Surprised by a Baby

by Mindy Neff

  Storm smiled. “He and my dad belonged to the Elks club. Dad said the men used to rib Harold about being henpecked because Millicent was so bold and bossy, but Harold would just laugh and wink at them. Never commented beyond that. Drove those old guys nuts.”

  “Oh, how sweet. Maybe I better not give out his secret.”

  “You know what the wink meant? Does it have to do with her hair?” He leaned in so quickly his elbow nearly slid off the counter.

  “If I tell you, I’ll have your word that no other man will hear this from your lips. Especially those old boys over at the Elks lodge.”

  His lips twitched and he raised his hand. “I’m a peace officer. We’re right up there with the pope when it comes to zipped lips.”

  “Mmm-hmm. Let me see your other hand. I want to make sure you’re not crossing your fingers.”

  He laid both hands on the reception desk. “It kills my soul that my dad’s not here to listen. There was one hell of a betting pool going on over at the Elks about the Lloyds’ private life. Especially after she started wearing blue hair.”

  “She’s wearing her own hair,” Donetta corrected. “But when it turned gray, she followed the instructions she found in a magazine for a do-it-yourself color at home—which she put on her brows, too—and ended up looking like a Smurf.”

  Amused, he asked, “Is that your description?”

  “No. Millicent’s. She’s a cartoon buff. Watches them every day. That’s why she doesn’t answer the door on Saturday mornings if folks happen to come call on her—” She stopped. “You’re still the pope, remember? Miz Lloyd’s TV-viewing preference isn’t part of the blue-hair wink story.”

  He raised his right hand again to signal his oath. “I’m having some trouble, though, picturing Millicent Lloyd talking to you—or anyone—about her personal business.”

  “Funny thing about doing hair. You slide your fingers along people’s scalps and they seem compelled to share all their secrets—totally unsolicited.”

  “I’ll have to remember that.” His eyes danced with sensual amusement. “Is that why you named this place Donetta’s Secret?”

  She shook her head, unwilling to discuss that subject—because it really was a secret she was keeping. Instead, she gave her standard grin and flippant answer. “It’s my secret. Anyway, Millicent hated what she’d done to her hair, but Harold told her she looked so sexy it drove him buck wild, and to prove it, he whisked her off to bed right there in the middle of the day.”

  “Must have been some afternoon.”

  “Evidently it was. He did such a good job convincing her that she decided she liked it, too. She’s always been a trailblazer. So there’s your wink. And as long as I’m her hairdresser, her hair color will be blue because every day she looks in the mirror, she has a reminder of her Harold. I’d just like to tone it so she won’t be the butt of jokes. I tried once, but before I could blow-dry her and show her I’d only taken the color down one level, she had a fit and made me redo the process. I’m telling you, Storm, to see that feisty woman’s eyes tear up and her chin quiver sent me right into a tailspin.”

  “I can surely relate to that,” he mumbled.

  Donetta poked him lightly on the shoulder. “That was a one-time shot, Carmichael, so don’t go blabbing it all over town. You’re the pope, remember?”

  “Let’s leave it at peace officer. I’m having some trouble visualizing myself as the other. Or,” he said, his eyes steady on hers, “you could do something really crazy and trust Storm Carmichael, the man. Seems to me when two people go back as far as we do, it ought to count for something.”

  “Isn’t that interesting. I was thinking the same thing before my customers were railroaded out the door.”

  “That’s like comparing a squirt gun to a deer rifle. I’m talking about trust and you’re talking about aiding and abetting. If I break the law or shirk my duty, I wouldn’t be someone you’d want to trust. So, don’t shoot the messenger, darlin’. Especially when he’s trying to help you.” He pulled a slip of paper out of his pocket. “You should have received a copy of this.”

  Aiding and abetting? She hadn’t considered that. Getting the father of her baby tossed in the hoosegow was certainly not part of her plans.

  From beneath the counter of the small reception desk, she retrieved the punch list of required improvements. “Right here, Sheriff. Blane-the-Pain was helpful enough to personally deliver a copy.”

  “Blane-the-Pain?” A smile lit his eyes. “Is that any way to talk about a man who only has your welfare in mind?”

  “I’ve been open for business for two years and I haven’t electrocuted a single client or burned down Main Street. I don’t understand why I can’t stay open while the work’s being done.”

  “Why should Blane trust you now when you’ve ignored all the other inspection reports for the past two years?”

  “I didn’t ignore them! I was told there wasn’t a problem with the workmanship, and that the notices were merely a clerical error.”

  “Told that by your contractor, I imagine,” he said. “The inspector who was here at the start of this job didn’t retire. Did you know that? Duke Matheson was fired for dipping his hands in the county till. And guess who was his bosom buddy. Your pal, Judd Quentin. There’s an ongoing investigation. And since Blane’s taken over, the more he gets into the job, the more he finds out. Now, maybe it’s my skeptical nature, but it seems odd that right about the time Matheson found himself up to his armpits in alligators, your paperwork ran into a snag.”

  “I don’t get it.” Donetta scooted the appointment book out of the way and leaned her arm on the desktop. “My salon was finished two years ago. Matheson was still here. If Judd was asking for favors like you suspect, then why aren’t all my documents in order?”

  “Matheson was smart enough not to sign his name and perjure himself. He just filed whatever Quentin turned in. Regardless, Donetta, this situation would have come up one way or another, either because of a major catastrophe here at the salon or because of another fire inspector. Duke Matheson wasn’t a spring chicken, and someone new was bound to take over sooner or later. They’d cite you in a minute. Hell, I’d cite you if I’d discovered some of this stuff.” He picked up the paper and waved it between them.

  “Well, that makes me feel all warm and fuzzy. And despite your dire warnings—which I’m not discounting or taking lightly—I still think Blane should try to work with me a little here. Now that I know the papers were for real and not just clerical errors, I’ll take care of it—which is exactly why he should trust me. Because this time, I’ll be driving the bus.”

  He frowned. “That should be a comfort to the new fire marshal?”

  “Absolutely. Roosters crow, sugar. Hens deliver.” And wasn’t Storm going to be surprised when he learned that electrical panels and handicap rails weren’t the only thing this hen was going to deliver.

  He’d started to look away, but his head snapped back. “That’s a damn sexist remark to make.”

  “Oh, don’t get your tail feathers in a twist. I’ve got my sights aimed at a rooster who’s shorter, heavier, older and uglier than you.”

  “If that was a backhanded compliment, I’ll take it.”

  She automatically slipped into her seductress role, the one she consciously—and sometimes unconsciously—employed to keep a man off balance. The playful angle of her head, the sultry pitch of her voice…being a flirt came so easily. “I figured you would, sugar.”

  Most men looked away, laughed and made some silly comment meant to sound macho, which totally gave away their bluff. With her feet steady on the ground, Donetta could hold men at a distance and they never even realized she was doing it.

  But Storm wasn’t most men.

  His green eyes zeroed right in on hers, and the utter, deliberately seductive intensity turned her knees to water. With an unhurried, easygoing confidence that made her fight-or-flight instincts scream in alarm, he hooked his boot heels over t
he bottom rung of the stool, his knees spread wide, and laid the building department form over his thigh. It might as well have been a glowing neon arrow pointing front and center below his belt.

  The position he’d shifted into was a blatantly sensual invitation that made a woman just know he could show her a good time. The fact that Donetta could attest to that made her palms go damp and her insides tremble like mad.

  The corner of his lips tipped in a bad-boy smile. “I’m game, darlin’, for whatever you’ve got in mind. You can either put some words to what that sexy tone implies, or I can start guessing.” His deep Texas drawl could tempt a saint to sin without batting an eyelash.

  Donetta was in over her head.

  She affected a look of innocent confusion, but knew in an instant the pretense had failed. She gave it a shot, anyway. “What I thought we both had in mind was discussing this punch list.”

  “Don’t ever take up poker, Slim.” His eyes remained unnervingly steady on hers. “You don’t bluff or lie worth a damn.”

  At least she knew when to fold. “Fine. Do you want to get back to business now, or what?” She crossed her arms and lifted her chin.

  “I wouldn’t mind trying out the ‘or what.”’ He scooped the paper off his thigh and laid it on top of the reception counter. “But I’ll wait since it looks like you’re back in business mode.”

  Donetta let out a carefully masked, shaky breath. This was one man she couldn’t manipulate with her deliberate subterfuge.

  “I took a look at your electrical panel before I had to rescue you from the ladies’ room. Not a whole lot’s been done to it in the past hundred years.”

  “I didn’t need rescuing,” she said.

  “Right. It was the toilet I saved from annihilation. And it’s a good thing I intervened, because the fixture is fine—your contractor did install a handicapped toilet. The problem is that he merely parked it back over the existing opening. Call me a skeptic, but I’d put my money on laziness and greed. What you paid for, darlin’, was to tear up most of that concrete floor, reroute the plumbing and shift the seating arrangement a bit to accommodate a wheelchair.”

  “Instead, I got a fancy new throne that sits you down several inches before you expect it to—which is actually a nice feature for long-legged women,” she said, forgetting for a moment who she was talking to.

  “There is that,” he agreed, for once bypassing an opportunity ripe for his sensual brand of teasing. “This isn’t going to be a half-day job. It’s pretty major.”

  She rubbed her forehead, wished she felt more up to fighting. “Judd’s not returning my calls. I don’t have the money to sue him or to hire another contractor and get all this stuff done if he refuses to make things right. Unless the sky suddenly rains thousand-dollar bills down my chimney, I’m up a creek. And I won’t have any money if I can’t book any clients.”

  “If you need cash, I can help you out—”

  “Don’t make me mad, Storm.”

  He studied her for a long moment. “You know, you’re the only woman who could say that to me—besides my mother—and actually make me shake.”

  “Oh, for pity’s sake, I—”

  He leaned forward on his stool, put a finger over her lips. “Friendly advice. Never reveal your bluff until your opponent surrenders his weapon. Even then, it’s best to holster your revolver, let him always wonder whether you’ve fired five rounds or all six.”

  The touch of his finger against her lips wiped every thought from her mind. Why were they talking about guns?

  “As long as you signed a contract with Judd Quentin,” he said, lowering his hand, “there’s no reason you should incur any out-of-pocket expense.”

  She could still feel the warm imprint of his finger. As she stared down at the county form on her desk, images shimmered in her mind of twisted sheets and slick bodies, of hot green eyes locked onto hers while she straddled his naked thighs, opened her mouth over his index finger and slowly, sensually, worked her lips from knuckle to tip.

  “Donetta? You did sign a contract, didn’t you?”

  Her gaze snapped up. She cleared her throat. “Of course.”

  “And you’ve paid him up tight?”

  She blinked. “Yes.”

  “Then unless the architect made a whopper of a miscalculation, somebody’s been enjoying steaks off your grocery bill. Because it looks like you paid for a whole lot of material and labor you didn’t receive. How do you feel about taking a ride with me out to Judd Quentin’s place?”

  “Can I hold the gun?”

  He laughed and stood up. “I’m trying to keep you out of jail, Slim.” He rubbed his thumb over the skin at the corner of her eye. “Give me fifteen minutes to go change my shirt and get my truck.”

  “Your truck? Won’t it have more impact if we show up in your patrol car?”

  “That’s against the rules, darlin’. I’m not going out there on police business. This is personal.” He moved toward the front door and paused. “In the meantime, you might want to go have a closer look in the mirror. I imagine I’m already in enough trouble with my mama. If she gets word that we were riding through town in my truck and somebody’d blacked your eyes, she’ll have my tombstone carved and planted out there at the cemetery before we even make it past Gorley’s dairy farm.”

  Her hands flew to her face and she immediately fled to a mirror. She nearly screamed when she got a good gander at herself.

  “Oh, my God. How could you let me walk around looking like…like a raccoon with a hangover?”

  He held up his hands and inched closer to the door. “Now, Donetta, you said that, not me. Besides, you never asked for my critique on your makeup, and, darlin’, a smart man learns early which subjects are best left alone unless they’re clearly unavoidable. Driving down the center of Main Street is like posing for the front cover of the National Enquirer, and that is what categorizes this instance as ‘unavoidable.’ Otherwise I wouldn’t have made a peep. And the black stuff’s not even that bad,” he added. “It’s only—”

  “You better just quit.” She licked her finger and rubbed at the black mascara with little thought for the delicate skin around her eyes. “For a guy who grew up with a sister and three extra females underfoot half the time, you’re not very smart at all. And if somebody’s told you different, that person’s an idiot!” She knocked over a can of mousse as she snatched up two facial tissues. “Talk about categories,” she griped. “There’s a mandatory, unwritten code about honor among friends and family. Sunny would skin you alive if you sat around lookin’ at her half the day and didn’t tell her she had spinach in her teeth or lipstick on her chin.”

  “She would not. Where do you think I learned my tact? I thought I was being helpful one summer when it was humid as all get out, and I told her that her eye paint had slid down to her cheeks. She cried. I mean, really cried. I felt lower than a basement cockroach.”

  “She cried because Jerry Willick cheated on her with Patti Sandalsteen!”

  “I know my own memories of my sister, Donetta. Besides, when I went up to her room to apologize, she was scrubbing her whole face with the washrag and cryin’ her eyes out.”

  “It was the Independence Day barbecue, for heaven’s sake. Sunny and Jerry were going steady. You didn’t notice she was wearing her cutest halter top, and that her boyfriend was conspicuously missing?”

  “She was in the eighth grade, damn it. She had a whole closetful of tops. And how do you know so much about this? You weren’t even there!”

  “I,” she stressed, “was delivering a brilliantly scathing ‘Dear Jerry’ letter over at the Sandalsteens’ pool party and ratting Patti out to her parents. Sunny was supposed to go with me, but your mama made her stay home because you were home and she didn’t think y’all spent enough time together. So, Sunny was counting on me to go over to the Sandalsteens and shove the little two-timer and his hussy into the pool.” She dipped a tissue in a jar of petroleum jelly before she ended up cr
eating real bruises by rubbing so hard with only spit and her fingers.

  “But when I got there the little cruds were out by her daddy’s shed, and Jerry Willick had his hand up Patti’s top. Naturally, I was forced to explain to Mrs. Sandalsteen that I couldn’t stay, and I asked her to give Jerry the note when he and Patti came up from the shed—where I assumed we were all supposed to be putting our clothes. In eighth grade and all, I told her, you don’t want your peers to think you’re a loser because your grammy won’t let you go to a naked swimming party. Especially when there’s parental supervision. By the time I got over to your parents’ house, you had already flitted off somewhere.” She resisted tacking on “So there.” Gloating was unladylike, Grammy had always told her.

  Amusement and admiration danced in his eyes. “It might have been nice if someone had clued me in on all of this. I’ve spent the past twenty-some-odd years half traumatized, thinking I had scarred my sister for life. Hell, after that, every time she came in the house all dirty from helping Dad out in the barn or tending to some animal, and Mama would say something about fixing herself up like a girl, Sunny would glare at me.”

  Donetta straightened away from the mirror and faced him. “Are you doing this on purpose, just to irritate me?” She realized that girlfriends understood one another in ways guys never could or even cared to. That was fine. But brothers were supposed to be different, exempt from the “guy” category.

  “Didn’t it occur to you that your sister might have been glaring at you because you were just sitting there like a log, instead of standing up for her?”

  “No. Damn it.” He ran his hand down his face. “It wouldn’t have occurred to me because for all that time I thought I was the one who’d hurt her, made her cry by pointing out her makeup, you know? See how that single incident affected me? And that was nothing compared with what you put me through today. No way in hell I was going to take a chance on making you cry again.”

  “That has got to be the most pitifully ridiculous excuse for an explanation I’ve ever heard. How can you stand there like a fox with feathers sticking out of his mouth and tell me you didn’t eat the chicken?”