Surprised by a Baby Page 5

  His mouth twitched. “To be slightly more factual, we were going with raccoons.”

  “There you go. That’s twice now you’ve blown your own excuse. If you’d been so worried about me bawling like an idiot again, you’d have kept your mouth shut. Huh! Scared, my foot. Calling me a raccoon and saying you’re embarrassed to let me ride in your truck until I wash my face sounds pretty doggone chancy to me.”

  “Damn straight, it is. Why do you think I waited until I was within sprinting distance of the door before I said anything?” He pushed open one of the glass panels enough to get his foot out on the sidewalk.

  “Hell, most women look in the mirror when there’s one right in front of their face. And I stalled as long as I could, figured you’d get around to fussing with your hair or something and let me off the hook.”

  Avoiding the mirror had been deliberate. She’d been disgusted and mortified enough over her lack of control. She didn’t need to see it staring back at her.

  “As far as I was concerned you looked fine. But, honest to God, Donetta, your tears about tore my heart out. Please don’t do that again.”

  She didn’t know how the irritating man managed it, but he made her want to smile. She was surprised she still could, given that her brain had gone numb hours ago. Massive overload, she imagined.

  She was pregnant; her business had been closed until further notice; nausea gnawed at her without respite; and she’d bawled her eyes out in front of the very man who was tangled in her life tighter than a rubber band in matted hair. And the day wasn’t even over yet.

  Grammy was fond of reminding her that trials built character. That was a good thing, Donetta decided. But it felt a whole lot like she’d started at the advanced level and was working from there. At this rate, she’d be singing with the angels before she ever had a chance to practice with the choir.

  Storm was almost out the door when he poked his head back in. “Hey, Donetta?”

  She sighed because she was standing ten feet away from him with two coats of black mascara still smeared under one of her eyes. “Yes?”

  “You do scare me something fierce.”

  She watched him jog to the curb and ease his six-foot-five frame into the county patrol car.

  Hold on to your hat, pal. Pretty soon I’m going to ratchet that fear right up to ring the bell.

  Chapter Four

  Late-afternoon sunlight filtered through a stand of evergreens, casting long shadows across the two-lane road as Storm drove them out of town toward Judd Quentin’s place. Donetta still clutched at a strand of hope that Storm was wrong about the contractor, that by tomorrow everything would be straightened out and it would be business as usual.

  Maybe she was a fool, but hope was better than the alternative—trying to get a loan at the only bank in town, the bank where her ex-husband sat on his Godlike throne and decided who would and who would not get lucky that day.

  She didn’t have doubts about which category she’d fit into.

  She groaned, battling a wave a nausea that heated her skin from the inside out. Whenever she got excited or upset, the sickness seemed to grow worse. She pressed her hand to her stomach. Poor little baby. Was she making it have an ulcer?

  “You okay over there, Slim?”

  “I suppose.”

  He reached across the cab and laid a hand over hers. “I can go talk to Quentin by myself, if you want.”

  Donetta wondered if there was anything Storm wouldn’t jump in and do. What affected this man’s fortitude besides a woman’s tears? He exuded confidence. Even though he had his wrist hooked over the steering wheel and his attention was divided between her and the road, she didn’t worry about him running them into a ditch.

  “I need to deal with this, Storm. I was so caught up in the excitement of having my own salon…I got lax about things I should have seen to myself. I love the creative part of the business—doing hair and trying out new styles, sending my clients out transformed or refreshed and feeling good about themselves.” She smiled at him, wishing her queasy stomach didn’t feel as though it were sitting in her throat.

  “I’m like a happy pill. People come to me and share their secrets, their pain and their joy. They get things off their chests, tell me what their kids and grandkids are up to—”

  “Sounds a lot like going to a shrink, if you ask me.”

  “Only a man would consider that a bad thing. What I provide is even better. Think about it. Where can you get therapy for the price of a hair color and cut and come out looking like dynamite to boot? That’s the fun part. So, I didn’t think twice about delegating time-eating chores like dealing with the county. Out of sight, out of mind, and I’d go happily along with my day.”

  “Do you know how lucky you are?” He removed his hand from hers and signaled before turning onto Valley Way. “Not many people can get up every morning excited to start their day because they love their job.”

  “Did you feel that way with the Texas Rangers?”

  He nodded. “That was my dream. From the minute I came out of the police academy and made every rookie mistake in the book, I’d set my sights on being a Texas Ranger. I single-mindedly maneuvered my career toward that goal and I reached it. It was a great feeling.”

  She watched him talk about the job he’d loved, felt a flutter in her chest just looking at him. He’d exchanged his uniform shirt for a plain black T-shirt, which he’d tucked into his jeans, but he still wore the sexy black Stetson that seemed as much a part of him as his onyx hair. His shoulders were as wide as a line-backer’s, his waist and hips lean. The stainless-steel watch on his wrist was large and masculine, just like the man.

  With an odd sting of sadness, she tracked the second hand as it clicked each beat on the white dial, and remembered how close they’d all come to losing him several years ago, and what that horror had cost him. When he’d been shot during an undercover assignment, the bullet had destroyed one of his kidneys. According to the rules of the Texas Rangers, a missing body part, even if you could function just fine without it, constituted an automatic retirement.

  “You miss being part of the Rangers, don’t you?”

  “Sometimes.” He flashed a smile. “I’ll probably always be an excitement junkie, as you called it. But I love the job I have here, too. I didn’t realize how much ugliness and violence I was exposed to as a Ranger until I came home. Good thing I let Jerome Randolph talk me into running for sheriff.”

  “Running, my foot. Tracy Lynn’s daddy was going to put you in that office come hell or high water.”

  He frowned. “I can’t quite decide whether or not I’ve just been insulted. You don’t believe I won the election on my merits?”

  Donetta laughed. “Cradle your ego, Carmichael. With your charm, you could snag the governor’s seat without half trying.”

  “No way. I’d shrivel up and die in a job like that. The governor’s safe from me.” He pressed a little harder on the accelerator and the white Chevy truck responded with a healthy growl. “I need speed and a little danger.”

  Donetta laughed, because at one time she’d been the same way, a tomboy determined to climb the tallest tree, dribble a basketball around a court and body-slam the opposing guard who tried to block her perfect shot.

  She’d been thinking about that a lot lately, ever since she and Storm had made love with a fervor that had not only given her out-of-this-world pleasure, but had given her the high of athletic competition, the thrill of pitting her agility against an equal opponent. Their lovemaking had been erotic, physical and fun.

  And it had made her wonder how she could have surrendered that part of herself—the thrill-seeking, game-for-anything woman who’d also needed speed and a little danger.

  At the moment, though, thoughts of her night with Storm were a bit too dangerous. She needed to quit wandering in that direction.

  “I imagine this truck’ll not only keep you on your toes,” she said, “it’ll stand you on your head if you’re not ca
reful. I’d bet money some hot-rod mechanic has tinkered with the motor. The muscle under this hood is definitely not standard equipment or a factory addon. At least not from any dealership I’ve ever been to.”

  He grinned and turned down a pigtail road that was hardly more than two ruts in the dirt. “You’d win that bet. A guy in Houston did the work. He’s an ace at pulling every drop of extra horsepower out of an engine. The DPS—Department of Public Safety,” he clarified, “keeps him on retainer. Donovan makes sure our rides will outrun anything the bad guys are pushing. So how do you know whether or not a motor’s stock has been ‘tinkered’ with?”

  She gave her hair a sexy toss and shot him a look that was purely feminine. She didn’t do it deliberately, didn’t even realize it until she felt it. The heady excitement of knowing she’d impressed him, that they had something else in common besides the baby in her womb, had simply engulfed her and taken over. The admiration in his deep voice and sharp green eyes had brought on an intoxicating confidence that had naturally manifested itself in the kind of sultry look every woman possesses, the kind she can feel right down to her soul and knows will get a man’s attention.

  Instead of resisting, she went with it. Because anything that pleasantly distracted her from the ever-lurking queasiness, even if it was for two seconds, was welcome. “I took auto shop in high school. Better watch out, pal. Not only can I mop a basketball court with your butt, I can fix your blown manifold when you get a little overeager chasing bad guys.”

  “Since I don’t plan to blow the manifold any time soon, I’ll let that challenge go. But I’m calling you on the basketball match. My place. We’ll see who mops whose behind.”

  Her heart and stomach lurched at the same time. She’d just instigated a challenge she wasn’t sure she could accept. Since she’d only learned of her pregnancy today, and with all the other blows she’d had to deal with, there hadn’t been time to make an appointment with the doctor. What if the game was off limits during pregnancy?

  The nausea that had been coming in waves all day again crested. She took several deep breaths to settle herself. Maybe she was right that elevated adrenaline or heightened emotions caused the baby sickness. That would definitely be adding insult to injury. With hormones flooding, keeping her on a roller coaster temperamentally, this could end up an around-the-clock misery.

  She’d never been to Judd Quentin’s house and had no idea where they were. She’d thought she knew every road in Hope Valley, but right now, if she had to get out and walk, it would probably be days before she found her way home.

  “How much farther?”

  “Just a few miles.” He glanced over at her. “You doing okay?”

  “Actually, no.” Lord have mercy, how many times today was she going to embarrass herself in front of this man? She sat erect in the seat, reached for the clasp on the seat belt. “I need you to pull over.”

  He looked as though she’d just told him there was a bucket of rattlesnakes under his feet. “Right now?” He checked the rearview mirror and braked. Gently.

  Way too gently for Donetta’s peace of mind. She nodded, afraid to speak, her hand on the door handle.

  “We’ve got a mushroom cloud of dust tailing us. It’ll cover the whole truck if we stop fast.”

  She jerked her head and glared at him, ready to tell him what he could do with his precious truck—or what she was fixing to do inside it. He must have read her expression.

  “Damn it! It’s not the truck I’m worried about—it’s you. Hang on, darlin’.”

  Donetta snatched up her purse and dumped the entire contents on the floorboard at the same time that Storm jerked the wheel to the left and bumped outside the ruts to bring the truck to a halt in the patchy clumps of crabgrass. As she yanked the door handle, he grabbed the purse from her hands and shoved the little trash bucket in its place.

  She didn’t have the time or the option to object, or to figure out how he’d managed to work the steering wheel, the brake pedal, spare a thought to save the ruination of her purse and accomplish the exchange with the trash bucket simultaneously. She jumped out of the truck, wishing there were a place to hide, feeling so miserable she just wanted to crawl into a bed with a fan blowing on high speed and stay there for a solid week. Her stomach muscles ached from being sick so often these past few days.

  He’d covered all the bases in a matter of seconds. His thoughtfulness pressed at her chest and squeezed. That was some brain he had. Would her child inherit the best of his traits?

  She glanced down and realized she’d forgotten about the little trash bucket in her hand, having availed herself of a handy sagebrush behind the tailgate of the truck instead. Her eyes were tearing from the dust and from the spasms that had gripped her stomach seconds ago. She tried swiping the corners of her eyes with the backs of her wrists, but grit clung to her skin. Evidently, she and mascara were not destined to get along today. She should have known better than to reapply it after she’d gotten rid of those smudges.

  One thing was for sure. She was going to look in the side mirror before she got into the truck. No sense scaring Storm and Judd, too.

  She walked the few feet back to the truck. Dust coated the pristine white paint job. So much for the shiny black polish on the beefy tires and the flashy chrome rims, she thought.

  Donetta leaned against the fender of the truck, hoping her eyes would dry on their own, grateful that Storm hadn’t come over to hover, was giving her as much privacy as possible.

  Looking out across the field, she tried to get her bearings. She could see a brown ranch house in the distance, guessed maybe sixty or seventy acres away, and realized they were probably parked on part of Judd Quentin’s front yard. Squatty scrub oaks dotted the land that was still patchy green with devil grass. On the other side of the crude dirt road, a stand of maple trees still held on to their fiery leaves in a brilliant tribute to autumn.

  Halloween was only a few weeks away, and time would slip by fast after that with the festive rush of Thanksgiving and Christmas.

  Except for the autumn of her engagement to Tim and the two years of their marriage, she and Grammy had always spent the holidays with the Carmichaels. Anna loved to cook, and loved it even more when a whole bunch of people gathered to appreciate it. She’d drag in every stray, and those without loved ones nearby. Next year, there would be one more at the dinner table.

  Donetta’s hand automatically gravitated to her still-flat stomach. Her insides felt shaky and her nerves were well past frayed.

  How long did morning-noon-and-night sickness last? she wondered.

  And how much longer would Storm buy her story of stress or the flu?

  Tomorrow, she promised herself. She would tell him tomorrow. She just wanted one evening alone to think; then she’d sit down with him and outline a plan.

  Because Donetta knew all too well what it was like to lose a treasured friendship. She’d grown close to her ex-sister-in-law, formed a bond they’d both thought would last a lifetime. But Cindy had been forced to choose sides during the divorce.

  And she’d chosen Tim’s. By comparison, Donetta’s feelings for Cindy and her feelings for the Carmichaels weren’t even on the same page, but the experience reminded her what could happen when friendships were caught up in the middle of strife.

  The Carmichaels were a thousand times more important in her life. Way too important to chance causing a rift. Storm would surely understand that.

  She’d make him understand—as soon as she figured out exactly how to do it.

  She jumped when a blue towel dangled over her shoulder. Heat flooded her cheeks when she realized Storm was standing behind her. She took the towel, surprised and elated to find it blessedly cool and damp.

  “My gallant knight,” she said, and wiped her face. “Thank you.” Even though she’d been mostly out of the dust’s path, particles still clung to her skin. She rubbed the cloth over her arms and hands.

  She hadn’t turned around and Storm hadn
’t spoken, but a bottle of water appeared over her shoulder next. She accepted it, felt the icy condensation slide over her palm.

  “You’re spoiling me.” He must have an ice chest in his fancy truck. She drank deeply, felt the cool water travel all the way from her throat to her stomach, was almost surprised there wasn’t an audible splash as liquid hit an empty cavern.

  How could she keep getting sick when she didn’t have anything in her tummy?

  “Not so fast,” Storm murmured close to her ear. “It’s best if you let it sneak up on your stomach.”

  She lowered the bottle and turned around to face him. “Sorry about that. You surely haven’t seen me at my best today, have you?”

  He studied her through solemn, worried eyes. “You’re just getting it out of the way in one fell swoop, darlin’. Like ripping off a tape bandage. Maybe when we’re through with Quentin, you can put some curlers in your hair and smear some of that green mud stuff on your face. I’ll have a quick gander.” He shrugged. “That’d pretty much cover all the bases and you wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore.”

  “Well, I don’t wear curlers, and at least once a month Tracy, Becca, me and now Sunny get together and give one another facials.” She fished a piece of gum out of her pocket, slipped it out of the wrapper and bit off half, offering the other half to him. He shook his head, so she popped it, too, into her mouth.

  “It’s one of those hen parties. No boys allowed.” She stuffed the wadded wrapper in her pocket.

  He nodded. “Let me see that towel.”

  When she passed it to him, he cupped her chin and gently ran the tip of the cloth beneath her eyes and at the outer corners, dabbed at her cheeks.

  Spellbound, she didn’t move, hardly dared to breathe. She hadn’t realized he’d meant to use it on her. He was so close, his hands so large, so gentle. His gaze was still solemn, alternating between the skin he was carefully cleaning and her eyes.