by Lisa Plumley
“Whoops,” she whispered.
His gaze dropped to her mouth. She wanted to say more, just to keep his attention there, but the feel of being in Nick’s arms stole her breath and sent her wits walking. She licked her lips, drew in a deep breath, and couldn’t release it to save her life when she felt her chest expand and press closer against him. Time spun slower.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Mmmm-hmmm.” Better than all right. “Thanks.”
And thank God he didn’t let her go. Instead, he held her a little tighter. “You should have just given up the Twinkies peacefully. Now they’re ruined.”
As if she cared. She’d crush a million boxes if it would land her in his arms. Chloe didn’t know how she’d lived without his warmth surrounding her these past weeks. Like a supplicant, like a woman in love wanting to be kissed, she tipped her head back.
Her eyes drifted closed. Please, just give me this one moment, she thought as she sensed Nick’s face coming nearer. I’ll live on it forever and never ask for more.
“Chloe…?”
The wonder in his tone opened her eyes. The desire she glimpsed in his gaze made her heart spin into a happy dance of love lost and returned. He was going to kiss her! Even without knowing the truth of their baby, Nick really wanted her, just for herself. It was all she could have dreamed, happening before her eyes.
He lowered his head fractionally closer. His minty toothpaste breath drifted past her cheek. The lean, close-shaved caress of his jaw followed, making her twist her head to capture his mouth. Kiss me.
“Kiss me. Oh, Nick—”
His whole body went still. Slowly he drew back, and the heat in his eyes was from anger, not passion.
“What?”
“I—I—I—” I said it out loud! “I was kidding!” She raised her Twinkie box prize and tossed it on the kitchen table. “I win!”
“You win.”
She nodded.
“You win…that.” He cocked his head toward the Twinkies.
She nodded.
“You did all…that, just to win.” He straightened his glasses and peered at her. “Ruthless competitor that you are, of course.”
Was that irony in his voice? “Umm, sure.”
“Like hell. You’re not like that, Chloe, and we both know it.”
In silent explanation, she gestured lamely toward the Twinkies.
“You were serious.”
“All true Twinkie aficionados are serious about their—”
“Cut it out, Chloe. This is important. I have to think.”
Don’t think! Don’t think! She grabbed his hand. “Later. Think later. I know! Let’s go watch that Three Stooges DVD I rented.”
She yanked his hand, trying to pull him toward the living room and away from further explorations of the disaster that had just happened between them. He didn’t budge.
Now she knew how Larry felt when they played tug of war with his doggie toys on the slick kitchen linoleum. Lots of movement…no forward motion.
“You’ve never kissed me before,” Nick said.
Her heart twisted. Chloe quit pulling and let go of his hand. “I didn’t kiss you now, either.”
“You…” Nick’s gaze searched hers. Typically, he dismissed the facts and went straight for the truth. “You wanted to.”
She was in so far over her head. But as long as they were speaking truths, Chloe figured she might as well play along.
“So did you.”
He frowned. “I didn’t. I can’t. I won’t.”
Her hopes rose. She couldn’t help it. “Which is it?”
Nick slammed his hands on her bright Spanish-tiled countertop hard enough to make her wince. That had to hurt, but he didn’t seem to notice.
He squeezed the edge hard enough to whiten his knuckles. “I won’t.”
Why not? part of her wailed.
“I won’t come between you and”—he ducked his head and his gaze shifted to her non-pregnant looking belly—“and the father of your baby.”
Openmouthed, Chloe stared at him. This was a wrinkle she hadn’t anticipated.
“Who is it?” Nick asked.
Tell him the truth! part of her urged. But the Chicken Little side of her personality prevailed.
“I told you. It’s over.” Over because he didn’t love her. Over because having a family now would ruin Nick’s inventing career.
Most of all, over because she owed it to her baby to accept nothing less than a father who loved and wanted children. The kind of father she’d never known.
“Even now, it’s over?” Nick turned to lean on the countertop instead of mangle it in his hands. “Even with the baby? Babies change things—”
“Not for him.” Not if she could help it.
He frowned. “You’re wrong. I know you haven’t dated that many men lately, but—”
“Now you’re the expert on the men I date?” she interrupted, crossing her arms over her chest. “Thanks, Mr. Dating Game, but—”
“—but I think,” he continued patiently, holding her gaze with his own, “whoever he is, he deserves to know he’s going to be a father.”
“No!”
Chloe grabbed the mangled Twinkie box. If he wouldn’t move on, then she would. She’d move right on to a gazillion calories worth of distraction, if that’s what it took, and nobody had better try to stop her. Cellophane rustled as she touched the Twinkies-turned-pancakes inside the box. Then Nick’s hand closed over the outside.
She snatched it out of his reach. “I’m hormonal,” she snapped. “Cut me some slack, okay?”
He raised both hands and grinned. That grin alone was enough to break her heart. How had coming so close that night only wound up pulling them apart now?
“Okay…if you tell me who your baby’s father is.”
Chloe made a face at him. “Like a dog with a bone.”
“Ruff.” His grin widened. “Well?”
“No deal.” She unwrapped a Twinkie and licked up some of the sweet, squished-out filling, trying not to show all the sidestepping going on in her brain. “Drop it, Nick. He’s…gone, and he’s not coming back.”
“Gone? Gone where?” Nick spread his arms wide, turning a circle between her kitchen table and the sink as though looking for something. “He didn’t just vanish.”
“No, he—he—he—” Oh, great. Now he’d rendered her tongue-tied and stammering. She, who’d never been at a loss for words in her life. Frustrated, she cried, “I don’t need him. I can do this on my own!”
“Like you do everything else?” He slammed his hand on the kitchen table. “Dammit, Chloe! You don’t have to do everything all by yourself!”
Why not? She always had. “I’m doing this.”
Nick touched her shoulders. Slowly, she looked up at him, then licked some filling from her fingertip. “I’ll be okay.”
He squeezed gently, his gaze stuck on her mouth, then blinked up at her. “Let someone help you. Let him help you. He has a responsibility to you.”
She shook her head.
“Dammit, don’t tell me he ran out on you!”
The sudden fury in his face caught her off guard. Chloe stepped back, stammering out a reply.
“He—he didn’t run out on me.”
Nick arched his eyebrows. I’m waiting, his expression said.
Oh, cripes. This just got worse and worse. She’d thought she could handle it at first, but….
“That wasn’t it at all. No, he—he—he—” Desperate, Chloe wheeled her arm in a circle as though that might kick-start her imagination. “He—”
“He…?”
She looked around, seeking inspiration. Her gaze landed on the “Macho Men of the Military” pinup calendar hanging beside her refrigerator—Mr. April was dressed in a sailor’s hat and boots and not much else besides a smile—and all at once, Chloe had the lie she needed.
“He’s in the Marines,” she blurted.
Nick’s eyes narrowed su
spiciously. “The Marines.”
“Sure. He was, um, called back to duty suddenly.”
“I don’t remember you dating any Marines.”
Aaack. He was right. Chloe crossed her fingers behind her back and gave Nick her sweetest smile. “I didn’t tell you about him.”
She spun a more elaborate story in her imagination. Love lost to duty, a brave soldier called back before his true love could tell him about their baby…
Maybe it was crazy, but she was committed now.
“I just couldn’t tell you.” She added a sigh for effect. “Bruno was too special to be shared.”
Chapter Five
Bruno.
The name haunted Nick night and day all summer long. Even his work was affected. Who could concentrate with thoughts of Chloe’s mystery Marine buzzing around in his head?
He could, dammit. Scowling at the printout in his hands, Nick tried to make sense of the scrawled notes he’d made past midnight last night—he’d resorted to working past dark most days, just to get something done—and finally gave up in disgust. Something had to give. It just couldn’t be his work.
It couldn’t be Chloe, either. She needed him, now more than ever.
Hell. What a mess. Nick threw the printout on his desk and swooshed his wheeled chair across his home office to gaze out the window. As it was, he’d been dividing his time between taking care of Chloe and working on a new version of his growth accelerator—and giving short shrift to both. He’d dreamed since he was a boy about making a name for himself by inventing miraculous things. Without a proposal and prototype, without an investor and licensing, his dream would be impossible to achieve.
Without Chloe, his achievements would be pointless.
He didn’t buy her story about Bruno. Something about it rang false, and Nick had operated on instinct and educated guesses long enough to trust his gut. So far he hadn’t been able to find the mismatched element in her story, but he would. The more important question was, why would she keep the truth from him?
He had a feeling the answer hovered just on the edge of his memory, like a misremembered name on the tip of his tongue. All he needed to jog it to the forefront was the right stimulus. Whatever that was.
With a growl of frustration, Nick slapped his hand on the windowsill beside him, ready to whirl back to his computer and try to get something done. Instead, a flash of movement outside caught his eye and stilled his slide. A second later, he realized what he’d seen.
A bird bobbing past the window.
Not flying. Not soaring or swooping or gliding. Bobbing.
It could only be Shemp, Chloe’s winged avenger. Where one of her animals was, she couldn’t be far behind. Where Chloe went, trouble followed. Nick decided to investigate.
Outside, he spotted her halfway down the block, power walking through the shade of a feathery-leafed mesquite tree. Her orange shorts, yellow T-shirt, and floral baseball cap glowed as brightly as the Saguaro Vista summer sun overhead. Chloe added more vibrancy to their small-town block than all the surrounding Fifties-era redbrick houses and their water-thrifty desert landscaping put together. As he watched, she waved to an elderly neighbor lady who was outside gathering her newspaper, then crooked her elbows at her sides and picked up speed.
Just as he’d suspected, Shemp rode on her shoulder—which explained the bobbing he’d seen earlier, if not the rest of what he saw now. Her beagle, Larry, secured by an auto-winding leash attached makeshift-fashion at Chloe’s waist, trotted along at her side with his tongue lolling. Moe the cat slinked through the yards bordering the sidewalk, safe prowling distance from the rest of the menagerie but keeping up, all the same. The only things their troupe lacked were Chloe’s goldfish and her hamster, Curly.
Wait a minute… Nick peered closer. If he didn’t miss his guess, that hunk of round hot pink plastic spinning at Chloe’s heels was Curly’s exercise ball. Powered by furiously pumping rodent feet inside.
He blinked. They were all still there. Only Chloe would think to walk her hamster.
They turned the corner and disappeared from sight. He really ought to take advantage of her absence and get some work done, Nick told himself. Somehow, his feet started down the sidewalk anyway.
“Hiya, Nick!” Chloe yelled to him over her shoulder as he approached, almost as though she’d sensed him coming up behind her—or known he’d follow. Her breath panted out in measured whooshes, keeping pace with her strides. “Whatsa matter? Can’t keep up with a girl with a bun in the oven?”
She didn’t even slow down. In fact, she sped up a little, making her behind wiggle enticingly. Nick doubted she realized it—and wished he hadn’t. What was the matter with him? He was ogling his best friend like one of her hapless lust-crazed Brunos.
Lucky lust-crazed Brunos was more like it, some aching part of him whispered.
Shut up, Nick told himself, putting thoughts of Chloe’s wiggle firmly out of his mind. It wasn’t easy. Somehow, since he’d learned about her pregnancy, those…fantasy episodes…about Chloe had become more and more frequent. It was becoming impossible to see his pal as just a pal, when every glance at her gently curved belly reminded him she was a sensual woman, too.
Frowning, Nick clamped the lid on his libido and caught up with her in few jogged steps—it wasn’t for nothing he ran five miles around the Saguaro Vista High track every morning—and matched her pace.
“I can keep up with you.” He couldn’t help but grin at the exaggerated way she pumped her arms at Rock-Em-Sock-Em Robot angles. “It’s Larry I’m worried about. He looks ready for a Milk-Bone and a doggie Gatorade.”
She stopped and wiped a trickle of gleaming perspiration from her neck. “Do you think so? It is pretty hot out here.”
Giving Larry a worried frown, Chloe crouched beside him and stroked between his ears, working one-handed at the plastic squeeze bottle strapped to her waist. “I didn’t mean to wear you out, boy. Maybe you do need a sports drink to keep up your strength, if we’re going to keep up this exercise routine.”
She aimed a squirt of bottled water between Larry’s sharp canine teeth, then straightened while he licked his muzzle. “Doggie Gatorade is a good idea,” she told Nick. “It would be better than plain water, at least for long walks. For replacing electrolytes and things.”
“You’d be just crazy enough to try it.”
She frowned and stuck out her tongue at him.
Larry, apparently feeling refreshed, wagged and walked circles around Chloe as they talked. The auto-wind leash spun out more and more line, creating a frayed purple web around her white pom-pommed sweat socks and sneakers.
“Crazy in a good way,” Nick elaborated with a grin as she raised the bottle to her mouth and sucked down some water for herself. He watched her lips pucker around the bottle top, then made himself look away. He’d never envied a hunk of plastic before.
“I think you’d do almost anything to take care of your menagerie here,” he said when she’d finished, mostly to distract himself from the surprisingly erotic sight of her tongue depressing the bottle’s snap top. “Even tote along Gatorade for Larry.”
“But a dog’s physiology is completely different from a person’s, Nick.” Chloe stepped out of Larry’s twisted leash with a grace that bespoke frequent practice. She straightened her flowery baseball cap, lassoed the dog, and started walking again. “I’m afraid a sports drink formulated for people wouldn’t be good for him. Too bad, though.”
Too bad he’d brought it up, that is. He hadn’t expected a twenty-minute heart-to-heart about something that didn’t even exist. “Actually. I was only kidding.”
She blushed and darted a glance at him.
“Oh. Oh—oh—oh!”
She stumbled as Larry yapped and took off at a barking run more befitting a greyhound than a low-rider beagle, dragging Chloe behind him.
“Chloe!” Nick chased after her, cursing the stupid leash that kept her attached to her maniac dog. She yanked on it, fightin
g for control, but Larry just kept on running, tail low and claws clicking sharply on the sidewalk as he gained ground. The object of his frenzy was in sight. He scampered hard on his stubby legs to reach it.
The postal worker walking blithely toward them didn’t know what was about to hit him, but Chloe did.
“Look out!” she screamed, pulling harder.
The carrier looked. His eyes bulged. His legs—bared and extra vulnerable in his summertime uniform of jacket and dark shorts—churned to get him on the nearest front porch. He scrambled on the porch rail, leaving his legs to dangle like two enormous doggie treats. He dug in his mail bag for something.
No letter delivery was that urgent. A sick feeling in Nick’s stomach made him run faster, just as the mail carrier pulled a long slender canister from his bag.
“Nooo!” Chloe shouted, recognizing what it was.
Nick recognized it, too. Pepper spray. He’d seen it used once before, on a stray pit bull that had gone after the newspaper deliverer. The ferocious dog had run off whimpering with its tail between its legs after just one squirt. There was no telling what the stuff would do to poor runty Larry.
“Nick, help!” Chloe looked back at him, both hands pulling her rasping, choking dog away from the postman’s perch. Larry might have been a two-foot beagle, but he had the heart and soul of a Doberman pinscher.
Nick left the sidewalk and headed for the house’s walk where Chloe struggled with her dog. Landscape gravel crunched beneath his feet. At the same time, a curious whine reached him. It sounded like…the ping of a tuneless guitar string pulled and released, or a tight-stretched clothesline about to break.
Or a dog’s leash about to snap.
A glance at Larry’s frayed leash confirmed his guess. Another few seconds, and he’d be free to commit a doggie death leap. Chloe wouldn’t be able to do a thing to stop him.
