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

by Webb, Peggy

  “Probably. Who cares?”

  Maxie peeled a cucumber, then began to munch.

  “These aren’t bad,” she said.

  “I told you.”

  “Big sister knows best?”

  “Yes.” B. J. didn’t believe a word she said, but she said it anyhow. She had to get her life back together, and lying was as good a place to start as any.

  Maxie grabbed another cucumber. “That’s some example you’re setting. I hate to think that in a few years all I have to look forward to is lunching alone on a bag of cucumbers.”

  “I’m not alone.”

  “You were until I came along.”

  “I have Baxter.”

  “Baxter needs a daddy.”

  “Maxie, don’t even start.”

  “Okay.” Maxie poured two glasses of water. “By the way, do you have any idea where Judge Nathaniel Bridge Beauregard is?”

  “I haven’t asked. I don’t want to know.” B. J. had a sudden vision of Crash bending over her on the rug. She saw him, felt him, tasted him. “Why do you ask? Has he gone somewhere?”

  “Word on the street this morning is that he’s hung up his robes.”

  “That’s his style, I hear. Hang up the robes and take off on that Harley of his.”

  “For good,” Maxie said.

  “For good?”

  “I got it straight from the chancery clerk’s office at the courthouse.”

  When Stephen had left her at the altar, B. J. thought she knew the pain of loss. How wrong she’d been. What she’d felt then was nothing compared to the total devastation and complete isolation she felt now. Her heart was uprooted, her soul was lost, her whole world was in shambles.

  “Mrs. Parker gave me these.” She held the bag of cucumbers toward Maxie. It gave her something to hang onto.

  Maxie tore a paper towel off the rack and handed it to B. J.

  “Who is Mrs. Parker?”

  “A client. The one with the wild rabbit.” B. J. wiped her eyes, then blew her nose. “This is all she had to pay me with. When she set this little bag on my desk, I felt as if she’d given me a check for a million dollars.”

  Maxie knew when to keep quiet. She picked up the paring knife and a medium-sized cucumber. A pile of green peelings grew in the middle of the table as B. J. talked.

  “I wasn’t wearing a power suit the day she came to see me. I wasn’t even wearing a jacket.” She sniffed and dabbed at her eyes. “Do you know how it felt to use my skills to help somebody like that?”

  “How did it feel, B. J.?”

  “The way I imagined when I was twelve years old and trying out my litigation skills on the mules in Grandpa’s barn.” Dreams long forgotten bubbled to the surface, dreams of helping the downtrodden, the underdog. When had the dreams changed? When had dreams of helping to bring justice to the masses turned to dreams of getting the best cases, making the biggest scores?

  She looked down at the paper bag on the table. When she’d brought it, Mrs. Parker had been wearing a faded chino dress with a frayed lace collar—her Sunday best.

  “It felt the way practicing law ought to feel,” B. J. said softly.

  Looking down at her jacket, she added, “What’s the temperature outside, Maxie?”

  “Eighty.”

  “Too darned hot for this.”

  B. J. shucked her jacket and didn’t even bother to hang it up. It slid off the back of the chair and landed on the floor. Baxter promptly dragged it off to his basket.

  “Can this be the same woman who only moments ago was contemplating orthopedic shoes?” Maxie said.

  B. J. raked the cucumber peelings off the table and put them into the garbage can. Then she looked down at herself and undid the top two buttons on her blouse.

  “There... that’s better.”

  “Atta girl.” Maxie smiled at her. “You’re going to find him, aren’t you?”

  B. J. remembered then, remembered the way he’d looked that night in his house, the fleck of gold in the center of his eyes, the shock of blond hair that always looked windblown as if he’d come down from some distant mountain peak, the gleam of sweat on his body, the slash of red across his left shoulder where her fingernails had dug in.

  If I love a woman, he’d said.

  “Yes, Maxie. I’m going to find him.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Crash whistled while he made the corn bread. Not that he was merry. Not by a long shot. It’s just that whistling filled up the silence. As many times as he’d been to the Smokies he’d never realized how the silence could get under a man’s skin.

  He poured the bread into a cast-iron skillet, poked his fire, then glanced across the way.

  “Fool,” he said to himself. “What did you expect to see?”

  The campsite next to his was empty. There was no lopsided tent, no conglomeration of camping equipment, no stray mutt poking his nose out the tent flap. And most of all, no slender, long-legged woman with flashing eyes and a temper to match.

  The sun dropped down behind the mountains, leaving a spectacular display of red and purple and gold in the west, and the corn bread sent forth a delicious aroma that made Crash’s mouth water.

  He tested the bread with the end of his finger. It was perfect.

  “I’m getting good at this,” he said.

  He ate the whole pone, then took out his harmonica and sat with his back propped against the tent pole. A million stars popped into the sky, and a summer wind stirred the leaves of the branches of the pine trees so that they whispered secrets in the night.

  It was a night made for love. Crash segued into a blues tune, then leaned back and watched the moon track across the dark sky while the haunting music washed over him. He played his entire repertoire of blues, played until the moon hung low and the stars began to fade, played until he was so sleepy, he knew he would fall into his bag and never blink until morning.

  o0o

  A cold wet nose woke him up.

  “What the devil?”

  Disoriented, he opened his eyes and saw three things: a high-flying sun, a little dog’s furry face, and Philadelphia. The sight of all three blinded him.

  “I need some help with my tent,” she said.

  Struck dumb by the sight of her, he lay in his bag squinting at her.

  She was no longer dressed in red. Her shorts were cutoff jeans, faded and frayed, her blouse was pink, unbuttoned at the top, and her shoes looked as if they’d been hiked in a few times. Not exactly the kind of dress a woman wears when she’s bent on seduction. Still, with Philadelphia you never knew.

  He felt as if somebody had slammed a sledgehammer against his heart. She loved him. That was his first and most natural thought. He’d gone through life with a wink and a smile, and love came to him as naturally as rivers flow into the ocean.

  “Philadelphia!” he said, ready to leap from his sleeping bag and embrace her.

  Then he remembered her perfidy, remembered that she wasn’t one of the Beauregards, who in spite of being the most driven people in the world still knew how to let love show.

  Though Crash never erred on the side of caution, he figured it was the only way to protect his bruised and battered heart.

  “That’s a strange request coming from a woman who prides herself on being self-sufficient.”

  “Maybe I’m not as self-sufficient as I thought.”

  “What? You admit there are some things you can’t do all by yourself?”

  “You’re making this hard.”

  Their first meeting flashed before him, and he gave her a wicked grin.

  “Not yet,” he said, “but it’s getting there.”

  She whirled around and stalked off. He knew the exact minute she changed her mind. She squared her shoulders, lifted her head, stuck out her elbows, and made a sharp about-face.

  “I ought to have my head examined,” she muttered.

  Crash was beginning to enjoy himself. He sat up buck naked, the sleeping bag crumpled in his l
ap and the sun on his back. Baxter licked his face.

  “Come here, old boy. Tell me how much you missed me. Tell me what an irresistible guy I am.” Crash put the little dog in his lap and rubbed his fur.

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” Philadelphia said.

  She flushed and looked as if she didn’t quite know what to do with herself. Crash decided to let her squirm, but only for a little while.

  In spite of everything he still loved her. He’d known that when he left Tupelo. And now, seeing her in the place where they’d first met, he felt love so strongly, he wanted to shout it to the mountaintops.

  But what about Philadelphia? Did she feel anything or was she just playing games?

  “How far would you go?” he asked, softly.

  She looked into the distance at the mountains, the exuberant colors of spring metamorphosed into the rich and full greens of summer. She looked soft and vulnerable.

  “All the way from Tupelo to the Smokies,” she said.

  “Why?”

  “To apologize.”

  Disappointment washed through him. Apologies were nice, but admissions of a grander sort were better. Why didn’t she say something he could pin his hopes on, something like, I’ve never met a man like you, Crash, or You turn me on, or even I really wanted you to be the father of my child, Crash. Only you.

  Or even something old-fashioned like, I love you.

  “You could have sent me a letter,” he said. “I read.”

  “I didn’t know if they delivered mail here.”

  So, she really would have sent him a letter. Crash nuzzled Baxter’s soft fur while he thought about Philadelphia sitting in her business suit and pearls writing him a stiff and formal little apology.

  “How did you know where to find me?”

  “Joseph. I went to his office and begged.”

  It was hard to think of Philadelphia lowering herself to ask his whereabouts, let alone begging.

  “Really?” he said, barely containing his smile.

  “Almost. Your brother is extremely protective. But he came through when I explained why I wanted to see you.”

  He could picture that scene, staid and steady Joseph shaken to the core when Philadelphia explained how she’d tried to trick Crash, then how she’d had a change of heart and wanted to tell him that all along she’d loved him and she was sorry she hadn’t told him so in the first place.

  “Joe’s a big believer in apologies. He must have turned three shades of red, though, when you told him why.”

  “No. Actually he understood perfectly.”

  “He did?”

  “Yes. He likes Baxter.”

  “Baxter?”

  Hearing his name, Baxter bounced around, nipping at their feet and barking. The only trouble was, he didn’t know who to go to. They were both calling his name.

  Crash scooped him up and scratched his ears. It gave him something to do while he was trying to sort his mixed emotions.

  “What does Baxter have to do with this?” he said.

  “I came to apologize for depriving Baxter of his daddy.”

  “You didn’t come to say you’re sorry about trying to use me for stud service?”

  “No. I’m not sorry about that.”

  She didn’t crack a smile, and she certainly didn’t look remorseful. As a matter of fact, her face was sewed up tighter than Dick’s hat band. In the courtroom, her opponents must have shuddered in their boots.

  Crash wasn’t exactly shuddering, but he was confused... and getting mad. He wanted to play for keeps, and she was still playing games.

  “A little remorse might become you,” he said.

  “Become me!”

  She turned red in the face, and her eyes shot fire. Finally he’d gotten a reaction from her.

  “What about you, you bullheaded back of a mule?”

  “I’ve done nothing to be remorseful about.”

  “Ha! That’ll be the day.” She jerked Baxter out of his grasp. “I’m sorry I ever came looking for you. and I’m certainly sorry I ever asked for your help. Don’t you come near my tent.”

  “What about Baxter? He needs his daddy.”

  “Why don’t you try whistling? Maybe he’ll come running. But not if I have anything to do with it.”

  She stalked off, magnificent in her rage. Baxter twisted and turned in her grip, whining and looking back at Crash. His paws scrabbled along her side, and out of her pocket flew a neatly folded piece of yellow paper.

  Crash scooped it up and was about to call that she’d dropped something when the word at the top caught his eye: Baby. Riveted, he carried the note inside his tent and began to read.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Arrogant... muleheaded... stubborn...”

  B. J. kicked her rolled-up tent. Foolishly close to tears, she set Baxter down then rummaged into her pocket for a tissue.

  “Where is anything when you need it?” She wiped her face with the back of her hands. “I will not cry... I will not cry...”

  She’d been a fool to follow Crash to the mountains.

  “Change his spots, indeed!” A man like Nathaniel Bridge Beauregard never changed his spots.

  Glancing over her shoulder to be sure he wasn’t watching, she sank onto her folded-up tent. He was probably in his own tent gloating.

  Now what? If she turned around and went home, she’d be repeating an old pattern: lose and run.

  She should have listened to Maxie.

  “When you get there, for Pete’s sake, don’t let your pride get in the way,” she said, standing beside B. J.’s car just before she started her journey of the heart.

  “What pride? I’d call what I’m planning to do nothing short of groveling.”

  “There’s nothing groveling about telling a man you love him. Just tell him you love him, B. J.”

  But had she listened? No. She’d marched over there like Sherman storming Atlanta and told him she wanted help with her tent. She was a coward, that’s what. She was afraid he wouldn’t love her back.

  Baxter nosed her legs, and she pulled him close. “What if he doesn’t love me back?” she whispered.

  Baxter licked her wet face, and crazy as it seemed she felt better. She rummaged into her duffel bag for her instruction sheet, then unfolded the lump of canvas and set to work.

  “Need any help?”

  Crash’s voice, as sweet and hot as molasses, scalded her skin. She closed her eyes, said a silent prayer for guidance, then turned to face him. Tarzan on a Harley, his leather pants molded to his legs, his shirt left carelessly unbuttoned, his smile wicked.

  She was whisked back in time, face to face with the same delightful scoundrel she’d met and fallen in love with on this very mountain. Except, he wasn’t the same. Something about him was different.

  Then she noticed his hair. He’d dampened it with water and tried to tame it, with mixed results. It lay behind his ears, then kicked up along the curve of his neck and around his temples.

  She’d never seen a more endearing sight. B. J. almost cried.

  Instead, she clutched a tent pole to her chest. “I don’t think so. The tent may prove a little ornery, but I think I can handle it.”

  “I see. What I don’t see is what brought you to these mountains in the first place.”

  He dismounted, then leaned against his big chrome-and-metal stallion.

  “I thought a big-city girl like you hated the outdoors.”

  “Maybe the big-city girl has decided to change her style.”

  “Sort of like the animal who changed its stripes?”

  He was referring to himself, of course. Though, if he’d changed his stripes she had yet to see the different color. Nathaniel Bridge “Crash” Beauregard was still the handsome, devil-may-care vagabond she knew... and loved.

  “Sort of,” she said.

  And then because he looked at her a certain way, because it was impossible to ignore the starlight in the center of his eyes, she told him the truth.


  At least, as much as she could manage at one time. She’d always depended on herself. Sharing bits and pieces of her life with somebody else was hard.

  “I’ve done some soul-searching.” The light in his eyes almost blinded her. “About the way I’ve been living.”

  “All work and no play?”

  “You might say that.”

  Caught in the net of their own desires, they stared at each other, hungry but gun-shy. If she’d been in a courtroom, B. J. would have thought of a dozen ways to end the impasse. But they were in the Smokies where the only rules were those of nature.

  “My offer still stands,” Crash said finally. “But I’m not talking about the tent.”

  “You’re not?”

  “I’m talking about this.”

  He pulled a note from his pocket. Her list. The one she’d so painstakingly made on her yellow legal pad. She kicked herself for being the kind of woman who had to organize her thoughts on paper.

  “Is this the truth?” he said, holding the note out.

  It was all there, her list of Crash’s assets as a father, the list of characteristics she wanted him to pass on to her baby, even a list of things she’d need when the baby was born. Around the borders of the paper she’d drawn hearts with wings, and at the bottom, written in red, “Because I love him, only him.”

  Now was the time to take Maxie’s advice: Take the risk and the angels come. Angels might not come, but there was only one way to find out.

  “Yes. It’s the truth.”

  He closed in on her like a storm that had been building all summer. Taking the tent pole from her hand, he scooped her up and held her close.

  “What are you doing?” she said.

  “I’m planning to help you with that little project.”

  Giving her a wonderfully wicked grin, he marched toward his tent.

  “Are you kidnapping me?”

  “Yes. Are you complaining?”

  “No.”

  He elbowed aside the tent flap. “Let’s get one thing straight before we go in.”

  “What’s that?”

  “This baby will be mine too. Legally.”

  “Is that a proposal?”

  “Lawyers... always wanting to dot every i and cross every t.”

  “Well, is it? Because if it is, I want you on bended knee.”