Полная версия
Tick Tock Goes The Baby Clock
“I just wondered…what should I do about good-night kisses?”
“What?” Max replied with a scowl.
“A good-night kiss,” Annie repeated. “How soon is it all right to kiss your date?”
“Don’t think so much about it,” Max advised brusquely. “A first kiss isn’t such a big deal anymore…. Let it be spontaneous.”
“Oh. Like this, you mean?” An impish smile curved Annie’s mouth. She threw her arms around his neck and gave him a quick kiss on the lips.
As kisses went, it was one of the most innocent he’d ever received, but it hiked up Max’s temperature more than he’d thought possible. Suddenly he didn’t want Annie trying any of those innocent kisses on any man but him!
Dear Reader,
I hope the long hot summer puts you in the mood for romance—Silhouette Romance, that is! Because we’ve got a month chock-full of exciting stories. And be sure to check out just how Silhouette can make you a star!
Elizabeth Harbison returns with her CINDERELLA BRIDES miniseries. In His Secret Heir, an English earl discovers the American student he’d once known had left with more than his heart.…And Teresa Southwick’s Crazy for Lovin’You begins a new series set in DESTINY, TEXAS. Filled with emotion, romance and a touch of intrigue, these stories are sure to captivate you!
Cara Colter’s THE WEDDING LEGACY begins with Husband by Inheritance. An heiress gains a new home—complete with the perfect husband. Only, he doesn’t know it yet! And Patricia Thayer’s THE TEXAS BROTHERHOOD comes to a triumphant conclusion when Travis Comes Home.
Lively, high-spirited Julianna Morris shows a woman’s determination to become a mother with Tick Tock Goes the Baby Clock and Roxann Delaney gives us A Saddle Made for Two.
We’ve also got a special treat in store for you! Next month, look for Marie Ferrarella’s The Inheritance, a spin-off from the MAITLAND MATERNITY series. This title is specially packaged with the introduction to the new Mills & Boon continuity series, TRUEBLOOD, TEXAS. But The Inheritance then leads back into Silhouette Romance, so be sure to catch the opening act.
Happy Reading!
Mary-Theresa Hussey
Senior Editor
Tick Tock Goes the Baby Clock
Julianna Morris
To Carol R., Joan, Debbie R. and Brenda—friends like you make each day better.
Books by Julianna Morris
Silhouette Romance
Baby Talk #1097
Family of Three #1178
Daddy Woke up Married #1252
Dr. Dad #1278
The Marriage Stampede #1375
*Callie, Get Your Groom #1436
*Hannah Gets a Husband #1448
*Jodie’s Mail-Order Man #1460
Meeting Megan Again #1502
Tick Tock Goes the Baby Clock #1531
JULIANNA MORRIS
has an offbeat sense of humor, which frequently gets her into trouble. She is often accused of being curious about everything…her interests ranging from oceanography and photography to traveling, antiquing, walking on the beach and reading science fiction.
Julianna loves cats of all shapes and sizes, and last year she was adopted by a feline companion named Merlin. Like his namesake, Merlin is an alchemist—she says he can transform the house into a disaster area in no time flat. And since he shares the premises with a writer, it’s interesting to note that he’s particularly fond of knocking books onto the floor.
Julianna happily reports meeting Mr. Right. Together they are working on a new dream of building a shoreline home in the Great Lakes area.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
Chapter One
A car pulled into the parking area of the store, and Annie James’s eyes widened as she recognized the driver.
“Max Hunter,” she breathed.
A quiver of awareness went through her body, no matter how hard she tried to stop it. Okay, so it was Max. She still lived next door to his grandmother, so there was nothing remarkable about seeing him, especially now that he’d moved back to California.
“Nothing,” she assured herself. He might be the most attractive man she’d ever known and sent tingles down her spine with his smile, but they were just friends.
Max helped an elegantly clad woman from his BMW, and Annie bit her lip. It was a good thing she’d accepted that Max was Max and that he preferred sophisticated city women, not small-town girls more comfortable in T-shirts than silk blouses. She just wasn’t his type. Problem was, she didn’t seem to be any man’s type.
“Stop that, Barnard.” Annie absently pulled a ledger book away from the large brown rabbit chewing on the corner.
His velvety nose twitched, and he hopped until he could sink his teeth into the paper again.
“Silly thing.”
Annie stroked his soft fur and sighed. The usual Saturday bustle of a farm-supply store revolved around her, and here she was, talking to a rabbit.
She had to get a life.
Preferably a life that included a gold ring, a baby on the way and a honest-to-goodness man in her bed every night. There was just one tiny drawback to that idea—she didn’t have the slightest idea how to carry it out.
It wasn’t a new thought. Having grown up with a widowed father and being firmly planted in all the local boys’ minds as a “nice” girl, she didn’t have much experience with the opposite sex. If she wanted to break out of that mold and get herself a husband, she needed an advisor—someone to get her through the rough spots.
Sort of a romantic guidance counselor.
She looked out the window again, an idea creeping into her mind. Actually, Max was perfect for the job. If anyone could advise her about men and what appealed to them it was Max Hunter. And since he lived in the city, he’d know about the hot spots where single people shopped, and stuff.
Somewhere in the back of Annie’s mind she knew there was a risk to the idea, but she needed to make a change, and Max seemed heaven-sent.
“Problem, boss? You’re kinda distracted.”
Annie looked up at her teenage warehouseman and gave her head a determined shake. “Nope. Did you get Mr. Zankowski taken care of, Darnell?”
“Yup. If he was any happier he might even crack a smile.”
Mr. Zankowski was a notoriously dour safflower farmer. Rumor had it he’d smiled once when Dwight D. Eisenhower was elected president, but Annie wasn’t sure she believed the story.
“Great wheels.” Darnell was staring out at the parking lot. “Man, I’ll never have wheels like that on minimum wage.”
“You’re a teenager. You aren’t supposed to have wheels like that.” She pulled the ledger away from the rabbit a second time and tossed it in a drawer.
“You’ve been talking to Mom. Do you know she makes me save half my paycheck for college? The half before taxes?”
“It’s because she loves you.” Even as Annie said the words, a pang went through her. If she didn’t do something soon, she might never have her own son or daughter. It was all good and fine to be an honorary aunt to most of the kids in town, but it wasn’t the same.
Darnell headed back toward the warehouse with a last, longing glance through the window. The bell over the door tinkled, and Annie looked up.
“How charming,” a woman drawled. “It’s so rustic.” Her tone wasn’t complimentary.
“You could have stayed in the car,” Max said.
Annie’s spirits lifted. Max really was perfect. He was perfect even when everyone else in high school was struggling with bad hair and worse skin. He had dark-toned skin and jet-black hair—courtesy of his Native American grandfather—a sexy smile and the brooding expression of a loner…unless you looked closely and saw the twinkle in his dark eyes. On top of everything else, he was six foot two, with the physique of an athlete.
In other words, be-still-my-heart gorgeous.
Her heart might still flutter over Max, but it was safer and smarter to ignore those feelings. And, when all was said and done, they’d remained pals while the rest of his girlfriends had gone the way of the Dodo bird. She didn’t want someone that handsome, anyway. Men like Max were too complicated, too interested in a fast-paced glitzy life. Give her someone like the new schoolteacher in town and she’d be happy.
“Hey, Annie.”
She stood and leaned against the timeworn front counter. “Hey, Max. What are you doing here?”
“Er, looking at some property with a client. Miss Blakely has decided to build a summer home out on the delta and wants me to design it.” He rolled his eyes and gave her a private wink. “Then she got thirsty and I remembered you had a soda machine here at the store.”
“Darling, I told you…please call me Buffy.” The woman slid her arm into Max’s with a proprietary look on her face, and a pained expression replaced his smile.
Annie choked.
Buffy Blakely?
Well, she supposed it took all kinds.
“The machine is in the back,” Annie said. “Do you need some quarters?” She punched a button on the ancient cash register and the door shot open. With the ease of long practice she let it bounce against her tummy, preventing it from flying across the room.
“You don’t have that fixed yet?” Max looked surprised, and she remembered earlier days when she hadn’t caught the drawer in time and they’d spent the next half hour chasing quarters and nickels. Once she’d bumped into him under the desk, and she could have sworn he was about to kiss her, but it turned out she was mistaken.
“No.” Annie wrinkled her nose at the faint disapproval in his eyes. “They say it’s unfixable.” She patted the ornate brass and polished wood of the cash register. She didn’t care about the quirky drawer, she liked the old thing. It had character. Why did everyone want to get rid of lovely old things and replace them with new things that didn’t have any history?
“Max. Must this take so long? It’s so dusty in here,” Buffy said, obviously miffed at being ignored.
“Why don’t you wait in the car?” he suggested, removing his arm from her grasp and handing her the key ring. “I haven’t seen Annie for over a month. I’d like to catch up on local news.”
Buffy pocketed the keys with a tight smile. “Thanks, but I’ll wait.”
“Swell.” Max turned back to Annie. “Grandmother mentioned how terrific you’ve been helping out while she had the flu, and all. I didn’t know she was sick.”
“Oh…” Annie said, flustered. “You’ve been so busy since you moved back from Boston, she didn’t want to bother you. And I was happy to help, you know that.”
That’s Annie, Max thought fondly. A doer. The kind of woman who rolled up her sleeves and wasn’t afraid of getting her hands dirty. She was just as kind-hearted as the day he’d moved in with his grandmother. Two years younger than him, but she’d always seemed even younger with her sweet face and earnest eyes.
If the rest of Mitchellton was like Annie, then it wouldn’t be so bad. But it was just a forgotten little town on the Sacramento River delta—thirty years behind the rest of the world, moving at its own relentlessly slow pace. Mitchellton never changed; it was less than twenty-five miles from the state capital of Sacramento, but it might as well be a thousand for all it cared.
“Grace says your new architectural firm is doing great,” Annie murmured. “She’s so proud. She said you’ve also won several awards.”
“I’m doing all right.” Max frowned. “I’ve been trying to convince Grandmother to move into Sacramento, but she keeps refusing.”
“She likes Mitchellton.”
“But I’d get her a condo with all the latest amenities. And she’d be so much closer to the best doctors and a first-rate hospital.”
Annie sighed. “This is where Grace’s friends are, Max. You know that.”
“Max, I’m really thirsty,” Buffy said through gritted teeth.
At the moment Max didn’t care if she was on the moon, much less thirsty, but he sighed and pinned a polite smile on his face. Some commissions weren’t worth the time and trouble, and this one was definitely headed in that direction. “Of course. We’ll get something out of the machine.”
He caught Annie covering her mouth with her hand in a blatant attempt not to laugh and gave her a mock glare.
Damn, it was good to see her, especially with someone like Buffy the Architect Slayer in tow. In her quest for the “ideal” summer house Buffy Blakely had gone through four architects. Max suspected the previous four had all been single and in the thirty-something age range. Buffy wasn’t subtle about wanting more from the relationship than a house design—she wanted to get married.
Marriage.
Max shook his head and shuddered.
Marriage was out. His mother and father had nine divorces under their combined belts, and he’d lost track of how many stepsiblings he’d had between them. He supposed you could argue they were optimistic to keep trying, but it wasn’t for him. You didn’t have to get your hand slammed in a car door to know it wouldn’t feel good.
“Max.” Buffy’s tone had reached a higher pitch than he’d ever heard before, and he sighed.
With Buffy following close on his heel, he threaded his way between displays of gardening tools and vegetable seeds. In the back of the store was an ancient soda pop machine. It was the old-fashioned kind where you pulled the bottle out by the neck and the next one rolled into place. Max stopped in front of it and took his wallet from his pocket.
“That’s it?” Buffy stared at the ancient soda dispenser as if “it” were about to attack her.
“Yeah.” He dropped money into the slot. “Do you want cola, or lemon-lime? And I think there’s orange, too.”
She didn’t say anything, just stared at him stonily, so Max selected a lemon-lime, popped the cap off and handed it to her. He knew she expected designer water or some other trendy drink, but this was Mitchellton, and he doubted they’d ever heard of designer water.
“Annie, do you want one?” he called. “My treat.”
“Sure. Anything is fine.”
Still ignoring Buffy and her frozen face, Max got another lemon-lime and brought it to Annie. She smiled a thank-you and took a long swallow, tipping her head back. Max watched idly, thinking it was a very graceful gesture, simple and uncomplicated.
Like Mitchellton, Annie hadn’t changed much. Her face had the same sweetheart shape, dominated by big blue eyes and framed by reddish brown hair. Her smile was just as contagious as always and made you feel good just looking at it. She was as slim as ever, too, but she usually wore baggy clothing that concealed everything but the taut curve of her breasts.
Odd that she’d never gotten married. Mitchellton was a marrying kind of place, and in her way Annie was quite pretty. And, if her bust was any indication, she had a figure that would make most men ecstatic in bed.
“Is something wrong, Max?” Annie’s puzzled voice sent a jolt through him and he swallowed uncomfortably.
Where had that come from?
He was definitely being affected by the hot sunshine outside and the annoying presence of Buffy Blakely. Friends did not have licentious thoughts about another friend, especially when the friend was someone like Annie. She was like a kid sister, for Pete’s sake.
“I was just thinking,” Max said lamely. As long as she didn’t ask what he’d been thinking about, he was okay. He certainly didn’t want to embarrass her. Annie would probably turn beet-red if she thought anyone was looking at her chest.
“Oh, right. You know, there’s something I’ve been thinking about, too, and…uh, I thought you’d be a good person to…discuss it with,” she stuttered.
Max looked at her and wondered what could possibly make Annie so tongue-tied. He was about to ask, when a look of horror crossed her face.
“No, Tigger. Stop. Come here,” she cried.
Max followed the direction of Annie’s dismayed gaze and saw a large tiger-striped cat walking toward Buffy. He didn’t understand at first, then he saw something was hanging from the feline’s mouth.
With a pleased “marooow,” Tigger dropped his gift right on Buffy’s sandal-clad foot.
Time seemed frozen for a second, with three humans and a cat staring at a dazed mouse reclining on fine Italian leather.
All at once Buffy screamed and kicked out in a move that would have made the coach of the Green Bay Packers proud. The mouse flew across the room and landed on a padded dog bed. It blinked a couple of times, looked around cautiously and made a beeline for a hole in the wall. Tigger followed in hot pursuit.
“Well…that was exciting,” Max murmured.
“Exciting?” Buffy glared. “I’ll probably get some horrible disease from that disgusting little rodent.”
If the truth be told, Max was more worried about the mouse. It couldn’t be healthy coming into such close contact with Buffy. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
“What do you know about it? Don’t just stand there, get a doctor. Get some disinfectant.”
One of Max’s eyebrows shot upward. She sounded like Lucy in a Charlie Brown cartoon, screaming about dog cooties, and it was getting harder and harder to keep from laughing.
He cast a glance at Annie, who stood with one hand covering her mouth and her eyes opened impossibly wide. She was plainly sharing his trouble in keeping a straight face. “I think I have some iodine,” she said.
That did it. Max couldn’t have kept from laughing any more than he could have stopped breathing.
“You…you monster. I’m suing. I’m suing this revolting store and this entire pathetic town,” Buffy screeched, her carefully modulated voice turning into a cracked soprano. “And you, Mr. Maxwell Hunter, can go to hell.”
Turning on her well-shod heel, she stalked out of the store, down the steps and climbed into the driver’s seat of his BMW. The motor roared into life, and she peeled out of the parking lot, leaving a strip of rubber on the asphalt.
Tarnation. Max winced. That car was his baby. The first real indulgence of his success, and Buffy was treating it like a vehicle in a stock-car rally.
“Do you think she’s actually going to sue?” Annie asked. She bit her lip worriedly.
“Naw.” He shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. She hates looking ridiculous.”
“I don’t know, she seemed really angry. Maybe she won’t care how it looks.”
Max leaned forward and tugged a lock of Annie’s hair. “You’re forgetting one little thing—Buffy just stole my BMW. An alleged mouse attack doesn’t stack up to grand theft auto.”
For a man whose car had just been taken and who’d probably lost a big design commission, Annie didn’t think Max seemed too upset. Still, maybe now wasn’t the best time to spring her little scheme on him. She’d take him home and feed him a meal. Then she’d drive him back to Sacramento and they could make plans on the way.
If he agreed.
On the other hand, she might just wimp out and never say anything at all.
No.
Annie set her jaw stubbornly. She’d spent her entire thirty-two years in a romantic black hole. If she didn’t do something about it now, her life would never change. The thought sent a quaking sensation through her stomach. It wasn’t that things were so bad, they were just…nothing. And now she had a deadline from the doctor to worry about.
“Do you want to make out a report to the sheriff?” she asked, picking up the receiver to the phone. “I don’t suppose you want to see Buffy on the most-wanted list, but you could get it on the record.”
Max grinned. “Why not? I’ll give them an unofficial report on the unlikely chance Buffy decides to make trouble.”
Annie dialed the number and handed the receiver to him. Their tiny little county boasted a sheriff and a part-time deputy—crime wasn’t exactly a problem around Mitchellton. The delta islands were a lost corner of the world; folks tended to forget they even existed.
She listened while Max said hello to the deputy and explained the circumstances of his missing car, saying he wanted the authorities to know what had happened “just in case.”
Newell didn’t ask for details about the “just in case” part of Max’s statement, which was exactly what Annie could have predicted. Unlike his newly elected and dedicated boss, Newell wasn’t the most ambitious deputy in the world. He was happy to go along with anything that meant he could remain in the office with his feet on the desk.
When Max was finished, Annie took the phone and glanced at him from under her lashes. “I’ll close the store and take you over to Grace’s house,” she murmured. “And I’ll even fix dinner to make up for the trouble.”
“Buffy is the one who made trouble,” he said. “And don’t close early for me. I’d appreciate the ride, but you shouldn’t lose business because you’re doing me a favor.”
“That’s all right. I don’t get very many customers on Saturday afternoon.” Annie walked to the door of the warehouse adjoining the store, where Darnell was stacking fifty-pound sacks of fertilizer along one wall. “I’m closing early,” she called. “You can go, too.”
Darnell’s face brightened. “I’ve got a date tonight. Do I still get paid for the same time?”
“Yes.”
The teenager let out a happy whoop, and in the space of sixty seconds he had the loading dock closed and was on his bike, pedaling furiously down the road.
“I used to get that excited about date night,” Max said as Annie emptied the cash register and counted the money. “Remember what it was like?” he asked, a rueful smile on his mouth.
Annie pressed her lips together. Sooner or later she would have to discuss her lack of romantic experience with Max, but she would rather it was later than sooner. Besides, he knew she’d never dated during high school. She’d watched him go out with one girl after another, but Friday and Saturday nights had always meant something different for her.
“It was great,” Max continued, seeming not to notice she hadn’t answered his question. “Nothing to worry about except school exams and an excess of hormones. Those were the days.”
“Not…really.”
Max winced, hearing the strain in Annie’s voice. He guessed happy times were scarce in Annie’s memories—her father had gotten sick during that period, and she’d taken care of him for several agonizing years before his death.
“Sorry, Annie. I forgot. You didn’t have that much fun in high school, did you?”
Her shoulders lifted in a barely perceptible shrug. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters. I guess most of us would rather forget what childhood was really like,” he said soberly. “Mentally skip the bad parts.”
“You always said things got better…after you came to live with Grace.”
“That’s for sure. A little dull, but much better than before.” Max rubbed his jaw. In the end he’d almost turned into a normal kid, thanks to Grace Hunter. She’d been a calm, safe anchor in the middle of his parents’ volatile, ever-changing relationships.
“If you can’t provide a decent home for my grandson, I’m taking him to live with me,” Grace had declared when he was eleven years old. They hadn’t argued for long. He’d reached an age where he was a royal pain, full of resentment and a know-it-all-attitude. It was probably a relief when Grace hauled him off to Mitchellton.
Annie wrote some figures in a ledger book, then put the money she’d counted into a cloth bag and stuffed it into a hidden safe. Max frowned.
