Those Baby Blues Page 8

  "Why? Doesn't Sam like turtles?"

  "I don't know. Some people are afraid of critters."

  "Bo Bo wouldn't hurt anybody, Daddy!” Caroline giggled as if the suggestion were the silliest thing she'd ever heard.

  Before they could come to a decision about Bo Bo, the buzzer sounded on the intercom. Treet froze; Caroline let out a squeal of excitement.

  Antsy, Treet's handyman and gatekeeper, announced their visitors over the crackly speaker. “They're here, boss. Should I send them up to the house?"

  With a muffled curse, Treet stomped to the intercom and jabbed the button down. “I told you to let them in when they arrived. In fact, I described the vehicle and Miss Charmaine and her daughter.” This was Brutal's doing, Treet thought with a growl of frustration. His bodyguard was still determined to protect him from the man-eating woman.

  "Sorry, boss."

  The intercom went dead.

  This was it. Nervously, Treet finger-combed his hair back into place and removed his apron, stuffing the spaghetti splattered garment beneath the sink. He motioned Caroline over and checked her dress for food stains, smoothed her neat cap of straight brown hair, and rubbed a spot of tomato sauce from the corner of her mouth. Finally he nodded with satisfaction. She looked neat and well-cared for. Hadleigh should have no complaints.

  He shook his head at his silly thoughts as he took Caroline's hand and prepared to meet his very special guests.

  * * * *

  It wasn't the biggest mansion in Beverly Hills by far, but it was twenty times bigger than Hadleigh's apartment. Or thirty. Maybe even fifty.

  The grounds leading up to the house boasted big, stately oak trees and spectacular fountains. Everything appeared well cared for, yet left the viewer with the impression that a touch of wildness lurked among the trees and bushes.

  Awed to the point of speechlessness, Hadleigh parked the Intrepid in front of the single story, sprawling mansion and rested her arms on the steering wheel. It was a modern house, designed for the modern family, full of slants and intricate angles and solar windows. An open porch ran half the length of the house, its slanted roof in keeping with the symmetric design.

  That's where the formality ended.

  There was a child's three-wheeler blocking the sidewalk leading to the porch, its plastic wheels scarred from use and the vinyl seat bleached by the sun. As Hadleigh stepped out of the car, she also noticed a fresh mound of dirt in the yard, surrounded by a child's digging tools and a bucket.

  The moment Samantha spotted the toys, she headed in that direction. Hadleigh snatched her hand up and tugged her back before she got out of range. “Oh, no you don't. We're going to eat dinner first."

  Pouting, Samantha allowed Hadleigh to lead her to the front door. “I was just gonna get her stuff for her."

  "She probably doesn't want it in the house. It's dirty."

  "You let me bring my stuff in."

  Hadleigh stooped and adjusted the straps of Samantha's velvet blue jumper, tightened a braid, and wiped a smudge from her cheek. Then she rose and smoothed a hand over her own hair. She'd opted for a casual dress, no hose, and sandals.

  If Treet answered the door wearing a suit, she was going to kill him.

  "This is a big apartment,” Samantha observed.

  "It's not an apartment, honey. It's a house."

  "It's a big house."

  "Yes, it is."

  "I bet a bunch of people live here."

  Instead of answering, Hadleigh concentrated on slowing her heart rate and controlling her breathing. She didn't think there was anything she could do about her trembling legs. What would she feel when she saw Caroline? What if she felt nothing? What if Caroline hated her on sight? What if Sam and Caroline hated each other?

  Taking a deep breath, she reached out and banged the brass knocker, although she was fairly certain Treet knew they had arrived.

  "I hope they have a dog,” Samantha said, hopping restlessly from foot to foot. “If they don't, I'm not staying."

  "Don't start,” Hadleigh warned. “Besides, how would you leave? You can't drive yet."

  "I could walk."

  "I don't think so."

  "I could."

  "Samantha, this is a bad time to start an argument."

  "Why?"

  "Because we're about to eat dinner, and it's bad for the digestion.” Where in the hell were they? Hadleigh wondered. Her stomach pitched and rolled in nervous anticipation. It would be a miracle if she managed to eat a single bite of food.

  She was about to meet Caroline, the baby she'd carried for nine months, the baby she'd strained and sweated giving birth to.

  "I'm not eating if they don't have a dog,” Samantha muttered.

  "Samantha Leigh!” Exasperated, Hadleigh knelt and took Samantha by the shoulders, intending to explain how rude it would be not to eat.

  The door opened. Treet and Caroline stood hand in hand on the threshold, both looking about as jittery as she felt.

  Slowly, Hadleigh rose, her gaze quickly sliding from Treet to focus on the little girl at his side. The sinking sun behind them glanced off Caroline's cap of rich dark hair cut in a traditional pageboy style. Framed by thick, dark lashes, her eyes were a darker, richer brown than Jim's. So dark, in fact, that Hadleigh couldn't see where her pupils began. They were huge dark orbs in her delicate little face.

  She was a living doll come to life.

  Caroline seemed unaware of Hadleigh's scrutiny, her eyes on Samantha. Without hesitation, she reached for Samantha's free hand. “Come on, Sam, I'm going to let you feed Gertrude."

  "Is Gertrude a dog?” Samantha demanded, but she allowed Caroline to pull her across the threshold.

  "No, silly goose, it's a doll. She's hungry, too, and when she's hungry, she starts crying really loud. You have to feed her to shut her up."

  Trembling inside, Hadleigh held her breath, waiting for Sam's reaction. She expected a tantrum, but prayed for a miracle. To her astonishment, Sam didn't pout or argue—or worse, throw one of her famous tantrums.

  She shrugged and said, “Okay."

  The two girls disappeared in a flash, leaving Treet and Hadleigh standing in the doorway, staring at each other in stunned silence. Hadleigh couldn't have been more shocked if a spaceship had landed in the front yard and beamed the girls up through a column of bright light.

  Her voice was shaky as she said, “That was uncanny."

  "Not exactly what I expected,” Treet agreed, sounding just as shaken.

  "Bizarre."

  "As if they already knew each other."

  "Yeah.” Hadleigh crossed her arms over her chest, rubbing a rash of goose bumps along her arms. “I would have bet good money that Samantha was on the verge of a tantrum."

  "Why?” Treet sounded amused at the possibility.

  Hadleigh wasn't. “She—she said she wasn't going to eat if you didn't have a dog."

  Treet's rumbling laughter vibrated through her, stirring emotions she'd rather have kept a lid on.

  Finally, he got his laughter under control. “I take it she likes animals?"

  "That would be a horrendous understatement,” Hadleigh muttered.

  "Then she'll like Caroline's petting zoo."

  It was Hadleigh's turn to laugh. “You're kidding."

  "No, I'm not. It's out back."

  Abruptly, Hadleigh sobered. “You're not kidding.” When he shook his head, Hadleigh covered her face with her hands and groaned. Getting Samantha through the door would be nothing compared to getting her out the door once she found out about the petting zoo. "A petting zoo? What kind of kid has her very own petting zoo?

  She was beginning to wonder if coming here was such a good idea after all.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Eight

  Treet had managed to look at Samantha all of thirty seconds before his over-excited daughter had hauled her into the house, but it was enough to shake him to the core.

  Glancing into Sa
mantha's eyes had been like looking into a mirror. The dark, auburn, waist-length braids she'd obviously gotten from Cheyenne, along with the freckles Cheyenne had hated, but the eyes were his, free and clear.

  The last trace of doubt dropped away, leaving Treet churning with conflicting emotions. Samantha was his daughter, and now that he'd met her, she would always be his daughter.

  He knew then, quite suddenly and surely, that he couldn't let her go now that he'd found her. Somehow, he'd find a way to keep Caroline and Samantha in his life.

  The woman standing on his porch was the key, and right now she looked as if she'd like nothing better than to snatch Samantha up and flee. What had he said?

  "Do—do you have any other surprises I should know about?"

  Ah. The petting zoo had come as an unpleasant shock, Treet realized. He should have waited, should have considered that what was ordinary to him might be a bit overwhelming to someone else.

  He found himself doing something he rarely did; explaining. “The animals belonged to an old friend of mine. He trained exotic animals for the film industry, and last year he decided to retire. I bought his animals and set up the zoo for Caroline.” He watched closely as the color began to return to her face. The stricken look had faded, but not the wariness. “The zoo is open to the Children's Hospital on Saturdays and Sundays."

  "Oh. That's nice of you. What—what kind of animals do you have?"

  Instead of answering, Treet slipped his hand in hers and pulled her across the threshold in much the same way Caroline had done Samantha. Her hand was soft, warm, and slightly damp. They'd both had a hell of a shock, despite the fact they'd known about it in advance. “Follow me to the kitchen and I'll tell you more. I need to pop the French bread in the oven."

  "You cook?"

  She sounded so surprised it made Treet chuckle. “Occasionally. I gave Trudy the night off.” He led her into the spacious, state-of-the-art kitchen and indicated a stool at the breakfast bar. He could hear the girls chattering as Caroline led Sam from room to room, probably introducing Sam to her ‘family', he mused.

  "I thought Trudy was the nanny."

  "Nanny, cook, and housekeeper.” Treet turned on the oven and slid the pan of French bread inside. He set the timer before turning around to look at her. “She's been after me to hire someone to help her, but I haven't gotten around to it yet.” When she frowned, he added, “Everyone pitches in. There's myself, Brutal, and two groundsmen that also serve as extra bodyguards when I need them."

  "They help with the housework?” she asked skeptically.

  Treet smiled. “Yep. Don't worry, they get paid enough."

  "I'm sure they do."

  His smiled widened. Casually, so as not to alarm her, he sauntered over and seated himself on the bar stool next to hers. Their knees were inches from touching—hers barely concealed by the soft, feminine dress she wore. Everything about this woman seemed refreshingly feminine. “You don't think much of my lifestyle, do you?"

  Primly, she said, “I don't know enough about your lifestyle to make a judgment."

  Treet debated on whether he should take a chance on alienating her by challenging her obvious lie. She might not know much about it, but she was judging him. He opted for another explanation, surprising himself once again. “You can't imagine how hard it is to find domestic help I can trust ... for someone in my line of work.” He was heartened to see her pretty, bow-shaped lips quirk.

  "You're not the president, Treet."

  "No, I'm not.” He flashed her a rueful grin. “But sometimes I think he has more freedom than I do. I don't think he has to worry about getting torn limb from limb every time he goes outside his house."

  "Because he has a whole passel of secret service men,” Hadleigh said. “Couldn't you hire—"

  But Treet stopped her well-meaning suggestion with a shake of his head. “I've gone that route, and believe me, in this instance, less is more.” She blushed beautifully at his naughty metaphor. “The more bodyguards I have with me, the more people notice and recognize me."

  "It must be tough."

  Her sincere sympathy warmed him. “It has its drawbacks—and its perks. Because of Caroline, I have to be extra careful who I hire."

  She shifted on the stool, drawing his interested gaze to her smooth, tanned knee. “I've never thought about it that way, I guess."

  "Most people don't. They think it's all glamour—wild parties, orgies, and drugs.” Her guilty blush made him chuckle. “Am I right?” he teased.

  She nodded.

  "Take Mel Gibson, for an example."

  "I guess you ... know ... Mel Gibson personally?” she asked faintly.

  Treet felt a surprisingly strong rush of jealousy at her awed tone. “We've gone fishing a couple of times."

  "Mel Gibson fishes?"

  "We are human, Hadleigh,” he chided, reaching over to close her mouth. He pointed to a jagged scar along his fore finger. “Mel hooked me with a bass lure; I had to have four stitches."

  "Ouch."

  "Believe me, the stitches were nothing compared to getting that lure out. As I was saying, Mel's been married to the same woman for a long, long time."

  "So he's an exception to the rule—"

  "Are your parents still married?” Treet interrupted, determined to win this argument.

  "No."

  "Neither are mine. My mother is a retired school teacher, and my dad is a mechanic. Divorce happens to all types of people. The only difference is that when it happens to movie stars, it's splashed across the headlines."

  The oven timer sounded. Treet reluctantly left Hadleigh hopefully mulling over divorce statistics while he finished putting dinner on the table. As he rinsed the drained spaghetti, he caught a movement from the corner of his eye.

  He nearly dropped the steaming pan when he realized Samantha stood at his side, regarding him quizzically. He finished pouring the spaghetti into the colander, and then carefully dried his hands on a towel before turning to confront her.

  "Caroline says you have a turtle."

  Treet's heartbeat tripled. His palms began to sweat. She was an angel, he thought, staring into her direct blue gaze. He couldn't wait to get to know her.

  Recalling Hadleigh's advice, Treet refrained from dropping to his knees and gathering her close. Instead, he took a deep breath and forced himself to sound casual. “We do. His name is Bo Bo."

  "We can't find him. I think she lied."

  "Sam!” Hadleigh admonished sternly.

  Carefully, so that Sam couldn't see him, Treet put his hand behind his back and held up a warning finger. “Well, let me see. Did you look under Caroline's bed?"

  Sam nodded.

  "How about in the sunroom?"

  Again, Sam nodded.

  "The showers?"

  "Yep."

  "Tell you what.” The urge was too great; Treet hunkered down so that he was eye level with Sam. “After we eat dinner, we'll all go on a turtle hunt. You and Caroline against me and your mom. Whoever finds Bo Bo gets to serve dessert."

  Sam frowned. “I want to find him now, and I don't know how to surf dessert."

  "It's chocolate cake. All you have to do is cut it."

  "Mommy won't let me have a knife."

  "This knife isn't sharp, and I'll help."

  Treet held his breath as Samantha hesitated. He figured the best advantage he had was the fact that she didn't know him. “Deal?"

  "Okay."

  Behind him, Hadleigh let out a relieved sigh. Pleased as punch, Treet rose and clapped his hands together. “Let's eat!"

  * * * *

  It was downright spooky watching Sam and Treet together, Hadleigh thought as she wound spaghetti noodles around her fork. Treet possessed the same persuasive abilities as Sam, only he'd darn near perfected his.

  Since dinner had begun among much chattering and noisy cutlery clanging, Hadleigh tried not to stare at Caroline, or at least let Caroline catch her staring. She didn't want Caroline to f
eel uncomfortable, or to become suspicious.

  That left Treet and Samantha, and that was just as wrenching, just as emotional, and just as frightening. She glanced up, catching Treet's shell-shocked gaze and felt slightly better when she realized he was experiencing something similar.

  He winked at her as if to assure her. Instead of assurance, the action only succeeded in increasing her anxiety by sending an alarming jolt of heat zinging along her nerve endings. Hadleigh hastily grabbed for her water, silently chiding her uncontrollable response.

  "I'm finished,” Sam announced half-way through the meal.

  "Then sit there quietly until everyone else finishes,” Hadleigh instructed.

  Sam opened her mouth to argue, but Caroline distracted her in a diplomatic way Hadleigh was fast recognizing as a trait in her newly-discovered daughter. She watched with growing interest as Caroline slid from her chair and padded to the sink. Grunting as she stretched her little arms to reach the faucet, she ran water over her cloth napkin, then brought it to Sam.

  "Here you go. Gerty has food all over her mouth, so you can clean her up while we finish eating."

  Caroline, apparently, was a peacemaker.

  Ten minutes later, Treet gave the girls their instructions. “You two look in the sunroom, music room, living room, den, and the dining room."

  "Where will you look, Daddy?” Caroline asked.

  "Hadleigh and I will look in the bedrooms, my office, and the closets."

  A thrill of alarm speared Hadleigh's belly. The bedrooms? The closets? She shot him a suspicious look, but he appeared not to notice. Just how many bedrooms did this house have?

  "If you find Bo Bo, just shout."

  "I'll shout real loud,” Sam assured him. He laughed and yanked one of her braids.

  "Good. Now get going."

  The two girls squealed and ran off hand in hand. Their voices faded as they disappeared from sight. Hadleigh swallowed nervously, indicating the cluttered table, hoping to stall him. “Shouldn't we clear the table first?"