Baby Under The Christmas Tree. Teresa Carpenter

before slamming the door.

      Yeah, right. Mr. Glib he wasn’t. At least it was an acknowledgment, and considering the weariness in his voice she figured she was lucky to get that. With home in mind she put the car in Reverse and waited for Max to get to his door.

      He’d barely cleared her front hood when a car lurched to a stop behind her, effectively blocking the driveway. She frowned at the rearview mirror, not at all surprised he had some young thing on call at this time of the morning.

      Annoyed, Elle put the car in Park and stepped out.

      “Excuse me,” she said to the slim brunette who jumped out of the vehicle. “I’m leaving if you could let me out.”

      “Forget it,” the woman snapped. “I’ve been waiting for hours.” She pulled open the back door and bent into the car.

      Elle turned to Max. “Can you tell your girlfriend to move? It’s been a long night.”

      He flicked her an annoyed glance.

      “Hey,” Max called out as he walked down the drive to join Elle. “Can I help you?”

      The woman reappeared, holding something she had lifted from the backseat. “This is the last time I’m doing a favor for Amber. She was supposed to be back yesterday. She gave me your info but said not to contact you. But she’s not answering her phone. And neither were you.” Carrying a bundled-up trench coat, she stormed up the drive and thrust the coat at Max. “I’ve been waiting here since one. I was about to give up and take Troy to the cops when you pulled in.”

      “Amber left him with you? Where’s her mom?”

      “Vegas. Amber can find someone else next time.” She returned to the car and came back with a backpack that she pushed into Elle’s arms. “I have an interview in the morning. I’m going to have rings under my eyes the size of duffel bags.”

      With a huff, the brunette rounded the vehicle, got behind the wheel and drove off.

      Elle looked at Max. “What just happened here?”

      The coat in Max’s arms shifted and the material dropped to reveal a blond head of hair. Not a trench coat, but a small child.

      “A baby?”

      “Meet my son, Troy.”

      CHAPTER TWO

      “YOU HAVE A CHILD?” Totally appalled, Elle stared in fascination at the boy who looked about two. He gazed from her to Max with a growing scowl. How was it possible she didn’t know he had a child? “Poor kid.”

      “Nice.” Max’s frown was a near mirror of the boy’s and the resemblance made her blink.

      In that space of time Max turned and walked toward the house. An automatic light came on as he neared the brick pathway that led to the front door.

      Elle hesitated, because really a young child in Max’s care seemed such an oddity she couldn’t wrap her mind around it. On the other hand, it was late and totally not her business. And given their history it would be a total mistake to get involved.

      Decided, she made a move toward her car and the bulk of the boy’s bag shifted in her arms.

      Muttering a curse under her breath, she stomped to the front door intending to knock and hand over the backpack. But the door stood open and no one was in sight. Good. She set the backpack inside and reached for the doorknob.

      A scream rang out. Followed quickly by another and another.

      Elle shut the door and ran toward the sound.

      Down the hall she came into the kitchen. Max stood at a large island while Troy shrieked and tried to climb down the other side.

      “He’s going to fall.” She raced around the island and scooped up the toddler before her prediction proved true.

      Troy shrieked and struck out blindly with one bony fist.

      The swing packed quite a punch and only instincts honed by being the only girl with four brothers saved her from a black eye.

      “Wow. He is your kid, isn’t he?”

      The scowl on Max’s face turned sharp and mean. “I don’t hit women.”

      No. She had to admit that was one thing he’d never been accused of, and for all their differences she’d never felt physically threatened by him.

      “No, but you do have a temper and you do strike out. What did you do to him?” she challenged.

      “Not a damn thing. I wouldn’t have let him fall,” Max stated. “He’s mad because he got woken up. He screams when he’s tired or in a temper.”

      “Lovely.” The boy struggled in her arms, but she murmured to him as she made her way to the sink. “Where are your glasses?”

      Max pointed to a cupboard.

      Filling a tumbler half-full, she offered the cup to Troy. He stopped fighting to grab the glass in two hands and drink. Finally he pushed the cup back at her and, breath hitching, demanded, “Donna!”

      “Mama went bye-bye,” she told him, “but Daddy’s here.”

      “He said Donna. She’s his grandmother, the one who’s in Las Vegas.”

      Troy looked at Max, his lower lip trembled and he started to scream again. Her ears rang from the high-pitched cries.

      “How long will this go on? Someone’s likely to call the cops.” Her boss would love that.

      “Nah. The house is soundproofed.”

      At her bemused response, he elaborated. “I bought it that way. It cuts down on the freeway noise. And I’ve seen him scream like that for an hour. I’ve tried everything I can think of to stop him, but the truth is nothing has worked.”

      “What about his mother? Do you think you can find her?” She hummed softly and rocked gently back and forth, hoping the soothing actions would penetrate the boy’s distress.

      “Her cell is off. I left a message but if she didn’t answer her friend’s calls, she doesn’t want to be found. Probably off with some sugar daddy. I also tagged his grandmother. Donna is the one who usually watches him. I’m sure I’ll hear from her in the morning.”

      “Does this happen often?” How could a mother leave her kid with someone and not come home?

      “A few times.”

      “And you’re okay with that?”

      An icy blue glare, sharp as his skate blades, cut her short.

      “Right.” She held out a hand. “Let me see your phone.”

      “Why?” He reached into his back pocket for his cell.

      “I’m going to get the babysitter’s name.” She exchanged Troy for the phone and walked into the living room to make the call. She quickly accessed his call records and hit the call-back key.

      A few minutes later she returned to the kitchen where Max leaned against the refrigerator and Troy sat in the middle of the island. Definitely not a happy duo.

      “You owe Candi Evans a hundred dollars.” She handed him his phone. “I’ll email you her address.”

      “Was that necessary?”

      “Yes. She wouldn’t give me her name until I told her you wanted to express your appreciation for her bringing Troy to you. A hundred should do it.”

      “And we needed her data why?”

      “You never know. But now we have it if we need it.”

      “For a hundred bucks.” He scrubbed his hands over his face. “Listen, can you watch him for a few minutes?”

      “You’re