LITMIR.BIZ

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assumed a man in Mitch’s position, faced with the results of a casual fling, would be only too happy to sign the papers and put his mistake behind him.

      But it hadn’t worked out that way, and his willingness to undergo the blood test lent credence to his denials. She was almost tempted to believe him.

      What was she thinking? He had to be Emilie’s father, didn’t he? Tina would certainly know, and Tina had said so.

      They passed a sign directing them to the hospital, and her nerves tightened. Maybe she shouldn’t have agreed to let Mitch make the arrangements, but it sounded sensible, the way he had put it. They could be assured speed and secrecy through his connection.

      “I hope your friend is ready for us.” She glanced at her watch. Dr. Brett Elliot had given them an afternoon appointment, and they should be right on time.

      “He’ll be there.” Mitch’s granite expression cracked in a reminiscent smile. “In high school Brett was always the one with the late assignment and the joke that made the teacher laugh so she didn’t penalize him. But medical school reformed him. You’d hardly guess he was once the class clown.”

      Somehow the title didn’t sound very reassuring. She glanced sideways at Mitch, registering again his size and strength. “Let me guess. You must have been the class’s star athlete.”

      He shrugged. “Something like that, I guess.”

      The hospital parking garage loomed on her right. Anne pulled in, the sandwich she’d had for lunch turning into a lead ball in her stomach. In an hour or two, she might know for sure about Emilie’s father.

      Mitch’s friend had said he’d be waiting at the lab desk. Actually, he seemed to be leaning on it. Unruly hair the color of antique gold tumbled into his eyes as he laughed down at the woman behind the desk. So this was the boy who’d charmed everyone—all grown up and still doing it, apparently.

      “Mitch!” He crossed the room in a few long strides and pumped Mitch’s hand. “Good to see you, guy. It’s been too long.”

      Brett’s face, open and smiling, contrasted with Mitch’s closed, reserved look, but nothing could disguise the affection between them. Mitch clapped him on the shoulder before turning to Anne and introducing her.

      Brett gave her the same warm grin he’d been giving the woman at the desk, but she thought she read wariness in his green eyes. Then he turned to Emilie, and all reservation vanished.

      “Hey, there, pretty girl. What’s your name?”

      “This is Emilie.”

      “What a little sweetheart.” He tickled Emilie’s chin, and even the eight-month-old baby responded to him with a shy smile and a tilt of her head.

      Brett gestured toward the orange vinyl chairs lining the empty waiting room. “Since we’ve got the place to ourselves, let’s have a chat about what we’re going to do.”

      The woman behind the desk muttered an excuse and disappeared into the adjoining room. Anne took a seat, Emilie on her lap, and vague misgivings floated through her mind. These are Mitch’s arrangements, she cautioned herself. This is Mitch’s friend.

      Brett pulled his chair around to face them. “The first step is to do a preliminary screening of blood type and Rh factors. We’ll be able to give you those results right away.”

      “They’re not definitive in establishing paternity.” She didn’t mean to sound critical, but she’d handled enough cases to know it usually went farther than that.

      “Not entirely.” Brett didn’t seem put off by her lawyer-like response. “But there are some combinations that can exclude the possibility of paternity, and that’s what we look for first.”

      Another objection stirred in Anne’s mind. “Don’t you need the mother’s blood type to do that?”

      “Yes, well, actually I got the information from the hospital where Emilie was born.”

      He exchanged a quick glance with Mitch. Obviously they’d arranged that when they talked, too.

      “My military records show my blood type.” Mitch frowned. “We could have gotten them.”

      “This is faster than waiting for the military to send something,” Brett said, before Anne could voice an objection. “And in a legal matter, we can’t just rely on your word.”

      Mitch’s mouth tightened, but he nodded.

      “Okay, so if the screening rules Mitch out,” the doctor continued, “we stop there. If it doesn’t, that still means he’s one of maybe a million people who could be the father. So we go to DNA testing at that point. It takes longer, but it’ll establish paternity beyond any doubt.”

      Emilie stirred restlessly on Anne’s lap, as if to remind her she’d had a long, upsetting couple of days. Anne stroked her head. “I understand.”

      “Let’s get on with it.” Mitch seemed ready for action, and she half expected him to push up his sleeve on the spot.

      “Fine.” Brett started toward the laboratory door.

      Ready or not. Anne picked up Emilie and followed him, suddenly breathless. She’d know something, maybe soon.

      Mitch’s stony expression didn’t change in the least when the technician plunged a needle into his hard-muscled arm. Emilie wasn’t so stoic. She stiffened, head thumping hard against Anne’s chest, and let out an anguished wail that tore into Anne’s heart.

      “Hey, little girl.” Mitch’s voice was astonishingly gentle. One large hand wrapped around the baby’s flailing foot. “It’ll be over in a second, honest.”

      When the needle was gone, Emilie’s sobs subsided, but Anne didn’t have any illusions. The baby was overtired and overstimulated, and she desperately needed to have her dinner and go to sleep. That wouldn’t hurt her mother any, either.

      “It’s all right, darling.” She stroked Emilie’s fine blond hair. “We’ll go home soon.”

      Brett nodded. “This won’t take long. Make yourselves comfortable in the waiting room, and I’ll bring you some coffee.”

      A few minutes later they were back in the same chairs they’d occupied earlier. Anne tried to balance a wiggling Emilie while digging for a bottle of juice in the diaper bag. The juice remained elusive.

      “Here, let me hold her.” Before she could object, Mitch took the baby from her. He bounced Emilie on his knees, rumpling the knife-sharp crease, his strong hands supporting the baby’s back.

      The ache between Anne’s shoulder blades eased. She watched Mitch with the baby, realizing the ache had just shifted location to her heart. If Mitch was Emilie’s father…

      She bent over the diaper bag to hide the tears that clouded her eyes. Ridiculous to feel them. Nothing had changed. She blinked rapidly and fished the juice bottle out.

      “I’ll take her now.” She flipped the cap off and dropped it in the bag.

      Mitch shook his head and reached for the bottle. “Give yourself a break for a few minutes. I can manage this.”

      She leaned back, watching as he shifted Emilie’s position and plopped the nipple into her mouth.

      “You didn’t learn that in…the Army, was it?”

      He nodded. “Military Police. Matter of fact, I did. A couple of my buddies had families.”

      She thought she heard a note of censure in his voice. “You have something against that?”

      His eyes met hers, startled, and then he shrugged. “Up to them. I just never figured family mixed very well with military police work.”

      Emilie snuggled against him, fingers curling and uncurling on the bottle, eyes beginning to droop.

      “I

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