The Baby Season

“Power, huh? You’re one of those.”

“No, I’m not one of those. I just enjoy putting things together. Besides, I hate makeup, and have more bad hair days than good ones. Now, about Dolly Aames…”

His gaze traveled up to her hair and back again. She could only guess its current condition, but as he didn’t sputter a rebuttal, she imagined the worst. “Is this woman an escaped criminal or a notorious husband killer?” he asked.

“Of course not.”

“Then why did you come all the way from Seattle to find her? Is she a relative?”

“No. She’s an old friend of my grandmother’s.”

“So you traveled almost two thousand miles just to look up an old friend of the family? Why did your grandmother wait so many years to look for her?”

“It’s complicated,” Roxanne said, hedging. She didn’t want to go into the details of her grandmother’s illness just to satisfy this guy’s curiosity. Besides, she could barely stand to think about Grandma Nell’s symptoms and what they might portend. She added, “Grandma wants to reunite a singing group they both belonged to a long time ago.”

“And how about you? What do you want?”

She stared at him, unblinking, then muttered, “I want to help my grandmother.”

“Hmm—” Shaking his head he added, “Has it occurred to either one of you that this Dolly either moved away or died?”

“Of course. But you have to start somewhere.”

He shook his head. “Well, I think that’s pretty incredible. And very naive.”

Opening the envelope, she took out a small, faded photograph of a young woman standing next to a fence. Each rustic post was topped with the bleached skull of a long-horn, making it a rather grisly, if unique, setting. She shoved it under his nose.

He took it reluctantly.

“I stayed in Tangent last night and asked around town—not that it did me much good because most everything was already closed when I got there. Anyway, no one knew Dolly Aames, but the guy at the motel said this photo was taken at the juncture of this road and the highway. He told me how to get out here.”

“Was that Pete at the Cactus Gulch or Alan over at the Midtown?”

“I guess it was Pete. I just stayed there one night and checked out this morning. I can’t believe you know his name.”

“It’s a very small town,” Jack said, handing the photo back. “Okay, I’ll grant you that this photo was taken here, more or less. Those skulls were something of a landmark for a long time until I got rid of them. Still, people came from miles around to pose with the damn things, so I don’t see that the photo means anything. I don’t know who Dolly Aames is.”

“Hmm—”

“Maybe Sal will,” he said slowly, as though hesitant to admit he might have a way of helping.

“Really? Who’s Sal?”

“Sally Collins, but you’re a braver soul than I if you call her Sally instead of Sal. I have to warn you though, she’s not quite as forthcoming about these things as I am.”

“You’re forthcoming? You’ve got to be kidding.”

He cast her a serious look. “Roxanne, has it ever occurred to you that Dolly Aames may not want to be found?”

No, as a matter of fact it hadn’t.

Chapter Two

The house within the rolling hills turned out to be a sprawling white stucco structure with a red tile roof. Desert plants brought to life by vivid spills of flowers enhanced the aura of an oasis. Only a huge helium-filled bouquet of pink and white balloons tied to an old-fashioned pump provided a jarring note.

“Is this your place? It’s gorgeous.”

He cast her a speculative look as he circled the house and parked in front of a small barn. Next to it was another wooden building, this one long and low with a split-rail corral attached to one side. Within the corral were two horses who ambled over to the fence to stare at the truck and its passengers.

“Aren’t they cute?” she said. “What are their names?”

“The pregnant white mare is called Sprite and the bay gelding is Milo,” he said with a sidelong glance at her.

When Jack got out of the truck, the brown horse whinnied and the white horse tossed her head and snorted. After running a hand along their sleek necks, Jack reached back into the truck and snagged the pink box, keeping a firm grip on it in his large hand. His gaze met Roxanne’s, and he produced a shy grin.

It looked good on him, she decided. He really should try doing it more often.

This thought was cut short when a side door on the barn opened and out walked a large man with rounded shoulders. He wore a hat much like Jack’s though his was black and crisp instead of crumpled and dusty.

The newcomer slapped his leg and a shaggy black-and-white dog appeared.

Jack slammed his door. “Carl, this is Roxanne. How’s the new filly?”

Carl nodded his greeting, his gaze lingering on Roxanne’s face a moment longer than was necessary. Roxanne touched her cheek. Her fingers came away gritty.

“She’s doing great,” Carl said. “What about the south fence?”

“Fixed for now, but Monday morning you’ll have to get the boys to make it more permanent.”

Jack looked toward the house, then back at Roxanne, as though trying to decide something. Finally he said, “I’d like to check on the new filly. Do you want to see her?”

What Roxanne wanted was a phone, more water and a clue to Dolly Aames’s location. But Jack was watching her with a question in his eyes and it was impossible not to respond. “Sure,” she said.

He opened the barn door and entered, followed by Carl. Roxanne limped past him, watching the ground for rocks that might gouge her bare foot.

The barn was cool, narrow and deeply shadowed, smelling pleasantly of hay and horses. There were four stalls, a stack of bales at the far end and a smattering of equine paraphernalia hanging from walls and dividers. Only one stall was occupied. A palomino mare and her foal glanced at the humans with obvious curiosity.

“Ah, now, isn’t she sweet?” Jack said softly, draping himself over the gate and petting the mare’s velvet muzzle, his eyes on the baby. “There you go, Goldy. You got yourself a real beauty this time.”

The mare snorted and sniffed and managed to look proud of her offspring. The youngster stayed back by her mother’s flank, as though bashful.

Roxanne’s impatience with this diversion dissipated as her television producer instincts kicked in—babies of any kind sold a story.

The image of this little filly, for instance, and the strong, good-looking guy hanging on the fence admiring her, was great. Even the shadowed stall and the glint of sunlight from the open door spilling across the hay-scattered floor would come alive on the screen.

As for Jack? Well, besides an interesting face and eyes to die for, he had broad shoulders tapering down to a trim waist, and an absolutely top-rate denim-clad rear end. Add the way he moved, kind of long legged, and the way he spoke, kind of warm but with an edge, and you had a man captivating enough to interest any female with a pulse.

Even the hat was perfect. Crushed, dusty, sexy as all get out, especially when Jack peered from under the brim with those laser-blue eyes.

She wondered if her boss would be interested in a story about modern cowboys. Maybe they could dig up a few cows to lend credibility…

The mare nosed Roxanne’s arm, making her jump about six inches in the air and cutting short her reverie. She must have made a startled sound, because she heard one. The two men stared at her with raised eyebrows and twitching lips.

“This is the closest I’ve ever been to a horse,” she mumbled.

“Really?” Jack said. The filly moved toward his outstretched hand, and he ran his fingers through the tufts of her sprouting mane.

“How old is the baby horse?”

Jack and Carl exchanged quick glances. Finally Jack said, “About twelve hours. Goldy always births in the wee hours of the morning.”

The baby was the same color as the straw, lighter than her mother. She had a white blaze running down her face and one white sock on her front left leg. Roxanne said, “She’s just the most darling thing I’ve ever seen.”

“The second most darling,” Jack said, and glancing up at him, she found him looking at her. Wait a second now…Was he saying that she was more darling than this horse? Was that a compliment?

For a second, she lost herself in the pure blue of his eyes, amazed he would express such a tender sentiment—assuming that comparing a woman to a horse was indeed tender—after knowing her such a short time. No, amazed wasn’t the right word. Dazzled, perhaps. Intrigued. Breathless.

Stunned.

He was the most impressive guy she’d ever met, hands down, flat-out mesmerizing.

What about Kevin?

Kevin who?

But the moment passed and it dawned on her that his gaze was really fixed on the open door. She turned to see what he found so fascinating, and discovered he hadn’t been talking about her at all. A very small girl stood just inside the barn. She was wearing denim overalls, a pink shirt and matching pink shoes. Her yellow hair was wound up into two blond pigtails that glowed with the sunlight behind her. And she was undoubtedly adorable.

“Daddy!” she screeched, running at Jack with open arms.

The commotion unsettled the jittery new mother horse, who snorted, stamped a foot and turned in her stall. The baby whinnied and turned, too.

Jack caught the child and swung her up on his hip. “Shh,” he said. “You’re frightening Goldy.”

“And the baby,” the child said with a lisp.

“Yes, and the baby.”

“Is that mine?” she asked, pointing at the pink box in Jack’s hand.

“Yes, but not until your party.”

The little girl finally noticed Roxanne. She buried her head against her father’s shoulder, revealing just one blue eye, which she fixed on Roxanne’s face.

Roxanne smiled and the child completely buried her head. Roxanne wasn’t surprised. This was not only her first experience with a small horse, but also with a small human. She’d probably frightened the poor little thing.

“This is my daughter, Ginny,” Jack said, looking from Roxanne to his child. “Ginny, this lady’s name is Roxanne.”

“Hello, Ginny,” Roxanne said in her best put-a-child-at-ease voice. “Is it your birthday?”

Ginny pushed her head away from her father’s chest and produced a grin that looked just like her father’s. “Yes,” she said holding up three pudgy fingers.

Jack said, “Hey, pumpkin, how are Aggie’s puppies doing?”

“Good.”

He tickled her and she wiggled to the ground. With another shy glance up at Roxanne, the child said, “Wanna see?”

“The puppies?” Roxanne said.

“No.” Pressing one small finger against her lips and whispering, she added, “It’s a secret.”

Roxanne felt like scratching her head. The puppies were a secret? From whom?

“I think I know what she means,” Jack said as they both watched the little girl make her way across the barn to an empty stall, glancing back over her shoulder at them periodically. “Follow me,” he added.

Jack walked into an empty stall, Roxanne right behind him, watching her step. The straw might look innocent, but she’d found it poked at her tender city toes if she stepped on it wrong. Ginny was halfway up a stack of bales, scrambling at such a pace it was obvious she was experienced at this kind of thing. Jack climbed a couple, and reaching down, took Roxanne’s hand and pulled her up beside him. She teetered a second, and his grip tightened. A totally unexpected shiver ran up her arm.

“You okay?”

“Just not used to climbing around in the hay.”

“Shall I keep hold of your hand or are you steady now?”

“Oh, I’m steady,” she said as he dropped her hand. The truth was that she was anything but. His touch had spurted up her arm like a fizzing fuse. She was loathe to have him take his hand away, but even more concerned that he should sense this.

What was going on? She felt kind of dizzy. Perhaps it was the effects of dehydration.

They climbed up beside Ginny who motioned for Roxanne and her dad to take a look. Roxanne peered over Ginny’s bent head into a crevice formed between the bales, and found six faces staring back.

Kittens.

One orange, two black, a gray-and-white, a pure white and a tabby. Little meows. Tiny little pink tongues and blurry bluish eyes.

“Go ahead, touch one,” Jack said as he gently stroked a tiny white-and-pink ear.

“Oh, I couldn’t,” Roxanne said. They looked far too fragile to touch. Jack seemed to know what he was doing, but his finger looked huge next to the kitten’s head.

Pointing at each kitten in turn, Ginny said, “Blinky and Fuzzy and Foggy and Casper and Blackie and George.”

Just then, the mother cat appeared at Ginny’s elbow and jumped down into the crevice. As she flopped onto her side, the kittens, meowing in earnest now, jockeyed for position until everyone was lined up with their own nipple and settled in for lunch.

The cat, purring, began bathing her offspring.

“Isn’t motherhood something?” Jack said.

“I wouldn’t know,” Roxanne mumbled. Motherhood wasn’t something she spent a lot of time thinking about. Out of nowhere, she heard Kevin’s voice again, telling her this very thing just four days earlier.

Jack turned his attention to his daughter. “Okay, sweet-pea, time to leave Flossy and her babies alone. And remember, don’t tell Aggie.”

“’Cause it’s a secret.”

“That’s right.”

As Ginny scrambled down the stack, Roxanne said, “The kittens are a secret from the dog?”

He shrugged. “Not really, but little kids love secrets.”

Ginny was back on the floor within seconds, Jack right after her, Roxanne slowly following. Jack took her hand again and steadied her last few steps to the ground.

By now, Ginny was running out the door. Jack released Roxanne’s hand. She gestured for him to go after his daughter, happy to have a moment to collect what was left of her wits.

“That Ginny is one sweet little kid, isn’t she?” Carl said, emerging from a stall with a bucket of grain.

Roxanne jumped at the sound of his voice—she hadn’t realized he was still in the barn. “What? Oh, yes. Adorable.” For a second, she thought of the little pink-and-blond child and actually felt a smile tug at her lips. She’d had no idea little girls were so…well, cute.

Vaguely uncomfortable with her gut reaction to Carl’s remark, she added, “Carl, have you lived out here long?”

“All my life.”

“Ever hear of a woman called Dolly Aames? She’d be about sixty now. I know she lived in this area forty or so years ago. Maybe right here in this very house.”

He straightened up and scratched his fleshy chin. “The Wheeler family has been here longer than that,” he said. “Jack’s grandfather built the house. Sorry, but I don’t remember anyone by that name ever living here.”

It was getting to be a familiar refrain. “Thanks, anyway. Jack said I could use the phone.”

“Sure thing. Come on into the house,” Carl said.

As she hobbled across the yard beside Carl, she said, “This place is really beautiful.”

“It is nice,” he said with a fond smile. “’Course, what with Doc’s schedule, all the heavy work falls to me and the other hands, but that’s the way I like it. Been here long enough now that the place feels like home. Know what I mean?”

She decided to ignore his question about home—it made her feel funny inside, the way he phrased it. Home? Home was where you slept, where you paid rent, where you got dressed in the morning to go to work. She said, “Doc?”

“The guy you rode in with.”

“Jack Wheeler?”

“Sure. Only almost everyone calls him Doc Wheeler, just like his dad before him.”

Roxanne glanced ahead to find Jack standing on a rock porch. He seemed to be studying her as she hobbled along, his expression hovering somewhere between anxious and…unreadable. She didn’t know why she made him look like that. His daughter didn’t. His horses didn’t. Not even Carl did.

She suddenly found herself wanting to make him relax and maybe even grin, and she racked her brain for something funny to say.

Nothing came to her.

She tried a smile.

He nodded politely while holding out a cordless phone, then he spoke to Carl. “People are going to start arriving soon. Maybe we’d better convince Aggie that she and her pups would be happier out in the barn. It’s about time for them to move anyway.”

Carl nodded and disappeared into the house.

Roxanne took the phone. She was about to ask for a phone book when Jack met her gaze and rattled off a number. She punched it in, got an answering machine saying that Oz, of Oz Repair and Towing, was out on a job, leave a name and number, he’d get back to you. She found a number on the phone and left it on Oz’s answering machine along with her name and on second thought, Jack Wheeler’s name.

“Looks as though you’re stuck with me for a while,” she told Jack.

He grunted. “Oz can be a little…unpredictable. He’s got things going on at home, too. He’ll get back to you, all right, only on his own time schedule.” He stared at her for an eternity and added, “We’re having a party for Ginny. I need to shower and change clothes before the guests arrive.”

“She’s very charming,” Roxanne said.

Now his face softened again. The man was obviously a sucker for his kid. Roxanne found that rather intriguing. She couldn’t imagine either of her parents going out of their way to host a birthday party for her at such a tender age…okay, at any age.

“I can’t believe she’s already three years old,” Jack said.

It suddenly occurred to Roxanne that Jack’s wife hadn’t only abandoned him but their child. How incredible! Having made the decision to have a baby, how could the woman then abandon her?

On the other hand, how could she abandon Jack Wheeler?

She said, “Carl said you’re a doctor. What kind?”

“General practitioner. I have a little office in Tangent. I’m one of a dying breed of small-town doctors. I do everything from tending to the dying to delivering babies.”

“Delivering babies,” she mumbled. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Listen,” he said, obviously trying to figure out what to do with Roxanne. “A kid’s party is going to be boring as hell for you.”

“I don’t mind.”

“It’s a big house. There are plenty of places to relax until Oz calls back.”

“Will there be any adults at the party?”

“Yes—”

“From around here?”

“Of course.”

“Maybe one of them will know something about Dolly Aames,” Roxanne said. “Would you mind if I invite myself to your party?”

He looked her up and down. Until that moment, she wasn’t even aware she knew how to blush, but under his scrutiny, imagining what a mess she was, she felt her cheeks grow warm. Maybe it was just the blasted sunburn catching up with her.

“I could wash first,” she said. “And maybe borrow a shoe.”

He looked unconvinced that washing or shoes would help her appearance. How he managed to suffuse this skeptical expression with enough sexual energy to rival a nuclear power plant was fascinating and would require further contemplation on Roxanne’s part.

But not now.

Now she was too busy inviting herself to a child’s party.…

“You’re welcome to come,” he said.

“And what about Sal? Will she be there?”

“Yes. Sal will be there and you can ask her about Dolly Aames. You’re persistent, aren’t you?”

“I am indeed,” Roxanne said.

Carl reappeared just then, loaded down with a box. A glance inside showed four black-and-white puppies. The mom was the shaggy black-and-white dog who was now hanging around down by Carl’s knees, casting him worried looks. “I’ll settle them in the barn and then I’ll see to the barbecue and the ice.”

“Thanks, Carl,” Jack said. Holding the door for Roxanne, he added, “This way.”

The door opened into a large, square kitchen with rough ceiling beams. Long windows faced away from the sun and the room was cool even though Roxanne detected no air-conditioning. There were reddish tiles on the floors, the drain boards were made of thick wooden planks and were covered with several bowls of salad, platters of meat, cheese and vegetables, stacks of sandwiches and a pink birthday cake.

It was a gorgeous room filled with delectable smells that reminded Roxanne she was hungry. Starving. She wondered if she could sneak a cucumber wedge. Or a sandwich. She politely kept her hands to herself as she met the gaze of an attractive woman of about thirty wearing blue jeans and a baggy fringed cowboy shirt. Jack’s girlfriend? The woman smiled at Roxanne.

“Roxanne, meet Grace, our housekeeper slash cook,” Jack said. “Grace, this is Roxanne.”

Grace, who was at the huge stove, was busily stirring a pot of something that smelled good enough to…well, eat…said, “Hi.”

“If you have time, could you show Roxanne where to clean up, and maybe loan her something to wear to Ginny’s party?”

“Oh, I couldn’t impose like that—” Roxanne said, but Grace laughed.

“Trust me, this is one time when you want to impose,” she said, her gaze assessing Roxanne. “Besides, it’s no bother. This stuff should simmer for a while anyway.” With that, she turned down the gas flame under the pot of what smelled like barbecue sauce.

“I’ll leave you in capable hands,” Jack said with a lingering look that was hard to read. He took off his hat and ran a tanned hand through his short hair, his gaze still fastened on Roxanne, and she had to remind herself to breathe and blink and not gape.

There was something about this man that had her catching her breath like no other man ever had. It wasn’t just his startling good looks—she regularly spent her days around men the camera loved, Kevin among them. It was something else, something elusive, something that seemed to charge the air between them that had Roxanne’s fertile imagination conjuring up some mighty interesting scenarios. She could almost feel those hands of his running through her hair, could almost see his eyes close with passion as his lips touched hers…

He finally shifted his gaze to Grace. “Where did Ginny disappear to?”

“Sal is helping her get ready for her party.”

With a last look at Roxanne, Jack left the kitchen, and she watched his retreat with a combination of fascination and lust. Damn, the man looked as good leaving a room as he did entering it!

Grace touched her arm. A glance down at Grace’s hand revealed a wedding band, which made Roxanne foolishly happy.

“We have a couple of rooms of our own behind the kitchen,” Grace said. “You need a shower and some lotion for that sunburn. Come with me.”

“But Sal might know of a woman I’m here to find. Her name is Dolly Aames. Do you know anything about her?”

“Nope,” Grace said. “I’ve never heard that name before. I hate to be rude, but now is when I can take a few minutes to get you settled. Later I have to get the chicken ready for the grill and—”

“I’m the one who’s rude,” Roxanne said. “Of course, I’ll talk to Sal later.”

Within moments, Grace had shown Roxanne the bathroom, secured a clean towel and washcloth, even produced a toothbrush still wrapped in cellophane. “Help yourself to whatever else you need,” she told Roxanne. “Here’s lotion with aloe for after your shower. I’ll put clothes out on the bed. We’re about the same size, more or less. You’re in luck—I bought underwear a while ago that I haven’t had the occasion to wear. Not likely to any time soon. Holler if you need anything.”

As Grace closed the bedroom door behind her, Roxanne came face-to-face with her reflection in the long mirror that backed the door.

“Oh, my,” she said.

Her clothes were a wreck, streaked with dirt, splotched with something greasy, covered with tiny pieces of straw. The dry cleaner back home wasn’t going to be amused. Her fancy shoe—the one she hadn’t broken—was history. And her straw purse looked like something she should donate to the cats in the barn.