Johnny looked very sad. “I believe so.”
Tom nodded. “So do I. And what do you mean…nothing’s happened to Mrs. Alcott that you know of? How else could you have bad news about her—which, I expect, is what made Darcy pass out.”
The man nodded slowly. “I see your point. But she passed out before I could finish. I was just going to tell her that I had bad news about her mother’s wanting me to track down that cowboy who delivered Miz Alcott here’s baby.”
Tom stilled. His gaze went to his white Stetson that the officer had to have moved himself from the couch to the coffee table. Montana suddenly flailed her tiny fists and tried to nuzzle Tom’s neck. He switched her to a cradle hold on his arm. “What kind of bad news?”
“I haven’t been able to find him. Is that your white truck outside?”
“Yes.” Tom had nothing to hide. But still, he wanted to see what this bloodhound of a policeman might be able to surmise on his own…especially considering the suspect was standing right here in front of him, that is.
Johnny Smith again nodded, apparently digesting Tom’s affirmative reply. Then he pointed to Tom’s white Stetson. “That yours?”
“Yes.” This was getting interesting. Thankfully, Montana chose that moment to find her fist, which she promptly stuffed into her mouth and began gnawing on. Into the blessed silence between them, Tom exhaled raggedly. “You think, Officer, that we could do all this interrogating after we get mother and daughter back together again? This baby’s hungry.”
The policeman jumped up. “Gotcha. I’ll get some water for Darcy. Maybe that’ll wake her up.”
“Only if you throw it in her face. Otherwise, she’ll choke. Maybe you ought to—” Tom eyed the man. He was probably a good policeman, but he hadn’t a clue when it came to females. Tom stepped over to Johnny and plopped Montana in his arms. “Here. Hold her.”
Johnny drew in his breath and then held the baby out from him, away from his now stained uniform shirt. “She’s wet.”
“I know. It just doesn’t get any better than this, does it, Johnny? The only way this situation could be worse would be if—”
“The great good Lord in heaven. What’s going on in here? What’s wrong with Darcy? What did you two do?”
Tom turned with Johnny. Sure enough, the front door was open. And right there in the entryway stood Tom’s definition of worse…Margie Alcott armed with a huge bag of diapers. Tom instantly pointed to Johnny. “He did it.”
Narrow-eyed, Margie turned on the policeman. His eyes widened and his jowls waggled with his head-shaking denial. “I never did any such thing. All I did was come out here, like you asked me to—”
“Johnny Smith, don’t you tell a lie right in front of me. I never asked you to come out here today, now did I?”
“No ma’am. But you did ask me to investigate that cowboy—”
“I did not.” Every last one of Margie Alcott’s feathers were ruffled. She shot a look at Tom, then despite her reddening cheeks, she continued with her tirade. “You quit your storytelling and get to the point, you hear me Johnny Smith? And you leave me out of this.”
“Yes, ma’am. Well, I came out here, even though you didn’t ask me to, just so I could tell you what you didn’t ask me to find out. And instead, I find this here stranger with the baby—”
“Oh, that’s enough. Quit your babbling. And Tom’s no stranger.” Margie tossed down the diapers and her oversize purse and made a beeline for the couch and her daughter. “In fact, he’s the cowboy who delivered Montana Skye. Why, in my book he’s practically that baby’s daddy.”
Johnny’s eyes widened as he stared at Tom…who smiled and smugly waved howdy.
Margie lovingly ran her hand over Darcy’s face. Then she turned to Johnny. “Now, hand me my grand-baby.” He did. “Oh, for the love of—she is soaked through. And look at the poor tiny little thing, reduced to gnawing on her own fist.” She turned to the two men. “Can’t I be gone for more than an hour without you men—” Her gaze again lit upon her Sleeping Beauty of a daughter just lying there on the leather couch. “And what is wrong with my own child?”
Tom pointed again at Johnny. “He did that, too.”
“I did not,” was Johnny’s instant denial.
“Johnny Smith, just what did you do? Don’t make me call your mother.”
As Johnny attempted to come up with an answer, all Tom could think was Goodbye, Bachelor Number Three. But in the next instant, he realized that Margie Alcott was now talking to him.
“—in the kitchen and wet a rag, Tom. Are you listening to me? Good. Go get a wet rag and wipe Darcy’s face and neck with it. That ought to bring her around. I’ll go change my sweet precious grandbaby’s diaper. It’s a good thing I bought more.” On her way to the bedroom, Margie stopped her cooing at her granddaughter long enough to take Johnny Smith to task one last time. “You caused all this. So if Darcy doesn’t come around in a minute or so, then you’re going to be taking the lot of us—lights, siren and all—right to the hospital. You hear me?”
The big policeman turned his hat around and around in his hands. “Yes, ma’am. But do we have to tell my mother about this? I won’t ever hear the end of it, if you do.”
“Well, of course I have to, Walter John Smith. I don’t keep any secrets from Freda. Your mother is my best friend. Or one of them, anyway.” She started past him but stopped again. “And when I do talk to her, I need to have my story straight. So tell me again what it is you said you came out here for.”
The man looked absolutely sheepish. “Well, I came out here to tell you that I…well, that I—” He suddenly pulled himself up to his full height and pointed the long arm of the law at Tom. “—that I found him.”
Feeling a little guilty, Tom decided to give the poor guy a break. “Like the man said, Margie, here I am.” He met Johnny’s rounded eyes. The officer’s expression clearly related Thank you, man. Tom nodded to him and then turned to Mrs. Alcott. “It’s true. He found me here, saved Darcy from hitting her head on the tiled floor, and even safely held a wet baby.”
Apparently his words settled a few of Margie’s feathers. “Well, I guess that’s about all I could ask of him, then. Except he can go get that wet rag. Tom, you sit with Darcy. I think she’s beginning to come around.”
Tom nodded, started to move toward Darcy, but got skewered in place by Margie’s next words. “And then, young man—” She narrowed her eyes at him. “—you and I are going to have a little talk, too.”
8
HOLDING MONTANA in her arms, Darcy sat out back on the porch swing with Tom at dusk on Monday, the next evening. The Arizona sun hung low and heavy over the horizon and bathed the sky in reds, yellows, and pinks. Lengthening shadows fell across the desert. The cactus seemed so close and the mountains so far. It was a beautiful sight, one that warmed Darcy, one she never tired of—one she’d hungered for when she’d lived in Baltimore.
After a year of this vista, she wondered, how would she ever be able to give it up again? This moment, with just the three of them—a gentle wind blowing and Tom rocking them slowly back and forth—had to be the dictionary definition of contentment.
Darcy smiled as she looked down at Montana. Covered lightly by a cotton swaddling blanket, the baby blinked and sighed and looked the world over as her tiny fists flailed in the air. A surge of pure love for the little girl who’d changed her life rushed through Darcy.
“She looks just like her mama, doesn’t she?”
Warmed by his sentiment, by his very nearness, but feeling very undesirable in an old pair of “fat” pants, a.k.a. loose shorts with an elastic waistband, and a V-necked pink T-shirt, Darcy darted a glance Tom’s way, saw that wide grin of his that she could drown in, and then focused on Montana. “Yes. Poor kid.”
“Poor kid? Hardly.” Tom suddenly shifted his weight on the seat, inadvertently causing the swing to sway crazily. “Oops. Hold on.”
Darcy did—and found herself hugged up tightly agai
nst Tom’s side. She felt unnerved and giddy in the same breath. But once he corrected the swing’s motion, Darcy immediately started talking, mainly to cover her own self-consciousness. “So. There’s just one thing I still don’t understand about yesterday afternoon.”
“Only one?” Tom stretched, pushing his booted foot against the ground…this time stopping the swing from moving altogether. “I can think of about ten things I still don’t get.” He relaxed. The swing took up its swaying motion again…and Tom winked at her. “I just hope you’re not one of them.”
Darcy stared at him. He did? He hoped he…got her? In what sense? She just didn’t know. And she wasn’t sure if she wanted to know. But with him all but molded to her right side, an arm flung loosely around her shoulders and resting more against her flesh than the wooden swing’s back, Darcy could feel the heat of his body tempting her, drawing her in…Hatless now, his black hair gleamed in the day’s waning light. The wordless moments ticked by.
But just then, Montana yawned so wide she made a squeaky noise. This gave Tom and Darcy the perfect opportunity to make a fuss of the baby and to chuckle over her innocent antics. Then, with the tension broken, Darcy felt more comfortable broaching the subject uppermost on her mind. “So, Tom, tell me why you’re staying with us now. And don’t make me have to fight to get a straight answer from you. You and your ‘strong silent type’ ways. I think you’ve been watching too many Westerns.”
He grinned. “You think I’m the strong silent type?”
Darcy’s embarrassment mounted. “That is so not the question, Tom Elliott. Now quit trying to put me off.” With her cheeks heating up, Darcy looked out over the desert. It was easier than facing him…especially since his face was about three inches from her own right now. “All I know was last night, once I came to—” Now she looked up at him. “—by the way, I will never forgive Johnny Smith for scaring me like that.”
Tom shook his head. “I won’t, either. But we need to ease up on the poor guy. He has more women problems than anyone I’ve ever known.”
Darcy frowned her disbelief. “Johnny? Women problems? Those are two words I never expected to find in the same sentence with his name.”
“It’s true, though. His mother. Your mother. You. Women problems.”
“How am I a problem for him? I mean, my mother and his own I get.”
Tom chuckled. “Well, that makes one of us, then.”
And once again, he hadn’t answered her question. That was so like him. And then it occurred to Darcy that in only a few short days, she knew Tom well enough to draw a conclusion on what was typical behavior for him. Now, wasn’t that interesting? And disconcerting.…
“Well, anyway,” she said, deciding to get the conversation back on track and away from where her thoughts had wandered, “last night I went back to the bedroom to nurse Montana and when I came out, you were gone. Then a little over two hours later, you were back and all checked out of your hotel. And you’re still here. Now how did that happen? And please be specific.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Tom laughed at her…in a good-natured way, one that surprisingly didn’t make her feel defensive. “But you’d think you’d have asked me that before now. After all, I’ve been here a whole day.” His voice, to Darcy, sounded lazy and content, like some big…well, Tom-cat completely satisfied with himself.
“I beg to differ. Your belongings have been here. But you haven’t.” She left it at that, a pregnant silence, hoping to get him to volunteer more information than she’d been able to drag out of him so far.
“Well, that’s true enough. I had that business in Phoenix to see to.”
Bingo. “Taking care of that land deal and the trust-fund thing, right?”
“Yep. Had to do some legal wrangling. But it’s all taken care of now. You happy about that?”
“Yes, I am.” She was happy, wasn’t she?
Tom searched her expression. “You sure?”
Darcy pulled back some. “Of course I’m sure. Why wouldn’t I be sure—or happy? I am happy. It’s what I wanted.”
He nodded…slowly, thoughtfully. “Was it?”
Darcy firmed her lips. “I just said it was.”
Tom raised a placating hand. “All right. Good. It’s done.”
“Then, fine. It must have been quite the paperwork battle because you were gone most of the day.” The words were out before she could stop them. He’d know that she’d missed him. And her voice…could it have sounded more pouty? Clearing her throat, she tried for a more normal tone of voice. “Anyway, Tom, how come you decided to stay here?”
“Two words. Your mother.”
Darcy chuckled. “Who didn’t know that.”
“I hear you. But your mama said—” He took a deep breath. “—if she couldn’t even be gone to the store for an hour and leave you and the baby here by yourselves without a couple of good-for-nothing men—and those were her words, believe me—making you pass out and leaving the baby in a wet diaper and screaming for her supper, then by golly, I could just plant my butt out here and help watch over things before the place was run over with tomcats on the prowl.” He exhaled loudly. “There. Whew.”
Darcy stared at him. “My mother said that—about…dear God…tomcats on the prowl?” He nodded. Darcy wanted to die. “I am personally going to kill her.”
“Well, don’t do it on my watch. I don’t want her mad at me.”
Darcy pulled back and just looked at him—a great big muscled cowboy of about six feet and two hundred pounds. “Are you afraid of my tiny slip of a mother?”
Tom frowned. “I certainly am. Aren’t you?”
Darcy made a scoffing sound. “Well, of course I am. Everyone is. Even Johnny Smith is—and he’s armed.”
“Ah. Johnny.” For some reason, Tom grinned…and Darcy melted. This was so not good, his effect on her. “Bachelor Number Three.”
Darcy pulled back. “Bachelor Number Three? Johnny?” Her frown deepened as she adjusted the baby more comfortably in her arms. “Oh, no. You think so?”
“Yep. I do. Women problems, like I said earlier.”
Darcy again searched Tom’s grinning face and narrowed her eyes. “The idea of a parade of Buckeye’s finest bachelors really amuses you, doesn’t it?”
His blue eyes danced. “I have to say it does. Personally, I think Johnny’s a better prospect than that other one. What’s his name?”
“Vernon,” Darcy supplied.
“Oh, yeah. Vernon.” Another chuckle, but no further comment.
Darcy desperately wanted to ask Tom if he considered himself a prospect. But she didn’t because, for one thing, it would sound…well, desperate. And for another, she didn’t want a man in her life, right? Right. So why did she have to meet Tom now? Why did he have to be the one to stop and deliver Montana? It just wasn’t fair. He was so handsome. And warm and caring. And funny. And sexy.
“So, Tom—” She denied that his nearness un-hinged her. “So, Tom,” she said again, barely able to make eye contact with him. “You never did answer my question yesterday.”
He pulled back a bit. “You’ll have to be more specific. I’ve slept since then.”
And, boy, was she aware of that…that he’d slept in the guest bedroom next to hers. What was she going to do if he stayed much longer? She’d be completely ga-ga over him by then. And that was another thing. Where were all those new mother hormones when she needed them? The ones where a woman didn’t feel sexual attraction for a man? The ones that made her focus exclusively on her child? Not that she’d ignored Montana for even a second. She hadn’t. No, she just hadn’t expected to be interested in men—any men. But once again, Tom proved her wrong. Great.
She shook her head, trying to remember what she was going to ask him, when the sliding glass door behind them opened. That could only be one person. Sure enough, Margie Alcott sang out, “Yoo-hoo! I came to get the baby and change her diaper.”
“She’s dry, Mother,” Darcy called over her shoulder.
Her mother came out on the porch and put her hands on her hips. Then she dramatically nodded her head in Tom’s direction. As if he weren’t sitting right there and couldn’t see the broad hint Margie was giving her daughter. Darcy couldn’t resist. “What does that mean, Mom? That head-shake thing?”
Margie patted at her gray hair and did her best to look nonchalant. “It doesn’t mean a thing, Darcy Jean Alcott.” Then she reached in and scooped the startled baby up from Darcy’s arms. “Did you nurse her?”
Tom made a strangled noise and Darcy’s face flamed. “Yes, Mom. Right out here in front of Tom. Of course I did.”
Cuddling her tiny granddaughter, Margie gave Darcy the look that said “Mind your manners, young lady.” “I meant before you came out here. So don’t you be peevish like that. Now, you two can sit out here and bake all night if you want to. But I’m going to take this child in before she gets sunburned.”
“Sunburned?” Stung—did her mother really think she’d let her daughter get sunburned?—Darcy pivoted on the seat to see Margie’s retreating figure. “I only brought her out ten minutes ago. The sun was already going down, and I had the blanket over her—”
“Darcy?” Tom put his hand on her bare arm.
She turned. “I wouldn’t let her get sunburned, Tom.”
“I know that. And so does she. She’s just being a grandmother.”
“A grandmother? I’ll never know how my having a baby made my mother grand.” Darcy slumped in the swing. Behind her, the patio doors slid closed. Darcy shook her head, and felt close to tears. “I swear, Tom, I can’t seem to do anything right with that child.”
“I think you can, Darcy. I think—”
“—even Mom’s friends came out today and were telling me their horror stories. Freda even asked me if I’d remembered to feed Montana.” Darcy’s expression intensified. “To feed her, Tom—”
“And you had, right? You’d fed her?”
She nodded, and continued with her rantings, not really internalizing Tom’s supportive words. “They were saying awful things—like I wasn’t to poke my finger into the soft spot on top of Montana’s head or her brain would leak out.” Horrified, Darcy covered her face with her hands and spoke through her fingers. “Dear God, now I’m worried that I might just accidentally do it.” She lowered her hands and let Tom see her bereft expression. “Look at me. I’m afraid I’ll drop her or forget to feed her or change her. I might even forget where I put her—”
Drive-By Daddy & Calamity Jo Page 10
