Claiming The Captain's Baby

“I’m sorry, but I cannot reveal that information over the telephone.”

Twin emotions of annoyance and panic gripped her. She did not want to relive the anxiety she had experienced before the court finalized her adopting her niece. “What time on Thursday?”

“Eleven o’clock. I’ll call you the day before as a reminder and follow-up with an email.”

Mya exhaled an inaudible sigh. “Thank you.”

She hadn’t realized her hand was shaking when she replaced the receiver in the console. Leaning back in the desk chair, she combed her fingers through a wealth of brown curly hair with natural gold highlights, holding it off her forehead.

There never had been a question that she would lose Lily to the foster care system because her sister had drawn up a will that included a clause naming Mya as legal guardian for her unborn baby.

A week after Sammie gave birth to a beautiful dark-haired infant, she handed Lily to Mya with the pronouncement that she wanted Mya to raise her daughter as her own. At first she thought Sammie was experiencing postpartum depression, but nothing could have prepared her for the reality that her younger sister was terminally ill.

Sammie had been diagnosed with an aggressive form of breast cancer. Mya put up a brave front for her sister because she needed to be strong for her, but whenever she was alone she could not stop crying. The young, beautiful, vivacious thirty-two-year-old woman who was in love with life was dying and there was nothing she could do to help her.

Gurgling sounds came from the baby monitor on a side table. Mya glanced at the screen where she could observe her daughter. It was after three and Lily was awake.

Pushing back her chair, she rose and walked out of the office and down the hall to the nursery. Lily was standing up in her crib. She’d sat up at five months, began crawling at six and now at seven was able to pull up and stand, but only holding onto something. It was as if her precocious daughter was in a hurry to walk before her first birthday.

Months before Lily’s birth, Mya and Sammie spent hours selecting furniture and decorating the room that would become the nursey. The colors of sage green and pale pink were repeated in blankets, quilts and in the colorful border along the antique-white walls.

“Hey, doll baby. Did you have a good nap?”

A squeal of delight filled the space when the baby raised her chubby arms to be picked up. The instant she let go of the railing, Lily landed hard on her bottom but didn’t cry. Mya reached over the rail of the crib and scooped her up while scrunching up her nose. She dropped a kiss on damp, inky-black curls. “Somebody needs changing.”

Lily pushed out her lips in an attempt to mirror Mya’s expression. Mya smiled at the beautiful girl with long dark lashes framing a pair of large sky blue eyes. Lily looked nothing like Sammie, so it was obvious she had inherited her father’s hair and eye color.

She placed her on the changing table and took off the damp onesie and then the disposable diaper. At thirty-four, Mya had not planned on becoming a mother, yet learned quickly. She’d read countless books on feedings, teething, potty training and the average milestones for crawling, walking and talking. She had childproofed the house—all the outlets were covered, there were safety locks on the kitchen cabinets and drawers, wires secured off the floor, and all furniture with sharp edges were placed out of the way.

She gathered Lily in her arms and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You’re getting heavy.”

Lily grabbed several strands of Mya’s hair as she carried her down the staircase to the kitchen. “If you keep pulling my hair, I’ll be forced to get extensions.” She had made it a habit to either style her hair in a single braid or ponytail because her daughter appeared transfixed by the profusion of curls resembling a lion’s mane.

She entered the kitchen and placed Lily in her high chair. Opening the refrigerator, she took out a bottle of milk and filled a sippy cup. Lily screamed in delight when handed the cup.

Mya felt a warm glow flow through her as she watched Lily drink. Her daughter’s life would mirror her biological mother’s and her aunt’s. She would grow up not knowing her birth mother, but Mya had started a journal chronicling the baby’s milestones, photographs of Sammie and a collection of postcards from the different cities and countries her sister had visited. Once Lily was old enough to understand that her aunt wasn’t her biological mother, Mya would reveal the circumstances of her birth.

* * *

“Giles, Brandt is on line two.”

The voice of Giles Wainwright’s administrative assistant coming through the intercom garnered his attention. He had spent the past twenty minutes going over the architect’s rendering and the floor plan of six three-bedroom, two-bath homes on an island in the Bahamas he had recently purchased for the international division of Wainwright Developers Group.

He tapped a button on the intercom. “Thank you, Jocelyn.” He activated the speaker feature as he leaned back in the executive chair and rested his feet on the corner of the antique desk. “What’s up, cousin?”

“I’m calling to let you know Ciara and I have finally set a date for our wedding.”

Brandt “The Viking” Wainwright’s professional football career was cut short when he broke both legs in an automobile accident. Sidelined for the season and confined to his penthouse suite, Brandt had had a revolving door of private duty nurses before no-nonsense Ciara Dennison refused to let him bully her. In the end, Brandt realized he had met his match and his soul mate.

“Finally,” Giles teased. “When is it?”

“We’ve decided on February 21 at the family resort in the Bahamas. It’s after the Super Bowl, and that week the schools are out for winter break. And if adults want to bring their kids, then the more the merrier.”

Giles smiled. “I’m certain you won’t find an argument from the kids who’d rather hang out on a tropical beach than ski upstate.”

Brandt’s deep chuckle came through the speaker. “You’re probably right about that. Ciara’s mailing out the Save the Week notice to everyone. If the family is amenable to spending the week in the tropics, then I’ll make arrangements to reserve several villas to accommodate everyone.”

Giles listened as Brandt talked about their relatives choosing either to fly down on the corporate jet that seated eighteen, or sail down on the Mary Catherine, the Wainwright family yacht. Giles preferred sailing as his mode of transportation, because two to three times a month he flew down to the Bahamas to meet with the broker overseeing the sale of two dozen private islands now owned by Wainwright Developers Group International, or WDG, Inc.

The conversation segued to the news that there would be another addition to the Wainwright clan when Jordan and his wife, Aziza, welcomed their first child in the coming weeks.

Giles lowered his feet and sat straight when Jocelyn Lewis knocked softly on the door and stuck her head through the opening. She held an envelope in one hand.

Giles beckoned her in. “Hold on, Brandt, I need to get something from my assistant.”

“I know you’re busy, Giles, so I’ll talk to you later,” Brandt said.

“Give Ciara my love.”

“I’ll tell her.”

Giles ended the call, stood up and took the letter from Jocelyn’s outstretched hand. He thought of the woman as a priceless diamond after he had gone through a number of assistants in the four years since he’d started up the overseas division. Within minutes of Giles interviewing her, he had known Jocelyn was the one. At forty-six, she had left her position as director of a childcare center because she wanted to experience the corporate world. What prompted Giles to hire her on the spot was her admission that she’d taken several courses to become proficient in different computer programs.

He met the eyes of the woman who only recently had begun wearing makeup after terminating her membership with a church that frowned on women wearing pants and makeup. The subtle shade of her lipstick complemented the yellow undertones in her flawless mahogany complexion. “Who delivered this?” he asked, when he noticed that the stamp and the postmark were missing. Personal and Confidential was stamped below the addressee, while the return address indicated a Wickham Falls, West Virginia, law firm.

Jocelyn’s eyebrows lifted slightly behind a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. “George brought it up. He said it came with this morning’s FedEx delivery.”

Giles nodded. “Thank you.” All mail for the company was left at the front desk. The receptionist signed for documents requiring a signature, and then she alerted the mail room where George logged in and distributed letters and packages to their respective departments.

Jocelyn hesitated and met her boss’s eyes. “I just want to remind you that I’ll be in late tomorrow morning. I have to renew my driver’s license.”

He nodded. Jocelyn had saved his department thousands when she redesigned the website from ordinary to extraordinary with photos of Bahamian-Caribbean-style homes on private islands with breathtaking views of the Atlantic Ocean and others with incredibly pristine Caribbean beaches.

Waiting until she walked out of the office and closed the door behind her, Giles sat down and slid a letter opener under the flap of the envelope. A slight frown settled into his features when he read and reread the single page of type. He was being summoned to the reading of a will. The letter did not indicate to whom the will belonged, but requested he call to confirm his attendance.

Picking up the telephone receiver, he tapped the area code and then the numbers. “This is Giles Wainwright,” he said, introducing himself when the receptionist identified the name of the law firm. “I have a letter from your firm requesting my presence at the reading of a will this coming Thursday.”

There came a pause. “Please hold on, Mr. Wainwright, while I connect you to Mr. McAvoy’s office.”

Giles drummed his fingers on the top of the mahogany desk with a parquetry inlay.

“Mr. Wainwright, I’m Nicole Campos, Mr. McAvoy’s assistant. Are you calling to confirm your attendance?”

“I can’t confirm until I know who named me in their will.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Wainwright, but I cannot disclose that at this time.”

He went completely still. “You expect me to fly from New York to West Virginia on a whim?”