The Detective's 8 Lb, 10 Oz Surprise. Meg Maxwell

would stick him with when she left for college in Dallas in mid-August.

      It was now August 21. Georgia vaguely wondered how Nick was doing with the cat. Maybe the purring bundle of fur had worked its way into his heart and changed his mind about taking care of living, breathing things. But probably not.

      Georgia didn’t love this new cynical side of herself. She used to be so motivated by possibility, by you never know, by the idea that anything could happen. But these days, that was what scared her the most: that anything could happen. Now Georgia only wanted assurances and security—nice words that she was afraid had no meaning anymore.

      She stood and dusted off her sundress, smoothed her wavy, shoulder-length brown hair and walked up the steps. She took a final deep breath and pulled open the door.

      Nick stood there, the baby cradled in the crook of his arm. He was staring at Georgia, his expression stony.

      “This is a surprise,” he said.

      She took in the sight of him, six feet two, the broad shoulders, his intense dark brown eyes, the thick dark hair, his fair skin, a groove in each cheek the only softening of the otherwise hardened countenance of a police detective.

      “Me or the baby you’re holding?” she asked, not daring to step farther in.

      He glanced down at the infant. “Both. I didn’t expect to come back from picking up my lunch to find a baby on my desk. And I definitely didn’t expect to see you of all people walking through the door.”

      Wait—what? “You found the baby on your desk?”

      He shifted the bottle in his hand. “With an anonymous note saying his mother would be back in a week, that she wasn’t abandoning him and could trust me.”

      She froze. “Could you be the father?”

      He stared at her as though that was preposterous. It most definitely wasn’t. “No. No chance.”

      She looked at the beautiful baby in his arms. So sweet and innocent. What it must have taken for this child’s mother to leave him and walk away. Georgia could only imagine what the baby’s mother was going through. “What are you going to do?”

      Nick stared down at the infant. “Give her another half hour before I call Social Services.”

      “No, you can’t do that,” she said. “The mother entrusted this baby to you. Something terrible must be happening and she’s in no position to care for her child this week.”

      Nick stared at her. “And you know this because?”

      Because I know what it’s like to be in trouble. To be threatened. To feel trapped and cornered and have no one to talk to, nowhere to go. God, if Georgia had had a child—a baby—the past several months? She would have had no choice but to have sought a safe haven for the baby.

      “I can imagine,” she said, aware of his dark eyes on her, assessing her.

      “Is there a reason you’re here?” he asked. The baby began fussing and Nick took the bottle from his lips, setting it down on the reception desk.

      Now was hardly the right time to tell Nick he was going to be a father. He had his hands full—literally.

      “Yes, but perhaps I should come back a bit later? Or I could stay and help,” she said, her gaze on the squirming infant. Not that she knew more than he did about babies.

      He stared at her, the expression stonier than before. “Should you be holding a baby in your condition?”

      Her hand flew to her belly. She wasn’t sure he’d noticed. Then again, he was a detective. Of course he’d noticed. “I can handle him. Pregnant mothers have been balancing toddlers on their hips since time began.”

      “I guess,” he said. “Oh, and congratulations.”

      He was glaring at her, she realized.

      Oh God. Because he thought the baby was someone else’s.

      “Nick, I need to explain to you about the morning after—”

      “I don’t need to hear it,” he said. “In fact, I’m pretty busy right now and would appreciate it if you left. I need to call Social Services.”

      Social Services. Back in Houston, Georgia had an acquaintance who worked for Child Protective Services. She knew the good work they did, how devoted her friend was. And she also knew how babies and children could slip through the cracks. “Do you?” she asked. “Doesn’t the note say that she’s leaving the baby with you—for a week? That she isn’t abandoning him? That she can trust you? Sounds like someone you know. And she’s very specific in the note.”

      As the baby fussed, Nick began pacing back and forth, trying to comfort the little guy. “Someone who didn’t sign her name. I have no idea whose baby this is. I can’t think of anyone who had a baby boy recently and named him Timothy—Timmy. Anyway, I can’t take responsibility for him—I have active cases.”

      Georgia’s heart sank. She wanted the police to be superheroes. But they were flesh-and-blood men and women restricted by the law, by regulations. That she knew all too well.

      “If you could hold him and get him to stop fussing while I make that call, I’d appreciate it,” Nick said.

      “Of course,” she said, reaching out her arms.

      He transferred the baby to her, and the sweet weight of him almost made her knees buckle. How heavenly he felt. And a bit scary. Would she know what to do?

      The baby squirmed and cried a bit, so she gently rocked him, and he quirked his mouth, then settled down.

      Huh. Maybe she could learn on the go. In the field. She could take care of this baby for Nick for the week.

      He stood watching her, his phone against his ear. She listened to him report the baby being left on his desk, about the note. “The mother left the baby in my care, so that means I’m his temporary guardian, right?”

      Georgia’s heart lifted. He wasn’t asking Social Services to take the baby and give him to foster care. He was following protocol, but planning to take responsibility for the infant.

      “Yes, if she’s not back after a week I will call you back,” he said, then clicked off the phone. “Good God. I’ve got exactly a week to track down the baby’s mother or Social Services will take him into custody and arrange for foster placement if the mother doesn’t return for him by noon next Saturday. And depending on the circumstances of why the mother left the baby with me, the safe haven law won’t apply because even though the baby appears to be under sixty days old, he wasn’t left at a hospital, an EMS or a child-welfare agency.”

      Georgia bit her lip. The baby could be taken away from his mother, who was only trying to protect him from someone—something. Her youngest sister, Clementine, had been a foster child, adopted by the Hurleys when she was eight years old. Georgia knew there were wonderful foster families—like her parents. But there were also bad ones. She couldn’t bear the thought of this baby in her arms being placed with strangers.

      “How am I going to take care of a baby, do my job and find Timmy’s mother all at the same time?” Nick said, and Georgia realized he was more thinking out loud than asking a question.

      “I’ll care for him for the week,” Georgia blurted out. “I’m back now. Home for good in Blue Gulch. And unemployed.” And without a cent to my name. Not that she planned to get into all that right now. “And I could use the on-the-job training,” she added, touching a hand to her stomach.

      He was staring at her belly. “How far along are you?”

      “I conceived in April. April twentieth to be exact.” The night you changed my life, made me believe in possibilities again, made me determined to find a way out. She held his gaze and saw the flicker of mistrust in his eyes when he understood what she was saying.

      His lower lip dropped