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  Settling down in the rocker with a fussy infant, Libby soon forgot about Dr. Stone. She took pleasure and delight in watching the baby gradually fall asleep in her arms.

  Sharon had been right about how peaceful it was to rock these little ones. Crooning softly, Libby sang another medley of soft-rock hits while brushing her hand over the top of the baby’s bald head. She told herself this baby boy would one day grow into a strong young man who’d steal hearts. He stretched twenty-two inches at birth, which told her he would be tall one day. Libby suspected both his parents were tall, but then that was pure speculation on her part.

  As she rocked one infant after another, she couldn’t help wondering what their lives would be like. What potential she saw in each one. It felt good to hold these babies. Good in ways that were difficult to explain. Libby idly wondered at the emotions her mother had experienced holding her for the first time.

  Then she sensed someone standing behind her. At first she thought it was the nurse, but no …

  Dr. Stone.

  “It’s Libby, isn’t it?” he asked when he realized she knew he was behind her.

  “Yes. Dr. Stone, right?”

  He walked around and stood in front of her, looking tall and muscular, looming over her like a black storm cloud. Libby found it difficult to swallow, let alone talk normally.

  “Phillip,” he offered.

  So they were to be on a first-name basis. That was good to know, and probably some sign a twelve-year-old would be more adept at deciphering than Libby.

  “I thought that was you behind me,” she said, hoping to sound cool and unruffled. She doubted that she’d succeeded. Far be it from her to let him know how easily he intimidated her.

  “I apologize if I startled you. I heard you’ve been volunteering for the nursery.”

  “Yes … I find I have time on my hands.” She didn’t mention the reason and regretted even saying that much. Being unemployed was hard enough on her ego. Admitting it to anyone else was even more so. The fact that she hadn’t found another position after all these months made it worse.

  “I see …”

  “I’m an attorney,” she blurted out.

  “Oh. Okay.”

  Libby couldn’t seem to shut up. “I specialize in trusts and estates … things are a bit slow at the moment. Bet that doesn’t happen to physicians, though, right?” she asked, half choking on the question, which she knew was ridiculous.

  Thankfully he ignored it.

  The infant in her arms squalled. For an instant Libby had completely forgotten she was holding a baby. She thanked God the newborn hadn’t fallen from her embrace and tumbled onto the floor. Her grip tightened slightly. She realized she should probably say something, but her mind went blank. In fact, she had become totally incapable of managing a single word.

  “You’ve apparently been around babies before,” he stated conversationally.

  “Ah …”

  “You seem at ease with them.”

  At ease? Her? With babies? The truth was that until last week she couldn’t remember the last time she’d even been close to a baby.

  Six years ago. She remembered with clarity now. Juliette, one of the paralegals, had taken maternity leave. After her baby was born, Juliette had stopped by the office with her daughter in tow. Libby wasn’t even clear on how it had happened, but the baby was thrust into her arms and she’d held her for several minutes. When Juliette had taken her daughter back, Libby had been relieved.

  Yet here she was volunteering at Seattle General to rock infants. Libby wasn’t sure what had changed. Could it possibly be her? Since she’d been let go—she cringed even thinking about Burkhart, Smith & Crandall—she’d lost a sense of what and who she really was.

  “I’d like to speak to you privately,” Phillip said, breaking into her thoughts.

  Taken aback, she stared up at him blankly, wondering what he could possibly have to say to her. “Why?”

  He ignored her question. “Although the cafeteria isn’t an ideal location, it will do.”

  She blinked. “What’s this about?”

  “There’s a matter I wish to discuss,” he said, as if his answer was all the explanation that was required.

  Libby frowned. Perhaps something had shown up on her volunteer application, but that seemed unlikely because she had already been approved.

  “It’ll only take a few minutes.”

  She hesitated.

  “It’s important.”

  “All right,” she agreed, with some reluctance. “I finish at three.”

  “That’s what Sharon said.”

  She realized she was staring, and that he was waiting for her reply.

  “Three,” she repeated. “The cafeteria.”

  Without another word he left. As soon as the nursery door closed, Libby released a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. Phillip Stone was abrupt and demanding. What irritated her most was the fact that she’d let him intimidate her. Just because he was some hotshot doctor didn’t make him any better than anyone else. Yet she couldn’t help wondering what he found so important that he had to talk to her privately about it.

  Sharon returned a few minutes later. “Was that Dr. Stone I saw in here?” she asked. The smile that curved up the edges of her mouth said she couldn’t be more pleased by this unexpected turn of events. She all but rubbed her hands together with glee.

  “Yeah, he stopped by.” Libby tried hard to hide how uncomfortable the physician made her.

  “Well?” Sharon continued, her dark brown eyes wide and expectant as she eagerly awaited the details of their short meeting. “Are you going to make me torture it out of you? What did he want?”

  “He said he had something private to discuss with me,” Libby said, thinking Sharon might know what this was all about.

  Sharon’s look of surprise told her the nurse was in the dark as much as she was. Then gradually a smile came into play. “I thought he might be romantically interested in you and I was right.”

  “I don’t think so.” Libby didn’t know where Sharon had come up with that idea, but she sincerely doubted Dr. Stone was in any way attracted to her.

  Sharon’s smile didn’t waver. “Mark my words.”

  Libby rolled her eyes. “Oh, please,” she said, “I don’t think you should make more out of this than necessary. I’m sure he probably has some innocuous question or something he wants to ask.”

  “Think what you like, dearie.”

  At three, Libby removed the hospital gown, and then spent the next few minutes repairing her makeup and combing her hair. If she was going to confront the devil then she wanted to look her best. The fact that she cared irritated her all the more.

  Grabbing her cell on the way to the elevator, Libby waited until she was in the lobby and texted Robin. DR. STONE ASKED TO SPEAK TO ME PRIVATELY. DON’T KNOW WHAT THIS IS ABOUT.

  After pushing the “send” button Robin’s message came back within seconds. DR. HEART OF STONE?

  Libby texted back. FROM THE GYM.

  HOT STUFF.

  Libby scowled back at the text message. She didn’t know what women saw in Phillip Stone. Oh, sure, he was easy on the eyes, but he had the personality of a snapping turtle.

  Walking into the cafeteria, she dropped her cell into her purse and then paused in the doorway, drew in a calming breath, and looked for Phillip.

  He sat in the back of the room in an area that would grant them privacy. Libby started toward him with all the energy and enthusiasm of a condemned prisoner heading toward the hangman. Her one optimistic thought was that he was probably on his break and didn’t have long. She noticed the two cups of coffee on the table.

  She managed a half smile as she pulled out a chair and sat down. No way was she going to let him know how badly he intimidated her.

  “I wasn’t sure how you took your coffee,” he said, and handed her a mug.

  “This is fine. Now what’s this about?” Libby gripped the mug with bo
th hands.

  He glanced at his wrist as if to say he didn’t have much time, which was great by her.

  “Mainly I wanted to know about the baby.”

  “The baby?” she repeated. “The one I was holding when you were in the nursery?” She couldn’t imagine what she could tell him other than the sex of the child and his parents’ surname.

  “No, no.” He frowned and shook his head as if irritated with her for not being a mind reader. “When is the baby due, or do you even know?”

  Did he seriously think she was pregnant? It wasn’t humanly possible for her to be pregnant at this point. She hadn’t been with a man since … well, there was no need to drag up that frustrating subject.

  “No way am I pregnant,” she said, speaking distinctly and clearly. “And if I were, let me assure you that it wouldn’t be any of your business.”

  His eyes flared and he stretched out his arms and gripped the mug. Neither of them had even tasted their coffee. “I’m not talking about you.”

  Libby stared at him blankly. Frankly, he wasn’t making any sense, but nothing about him had from the beginning, so she wasn’t surprised.

  “You’re right … this isn’t my business and I hesitated to say anything, but then felt I should. I realize I might well be out of line even bringing this up.”

  She raised her right hand, at a complete loss. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”

  “Your daughter,” he snapped.

  “I don’t have a daughter.” She flattened her hand against her breast. “I’m not even married.” Not that being married was a prerequisite for having a child. Oh dear, she couldn’t seem to speak coherently around this guy.

  “The girls who were with you the other day when you dropped off the preemie hats.”

  “Casey and Ava?”

  “One of them is pregnant.”

  Libby automatically shook her head. “You’re wrong.” He had to be. “They’re just thirteen.”

  His face tightened and he grew more insistent. “I strongly suspect the dark-haired one is pregnant.”

  That bit of information wasn’t the least bit helpful. “They both have dark hair.”

  “The one who wore jeans, then.”

  “They both had on jeans.”

  He shook his head. “Okay, the one on the right.”

  Libby blinked and searched her memory, trying to remember where they’d stood in the elevator. “Your right or mine?”

  “Yours. No, mine.”

  An announcement came over the public address system asking for Dr. Stone to return immediately to the neonatal unit.

  Phillip stood. “I’ve got to go. I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful. I felt I should mention it because that girl needs to see a physician. She needs proper health care for her and her baby. I wish I could be more specific about which girl it was. If you aren’t the mother”—he hesitated and then shook his head as though he was frustrated and regretful—“I apologize that … I assumed. Well, never mind, I’m sure you’ll do what you can.”

  Having said that, he hurried out of the cafeteria.

  Chapter 8

  He was there. Robin Hamlin bit into her lower lip and did her best to quell her stampeding heart. Judge Roy Bollinger had attended the annual fund-raising dinner held by the local Legal Aid Society. Naturally she’d hoped to see him, but she’d had no way of knowing if he would participate or not.

  Robin had admired Roy years ago when they worked together on an election campaign. Recently she’d learned that his wife had died two years ago. To the best of her knowledge he wasn’t dating. She didn’t dare ask for fear one of her colleagues might question her interest. Up until now, all she’d done was admire him from afar. Roy was decent and honest, loyal and kind. They shared many of the same political views as well.

  Oh, she definitely had a crush. But Robin intended to keep it cool. Nonchalant. A blatant approach wasn’t her style. She would need to play her hand carefully, keeping her cards close to her chest. Normally she would have mailed in a generous check to the Legal Aid Society and avoided the dinner. Her sole reason for showing up was the off chance, the hope, that Judge Bollinger would be there.

  The doors to the dining room hadn’t opened. He stood in line at the bar at the cocktail reception. She was three people behind him. The two people who stood between her and Roy were a married couple she didn’t recognize, and they were chatting away animatedly. Just then Roy turned and looked past her. Perhaps he was searching for someone. He might have a date for the night. The only way to tell was if he purchased one drink or two. Robin held her breath and waited.

  One drink.

  He turned away, caught sight of her, and smiled.

  Robin smiled back and wondered how it was that her heart could pound this hard and fast and not explode. Her hands trembled as she looked down at the program she’d been handed when she’d walked into the reception. The words blurred as she struggled to hide her reaction.

  “Good evening, Counselor,” Roy said as he paused next to her. He held a glass of red wine. Pinot noir, if she guessed right. Robin enjoyed wine as well and was particularly fond of the Willamette Valley pinot noirs out of Oregon.

  “Judge Bollinger,” she said, hoping to sound causal. He wasn’t a striking man. They were close to the same height, about five-eight. His hair was completely gray and his hairline was receding. He carried himself well, and although he was ten years her senior he remained vibrant and healthy. Robin was strongly drawn to him.

  She’d never been in his court. He didn’t try criminal cases, although their courtrooms were in the same area of the King County Courthouse. They sometimes saw each other between sessions.

  “I don’t believe I’ve seen you at one of these functions before,” Roy said, pausing to chat.

  “I … I don’t often attend, although I support the cause.” Robin had never been much of a social butterfly. Like her friend Libby, she’d been married to her job for so long that she didn’t have much of a life outside the courthouse. Family and friends had warned her that the criminal cases she tried had affected her personality. How could they not? Dealing with the criminal element was bound to impact her. She felt powerless to change her way of thinking and yet she needed an outlet … some way or someone to center her. Someone to take her mind off the ugliness she confronted every day in court. Someone who would help her remember there was goodness and beauty and love in this world. She remembered laughing with Judge Bollinger and how lighthearted she’d felt after spending time with him.

  “It’s good to see you.”

  “You too.” She thought about mentioning his wife, telling him how sorry she was to hear of Mrs. Bollinger’s passing. Thankfully she stopped herself. It had happened two years ago, and it was long past the time for condolences.

  Roy wrapped his hand around the stem of the wineglass. Robin stared at his hands. They were good hands, she thought. Not large or thick. Just average, nice hands. He’d never touched her and she wondered what it would feel like to have his fingers slide across her bare skin. Oh, what a fanciful imagination she had. Still, the thought intrigued her and she couldn’t banish the image from her mind.

  He started to move away and Robin went on a desperate search for a reason to detain him. Then it came to her.

  “Judge Bollinger?”

  “Roy.”

  “Roy,” she amended. That was how she thought of him, but it would have been presumptuous of her to address him by something other than his title. “I have a friend, a very good friend, who’s seeking a position in trusts and estates. I was wondering if you know of any firm with an opening?”

  “Where did your friend work before?”

  “Burkhart, Smith & Crandall.”

  “Ah yes, I heard they had to let go some excellent attorneys. Unfortunate.”

  “Very,” Robin agreed. “My friend is Libby Morgan.”

  His brow creased as if he was trying to place the name.

>   “Elizabeth Morgan,” she corrected, although most everyone called her Libby.

  “I’ve heard of her. She has a good reputation. A hard worker.”

  “She’s the best.”

  He nodded and raised his hand to his face, a habit she’d noticed about him. He did that when he was thinking, mulling over facts in his head. “Let me check around and I’ll get back to you.”

  “I can’t tell you how much she’d appreciate that … and I would, too, of course.”

  “It’s good of you to look out for your friend.”

  “Thank you.” Robin felt more than a little guilty. The sole reason she’d asked was to delay him.

  Her turn had come and she ordered a glass of pinot noir.

  Roy had been about to leave, but he hesitated. “You enjoy wine?”

  “Very much, especially from the Willamette Valley.”

  He cocked his head to one side. “So do I.” He looked like he was about to ask if she’d tried a certain winery when she heard someone say his name.

  Roy excused himself. She paid for her drink and drifted away, although it felt as though she was walking on air.

  The dinner seemed to take hours. The speeches droned on forever. Robin knew she wouldn’t be able to recount a single word. Roy liked wine; she liked wine. She wondered if he worked Sudoku puzzles or was interested in chess. Keyed up from their short exchange, she found it impossible to eat. The woman next to her, the wife of an attorney she knew only fleetingly, attempted to make conversation but soon gave up. Robin’s mind was preoccupied with her brief conversation with Roy. She kept thinking about all the things she could have said …

  Robin left the dinner as soon as she could, and hurriedly made her way outside. It was still light out, and as she walked toward the parking garage, she reached for her cell, and scrolled down until she found Libby’s number.

  “Hi, what’s up?” Libby wasn’t one who enjoyed talking on the phone. For that matter Robin wasn’t, either, but they’d been chatting more often since she’d joined the gym.

  “I’ve been putting the word out for you,” Robin said.

  “You have?” Her friend sounded hopeful.