The Would-Be Daddy. Jacqueline Diamond

Gently, Franca pried the little fingers from around her neck. “Don’t worry. I’m keeping your dolls safe and they’ll join you as soon as you have room.”

      “I’m s’posed to stay with you. You promised!” The heartbreak in Jazz’s voice tore at Franca.

      When she’d joyfully informed the child about the adoption, she’d never imagined that it might fall through. How could a child understand that grown-ups didn’t always have the power to keep their word?

      “You live with your mother now.” Her chest tight, Franca eased Jazz to the floor. “How lucky you are. You have two mommies who love you.”

      Bridget’s steely eyes lit with rage. “No, she doesn’t. She has one mother—me!”

      Franca forced out the words, “That’s right.”

      “Damn straight it is.” Until the man spoke, she hadn’t noticed him looming behind Bridget, his muscles bulging beneath a sleeveless T-shirt. Shaved head, coarse features and a scorpion tattoo on his neck. When had Bridget hooked up with this guy?

      The notion of him having access to Jazz chilled Franca. But there were no bruises on the girl’s face or arms. She wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or dismayed that she had no grounds to call the police.

      “Come on.” Bridget reached for her daughter’s hand.

      The girl snatched it away. “No.”

      “You heard your mother!” As if he’d been waiting for a chance to throw his weight around, the man grabbed the child’s arm. “Not another word out of you.” The man gave Jazz’s arm a yank.

      “Axel,” Bridget warned.

      Marshall uncoiled from his seat. He stood several inches taller, but lacked the other man’s heft. “You’re hurting the child.”

      The man’s lip curled in a sneer. Then, as if becoming aware of the observers around them, he released Jazz. “Yeah, well, do what your mother tells you, kid.”

      Jazz stood motionless, her tearstained cheeks a match for Franca’s. Clasping her daughter’s hand, Bridget led her along the aisle to the other side of the café.

      Franca couldn’t remain there another instant. “I have to go.”

      “Understood.” Marshall followed protectively as she headed for the door.

      Franca supposed she ought to thank him for standing up to Axel, but she could hardly think for the noise in her head. Outside, she said a quick goodbye to him and rushed along the quay, pushing through the midday crowd.

      But no sea breeze could dissipate her grief and guilt. She’d failed Jazz, regardless of where the fault lay. It burned like fire.

      She lost track of Marshall until he started up the steps to the closest parking area. He paused, his forehead creased with worry. Kind of him, but this wasn’t his problem.

      On Franca stumbled, toward the more distant lot where she’d left her car. She tried in vain to outrun the realization that swept over her, obliterating the destiny she’d pictured so clearly.

      Franca could endure almost anything for a child in her care, but when she’d imagined relinquishment, it had been to a home where the little one could be happy and safe. Not this wrenching sense that she’d betrayed the girl’s trust.

      She couldn’t go through this again, couldn’t risk letting down another child and having her heart shredded. But if she didn’t foster troubled children, what did that leave? She still wanted to be a mother.

      Despite counseling fertility patients, Franca had never considered whether or under what circumstances she might give birth, because she didn’t plan to. Nor had she worried about finding the right man to be a father.

      Her desire to foster children had struck a chord with her own mom. Franca was a middle child who had often gotten lost in the shuffle at home. It had been exciting and validating to see her mother’s excitement. Partly as a result, instead of dreaming about finding Mr. Right as her sister had, Franca had embraced an identity focused on motherhood.

      Leaning against her station wagon, she felt confused and lost. At thirty-three, she’d believed she had a firm grasp on the future. Instead, a burning question darkened her horizon:

      Now what?

Chapter Five

      Franca’s heartbroken expression haunted Marshall over the next few days. She didn’t contact him about starting the new counseling program, and he let the matter ride.

      She must have been too upset about her foster daughter, and he wasn’t eager to pursue the matter. Despite her example of how therapy had changed her attitude toward her mother, Marshall doubted enough of his patients would sign up to make the effort worthwhile.

      Recalling Franca’s advice about writing to his mother, he tried to compose a letter. But after he penned the words Dear Mom on crisp gray stationery, nothing else came to mind. Writing, aside from the occasional prescription, had never been Marshall’s forte. Perhaps they could gradually resume a normal relationship after the wedding. And if she still didn’t return his phone calls, what more could he do? He couldn’t force her to care about him.

      On Sunday, Marshall accompanied Nick and Caleb to rent matching tuxedos, which Zady had decreed they should wear. While Caleb was being fitted, Marshall asked where the couple planned to go on their honeymoon. “Unless it’s a secret.” He’d read that some couples hid their destination, presumably to prevent crashers.

      “We’d love a week or two in Italy,” Nick said. “Gondola rides, Michelangelo and Roman ruins.”

      “Sounds like fun.” As a high school graduation present, Marshall’s parents had taken him on a tour of Europe.

      “That’s a joke,” Nick said. “We’re planning a three-day weekend in Las Vegas.” That was a five-hour drive from Safe Harbor.

      “Hard to get away for longer,” Marshall sympathized.

      “Yeah. Hard when you max out the credit cards, too.”

      As they left the shop, Marshall presented Caleb with his new bear. “Wow!” Dark eyes shining, the three-year-old inspected the furry animal in its tux.

      Nick grinned his approval. “It’s a cutie pie, like my son. Thanks, Marsh.”

      “My pleasure.”

      Gazing at his brother and nephew, with their dark hair and lopsided smiles, Marshall felt his throat tighten. If only I had a son. Before that was possible, though, he had to find the right woman, and not get distracted by one whose approach to life was incompatible with his.

      After his breakup with Belle, Marshall had had a few casual relationships during medical school and his residency in Boston. As a fellow in reconstructive surgery at the Cleveland Clinic, he’d tried an online dating site. Of the half dozen women he’d met for coffee, one had lied about her profession, one had asked him to prescribe painkillers for her, and another had talked about how she’d always dreamed of marrying a doctor. The others had been pleasant but uninspiring. No one had generated the kind of connection he’d felt with Franca.

      Why did his thoughts keep homing in on her?

      As Marshall said goodbye to Nick and Caleb, he recalled the previous day’s scene in the café, especially her distress over her foster daughter. It was exactly the kind of trouble that he suspected went hand-in-hand with fostering older children. How frustrating that she insisted on getting involved in such situations.

      That fellow Axel could be dangerous, and in Marshall’s opinion, to put her daughter at his mercy showed Bridget to be an unfit mother. And there was nothing Franca could do.

      The next child she took in might come with an equally risky situation. But no matter how much Marshall wished to protect