Baby Of Convenience

As Laura caught her breath and wiped her stinging eyes, Royce suddenly stepped out of the corner long enough to scoop up Maggie into his arms. He stroked the distressed feline with obvious fondness and appeared to be speaking to her. Whatever he said seemed to soothe Maggie. She immediately rubbed her forehead against Royce’s chin and nestled comfortably against his chest, with her huge cat eyes focused on the busy workman.

Before Laura could digest this unexpected and decidedly peculiar development between her beloved Maggie and a man who had only a few short weeks ago confessed to having despised cats, the workman flipped off the saw and stood, rubbing the small of his back. “That oughta do it,” he grumbled.

Instantly Royce returned Maggie to the floor. He grabbed hold of a loosened sideboard. Nails bent with a screech as he ripped the board out and tossed it into the growing pile of chewed oak.

Then he dropped to his knees, his upper torso hidden from view. A grunt emanated from the corner behind the partially disassembled wine rack. “That’s it…come on, little guy…just another inch… Ow! Damned splinters.”

The workman scratched himself. “Want me to try and tip the rack forward?”

“No, it’s too heavy” came the muffled reply. “If you lose your grip, the kitten will be crushed.”

Laura’s stomach lurched at the thought. She pressed her knuckles against her mouth to keep from screaming out loud. The kittens were only a few weeks old, so tiny and helpless. They’d barely begun to totter out of the crate bed to explore their new surroundings. It hadn’t occurred to her that there might be dangers lurking for curious baby kittens, just as there were for curious baby humans.

She’d certainly understood the need to childproof Jamie’s surroundings, and had done so even before he’d learned to crawl on his own. Why on earth hadn’t she checked the basement for hazards?

This was all her fault. If anything horrible happened to one of Maggie’s babies, Laura would never forgive herself.

“Damn, he’s really wedged in there,” Royce muttered. “I can feel fur, but I can’t get a grip— Wait a minute. He’s wiggling toward me… Gotcha!” He crawled backward and flopped into a sitting position, grinning broadly at the mewing, gray-and-white kitten in his hand.

It was Rascal, of course. Tiny Mr. Trouble-with-a-tail himself. Laura should have known that if there was a single enticing hole within reach, Rascal would be the one to investigate.

Now the terrified kitten clung to Royce’s shirt and frantically mewed in his face as if relaying every detail of his frightening ordeal.

Royce chuckled, seeming utterly unconcerned by the tiny claws shredding his expensive garment, or the ragged gash in the knee of his suit pants. “I imagine you are pleased to be out,” he told the kitten. “I don’t like tight, dark places myself.”

Rascal emitted a sound halfway between a pleasant trill and an emphatic yowl.

“You’re very welcome.” Royce sat back on the filthy floor, allowing Maggie to crawl onto his lap and groom the face of her rescued kitten. “But the next time you notice an enticing crack between a cabinet and a wall, do us all a favor and ignore it.”

The air Laura had been holding in her lungs escaped with a massive whoosh, alerting Royce to her presence. His head snapped up, his eyes widened. He stood immediately, unceremoniously dumping Maggie onto the floor while the kitten still hung from his shredded shirt.

Royce’s brows crashed together in a frown that was supposed to be ominous, Laura presumed, but seemed more like embarrassment to her.

“Your animals have wreaked havoc on my life,” he announced.

Startled by his strident tone, she annoyed herself by stammering. “I know… I’m so sorry.”

He huffed a “harrumph,” peeled the frightened kitten from his shirt and carried it to the coat-covered barrel. With deliberate care, he lifted the garment in a manner that forced the sawdust to float harmlessly to the floor before placing Rascal inside with his litter mates.

“I can’t believe it,” Laura murmured, realizing that the barrel was tall enough to keep the kittens from escaping, yet posed no obstacle to the agile Maggie, who immediately leapt inside to tend her brood. “You sacrificed your coat so the kittens would be protected from breathing the sawdust.”

Royce straightened, shifted, then turned his attention to the workman. “Repair what you can and clean up the debris.”

The workman rubbed his chin, slipping a shrewd glance from Royce to Laura then back again. “I charge double for after-hours work.”

Laura’s heart sank. She was clearly responsible for the workman’s bill, however outrageous it ended up being. How she’d pay for that and the extensive damage the rescue effort had caused was beyond comprehension.

With some effort she squared her shoulders and spoke with more confidence than she felt. “Please forward the bill directly to me,” she told the workman, then turned toward Royce. “I will, of course, pay all costs for repairing your wine racks as well and for restoring the cellar to its original condition.”

Royce skimmed a glance in her direction, then re-focused on the workman as if he hadn’t even heard her. “Leave your invoice with Marta on the way out.”

The workman’s grin broadened. “Plus expenses, of course.”

Royce’s eyes narrowed. “What expenses?”

“Dulled a perfectly good saw blade cutting them bolts. And it’s past suppertime. Union rules say I gotta have me a meal ticket if I work past suppertime.”

“Fine,” Royce snapped, then strode across the room, cupped a firm hand around Laura’s elbow and ushered her up the basement stairs. When they’d reached the foyer, he glanced at the toys stacked neatly in the corner. “Where is the child?”

“My roommate watches Jamie while I’m at work.”

“You have a job?”

The surprise in his voice annoyed her. “Most people do.”

“Is that why you’re wearing that disgusting ensemble?”

Peeved by his pompous expression, she hiked her chin as if she actually enjoyed flouncing around town in a fire-red miniskirt, fringed thigh-boots and an insultingly low-cut peasant blouse with a garish cartoon chicken embroidered on the bodice. “Actually, I thought it was a rather smashing fashion statement.”

He squinted at the logo on her chest with obvious disdain, tipping his head forward to display flecks of sawdust in his mussed hair. “The Cluck House?”

She’d never seen Royce Burton when he hadn’t been perfectly tailored and immaculately groomed. There was a peculiar appeal to his current untidy condition, a vaguely arousing image of how he might look having rolled out of bed, tousled and sated from a night of lovemaking.

The startling perception heated her skin, tumbled her stomach. She cleared her throat, pretended she couldn’t feel the embarrassed flush crawling along her cheekbones. “It’s a perfectly respectable restaurant and a perfectly respectable job. Not everyone is born rich and lucky, you know.”

Something softened his eyes, just for a moment. “Yes,” he murmured. “I know.” He blinked, frowned, clasped his hands behind his back in the manner she’d come to recognize as one he used when enforcing his control over a given situation, even while wearing a stained shirt with claw marks and a pair of ripped slacks.

Again she was struck by the odd appeal of his disheveled appearance, a flawed vulnerability that seemed strangely revealing.

“Respectable or not,” he said, “a woman who majored in constitutional law should not be costumed like a dance-hall floozy while serving fried poultry parts to the gastronomically challenged. It’s beneath you.”

“You are hardly in a position to tell me what kind of work I should or should not be doing. The hours are flexible, the pay is adequate and—” She frowned as the context of his statement sank in. “Wait just a darned minute. How do you know what my college major was?”

His gaze was insufferably smug. “I’m not in the habit of handing out keys to my home to people about whom I know nothing.”

“You had me investigated?”

“Of course.” He rolled the admission off his tongue with a startled blink, as if the question itself had been ridiculous. “I presume this, er, employment opportunity presented itself quite recently.”

Very recently, since she’d had only a brief and haphazard training session yesterday afternoon. Tonight would be her first shift. Still, she stubbornly refused to give him the satisfaction of validating what he apparently already knew. “I have to leave now. Please be assured, however, that this discussion of clandestine background investigations is not over. Not by a long shot.”

Mustering as much dignity as possible while festooned like a Halloween piñata, Laura spun on her spiky fringed boot heels and took two strides before Royce’s soft voice stopped her.

“I believe you’ve already missed your bus.”

A voice in her brain warned her not to ask. She ignored it, flung an astonished glance over her shoulder. “How do you know what bus I’m taking?” She turned around, planted her hands on her hips. “In fact, how do you know that I’m taking a bus at all? I do own a car, you know.”

He shrugged. “Since that vehicle’s transmission went out last week and it’s currently lodged in the impound lot until the towing charges are paid, the presumption that you must rely upon public transportation isn’t much of a stretch.”

Alerted by a draft on her tongue, Laura closed her mouth and stared at him.

Apparently unaware of or unconcerned by her astonishment at the extent of his knowledge about her private life, Royce made a production of brushing dust from his palms. “You realize, of course, that a minimum-wage job can’t possibly make a dent in the debt you now owe, nor allow you to save enough money to move into your own apartment before your roommate’s husband returns from Alaska in December.”

The room seemed to tilt, and Laura felt as if she couldn’t catch her breath. She touched the wall to steady herself, waiting for her breathing to slow so she could speak. She hadn’t told Royce where Wendy’s husband was working, only that he was on a temporary assignment out of the state. Nor had she told him or anyone else when Daniel Wyatt would be returning, since she hadn’t known that information herself.

She lifted her chin, making a production of glancing around, as if sizing up her financial obligation rather than mustering a modicum of dignity. “Since you clearly know a great deal about me that is quite frankly none of your business, you must also be aware that I have no other options at the moment.”

“Oh, but you do.” He paused, frowning at his stained palms for a moment, although Laura suspected that he wasn’t even seeing them, simply using the gesture to gather his thoughts. “Fortunately, I’m able to offer you a position that will allow you to use your talents and experience to their fullest advantage.”

Her heart leapt, then pounded with increased intensity. This was, after all, a man who controlled the largest industry and highest number of available jobs in the entire town, if not the entire county. Not only was Burton Technologies renowned for offering above-market salaries and generous benefits, but for job security as well. Employees considered themselves to be part of the Burton family. Most expected to spend their entire careers there, and since the company prided itself on having never laid off a single worker in its twelve-year existence, the expectation of a long, bright future for those who were a part of the said family seemed a realistic one.

Which is why job openings were as rare as hens’ teeth, and coveted like gold. Laura’s application for employment had been placed on a waiting list along with a hundred other hopefuls.

She replied cautiously but couldn’t prevent a touch of breathless anxiety. “If there is a position in your company for which I qualify, I’d be most pleased to consider any offer.”

“At my company?” Frowning, he shook his head. “Staffing matters are handled by the personnel department. I don’t bother myself with those details.”

Hope crashed, dragging the walls of her stomach down with it. “I misunderstood. I thought you had a position available.”

“I do. Are you interested?”

Now she was thoroughly confused, and more than a little suspicious. “That depends. Exactly what does this job require, and what do you expect of my job performance?”

“The job requires you to marry me. The duties would be—” he looked her straight in the eye with only the trace of a smile “—wifely.”

“What a pig.” Tucking a hank of stick-straight brown hair behind her ear, Wendy kicked a rock beside the park bench. “Honestly, Laura, I can’t figure out why you are such a magnet for egomaniacal lunatics with swollen checkbooks and heads to match. It must be that Cinderella complex of yours. You keep looking for your prince.”

“I do not.”

“Sure you do.” A screech from the playground across the lush grounds caught Wendy’s attention. “Danny, quit hogging the slide!”

The youngest Wyatt, a mischievous six-year-old whose greatest joy in life was tormenting his older brother, grinned amiably, then slid down the slick curving loop, freeing it for use by his frustrated sibling, along with the impatient line of youngsters queued behind him.

At the same moment, Jamie tugged on Laura’s hand. “Me wanna swing.” Grunting madly, he pointed to the apparatus in question, as if unsure his doddering mother could recall what a swing looked like. His tiny forehead furrowed with such intensity that Laura couldn’t help but smile.

“Okay, sweetums, but all the swings are full now. You’ll have to wait your turn.”

Jamie pushed out his lower lip, appeared to be considering the wisdom of a full-size tantrum when something even more exciting than the playground swing set caught his eye. “Mewwy-go-round! Wanna go on the mewwy-go-round, Mama!”

The equipment to which he referred was not a colorful, musical carousel on which delighted youngsters straddled brilliantly carved animals. Rather, it was a flat steel pancake on which grinning children sat while indulgent parents used the tubular handholds to spin their offspring into a state of gill-green nausea. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather wait for a swing? I’m sure one will be available soon.”

“Mewwy-go-round,” the toddler chortled, clinging to her with both of his chubby hands and heaving himself backward until his small body was perpendicular to the ground.

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