Free Rogue Stallion by Diana Palmer Page B

she offered.
    He looked at her with an expression that bordered on dislike. It had flattered him that she kept asking for his help, and she seemed to like his company. But he liked kissing her too much, and that made him irritable. He didn’t want a social worker to move into his life. He was weakening toward her, and he couldn’t afford that. “I don’t remember asking for a follow-up report,” he said, deliberately being difficult.
    It didn’t faze Jessica, who was used to him. His bad humor bounced off her. That kiss hadn’t, of course, but she had to remember that he was a lonerand keep things in perspective. She could mark that lapse down to experience. She knew she wouldn’t forget it anytime soon, but she had to keep her eyes off McCallum.
    “You’re so cynical, McCallum,” she said heavily. “Haven’t you ever heard that old saying about no man being an island?”
    “I read John Donne in college,” he replied. “I can be an island if I please.”
    She pursed her lips again, surveying him with marked interest. “If you really were an island, you’d have barbed wire strung around the trees and land mines on the beaches.”
    She went inside, aware of the deep masculine laughter she left behind her.
     
    The abandoned baby, Jennifer, had been placed in care, and Jessica couldn’t help going to see her. She was living temporarily as a ward of the court with a local family that seemed to thrive on anyone’s needful children.
    “We can’t have any of our own, you see,” Mabel Darren said with a grin. She was in her mid-thirties, dark and bubbly, and it didn’t take a clairvoyant to know that she loved children. She had six of them, all from broken homes or orphaned, ranging in age from a toddler to a teen.
    The house was littered, but clean. The social-services office had to check it out periodically tocomply with various regulations, but there had never been any question of the Darrens’ ability to provide for their charges. And if ever children were loved, these underprivileged ones were.
    “Isn’t she a little angel?” Mabel asked when Jessica had the sweet-smelling infant in her arms.
    “Oh, yes,” Jessica said, feeling a terrible pain as she cuddled the child. She would never know the joy of childbirth, much less that of watching a baby grow to adulthood. She would be alone all her life.
    Mabel would have understood, but Jessica could never bring herself to discuss her anguish with anyone. She carried Jennifer to the rocking chair and sat down with her, oblivious to the many other duties that were supposed to be demanding her attention.
    The older woman just smiled. “It’s time for her bottle. Would you like to feed her while you’re here? Then I could get on with my dirty dishes,” she added. She knew already that if she could make Jessica think she was helping, the social worker was much more likely to do what she really wanted to.
    “If it would help,” Jessica said. Her soft, dark eyes were on the baby’s face and she touched the tiny head, the hands, the face with fingers that trembled. She’d never known such a profound hunger in her life, and tears stung her eyes.
    As if the baby sensed her pain, her big eyes opened and she stared up at Jessica, unblinking. Shemade a soft gurgling noise in her throat. With a muffled cry, Jessica cuddled Jennifer close and started the chair rocking. At that moment, she would have given anything—anything!—for this tiny precious thing to be her very own.
    Mabel’s footsteps signaled her approach. Jessica composed herself just before the other woman reappeared with a bottle. She managed to feed the baby and carry on a pleasant conversation with Mabel, apparently unruffled by the experience. But deep inside, she was devastated. Something about Jennifer accentuated all the terrible feelings of inadequacy and made her child hungry. She’d never wanted anything as much as she wanted the abandoned infant.
    After she fed the baby, she went back