Those Baby Blues Page 7

  "Treet!"

  This time he did laugh, and it came from the heart. “Didn't I tell you? I'm a real friendly kind of guy."

  "You—you said—"

  "I did, and I will stick to it to the best of my ability.” He grinned at her suspicious look. “Hey, all I can do is try. Now, let's get down to business. I was thinking about what Mrs. Shoreshire said ... about getting away from the media. I have a friend who has a ranch in Montana—"

  "Montana?” she squeaked.

  He nodded. “Beautiful state. Ever been there?"

  "No! I can't just leave my work—"

  "Can't you take it with you? Or take a leave of absence?” When she didn't immediately answer, he pressed his point. “This is important, Hadleigh, and I don't think it's something we should rush. The girls need time.” Just the thought of spending a lot of time with her—and meeting Samantha—made him feel weak all over. He wanted to scoop them up and take them away now.

  For an insane moment, he considered doing just that. He could have his private jet ready in less than an hour. As for their clothes, he could buy them everything they needed after they arrived.

  Hadleigh dispelled his fantasy with irrefutable logic.

  "Samantha hasn't even met you, and Caroline has never met me. We can't just go rushing off and expect them to understand."

  "A week, then.” Now that Treet had broached the plan, he could barely restrain his impatience. “We'll take a week to let them adjust, go out to dinner, to a movie. Take them to the museum.” Get them to bed early. Treet knew he should be ashamed of the thought, but he honestly couldn't help himself. He loved Caroline more than anything or anyone, and he was both excited and fearful of meeting Samantha, but he couldn't block out or turn off his burgeoning interest in Hadleigh Charmaine.

  And he didn't want to.

  "There's something else you should know about Samantha before you meet her."

  She sounded so serious Treet felt a chill crawl down his spine. Carefully, he set his cup down before asking, “What is it?"

  "She's excessively jealous of anyone ... that is, of men in general."

  "You mean men you've dated.” Treet knew exactly how Samantha felt, because he felt it to. Just the thought of Hadleigh with another man made his stomach clench.

  "There haven't been many."

  "Because of Samantha?"

  Hadleigh shrugged. “Partly. She's a very verbal child."

  Treet watched with growing interest as Hadleigh's face blossomed with color. “Go on."

  "Once, she ... she opened the door just as my date was attempting to kiss me goodnight. Before I realized what she was going to do, she punched him in the groin."

  He choked on a laugh, earning a chiding look from Hadleigh.

  "It's not funny."

  Oh, but it was. If only because Treet would have done the same. “Did you punish her?"

  "No TV for a week."

  Treet winced. “You're tough."

  "Don't you punish Caroline when she does something bad?"

  It was several moments of hard memory-searching before Treet finally shook his head. “I can't remember the last time.” Before she could scold him, he added, “But you have to know Caroline. She's like a small adult.” He laughed as he recognized the envy in her eyes. “I'm not saying she's perfect. She's just not ... not—"

  "Rambunctious?” Hadleigh supplied.

  "Well, she can be, but not usually, no. She's sneakier about getting her way. When she's mad at me, she ignores me. She can go for hours without talking to me."

  This time Hadleigh winced. “I hate that."

  "Me too.” They shared a moment of mutual understanding before Treet said, “They sound like night and day. How do you think they'll react to one another?"

  Hadleigh nibbled her bottom lip, and the unconsciously provocative action made Treet suck in a sharp breath.

  "I couldn't begin to guess. Despite her volatile nature, Samantha makes friends easily. How about Caroline?"

  "So-so.” He flashed her a mischievous grin. “She has your cautious nature, which until tonight I considered an asset."

  "Don't start,” she warned, but her eyes were smiling. “Since Samantha's like you, Caroline probably won't have a choice."

  "Fire and ice,” Treet said out of the blue. He didn't have a hell's notion where the words came from, but since he was on the subject ... “Just like you and me."

  Instead of being offended, Hadleigh laughed. “Sounds like Caroline and I will get along fine. But you and Samantha, on the other hand, will be like two bulls in the same pasture."

  "Thanks a lot,” Treet said with a mock growl. He stretched his long legs beneath the table, bumping his feet against hers. When she quickly jerked them away, he lifted a chiding brow. “If you act this afraid of your dates, then it's not any wonder Samantha reacts the way she does."

  Her chin came up and out. “I'm not afraid of you, Treet."

  He leaned forward, pinning her with his challenging gaze. “Prove it,” he said softly.

  "I have nothing to prove."

  "Oh, yeah?"

  "Yeah."

  Treet leaned back with a sigh. “Seriously, from what you tell me about Samantha, your reaction to me will most likely influence her reaction to me."

  "You forget. My date was kissing me when she punched him."

  "Don't remind me,” Treet said beneath his breath. “Sounds like I'm damned if I do, and damned if I don't."

  She sounded amused as she said, “Something like that."

  "It's not fair."

  "She's your daughter."

  Until this moment, Treet hadn't let himself dwell too much on this significant fact. But now that he knew he would get the opportunity to meet her, get to know her, yet not lose Caroline in the process, the momentous realization flooded his heart with warmth and anticipation. He closed his eyes and let the information soak in. It was a very, very pleasant feeling.

  "Treet? Are you okay?"

  He managed a nod, but couldn't speak around the lump in his throat.

  "It's bizarre, isn't it?” she whispered.

  Again he nodded. Finally, he pried his eyes open and looked at her. There were tears shimmering in the emerald depths. His voice was husky as he said, “Pretty fantastic, if you ask me."

  He was fairly certain that after meeting Samantha his life would never be the same. Yet it had already changed for the better, and the reason was sitting across from him, looking frightened and anxious and incredibly beautiful.

  Suddenly, the tears spilled over her cheeks. Treet watched as a single tear drop clung to her incredibly sexy upper lip. She attempted to turn her face away, but it was too late. Alarmed, Treet stood and reached her in two giant strides, pulling her to her feet.

  "What is it?” he prompted softly.

  "What—what if she—Caroline doesn't like me?"

  "She will, she will. I know she will."

  For the first time since he'd met her, Treet pulled her into his arms with the sole intention of giving her comfort. After a moment, he said, “As a matter of fact, from what you've told me about Sam, I'm the one that should be worried."

  She sniffled against his shoulder. “Just ignore her. That's the quickest way to get her attention. Most of my dates go overboard trying to win her over."

  "And that makes her suspicious."

  "I think so."

  "Hm.” He lowered his nose in her hair and inhaled. “I'll have to keep your advice in mind. It won't be easy, though."

  "I know how you feel. How—what's the best approach with Caroline?” she asked, lifting her head to look at him.

  Treet gazed into her eyes, framed by wet, spiky lashes. So distracted did he become, he nearly forgot her question. “Just be yourself. Caroline will probably be a little standoffish at first, but she'll eventually warm up."

  "I'm scared."

  "Me too.” The confession startled Treet. He couldn't remember ever telling another soul that he was afraid.
>
  Yes, this woman was good for him. He felt it.

  Now if he could only convince her that he was good for her.

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  Chapter Seven

  "Where're we going again, Mommy?"

  "To eat dinner at a friend's house,” Hadleigh mumbled around the hair band in her mouth. She was braiding Samantha's auburn hair—no small feat with Samantha twisting back and forth. “Be still."

  "Who is it? Does she have a dog?"

  "It's not a she.” Hadleigh was very careful to keep her voice casual. She banded the end of the braid and started on the next one, wishing her stomach would stop rolling like the deck of a ship—in high winds, that is. “It's a he, and he has a little girl the same age as you are. I don't know if they have a dog. Sam, where's the other hair band? The green one that matches this one?"

  "In my backpack. It came off and Drake popped me with it."

  "Why did he pop you with it?"

  "Because I popped him first,” Samantha said. “He wouldn't give me the red crayon."

  Hadleigh groaned as she dropped the braid and went in search of the purple backpack. Over her shoulder, she said, “You can't go around hitting people just because they don't do what you want them to do."

  "I didn't hit him, I popped him with the band."

  "Same difference. Hitting is hitting."

  "No, it isn't."

  "Yes, it is. Don't argue with your mother unless you want another week without T.V."

  Like a dream, the threat worked. So far it was the only thing Hadleigh had found that was effective. She used it ruthlessly; Samantha was hopelessly addicted to the Animal Planet channel. Unfortunately, watching the show increased Samantha's yearning for a pet. Make that pets.

  Dog, gerbil, cat, monkey, and even a baby alligator were among the few of her most recent requests.

  To all of which Hadleigh had to say ‘no'. Her lease didn't allow pets, and they'd had no luck keeping fish alive. Not that she would have agreed to anything bigger than a gerbil at Samantha's precarious age.

  Spotting the bulging backpack tucked into a corner of the sofa, Hadleigh grabbed the strap, pulled it to her, and began to search for the matching hair band.

  She removed a wad of clothing and threw it aside, then did a double-take on the garment. “Sam! What's my dress doing in your backpack?"

  "It was for dress-up day."

  "Oh.” Later she would have to have another talk with her daughter about respecting other people's belongings. Luckily, it wasn't a dress she wore often, or had to dry-clean.

  Hadleigh dug further into the seemingly bottomless pit of Sam's backpack. She unearthed a tube of her favorite lipstick, a wand of mascara, facial cream, a pair of panty hose, and of all things, a sanitary napkin.

  The later was enough to make her face heat with embarrassment at the image of Samantha pulling out such a personal item and showing it to the class, but the disposable razor dangling from the sticky tab of the napkin made her literally growl with frustration.

  Grim-faced, Hadleigh decided this particular lecture couldn't wait. She marched to her innocent-faced daughter and held the razor beneath her nose. “Samantha Leigh Charmaine, what on earth were you thinking when you put this into your backpack?"

  Solemnly, Samantha stared at the razor, then at her furious mother. Just as solemnly, she said, “Nikki's mommy wouldn't let her bring panty hose."

  Hadleigh counted slowly to ten, managing to keep her voice level. “What does that have to do with the razor?"

  Samantha tried a smile. When Hadleigh remained stern-faced, she gave up. Her bottom lip began to quiver. “I told you, Mommy. Nikki didn't have panty hose."

  "So you were going to shave her legs,” Hadleigh concluded, blowing out an exasperated breath. “Sam, do you remember what happened when you tried to shave your legs?"

  Tears shimmered in Sam's big blue eyes. “I cut myself, and you had to put a band-aid on it."

  "And do you remember how much you cried?” Hadleigh persisted.

  "Uh-huh. You had to kiss it before it got better."

  "And do you also remember your punishment?"

  Samantha remained stubbornly silent.

  "Sam?"

  Finally, Sam nodded. “Uh-huh. No critter shows for a week."

  "Did Miss Jewel see the razor?” Hadleigh asked, referring to one of the pre-school teachers assigned to Sam's group.

  Sam shook her head. “Nikki said I'd get in trouble."

  "Nikki was right. In fact, you could get kicked out of school, and then Mommy would lose her job because I'd have to stay home and take care of you."

  "Oh.” Samantha frowned. This bit of information was obviously beyond her realm of understanding. “Mommy, do they have a dog?"

  Hadleigh gave her head a rueful shake and pulled her daughter in for a hug. “Sam, from now on, ask me before you take anything to school, okay?"

  "Okay. Do they have a dog?"

  Like father, like daughter, Hadleigh thought. They both possessed a one-track mind. “I don't know, darling."

  "Maybe they have a cat."

  "Maybe. Be still now and let me finish your hair. We'll just have to use the blue band."

  "Blue's my favorite color. What's her name?"

  It took a moment for Hadleigh to catch up with Sam. Her fingers grew still. The butterflies in her belly multiplied. “Caroline. Her name is Caroline, sweetheart."

  "Caroline Sweetheart,” Sam repeated. She let out a peal of delighted laughter that would have made a mortician smile. “That's a funny name, Mommy!"

  * * * *

  "What if they don't like our spaghetti?"

  In the midst of tossing a huge salad, Treet glanced at Caroline, who was carefully folding cloth napkins. Despite her concentrated efforts, they looked nothing like the creased, elegant model Treet had sat before her. Poker-faced, he said, “Then we'll take them to the dungeon and lock them up. Eventually they'll get hungry enough to eat it."

  Caroline giggled as she admonished, “Daddy!” Suddenly, she frowned. “What's a dun-dungeon?"

  "It's—” Treet paused, remembering all the horror stories he'd read about dungeons. Nope, he wasn't ready to go there. “Never mind, precious. How are those napkin's coming?"

  "Almost done. You didn't put yunions in the salad, did you? She might not like yunions. I don't, you know."

  Hiding a grin at her mispronunciation of onions, Treet asked innocently, “Who?"

  "Daddy! You know who. That little girl that's coming to eat with us."

  "You mean Samantha?"

  "Yeah! Santha."

  "I'll bet she wouldn't mind if we called her Sam."

  Caroline let out a relieved breath and wiped imaginary sweat from her brow. “Good, ‘cos I have trouble saying that other name."

  Treet watched as she shoved the napkins alongside the plates, her face flushed and excited over the prospect of company. She bounded from the room, returning a moment later dragging two identical miniature high chairs behind her. Huffing and puffing, she situated them at the table on either side where she had already declared she and Sam would sit. She disappeared again, only to reappear carrying two dolls dressed in identical pink dresses.

  "I'm gonna to let Sam feed Gertrude,” she announced importantly, stuffing the dolls into their perspective high chairs. “Amber don't like strangers, so I'd better feed her. You think Sam would like that, Daddy?"

  "I'm sure she would. Who could resist Gertrude? Especially when she cries.” Many times he'd been tempted to drown the noisy thing himself. Whoever had invented the clever little micro chip dolls obviously didn't have a daughter who took her mothering duties seriously.

  But of course he wouldn't dream of telling Caroline. She'd be horrified to know he'd contemplated violence toward any of her ‘children'.

  Caroline had over a dozen dolls, and they all had names. Treet wavered between amusement and alarm over her obsession with her children. If she continued along this vein, he fi
gured he'd have to lock her in the dungeon when she rocked into her teenage years.

  He made a mental note to ask Hadleigh if he should be worried.

  Giving the salad another toss, he declared it ready and placed it in the center of the table. The spaghetti sauce simmered on the stove, and the noodles were draining. On another counter, buttered French bread lay waiting to go in the oven when their guests arrived.

  Guests.

  Treet paused in the act of sprinkling garlic powder over the buttered bread as he contemplated the word. With a devilish grin, he changed his mind and returned it to the spice rack above the stove. Just in case he saw the opportunity to steal a kiss, he didn't want any determents—and garlic was definitely a determent in his opinion. Besides, some kids didn't care for garlic, and he didn't want to risk displeasing Samantha.

  Samantha.

  Wow.

  Treet clutched the rim of the counter as the full realization of the coming visit hit him like a ton of bricks.

  Sam. His daughter.

  He was about to meet her, see her, touch her, for the first time.

  Well, maybe not touch her, if Hadleigh knew her daughter, and he suspected she knew her very well. According to Hadleigh, Samantha's fists were lethal weapons, and he hoped to have use of his family jewels in the near future.

  Emotional hugs were probably out of the question.

  His chuckle came out a little shaky, and like the sharp tack she was, Caroline, who had been studiously applying bibs to babies, heard and noticed.

  "Daddy? What's wrong? You laughed."

  "Yeah."

  "What's funny?"

  "Nothing, sweetheart.” Everything. But funny in an incredulous, bizarre way that she could never understand.

  "Oh."

  He knew she was confused, but he couldn't very well explain what had made him chuckle. So he improvised. “I was wondering if we should warn them about Bo Bo.” Bo Bo was a very large tarpon turtle that had the run of the house. Sometimes it was weeks before he came out of hiding to lumber around in plain view. When he did decide to grace them with his presence, he parked his shell under the kitchen table until someone noticed and fed him.

  And Treet couldn't recall the last time he'd seen the turtle. Bo Bo had been a part of their lives for such a long time, he was like an eccentric member of the family. Or a piece of the furniture. He'd bought the turtle at a pet store when he was just a kid, and he'd grown much bigger than he had expected.