“You can drive my truck home,” he offered. “I’ll have someone drop me off to pick it up in the morning.”
Before Marissa could respond, a hair-raising howl erupted from the crib. Bo leaped to his feet, placed his front paws on the crib rail, and whined in concern at Annie’s squawls.
“My God,” Blake said, “what’s the matter with her? She sounds like she’s being tortured.”
Marissa hurried to the baby, swept her into her arms, and nestled her against her shoulder. The earsplitting screams continued.
“Can’t you do anything?” Blake shouted above the tumult.
Marissa shook her head. “Don’t shout,” she mouthed at him silently. “You’ll scare her and make things worse.”
Marissa inspected Annie’s diaper and evidently found it clean. “She may have colic.”
Before Blake had been worried about Vienna Pitts hearing the ruckus. Now his concern was totally for Annie.
“Is that serious?”
Marissa managed to smile in spite of the wails in her right ear. “Could be just a little gas.”
“I have an antacid in the bathroom.”
Marissa shook her head. “Adult medicine’s not appropriate for this little one. I’ll see what I can do.”
With a calmness that Blake couldn’t share, not with Annie howling like a banshee, Marissa walked the floor, patting the baby on the back, murmuring soothingly in the child’s ear the entire time. Bo followed like a golden shadow. In a few moments, Annie cut loose a loud burp. Almost instantly her screams diminished to sobs, and soon her snuffling ended altogether. The child had fallen asleep.
Marissa settled Annie back in the crib, covered her with a light blanket and turned to Blake. “I’ve changed my mind—again. I’ll watch Annie tonight and leave a message on the office voice mail for Kitty to cancel my morning appointments.”
“Thanks.” Blake felt suddenly weak with relief. “Did Annie’s crying change your mind?”
Marissa grinned. “The God-help-me-I-haven’t-got-a-clue look on your face while she was screaming confirmed my decision. You need more than a crash course before taking on a baby.”
“I never claimed I knew what I was doing,” Blake reminded her.
“As any good lawyer will tell you, ignorance is no defense. Now point me to the toothbrush and nightshirt. I’ll sleep on the sofa.”
“I can’t let you do that. I’ll sleep here. Like I said before, my bed’s more comfortable, so you take it. I changed the sheets this morning.”
“If Annie wakes, I want to be right here,” Marissa argued.
“I could move her crib into my room.”
“You might wake her. I’ll be fine on the sofa.”
Conceding her points, Blake showed her where the bathroom was, found her a new toothbrush in the vanity drawer and grabbed a faded chambray shirt, soft enough to sleep in, from his closet.
Leaving her to change, he gathered sheets, pillows and a blanket and carried them to the living-room sofa on tiptoe to keep from waking Annie again.
He needn’t have bothered. A sudden pounding on the front door filled the room like thunder, and the child jerked violently in her sleep. Bo bounded from beneath the crib and sat at attention. With an anxious glance at the still-slumbering Annie, Blake peeked between the draperies. His heart sank.
With steam practically flowing from her nostrils, Vienna Pitts stood on his front porch.
When Blake had been a kid, the wizened little woman with her hooked nose and beady eyes had always reminded him of the wicked witch in The Wizard of Oz. The ensuing years had only deepened her resemblance to the old crone.
“Who is it?” Marissa whispered.
While looking out the window, Blake hadn’t noticed her return to the room. “Mrs. Pitts,” he whispered back.
Bo emitted a low growl.
“I’m going to ignore her,” Blake added.
“You can’t. If she bangs on that door again, she’ll wake Annie for sure. Let me talk to her.”
For the first time, Blake took a good look at his overnight guest. His shirt that she’d donned ended just above her knees, exposing long silky legs and deliciously bare feet. Although the fabric wasn’t transparent, neither was it totally opaque, revealing the shadow of the tiniest wisp of underpants—and the absence of a bra. His mouth went dry.
As he watched, a glimmer of wickedness flared like green flames in Marissa’s eyes. She ran her fingers upward through her hair, mussing it thoroughly, pinched her cheeks to redden them, then unfastened two more buttons at the top of the shirt, creating enough space to shrug the shirt off until one shoulder was bare.
With a wink at Blake and a finger to her lips to signal his silence, she hurried to the door, opened it and slipped outside.
Even through the almost-closed door, Blake had no trouble hearing Vienna’s gasp of surprise.
“Marissa Mason, what are you doing here?” the older woman demanded.
Blake went to Bo and placed a restraining hand on his collar. Vienna Pitts was Bo’s only enemy. The fact that his dog loved all of humankind except this woman spoke reams about Vienna’s character.
“What am I doing? Having a won…der…ful time.” Marissa purred like a sex kitten.
Blake was glad he couldn’t see Marissa. Just the sultry tone of her voice sent the temperature of his blood rising and had him in awe of how the skinny little tomboy of his youth had transformed into a seductive bombshell.
Seductive bombshell?
Blake groaned. Didn’t Marissa know that Vienna would broadcast everything Marissa said and did all over town before the end of the day tomorrow?
Apparently his nosy neighbor’s inquisitiveness was undeterred by Marissa’s alluring appearance. “I heard a baby crying,” Vienna insisted in her finger-nails-on-a-blackboard voice, “all the way across the street.”
“That wasn’t a baby,” Marissa said with a low giggle. “That was me.”
Blake heard Mrs. Pitts’s sharp intake of breath and could only imagine the outraged expression on her pinched, unattractive face.
“And why would you be screaming like a baby?” the older woman demanded.
Marissa laughed again. “Surely, Mrs. Pitts, I shouldn’t have to draw you a picture. I’m certain you’ve made a few ecstatic noises of your own at some time in your married life.”
Blake rolled his eyes and sank onto the sofa, his head in his hands, and stifled the urge to laugh aloud.
“Well!” exploded from the neighbor’s lips like a pistol shot. “I never!”
“Oh, dear,” Marissa said with over-the-top sympathy, “that’s really too bad. You don’t know what you’re missing.”
Vienna’s indignant sputter sounded like an old engine refusing to start.
“And speaking of missing,” Marissa continued, “you really did arrive at a very awkward time. I’m sure Blake is missing me now. If you’ll excuse me…”
Marissa slid back inside, shut the door firmly and locked it. The stomp of retreating footsteps could be heard clearly on the front walk.
Blake watched in amazement as, with a few deft movements, Marissa smoothed her hair, redid her buttons, and in seconds managed to appear both prim and proper, while dressed in nothing more than a semisheer shirt and minuscule undies.
“That’ll fix the old bat,” she said with a nod of satisfaction.
Bo barked softly as if in agreement.
Blake groaned. “You’re the one who’ll pay. Rumors of our, um, alleged activities will be spread city wide within hours.”
One corner of her mouth hitched in a grin. “Why will I pay? Plenty of women in town will envy me.”
“What about your reputation?”
“I’m a divorcée. I have no reputation.” A fleeting bitterness tinged her words. “But that’s beside the point. We couldn’t have Mrs. Pitts turning in Annie. You’d lose any sympathy the court might have for your temporary custody request, and you might face charges. It’s better she believes th
at you and I are having wild, wanton sex.”
The thought had its appeal. So much appeal, in fact, that Blake’s jeans grew suddenly uncomfortably tight. In addition to his physical response, his emotions were touched by Marissa’s willingness to put on such an act to help his cause.
“You’re quite an actress. Mrs. Roberts would be proud.”
“The high-school drama teacher? I haven’t thought of her in years.”
“The last part I remember your playing was Joan of Arc,” Blake said, “which is a far cry from your latest front porch act. I have to admit your repertoire is extensive.”
“You’ve heard the phrase ‘courtroom drama’?” Marissa asked. “I’ve had plenty of practice. Trial lawyers are ninety percent ham by definition.”
He recalled her amazing transformation into a seductive temptress and wondered how much practice she’d had in that role. The thought made the rest of his blood drain south.
“I’m going to take a shower,” he said, a very cold shower, “then hit the sack. You’ll be okay?”
“I’ll be fine.” She approached him, stood on tiptoe and brushed his lips with hers. “Sleep tight, Blake.”
He wanted to gather her in his arms and kiss her back, but he resisted. They’d always been just friends, and that old friendship was what motivated her help now. He wouldn’t scare her away by acting on his sudden and inexplicable surge of desire.
“Night, Rissa,” he said, and hurried to his room before he made a fool of himself.
“YOU SPENT THE NIGHT with Blake Adams!” Laura Mason exclaimed at noon the following day when Marissa arrived home. Her hazel eyes, so like her daughter’s, grew round with surprise.
“I’m thirty-six, Mom, not a teenager.” Marissa couldn’t keep the amusement from her voice. “Besides, I slept on Blake’s sofa. Alone.”
Her mother’s expression was dubious, but Laura Mason had never been one to judge her grown children, so she asked no more questions, even though Marissa could tell her curiosity was piqued. “I was just making a sandwich for lunch. Want one?”
“Sounds good. We had an early breakfast, and I’m starved.”
Marissa followed her mother down the wide hall of the home where she’d grown up into the sunny kitchen that overlooked the bay. The house, with its high ceilings, wraparound porches and waterfront views had always been her refuge, a safe haven where she knew she was loved and protected. Coming home after her divorce had been a natural choice.
She sat in her usual chair at the farm-style table and traced with one finger the initials Wally had carved with the Swiss Army knife he’d received on his tenth birthday. Her sentimental mother had refused to have them sanded out. Laura was like that. She accepted her children—and whatever their faults—with unconditional love. For that and a hundred other reasons, Marissa had never had a problem talking with her mother.
While Laura prepared chicken salad sandwiches and poured glasses of iced tea, Marissa related how Blake had shown up at her office, his determination to protect Annie and the subsequent events, including her performance for Vienna Pitts on Blake’s front porch.
Her mother’s lips curled in disgust at the mention of Blake’s neighbor. “That woman can’t keep her nose out of anyone’s business.” Then her expression softened. “I should feel sorry for her. She can’t be a happy person.”
Laura had always been able to see both sides of any situation and had a special knack for putting herself in someone else’s shoes. No wonder she had so many friends, Marissa thought, biting into the thick sandwich of homemade bread and chicken salad with almond slivers. The familiar favorite taste made her feel twelve years old again.
“This morning was tough,” she told her mother. “Blake called Child Protection first thing. Within an hour, deputies arrived to fill out a report and take Annie away. I could tell Blake hated to see her go.”
“What will they do with her?”
“Place her in a foster home. They’ll have to find the mother and assess that situation before the child can be put up for adoption.”
Laura cocked her head, and a lock of hair, the same shade as Marissa’s, except for the occasional strand of gray, fell across her eye. She tucked it behind her ear. “Have you thought about adopting?”
Her mother knew her too well. For years Laura had been keenly aware of Marissa’s desire for a family of her own. And Laura had never been one to beat around the bush where her children were concerned.
Refusing to admit the tug she’d felt when the deputies carried Annie away, Marissa swallowed a bite of sandwich. “Children need two parents.”
“Annie doesn’t have even one. Isn’t a good single mother better than no family at all?”
The familiar longing throbbed in Marissa’s chest. “I’d love to have that little girl, but if she can be placed in a two-parent home, I’d be doing her a disservice to try to raise her by myself.”
“You don’t have to stay single,” her mother reminded her.
“Once burned, twice shy. I have no desire to marry again.”
“Harry was a mistake you made when you were too young to know better.”
“And now I’m old enough to know that at least one of every two marriages ends in divorce. The odds are worse the second time around.” She sipped sweet tea and savored the special peach flavoring. “I promised Blake I’d help him gain temporary custody, but that’s as far as I want to get involved.”
“You’re sure?” Her mother looked doubtful.
“Absolutely.” Marissa’s words were definite, but the ache in her heart contradicted them. Anger flared anew at the woman who had abandoned such a precious child. With the anger came a sense of purpose.
“So what’s your next step?” her mom asked.
“The deputies this morning said they have a staggering caseload and, under the circumstances, it might take months to locate Annie’s relatives. So I’m going to put Boston Blackie on the search for Annie’s mother.”
“Fred Black?”
“He’s the best Dad’s got.” The private investigator had taken his nickname from a popular television detective from the fifties. With his pencil-thin mustache and suave demeanor, he fit the character well. And he always got his man.
“Blackie’s not cheap,” her mother said. “Can Blake afford him?”
“Probably, but I intend to pick up the tab on this one.”
Her mother’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Are you doing this for Annie or Blake? I remember how smitten you were with that boy.”
Marissa refused to admit how her old feelings for Blake had haunted her last night. She should never have kissed him, not even that casual good night. Blake had been a teenage crush. The emotions she’d felt were old tapes replaying, nothing more. “Smitten? Mom, this is a new century. Nobody says smitten anymore.”
“What do they say?” Laura asked, then threw up her hands in protest. “No, don’t tell me. I’m sure I don’t want to know.”
Marissa took another bite of her sandwich, but she should have realized her attempt to deflect her mother’s curiosity wouldn’t work.
“Why do all this for Blake?” Laura asked.
“Because he’s a genuine good guy, and in my profession that makes him a rare breed.”
Her answer was truthful, but Marissa knew her feelings for Blake were more complex than the simple reply she’d given her mother. He’d reentered her life so suddenly and with such intensity, she hadn’t really had time to sort out whether her response to him was merely a residual effect of her teenage puppy love or the beginnings of something new.
One thing was certain. Anything new she would nip in the bud. Immediately. She hadn’t lied when she told her mother she’d been burned too badly by Harry’s deception to love again. And even if she was ready for a new man in her life, Blake Adams wouldn’t fit the bill. He was too content with his solitary situation to make major changes. She admired the fact that he was willing to make temporary concessions to ensure that Annie was
adopted into a good home, but he obviously enjoyed his single lifestyle. He didn’t even want long-term visitors, as evidenced by the lumpy mattress in his guest room. Marissa was sure he had no interest in settling down.
She didn’t have time to contemplate her disappointment at that conclusion before her mother broached another topic. “Any luck finding a condo?”
Marissa shook her head. “You anxious to get rid of me?”
Laura reached across the table and squeezed her daughter’s hand. “I’d keep you here forever if you’d stay.” Worry etched her face, making her seem suddenly older than her youthful fifty-eight. “It’s just that space is going to be tight.”
“You’re kidding?”
Marissa gazed at her mother in amazement. The rambling, hundred-year-old Cracker-style house with its four bedrooms, spacious living areas, and broad porches seemed practically empty now. Her mother had turned her brothers’ former room into an office for Marissa’s father and Suze’s old bedroom into a sewing-and-craft room. Marissa’s room had become the guest room.
“You, Dad and I rattle around in this huge house like three dried peas in a jar.”
Laura bit her lip in an uncharacteristic show of anxiety. “There’re six of us now. Suze and her boys moved in last night.”
“She and Michael are finally going to expand that matchbox they’ve been living in? It’s about time. With Michael, that’s seven. You’re right, Mom, space will be tight.”
“Michael’s not staying here.” Now her mother appeared close to tears. “Suze has left him.”
“Left!” Marissa felt her mouth gape. “Left, as in separated?”
“I’m afraid so.”
If the sun had just risen in the west, Marissa couldn’t have been more shocked. She’d never seen two people more in love, more suited for each other than her sister and Michael. “Why? What happened?”
“Suze wouldn’t say. She says she can’t talk about it yet.”
“Are she and the boys here now?” The house seemed too quiet to contain her active nephews.
Verdict: Daddy Page 5
