Texas Baby

Home > Other > Texas Baby > Page 7
Texas Baby Page 7

by Tanya Michaels


  "It's no trouble at all," he promised.

  "Thank you," she told him, choosing to ignore Tanner's soft but heartfelt "yay!"

  She took the baby into the ladies' room, telling herself that she was not a bad parent who had given in to an ill-mannered child—we reached a mutually acceptable compromise. When she returned to the agreed upon spot, Giff and Tanner were already waiting.

  "All right, now we're ready to find our seats," she told Tanner. She smiled at Giff. "Were you headed that way, too?"

  He hesitated. "Actually, no. I got here early to watch batting practice, so I've been here awhile. I was searching out something to drink to cool myself down and maybe something to munch on when I ran into you."

  Tanner looked up at his new friend, channeling a mal-nourished Oliver Twist, and moaned, "I'm so hungry."

  Fascinated, Addie waited a beat to see if he was going to break into a chorus of "Food, Glorious, Food!" When he didn't, she reasserted her parental authority. "Snacks later, seats now."

  Her nephew heaved a sigh. "Yes, ma'am."

  She turned to Giff, unable to stifle an absurd temptation to defend herself. "I swear I've fed him today. Multiple times, in fact."

  He laughed. "I believe you. Growing boys eat a ton. They're like locusts."

  "My grocery bill weeps," she muttered.

  Giff held out a hand. "Want me to carry that bag? I'll show you where we're sitting."

  "You don't have to," she said, wanting to jump at the offer. Hadn't he just said he was going the opposite direction?

  "I know that." He slid the strap of the diaper bag down over her arm, and she relinquished it gratefully.

  Mr. Daughtrie had reserved seating in two consecutive rows of the mezzanine level. Giff stopped at the second row, where Pepper Harrington sat a couple of seats in.

  Giff flashed her a megawatt smile. "Pepper, could you do me a big favor and scoot down? With this stroller, Addie should probably sit on the aisle. Everyone okay with that?"

  There were good-natured murmurs from the few people who would be disrupted by the shift in seats. No one, including Pepper herself, seemed to mind terribly.

  "My seat was in the front row," Giff said, "but I'll move back here."

  She felt herself blushing. Though she welcomed Giff's presence—entirely too much—she didn't want him to think she was incapable of fending for herself. "It's all right. Don't feel like you have to babysit us."

  "Not at all. I just like your company." He smiled down at Tanner. "We were right in the middle of a philosophical discussion about Darth Vader. Besides, I'm here by myself and I'm gonna need help eating my nachos later. Not to mention those giant pretzels—can't come to a game without getting a giant pretzel."

  Tanner grabbed Addie's arm so tightly she worried about bruising. "Can he please sit with us, Aunt Addie?"

  Her heart squeezed. On the one hand, she could well imagine how desperately her nephew yearned for time with a father figure. On the other hand…was it dangerous to let him get attached to Giff?

  Lighten up, Caine. It's just a few hours at the ballpark.

  "Of course we'd be delighted if you'd join us," she told Giff.

  "Great, save my seat and I'll be right back."

  "Deal." She arched her eyebrows, trying to look stern but pretty sure her grin ruined the effect. "But don't you dare come back with a giant pretzel for the kid."

  "Wouldn't think of it," Giff said innocently.

  The kid in question had already squeezed his way down the row, to where he'd spotted Gabrielle. Probably hitting her up for chocolate. But both Gabi and Tanner looked content with their conversation, so Addie took the opportunity to fold up the stroller and lay it down. She situated Nicole against her shoulder. Park policy was that one didn't need a ticket for infants, but they had to sit in a patron's lap.

  "She's cute," Pepper said.

  Addie whipped her head to the left, looking over Tanner's empty green seat to her nemesis. "Uh…thank you?" When was the last time Pepper had ever said anything nice to her without doing so to make herself look better?

  But the wistfulness on Pepper's face looked sincere. "You may have noticed I'm career-oriented."

  Addie snorted in agreement.

  "And I like it that way, I don't want to lose my edge. But sometimes I wonder if it means I'm giving up my chance at that." She nodded toward the baby.

  I'll be damned, Pepper Harrington's human after all. Addie smiled wryly at the other woman. "If there's one thing I know for certain about you, it's that you go after what you want. If you decide you want motherhood and your career success, you'll find a way to make it work."

  Pepper inclined her head, looking grateful. "You're right, thank you. After all, if you can juggle them both…"

  Well, Addie amended, partly human anyway.

  A shrill giggle caught her attention and she automatically looked down at the row of Daughtrie employees in front of her. A long-limbed blonde with a girlish laugh and a high ponytail was seated next to Robert Jenner—although, considering how much of her body was pressed against his, they might as well be sharing a seat.

  Addie's mouth dropped open. Confusion got the best of her, and she whispered, "That is definitely not the Mrs. Jenner I met at the Christmas party."

  "You didn't hear that she left him?" Pepper asked matter-of-factly. "Can't say I blame her, given Robert's tendency to chase skirts. He's come on to every female in the company, including you."

  That's news to me. Not entirely sure whether Pepper was serious—and not wanting to look foolish either way—Addie didn't respond. She did, however, mentally review several office encounters with Jenner. After her brother died, she remembered Robert had been extra kind to her—hanging out at her desk a lot, handing her a box of tissues on the particularly bad afternoon of Zach's birthday, declaring with enormous sympathy that she needed a hug and wrapping his arms around her.

  Her jaw clenched. That rat was using my grief to hit on me.

  Men!

  Of course, not all guys were like that. Giff Baker, for example, was a credit to his entire gender. He returned midway through the first inning with a drink tray and an irrepressible smile.

  "Take note," he told her. "Not a pretzel in sight."

  "You got us drinks." Considering the heat of the day and the fact that she had a fifteen-pound warm-bodied weight snuggled against her chest, a cold beverage sounded like heaven.

  "Sodas for us, a lemon slush for the little man." Giff nodded to the smallest cup. "That's legal, isn't it? I know you said no food yet and I wanted to respect your say-so."

  "You are a very nice man," she said, beaming up at him. Their gazes locked and after a moment, the wholesome appreciation she was feeling toward him morphed into a more earthy admiration. He had gorgeous eyes and muscled arms that made a woman want to feel them wrapped around her. His profile in the sunlight was striking.

  Giff finally tore his gaze away, muttering under his breath, "Not that nice."

  Thankfully, the tension between them was broken when Tanner came running back to his seat, no doubt stepping on toes and jostling people as he went. "D'you think the Astros are going to win?" the little boy asked Giff. Any whininess he'd exhibited when they first got here had been completely replaced by wide-eyed enthusiasm. "I hope we score a lot! Aunt Addie likes to score."

  Addie choked on her cola. "What?"

  "When we played air hockey at Puck E. Pizza's, you did that dance every time you scored," Tanner reminded her. "It was funny. You should see it, Mr. Giff."

  Giff's green eyes were lit with wicked amusement. "Believe me, I want to."

  "You should do your dance when the Astros score a home run," Tanner decided.

  "Absolutely," Giff agreed.

  She glared at him before turning to her nephew. "It's kind of crowded here. But I tell you what—soccer starts this week. I'll do the dance whenever you make a goal. Okay?"

  "Okay!" Tanner's face fell. "But then Mr. Giff won't get to see.
Wait, d'you wanna come to one of my soccer games?"

  Addie's heart raced. Hadn't she assured herself that all this guy bonding was okay since it was only for the afternoon?

  Rather than offer any glib promises, Giff appeared to be giving the matter real consideration. "I don't know. Thank you for the invitation, but your aunt and I will have to talk about it, make sure it's okay."

  "Why wouldn't it be?" Tanner switched his attention to Addie. "It's okay with you, right? You like Mr. Giff!"

  Addie had the sudden, evil wish that it would be a very, very long time before Nicole decided to start talking. Lord only knew what trouble the two of them could get her in. "Yes, of course I like him, but—"

  "You don't mind if he comes?"

  "Well, Tanner, honey, he's a very busy man and—"

  "Too busy for me?" This time, the child looked genuinely upset and not guilty of overacting. It was inconceivable to him that his new best friend might not be equally eager to spend time together.

  "No," Giff interrupted. "Not too busy for you, sport. When your aunt gets the game schedule, you guys pick the one you want me to attend, and I'll be there."

  "Yay!"

  Addie tried not to have the same reaction. It was dangerous to let herself be too happy over the thought of seeing Giff again. Trying to reassert some professional distance between them, she kept her comments to a minimum for the next couple of innings.

  Apparently, Giff mistook her reserve for anger. At a moment when Tanner seemed distracted—he'd finally been allowed a snack and was plowing through an order of nachos—Giff leaned his head close to Addie's, speaking in a low voice. His breath tickled her ear.

  "I'm sorry if I overstepped earlier," he murmured. "It probably wasn't my place to accept his invitation, but he gets to me, you know?"

  She thought of her nephew's big brown eyes. "I know."

  "So you'll forgive me?"

  "I wasn't mad. I think it's very generous that you agreed to come to a game. You made his day. I just—" Her words were drowned out by the roar of cheering fans around them. Addie blinked. "I think we missed a home run."

  "Woo-hoo!" Tanner was on his feet, waving his hands in the air. "Go Astros! Aunt Addie, you sure you can't do your dance?"

  "Please," Giff added mischievously. "There could be a giant pretzel in it for you."

  She pursed her lips. "I'm not that easy."

  "I didn't think so." His mouth curved into a half smile. "But a man can dream."

  * * *

  GIFF'S ARM WAS TINGLING where he'd lost circulation, his T-shirt was plastered to his chest, his butt had gone numb in the stadium seat—and he was having one of the best afternoons of his life.

  "You sure you don't want me to take her back?" Addie whispered. "I know how heavy she is."

  Considering the cacophony of noise surrounding them, from the buzz of fans and crack of the bat to the periodic bursts of rock music intended to pump up the crowd, Giff found it adorable that Addie lowered her voice in an attempt not to wake the baby. It was probably a habit she didn't even know she'd developed, like the moments at the office where he'd noticed her swaying back and forth. While she'd been waiting for her turn at a vending machine on Friday, she'd been subtly rocking, the same way he imagined she often did with Nicole at home.

  "She's fine," he said.

  "You can't be comfortable."

  Maybe not physically—the kid was heavy, and the day had just hit its high temperature. But he felt more at ease than he had in a long time.

  When Nicole had started wailing earlier, Addie had gone through all the normal motions to soothe her. She'd fed her, gone to check her diaper and applied some kind of topical painkiller, explaining that the infant was teething. But nothing had worked. Addie had tried to suggest that maybe it was time for them to leave, at which point Tanner had burst into tears. Reluctant to see them go, Giff had surprised himself by asking if he could walk the baby for a few minutes.

  "Just to give you a break," he'd offered. "If it doesn't help, well, then you can go."

  Addie had tried to warn him off. "She's…volatile. I can't promise that she won't spit up on you. Or something."

  He'd refused to wuss out in front of Addie over a little baby slime. "I'm washable."

  Something intriguing had sparked in her eyes, and she'd looked away quickly. Maybe he was projecting his own suggestive thoughts on to her, but he'd suddenly imagined himself in a shower. With her. Belatedly, he tried to imagine a very cold shower.

  It hadn't taken long for Nicole to drift off in his arms and he'd returned to their seats to find that Tanner, who'd been so vehemently opposed to missing the end of the game, had ironically fallen asleep, as well. The longer the boy dozed, the more he sprawled over his seat into his aunt's. Which meant that Addie had spent more and more of the game pressed against Giff.

  The teams were currently tied, and Giff was hoping for extra innings.

  From the other side of Addie came a snore that seemed far too loud for a first-grader, and she giggled. "Delicate, my nephew is not."

  "He's not supposed to be," Giff said with approval. "Boys are rough and tumble and good at building tree houses and belching the alphabet."

  She screwed up her face. "Ew. Poor guy. Not only can I not build a tree house, I can't even offer him any trees. We're stuck in my tiny apartment. He has no real space to run around. I've been trying to sell his parents' house, but you know what the market's like right now. And until we do, I'm pretty strapped. I—Sorry. I don't mean to dump this on you. I'm tired and babbling. None of us got any sleep last night."

  Giff grinned over the top of her head at her snoozing nephew. "Did Nicole keep you all up?"

  "Tanner, actually." Her voice was heavy with sadness. "He has nightmares, some nights worse than others. He kept dreaming that the apartment was filling with water."

  There was a pain in Giff's chest. And he didn't think it was caused by the way the baby was pressed against his rib cage.

  "Woo-woo!" Seated in front of them, Robert Jenner whistled. From the man's slurred exuberance, Giff suspected the man had enjoyed a couple of beers with the game.

  "What did we miss?" Addie asked, scanning the field.

  But there was no action down there; play had halted for a coach's visit to the mound. The coach, pitcher and catcher were in conference. Glancing up at the video board that showed replays, special effects and crowd shots, Giff realized that Jenner's cheer had been a juvenile response to action on the KissCam, where the camera crews landed on random couples and the people in the stadium applauded—or ignored—their on-screen kiss. The televised image changed, and Giff stared, his brain slow to process that he was looking at himself. Well, him plus a snoozing Nicole and Addie, who was so close her head was nearly on his shoulder.

  We look like a family. This was what he'd longed for, the fuzzy but tantalizing mental picture of a lovely, intelligent woman at his side and cherub-cheeked children. In his rush to realize this dream, he'd almost picked the wrong woman, but life—and Jake McBride—had given him a second chance.

  Acting on impulse, he turned, lifting Addie's chin with his free hand. "We have to," he said with an unapologetic smile. "KissCam's an American tradition."

  Her lips parted on a gasp, but she recovered enough to murmur, "I wouldn't want to be unpatriotic," against his mouth.

  His lips claimed hers, causing a sweet, dizzying rush of heat and pleasure. God, she tastes good. He hadn't really intended to prolong the moment, but Addie's kiss had short-circuited his brain. He delved into her mouth, wanting more of her taste, more of her, and her fingers clutched at his arm. A husky moan sounded in her throat, so low that only he could hear. He was sure the camera had moved on by now, prayed that the camera had moved on, but he couldn't bring himself to stop. He wanted to lose himself in this kiss and never come up for air. He wanted—

  "Mr. Giff, what are you doing to Aunt Addie?"

  Chapter Nine

  "Have you lost your damn mind
?"

  Very probably. Because instead of listening to Bill Daughtrie's Monday morning tirade, Giff kept peering toward the window, hoping to catch a glimpse through the partially opened blinds of Addie's arrival at work.

  "HR is probably going to have a field day with your stunt yesterday," Bill continued from the other side of his desk. "Make us all take a seminar on sexual harassment or something. This isn't some spy movie! When I told you to keep a close eye on the two females in IT, I didn't mean sleep with them for information. Although I suppose I can understand why a pretty little thing like Ms. Caine—"

  "Addie and I are not sleeping together," Giff bit out. "And finding your security leak was the furthest thing from my mind when I kissed her."

  Bill raised his bushy eyebrows at that. "Maybe I had it wrong, then. People know you're here doing computer security work. If she's afraid you're on to her, maybe she's deliberately cozying up to you—"

  "Oh, for the love of…Addie is not your traitor."

  "Then you're finally starting to pin down electronic evidence?"

  "Not exactly," Giff hedged. "But the main reason I ever considered her as a possibility was because she has those two kids to care for now. A grief clouded-mind and increased financial responsibilities might have led to desperate, out of character actions. But when I took a second look at that possibility, I realized the timeline made no sense. Her brother died fairly recently and you believe the first bids were sabotaged months ago."

  "The 'reason' you considered her?" Bill echoed. "I'm paying you to consider everyone here, and you're letting personal feelings screw with your head. You need to stay away from Addie Caine."

  Giff, used to being his own boss, narrowed his eyes at Bill. "Do you have a clearly delineated office policy forbidding employees to date?"

  "No, but—"

  "Then don't tell me who I can and can't see," he said with deceptive mildness.

  "Well, hell, son."

  And don't call me son. But Giff was too preoccupied by thoughts of Addie and what he'd say when he saw her to pick petty arguments.

 

‹ Prev