Babies And Badges (American Baby)

by Laura Marie Altom

  More to make Noah feel important than because she thought her daughter had already wet the diaper she’d changed only thirty minutes earlier, Cassie gave the smooth plastic mound a pat. “There. It’s—” It’d been on the tip of her tongue to say bone dry, but just as he’d predicted, it was fat. Meaning in diaper terminology—wet.

  Rising, hugging her baby to her shoulder, Cassie asked, “How did you know?”

  “I already told you,” he said with a rogue’s wink. “I know these things. I’m her daddy.”

  At that moment, gazing upon Noah’s handsome features backlit by morning sun, gazing upon her baby as if she was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen, oh, how Cassie wished he truly were Noelle’s father. Selfishly not for her daughter—but herself.

  “MM-MMM,” Noah’s dad said Thursday night over a heaping plate of tofu and eggplant lasagna. “This sure does hit the spot.”

  “It hits something,” Noah mumbled under his breath.

  “What was that, Son?”

  His dad and Cass eyeing him, Noah forced down his latest bite of dinner with a good, long swig of iced herbal tea, then forced a smile. “Nothing.”

  Not a doggone thing, if he steered clear of the fact that Cass hadn’t had any business inviting his old man over for dinner in the first place—apparently they’d gotten to know each other during one of his dad’s daily calls. Not to mention the fact that Noah didn’t exactly feel comfortable with his past and present being seated at the same table. The very same table where Noah had grown up learning by his father’s own example that marriage wasn’t for him!

  “So, Cass,” his dad said, annoying Noah further by calling Cassie by the nickname he’d coined. “Tell me why you’re in such an all-fire hurry to get back to Little Rock, when my boy here could do with a lot more of this home cooking.”

  Noah’s stomach clenched when she flashed his old man a big beautiful smile. “Aren’t you a charmer,” she said. “Just like your son.”

  While his dad beamed, taking yet another bite of the noxious meal, Noah stared at his plate, squeezing his fork tightly.

  “Yep, the women in that so-called support group of his—”

  “It’s not mine.”

  His dad eyed him a good long while before clearing his throat. “As I was saying, the women round this town sure have given my boy a hard time. The way I see it, you, Ms. Cassie Tremont, are a much needed breath of fresh air.”

  “Well, thank you,” she said with a pretty blush. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in a while.”

  Oh, that did it!

  Noah knew darned well just the other day he’d told her she looked pretty. At least he thought he had. Maybe. Well, if he hadn’t, he was going to. Then she’d be flashing him that toothy grin instead of his dad!

  Whoa, there big fella. Weren’t you the man who just swore off all women—most especially Cass?

  “Noah?” Cass said, her fingers curved round his forearm, setting off all manner of internal sparks. “Are you okay? You seem awfully quiet.”

  “Probably he’s thinkin’ about work,” his dad said. “Got one heckuva nasty case brewin’.”

  “Oh?” Cass asked, eyebrows raised as if inviting his dad to expound.

  Noah put his napkin on the table and pushed back his chair. “Speaking of work, let me wash up these dishes, then I’m outta here.”

  “So soon?” Cass said. “But I made fat-free blueberry cobbler for dessert.”

  “You go on, son. I’ll eat your share.”

  “Gee, thanks,” Noah said, clinking his plate into the sink.

  “You just go on about your business,” his dad said. “Let me worry about cleaning up.”

  “Boy,” Cass said with an easy grin. “A girl could get used to having two handsome fellas fight over who’s going to do dishes.”

  Noah snatched his hat off of the counter, then said in low tones to Cass, “Come here.” Taking her by her elbow, he led her out of her chair and to the front door, a spot he hoped was well out of earshot of his prying old man.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked when he opened the front door and edged her outside—just in case.

  “What’s wrong?” He laughed. “My father is flirting with you. That’s what’s wrong.”

  “Oh, he is not,” she said, swatting his chest. He trapped her hand there against his thundering heart by putting his own hand on top of it. Her fingers were long and thin, elegant and soft. In contrast, his were big and rough and gawky. He had no business wanting this woman.

  Even so, he hardened his jaw and said, “He is flirting with you, and I don’t like it.”

  “Why, Sheriff Wheeler, you wouldn’t be jealous, would you?”

  “No. Hell, no. Just make sure he’s out of here at a decent hour.”

  “Yes, sir. Am I allowed to watch TV and talk on the phone after he leaves, or should I go straight to bed?” Even with only the dim streetlight illuminating her porcelain-fine features, he caught that sassy twinkle in her eyes.

  “Go straight to bed,” he growled, slipping his free hand about her waist before cinching her close.

  “And then what?” she asked, her hot breath fanning his lips.

  Think of me. Dream of me. Imagine my hands skimming over your belly and breasts.

  Since he couldn’t say such outrageous things, he kissed the words into her.

  He kissed her hard, soft, hungry, and when he’d had his fill of reminding her who was the man of the house, he softened his touch, easing his fingers up under the spill of her long, soft hair, brushing her tongue with his, reveling in the guttural mews urging him on from somewhere deep in her throat.

  When he released her, she looked good and dazed.

  He hated himself for liking it.

  “Wow,” she finally said. “That’s, um, an awful lot to remember.”

  “Yeah, well…” He kissed her again. On the tip of her nose. “Just see that you do.”

  He winked before walking into the night.

  IT WAS TEN before Noah’s dad left, and a minute past ten before Cassie made it to the kitchen phone to punch in what was sadly becoming a familiar number.

  After two rings, an equally familiar voice said, “Brenda’s Bigger Burger—Brenda speaking.”

  “Um, hi,” Cassie said, swinging the long phone cord like a jump rope on the kitchen floor. “Um, are you still open for deliveries?”

  A snort came through loud and clear over the line. “Now, why would I be answerin’ if I wasn’t still open? This you, Red? Cravin’ another double cheeseburger?”

  “I, um, think I must be low on iron.”

  “Among other things.”

  Cassie chose to ignore Brenda’s latest taunt.

  The things she’d learned to put up with for a little grease!

  This time of night, Cass would’ve settled for more of Noah’s front porch kissing, but seeing how the big, kissing creep had just sauntered off—even whistling as he’d sauntered—well, was it any wonder she’d now been reduced to your common, everyday variety grease-a-holic?

  “Want Tator Tots with your burger?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Chocolate malt?”

  “If it’s not too much trouble.”

  Brenda graced her with another snort.

  “Yancie already went home for the night, but me and Ernie’ll drop this stuff off on our way home.”

  “Thank you, Brenda.”

  “You’re welcome, Red.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Wait,” Noah said Saturday afternoon on his backyard deck, reigning supreme over his grill in khaki shorts and a faded blue Bad Bubba’s Bar-B-Que T-shirt. The sweet smell of the barbecued chicken he was tormenting Cassie with made her mouth water. Would he ever pronounce it done? “Let me guess? In addition to double cheeseburgers and chocolate dip cones, you’ve never had barbecue, either?”

  Smiling at the butterfly that had landed on sleeping Hope’s tummy, she said, “Yes, I have had barbecue, than
k you very much. But it’s always been served away from the grill. Smelling it up close like this, it’s—”

  “Really got your juices flowing?” He winked.

  “No. I’m just hungry. And what’s with that naughty winking? Got something stuck in your eye?”

  Just the sight of finger-lickin’ good you. Empowered by that manly streak that always accompanied an afternoon spent grilling, Noah planted a quick kiss to her cheek, losing himself not in the scent of barbecue sauce but the fragrance of her perfume.

  Two backyards down, Obert Undem yanked his ancient mower to life, bringing Noah back to reality.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled, no longer Grill Man, Master of his Universe, but just a guy, wanting to kiss a girl he had no business kissing.

  Furious over forgetting this fact yet again, Noah turned his back on Cass’s sexy pout, bracing his forearms on the deck rail while staring across the yard.

  The mower engine sputtered and died.

  Obert sputtered a string of curses.

  Somewhere in the dappled shade, a squirrel chattered.

  Birds chirped and a light breeze rustled leaves.

  Cassie looked away from Noah’s strong back, preferring instead to remember his oh-so-handsome face that held the power to weaken her knees and befuddle her senses. Why did he always do that? Kiss her then apologize? Or like that night on the porch, kiss her then walk away?

  Even worse, why did she care? Okay, yes, so he’d safely delivered her babies. Yes, they’d shared his house for a few days, but beyond that what did they have in common?

  Watching him brush a nonexistent dust speck from Hope’s cheek, then scoot her carrier deeper into the shade of a towering oak, Cassie further acquiesced that okay, he did seem to feel a certain affection for her girls. So at least they had that in common, but beyond that—nada.

  He hated her every choice in food. And she hated—okay, so maybe hate was a bit strong for the way she’d felt about that juicy double cheeseburger, or the delectable chocolate dip cone, but still, for the most part, their food choices weren’t even remotely compatible.

  And look at their houses. Hers was a stark study in sleek modern lines. Plenty of chrome and stainless steel and bold reds and blues splashed upon soaring walls. Aside from her room, his house was the kind of homespun accidental hodgepodge that couldn’t be designed, but like cave formations, had to grow slowly over time.

  For that matter, they probably wouldn’t even enjoy the same vacation spots. He was probably the theme park type while for her last vacation, she and Tom had lounged in the lap of luxury in Tahiti.

  Squeezing her eyes briefly shut on the amazing time they’d shared, along with the fact that at least on Tom’s part, every second they’d ever spent together had been a lie, she forced herself to ask, “If you could go anyplace in the world right now, where would it be?”

  “Moot question, seeing how I obviously can’t.”

  “Oh, come on,” she said, giving his forearm a squeeze. “Humor me, and play along.”

  He sighed. “It’s stupid, seeing how I’ll never in a million years on my salary afford to go.”

  “So what if it is stupid? Tell me anyway. And who knows?” she teased, brandishing her own naughty wink. “Maybe one of these days you’ll win the lottery. Or go above and beyond your standard serve and protect, and somebody you save might give you a handsome reward.”

  “Nah, in the first place, we don’t get too many rich folks in need of rescue round here—well, save for you.”

  Funny how, yes, she had plenty of paper money, but lately, even if she’d had all the money in the world, emotionally she’d still be dirt poor. “There are other kinds of riches, you know.”

  “Try telling that to my truck,” he said with a snort. “It’s needed a new transmission for going on two years.”

  “I’m being serious.”

  “I know,” he said, leaving the grill to cup her cheeks with his big, sun-warmed hands. The sight of him stole her breath. Searching brown eyes, luminous and warm, framed by laugh lines in their corners. Whisker-stubbled cheeks ruddy and tanned. At that moment, just seeing his face overrode all else. Her babies. Her job. Everything. Distilling her life to but one shining goal—being gifted with another of his salty-sweet kisses. So much so did she yearn to press her lips to his, that they’d taken on an aching hum. “Tahiti.”

  “What?” she squeaked. Hadn’t they been talking kisses?

  “You asked where I most wanted to go. Tahiti.”

  Cassie swallowed hard. If only she could go again.

  Experience it anew through Noah’s eyes, through his touch, through sweet summer storms of his kisses. Then she’d be free of Tom’s lies. She’d start her life anew.

  Why wouldn’t Noah open himself to her? Why did he keep drawing her in only to push her away? Why did her chest ache with wondering? Why couldn’t she focus on the fact that in just a few more days she’d be away from him? Away from the all-American, all-too-inviting scents of his barbecue and fresh-mown backyard with it’s chattering squirrels and butterflies and most important—him?

  “T-that sounds nice,” she said. “I’ve heard it’s really lovely.”

  “Stop,” he said.

  “Stop what?”

  “Pretending for my sake you’ve never been.”

  “I wouldn’t do that.”

  “Bull. Because you just did. I’m a big boy, Cass. I know our worlds are a million miles apart.”

  “Is that why you apologize whenever you kiss me?”

  He shrugged, turned the chicken on the grill before brushing on more sauce.

  “Please answer me,” she said, fingers curved around his bicep, wondering what those arms of his would feel like were she to wrap her fingers round them naked….

  “I apologize for one simple reason,” he said.

  “And that would be?”

  “Because it’s wrong. Kissing you. Holding you.” He swallowed. “All wrong.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’ll never go beyond that.” Looking away from her, he laughed.

  “I didn’t hear anything funny.”

  He focused on his chicken. “This whole subject is funny.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s pointless,” he said. “What are you hoping to hear? Some cornball line like the two of us were meant to be? You hoping that before you gobble down your very first hot-off-the-grill chicken leg, I’ll be sweeping you off of your feet, declaring my eternal love?”

  She swiped a lone tear. “Why are you doing this?”

  “What? You mean not being charming?” Noah stared hard at his grill, hoping to free himself from the constant images of her—laughing, crying, screaming with labor pain. He apologized for kissing her. Because what he’d done—kissing her, weaving irrational, idyllic dreams of her in his mind that occupied his every moment—he didn’t feel very charming. He felt like a cad. Like a man who was taking advantage of not one but three innocent girls.

  Cassie raised her chin. “In case you haven’t noticed, Noah, I like kissing you back.”

  Noah worked his jaw, narrowed his eyes.

  And in case you haven’t noticed, this ain’t no fancy plantation house on a rolling five-hundred-acre estate. And if that’s not enough to steer you clear of me, the many members of this town’s Getting Over Noah Support Group should do the trick.

  Eyes narrowed, she asked, “What are you hiding?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Exactly what it implies. Everything about you is an enigma, from the ultrafeminine shrine I’m spending my nights in to this group of yours.”

  “For the last time—it isn’t mine.”

  “Yours, theirs, Tiffany’s—whoever. We’re just talking semantics when the real issue is that all the members are screaming you can’t commit, yet from what I’ve seen, you’ve committed yourself to this whole town.”

  That telltale muscle in his jaw popped.

  “Hit a nerve
, did I?”

  “Chicken’s done,” he said, turning off the grill before stacking the meat on a clean plate. “Sorry to be a party pooper, but I’ve gotta hit the sack before heading to work.”

  “Noah, wait. I’m sorry.”

  “For what? Last I heard, it wasn’t a crime to speak your mind.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Really. The two of us—we’re cool. Enjoy the grub and sun.”

  AS WONDERFUL as the chicken had smelled, Cassie’s appetite vanished along with Noah.

  While Noelle and Hope snoozed on, Cassie carried the plate of drumsticks inside where she half-heartedly stole a bite of what Noah had called his World Famous Potato Salad. Lips curved into a smile at the delicious—not even a little bit healthy—taste and she longed to tell Noah he was right. His creamy concoction should’ve been world famous.

  With the chicken and yummy potatoes safely wrapped and in the fridge, she crept her fingers into the Ruffles bag he’d somehow smuggled into her chip-free house. Holding the potato chip to her lips, she smelled him, not the chemical-laden snack food. The salty sweat dotting the back of his T-shirt from where the worn cloth clung to his shoulders and back.

  Eyeing the long, dark hall and the closed bedroom door at the end of it, she took a forbidden bite of that chip, wishing, wanting, aching for so much more.

  So what was stopping her from marching right down that hall and demanding what she wanted?

  Kisses. Hundreds of Noah’s kisses.

  Soft ones.

  Hard ones.

  Wicked ones licking her belly with fevered hopes and dreams. Dreams that reminded her of the fact that even though Tom hadn’t loved her enough to be faithful, there were other men out there who could.

  Good, honest, hardworking men like Noah who—

  Cassie sharply looked away from his closed bedroom door.

  Go ahead, Cass…Finish that thought.

  Men like Noah who have broken so many hearts that his Victims in Love felt the need for their very own support group. A group you’ve already been formally enrolled in. Pretty convenient, huh?