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

wooden crib in her hands.

      She wrinkled her nose at the noise. ‘What did you do?’ She crossed the room and sat the crib at his feet. Had she been with Mrs Van Dyke all this time? It was the only place she could have got the crib.

      He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Fed him.’

      She shook her head. ‘He shouldn’t be squealing like that. Give him here.’ She held out her arms and he hesitated. What was going on? This woman had hightailed it out of here as if there were a fire licking at her heels. Now she was back as if nothing had happened?

      He placed his hand protectively on the little guy’s back. ‘What happened, Carrie?’ He didn’t care how blunt it sounded. He didn’t care how much help he really wanted right now. He needed her to be straight with him.

      She looked him straight in the eye. But he could see it—the waver. The hesitation in her blue eyes. ‘I needed a little space for five minutes. And now—I’ve had it. I spent a little time with Mrs Van Dyke. She’s great. I wish I’d had the opportunity to speak to her before today.’ She walked over to the sink and lifted one of the pacifiers out of the sterilising solution. ‘Has this been in there thirty minutes?’

      He glanced at the clock and nodded, watching as she put the pacifier in the baby’s mouth and lifted him from his shoulder. ‘Let’s try something else, then.’ She sat down on the sofa and laid the baby across her lap, face down, gently rubbing his back.

      Dan looked at the crib and shook his head. ‘I hadn’t even thought about where he was going to sleep.’

      Carrie smiled. The kind of smile that changed the whole expression on her face. There it was. That little glimpse again of who she could be if she let herself.

      ‘Neither did I. I asked Mrs Van Dyke if she had any clothes and it was she who suggested the crib.’ She peered over at him as she continued to rub the baby’s back. ‘We don’t have a mattress, though. Do you have something we could put inside?’

      Dan tried to rack his brain. ‘What about those new towels? We used one earlier, but I have plenty left. I could fold some of them to make a mattress for the crib.’

      ‘That sounds perfect. I don’t have a lot of clothes. A few cardigans, some embroidered vests and some socks. She also gave me a beautiful crocheted blanket. It looks brand new.’

      The baby had stopped crying. Dan turned his head just in time to see a little pull up of the legs and to hear the loudest burp known to man.

      ‘There we go. Is that better, little guy?’ Carrie had turned him over and lifted him up again, staring him in the face. She put him back on her shoulder and kept gently rubbing his back. Her tongue ran along her lips. ‘I remember somebody mentioning that trapped wind makes a baby cranky.’

      Dan let out a snort. ‘Cranky? You call that cranky? You only had to listen to five minutes of it.’

      She bit her lip. ‘Yes, I know. Sorry.’ He could see her take a deep breath. ‘I find this difficult, Dan. And I’m not sure I’ll be much help.’ She stood up and walked over to the window with the baby on her shoulder. ‘I can’t help feeling really sorry for whoever is out there. Why didn’t they think they could take care of their baby? I wish I could help them.’

      There it was again. The sympathy vote. The thing he just couldn’t understand.

      ‘Maybe they don’t want our help. Maybe they just weren’t designed to be a parent. There’s a good chance they didn’t have any prenatal care for the baby. Why on earth would they leave a baby on a doorstep? They didn’t even ring the doorbell! This little guy could have frozen out there—he wasn’t properly dressed or even fed. No diaper. He could have died during delivery. This isn’t a person who wants a baby, Carrie. This is a person who has no sense of duty or responsibility.’

      She spun around. ‘You don’t know that, Dan. You don’t know anything. This could be an underage girl’s baby. She might have been terrified to tell anyone she was pregnant—afraid of the repercussions. What if she was abused? What if she lives with her abuser? Have you thought of that?’

      He was trying not to get mad. He was trying not to shout. He took a long, slow breath, his eyes lifting to meet hers. ‘It could also be the baby of someone who wasn’t interested in prenatal care. Someone who wasn’t interested in making sure their baby was delivered safely. Someone who doesn’t really care what happens to their baby.’

      There was a tremble in her voice. ‘You don’t know that, Dan.’ She looked down at the baby. ‘You don’t know anything. I just can’t imagine what would make someone dump their baby on a doorstep. But I’ve got to believe they were desperate and wanted their baby to get help.’ Her hand stroked the baby’s head. ‘A baby is a precious gift. I don’t know any mother who would give their baby up willingly.’

      ‘Then I guess our experiences of life are different.’ The words were out before he knew it. No hesitation. No regrets.

      Her eyes met his. It was as if she was trying to take stock of what he’d just said. As if she was trying to see inside his head.

      He gave himself a shake and walked over next to her. ‘I agree with you, Carrie. I think babies are precious and they should be treated with respect. So I think we should do something.’ He lifted his finger and touched the baby’s cheek.

      ‘What?’

      ‘I think we should give our baby a name.’

       CHAPTER FIVE

      SHE LOOKED STUNNED.

      As if he’d just suggested packing up the car and heading off into the sunset with a baby in tow.

      ‘What? We can’t keep calling him “the little guy”. You know what happens with abandoned babies. At some point somebody, somewhere gives them a name.’

      ‘But we don’t have any right. This isn’t our baby.’ She gave a little shake as if the thought was too alarming.

      ‘Actually, right now, he is our baby. And might continue to be so for the next few days. We have to call him something in the meantime. Calling him “baby”, “him” or “it”, it’s just not right. You know it isn’t.’

      She’d started pacing now. Walking about the apartment. Her eyes refusing to meet with his. ‘Well, what’s your suggestion, genius? Do you want to call him Dan?’

      She was mocking him. For some reason, she was uncomfortable with this.

      ‘I don’t want to call him Dan. That will just get confusing. I’m trying to make this less confusing, not more.’ He looked at her again; her pacing was slowing. ‘What kind of names do you like?’

      ‘I’m not naming him.’ The words snapped out of her mouth.

      ‘Why not?’

      ‘Because he’s not my baby.’

      He shook his head. ‘We know this. That’s not the point. Let’s find something we can agree on. Do you like crazy names like Moonwind or Shooting Star? Do you like modern names, celebrity names or something more traditional?’

      Her chin was on the floor. ‘Moonwind? Shooting Star? You’ve got to be kidding?’

      He shook his head and rolled his eyes. ‘You forget. I’m a cop in New York. I’ve heard everything.’

      ‘Wow.’ She sat back down on the sofa and picked up the bottle of milk. ‘I’m going to try and give him a little more of this.’ She watched as his mouth closed around the teat and he started to suck. ‘I guess I like more traditional names,’ she finally said.

      ‘Plain? Like John or Joe or Bob?’

      ‘No. They are too plain. Something proud. Something that makes you sit up and take notice.’