Bringing Up Baxter (Forever Friends, Book 3 of 4)

by Webb, Peggy

  “I’m going to kill him,” Maxie said.

  “Who?”

  “This Crash person.” Maxie jumped off the desk and began her dramatic march around the room. “The very idea, getting you pregnant and then abandoning you.”

  “Wait a minute. He didn’t get me pregnant. We didn’t even have sex.”

  “Why not?”

  B. J.’s insides jolted as if she’d been shocked. Not because of her, that was for sure. She’d wanted Crash as she’d never wanted another man, not even Stephen, not even the very day she’d stood at the back of the church and imagined them tangled together on the white sands of St. Croix. At night, of course. Hidden by the darkness and a big beach towel.

  “Maxie, this is not about sex.”

  “What’s it about, then? I’d like to know.”

  “Well, if you’d quit jumping to ridiculous conclusions, I’d tell you.”

  “What’s ridiculous about my conclusions? You’re a sexy woman in the mountains with a hunk.”

  “I didn’t say he was a hunk.”

  “You were only doing what comes naturally.”

  “We didn’t do anything, I told you.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  And now they were at the heart of the matter. B. J. felt hot tears pushing against her eyelids. Sometimes she wished she were the kind of woman who could get ranting, raving mad instead of the kind who cried. It was ironic that she was so tough in her professional life and so vulnerable in her personal affairs. You’d think Maxie was the one who would cry at the drop of a hat.

  She might look like a China doll, but if you did wrong by Maxie or anybody she cared about, she came out fighting.

  B. J. held out her hand, and Maxie plopped another tissue into it.

  “That’s the problem,” B. J. said.

  The wonderful thing about their relationship was that B. J. didn’t even feel foolish making that admission. No emotion was too messy for Maxie; tears, screams of agony, outright sobbing, maudlin confessions. She embraced them all.

  “I wanted Crash and he didn’t want me,” B. J. added, sniffling, and her sister silently handed her another tissue. “I made a fool of myself, Maxie.”

  “If I had a dollar for every time I’ve made a fool of myself, I’d be rich.” Maxie grabbed her hat, an outrageous big-brimmed Panama with hot pink and bright orange ribbons streaming down the back, then grabbed her purse. “Come on, B. J.”

  “I can’t go anywhere. I’m a mess and I’ve got work to do.” Even as she spoke she was following her sister out the door. “Where are we going?”

  “I know a little place that sells the best homemade chocolate pie this side of heaven. And after we finish with that, we’ll share a banana split.”

  “My hips are widening even at the thought.”

  “Soul food. It’s good for what ails you.”

  They climbed into Maxie’s car, an old red Volkswagen with a white stripe painted on the top to cover the rusty spots. After a couple of backfires, they drove off down Broadway.

  “There’s a good movie on at the mall theater,” Maxie said. “After lunch let’s go to a matinee.”

  “What’s the name of it?”

  “Who cares? Tom Cruise is starring. An afternoon of ogling him should drive Bash completely from your mind.”

  “Crash... and I doubt it.”

  Maxie twisted around to stare at her, and the little Volkswagen careened into a forsythia bush in full bloom. B. J. grabbed the wheel and steered them back on the street.

  “Wow,” Maxie said. “You really fell hard.”

  “I did not. I just stumbled a little. That’s all. Anyhow, I’ll never see him again.”

  “You never know,” Maxie muttered. “Look on the bright side, at least he made you forget Stephen.”

  That much was true. Not that she had forgotten what Stephen did, not by a long shot, but thinking about him no longer hurt. She no longer fantasized about his new wife leaving him for a younger man and him coming to his senses, then begging B. J. to take him back. Not that she would ever take the scoundrel back, but she would like to see him beg.

  Crash was a different story. For one thing, he was not the type to beg. For another, all her fantasies about him were X-rated.

  Even now, sitting in Maxie’s little car with the air conditioning going fall blast, B. J. was so hot thinking about Crash, she had to pull off her jacket.

  Or maybe she was having premature hot flashes. Some women started early. Wouldn’t that be horrible?

  First hot flashes, and boom! she was out of the childbearing stage.

  At least she had Baxter.

  “We have to go by the house first,” she told Maxie.

  “Why?”

  “I have to check on Baxter.”

  “I’m confused. I thought his name was Crash.”

  “Baxter’s a dog.”

  “So is Crash.”

  They laughed, then B. J. told Maxie how she’d come to have a little mixed-breed puppy named Baxter. The edited version, of course. As much as she loved and trusted Maxie, there were some things that were too private even to tell a sister.

  Chapter Eleven

  Joseph Beauregard was one of the most successful attorneys in town, and he looked the part, expensively dressed, perfectly groomed, sitting at a polished mahogany desk flanked by shelves of law books and framed credentials. Underneath the French windows was an antique credenza with fresh flowers on one end and freshly brewed coffee in an heirloom silver urn on the other end.

  “Why don’t you spiffy this place up?” Crash entered his brother’s office without knocking and sat in a maroon leather wing chair.

  “Nat... I didn’t expect you home for another week or so. What brings you back so early? Business, I hope?”

  “Hope springs eternal, Joe. No, not business. It was time to leave, that’s all.”

  Joe reached into a stack of neat files on the edge of his desk and pulled out a thick one labeled Properties.

  He flipped the folder open and handed his brother a sheaf of papers.

  “I sold that piece of property. Take a look and be sure I dotted all the i’s and crossed all the t’s.”

  Crash snagged a pen off Joe’s desk and signed his name with a flourish.

  “You didn’t even read it,” Joe said, looking aggrieved.

  “You guard a penny better than Fort Knox, Joe. I trust you.”

  “You’ll never change.”

  Crash grinned. “Hey, where’s that hope-springs-eternal attitude when I need it?”

  Joe left his desk and clapped his brother on the shoulder.

  “Glad to have you back, Nat. Things have been dull around here without you.”

  “I’m duty bound to change that.”

  “How about a late dinner tonight? I’m picking up Susan at eight.”

  “Puncturing a few of Miss Perfect’s balloons might be fun.”

  “I’m sure you’ll bring the perfect antidote. Who’d you meet in the mountains this time, Miss Dog Patch? Miss Sorghum Molasses?”

  Crash had a sudden, vivid image of Philadelphia. Joe would approve of her. The thing that worried Crash most was that he did too. Not only approved, but wanted, desired, lusted after, panted for, remembered. Ah, how he remembered.

  Maybe he had been wrong not to pursue her whereabouts. Betty Lynn wasn’t supposed to give out information about her campers, but she’d known Crash for years. She’d have done it for him.

  “Nat... Anything wrong?”

  “No. Why do you ask?”

  “You didn’t even know I was in the room.”

  “The best part of me is still in the Smokies.” Crash was half joking with his brother, but he knew that he spoke the truth on a much deeper level.

  “Are we on for dinner tonight?”

  “See you at eight, Joe.”

  “I’ll change the reservations. For four?”

  There were at least six women Crash could call, all willing and eager to a
ccept a last-minute invitation. But none of them would be Philadelphia. Not a single one of them could even come close.

  “Make it for three, Joe. It’ll just be me.”

  o0o

  It had been two weeks since B. J. got back from the Smokies, and she finally had her first client. True, her case was nothing at all like the high-profile criminal cases she’d handled in Philadelphia, but nevertheless it was a case that would be tried in court.

  Curled up on Maxie’s sofa she studied her files. B. J. gave her best to every client, no matter how small the case.

  “Are you nervous?” Maxie said.

  “This case is not big potatoes, Maxie. It’ll be tried in a J.P. court, the lowest echelon of justice.”

  “I’d be scared to death.”

  B. J. glanced at her files. “The judge is somebody named Nathaniel Bridge Beauregard. That sounds like some old fossil straight out of a history book. How scared should I be?”

  Maxie had a sudden coughing fit then, and B. J. jumped up to get her some water.

  o0o

  Crash parked his Harley and hurried into the courthouse.

  “What’s on the docket, Margaret?” he said as he pulled off his leather jacket.

  “Two petty thefts, Wade and Roberts are the attorneys on both cases; one simple assault, Roberts again and B. J. Corban for the defense.”

  “B. J. Corban? Never heard of him. Know anything about him, Margaret?”

  Margaret smiled. “Not he. She. And they say she’s supposed to be some big shot from up north.”

  “There’s nothing I love better than putting big shot lawyers in their places.”

  He grabbed his robe and headed toward the courtroom. Margaret made a frantic motion toward his head. Grinning, he pulled off his motorcycle helmet.

  “I ought to wear it in there, liven things up a little.”

  “I don’t think you’ll need it today. Things are sure to be lively enough.”

  Crash strode into the courtroom and took his place behind the bench. There was a gasp from somewhere near the front of the room.

  He looked out over the small crowd and froze.

  There sat Philadelphia, her long legs encased in silk stockings and her elegant neck circled by pearls.

  She couldn’t have looked more like a Philadelphia lawyer if she’d tried.

  Nor could she have looked more delectable. He wanted to snatch her up, put her under his robes, and do all sorts of delicious things with her. Instead he called the court to order.

  Philadelphia was obviously B. J. Corban. J for Jane. “Me Tarzan, you Jane,” he thought, barely suppressing his grin.

  She stood up. He knew that look. She was madder than a hornet.

  “Your honor,” she said. “Request permission to approach the bench.”

  He couldn’t take his eyes off her. The way she walked in heels was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. She turned bright pink under his stare.

  “B. J. Corban, I presume,” he said.

  “You have to recuse yourself,” she said.

  “Why?”

  She flushed even deeper. “You know perfectly well why... Your Honor.”

  “Would you care to elaborate?”

  She glanced over her shoulder as if she expected a herd of elephants to mow her down at any time.

  “Not here,” she whispered.

  “In chambers,” he said.

  Their gazes locked, and for a heartbeat they were the only two people in the courtroom. She nodded.

  He called a ten-minute recess, then led her to his private office, vividly aware of every move she made. She didn’t speak as they marched down the long hallway, didn’t even look at him. Restraint was not his style. He assessed her boldly, enjoying the way she flushed under his gaze.

  “Here we are,” he said, opening his door with a flourish. “Come on in, Philadelphia.”

  “My name’s not Philadelphia.” Inside she moved as far away from him as she could get, then stood behind a wing chair and clutched the back as if it were a lifeboat and she the victim of a shipwreck. “And that’s exactly what I mean,” she added.

  “About what?” He knew perfectly well what she meant, but he loved watching her when her temper got up.

  “You can’t keep calling me Philadelphia....” She took a deep breath and reined in her temper, but she could do nothing to moderate the hot flush on her cheeks. “... Your Honor.”

  “Why not?”

  “Good grief.” She started to rake her hands through her hair, then seemed to remember she was wearing a French twist. Her hands hung helpless in the air for a moment, then she straightened her collar and adjusted her pearls. “What kind of judge are you?”

  “I’m the judge on your case.”

  She stepped from behind the chair, her hands balled into fists. “You are the most maddening, arrogant...”

  He grinned at her, and she stepped back behind the chair.

  “You can’t do that... Your Honor,” she said, her lips almost white with the effort of control. “You must recuse yourself.”

  “How’s Baxter?” he said.

  “Baxter?”

  “Our dog.”

  “I know who Baxter is, and he’s not our dog, he’s my dog.”

  “How is he?”

  “People are out there waiting for you in the courtroom.”

  “Did you bring his blue towel home? He likes that towel.”

  “I can’t believe this.” She threw up her hands and marched to his window. Her neck and shoulders were stiff as she looked out, then she whirled back to him. “You lied to me. I thought you were a motorcycle jock.”

  “Is that why you were so hot for me?”

  “I was not hot for you.”

  When she lied her eyes got brighter. She’d been hotter than a potbellied stove that night in her tent. Crash hoped she still was. Great Caesar’s whiskers, he still wanted her. Now more than ever. It didn’t make a bit of sense to him.

  “I never lied to you, Philadelphia.”

  “You acted as if you don’t even like lawyers.”

  “I don’t.”

  “But you’re a lawyer.”

  “A man has to make a living some way.” Suddenly it seemed important that he tell her the truth. “It’s a family thing, Philadelphia. I couldn’t let five generations of Beauregards down.”

  He’d never revealed that much of himself to any other woman, and now he felt vulnerable. It was a new sensation for him, and he quickly covered his feelings with another quip.

  “I decided to get in a position where I could do the least amount of work and the least amount of harm.”

  “Good grief.” She paced back to her chair and hung on. “I can’t try this case in front of you. Recuse yourself.”

  “On what grounds?”

  She eyed the coffeepot as if she meant to pick it up and throw it at him. He was almost disappointed when she reined her temper under control.

  “Why didn’t you throw it, Philadelphia? I’m kind of partial to that hellcat I found on the mountain.”

  “It’s because of what happened in the mountains that you should step down from my case.”

  “What happened in the mountains?”

  “You were... we were...”

  She squeezed the back of the chair, and wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. He remembered exactly how that tongue felt thrusting against his own.

  “We were familiar with each other,” she whispered.

  Not as familiar as he’d wanted to be. Not as familiar as he wanted to be right this very minute. He stalked across the room, shoved the chair out of his way, and pulled her roughly against his chest. She held herself as stiff as a wooden Indian.

  He cupped one hand around her pert bottom and the other behind her neck as he bent over her. Her lips were every bit as enticing as he remembered, every bit as delicious. In spite of the rigidness of her body, her lips were pliant and willing.

  Being forbidden gave an exciting edge to what t
hey were doing. No judge would prejudice the case by consorting sexually with the lawyer for the defense.

  He knew the rules... and he knew just how far to push them.

  The courtroom would soon be packed, everybody waiting for the judge. He planned to take full advantage of the few minutes he had left with Philadelphia.

  Her body had gone from rigid to slightly resistant to pliant and willing. The soft sounds of desire she made nearly drove him mad. He thrust his hips and tongue with a rhythm that was as urgent as it was reckless. His skin caught fire, and he kissed until they were both panting for breath.

  She stiffened suddenly, as if she’d just come to her senses.

  “We can’t do this... ,” she said.

  “Yes, we can, Philadelphia. That was just a kiss. Familiar is when I get in your pants.”

  Flushed and lovely, she tucked a stray curl into her French twist, then touched a finger to her lips. They looked deliciously bruised and pouty. He wanted to kiss her again... and more, ever so much more.

  “You should be disbarred,” she said.

  “Probably.”

  “You’re not going to step down, are you?”

  “As much as I’d enjoy the pleasure of doing something with you worth stepping down for, I’m denying your request, Philadelphia. As soon as you’re ready, you can present the case.”

  She glared at him. “I’m always ready.”

  “So you are, Philadelphia. So you are.”

  She jerked up the glass paperweight on his desk and drew back her arm.

  “I do love a feisty woman,” he said, chuckling.

  She set the paperweight carefully back on the desk, then with elaborate politeness she held out her hand to him.

  “Thank you for your time, Judge Beauregard.”

  He bent and with equally elaborate care, planted a warm kiss in her palm.

  “I’ll see you in court...” Straightening up, he winked at her. “... Philadelphia.”

  She didn’t bat an eyelash as she left his office. Watching her, you’d never know she was a woman who had just been kissed. You’d never dream that only minutes earlier she’d been writhing and moaning in his arms.