Surprised by a Baby Page 6
This was an expression she didn’t understand, couldn’t read. His usual teasing was absent. There was no anger. Just a vague curiosity and a quiet worry. His demeanor made her nervous, yet it also somehow made her feel soft inside.
He stepped back a half a pace and offered her the towel. She shook her head. “I’m good, thanks. I take it I don’t have the raccoon-eyed look going on anymore?”
“Even if you had a ring of charcoal around your eyes, you couldn’t look like a coon. There’s something about your face…” He stopped, still studying her, then shook his head and shrugged. “You know how you look.”
No, she wanted to say. Tell me what you see. The thought surprised her. She’d hated it when her mother had constantly talked about beauty and what it could get a girl, been embarrassed by the attention she’d drawn. So why did she suddenly want to hear the words from Storm?
He was staring at the cat face on the front of her tank top now. Two large eyes slanted just below each of her breasts where the hidden band of the built-in bra rested. A large, embroidered pink nose and turned-down mouth rested at the center of her stomach, and six beaded whiskers fanned out from each side of the nose, spanning her waist to the side seams.
“You like cats?” he asked.
“Yes.” Lord, he was in a funny mood. “I have one. She’s a very spoiled Persian-and-you-name-it mix. Because of her long hair, she insists she’s a purebred and she gets highly insulted if you try to tell her different. To keep peace in the family, I just avoid the subject altogether.”
His lips quirked and a hint of the old Storm returned to his eyes. “Don’t tell me you talk to your cat the way my sister does with that goofy hound of hers.”
That made her smile. “I’m not as bad as Sunny. And I don’t think Simba’s a hound. Oh, wait, I guess he is—Irish wolfhound and Labrador. Scooby-Doo with an attitude.”
“I thought it was Marmaduke.”
“Old news. Tori convinced him Scooby-Doo was much more handsome.” Each time Donetta saw the little girl she was amazed at the change Sunny had brought about in the child’s life.
Before Sunny had come back to Texas, Jack’s little girl had been a shy, overly polite child who hardly spoke and always did her best to be perfect, for fear that her daddy would get tired of her—as her horrible witch of a mother had—and send her away.
“I think Simba’s shifted his loyalties,” Storm said. “He seldom leaves Tori’s side—my sister’s jealous.”
“Oh, she is not. There’s enough of Simba to share. And since Tori rarely leaves Sunny’s side, they’re all a happy clan.”
“That kid’s got a talent with animals. She wants to become a veterinarian, like Sunny.”
Donetta felt her heart melt. “I like to think I had a hand in her transformation. You know, it was in my shop that her awakening began. Of course, your sister and Tracy Lynn were the ones who got in a tug-of-war over the sprayer hose at the shampoo bowl and ended up drenching everyone in the salon. Including Millicent Lloyd.”
“Sunny and Tracy Lynn got in a water fight?” His smile was wide and delighted, and Donetta realized that whatever had come over him earlier had finally passed. Regretfully, he hadn’t told her what he’d seen in her face. Not really. “Who won?” he asked.
“Would you believe it if I told you Tracy Lynn?”
“No.”
“Well, she did. They were both trying to wash Tori’s hair—we had to put peanut butter in it to get the gum out. And you know Sunny’s never been one to mess with hair—would just as soon stick a hat on her head as take the time to style it.”
“Sounds like my sister.”
“Mmm. They had words, and it seems to me that Tracy said Sunny ought to stick to shampooing animals—” She paused while Storm laughed.
“And my sister was insulted—like your Persian, right?”
“Bingo. Next thing I knew, Tracy Lynn tucked in her shoulder, led with her elbow and dealt Sunny a body slam worthy of the Dallas Cowboys’ center. That’s when the hose whipped around like a wild snake and gave everyone a shower bath. And Tori giggled.”
“Who wouldn’t around the four of you girls? Hell, I’ve probably giggled at you.”
“Oh, I think that’s a big fat lie. But if you ever feel compelled to, let me know so I can bear witness.” She gazed across at the dusty field. “I imagine we ought to head on over to Judd’s before he sees us and goes out the back way. I really want my salon open again.”
“That might take a while.”
“It better not. You were worried about being on a few people’s bad list—you’ll probably have to add Tori, as well. She’s partial to Donetta’s Secret. That’s where we held our whipped-cream-and-chocolate-chip ceremony officially declaring Tori Slade a Texas Sweetheart.”
He blinked. “Whipped cream? Darlin’ if you ever need to practice up for one of those ceremonies, I’d be obliged if you’d give me a call.”
The image of Storm licking whipped cream and chocolate off her body made Donetta groan. “Um…I’ll, uh, try to remember that.”
His smile was slow and sensual. And then he winked at her. “You do that, darlin’.”
She was not a woman who was so easily taken with a man that she found herself having to pry her tongue off the tips of her four-inch platform shoes. For pity’s sake, she hadn’t even dated in two years, had no intention of doing so in the future—despite that life-altering night a month ago with this very man.
So what was the deal here? It was as though he’d turned up the wattage of his charm and done something to her with that unreadable, mesmerizing stare.
She busied herself brushing the dust off her tank top and the front of her pants. “Okay, I’m ready.”
“Not quite.”
Before she had time to think or object, his arm was across her chest, setting her breasts on fire as he held her steady and whisked his hand over her body from shoulder blade to calves, then worked his way up again.
When he let go, she nearly fell face first into the dirt. His lips quirked. “Now we’re ready.”
He helped her into the truck and closed the door. Her gaze followed him as he rounded the hood. He was the epitome of tall, dark and handsome, a virile male who made a woman want to climb right up his body, inside his body, and just stay.
How had her life turned to disarray just when she’d finally smoothed out most of the wrinkles?
She and Storm were a volatile mix. One minute she wanted to love him, could almost imagine the two of them sitting in wooden rocking chairs on the porch, bouncing their grandbabies on their knees, happily growing old together. And then the next she’d want to pinch his head off and pitch it in the lake behind Bertha—the old cottonwood tree that had on more than one occasion sported girls’ underpants from its branches.
How ironic to finally realize that she’d loved him all her life, and she didn’t even know him. Not really. She mainly knew what she saw on the surface—and experience had taught her that surfaces could be deceiving.
Anyone looking at her beautiful salon would see a perfectly functioning beauty shop decorated with breathtaking flair. But behind the boldly crimson walls in Donetta’s Secret, where no one could see, were faulty electrical wires, waiting for the opportune time to electrocute someone or cause a fire.
Maybe the wiring wouldn’t malfunction. Maybe it would operate perfectly for years, never give her a problem.
Then again, maybe the flaws would prove to be serious and dangerous. The possibility was truly there. Hidden.
Everyone hid a piece of themselves. She did—a fairly substantial piece. It was human nature.
For her, hiding was self-defense. She couldn’t allow herself to lead with her heart again. The outcome had been disastrous the first time around.
When Storm slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine, Donetta still hadn’t found her voice. Why had fate practically handed this man to her like a gift, when the package was way too risky for her to hold?
He was also the one man she could never allow herself to take that chance with.
Because he was part of a surrogate family that meant the world to her. His family. The Carmichaels.
Theirs was a friendship and love she would not—could not—compromise or risk.
Chapter Five
Judd Quentin was arranging tools in the bed of his diesel pickup when Storm and Donetta parked behind him, neatly hemming him into his own driveway. He was a stocky man in his late fifties, with ash-blond hair shot through with gray. A leather belt held up his denims, the buckle all but disappearing beneath a belly distended by his love affair with beer.
Storm climbed down out of the cab, tugged his hat lower on his brow and came around to her side of the truck. Donetta already had the door open but wasn’t quick enough to escape his hands at her waist as he helped her down from the higher-than-standard truck. “Let me handle this, okay, Slim?”
“He’s my contractor,” she whispered, trying to ignore the way her heart skittered at how easily he’d lifted her out of the truck. She wasn’t wholly comfortable having him touch her waist—which was ridiculous. He couldn’t feel the baby. “I can do my own—”
“I know you can, tiger.” He winked. “Don’t be a killjoy. Let me have a little fun, will you?”
“Maybe you better let me hold the gun after all.” She glanced toward his belt, then jerked her gaze back up. “Did you bring it?”
He grinned. “I brought it. Come on.”
He didn’t bother to tell her where he’d put it, and it certainly wasn’t visible, so Donetta left the subject alone. Surely Storm would conduct himself in a professional manner—even if he wasn’t on duty.
They walked toward Judd, who had moved to rest a hip against the tailgate of his pickup. He took a drag off a cigarette and blew smoke into the evening air as though he didn’t have a care in the world.
Uh-oh. That wasn’t a good smell, Donetta thought, wary of the noxious odor. If she got sick again, her body would turn itself inside out like a rubber glove yanked off a colorist’s hand.
“Evening,” Storm said. “Judd Quentin, right?”
“I reckon you’re a man who knows who he’s walkin’ up on, Sheriff.”
Storm smiled. “I have an advantage.” He indicated Donetta. “Your client. And it’s ‘Storm’ tonight. I left the badge at the station.” His lips curved in a friendly smile, but his deep, quiet tone was a blatantly dangerous challenge.
Judd paused with his cigarette halfway to his mouth, and Donetta whipped around to look at Storm.
His calm demeanor was deceptive. She knew it, and Judd knew it, too. Donetta glanced between the two men as the air snapped with tension. This was not the kind of party she liked to attend.
Judd puffed on his cigarette and blew smoke in Storm’s face. Donetta decided she’d had about enough of this pissing contest. She was perfectly happy to be a killjoy.
“Judd,” she said. “The fire marshal shut me down today.” She passed him the list of violations, ignoring Storm’s look of aggravation because she’d interrupted his king-of-the-sandbox display. “Did you get a copy of this?”
Judd pitched his cigarette in the dirt, glanced at the form and passed it back. “Don’t know what to tell you, doll. I built that building exactly according to the plans.”
“Do you have a copy of those plans?” Storm asked. “Maybe we could clear up a couple of these discrepancies.”
Judd smirked and leaned back against the fender of his truck. “Well, I tell you, Sheriff—”
“Storm,” he corrected. “I’m off duty tonight.”
“That give you special freedoms or something?”
“Or something.” The slight pause was just enough of a threat to scatter a person’s nerves.
Judd’s focus sharpened as he acknowledged the obvious antagonism. “Looks like you wasted a long trip from town. I’m a busy man. Got a lot of jobs going around these parts. Ain’t no way I could keep every set of blueprints on every project. The beauty shop was put to bed a couple years ago. Sorry. Wish I could help you, but I done my job.”
Donetta wanted to scream. Storm had provoked the contractor, and now the man was clamming up and they wouldn’t get anywhere. Why were men so pig-headed? Why couldn’t they just come right out and ask a damn question instead of dancing around barely veiled threats and innuendo, waiting to trip up the other guy?
“Judd, the ground-fault interrupting plugs aren’t working, and Blane Pyke is having a fit over that. Might there be a part or a wire missing or something?” Donetta asked.
“Honey bun, that building was built back in 1850. The electrical has been updated over the years, but not since 1965, when the code started requiring a ground-fault wire. I’m thinking your architect figured the system was just fine the way it was, because he didn’t call out for a bigger service.”
“If that was the case,” Storm said, “why did you put in the GFI plugs? Seems strange…if the plans didn’t call for the new electrical service, I mean.”
Judd tapped out another cigarette from a crumpled soft pack. “I’d already bought the plugs, figured no harm in putting them in. Make it easy if someone down the road wanted to overhaul the system.”
“It’d be a pretty serious offense if a person deliberately bypassed the ground on one of those circuits, wouldn’t it?” Storm asked conversationally.
“Imagine it would. Wasting our breath speculating ’bout it, though. Cain’t tell if that old boy who done the drawings fouled it up or not. Heard tell he had a fire out at his place ’bout a year back. Him and me were the only two that had a set of blueprints and specs for the job.”
“I have a set of drawings,” Donetta said, frowning. “The originals that were approved by the county.”
Judd took the cigarette out of his mouth without lighting it, his gaze going from Donetta’s to Storm’s. “In that case, I suppose I might swing by and have a look-see.”
“Oh, I think you’ll have a little more than a look-see,” Storm said pleasantly. He advanced a step. “You’ll be out at the salon first thing in the morning with a full labor crew. And you will have the additional material that Ms. Presley has already paid for…two years ago, I believe.” He moved closer still, his chest almost touching the contractor’s.
“Material that I’m sure the original blueprints will show is curiously absent from the job. If I were wearing a badge right now, Quentin, I might be mentioning words like fraud and felony. But this here’s just a friendly social call. You sat down in your own coyote trap this time, buddy, and you’re going to make it right.”
The corner of Judd’s left eye twitched, and his jaw went rigid. “I got no problem standin’ behind my work.”
Storm stepped back. “Good. Then I’ll expect you at the salon at eight o’clock in the morning. That gives you a little leeway to contact any supply houses you need to. Oh, by the way. I just signed on as your foreman.”
STORM WAS DETERMINED to feed Donetta. He’d had to stop the truck again on the way back to town because she was ill. He hated to see her suffer. They needed to go back to the salon, get the drawings and collect the files with all the invoices and receipts for the remodel, but by damn, she was going to eat something first.
And then there was the matter of where she was going to stay. God, he was feeling worse by the minute for his part in making her life so difficult, but it couldn’t be helped. Still, no one should have to be away from his or her comfortable environment when not feeling well.
He parked in front of Anna’s Café. His mother had bought Wanda’s Diner and had finally changed the name and spruced up the decor. Having his mama work after all these years of her being a stay-at-home mom still felt weird.
“I’m really not all that hungry,” Donetta said.
“Tough. I don’t remember if you’re supposed to starve a c
old and feed the flu or the other way around, but Mama will know. You’ve got to get something back in your stomach.” Anna Carmichael wasn’t a doctor, but she was a mom. And she considered Donetta one of her own.
“It’s starve a fever.”
“Whatever. It’s probably just an old wives’ tale, anyway.” He helped her out of the truck and ushered her inside the café. “Mama! Donetta’s sick!”
Donetta nearly socked him. “Good one, Carmichael. Since when did you become the tattletale?”
“Since I watched you turn green and go weak as a kitten…three times.”
“I told you—I’ll be fine.”
“Right. Every time we stand still for more than five minutes, you run for the bathroom or make me pull over to the side of the road. That sounds real fine to me. And don’t tell me it’s something you ate, because you haven’t eaten anything since I’ve been with you and—”
“You two hush up.” Anna bustled out from behind the counter, the backs of her fingers already at Donetta’s forehead. “You kids bicker worse than two crows in a pecan tree. What’s wrong, honey?” Anna asked.
Donetta looked into the woman’s soft eyes and felt ridiculously wimpy sobs back up in her throat. Honestly, she’d never been so emotional in her life. But she loved Anna Carmichael like a mother. “I’ll be fine, Mrs. C. I’m having an off day is all.”
“Translated,” Storm said, “that means she’s been throwing up all day.”
“I’ll bet you didn’t go get that flu shot like I told you to. There you are, working around all those people, Donetta. They come in coughing and sniffling—you need to inoculate yourself against those germs.”
Her arms around Donetta’s shoulders, Anna led her to a padded stool at the counter. “You need a mother’s care is what you need. And decent food. You look like you’re about to dry up and blow away. I’ll just stand in for your grandma Betty, why don’t I? She and Birdie are quite the gadabouts these days.” As Anna spoke, she rubbed Donetta’s back.
The glance she directed at Storm, though, didn’t bode well for the meal Donetta knew he was anticipating. No doubt word had already reached Anna about Storm’s part in closing down the salon, and his mother wasn’t all that happy with him. He’d be lucky if he was allowed to stay inside the brightly lit café long enough to have a glass of sweet tea.