McShane held up his hands in mock protest. “Not me, lassie. I wouldn’t think of teasing the dear boy. I think he’s making a wonderful vacuum-cleaner salesman, or whatever it is he does.” He looked at Hunter. “What is it you do, anyway?”
Hunter shrugged amiably. “Oh, paper work. I help run a small investigative bureau. We just sit around all day and . . . investigate, that kind of thing.”
“What’s it called?”
“Nothing you’d have ever heard of,” Kristin said as she finished feeding little Sean and picked him up to burp him. “I never heard of it either.”
“It’s just a small bureaucratic agency,” Hunter said. “Me and my friend Edgar, though, we’re changing it around. Giving it a bit of a new direction.”
“What’s it called?” Sean asked again.
“The Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
“That sounds harmless enough,” McShane admitted. Hunter grinned.
Kristin began walking back and forth around the room, patting little Sean on the back gently as she carried him. She saw Hunter’s grin and suspected that he was hiding something from her. Not lying to her, actually, just not telling her everything there might be to know. But that was all right. She knew better than to try to change a leopard’s spots. And she was quite satisfied that she’d managed to tame him to the extent that she had. She had really succeeded further than she ever expected, and so she was not upset that her husband might have a few danger-oriented irons in the fire.
To tell the truth, Kristin had an iron in the fire herself, which Dallas did not know about. She smiled inwardly thinking about it. It was not much, really. Just a drawing of a fancy ship she dreamed of maybe one day buying and redecorating . . . and equipping with a roulette wheel and a few other niceties.
Dallas thought she was content leading a simple, unexciting life. And the truth was, Kristin did love her life as Dallas’s wife and little Sean’s mother. It was wonderfully satisfying and gave her endless joy. Even their home—a beautiful two-story Georgetown mansion, bought with part of her profits from the Kristy—was a source of pleasure and pride.
But still, someday when little Sean was grown up . . . maybe ... if she felt like it . . . there was always that touch of adventure she could add to her life, like spices to an already-full-bodied stew.
Hunter came up to her and put his arms around her. He hugged her loosely, the baby between them. He looked at her happily, his eyes filled with love. “What are you thinking about?” he asked. “You’ve got that mischievous smile on your face again.”
“Oh, I was just thinking about maybe taking up needlepoint.”
“I’ll bet,” he said.
“And I’ll bet you were just thinking about some ‘paperwork’ you have to do in your boring job of reorganizing that ‘investigative’ bureau.”
His kissed her softly. “I love you, babe.”
“Yes,” she said, smiling at him. “But you don’t fool me.”
Passion's Wicked Torment Page 34