by Tina Leonard
In Tom’s case, maybe not. All he’d been interested in was Dina.
Before Annabelle could muster her courage to step across the street, the door to the Lonely Hearts Salon opened. Her mouth fell open as Tom strolled in, all golden-haired and brightly smiling as always.
“Tom,” she said, going weak in the knees from surprise.
“Hello, Annabelle.” He approached the carrier slowly, then said, with more determination than she’d ever seen in him. “Is this my daughter?”
“This is Emmie.” Unless he didn’t know the difference between a hand puppet and a baby, he knew this was his daughter.
“She doesn’t have any hair.”
It was probably not best to point out that his was thinning on top, and he was only the south side of forty. Possibly Dina was a bit too vigilant with the scissors. “It will grow one day, Tom.”
He looked closer, checking Emmie out. Possibly for defects he couldn’t possibly have chromosomed?
Done with his fatherly—or not, as the case certainly had been—perusal, he glanced up at Annabelle. “You’re looking well.”
She didn’t say anything because there was no need. A man who dumped the mother of his child for another woman wasn’t interested in what she looked like, before or after. And she certainly wasn’t returning the compliment, if that’s what he was fishing for.
“I think we should get married,” Tom said. “For Emmie’s sake.”
At that moment, Emmie returned to true form. She let out a bloodcurdling cry that had Tom reeling a good two feet away.
That’s one nay vote. “Uh, Tom, could you hand me that diaper bag, please? I need to get her a bottle.”
He did, quickly, though he didn’t reach in to get the bottle or reach to hold his wailing infant. Frisco would have already had the situation under control, she thought, but that was a useless memory.
A few seconds later, she had Emmie situated with the bottle in her mouth and a pretty bib under her chin. Normally, a burp diaper would have sufficed, but this was her first visit with her father.
“Glad that’s over,” Tom said. “She’s loud, isn’t she?”
“She’s healthy.”
“If she’d been a boy, would she have been as loud?”
Annabelle ground her teeth. “All babies cry,” she told him. “When they’re hungry, wet or cold.”
“So she does that often?”
“Yes, she most certainly does,” she affirmed, just so he could have a chance to change his mind about his ridiculous proposal. What had she ever seen in him?
“Back to what I was saying about getting—”
“How’s Dina?” she interrupted.
His gaze slid away, a crawling-under-a-rock impression. “We’re not seeing each other anymore.”
“Really?” She raised her brows. “May I ask why?”
“She just wasn’t my type.” He glanced down at the baby uncertainly, as she sucked on the bottle.
“It took you eleven months to figure that out? Quick study, huh?”
“I really don’t like sarcasm in my women,” Tom told her.
Annabelle held back a snort. “I’m not one of your women, Tom.”
“No, but you were. Before you got all clingy and marriage-hungry.”
She blinked, wondering if she dared bean him with Emmie’s bottle. Now that would be sarcasm, or maybe black-humored justice, but then Emmie would be upset and there was no reason to make her cry just because Tom was a louse. “Clingy and marriage-hungry. Well, now that is a reason to dump a woman you’ve made a baby with. Very valid.”
She nodded at him as if he made perfect sense, which he didn’t, but he seemed to think he did, and she was still in an incredulous humor-him moment. The mood probably only had a few more seconds before it hit expiration.
He narrowed his eyes. “About getting married, which I think is the right thing to do, considering—”
The door swung open, and the rest of his pompous diatribe was lost. To her amazement—and quite possibly delight, she acknowledged—Frisco limped in, with Jerry’s arm supporting him heavily.
The cavalry had arrived. Saved by the bell. And any other cliché she could throw.
She had never been so glad to see a man in all her life. And he looked really good, clean-shaven and not shaggy anymore and just overwhelmingly manly in general.
“Frisco!”
“Hey, Annabelle. Don’t get up. Emmie needs her bottle. Thanks, Jerry.” Obviously worn out and in pain, he propped himself against a rinse bowl. “Nice place.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I was going a little stir crazy. Decided to do some traveling. Jerry was coming this way, and I decided to hang a right with him.”
“I’m so glad.” She smiled at him.
Tom harrumphed.
“Oh, this is Tom. Tom, this is Frisco Joe Jefferson and Jerry Wallace.”
The men didn’t shake hands. The explosive glares in the room could have sent shrapnel thirty feet.
“I’ll feed Emmie,” Frisco said. “Come here, little angel,” he crooned, taking the baby into his arms.
Annabelle’s heart blossomed.
“Who is this, Annabelle?” Tom asked.
“My fiancé,” she lied gracefully, with a mental apology to Frisco. But he’d heard about Tom. He wouldn’t mind the little fib. She hoped. Frisco puffed up his chest, not looking exhausted anymore, and Annabelle decided he hadn’t minded the lie at all.
Tom started laughing. “I don’t think so. You can’t make me jealous, Annabelle. You’d never fall in love with a broken-down rodeo has-been. Frisco Joe, indeed. Sounds like an old-time bank robber, and you’re far too blueblood for that.”
“Blueblood?” She turned to stare at him.
He shook his head. “Never mind. Listen, buddy—Frisco Joe—I was just in the middle of proposing to Annabelle. And as that is my daughter, I’d say you’re butting in at the wrong time.”
“Proposing?” Frisco cocked a brow in that smart-ass manner Annabelle fully recognized. “Where’s the candles? The flowers?” He gave Tom a thorough once-over that seemed to shout, What have you done to make her consider a loser like you? “Why aren’t you down on one knee?”
“Because I’d get my pants dirty, which isn’t sensible at all. And Annabelle’s a very sensible girl. If you knew her better, you’d understand that.” He looked back at Annabelle, gloating. “Aren’t you a sensible girl?”
“Well, hell,” Frisco said. “I really didn’t want to have to do this, but seeing as how you’re making a mess of the whole thing, I’m just going to have to go against my good breeding and cut in line.” He handed Emmie to Jerry. The baby made the transition easily, and the truck driver beamed.
Painfully, slowly, Frisco bent his bad leg to the side, gingerly making his way down on one awkward knee. He put his hand over his heart. “Annabelle, belle Anna, you would make me the happiest man on the earth if you’d take me up to your bedroom.”
She held back a giggle. Tom’s jaw dropped so fast it had rocket propulsion, and Jerry turned his whole body in order to keep from snickering. But she could see his shoulders shaking.
“Come on, Frisco,” she said gently. “You need to rest. My bed is perfect for resting.”
“Oh, yes, I’m totally exhausted. Just plumb worn out. Completely on my last legs and with one of them in pieces, that’s not saying too much,” he said dramatically. “See you around, Tom. Thanks, Jerry.”
Jerry tipped his cap, a big grin on his face. Annabelle said, “I’ll take good care of him, Jerry.” Then she helped Frisco from the floor up the stairs, one slow step at a time.
“Thanks for not ratting me out about the fiancé thing,” she whispered to him.
“Thanks for not ratting me out about the bedroom thing. I figured I was riding on slim rails with that one.”
Annabelle shook her head and tucked her body more firmly under his shoulder. Because he was so tall, she wasn’t as much support as
she wanted to be. He was gripping the wooden rail tightly as he basically pulled himself up the staircase. “You were perfect. Talk about arriving just in the nick of time.”
“I hate for you to leave Emmie in the same room with him.” Frisco tried to glance down the stairs but it was too much to twist and stay upright. “I don’t think she likes him.”
“How could you tell?”
“I don’t know. It just seems like she hesitated when you left the room, almost as if she were saying, ‘Oh, well, I gotta do what I gotta do, I guess. But I’ve got Uncle Jerry to protect me at least.’ Didn’t you notice?”
“Ah, no.”
Turning into her room, she helped Frisco to the side of the bed, where he promptly collapsed into it with all his considerable weight and length.
The springs of the bed screamed in protest, and Frisco managed to bounce himself up and down on his back just enough to keep the springs screaming.
“Sounds like we’re really glad to see each other, doesn’t it?” he asked above the squeaking.
Rolling her eyes, she said, “I’m going to get Emmie, so you’d better stop.”
He slowed down. “I need another five minutes to be convincing. At least.”
“Five…minutes?” She blinked at him.
“You know.” He stopped bouncing altogether and stared at her. “To make it sound like real lovemaking.”
“Oh-h-h. Real lovemaking.” She nodded as if that made perfect sense.
His gaze narrowed. “Annabelle—”
Emmie’s wail hit a high note. “Oh, my goodness!” Annabelle tore down the stairs. “Let me have her,” she said to Tom, who was now holding the baby.
“I didn’t do anything!” Tom protested.
Jerry shrugged. “He said anyone could feed a baby and he wanted to give it a go. I thought surely he couldn’t mess that up. Unless he pinched her—”
“I did no such thing! She just started crying for no reason!” He glared at the baby as if she’d done it on purpose.
“It’s all right. Tom, listen. It’s been…interesting, but you’ll have to excuse me. I’m real busy right now.”
“Okay. I guess. But we need to talk later, Annabelle. That is my daughter.”
The glance he gave the shrieking baby illustrated his feelings for his daughter. Annabelle guessed those feelings were better expressed, That is my hemorrhoid.
“Jerry, can I do anything for you?”
“No. I’ve got some local runs to make between here and the panhandle. I’ll stop back in and check on you two. Call me when you’re ready to get rid of Romeo Joe.”
“I thought his name was Frisco Joe,” Tom said.
“Not tonight,” Jerry told him kindly. “After you, son,” he said.
Annabelle sighed, swiftly locking the door. She hurried back up the stairs and walked in the room. Frisco instantly put out his arms. “Bring her here,” he commanded. “Plainly this is a woman who knows what’s good for her, and she’s missed me something fierce!”
“NOW THEN, YOU JUST fall asleep for your Uncle Frisco,” he said sweetly. “Watch how I do this,” he told Annabelle. “It’s like a massage, only at a real reduced level. See how she’s putty in my hands.”
He put the baby next to him, tucked up against his body. Then he proceeded to touch her neck with two fingers, slowly, down her shoulderblades. Each arm received a delicate caress. He was careful not to press too hard, because women didn’t like that. Slowly, gently, soothing. Emmie’d had a hard day—as far as he was concerned he’d gotten here in the nick of time—and nothing felt better to a woman than a foot massage.
But not yet. She had to have the full treatment, because that twerp of a father-come-lately had gotten her all worked up.
After he finished with Emmie, he was going to work Annabelle out of the lather the twerp had put her in, too.
Definitely a foot massage for Annabelle.
“There you go,” he whispered to Emmie. “You just let it all go. Breathe in the butterflies. Blow out the bees. I learned that from Saturday Night Live, which we may watch together if you’re of a mind to stay awake.” He kept his voice soft and hypnotic. “Now I’m going to massage these hammy little thighs of yours,” he told her, “and you’re going to let go of the stress. That’s right.”
The baby was just about prone now. Her thumb had gone into her mouth, her eyes were barely open. Now for the final phase of the seduction. The feet.
“Trick or treat, I’ve got your feet, now you go to sleep, good and sweet,” he murmured, rubbing her heel. It felt like a little ball between his fingers. Then he moved toward her arch, working it lightly, his fingers finally underneath her toes where he rolled them like early peas between his thumb and forefinger. “Good night, sweetheart,” he told her, laying his head down next to hers.
And before he realized it, he’d fallen asleep, too.
ANNABELLE SMILED AT THE big man slumbering next to her child. He’d put both of them to sleep, and nearly her, too, with his mesmerizing voice. Her skin had prickled from imagining Frisco’s fingers soothing her the way he was doing Emmie.
The man simply knew his way around her child. Probably women in general, the rat. And he was proud of that fact.
As much as she wanted to join them for a quick nap, she couldn’t. She had a proposal to answer, which, caught off-guard, she hadn’t been able to think about. There was no time like the present to talk to Tom, while her baby was safe with Frisco. She’d leave him a note, even though she didn’t plan on being gone long.
And anyway, she didn’t figure she had far to go to find Tom. He’d looked awfully slimy about his Dina-wasn’t-my-type story.
She shouldn’t have any further to look for him than across the street.
Chapter Fourteen
“Hey, Mimi,” said Laredo when she blew through the front door. His non-welcoming tone caught her attention and she halted, counting ten of the Jefferson males sitting in the den watching TV.
Well, now they were watching her.
All ten appeared displeased. “Where’s Mason?” she asked, not sure what gave them such disgruntled faces. Maybe Mason was out of town again.
“He’s not here right now. Checking some equipment in the barn. But we’ve darn sure got a bone to pick with you,” Tex said.
“What?”
He pointed to the ceiling. “The housekeeper from Hell.”
“That’s not nice, Tex.” Mimi frowned at him. “Mason says she’s doing great.”
“Because Mason got here after the Lonely Hearts women were here, and he thinks Broomhilda—”
“Helga.”
“Precisely. H-e-double-l-g-a.” He stared at her to make certain she understood his meaning. Hell-ga. “He thinks Helga is the reason the houses look so nice.”
“Isn’t it?” She glanced around the room. “It certainly seems tidier in here.”
“We don’t want it tidy,” Fannin told her ominously. “We like living in some fashion of disarray. The remote belongs beside the easy chair. It’s always been that way.” He gestured to the table where they liked to sit and play cards or dominoes. The table held a pretty, bright finish, instead of dull fingerprints.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“We’re not allowed to touch it,” Ranger said. “How the hell can we play cards if we can’t touch the table?”
“It’s your table. Do as you like.”
“If we do, she’ll dust around our elbows while we play. It’s quiet warfare between us,” Last said. “And I pride myself on being easygoing, but if I have to eat cabbage and sausage one more breakfast, I’m going to have a permanently puckered face.”
“Tell Helga what you want to eat,” Mimi said reasonably.
“She got upset and went to Mason, telling him we didn’t like her cooking. Since he’s enamored of the cabbage stuff, he told her that whatever she fixed, we’d eat.” Archer was outraged.
Crockett shot her a dirty look. “Of all the tricks you’ve play
ed on us over the years, Mimi, this one stinks at the lowest level.”
“It wasn’t a trick! I was trying to be helpful!” She couldn’t figure out what they were complaining about, anyway. Didn’t they want to have a clean house and hot food?
“It’s either me or her,” Bandera said.
“You don’t even live here, Bandera.”
“Yeah, but we eat here and crash here after work to relax. We can’t relax like this,” Calhoun said. “I’ve never felt so jumpy in my life. It’s like having fleas in my boots.”
Navarro shook his head. “Mimi, you’ve brought good men to their knees.”
“Oh, brother. What a bunch of whiners! If you don’t like her, have a family council and tell Mason what you’ve told me. It’s ten against one—where’s Frisco?”
“It’s eleven against one, but Frisco left without casting a vote. He couldn’t handle being jailed by Helga the Horrible. She watched him like a hawk, in her version of nursing. But he felt like he was living in a psycho movie, where any minute he was going to open his eyes and find a gray-haired drag queen standing over him, preparing to take a butcher knife to some parts of himself he prizes,” Laredo said. “Not that Helga’s mean or anything, but she watched him pretty good and it made him crazy, and he got sleep-deprived so that he was starting to hallucinate a bit. Frisco fighting off dream spiders in the night is not much fun to listen to.”
“Poor Frisco! Where did he go?”
Tex shrugged. “No one knows. He had Jerry come get him when we were all busy. He left a note saying he was going on a long vacation where he could sleep like a baby. Said if he could just get forty-eight hours of undisturbed sleep, he’d be ready to rock.”
She reminded herself that these were grown, if not one-hundred-percent mature, men. They could handle themselves—and Helga—if put to the task. “Listen, I didn’t come over here to listen to y’all bellyache, though I’m sorry you’re not happy, but it sounds like your beef is with Mason, since he likes Helga.”
They murmured darkly at that.
“I just wanted for all of you to be the first to know.” She took a deep breath. “I’m engaged to be married.”
