3, 2, 1...Married!

by Sharon Sala

  The statement didn’t make K.C. feel any better.

  Chapter 4

  There was no doubt about it. Murphy’s Law had a terrible way of rearing its head at the worst possible time, Bailey thought.

  Finally retiring his small, worn phone book, he decided to give up. Every sitter he had ever used since Bobby was born was booked tonight.

  Well, why not? he thought in frustrated resignation. It was Saturday night. If the girls weren’t sitting for someone, they were out themselves, enjoying the evening. The way he wanted to. The smart thing to do, Bailey knew, was to call K.C. back and reschedule. But he had this uneasy feeling that if he did, he might never get the opportunity to go out with her again.

  And he wanted to.

  Something had clicked between them from the moment he’d stopped worrying about Bobby and began to focus on the woman his son’s aviating attempt had brought into his life. For the most part, Bailey didn’t believe in chemistry, other than what could be found between the pages of a hard-bound textbook. But he could have sworn that there had been something, that he’d felt something, when they had sat there in the walk-in clinic examination room, talking. There was something about K.C., a light, a spark, he wasn’t sure just what to call it. He only knew he wanted the opportunity to examine it more closely. To examine her more closely.

  It had come as a complete surprise to him. He hadn’t really taken notice of any woman since Gloria had walked out on him. But any way he looked at it, K. C. Haley was a hard woman not to notice.

  Quicksilver—that was what she reminded him of, he suddenly realized as an idea came to him. He hurried to put it in motion. Quicksilver, something that could easily slide through his fingers if he didn’t make an effort to hold on to it.

  Something told Bailey that he wanted to make that effort. Besides, there was no harm in spending the evening in the company of a bright, witty female who didn’t get rattled by the antics of an overenergetic eighteen-month-old boy.

  She was the perfect woman for man and boy, he thought with a smile, at least for the space of an evening. After that…

  They’d see.

  The doorbell rang as eight-fifteen came much too soon. Bailey hadn’t really intended on bringing her back to his house tonight, so there’d been no effort to make the place presentable. Looking around him now, he figured labeling the surroundings as early chaos would have been extremely charitable.

  “Hope she brought her sense of humor with her,” he murmured, crossing to the front door.

  As K.C. pressed the doorbell, nerves swiftly traveled up and down her body, ending up knotting themselves in her stomach.

  He wasn’t answering. Good. Now if she could just—

  The door opened, aborting her escape before it even began. Bailey was standing in the doorway, wearing gray slacks and a blue shirt rolled up at the sleeves.

  She was overdressed, K.C. thought. She knew she should have stuck to her guns and gone with the casual.

  His smile was warm, inviting. Her stomach tightened a little more. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” K.C. managed a smile in response. Maybe the date was a threesome and they were taking Bobby with them. That would explain why he wasn’t wearing a suit. “Emergency all squared away?”

  “It wasn’t exactly an emergency…” When in doubt, go with the truth. It was usually less complicated that way. At least it was easier to keep track of. Stepping back, he held open the door for her, momentarily forgetting the state of his living room. “There’s just been a little change in plans. My sitter was already booked and no one else was free.”

  Better this way. K.C. inclined her head, ready to have him bow out of the evening. “We can make it for some other time….”

  But Bailey didn’t want it to be some other time. “Do you like lasagna?”

  They weren’t going anywhere. Why was he asking? “I love lasagna.”

  His smile became more hopeful. “If you don’t mind one-day leftovers, I have some in the refrigerator.”

  “Take home?” K.C. guessed. She recalled that there was a fairly good Italian restaurant not far from where they were.

  “Make home,” he corrected.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I made it.”

  She still wasn’t following him. “You mean the kind you get from the frozen food section in the supermarket and put in the microwave?”

  None of the men in her family cooked. Eric had barely been able to make a sandwich on his own without a diagram. For that matter, Rachel couldn’t cook, either. To her, the stove was just another piece of decorative furniture. Rachel, Bryan and Gracie ate most of their meals in restaurants, or ordered in.

  “No, I mean I made it. From scratch,” he elaborated. “After my ex-wife left, I found that I like to cook. Actually, it’s kind of therapeutic. It helps me think.”

  “About what?”

  “About those.” He waved his hand around, indicating all the toys. No matter how polite she was trying to be, she couldn’t have possibly missed the turmoil in the room.

  Well, now that he mentioned it, she didn’t have to pretend she didn’t notice. K.C.’s eyes swept over the room. There were toys piled one on top of another everywhere she looked.

  She turned toward him. “Speaking of which, did someone die and leave you a toy store or did one just explode in here?”

  She’d never seen so many toys in one place outside of stores in a mall. The variety was astounding. Bobby had to be one eclectic little boy, not to mention exceedingly lucky. Bailey was obviously a very doting father who brought new meaning to the term spoiling.

  “I’d thought Gracie had too many toys, but this makes her look almost underprivileged.”

  Amazed, K.C. went from one cluster of toys to another. All were toys geared for the very young child. No action figures, no mind-bending electronics. Just old-fashioned toys that needed love and imagination. She found that rather sweet.

  “I’ve never seen so many different kinds of toys for one child.” She glanced over her shoulder at Bailey. There was an amused expression on his face she couldn’t quite read. Was he laughing at her? “Does he play with all of them?”

  “Pretty much.” And that pleased him to no end. Ever since he’d been born, Bobby had been his personal test market. “When he gets older, I’ll move on to more elaborate toys.”

  She was trying to understand the connection. “Then they’re your toys?”

  “In a manner of speaking.” He couldn’t help the pride that came into his voice. “I designed them.”

  K.C. looked at the toys with more interest and not a little amazement. “You make toys?”

  “Yes, why?”

  She laughed at her own preconceived notions. “I’m sorry. I always thought of a toy maker as someone who looked, well, more like Santa Claus. Half glasses on the tip of his nose, round belly, that sort of thing.” She couldn’t help looking at Bailey’s physique. Even in casual clothing it was obvious that the man was very fit. Slim hips, wide shoulders and, judging by what she saw thanks to his rolled-up sleeves, forearms that could have doubled as rock formations. “You certainly don’t fit that description.”

  “Thank you—I think. So—” Bailey looked at her hopefully. “Now that you know that I’m not Santa Claus, just his able apprentice, does this mean you’ll stay for leftovers?”

  “Well, I—” Still uncertain about the wisdom of remaining, K.C. spotted a familiar stuffed animal on top of the bookcase. Crossing to it, she picked up the sweetly grinning creature and held it up. There was disbelief in her eyes as she looked at him. “You didn’t design this, too, did you?”

  He couldn’t read her expression. “If I say yes, will that get me into trouble?”

  It was as good as an admission. “You designed Mr. Fuzzy-Foo?”

  Bailey winced at the name. Though he limited his participation to creation, this particular name was a sore spot for him. “I designed it, but I didn’t name it. That blame belongs to the PR firm that Mac
Affee Toys employs.” He took the blue-maned figure from her and looked at it. It still made him smile every time he saw it, which had been his intention when he designed it. “Personally, I liked Gilroy myself.”

  She grinned, looking at the beige face surrounded by a blue mane stuffed under a baseball cap. Multicolored short pants completed the ensemble. As close as she could see, the fifteen-inch stuffed animal resembled a comical lion that had fallen into a vat of rainbow paint.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Mr. Fuzzy-Foo has a certain ring to it.” There was new respect in her eyes when she looked at him. A man who could design toys like this had to have a very sensitive side to him. “I want you to know that this is Gracie’s very favorite stuffed animal.”

  It always pleased him to discover that one of his toys brought a child pleasure. He’d been creating toys ever since he could remember, dating back to the elaborate city he’d created out of discarded shoe boxes he’d enterprisingly gathered from around the neighborhood on garbage day. The city, large enough to accommodate a small doll, had been a birthday gift for his younger cousin.

  “Gracie has good taste,” he acknowledged.

  K.C. laughed. “Don’t let it go to your head. She tends to be rather fickle.”

  “Women her age usually are.” He nodded at the creature in her hands. “That’s yours, if you’d like it.”

  She had to admit she was tempted. There was something incredibly comforting about the way the painted-on eyes seemed to look at her. “Won’t Bobby notice it’s missing?”

  Her protest drew a laugh as Bailey gestured around the cluttered room. He’d gone through two housekeepers just since he’d moved in here. He still hadn’t found one who would just dust the toys without rearranging them. “Look around. Anyway, there are at least six Mr. Fuzzy-Foos in residence right now.”

  Bailey seemed to be embarrassed by the state of the room, but K.C. could see what he didn’t. She could see into the mind and heart of a small child. “I take it you’re still learning about kids, aren’t you?” The expression on his face told her that he didn’t comprehend her meaning. “You can pack up two thousand toys with you when you go on a trip, but it’s the one you left behind that they want. Children have an uncanny way of remembering everything that’s theirs.” She held the stuffed animal out to him. “Darling though he is, I’d better give this little guy back to you.” She set Mr. Fuzzy-Foo back where he’d been sitting.

  But what his offer had accomplished was to clear away her hesitation. “But you can talk me into the lasagna if you’d like. I’m kind of curious to find out how well someone who can dream this sort of thing up can actually cook.”

  Bailey slipped his arm around her shoulders, escorting her past the debris into his dining room. The kitchen was just beyond. If their luck held for just a few hours, Bobby would remain asleep long enough for them to have a peaceful dinner. It was something to shoot for.

  “Well, I haven’t poisoned Bobby yet, but then his requirements are rather simple.”

  Someone else might have tried to impress her with a list of dishes they could whip up. She liked the fact that he was low-key. “You don’t go in for the hard sell, do you?”

  Bailey thought of his wife, of how his brother had told him he should have fought to keep her from leaving. Because he loved her, he’d been tempted, but even if he had managed to talk her into staying, it wouldn’t have been the same. He wanted Gloria to remain with him and Bobby because she wanted to, not because of any arm-twisting or bribery on his part.

  “I never talk anyone into anything.”

  Though he said it so solemnly, she realized later that it was at that exact moment that she began to relax in his company.

  K.C. peered into the kitchen. Like the living room, there were toys scattered here and there, but here their function was more decorative than things that had been left behind as reminders of games that were quickly forgotten.

  She looked at Bailey. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  He wasn’t accustomed to having help in the kitchen. “You’re doing it now.” He took two dinner plates from the cupboard. “You’re being a good sport about this.”

  “Good sport nothing. I intend to be very judgmental about the meal. I have very high lasagna standards.” She took the plates from him. “I’ll set the table.”

  Watching her walk away into the next room, he nearly caught his fingers in the refrigerator door as it slipped closed.

  No doubt about it, he mused. The woman looked just as good going as she did coming.

  Chapter 5

  Setting down her knife and fork, K.C. moved her empty plate back. She was pleasantly full.

  “That was surprisingly very good.” Prepared to be polite and endure what was placed in front of her no matter how foul it tasted, K.C. had been amazed to discover that not only was the lasagna edible, it was actually delicious. The man had hidden talents.

  Bailey released the breath he’d been subconsciously holding, relieved. Leaning over, he topped off her glass of wine. Disturbed, the liquid shimmered and sparkled, catching the reflection from the single candle he had managed to find at the last minute.

  Sitting back, he looked at her as he took a sip from his own glass. “I’m not sure if I should take exception to the way you phrased that or not. Are you surprised because you didn’t think I was capable of cooking, or is it that you just have very low expectations in general where men’s abilities in the kitchen are concerned?”

  Acutely aware of warm feelings filtering through her, feelings that had their origin in his eyes, she raised her glass to her lips. The wine only added to the sensation. She toyed with the stem.

  “The latter. Besides Rachel, I grew up with three brothers and a father who couldn’t find the kitchen without a road map.” She thought her comment over. “Not that Rachel is all that much better.”

  “Rachel?” Bailey echoed. Discovering himself more and more intrigued by the woman across from him as the minutes of the evening fed into one another, questions about her began to surface. He wanted to find out all there was to know.

  She nodded, taking another sip, her eyes never leaving his. Was it her, or was it suddenly growing really hot in here? “My sister. I’m staying with her right now to help her with Gracie until her leg’s better. She broke it skiing,” she added as an afterthought. “Taking advantage of the first early snow of the season didn’t exactly turn out for her.”

  Why did she feel as if she were fumbling inside? This was just a pleasant evening—being shared with a drop-dead, gorgeous male. But he hadn’t made a move on her and that was a good sign.

  Wasn’t it?

  She took another sip of wine.

  Bailey thought of the animated little girl he’d seen with K.C. this afternoon. They’d looked so much alike, he would have never questioned that they were mother and daughter. Surprise. “Then Gracie isn’t yours?”

  She rolled the words over in her mind. She’d been there at Gracie’s birth. Rachel had gone into hard labor so quickly, there hadn’t been time to get her to a doctor. K.C. had delivered her niece in the back seat of her car. She’d been the first one to hold Gracie, wrinkled and screaming, in her arms.

  “Well, I wouldn’t quite put it that way.” She saw his eyes narrow in a silent query. K.C. decided not to launch into a lengthy story. “She is in spirit. I think I spend more time playing with her than her parents do. Not that Rachel isn’t a good mother,” she interjected quickly, afraid he’d misunderstand. Mothering wasn’t exactly Rachel’s long suit, although there was no question that she dearly loved Gracie. She just did better with people old enough to gossip. “She’s just not a very creative mother.” It was up to her to create imaginary adventures and partake in long, involved picnics with invisible guests. “The games Rachel likes to play are on a slightly more adult level.” Like trying to trick her into accepting an endless parade of blind dates. So far, Rachel was zero for twelve and the streak was not about to be broken any time soon i
f K.C. had anything to say about it.

  Bailey wasn’t sure he followed her, but he was willing to go on listening to K.C. for as long as she was willing to talk. She had a soft, melodic voice and a way of curving her mouth that reminded him that it had been a very long time since he’d kissed a woman. “Such as?”

  “Never mind.”

  She’d talked too much, she realized. There was no way she was going to add to that by telling him about Rachel’s matchmaking tendencies—or that her sister referred to him and his friends as The Single Daddy Club.

  She set her glass aside, telling herself it was the wine that was making her so fidgety, and not the way his green eyes seemed to draw her right in. “So tell me, how did you get into designing toys?”

  Some people spent years trying one thing and then another before they found their true avocation—if ever. He had been one of the lucky ones. “It just seemed to evolve naturally.” He smiled, remembering. “My roommate in college was the son of a toy manufacturer. MacAffee Toys.”

  She was well acquainted with the name. “Gracie has a lot of their products. Their company’s over a hundred years old.”

  K.C. thought of the slogan they’d adopted: Never A Harmful Toy. K.C. made a point of looking for the tag whenever she bought anything for Gracie.

  “More like a hundred and thirty,” he corrected. “Anyway, Chris, my roommate, was looking for a way to impress this girl he was seeing and I designed this sleepy-eyed squirrel for him that said silly things like, ‘I’m nuts about you—’ Don’t laugh,” he warned, so of course she did.

  Like a man who’d just had a net thrown over him, Bailey found himself ensnared by the sound. It curled all around him like a warm, perfumed summer breeze. For a moment, he lost his train of thought and found himself just looking into her eyes, his mind a blank except for the single thought of how nice it would be to kiss this woman. To hold her to him and feel that soft laughter ripple against his skin.

  Trying to shake himself free of the mesmerizing sensation, he murmured, “The rest is history,” ending his story abruptly.