From Here To Paternity. Christine Rimmer

      Mia sighed and snuggled close again, going loose and limp once more.

      The coffeemaker gave a final sputter. Brand rose, went to the counter, filled a pair of mugs and returned to the table. He slid one mug toward her as he sipped from the other.

      She ignored the coffee and challenged in a voice she somehow managed to keep low and calm, “So. That’s your story, huh? You’re insisting this baby isn’t yours.”

      “It’s not a story. It’s the truth. That is not my baby—and by the way, where’s Sissy?”

      Exactly the question she didn’t want to answer. “Um. What do you mean?”

      “You know what I mean. How come she sent you here to do her dirty work?”

      “Dirty work?” She tried to sound superior and aloof.

      “Figure of speech. Where’s Sissy?”

      “How would I know? You read the note.”

      He looked down at the wrinkled note again. “You want me to figure the situation out for myself, is that it?” He slanted her a glance. When she refused to respond, he continued, “Okay. I’ll take a crack at it. You haven’t seen Sissy since last year. You haven’t even talked to her. She left that baby on your doorstep along with this note. She abandoned her own kid, dropped her off with you and took off again.”

      It hurt. A lot. To hear him say it right out loud like that. “Not on the doorstep,” she argued, sounding ridiculous and knowing she did, taking issue with a minor point to soften the enormous awfulness of what Sissy had done. “Not on the doorstep. On the couch. I…found her there, this morning, on my way out the door.”

      “You found her on the couch?”

      “Isn’t that what I just said?”

      “Sissy broke into your house and abandoned her own baby—but still, you’ll take her word against mine.”

      Mia stirred again. Charlene patted her to soothe her. “Sissy has a key, so she didn’t break in. My house is her house, always. And she didn’t abandon Mia, either. She left her with me. Sissy knows she can trust me to take good care of her.”

      Brand gave her a long, level look. “And that makes it all right, somehow, that she abandoned her kid with you?”

      “Stop saying that word.”

      “What word? Abandoned?”

      “Oh, I could reach right out and slap you silly about now.”

      For that, all she got was another slow shake of his head.

      She counted to three and then said with slow care, “I’m not here to talk about Sissy.”

      “Getting that. Big and bold as a whole new day.”

      “Are you denying that Mia is yours?”

      “What? You didn’t hear me? I denied it five minutes ago, I’m denying it now. I’ll always deny it. Because that baby isn’t mine.”

      “Then I’ll expect you to take a paternity test.” She delivered the ultimatum and waited for him to start squirming.

      He nodded. “I think that’s a good idea. And I want it done right. I don’t want there ever to be any question of the results. I want a legally binding test by a reputable lab, strict chain of custody of the DNA samples, so everyone involved is satisfied with the outcome.”

      She cleared her throat. All right. She had to admit, for a guy who was trying to weasel out of taking responsibility for his child, he seemed pretty eager to get to the truth….

      But then, as an attorney, maybe he knew some way to falsify the test results.

      Charlene shut her eyes. No. Whatever she thought of him, she didn’t believe that. He might be lying to himself, telling himself he couldn’t be the father.

      But he wouldn’t rig the test. He wouldn’t stoop that low.

      She said, “I want to get going on it right away.”

      He said, “Good. Get ahold of Sissy, tell her we need a copy of the baby’s birth certificate and she’ll have to show up at the collection location to sign a permission form to have the test done.”

      “Uh. The collection location?”

      “The lab where you’ll take the baby to have the DNA sample collected. It’s a simple, quick procedure. They run a cotton swab on the inside of the cheek. Painless.”

      “But I don’t…” She cradled Mia closer, breathed in the sweet baby scent of her skin. “You’re saying we need Sissy’s permission?”

      “Charlene. Think about it. You don’t go performing tests on minors without the approval of a parent or a legal guardian.”

      “Can’t we just…have it done?”

      “By some fly-by-night lab that sends a kit in the mail? How dependable do you think those results are going to be—let alone how legally binding?”

      As much as she hated to admit it, she knew he was right. Oh, what was her problem? What had possessed her to come storming over here? She’d gained nothing for Mia—and she’d given him a chance to say things about Sissy that she really didn’t want to hear.

      Gently she shifted the baby to her other shoulder. She was stalling. Coming to grips with the fact that she had no choice now but to bust to the bald, ugly truth.

      She made herself say it. “You know I can’t reach Sissy. I haven’t seen or heard from her since she left town last June. She didn’t leave me so much as a PO box number, let alone a phone number or an address.”

      He studied her for moment and then he suggested, “Maybe there’s some friend of hers you could call? What about that aunt she went to live with after your parents died?”

      Aunt Irma. Dear God. Anyone but her. “It’s…doubtful. But I’ll check around.”

      He got up and poured himself some more coffee, turning when the mug was full to lean on the counter again. He sipped. “There’s another option.”

      Why did she get the feeling she was going to hate what he said next? She regarded him sideways. “What option?”

      “Call Child Protective Services. Tell them what’s happened, explain that your sister has claimed I’m the baby’s father. You might be able to get the state to authorize permission for the DNA sample.”

      She cradled Mia closer. “Call CPS. Uh-uh. No way.”

      It wasn’t right that he knew what she was thinking. But of course, he did. “This is a different situation than ten years ago. You’re not eighteen now. You’re a grown woman with a business, not to mention a respected and well-liked member of your community.”

      “I was well liked then. And respected. We had the diner then, to support us. My aunt still managed to take Sissy away—and why are we talking about this?”

      “I told you. Because it’s an option.”

      “No. No, it’s not. I do not want to mess with Child Protective Services, and you, of all people, ought to know that. I will not give them any chance to take this baby. I am her aunt. She’s…visiting. That’s how I want it. You understand?”

      “Charlene…”

      God. Why had she come here? What a stupid, stupid move. Her throat had clutched up with tears of frustration—and fear. She gulped the tears down and commanded, “Don’t you dare call CPS on me, Brand Bravo.”

      He set his mug on the counter and put up both hands, palms out. As if she had a gun on him or something. “Look. Totally your call. But you have to face that CPS might eventually enter the picture.”

      She would never face such a thing. What