But recently, be seemed to be coming out of his shell. Stretching at the starting line, his friend Sam leaned over and whispered in his ear. Mitchell nodded, giving her a quick thumbs-up.
"Sorry I'm late." Maddox's big arms came around Ann from behind. His rough voice was warm and amused. "Got caught up with some teenagers who decided to see how far the hose on the fire truck extended."
"Oh, my." She leaned back against her husband, loving the feel of his broad, hard chest against her shoulder blades, enjoying his solid support. "Everyone all right?"
"You bet. And that truck's gonna be real shiny by the time they're done waxing."
Ann laughed, reveling in the heat at her back, the strength of the arms around her. And then she straightened as the president of the Rotary Club stepped to the line with his tiny pistol. "They're starting."
"Looks like it." Maddox's voice was still lazy and amused. But the arms holding her tightened.
Mitchell took his place in the lineup, eyes on the ground, face pale with excitement. Ann tensed in sympathy, remembering past athletic humiliations.
"It's only a race," Maddox said reassuringly over her head.
"I know that."
"Yeah, but did you know that when I hold you like this I can see down your blouse?"
Ann went warm with pleasure. "Stop it," she scolded. But she didn't want him to stop. She didn't want ever to lose the suggestive, tender, private conversations bad boy Maddox Palmer carried on with her in public—or the way he made good on his teasing when they got home.
The starting pistol cracked. The line surged raggedly as twenty-seven nine-and ten-year-olds bolted over the withered grass and their parents shrieked encouragement.
"Come on, Taylor!"
"Run, Brittany!"
"Mitchell," Ann whispered under her breath.
And there he was, at the front of the pack, his long legs stretching, his wiry arms pumping, a look of absolute determination on his face.
"Go, sport!" Maddox roared, and the boy threw himself forward and over the finish line.
First.
Ann jumped up and down in surprised delight. "He won!"
"Damn straight," Maddox said.
She turned to look at him, but he only grinned down at her with such obvious pride and pleasure that her heart eased. And then her boy was pushing toward them through the crowd of parents and children, his face red, his hair rumpled.
The words tumbled out before he could even reach her.
"Oh, Mitchell! I'm so pr—"
He beamed, but his eyes went past her to Maddox. "Did you see me? I put my head up at the end just like you told me, and I won. I won, Dad."
Joy seized Ann by the throat. Tears started to her eyes.
Maddox stepped forward, extending his powerful arm to pull Mitchell to him and hold him tightly against his shoulder.
His own eyes were glistening.
"You sure did, son," he said gruffly. "You sure did." Mitchell flung his arms around Maddox's broad torso. As she stared at the two fair heads so close together, Ann's heart was so full she thought it might burst.
Sam came up to them, her dark ponytail bouncing on her neck. "Nice race, Mitch. Guess I owe you an ice cream."
Mitchell lifted his head and grinned. "Nice race, Sam. And you owe me an ice cream."
Maddox's shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. He straightened, reaching for his wallet. "How about you let it be my treat."
Pulling out a five, he handed it to the girl.
"Gee, thanks, Sergeant Palmer."
"Thanks, Dad."
They ran off.
Ann smiled. "Nice job, Dad."
Maddox colored with equal pleasure and embarrassment. "He never called me that before."
"I know." She touched his cheek, ignoring the indulgent glances of the people around them. He slid his arms around her, turning his lips into her palm.
"Better get used to it," she said. "I'd say you've got seven months."
He went very still. "Annie … are you sure?"
Anticipation brimmed inside her. "As sure as I can be. I'm not very far along. Six weeks? Eight?"
"Oh, God." He closed his eyes and rested his forehead on hers.
"Maddox?"
He opened his eyes, and his hooded gaze was so deep and loving her heart wept with joy. "I'm just happy, Annie. You make me incredibly happy."
She smiled with tender understanding. "It takes me that way sometimes, too. I have everything I ever wanted with you. I'm still not used to it."
His slow, rare grin ignited as he quoted back at her. "Better get used to it, Annie Palmer."
"Oh, I think I will," she said. "After all, we've got—"
"—all the time in the world," he promised her.
* * * *
MAD DOG AND ANNIE Page 22
