Those Baby Blues

by Sheridon Smythe

  "Yeah, Caroline was scared,” Sam added.

  Caroline snorted. “So were you!"

  Hadleigh realized she was staring at Treet's tanned, perfect chest visible above the sheet. She swallowed and pulled her gaze away.

  The girls were scared. No other explanation. Just that the girls were scared. And she was a girl. It wasn't the best excuse, but it was better than nothing.

  Unfortunately, it didn't ease the heat that scorched her face.

  "The storm,” Brutal echoed. “Of course. The storm.” He reached out and flicked off the light, that one little snapping action speaking volumes. “Sorry, boss."

  The door clicked shut.

  "He sounds upset,” Hadleigh ventured, wondering when the nightmare would end. “Maybe you should go talk to him."

  "He'll get over it,” Treet growled.

  She heard the covers rustling, the girls whispering, and then all was quiet again. Hadleigh lay still, hugging the edge of the bed and feeling like the woman in The Scarlet Letter. Caroline and Sam snuggled together between them, face to face.

  This was ridiculous, she decided, sliding from the bed. As close as she was to the edge, it didn't take much sliding to hit the floor.

  Sam jack-knifed in the bed, followed by Caroline, followed by Treet.

  Incredulously, they all three demanded in unison. “Where are you going?"

  Only Treet said “Hadleigh," Caroline said “Haddy," and Sam said “Mom."

  With a nervous laugh, Hadleigh clutched her dress together and fumbled her way around the bed in the dark. “I'm—I'm going to the bathroom. I'll be right back."

  "There's a bathroom right there,” Sam pointed out.

  Hadleigh could have slapped Treet when he drawled, “Yeah. You could use my bathroom."

  "There's—there's something I need to get from my room,” she stammered. Like clothes that weren't ripped clean of buttons, and a pair of panties—as if he didn't know! Where in the hell was the door?

  Thankfully, a flash of lightning revealed her path. She grabbed the doorknob and yanked it open. “I'll be right back,” she told Sam, closing the door firmly again.

  In the dimly lighted hall, she put a hand to her thundering heart. Without hesitation, she flayed herself alive for her totally inexcusable, reckless behavior. What if the girls had been older, wiser? What if they'd left the door unlocked, and the girls had burst in earlier? What if Sam had come to her room instead, and found her gone? Sam would have been hysterical.

  She covered her face with her free hand—the other clutched the dress tightly closed—and moaned softly. What kind of morals was she teaching her daughter, and Caroline? She wasn't fit to be a mother!

  "You need something, Miss Charmaine?"

  Hadleigh slowly lowered her hand. Brutal stood a few feet away in the hall, his arms, as usual, crossed over his chest. His face was impassive, expressionless.

  But he didn't fool Hadleigh. The sharp bodyguard would have noticed her dress—what was left of it. No doubt he'd already drawn his own conclusions.

  And she'd bet her next royalty check he was right on target with each and every one of them. Except for thinking she was holding out for marriage. Hadleigh drew a shaky breath and nearly smiled. Well, she guessed she'd blown that theory to hell and back.

  Four times, at least for Treet. She had lost count.

  Unflinching, she looked the bodyguard in the eye and lifted her chin. “We fell asleep,” she said evenly, without shame. Oh, she felt shame all right, but her pride helped her hide it from Brutal. And it wasn't shame for making love with Treet. It was shame for not using more caution concerning the girls. “Does...” She cleared her throat and tried again. “Does Caroline normally wake up in the middle of the night?"

  Brutal's shoulders relaxed a fraction. Hadleigh thought some of the censure faded from his eyes. Or maybe it was just wishful thinking.

  He shook his head. “Not usually. Not unless it storms, or she has a nightmare."

  "Same with Sam,” she said, glad to know that Treet hadn't acted any less responsible than she had. Caroline and Sam waking had been a fluke, an unfortunate coincidence. “They ... they think I was scared of the storm, too."

  "You don't have to explain to me,” Brutal said with a shrug of his massive shoulders. “I just work for the boss, I ain't his mama.” With that asinine remark hanging in the air, he turned and disappeared down the hall.

  Hadleigh felt like an idiot. She felt like calling Brutal an idiot, as well, if only to vent a little of her frustration. Why did she feel compelled to explain to Treet's hired help? But she knew why. She had sensed from the first moment that Brutal was more than Treet's bodyguard. He was Treet's trusted friend. Perhaps his only friend. He cared about Treet. He watched over Treet, had sworn to protect him from harm.

  Apparently Brutal took his duties very seriously.

  * * * *

  It took every ounce of willpower Treet possessed to remain in the bed. He wanted to leap up and go after Hadleigh, assure her that everything was not as bad as it seemed.

  Hell, he had a pretty good idea of how she felt. When he realized Caroline had jumped into the bed—with Hadleigh in it—he'd nearly bitten a chunk out of his own tongue. Then Sam had joined them.

  Talking about Heart Attack City!

  At least he'd had a bit of clothes on. Poor Hadleigh, she must have been close to fainting in her naked state.

  And she was probably at that moment tearing herself to shreds, condemning her stupidity, vowing to stay clear of him in the future to avoid another near-disaster.

  Treet sat up suddenly at the thought. No, he couldn't let that happen. He'd made too much headway with Hadleigh to allow this mishap to come between them. The girls were okay. Too young, thank goodness, to even remotely consider another reason Hadleigh would be in his bed.

  But what if they'd been older? Treet was forced to ask himself. Then there would have been questions. Uncomfortable questions he would have had to answer. He muttered and punched his pillow, telling himself that it was a waste of time worrying about ‘what if's'. The facts were clear; the girls, in their angelic innocence, had merely assumed Hadleigh was frightened of the storm, just as they had been.

  A reluctant smile tugged at his lips. He could well imagine Mrs. Shoreshire's reaction to their show of ‘closeness'. Treet doubted the counselor expected them to go that far!

  But they had ... and it had been awesome. So awesome he ached in every muscle, and felt more sated both physically and mentally than he'd ever felt before in his life.

  He lifted his head as the bedroom door opened a crack and Hadleigh slipped through. He caught a glimpse of her—just enough to make him stuff the covers in his mouth to muffle a chuckle.

  She was wearing a pair of oversized flannel pajamas.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Twenty

  The fishing trip on the Morning After was a howling success. Sam discovered something daddies could do that moms wouldn't do: thread squiggly worms onto hooks and remove wiggly fish from hooks.

  Afterward, they'd all ridden in the back of Mr. Spencer's truck with Brutal at the wheel, a string of fat perch flopping on the bed of the truck, and the cool mountain air rushing through their hair.

  Treet couldn't keep his eyes from Hadleigh, who blushed each time she caught him watching her. He wanted to stand in the back of the truck and shout to the world that he was the luckiest man on earth.

  He wanted her to see how perfect they all were together.

  And he wanted to get her alone again, so that he could jar her memory—although by the way she blushed, he suspected her memory was perfectly fine. What was she thinking? How did she feel? Did she regret it? He was dying to hear the answers to his questions.

  When they arrived at the ranch, Treet took his time unloading the truck, signaling Brutal to remain behind with a jerk of his head. Hadleigh and the girls went inside to tell Trudy and Mrs. Spencer about their fishing trip.

 
; Brutal propped himself against the side of the truck and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Got something on your mind, boss?"

  Treet heard what his bodyguard didn't say. He decided it was time to lay down the law. “Why don't you just admit that she's nothing like Cheyenne? That she's not some sneaky, manipulative vampiress waiting for the right time to suck my bank account?"

  With a shrug, Brutal conceded. “She's not like Cheyenne."

  "Smart of you to notice."

  "But I still don't trust her."

  Cursing, Treet slammed the tackle box back onto the truck bed. “Why?"

  "Because she's got you over a barrel, boss. Can't you see that for yourself?"

  He honestly couldn't. “Explain."

  "She's got Sam."

  "And I've got Caroline,” Treet reminded him through grinding teeth. “Maybe you should talk to someone about your problem with women."

  Brutal snorted. “I don't have a problem with women, but you seemed to have a problem with your vision. You're blind."

  "I'm not blind."

  "And bullheaded."

  "Have you looked in the mirror lately?"

  The bodyguard ignored his remark. He stared off into the distance, towards the corral and the milling horses. “I just don't want to see you make a mistake, boss. I can't help asking myself if you'd be this crazy over her if it wasn't for that little girl."

  "That little girl is my daughter."

  "Ain't much doubt about that ... this time."

  Brutal's quick agreement took the wind from Treet's sails for a second. He rallied fast. “And despite what you and Hadleigh think, I'm not prone to fantasies. I care for Hadleigh.” Treet leaned close and growled out distinctly, “Not even I can fake a hard on, buddy."

  Without moving so much as an eyelash, Brutal stared him down. “So she's hot. I'm not going to argue with you there."

  Which would explain his hard-on. For the first time since he met Brutal ten years ago, Treet wanted to punch him, to shake him up just a bit. “She's a lot more than hot, Brutal, and nothing you say will change my mind about how I feel."

  "So where's it going? And what happens to the girls when it's over?"

  "Who says it's going to be over?” Treet asked succinctly, goaded beyond caution or discretion. “As a matter of fact, I'm thinking about popping the question."

  Ha-ha! he thought with immense satisfaction as the pupil's of Brutal's eyes dilated. He'd finally gotten to him. Rattled the big, narrow-minded ass!

  Then Treet realized what he'd said.

  Oh, hell.

  * * * *

  "Trudy and Brutal are taking the girls to dinner and a movie in town."

  The lead in her pencil snapped at the sound of Treet's voice. Hadleigh glanced up from her work, feasting her eyes on Treet, who was lounging in her bedroom doorway, looking outrageously sexy in his faded button-fly jeans and a comfortable sweatshirt. He'd pushed the sleeves up, revealing the dark hair on his arms. Her mouth literally watered at the sight. “That sounds like fun.” Infinitely safer than staying here, she thought, swallowing hard.

  But Treet was shaking his head, a peculiar gleam in his eye. “You're not going. Neither am I. We're going to have dinner here ... alone."

  A naughty little shock wave stole over her. Despite the betraying tremor, she lifted a brow at his bossy tone. “I am? We are?"

  "Yes. We need to talk."

  Talk. About last night? Suddenly and irrationally, Hadleigh discovered that she didn't want to talk about last night. She didn't want him to ruin one second by telling her that he regretted it, or that it shouldn't happen again, or that he liked her a lot, but....

  Trying to appear casual, she laid her now useless pencil on top of her sketch book. “What's wrong with now?” If she had to hear it, she didn't want it to be in an intimate, romantic setting.

  Treet pushed himself away from the door and walked into the room. Just before he reached her, he stopped, hooking his thumbs in his pockets and pulling his jeans scandalously low on his hips.

  Hadleigh wet her lips, unable to tear her gaze away from that arousing line of hair that disappeared into the waist band of his jeans. It was no longer a mystery. She knew what lay beyond. Had stroked it. Felt it deep inside her. Could almost feel it now just thinking about.

  "Not now. Tonight. Over dinner. And stop looking at me like that."

  Startled by his sudden, thick tone, Hadleigh jerked her gaze up. Her body was hot ... expectant. Tense. Uptight. Aroused.

  Very aroused.

  Just by looking at him. What had he done to her? Turned her into some wild, sex-crazed woman who drooled at the sight of a little bit of hair?

  His eyes burned into hers, singed her with liquid blue heat. “Last night was incredible,” he said in that same, thick, low tone that made her knees go weak. “But it wasn't enough. I want you again and again and again."

  "The girls,” she murmured weakly.

  "The girls are looking forward to going out with Brutal and Trudy. We've spent nearly every waking moment with them since we arrived, so I think we can spend a few hours alone without feeling guilty."

  Hadleigh closed her eyes and bit her lip. She had to, just to think a rational thought that didn't involve his incredible mouth and hard, thrusting body. She was proud that her voice was bit stronger when she said, “We should concentrate on the girls."

  "And forget last night?” He sounded on the verge of laughing, as if he realized how preposterous the idea would be.

  "Not forget.” As if she could! “We should regroup. Give ourselves time to figure out what this means."

  "We'll talk tonight,” he repeated more softly.

  When Hadleigh opened her eyes again, he was gone.

  * * * *

  The first time they'd met, Hadleigh had been understandably nervous. The second time, when she and Sam had gone to his house, her nerves had been taut as a bowstring again—with good reason; she'd been meeting Caroline for the first time.

  But this time ... this time she was beyond nervous. This time she was meeting Treet for a date ... the day after she'd engaged in wild, unforgettable sex with him.

  She dropped her mascara brush for the third time, fumbling as she untangled it from the bath robe she wore. What did Treet want to talk about? Why did he sound so serious, so ... purposeful? She took a deep breath and sat down in front of her mirror. Okay. Calm down. Calm down. Maybe he wanted to talk about Sam and Caroline.

  Maybe he thought the girls were ready to hear the truth. Instead of calming her, the new possibility made her dizzy. How would they react? How would Caroline feel about having her for a mother? How would Sam feel about having Treet for a father? While she felt confident Caroline wouldn't be upset to discover that Hadleigh was her mother, Hadleigh feared she would definitely be upset to find out Treet wasn't her father.

  Treet would have to reassure Caroline that nothing would change in that area, just as she would have to reassure Sam that she would always be her mother.

  Finally, she was ready. She knew the girls, Trudy, and Brutal had left a half hour ago. She could think of no other reason to linger in her room.

  Like a scaredy cat, as Treet would say.

  Long before she reached the kitchen, Hadleigh knew that Treet was preparing his favorite dish: spaghetti. The aroma of basil and oregano spiced the air, evoking memories of another time and place. Was it possible that only two weeks had passed?

  "Hi,” she said from the doorway. She eyed the distance between the doorway and the breakfast bar, wondering if she would make it before her knees buckled. She was a friggin’ basket case!

  Treet glanced up from chopping fresh mushrooms for the salad. Unsmiling, he nodded toward the stool. “Have a seat and I'll get you a glass of wine or something."

  Wine sounded good. In fact, a shot of tequila sounded better. Probably not a good idea, though, so she said nothing, moving on shaky legs to the stool.

  So far so good, she thought, glad to have something
solid beneath her butt. She took the wine he offered, nearly spilling it when his hands closed over her shoulders.

  Leaning close, he whispered, “You look great in that dress."

  This old thing? She wanted to say. It was just a simple dress, one of many she'd considered wearing. Her bedroom resembled a changing room at JCPenney's.

  But she didn't say anything, because her throat had closed shut. Warm, teasing breath fanned her neck. Hadleigh closed her eyes, breathing fast. How could she be so turned-on after last night? Could she ever get enough of this man?

  The answer, it seemed, was obvious.

  "You're incredible,” Treet murmured, his own breathing none-too-steady as his hands slipped from her shoulders to her breasts. “In fact, you're so incredible I'm tempted to forget dinner and go straight to dessert."

  Hadleigh held onto the bar counter to keep from sliding from the stool into the floor like a pool of melted butter. Damn him for being so damned good at seduction.

  "The girls,” she murmured like a mantra. A shamefully weak mantra.

  His hands ... those wondrous, talented hands closed over her breasts possessively, his thumbs gently strumming her nipples. Her head fell back. She closed her eyes and sighed in sheer ecstasy. Against her back, she could feel him hard and throbbing. Without instruction or prompting, her legs parted.

  The silent, bold invitation did not go unanswered.

  Treet shifted his arm around her waist and found the hem of her dress. He lifted it up and over her thighs, running his finger in a teasing, tantalizing line along the elastic of her panties.

  He dipped inside, targeting her moist center with unerring accuracy.

  Hadleigh sucked in a sharp breath and let it out on a low moan. The bulge against her back quivered in reaction. She wanted to reach around and touch him, but she was afraid to let go of the counter.

  Afraid of slipping to the floor in a helpless heap.

  But Treet seemed to read her mind, to anticipate her needs. He slowly spun the stool around, shifting until he stood between her spread legs. He kissed her parted lips, and her arms closed around his neck.