He understood that his landlady might be bored and lonely. Nevertheless, she had no business poking through his possessions, and he didn’t see how he could stay there any longer.
Considering the unpleasantness of the situation, he wished she’d given him a clear-cut reason to break the lease. Instead, if he left, he might end up forking out unaffordable payments—half of Stacy’s rent, as he’d offered, along with the rent on this place and the cost of a new apartment. Despite making a respectable income, he didn’t see how he could manage all that.
Cole fired up his laptop and visited a site featuring the latest bicycle accessories. He’d like to buy a cyclocomputer to track his speed and mileage. On the low end, he found one for only thirty-five bucks, but it paled in comparison to a top-of-the-line competitor that also monitored heart rate and travel time, stored favorite routes and included both map features and GPS. On the downside, it cost over five hundred dollars.
He’d never been concerned about such expenses before. Now, he had to put aside money for Stacy. Just in case.
Out of curiosity, he moved the cursor to the browser window and typed in his landlady’s name, Valerie Linden.
You never knew what you might find on the internet.
A list of references popped up, mostly women who were clearly not her. Then Cole remembered seeing her middle initial on a piece of misdelivered mail. He typed in Valerie Q. Linden and added Safe Harbor for good measure.
The name of a blog jumped out: The Neighborhood Nose. The woman snooped and bragged about it? With disbelief, he read the title of her latest entry. “Dr. Daddy Crisis: An Inside View.”
There was a picture of Cole’s TV set and DVD player. Another image showed his bathroom counter with his shaver and deodorant neatly lined up, followed by a similar shot of his nearly bare kitchen counter. The only thing she hadn’t run were shots inside his bureau drawers and refrigerator—maybe she was saving those for later.
Judging by the date and time, she’d posted these while he was eating dinner. The nerve...
Fury shot through Cole. It took all his restraint not to storm over to her house and order the woman to remove the pictures immediately. He wasn’t sure whether this qualified as a crime, but it certainly constituted grounds for a lawsuit—not that he wanted to get involved in anything so messy.
Besides, threatening a woman could bring down the law on his own head. That was all he needed, headlines about Dr. Daddy Crisis terrorizing his landlady.
Getting a grip on his outrage, Cole read what she’d written. She described how exciting it was to rent an apartment to a famous scientist, and how she’d eagerly followed news reports about him. He found two more entries from earlier in the week, one showing the exterior of the apartment and the other featuring his bicycle, wedged next to gardening implements in the garage. Both cited his orderly habits and how he always seemed lost in thought.
She didn’t stop there. The woman indulged in fantasies about what he might be thinking—how he was going to save the world, a superhero in a white coat awakening mankind to its imminent demise. While he supposed some people might view this as flattering, he found it embarrassing and unprofessional.
Coupled with the press’s overheated accounts, this sort of thing could turn Cole into a laughing stock. His reputation might never live it down.
Needing to see everything she’d written about him, he scanned earlier blogs about neighborhood comings and goings. She’d avoided using names, and didn’t appear to have snooped inside any other houses, confining her photos to front yards, cars and open garages. While Cole doubted the neighbors would be pleased, she didn’t appear to have violated their rights.
But while she didn’t mention him by name, the reference to Dr. Daddy Crisis plainly identified him, and taking pictures inside his apartment was inexcusable. He found the number of the hospital’s attorney, Tony Franco, who had urged the staff to consult him at any time if a matter might reflect negatively on the medical center.
Cole intended to get those pictures taken down—pronto—without risking getting hauled off to jail for verbally assaulting his landlady. Then he was going to move out.
He hoped, into Stacy’s apartment.
Chapter Eleven
Cole wasn’t sure what the attorney said to Valerie Linden on the phone, but within an hour she had removed not only the offending entries but the entire blog.
“She sounded scared to death,” Tony told Cole in a call later that night. “She invited you to come to her house and look through her computer. She claims she’s deleted all the JPEGs.”
“She might have copies,” Cole hedged. He hadn’t the slightest interest in entering his landlady’s home. When he’d gone inside to sign the lease, he’d nearly passed out from the smell of potpourri and perfumed candles. “However, I’m willing to take her word for it.”
“She seems compliant,” the attorney assured him, “and I’m sure we’d all rather keep this quiet. I’ll monitor her activities on the web, though, to be safe.”
“Sounds good.” Cole didn’t want to risk attracting more publicity with a lawsuit, plus he didn’t like the idea of using a sledgehammer on a gnat. He just hoped the woman had learned her lesson, so that future tenants, as well as neighbors, would be safe.
“She agreed to let you off the hook for the lease,” Tony added. “If you want to move out, she won’t hassle you about the rent.”
“Thanks.” That didn’t seem like enough, so Cole added, “You’ve done a terrific job.”
“I’m happy to help,” Tony replied cheerfully. “Need any help finding a place? I know a couple of good Realtors who handle leases.”
“I already have a prospect.”
And he did, Cole reflected as they ended the call. Now all he had to do was change Stacy’s mind.
* * *
ON SATURDAY MORNING, Cole arrived at her apartment complex armed with two thick slices of tiramisu in a sack and an African violet in a painted pot. The overall presentation fell short of what he’d hoped for, but he’d had to wait half an hour for Papa Giovanni’s to open, and that ought to count for something.
At the foot of the steps, he found his way blocked by Ned Norwalk, holding up one end of a steeply tilted sofa. Disconcerted, Cole moved out of the way as the nurse, the couch and a second man, whom Cole recognized as an orderly, reached the ground.
“Hey, Doc.” The surfer was breathing hard. “You here to give Harper a hand?”
“Visiting Stacy,” Cole answered.
“African violets. Nice choice,” Ned remarked as the pair hauled their load toward a pickup truck parked by the sidewalk.
“Glad you approve.” Cole had to admit he could benefit from some coaching on the romance front. But preferably from someone other than Ned.
He hurried upstairs, eager to talk to Stacy while the guys were occupied. He’d have preferred to call ahead, but why make it easier for her to turn him down? Still, he should have considered the awkwardness of pleading his case with an audience.
Well, she wanted to be swept away. While a sack of sliced cake and a pot of flowers might not rise to such heights, he was trying.
The door to the apartment stood open. Inside, only a few pieces of furniture remained, with boxes everywhere and a large, dusty rectangle on the carpet showing where the couch had been. Amid the mess, Harper stood with hands on hips, glaring at a small girl who mirrored her pose, staring back at her. “Mia, quit fooling around and pack the rest of your toys.”
“I’m hungry!” the little girl proclaimed.
“Have an apple.”
“I hate apples!”
“You love apples. Besides...” Her mother caught sight of Cole. “Dr. Rattigan. Was Stacy expecting you?”
“No,” he admitted. “Is she here?”
“She’s at her storage unit.” Harper wiped her hands on her jeans. “Deciding what to bring over.”
He’d assumed she would be home at this hour. “Will she be back soon?”
“I’m not sure.” Harper blew out a sharp breath. “Do you have her cell number?”
“Yes. I’ll give her a call.” Cole turned to go.
“That smells great!” Mia ran over to him, her gaze trained on the sack of tiramisu.
“It’s reserved for Stacy,” Cole responded automatically.
“All of it?”
“Cut it out, Mia,” said her mother. To Cole, she added apologetically, “I know it’s only ten o’clock, but she’s been up since dawn. She needs a nap, but I have to show the guys where to unload stuff at the new house.”
“I could watch her,” he offered impulsively. Even if Stacy didn’t return promptly, Cole was curious about what babysitting involved. These days, he found children fascinating in an entirely new way.
“Would you?” Gratitude shone on her face. “Thanks so much.” She caught her daughter’s hand. “Mia, I want you to finish packing and then take a nap. You can use your sleeping bag. Dr. Rattigan is going to stay here. I’m counting on you to be good.”
“Okay, Mommy.” The little girl heaved a dramatic sigh. “I’ll do my best.”
Ned appeared in the doorway, with the other man right behind. “Let’s grab a few more boxes and go,” he said. “I promised to return the pickup truck by noon.”
“Oh, my gosh!” Harper grabbed a box labeled Dinnerware. Setting down his gifts, Cole hefted another box, marked Bedroom, and followed the others to the parking lot.
A few minutes later, the truck and Harper’s car were loaded and the two-vehicle caravan rolled off. From the sidewalk, Cole tried Stacy’s number and was sent to voice mail.
No reception at the storage unit? Disappointed, he left a message with the basic information: At her place, babysitting. Needed to talk. That pretty much covered it. He texted her, too, for good measure.
Nearing the top of the stairs, he came face-to-face with Mia. Standing a few steps up, she met him at eye level. She had a snub nose and tangled hair a few shades lighter than her mother’s.
“I finished packing,” the little girl announced.
“Already?”
“It’s just toys. Wanna check?”
“Sure.” He followed her.
The girl trotted ahead with the swagger of a miniature teenager. Not what Cole had expected, he mused. She had attitude to spare. He’d been a timid child himself.
Inside, Mia darted into a bedroom. A large bed frame leaned against the wall. In the open closet, Cole noted an unzipped garment bag containing women’s clothing and realized the child must have shared this room with her mom. He didn’t blame Harper for her eagerness to move to a bigger place, although the timing hadn’t been good for Stacy.
He still hoped it might prove to be good for him.
Mia pointed to a cardboard box piled with dolls, games, teddy bears and picture books. “See?” she said proudly.
The haphazard assemblage offended Cole’s sense of order. The box could hold at least 50 percent more stuff, with less likelihood of damage. How did you correct a child without hurting her feelings?
He got an idea. “That’s a good start,” Cole said. “But I’ll bet there’s already plenty of air at your new home.”
Her forehead wrinkled. “What do you mean?”
Cole knelt on the lint-strewn carpet, glad he’d worn jeans. He’d considered putting on a suit, but decided that might look more stilted than romantic. “See all this air?” He poked between objects. “You don’t have to take that.”
Mia knelt opposite him, sticking one hand between the toys. “How do I get rid of it?”
“May I show you?” Cole asked.
“Okay.”
He removed the contents, and then laid the flat games on the bottom and set a couple of books in place. Mia picked up on the idea, placing additional books so neatly that he let her take over. She wedged the dolls and teddy bears on top.
“That’s impressive,” Cole told her, noting how much more she’d managed to fit inside.
Mia beamed. “Goodbye, air!” She raised her hands and wiggled her fingers as if the air had turned into butterflies that she was setting free.
You promised to oversee her nap.
“Where’s your sleeping bag?”
She indicated the closet. “I need a snack first.”
“Your mother mentioned apples.”
Mia studied him shrewdly. “You don’t know much about kids, do you?”
“I’m not a pediatrician, if that’s what you mean.” Although Cole suspected he was about to be played, he was curious to find out how this little sprite’s mind worked. “So?”
“Let’s make brownies.” She hopped to her feet. “I’ll sleep real good while they’re baking.”
“That isn’t on the agenda,” Cole protested as she flitted out the door. “Too many sweets, and besides, your mother said...”
She disappeared. For a man accustomed to instant obedience from nurses and orderlies, it was disconcerting to find his objections ignored. Well, he’d sought an education in babysitting, hadn’t he?
In the kitchen, Cole found Mia taking out a box of brownie mix, a bowl and a mixer. He supposed he ought to stand firm. On the other hand, the girl appeared too excited to sleep.
“Shouldn’t we be packing those things?” Cole asked.
“These are Stacy’s,” she explained.
“She won’t mind us using them?”
“She loves brownies.”
Cole made a snap decision. “Let’s do it. And then you go to sleep.”
“Okay,” Mia responded cheerily. “I promise.”
* * *
IN THE CARPORT, Stacy noted Harper’s empty space. Had she removed all her stuff already?
Stacy’s conscience nagged that she should have offered to help. Yet with two guys at her disposal, Harper could handle this. Besides, Stacy needed to retrieve some of her possessions to replace the things Harper had taken with her, although she planned to leave her larger pieces of furniture in storage until she’d chosen a roommate.
She lifted a box of dishes from the car’s trunk. When she and Harper had combined households a couple of years ago, there’d been no room for her beloved china with its delicate flower pattern. She’d missed it.
Grasping the cut-out handles, Stacy trudged toward her unit. There was nothing wrong with either of the women who were interested in moving in with her, and she owed them a quick decision. But it wouldn’t be the same. After Andrew’s betrayal, Stacy had found a refuge here with her old friend. Now she expected the apartment would be more of a way station than a home.
Oh, stop feeling sorry for yourself.
Stacy stamped up the steps, wincing as dishes clinked despite her careful cushioning job.
You’ll survive. But if you aren’t careful, your china might not.
Balancing the box on her hip, she reached for the door. To her surprise, the knob turned to reveal Cole, his hair mussed and a smudge of what appeared to be chocolate on one cheek. From inside came the unmistakable scent of freshly baked brownies.
Seeing him gave her an unexpected feeling of rightness. As though he belonged there. “What’s going on?”
“You should check your phone messages.” Relieving her of the box, Cole carted it into the kitchen. “I told you I was here. I assumed you’d be home, and when your roommate left, I figured I’d wait.”
Stacy spotted her mixing bowl, beaters and a few utensils, freshly washed and set out to dry on the drainage board. On the counter, the timer indicated fifteen minutes remaining for the treats baking in the oven. “What’s all this?”
“I’m babysitting Mia so Harper can concentrate on moving,” he said, keeping his voice low. “I hope we didn’t wake her.”
“She’s asleep?” Stacy matched his tone.
He nodded toward Harper and Mia’s bedroom. “Like a dog.”
“You mean a log.” At six, the little girl rarely took naps anymore. “How’d you manage that?”
He smiled. “I let h
er con me into baking brownies and it wore her out.”
Stacy laughed softly. “You’re into baking now?”
“She did most of the work,” Cole told her. “I had no idea children could be so skillful.”
“She loves to bake.” He didn’t seem aware that flecks of chocolate adorned a nearby cabinet and a patch of wall, as well as his face. Dampening a paper towel, Stacy reached over and rubbed the chocolate from his cheek. “You forgot to scrub, Doctor.”
Cole’s gaze held hers. “Thank you, Nurse.”
A delicious tremor ran through Stacy. Except for strictly professional pre-op assistance, she hadn’t touched Cole since they’d made love. She shifted toward him, fascinated by his parted lips, his welcoming air. He took a deep breath, his muscles tightening as he reached to draw her close.
Recovering her senses, Stacy moved away. On the table, she noticed a sack with the Papa Giovanni’s logo, and an African violet. “What’s this?”
Though he looked a bit disappointed, he took her deflection courteously. “Housewarming gifts.”
“Harper’s the one with the new home,” she said.
“You’re moving, too, in a way.” Cole lifted the lid from her box of dishes. “You packed them in towels. Clever.”
“I heard something clink on the way up.” Gently, Stacy removed a plate from its terry-cloth wrap. She didn’t see any chips and put the dish by the sink.
“I’ll wash them,” Cole offered. “If that’s what you were planning.”
“There’s a dishwasher.” She returned to fold the towel. Since it looked clean, she decided to skip running extra laundry.
“I don’t mind helping.” He sucked in another deep breath. “Stacy, we need to talk.”
She had a good idea of what came next. “I can’t let you move in. It won’t work.”
He didn’t ask why. Instead, he startled her by saying, “I have to leave my place.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
The Baby Jackpot Page 10
