to do a search on that?’ She started to pace. ‘Don’t you know anyone around here with kids who might still have some baby clothes? How long have you stayed here?’

      He blinked and his lips thinned. As if he was trying to decide how to answer the question. He averted his eyes and started busying himself with the coffee maker. ‘I’ve lived here on and off my whole life. This was my grandma’s place.’

      ‘Was it?’ She was surprised but it made perfect sense. After all, how did a young guy on a cop’s salary afford a gorgeous brownstone West Village apartment? She looked around, starting to take in the decor of the place. There were a few older items that didn’t look quite ‘him’. A rocker pushed in the corner near the window, a small antique-style table just at the front door, currently collecting mail and keys, a dresser in the more modern-style kitchen. It was kind of nice, to see the old mixed in with the new. ‘It’s a lovely place. Big, too. You’re a lucky guy.’

      He made a noise. More like a snort. ‘Yeah, I guess. Just born lucky, me.’

      Carrie froze, not really knowing how to respond. What did that mean?

      But he must have realised his faux pas because he changed the subject quickly. ‘The ten minutes will be up soon. Once we’ve fed the little guy I’ll go on up to Mrs Van Dyke’s place. Her family used to stay here. She might have some things in storage we could use.’

      ‘Mrs Van Dyke? Which one is she? Is she the one on the second floor who looks as if she came over on the Mayflower and is about six hundred years old?’

      He raised his eyebrows. ‘Watch it. According to her, her family were amongst the original Dutch settlers. And I don’t think she’s quite six hundred years old. She’s as sharp as a stick, and she hasn’t aged in the past twenty-five years.’ He gave her a wink as he switched off the burner. ‘Maybe you should ask her what cream she uses.’

      Carrie picked up an unopened packet of pacifiers and tossed them at his head. They bounced off the wall behind him.

      ‘Careful, careful, we’ve got a baby in the apartment. We don’t want anything to hit him.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘On second thought, it’s getting kind of late. Maybe it’s too late to go knocking on Mrs Van Dyke’s door.’ His gaze was still fixed on the baby, lying on the floor, grizzling impatiently for his milk.

      Carrie folded her arms as she stood next to him. ‘You’ve got to be kidding. Mrs Van Dyke is up watching TV until four a.m. most nights. And I take it she’s getting a little deaf, because I can’t get to sleep in my apartment because of the Diagnosis Murder or Murder, She Wrote reruns that I hear booming across the hall. Seriously, the woman needs a hearing aid.’

      ‘And seriously? She’ll be far too proud to get one.’

      There was something nice about that. The fact that he knew his elderly neighbour so well that he could tell exactly why she didn’t have a hearing aid. ‘So what was wrong with me, then?’ She couldn’t help it. The words just spilled out.

      ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘You obviously know your other neighbours well, but it was too much trouble to even say hello to me in the foyer.’

      The colour flooded into his cheeks. Unflappable Dan was finally flapping. He could deal with a tonne of snow falling from a roof, he could deal with a baby dumped on his doorstep, but this? This was making him avert his eyes and struggle to find some words.

      ‘Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I just assumed you were staying for only a few days. Most of the others seemed like ships that pass in the night.’

      ‘I’ve been here two months, Dan. Eight long weeks—’ she let out a little sigh ‘—and to be honest, this isn’t the friendliest place I’ve ever stayed.’

      He cringed. ‘I can hear my grandmother shouting in my ear right now. Shaming me on my bad manners. I did see you—but you always looked like you had a hundred and one things on your mind. You never really looked in the mood to talk.’

      This time Carrie felt like cringing. There was a reason Dan was a cop. He was good at reading people. Good at getting to the heart of the matter. And she had only herself to blame