Gingerly, careful of the way she had been taught to support his head, Grace took Baby and turned him onto her shoulder. She patted his back with gentle, rhythmic strokes.

“Have you been thinking of a name?” Emma asked, packing Baby’s clothes into yet another bag.

“I’ve thought of hundreds,” Grace admitted, now pacing and patting and softly jouncing him up and down. “But none of them seems right,” she said with averted eyes.

Lord, she hated lying to this nice lady. But she couldn’t tell her she hadn’t the right to christen Baby, that it was his father’s privilege.

She had told the hospital staff and the social workers that she did not know who Baby’s father was. It was the hardest lie she had ever told, but it was the most expedient—although it had been touch and go for a while. The hospital had been loath to release him without a Christian name to put on the birth certificate. As it stood, he was officially, temporarily, known as Baby Boy Sutter.

With only a bit of paperwork, and not liking the no-name situation any more than the hospital had, the courts had awarded Grace temporary custody of Baby until they could ask their counterparts in Maine to look into the matter. Upon hearing that news, Grace had even gone so far as to make up a tale that Mary had admitted having a one-night stand with a man who had been passing through Pine Creek. It was a wonder the cookie tin hadn’t exploded all over her kitchen for that damning lie, but Grace had not wanted anyone investigating anything.

Her brothers were another matter altogether. Every one of them had promised to book a flight when Grace had called with the terrible news. But she convinced them there was nothing they could do here and that if they wished to express their love for Mary, they would show up at TarStone Mountain on the Summer Solstice.

Her lie to them had been one of omission. She had not told them about Baby.

Although Grace loved each of them dearly, she did not want them coming here and taking charge of a situation they knew nothing about. Not that she knew much more. But how could she explain she knew who the father was but that he thought he was a traveler through time? And how could she omit that little detail without first meeting Michael MacBain and deciding for herself if he was sane or not?

No, it was better this way. She didn’t want or need six strong-minded men messing up the promise she had made to her sister.

Grace walked to the living-room window and saw Jonathan’s Mercedes pull away from the stop sign at the end of her street. She buried her nose in Baby’s hair, drawing in a long, satisfying whiff of shampoo and powder.

She had just had her first fight with Jonathan, and it had been an illuminating event.

He was worried about his company, the competition that was rapidly closing in on them, and Podly’s performance. Well, she couldn’t do anything about their competitors, but she could take care of Podly, even from Maine. Jonathan would calm down once he realized that he hadn’t lost her expertise, only her physical presence. She would do a good job for StarShip these next four months and maybe set a precedent for an annual sabbatical in Maine.

But there had been something else in Jonathan’s voice and actions lately that simply didn’t add up. If she had to put a name on it, Grace would call it fear. Jonathan had seemed scared just now that he couldn’t talk her out of leaving.

Was he afraid she might not come back?

Or was the satellite his only concern?

Just before Podly had been launched six weeks ago, Jonathan had become quiet and withdrawn. He’d canceled a date with her at the last minute and had sequestered himself in the lab with Podly for nearly four days after that, placing the last bolt on the satellite himself, sealing it for its eight-month orbit around Earth.

And since it had been launched, Jonathan had been acting strangely with everyone at work. The first two weeks Podly had been up, before Mary’s accident, Jonathan had spent every possible minute looking over Grace’s shoulder at the computer bank that was the mission control for the small satellite—when, that is, he wasn’t locked in his office with the blinds drawn. More than once Grace had come to work only to realize that Jonathan had never left.

He’d doubled security at the lab and threatened everyone to be on the alert for corporate espionage.

Probably the only reason Grace wasn’t as paranoid as Jonathan was because she had spent the last four weeks wrapped up in her own grief and Baby’s care.

And that was another thing.

Jonathan didn’t want Baby. He expected her to make a phone call, hand Baby over to a stranger, then get on with business as usual.

The subject of children had come up once on a date, and Jonathan had casually alluded to the fact that they would make quite a baby together, that their child would have a genetic makeup that could not help but ensure great intelligence.

At the time Grace had been thrilled that Jonathan was even thinking such thoughts about their future together. Now, though, she was beginning to wonder if the man was dating her for who she was or for the genes she was carrying. He might be open to the idea of having his own carefully engineered baby, but he definitely wanted nothing to do with another man’s child.

That was something else she would have to think about these next four months.

“He’s spit up on you again,” Emma said, breaking into Grace’s thoughts. “It’s running down the back of your shoulder.”

Emma tossed a towel over Grace’s shoulder and took Baby away from her. “You’ve got to be more gentle with the tyke, Grace,” she said, smiling as she gave her critique. “Handle him the way you handle your laptop computer. Hold him firmly, but don’t jostle him too much.”

Grace wiped the spit from her shirt and flopped down into a chair. She threw the towel across the room, aiming for the dirty clothes basket. She missed. “I’m never going to make it as a mother, Emma. I can’t seem to get the hang of it.”

Grace blew the hair from her cheek and reached up and tucked it behind her ear. “I have all the confidence a person could want when it comes to splitting atoms or launching rockets into space.” She waved at Baby. “But I can’t even dress him without having snaps left over when I get to his neck. And the sticky tape on his diapers defeats me. He comes away naked when I pull off his jumpsuits.”

Emma was truly laughing now as she set Baby down and started changing him into his traveling clothes.

Grace got up from her chair and moved closer to watch.

“You’re sure he’s not too young to travel?” she asked over Emma’s shoulder, fascinated by the woman’s effortless skill.

“Naw. He’s as strong as an ox, this one. And the doctor gave you permission.” She looked up at Grace.

“Believe me, Dr. Brown would not have let him go if he had any doubts. Here. You rock him to sleep, and I’ll finish packing his things.” She walked to where she’d set down her purse and pulled out a book.

“Where’s your carry-on?” she asked. “I brought you some reading for the flight.”

“What is it?” Grace asked.

“It’s a book on babies,” Emma said, holding it up for Grace to see. “Written by two women who know what they’re doing. Between them, they’ve got eight children.” She tucked the book into the bag by the hall doorway.

“You’re sending me off with an owner’s manual?” Grace asked, her laugh getting stuck on the lump in her throat.

Emma straightened and looked Grace in the eye. “You go with your instincts first, Grace. If you think something’s wrong, get Baby to a doctor. But usually just common sense will see you through each day.

And if in doubt, check this book or call me.” She pulled a piece of paper from her pocket and tucked it into the bag beside the book. “These are my numbers, for home and work. You call.”