LITMIR.BIZ

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her other hand. “And here we have Miss Crankypants Infant screaming her head off. Which female do you think you’d pick?”

      He scratched his chin. “Tough choice. Is Miss Nubile a blond or a brunette?”

      “Which are you more partial to?”

      “Tall redheads.”

      With an involuntary flash of disappointment, Liz figured a short brunette like herself was safe from him. “Okay, let’s make Miss Nubile a tall, titian-haired temptress.”

      “Okay, let’s.”

      “I knew you were impossible the first time we met.”

      “Thank you very much,” he said brightly.

      She sighed, shaking her head in exasperation. “My point is that when you don’t show up because you and Miss Nubile are tripping the light fantastic somewhere, it’s the babies who lose out. The role of touch is critical in child development. We need people we can count on for this program.”

      “You’re prejudging me.”

      “Not you specifically, but men in general—”

      “So this third degree has to do with the fact that I’m a man.”

      More than you could possibly imagine, she thought. But she only said, “Our average volunteer is female.”

      “Aren’t there laws against gender discrimination?”

      “Not discrimination. A screening process to protect the babies.”

      “I would never hurt them.”

      “I’m not suggesting you would deliberately harm them, but neglect—”

      He stood suddenly and his agreeable, flirtatious facade disappeared. “I don’t neglect children, Liz. I firmly believe that they are our most precious natural resource.”

      Funny, she thought. She liked his anger more than his charm. She believed it. She stood too. “That’s something we see eye-to-eye on.”

      “By definition I thought you had to take anyone who shows up.”

      “True. But I won’t approve any volunteer who might reflect badly on the program. It’s not firmly established yet.”

      “No?”

      She shook her head. “It’s just about a year old. We’re coming up for review soon. Some members of the hospital Board of Directors feel the volunteers could be better used elsewhere. I don’t want to give them any ammunition to cancel the cuddlers. I have to insist on high standards.”

      He looked down at her, way down. “Spell it out.”

      “Reliability is a must. And a minimum commitment of one three hour shift a week. We require you to work four weeks in the newborn nursery before going to the Neonatal Intensive Care.” She shrugged. “Those are the rules.”

      “You’ve got yourself a new recruit. When is the orientation?”

      “Saturday. Ten a.m. Sharp.” She glanced at his paperwork, making sure he’d filled it out completely. “Tardiness isn’t an excuse.”

      “I’ll be here.”

      “Read and sign the back of this please,” she said, sliding the paper across her desk.

      He picked it up and scanned the words. Liz knew it was an agreement to adhere to all hospital rules of safety and confidentiality. It also said a volunteer could be terminated from the program for any reason deemed sufficient by the Director of Volunteers. She didn’t suppose Essie Martinez would consider booting Joe Marchetti before he started because he was too good-looking.

      “May I borrow your pen?” he asked.

      Hoping she wasn’t making a big mistake, she handed him one and he signed the form. “So we’ll see you bright and early Saturday morning?” she asked.

      “I’ll be here.”

      She gathered a file from her desk and started for the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

      “Where are you off to in such a hurry? Hot date?” he asked, preceding her out the door.

      “Sort of. I moderate a new mothers’ support group on Tuesday and Thursday evenings.” She thought of something as she locked her office. “Sooner or later all the cuddlers are required to attend. I think it gives the program some continuity. Maybe you would like to join us now? Unless you have somewhere to go?”

      “No, now is fine,” he said without hesitation.

      Good, she thought, wondering if this would scare him off. It was never too early to separate the men from the boys, test his mettle. If he was going to chicken out, better sooner than later.

      Joe sat in a gray plastic chair at a long table in the front of classroom 2 and watched Liz. Wearing navy slacks and a matching blazer with a bright yellow sweater underneath, she looked stylish and professional as she stood at the door greeting everyone. Women filed in, most of them carrying infants, all of them looking tired.

      He studied Ms. Liz Anderson. She was a little thing, which had wounded his male pride when she’d yanked him out of Rosie’s room by his ear. But it was that moxie that had gotten his attention. She was attractive, but not one of those women who gave men whiplash when she walked down the street. Her hair, an ordinary shade of brown, was cut pixie short. Which suited her. Big hazel eyes dominated her small face. If he had to choose a word to describe her it would be cute.

      The next one that popped into his mind was wary.

      With him a few moments before, she’d been pleasant enough, but he’d bet all of his profit shares in Marchetti’s, Inc. that she didn’t want him in her cuddlers program. She expected him to welsh on his promise. His gut told him there was more to it than that. Which made him wonder why she’d asked him to sit in on the parent’s support group.

      He noticed that her manner with the new mothers was warm and pleasant. Everyone got a hug. And when she looked at the babies, her face grew soft, with a glowing tenderness that made her beautiful. He wondered if she had children of her own. She wasn’t wearing a wedding ring—he’d made it a point to look. But that didn’t necessarily mean she was attached—or unattached.

      “I guess we should start,” Liz said, walking to the front of the room.

      Several new mothers holding their babies sat around the long table, blankets, diapers and bags placed haphazardly on chairs in between them. They watched Liz as she made her way to the lectern with the chalkboard behind it. Joe sat in the chair closest to her.

      She met his gaze. “We have a guest tonight. Ladies, this is Joe Marchetti. He’s interested in joining the cuddlers program here at the hospital.”

      He nodded to the women settling themselves. Some were discreetly nursing their infants. Some were standing, rocking from side to side. The lucky ones sat with sleeping babies in their arms. “Hi,” he said. He’d never understood the expression “fish out of water” better than he did at this moment.

      Liz cleared her throat. “We’ll leave the door open. There are always stragglers. You all know that with a new baby there’s no guarantee of getting anywhere on time.”

      He leaned over to her and whispered, “Would any of those stragglers happen to be fathers?”

      “This is a new mothers’ support group.” Liz shrugged.

      “Ah,” he answered. “I guess I just assumed some dads would come along.”

      “Sometimes they do,” she said. “And they’re always welcome. But in most cases, women are the primary caretakers, and the one whose life is most impacted with the responsibility of caring for and feeding the infant. Which reminds me. Andie, how are you doing with nursing Valerie this week? Is it going any better?”

      “I

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