Her Fifth Husband? Read online

  This amazing thing that had been happening the very first time she’d ever laid eyes on him, even before she’d dialed 911, she admitted silently.

  Ka-boom, ka-boom! The beat of her heart sounded like the jungle drums in those old Tarzan movies—or maybe it was his heart. The air around them was alive with electricity, she felt it all the way down to the soles of her feet.

  By the time he lifted his face she was crushed in his arms so tightly she could hardly breathe. But then, who needed air? She rubbed her cheek against his shirt, inhaling his clean, sweaty scent. Please don’t ever let me go, she begged silently. Let’s just stay here like this for the next few years. Better yet, we could climb those stairs to where there’s a queen-size bed, and—

  A small sound made her catch her breath. “Peaches!” she gasped, pulling away at the thought of the small guest she had all but forgotten.

  “Oh, honey—” She bent over to touch the fretful infant. “Let me take you out of that thing,” she murmured.

  “Wait a minute, I’ll set up her bassinet.” He sounded as calm as if he hadn’t just kissed her senseless. “Where do you want it?”

  “Oh, ah—upstairs, I guess. In my bedroom.” She straightened up and glanced out the window. “Was that thunder?”

  So maybe he wasn’t responsible for all those special effects after all, she thought, chagrined. Only about ninety-seven percent of them.

  Together they managed to get baby and bassinet upstairs. Sasha held her while Jake settled the wicker bed on a table, after clearing it of various items, including pictures of her family.

  “What about sheets? Doesn’t she need something on that pad?”

  “Look in the hall. There’s a linen closet. A pillowcase will do just fine until I unpack everything and wash the linens.”

  “The hall,” he muttered, remaining where he was for a few moments.

  Was he having trouble concentrating, too? Served him right for opening a door she’d thought closed for good. She knew better than to build dreams on quicksand.

  “How about bringing that rocking chair up from the living room?”

  He finished slipping the bassinet pad into a monogrammed Egyptian-cotton pillowcase. “You believe in rocking babies?”

  She looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Why do you think the things were invented?”

  “I remember we talked about getting one, but by the time we got around to it, Timmy was too big to be rocked.” For a tough, sexy guy who could easily hold his own in almost any situation, he looked remarkably out of his element. “The one in the living room?”

  “The one in the living room,” she said softly, wanting to hold him and his baby for the foreseeable future.

  Jake placed the rocker in the only available space. “I’ll get the rest of the stuff, then I’d better head back to Manteo.” Not a word about the kiss they had shared, or about how long she could keep his baby—or when he’d be back.

  Sasha knew when to leave well enough alone.

  Jake brought up the three-drawer chest and several parcels, his masculine presence making waves in the decidedly feminine room. Fodder, she thought ruefully, for another round of erotic dreams.

  Standing beside her bed, he looked down at his granddaughter. “You think she knows where she is?”

  Sasha joined him there, standing close, but not touching. “Of course she does. She’s aware of color even if she can’t see details. I’m positive she can feel the ambiance.”

  He slid his hands into his hip pockets. “The ambiance, huh?” He glanced down at the antique Chinese rug in a faded shade of purple; at the ivory damask-patterned wallpaper and the green velvet fainting couch. Most of her furniture consisted of leftovers from various jobs or irresistibles from various estate sales. The fact that nothing went together didn’t particularly bother her.

  Smothering a smile, Sasha said, “You know what? I think she’s far more intelligent than the average five-and-a-half-week-old.” Boldly tucking her arm through his, she gazed at the solemn infant, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to look at her lovely purple rug again without seeing a pair of size-twelve deck shoes planted firmly beside her queen-size bed.

  What was that tacky old saying? He can park his shoes under my bed any old time?

  She should be so lucky. Darn it, in spite of all her good intentions she’d gone and done it again. And now that he’d hooked and landed his baby-sitter, he was free to go about his business.

  To give him credit, though, she was pretty sure that hadn’t been his original intention. He’d been stunned at Timmy’s call. What happened after that had simply happened, like a row of dominoes, each one tumbling the next.

  “I know you have things to do,” she murmured, hoping to hear him say he was in no hurry to leave.

  He nodded, but made no move to go.

  She tried to imprint him on her mind so that she could drag out the memory of him standing in the middle of her bedroom once he was no longer a part of her life. Probably not a good idea.

  Searching for an impersonal topic to steer her away from temptation, she said, “I don’t suppose the Jamison woman is your only client.” According to Miss Martha, JBS Securities was seriously shorthanded. They had advertised, but so far, no one with the proper skills had applied.

  “On top of that,” the older woman had complained—if expressing a mild frustration could be called complaining—“Jake had to go and take on a private case.”

  All of which meant he was far too busy to deal with a grandchild, much less to get involved in a relationship. And while she might feel a powerful connection to him—that kiss alone had practically caused a brain meltdown—even if he was mildly interested in starting something, he didn’t have time.

  You buttered your bread, now lie in it, as Faylene would have said, and had on more than one occasion.

  And she would. One more working mother. Working grandmother? One way or another she could do it.

  The baby made a few experimental sounds and then let out a soft wail. Sasha shouldered Jake aside and said, “Here, give her to me. Come to mama, sugar pie. There, there, it’s going to be all right, you wait and see.” To Jake, she said, “Where did you put her bottles?”

  “Come to mama?”

  She curved a hand under the tiny body and supported her head. “Oh, hush, don’t confuse her.”

  “Don’t confuse yourself. And watch your step, will you? Those crazy shoes…” He frowned at her platform sandals.

  Feeling vulnerable, Sasha promptly went on defense. “You do realize, don’t you, that I’ve known this baby every bit as long as you have? My name is on her adoption papers, which gives me a personal interest. Besides, I’m obviously more experienced than you are.” Holding the baby protectively, she glared at him.

  “How do you figure that? Have you ever had a kid?”

  “Twin sisters and a baby brother—I told you about them, remember? Chief baby-sitter and bottle washer. Not only that, next month I’m flying out to Oklahoma to be godmother to my best friend’s first baby.”

  Was there such a thing as a god-grandmother?

  “What are you planning to do with her? I mean, with my baby?”

  “You mean right now? Tell you what—go downstairs and sit down in the living room and I’ll let you hold her while I fix her a bottle.”

  Frowning, he appeared to consider her words. Hadn’t he said the case he was working on was on hold? Sasha would be the first to admit she was being a bit presumptuous, but if she’d learned one thing, it was never to show weakness.

  There was a casserole in the refrigerator that looked Mexican. Marty must have sent it by Faylene, so at least she wouldn’t have to worry about supper. There was more than enough for two.

  By the time she got back from the kitchen with a bottle of formula, Jake was tipped back in her ergonomic leather armchair with Peaches sprawled contentedly on his chest, gnawing on a tiny knuckle. “I think she’s asleep,” he whispered. “I’m afraid to move
in case she starts crying again.”

  One more memory to tuck away in her album. Sasha stared just long enough to imprint the vision indelibly on her mind—the tough security man in the worn jeans and the faded black T-shirt, one big square hand covering practically the entire length of the tiny pink-clad infant.

  “Things have changed a lot since I used to help Mama with the babies,” she admitted as she lifted the limp form from his chest. “We actually used real diapers back then—the kind you wash and re-use. We didn’t have a dryer, so in rainy weather we had drying diapers hanging all over the house. Most people were using disposables, but we couldn’t afford them.”

  Way to go, gal! Like he really needed to know all that.

  In case he’d forgotten them, she reminded him of the terrible twos, when toddlers went scouting for whatever trouble they could find—and found it. Double-trouble in the case of the twins, just about the time Buck came along. “Don’t count on being able to concentrate until she’s in kindergarten. By that time, if you’re lucky, you should occasionally be able to get a few hours of work done.”

  She wondered how old Timmy had been when his mother had died, but couldn’t think of a tactful way to ask. Holding the baby, she settled onto the sofa and touched her tiny lips with the nipple. When little Tuesday Smith took her cue and began suckling, she felt like crying because it felt so right.

  Jake made no move to go. She probably should remind him of all the work he needed to be doing according to Miss Martha. Instead he was baby-sitting the baby-sitter.

  Would he ever kiss her again? Could she go on living if he didn’t?

  Talk about going on a diet.

  His long legs were crossed at the ankles, his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes were narrowed, but not quite closed. He looked comfortable. Comfortable, tired and beautiful in the way certain men could look beautiful, that had nothing to do with any particular arrangement of features.

  She thought of all the unhandsome Hollywood heroes she’d seen in movies and fallen in love with. Robert Mitchum and James Coburn. Charles Bronson and that guy who used to race around on a motorcycle—Steve McQueen. It all boiled down to chemistry. Like an elusive perfume that was impossible to describe. Either a woman reacted to it or it left her cold.

  Nothing about the man seated across the room left her cold. That was something she was going to have to deal with—the sooner, the better. “What colors are you painting your house?” she asked, testing to see if he’d fallen asleep. It was drizzling outside, but not all that late, even though it seemed as if a week had passed since she’d first woken up that morning.

  “Hmm?” He blinked his eyes. They widened, darkened and then narrowed as he glanced at his watch. “White.”

  “I mean the other side, where you live.” The outside of the entire building was white. The office, which was all she’d seen, was white. She could have suggested something with a little more pizzazz if she’d been asked. For a security firm, maybe sand with caramel accents and small shots of navy and teal—something solid, reassuring and masculine.

  “What about it?” he asked querulously. At least he was awake now.

  “What colors are you using?”

  “I told you—white.” His chest rose and fell. His hands were still laced across the broad expanse. She wanted to be his hands. The plain, embarrassing truth was, she wanted to be all over him, inside and out. Maybe one desperate last fling?

  Have you no pride?

  Nope. Not a smidge.

  From the chair, which was more comfortable than it looked, Jake watched through half-closed eyes. She was a natural. Those hips, the curve of her arms that was just right to hold a baby. Her breasts…. She probably thought she needed to lose a few pounds, but to his way of thinking she was perfect just as she was. Built just the way a woman should be built.

  Cut it out, man. This is exactly the kind of thinking that got you in trouble back in high school. The same kind that landed your son in trouble ten months ago.

  At least he’d married the mother of his kid. He had a feeling Tim and Cheryl were better off not going that far, but who was to say? Things were what things were.

  Great. Now he was waxing philosophical. If he needed a clue that it was time to go, that was it. This baby was his responsibility, not hers, but Jake didn’t kid himself that his granddaughter was the sole problem.

  A large part of the problem was Sasha. It had been a long time since any woman had affected him the way she did. Hell, he’d been half aroused ever since he’d seen her sprawled out on the Jamisons’ upper deck, with her shirt plastered to her breasts and her shapely legs sprawled out like an invitation. She was nothing at all like Rosemary.

  Abruptly, he got to his feet. “I’d better hit the road, it’s getting late.”

  She didn’t say a word. Her eyes said everything for her, although he couldn’t have interpreted the message if his life depended on it. Didn’t she want him to go and leave her alone with his baby? To stay? What? Hell, he didn’t even know for sure what color her eyes were.

  Peaches was fed, clean, dry and sound asleep again when Marty’s white van pulled up in front of the house and two women piled out. When Marty had called half an hour ago about the fund-raiser, Sasha had told her about the baby and all that had happened over the past several hours.

  “Shh, y’all be quiet, I just got her down,” she whispered by way of greeting.

  “I can’t believe it, you’ve got a baby!” Marty squealed. “I’ve got to see her. Wait’ll I tell Daisy!”

  The three women tiptoed upstairs to the bedroom. “Oh-h, she’s so tiny,” Marty whispered.

  “Now you done stepped in it,” was Faylene’s only comment, but her voice was noticeably lacking its usual astringency.

  “Come on down to the kitchen.” Sasha led the way, hardly limping at all.

  “I see you’re getting around better. I brought you another casserole when I came by earlier on my way to the post office. Good thing I left out the jalapeños. Nursing mothers, you know.” Marty snickered.

  Faylene got right to the point. “We’ve thought up the perfect way to get Lily and this security fellow together. Things are gonna be closed up tighter’n a tick for the holiday, so he won’t be working. This big do at the community center on Monday, they got the school band from over to the college in Elizabeth City comin’ to play, and lemme tell you, they’re good!”

  “I’m not taking this baby around all those people,” Sasha said flatly.

  “Who said anything about you and her going? Lily’s gonna be there helping out with the donations, so all you need to do is get this Smith fellow to carry whatever you’re fixin’ to donate over there for you.”

  “I told you, Jake lives in Manteo.”

  “So? He’ll be coming here to see his baby, won’t he?” Faylene blinked her eyes, the effect dramatic. She was the only woman in their small circle who wore more makeup than Sasha did.

  “If she’s still here,” Sasha cautioned. “I’m only keeping her until his paint fumes are gone and the roofers finish hammering.”

  “You’ll think of something,” Marty said. “Tell him she’s got the sniffles and it’ll be weeks before she can be around fresh paint, then tell him you need something carried over to the center and can he come take it for you so you won’t have to take her around all those crowds.”

  “You two are awful! That’s the weakest plot I’ve ever heard!”

  Marty picked up the book Sasha had been reading over breakfast only this morning. My God, when had her life taken such a bizarre turn? “What’d you think of her latest one?” the bookseller asked, holding up the paperback novel by one of the top romantic suspense writers.

  “Speaking of weak plots?” Sasha retorted. “All right, so maybe he’ll let me keep her a few more days, but I can’t ask him to take anything—and by the way, what is my contribution? I haven’t even had time to think, I’ve been so busy.”

  “Go through all that flea-market jun
k you got laying around,” the housekeeper said. “You got a whole herd of white elephants you need to chase outta here so I can clean this place.”

  Sasha had to laugh. It was true. She happened to have a weakness for used personal treasures of past generations, partly because she had nothing at all from her own family, partly because just one such item placed in the right setting could change the focus of an entire room.

  “Okay, so if she’s still here over the weekend, and if Jake happens to show up, and if he’ll agree to run an errand for me, I’ll send him over there with that alabaster lamp or maybe that brass sconce I haven’t been able to place. He’ll spot Lily, fall madly in love and swoon at her feet, is that your plan?”

  Marty nibbled on a crust from the casserole she’d brought over earlier. Frowning, she murmured, “Not enough cheese.”

  “Next time use processed cheese slices, like I told you,” said Faylene, the uncontested world’s worst cook. “Look, we got her lined up to list stuff as it comes in with folks’ names for them that wants something off on their taxes. Who better’n her to know the rules?”

  “Monday noon’s the deadline,” Marty warned, “so you need to get him over there before then.”

  Sasha poured three glasses of sweet tea and led the way into the living room. If they stayed in the kitchen long enough, Marty would taste up every bit of the food she’d brought. Marriage seemed to have increased her appetite. “All right, let’s say I can get him over here. Let’s say I can prevail on him to take my donation over to the community center and say he sees Lily. What happens then? He proposes, she accepts and bingo, another match is made? Y’all are getting giddy. You know, we used to be better at this.”

  “And we used to have more to work with.” Marty sighed. “That’s the part we haven’t thought out yet, but we’re working on it. Lily’s lost a few pounds she can’t really spare, but she’s still the most beautiful woman in town, present company excepted, of course.”

  “Of course,” Sasha said dryly, and tossed today’s paper at her. It was still bagged in a plastic sleeve.