Pale golden hair backlighted by the early-morning sun. Shadowy, translucent eyelids. Thick, pale lashes fanned out over her cheeks. Golden skin. Firm arms, long legs, soft, smooth throat. A face that was...
That was beginning to appeal to him a little too much.
Joe cleared his throat. Her eyes flashed open. “Oh. Was I dozing again? I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
Joe had suspected as much. He’d gone back to the hotel, packed his gear and showed up before the sun was even up, waiting on the front porch swing until he’d heard her stirring.
“Would you mind mopping off my back? I must be doing something wrong. This is the second time she’s spit up all over me today, and the day’s hardly even started yet. I thought mothers’ milk was supposed to be so digestible.”
He stared at her—at the flush on her cheeks, the way her robe drooped lower on one shoulder. The room smelled like baby powder and cottage cheese, hardly a fragrance designed to trigger lust. Which made Joe wonder if seeing her like this—with the baby and all—could have tapped into some latent reproductive instinct that had been buried inside him all these years. If Miss Emma ever found out, she’d be on him like rust on a barbed wire fence.
“Joe?”
“Yeah. Where do you want it?”
“Here, then you hold her while I mop up, will you?” She stood and tugged her robe up again and handed him the baby. “The book says if I keep her awake for longer stretches during the day she’ll sleep longer at night, but it sounds so heartless.”
“All new babies have the same trouble. She’ll get it sorted out after a while.” As if he knew. As if he was any expert on the care and feeding of infants. For all the five husbands they’d had between them, neither of his sisters had ever had a baby. It went without saying that he hadn’t, either. He’d pulled a few hair-raising stunts in his life, but to his knowledge, he’d never fathered a child. Been damned careful not to, in fact.
Gazing down at the small bundle of red-faced humanity that blinked up at him so solemnly, Joe felt his insides give a crazy lurch. He put it down to the pizza he’d eaten for breakfast.
“She’s looking better today,” he said.
Sophie scrubbed her shoulder and adjusted the front of her robe. “What do you mean, she’s looking better today? What was wrong with the way she looked yesterday?”
“Come on, Sophie, you have to admit her face was sort of lumpy and swollen. Hey, she has blue eyes, did you notice?”
“Certainly I noticed. I noticed everything about her, and anyway, all babies start out with blue eyes. That doesn’t mean they’ll stay that way. And her face wasn’t lumpy, it was just puffy.”
“Oh. Yeah, now that you mention it, I can see the difference.”
She rolled up the soiled towel and dropped it onto the pile of crib sheets to be washed. She might as well add her housecoat. Sour milk wasn’t going to improve with age. “I’m going to wash a load of things as soon as I get dressed. That sun had better hang in there a few more hours.”
He was cradling the baby in the crook of his arm. She blinked up at him like a little owl and Sophie, seeing them like that, thought it was about the sweetest thing she’d ever seen. A rugged, intensely masculine man like Joe Dana, wearing jeans, boots and a rumpled khaki shirt, holding à newborn baby girl.
He glanced up, his dark eyes hooded. “You think you ought to be doing laundry this soon? I mean, aren’t women supposed to take it easy for a few days?”
“Lovely idea. Not very practical.”
“I know how to use a washing machine.”
“I can’t afford you. Housekeepers are a luxury I’d just as soon not get used to having.”
“Maybe you’ll come into some more money.” He lifted an eyebrow, turning it into a question.
“I certainly intend to, but it’s already earmarked for other things.”
“Maybe you’ll have enough left over to buy yourself a dryer.”
“And maybe I’ll have enough left over to get my car out of hock.”
“I forgot about your car. What’ll you do if you have to go somewhere in a hurry?”
As if she hadn’t lain awake for hours last night, thinking about just such an emergency. Thinking about how much she didn’t know about newborn infants, and how many things could go wrong way out here in the country, with no one close enough to turn to for advice. Thinking about guardian angels and wondering if they ever came in the form of rugged ex-cops from Texas, with rare smiles that could undermine a woman’s best intentions if she wasn’t careful.
“Joe,” she said softly. “What in the world are you doing here. anyway? You came to ask me something, and you’ve been here, what—two days now? Three? How long does it take to ask a simple question?”
Iris was asleep, and Joe wasn’t about to risk waking her up again. She was dry and happy at the moment, but he sensed it was strictly a temporary condition. Knowing he needed to take advantage of it while it lasted, he settled her in her crib, pulled the sheet up over her, his hand lingering on the small, warm body. And something came over him. Something he hadn’t felt in so long he barely recognized it.
Fortunately he recognized it in time to cut it off. The feeling of tenderness. This crazy hopeless, helpless feeling that could get a guy in major trouble if he didn’t watch his step.
“Right,” he said, crossing his arms defensively over his chest. “I was about to ask you a couple of questions, and you were about to give me some straight answers when we got sidetracked by little Miss Fatcheeks here.”
“Just let me change into something dry and put a load in to wash and I’ll join you in the kitchen. Then you can ask me anything you want to, and I promise I’ll do my best to answer. I have a feeling I already know what it’s about.”
She did?
Well, sure she did. If she was guilty. The jury was still out on that one. She’d placed an ad in The Antique and Artifact Trader. and anyone who knew anything at all about computers, which she did, knew that word was bound to get around. A smart fence had a list of private buyers. A smart fence put nothing in writing and definitely nothing on the Net.
But then, maybe she wasn’t all that smart. Or maybe Davis had been smarter. Donna had fallen for the guy, and Donna was supposed to be the brainy Dana.
Ten minutes later Joe watched her move around the kitchen, putting the coffeepot on to reheat, setting out cups and a plate of chocolate doughnuts. He liked to watch her move. She moved as if she hadn’t quite got back her balance after shedding all that weight. Even now she wasn’t exactly what you’d call sylphlike, not like the third-string ballerina he’d had a fling with his freshman year at the University of Texas. Sophie had her own style of grace. For lack of a better word, he called it womanly.
“By the way, someone’s been messing around in my bedroom closet,” she said. “I always space my things a certain way to keep them from crushing. Was it you?”
He’d made a fast search of her closet, her dresser, a bookshelf and her hard drive while she was in labor, before they’d left for the hospital. Now he was embarrassed. “Yeah, it was me.”
“Did you find what you were looking for?”
“What I found was that you like Chopin, chocolate and crossword puzzles, that you wear a size twelve dress and a size nine shoe, and that your left foot is half a size larger than your right one.” She gaped at him. “What I didn’t find,” he continued, “was what I was looking for. Where is it, Sophie?”
A moment ago she’d looked sleepy. Sleepy, soft and sweet. Now she looked wary, and that bothered him. It shouldn’t, but it did.
“That depends on what you were looking for. Maybe if you’ll tell me what it is, I can help you find it.”
“I’d appreciate that. What I’m looking for is something that belongs to my grandmother, that was stolen from my sister while the Garland Museum in Fort Worth was getting set to put it on display.” She looked so shocked he almost wished he hadn’t brought it up, which didn’t make a
whole lot of sense.
“Fort Worth, Texas?”
“You got it.”
“But...but why would you expect to find it here in my house? I’ve never even been to Texas.”
“Sophie, don’t do this. Look, we’ve already established your connection with Davis. Now, why don’t we go ahead and clear up the rest of it?”
Under a veneer of golden tan, she went pale. The coffeepot boiled over unnoticed. “He’s dead. I don’t know what else I can tell you about him. I...I didn’t really know him all that well.”
“Well enough, obviously,” he said dryly.
She plopped down in one of the white-enameled chairs, a distracted look on her face. “I don’t understand why you’re asking me all these questions. I’ve already told the police everything I knew.”
“What made them come after you?”
“they didn’t come after me, as you put it,” she corrected, her voice taking on a distinct edge. “They came to—well, to notify me, I suppose. About my car.”
“I’m not following. What about your car?” Joe got up and moved the coffeepot off the burner. He switched off the stove, and in the silence of the old house, the click-click of cooling coils sounded too loud. The sun had gone behind a cloud, and in the utility room, the washing machine switched gears and went into overdrive.
Sophie stood and straightened the dishes in the sink. “It was totaled. Rafe took it and left town, and then he ran it into a train. I’d reported it stolen, of course, even before I’d figured out who took it. By the time I did, I was already so mad at him, I couldn’t even cry when they came to tell me he was dead.”
She looked ready to cry now. And because he no longer believed she was anything more than another innocent dupe—and because they’d gone through some pretty personal stuff, considering they were still practically strangers—and because the more he got to know her, the better he wanted to know her—Joe made the mistake of taking hold of her shoulders.
Instead of shoving him away as any sensible woman would, she made the mistake of leaning forward and resting her forehead against his shoulder.
For a smart man, Joe told himself, he was making some seriously stupid moves.
“I’ve got to go hang clothes,” she said, her voice muffled in his shirt.
He stroked her back. She was warm and soft. She smelled like shampoo, chocolate and baby powder. “I’ll do it. You take it easy,” he said gruffly.
“It’s going to rain.”
“Sophie, listen to me.”
“I don’t think I want to listen, if you don’t mind.” She sounded as if she might be crying.
“Honey, don’t cry,” he said, half sorry he’d ever started this lousy business. He could at least have waited a few more days until she had her emotions back under control.
“I’m n-not crying,” she sobbed. “I’ve already written him off. I’m going to forget I ever knew the wretch, and b-believe me, it won’t happen again. I’ve learned my lesson.”
Whatever lesson she’d learned, it didn’t keep her from blubbering all over a man she didn’t know from Adam. Joe made up his mind that before he left he would drill her on a few basic security measures. Such as not letting strange men into the house. Not letting them past the front door, and most definitely not letting them get this close. Didn’t she have any idea what a dangerous place the world was these days?
Sophie stepped back. While Joe was fishing around in his pocket for a handkerchief, praying it was a clean one, she tore off a paper towel, blotted her eyes and blew her nose. Then she went and removed the wet laundry from the machine.
They hung clothes together—Joe carrying the heavy basket, Sophie carrying the sack of clothespins. Joe thought about Dallas, about the house where he’d grown up and the staff that had made sure there were always fresh linens on the beds, a clean outfit ready for the private school he’d attended and enough food handy to satisfy a growing boy.
Had he ever given a single thought as to how such things came to pass?
Probably not.
“It’s going to rain,” he said.
“I know that. Still, a little fresh air will help, and then I can hang them in the utility room. You never did finish telling me exactly what it was you were looking for, Joe. It was something about a chain link...vase?”
“Ch’ien Lung. Look, why don’t I show you a picture?” He’d brought the old ones. Even a bad photograph was better than a wordy description. What could he say? The stuff was green, not very big and not even very attractive to his way of thinking.
While Sophie took the empty basket in through the back way, Joe went around front to where he’d parked the truck and retrieved his duffel from behind the driver’s seat. Sophie was seated at the kitchen table when he got back, holding the baby. “She was fussing just a little. I thought I’d keep her up for a while.”
“Yeah, sure. Now I want you to examine these pictures and—”
“You should have brought in your things, and I could’ve washed them along with mine.”
He’d been cramming his worn shirts and skivvies in on top of his clean ones. The photos were in the bottom, where they wouldn’t get bent. Which meant he had to pull out everything on top. It wasn’t a pretty sight. “No problem. When I run out of clean clothes I’ll stop by a Laundromat.”
“Yes, but—”
“Here you go. Taken together, it’s called the Jonathan J. Dana Collection. Fourteen pieces in all.”
Sophie looked stricken. She picked up first one photo and then another, read the labels neatly affixed to the back listing lot number, item, circa, size in centimeters and last appraised value for insurance purposes.
“Well?” He was watching her closely. There was no way in hell she could get out of it now. The piece she’d advertised in the trade rag was item number 339 all right, complete with carved tassels, dragons and lotus blossoms, all in pale green with touches of fawn.
“Well?” she said right back at him.
“Sophie, I saw your ad. That was a bad mistake, advertising it in a publication with that wide a circulation. Don’t you know every police department in the country has access to information about stolen goods?”
“I didn’t steal it, it was given to me.” There was a proud, wounded look about her that made him wish, not for the first time, that he’d let the insurance company track it down. They had experienced investigators who could’ve done the job as easily as he had. Easier. They wouldn’t have gotten all mixed up on a personal level.
“And you’re wrong. If I made any mistake it was letting myself be taken in by a lying, cheating, thieving skunk. Believe me, it won’t happen again.”
“I’m glad. You’ve got someone else to think about now. Before I leave, I’m going to call in a locksmith and see about—”
“No.”
“No what?”
“No, thank you. If I want a locksmith, I’ll call one.”
That wasn’t what he’d meant. Dammit, he was getting royally ticked off. Didn’t the woman know he could bring her up on a charge of receiving stolen goods, if not as an accessory? At the very least he could’ve had her hauled in for questioning. He might not have any authority in North Carolina—hell, he didn’t have any authority in Texas, not anymore, but in a case like this, a word in the right place would be sufficient.
“How many pieces have you sold?” he asked tiredly.
“I don’t have to tell you anything.”
“Sophie, don’t make me do this the hard way.”
“Why should I believe you? You barge into my garden, a perfect stranger, not even from around here—” She said it as if that was the most serious crime of all. “And then you tell me you want my engagement present? Why should I—”
“Your engagement present?”
“Yes, my engagement present! At least, that’s what I was told. And before you start in again, remember, you’re the one who warned me about strangers. Well, you’re a stranger, and I’m not about to give you
anything just because you say it’s yours. Anybody could have those pictures. You can buy pictures like that in museum gift shops.”
Joe raked a hand through his hair. “Look, Sophie—”
“No, you look! All my life I’ve been a fall person. I—”
“A fall person?”
“A fall girl. Like a fall guy. The one who’s always left holding the bag. I’ve never been clever, I wasn’t cute and cuddly when I was growing up, so I wouldn’t have been adopted, even if I’d been eligible. I was always the one who got caught whenever I went along with a prank. Good ol’ Sophie, she’s too stupid to know when to run. That’s what they used to say.”
Joe reached across the table and touched her arm, but she jerked it away. The baby stirred and made those smacking sounds with her gums.
“Well, good ol’ Sophie finally caught on. She’s nobody’s chump anymore. So you can take your damned pictures and go back to Texas and...and—”
He stood up and poured two cups of coffee that had been heated, reheated and was once more lukewarm, added cream to hers and said, “Drink it.”
“I don’t think I ought to be drinking so much coffee while I’m nursing. It might be the caffeine that keeps Iris awake so much at night.”
“We’ll check it out tonight. I’ll buy you some decaf.”
“You won’t be here tonight.”
“Oh, yes, I will, and before you climb back up on your high horse, you might as well know the worst. I’m moving into that upstairs back bedroom, leaky roof or no leaky roof.” He made the decision on the spot. “I’ll pay you the same thing I paid for my room at the hotel. This’ll be a lot more convenient, and I need a few more days’ rest before I hit the road again. I won’t bring up my grandfather’s jade collection until you’re ready to talk about it, but—”
“Aha! First you said it was your grandmother’s and now you say it belongs to your grandfather. Make up your mind.”
A rumble of thunder made them both look toward the window over the sink. The sky outside was purple. Tired summer leaves flipped their pale undersides as a gust of wind blew the first raindrops against the side of the house.
Look What the Stork Brought (Man of the Month) Page 5
