by Judy Duarte
As Mike followed Simone up the walk, Woofer howled and Wags whined.
“Hey,” Simone said to them. “Did you guys miss us?”
Miss us? He sure hoped she was starting to see them as a team.
He waited until she unlocked the door.
Once inside, she faced him, “Why don’t you let the dogs in while I pack up a few things for Wags to take with him.”
Moments later, while Mike stood in the living room, dividing his attention between the big and little dogs, Simone returned carrying a box.
“Thanks to Woofer, who seems to like the Puppy Bits much better than his own food, Wags is running low. He has enough to last him for a week or so, but you’ll need to pick up some more the next time you go to the store.”
“All right.”
“And at night, I’ve been making him and Woofer stay in the kitchen, since he still tends to have an accident every now and then. But he’s getting better.” She scratched the puppy’s ear. “Aren’t you, little guy.”
Mike couldn’t help but notice that they’d been treating the two canines like children, that they’d both seemed to have taken on a parental role with the dogs.
Shouldn’t Simone take that as a sign that she had a maternal streak after all and that she would love their baby?
That she wouldn’t be a bad mother just because she’d been raised by one?
“You know, I was just thinking,” he said. “Since I’ll be working until it gets dark and I don’t have anything in the kitchen to cook with, why don’t I come back and take you out to dinner?”
“Won’t you be tired?” she asked. “It sounds as though you have a lot to do.”
He shrugged. “I still have to eat.”
“Maybe it would be easier if I fixed dinner for you.”
Mike shot her a crooked grin as he realized his game plan was moving along just fine. “I’d like that. Thanks for the invitation.”
“What time will you be ready to eat?”
“You tell me.”
“How about six?”
“Perfect. I’ll see you then.”
As Mike carried Wags out to the Jeep, he couldn’t help but feel relieved.
Everything was coming together nicely.
After finishing the laundry and cleaning the bathrooms, Simone took a shower and shampooed her hair. She used a fluffy, white towel to dry off. As she bent to get her feet, a bout of dizziness struck.
Ooh. She carefully straightened and reached for the countertop to steady herself.
That didn’t happen very often.
She’d gotten dizzy once before, though, and had fainted at the pet shop. Dr. Kipper had said it sometimes happened during pregnancy and had suggested she eat regularly and change positions slowly.
Should she mention it to the doctor again? Just to be sure?
She had more than herself to worry about these days.
Once she’d dressed, styled her hair and put on a dab of lipstick and mascara, she drove to the New England Ranch Market. Surprisingly, she got a spot right in front, which didn’t happen often. The popular grocery store was pretty busy in the afternoons.
She snatched her purse from the passenger seat, slipping the strap over her shoulder, then locked the car and went inside.
A display of fresh flowers sat at the doorway, tempting her to buy an unadvertised special—tulips.
Why not?
She grabbed a yellow bouquet, placed them in her shopping cart and headed for the produce section, where she picked up potatoes, carrots, celery and several bags of fresh fruit. Next she went to the butcher shop, where she chose a small rump roast to make for dinner.
Should she make dessert or buy it?
While she was trying to decide, a male voice called out her name. “Simone! Fancy meeting you here.”
She turned to see Fred Baxter, his cart filled to the brim. She greeted the man and asked about Millie. “I suppose she’s holding down the fort at Tails a Waggin’.”
“Actually, she picked up a flu bug and is home sick again today.”
“That’s too bad.” Simone didn’t like to see anyone feeling under the weather.
“Yes, it is. Poor thing. I worked part of the day, then closed the shop early.” He scratched his head. “Do you know where I can find the chicken soup? Millie said they make a homemade variety in the back that doesn’t have all the preservatives and stuff, and she thought that might help her feel better.”
Besides its quality meat and produce, the New England Ranch Market also offered an assortment of home-style meals that could be purchased for those on the go.
Simone pointed to the east wall. “You’ll find it in the refrigerator section.”
“Thanks. The shopping is usually Millie’s job, so I’m not familiar with the layout here.”
For a guy who didn’t know his way around a market, Fred had sure managed to find plenty of things to buy. She glanced into his cart, noting the sugary brand of cereal that kids liked, two gallon jugs of milk, individual packets of raisins, peanut butter, jelly, those little fruit juices that came in a ten-pack, Popsicles…
Somehow, she expected he’d be picking up more adult food, like steaks, potatoes, maybe even a six-pack of beer…
“What’s the matter?” Fred asked.
“Oh, I…” She shrugged. “I don’t know. I just noticed that you’re buying a lot of things that children would like—which is fine. It surprised me a bit. That’s all.”
Fred chuckled. “Yes, I did my best to choose things that would appeal to kids. We got a call from the pastor of our church last night regarding some children that needed a temporary home.”
“And you and Millie are going to take them?” Simone asked.
“It’s only for a week, I guess. And even though Millie hasn’t been able to keep much of anything down for the past few days, she insisted that they stay with us. Can you believe it?” Fred slowly shook his head. “I told her the timing was bad, and that maybe it would be better if someone else volunteered their home, but Millie…” Fred chuckled and gave a little shrug. “Well, you know Millie. She has a heart for kids.”
That was so true. All Simone had to do was to offer her baby to the Baxters, and she knew Millie would be thrilled. But a sense of uneasiness settled over her, leaving her with second thoughts about giving up the baby.
Yet she was a realist.
She had to be.
It wasn’t as if Simone didn’t care about the baby. It was because she wanted to do the right thing. And it was obvious that Millie would make a much better mother.
“Well,” Fred said, nodding toward the east wall. “I’d better go get that soup.”
“I sure hope Millie kicks that virus soon,” Simone said, “especially if she’s going to have to babysit.”
“Me, too.”
“Be sure to tell her hello for me.”
“I will.” Fred began to push his cart down the aisle, then tossed her a grin. “Have a nice evening.”
“Thanks. You, too.” Simone glanced down at the pot roast and the yellow tulips.
Interestingly enough, she did expect to have a nice evening.
Mike arrived at Simone’s house about a minute or two before six o’clock.
He hoped she didn’t mind him bringing Wags along, too. The poor little guy started whining up a storm when Mike tried to stick him behind the gate he’d stretched across the kitchen doorway. And he hadn’t had the heart to leave him all by himself.
So with Wags cuddled in the crook of one arm, he used his free hand to ring the bell. He didn’t have to wait very long for Simone to answer.
She wore a red apron over a pair of brown slacks and a cream-colored blouse. Her hair was down and curled at the shoulders—just the way he liked it.
He couldn’t help thinking how great it would be to come home to her and the baby each night. According to his calculations, she was due around Thanksgiving.
As the middle child in a family of five kids, Mike’s
best memories were of holidays, campouts and outdoor games with his siblings. So he looked forward to seeing his son or daughter joining his or her cousins during the O’Rourke-family functions.
“Well, look who else came to dinner,” Simone said.
“I…uh…” He glanced at the wiggly pup. “I hated to leave with him crying. I hope you don’t mind that I brought him.”
Her smile, which dimpled her cheeks and put a sparkle in her eyes, just about knocked the breath right out of him. “I would have been upset if you’d left him home alone in a dark house.”
That was good to know. Wags had wormed his way into Simone’s heart, just the way the baby would.
Simone gripped Woofer by his collar and held him at bay as Mike entered and caught the aroma of something warm and meaty—beef?—that permeated the air. He’d gone without lunch today and was starving, so he inhaled deeply and relished the hearty, mouthwatering smell.
Once the door shut behind him, he placed Wags on the floor so the two canine buddies could play.
“How was your day?” Simone asked as she led him to the small dining area that was an extension of the living room.
“It was great. My dad brought my brother Nick, and between the three of us, we changed out the plumbing and light fixtures before I had to be at work. So it was a good start.” He watched the back of her as she walked, watched the gentle sway of her hips.
Yep. He could sure see himself coming home to Simone.
“I hope you had a good day, too,” he said.
“Actually, I did. I ran some errands, cleaned out the fridge and fixed dinner—speaking of which, I hope you like pot roast.”
“I sure do. And if it tastes as good as it smells, you probably won’t have any leftovers to worry about.”
She blessed him with a shy smile. “I don’t usually cook for anyone, so it was…fun.” She shrugged, a pair of pretty dimples forming.
Good. That was another indication that she might be warming up to the idea of home and hearth and family.
He noticed that she’d set the table, complete with linen napkins. The centerpiece was a white vase of yellow tulips. “That’s a nice touch. The guys down at the department all take turns with the meal preparation, but none of them put flowers out.”
She smiled. “I don’t usually get fancy, but they were on sale at the market today, and I love tulips.”
He made a mental note of that.
“If you’ll take a seat,” she said, “I’ll bring out the food.”
“Is there something I can do to help?”
“No, I’ve got it under control. But what can I bring you to drink?”
“Whatever you’re having is fine.”
“Milk?”
For the baby? Probably, which was another sign that she was slowly shifting into maternal mode.
Mike didn’t drink much milk these days, but he would be supportive of her efforts to be healthy for the baby’s sake. “Sure. Milk sounds good to me.”
Minutes later, they sat across the table from each other. The pot roast, carrots, potatoes and gravy looked even better than they smelled, and it seemed as though he’d been invited to dine with the queen.
Of course, he suspected they could have been munching on bologna sandwiches and corn chips, and he would have felt the same way.
They talked about life in the E.R., as well as the fire department. Mike told her about some of the practical jokes he and Leif had pulled on their buddies, which she seemed to appreciate. So he went on to reveal a side of his friend and partner she hadn’t been aware of.
“Mo Granger has this habit of sleeping with his arm under his pillow at night,” Mike said, “so once, after having spaghetti for dinner, Leif, who had kitchen duty, snuck the table scraps into the bedroom, lifted the pillow from Mo’s bed, and dumped a pile of noodles and sauce right on the mattress. Then he carefully replaced the pillow.”
“Ooh.” Simone scrunched her face, yet the hint of a smile remained. “That’s gross.”
“Yep. And you should have seen what happened when Mo climbed into bed that night and tried to get comfortable. His hand slipped under his pillow and right into a slimy mess. Mo was hopping mad, while the rest of us laughed our heads off.”
“I can’t imagine Leif doing something like that.”
Mike laughed. “Apparently, he learned that trick on a Boy Scout campout, and now it’s become sort of an initiation we do with each new rookie. We welcome them with a spaghetti dinner, making sure there’s more than enough for everyone, then Leif hides the leftovers in their beds.”
“That’s terrible.” A grin suggested she found it funny, too. “Those poor rookies.”
“Hey, but what goes around comes around. Once, when some of us were off duty, we met at the Brown Jug, that bar located just off Lexington and Riverdale. After a while, Leif excused himself to go to the restroom. And when he came back, he’d forgotten to zip his fly.”
Simone arched a brow, while a smile tugged at her lips.
“Wally Wainwright, one of the rookies who’d had the pleasure of Leif’s leftover-pasta humor, spotted it first and offered him twenty bucks to stand on the table and tell a joke while facing a table of very attractive and obviously single ladies.”
“Uh-oh.” Simone leaned forward and placed her elbows on the table. “Then what happened?”
“Leif had a little liquid courage in his system, especially since I was the designated driver that night, so he took the bet and climbed on the table. Trouble was, he was flashing a pair of tightie-whities and didn’t realize it.
“One of the ladies noticed, and they started nudging each other. The next thing you know, they all busted up laughing.”
“That must have been a sight.”
“‘Hey,’ Leif said to the women. ‘Why are you laughing? I didn’t even get to the punch line yet.’” Mike couldn’t help chuckling himself.
“I had no idea Leif was a practical jokester,” Simone said.
“Well, he is. But this time the joke was on him.”
“I guess it was.” Simone had fallen into an easy mood. It was great to hear her laugh. And sitting across from her, with the candlelight dancing upon the gold highlights in her hair and her eyes sparkling with humor, was a real treat.
He wished that she could see herself like this—the Simone he’d fallen in love with.
“By the way,” Mike added, “Leif loves to sing, although he’s not as talented as he’d like to think he is. So if you’re into karaoke, we’ll have to invite him to go with us.”
“I’m afraid I’m not at all comfortable standing before a crowd, let alone entertaining one. But it would be fun to go out with Leif sometime.”
“I’ll see what I can arrange.” A double date might be nice.
After dinner and a bowl of rocky road for dessert, Simone stood and began to clear the table.
Mike followed suit.
“You don’t have to help,” she said. “I can clean up after you leave.”
“I can’t let you do that. My mom would skin me alive if I left you with the mess. Besides, it’s quick work when two people share the load.”
And it was. Before long, they had the leftovers packed away and the dining room back in order.
Mike had just filled the dishwasher when Simone turned away from wiping down the stove, the dishcloth in her hand. She’d no more than started to walk back to the sink when Woofer came charging into the room with Wags at his heels.
The big dog’s hind end, which had a tendency to sway to one side while his front end was going another, thumped into Simone and knocked her off balance.
Mike had always been quick on his feet, but the thought of her taking a tumble in her condition sent a jolt of adrenaline to jump-start his natural reaction.
“Are you all right?” he asked as he caught her in his arms.
“Yes, but darn that crazy dog…” She looked up at him, and their gazes met. Locked.
Something passed between th
em, something blood-stirring and heart-pounding. Something that set off the pheromones and hormones that always seemed to be buzzing and sparking between them like a swarm of fireflies.
Mike was doing his best to shrug it off, to keep his mind off what he’d been wanting to do again since the last time he’d kissed her.
But when Simone reached up and stroked his cheek, when her lips parted…
Well, damn. He was only human.
Chapter Twelve
As Mike took her in his arms and lowered his mouth to hers, Simone had only a moment to question whether she wanted to kiss him again.
But something had happened to her tonight. Something that hadn’t been triggered or altered by a champagne buzz. And she wondered if maybe Mike could be right about her.
About them.
She certainly couldn’t deny how badly she wanted to kiss him, how badly her body yearned for what only Mike could give her.
As his lips brushed across hers, as she allowed his tongue to sweep inside her mouth, she lost all conscious thought.
The only thing left for her to do was to hold on tight and ride the wave of passion that swept through her, hoping that somehow she could get her fill of him.
As the kiss deepened, raw need took over. Hands explored, stroked, caressed, while breaths mingled and heat exploded in a sexual rush.
Simone hadn’t wanted to get physically involved with Mike again, but she’d grown to care for him—more than she’d wanted to admit. And at this very moment, she knew she’d be a fool not to admit it or do something about it.
So she broke the kiss long enough to rest her cheek against his, to catch her breath and whisper, “There’s no arguing that we have chemistry.”
“That’s for sure.” His embrace loosened, yet he didn’t let go.
She clung to him, too, savoring the musky male scent of his mountain-fresh aftershave for a moment longer. Then she slowly pulled away and raked a hand through the strands of her hair. “I still have reservations about us getting further involved, but I want you. And I want to make love again.”
