Free The Baby Surprise by Brenda Harlen Page A

farther than that to find both Emma and Zach.
    The baby was curled up on one end of the sofa, her favorite blanket clutched in one little fist, the thumb of the other hanging out of her mouth. Zach was on the floor, his back against the sofa. His legs were out straight, his head was tipped back, and one of his hands was resting protectively on the sleeping child’s back. At any other time, the peaceful scene might have warmed her heart, but she was too busy gaping at the chaos around them to fully appreciate the serene image of man and child.
    She took another slow and careful survey of the room, stunned. Okay, so maybe she’d wondered how he would fare on his own with the little girl, and maybe she’d even hoped that Emma wouldn’t make things too easy for him. She hadn’t expected the living room to look as if a Category 4 hurricane had torn through it.
    But that was exactly how it appeared to Paige, with toys and plastic bowls and sippy cups and clothes and diapers—she sent up a quick prayer that they were at least clean diapers—strewn absolutely everywhere.
    She must have gasped because Zach was immediately awake and on his feet, every muscle in his body on alert. He was so tall, so strong, so completely and undeniably male that, for a split second, the disaster zone faded away and there was only Zach.
    His eyes locked on her, the air crackled, her skin prickled. The intensity of her reaction—the unexpected force of the attraction she felt—startled her enough that she looked away, breaking the seductive spell of those blue, blue eyes and reminding her of the chaos she’d stepped into.
    â€œWhat the heck happened?” she asked, keeping her voicelow so as not to wake the sleeping child while she attempted to hold her churning hormones firmly in check.
    He tore his gaze from hers to glance around and winced as if he was seeing the room for the first time. “Hurricane Emma,” he muttered.
    His explanation was so close to what she’d been thinking that she might have smiled if the condition of her living room didn’t make her want to cry. Instead, she just shook her head. “I need a cup of coffee.”
    â€œWait—”
    She paused in midstep. “You’re going to tell me that the kitchen is just as bad, aren’t you?”
    â€œProbably worse,” he admitted.
    â€œAs long as I can find the coffeepot.”
    Zach took hold of her shoulders to steer her away from the kitchen, and when his hands came down on her, she jolted as if she’d been zapped by a live wire. His hands dropped away. “Why don’t you take Emma up to her bed while I make the coffee?”
    She decided it was probably good advice and, ignoring the tingles that coursed through her veins in response to his touch, turned back to the sleeping child in the living room.
    By the time she’d returned to the kitchen after checking Emma’s diaper and tucking her into her crib, the coffeepot was gurgling away.
    â€œBoy or girl?” he finally asked, passing a mug across the counter to her.
    For the first time since walking into the disaster zone that had once been her house—at least for the summer—she smiled. “Boy,” she answered. “Marcus Allan Richmond—for both of Megan’s and Gage’s fathers. Eight pounds ten ounces, twenty-two inches with big blue eyes and gorgeous blond curls.”
    â€œAnd how’s the new mommy doing?” Zach lifted his own mug to drink.
    â€œShe’s great. Amazing. Overjoyed. And Gage was so thrilled with both his wife and new baby, he actually cried.”
    â€œI’ll bet you did, too,” he guessed.
    â€œJust a little,” she admitted.
    â€œWhen did all of this finally happen?”
    â€œ11:47.”
    Zach glanced at his watch. “You obviously didn’t hang around for very long after.”
    â€œLong enough to congratulate the new mommy and daddy and steal a