Texas Baby

by Tanya Michaels

  "I'm great. Although maybe I could use some more caffeine before you let me near power tools," Giff said. "So just how complicated is screening in a porch?"

  "Piece of cake," Jake said.

  "Which might be reassuring if I'd ever actually made a cake."

  "Never too late to learn. When your mom gets back, you should ask her to teach you." Jake smiled fondly. His adolescence—and Giff's—had been full of Grace Baker's homemade brownies, cheesecakes and cobblers. "When it comes to baking, Grace is about the best damn chef in the country."

  "In the world."

  "She e-mailed, by the way," Jake said. "Told me she gets home this week and will be at the reception Saturday. She sounds like she's doing great."

  "No one deserves to be happy more than her," Giff said softly. His mother was a kind, intelligent woman who'd weathered the loss of her husband and, later, cancer with rare class and good humor. Come to think of it, Addie had a lot in common with her. When he'd first met Addie, all he'd seen was the superficial hysteria, catching her on a bad day and making snap judgments about her overemotional state. But now that he knew her better, he'd seen her strength and compassion. He admired her.

  Jake poured them each a cup of coffee and they talked about the fire station, Jake's parents and the upcoming college football season. It was on the tip of Giff's tongue to mention Addie, but, after insisting during the racquetball game that there was nothing between them, he wasn't sure how to introduce the topic without a humiliating "Turns out, you were right, I was wrong." No guy wanted to say that. Even when it was true.

  They headed to the garage and Jake explained that they were in luck because his patio was a concrete slab. "If I had a wooden deck, we'd have to worry about insulating a floor, but we're already a step ahead. Two, actually, because of the roof overhang for a shaded porch. All we have to do is the support beams and screening. Well, and wiring, but I'm saving that for another time with some of my EMT buddies. Brooke insisted they be on hand in case I electrocute myself."

  Giff chuckled. "She's a very bright woman."

  The two men were in the process of measuring screen panels when Giff's cell beeped in his pocket. Reflexively, he dropped his end of the tape measure and grabbed the phone. "Oh." Just a text from Daughtrie, asking if there'd been any unauthorized network activity since the Groverton bid had been finalized.

  Jake smirked. "You expecting an important call? Last time I saw someone move that fast, it was a buddy in the service and he was being shot at."

  "I'm not expecting anyone. But," he added, "it would be nice to hear from Addie. You remember the coworker you asked me about?"

  "I remember I tried to ask you about her, and you shut me down."

  "Well, the situation's evolved." Yeah, that sounded good. Nothing he'd told Jake a week and a half ago was untrue. The facts had just…changed in the interim.

  Jake picked up a couple of wood screws. "So you've rethought your position on dating coworkers?"

  "I changed my mind about it faster than she did. She wasn't sure she was looking for romance. She has her hands full with two kids."

  Jake whistled. "That's a fair amount of baggage."

  "Everyone alive has baggage. Besides, you don't equate two great kids with cumbersome suitcases. Nicole's an adorable baby girl, not quite to the crawling stage yet. Tanner is a precocious six-year-old who's not afraid to tell me when I'm inept. And he's a big Astros fan."

  "I like him already," Jake said with a laugh. "How's he feel about Aggie football?"

  "Those children she's raising are really special. She's really special." Giff looked at the person who was as close as a brother would have been and admitted, "I might be falling in love with her."

  "What?" Jake froze. "Giff. Come on."

  "Thought you'd be psyched. You were the one pushing the idea last time we saw each other."

  "Yeah, but—" Jake set down the tools he'd been holding and pressed his hands against his temples. "You said it yourself, a week and a half ago, you thought dating her would be a bad idea and now you think you're in love? It's déjà vu all over again."

  Giff stiffened. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

  "There's a disturbing pattern of behavior here. Look, I know how much you want a family. You hated being an only child, you still miss your dad and you personally have a lot to offer a wife and kids. Enter this woman with a ready-made family…"

  "You make it sound like I care about her because she's convenient," Giff accused. "Is that really how you see me?"

  Jake raised his palms in front of his chest. "I don't want to fight with you, especially not surrounded by saws and power drills. But you don't think this is a little bit like before, asking Brooke to marry you when you'd only been dating a few months? Now, after only a few weeks, you think you're fall—"

  "This is nothing like Brooke," Giff swore. "She was the total opposite. We'd been together for a few months and on paper we made so much sense as a couple that it only seemed logical to take it to the next step. I never felt conflicted. I never felt in over my head or passionate about her.

  "No offense," he added, recalling that this was Jake's wife he was talking about. He hadn't been implying any lack on Brooke's part.

  "None taken." Jake met his gaze squarely. "Matter of fact, if you said you felt passion for my wife, we might have to have words."

  "How long did it take you?" Giff challenged. "When did you first know you were falling for Brooke? And even after that, didn't you originally reject the idea of being with her?"

  "You know I did," Jake retorted.

  "So you admit that just because a man tries to deny the attraction or fight his feelings, that doesn't mean they aren't there."

  Jake shook his head. "I think it's great if you have feelings for Abby—"

  "Addie."

  "And she returns them." He stopped. "Does she return them? You said she wasn't looking for romance."

  "It found her anyway." Giff recalled the sweet stab of relief that had pierced him last night when she'd said she'd changed her mind about them. "I promised her she won't be sorry."

  "That's a hell of a guarantee to give this early," Jake warned. "You ever think about starting slow, maybe just asking a girl to the movies?"

  Giff glared. His friend's attitude was unbelievable.

  You'd think since he broke up someone else's engagement, he'd be the last person to dole out unsolicited dating advice. "Back off, McBride."

  They returned to their support beams and worked in silence for a while, but Jake was too blunt a person—and they'd been friends too long—for him to remain quiet.

  "Maybe she is the perfect fit for you," he conceded. "I hope so. I want you to find what I…I want you to be happy. I overreacted. When you first started talking, it sounded like you were trying to recapture the dream, hop right back on the road to your white picket fence family goal."

  "That's not it," Giff insisted.

  But his mind picked that traitorous moment to recall what it had been like to see himself on the stadium's giant digital screen with Addie and Nicole. He'd had the sensation that he was staring at a snapshot of what he most wanted. They'd looked like a family, and he couldn't deny the thrill that had given him. Could there be a grain of truth to Jake's qualms?

  Was Giff falling simply for the woman, or for all that she represented?

  Chapter Twelve

  When Addie got to her desk Monday morning, she was more than a little surprised to find Pepper Harrington waiting for her. This can't be good.

  She nodded to the other woman. "Pepper. How was your weekend?"

  "Not as divine as yours, I'm sure." The brunette's smile was caustic. "I overheard you and Giff last week, discussing your sailing plans."

  Last week, she might have tried to explain the whole platonic backstory of her nephew's phobia, but she doubted it would ring true, considering she had kissed Giff. Again. Instead, she said simply, without animosity, "That's none of your business. If you have
reason to believe my work is slipping somehow or that Giff is showing some sort of favoritism toward me, then you're within your rights—in fact, you're practically obligated—to report me to HR. Or to Bill. But until then…"

  "Wow." Pepper looked almost proud. "I've never mastered that."

  "Mastered what?" Addie said, forced to finally walk around the other woman just to get to her own chair.

  "Telling someone to get lost without sounding bitchy," Pepper said. "You'll have to teach me sometime."

  "Uh, sure."

  "Here's the thing, Caine. People are talking about you and Giff. The two of you might have thought you were subtle last week, with your chance encounters in the break room, leaving within ten minutes of each other for lunch—"

  "We're not having a torrid affair," Addie interrupted wryly. "We've had lunch together twice. But even if it were more than that, the man kissed me in front of an entire baseball stadium. It's not exactly sneaking around."

  Pepper waved a perfectly manicured hand. "What's actually going on between the two of you isn't really the point. It's more about perception, and it's ticking me off. Do you know how hard I work in this office? And I don't want to be your BFF, but you pull your weight, too."

  "Gee. Thanks."

  "We're always busting our butts to prove ourselves among them, and why?"

  "Them who?"

  "The men in this office! Bill Daughtrie, who's so condescending half the time that I expect him to pinch my butt and call me darlin'. And Jenner, who has become such a sad, sad midlife cliché."

  "The teeny-bopper he was with at the game?"

  "That and his shiny new sports car. Have you seen it?" Pepper rolled her eyes. "Textbook. At least when a woman has a breakdown, she finds ways to make it interesting. And then there's Parnelli." She started in on another member of the IT team.

  "Wait, I like Parnelli. He's sweet."

  "He rents a garage apartment from his mother. Loser," Pepper declared, proving her own point about always sounding bitchy. "Anyway. I'll admit, I was annoyed about you and Giff at first, but then I vented about it to my friends."

  Pepper has friends?

  "The consensus was, you're not actually sleeping with him to get ahead."

  Addie was appalled. "Of course not!"

  "Because," Pepper continued, not appearing to have heard her, "if that was your plan, you'd be after Bill, not our consultant. So you guys, be happy. I think you should date if you want to, to hell with what the boys think."

  Addie might have made some flippant comment, like "now that we have your go-ahead, I can live with myself again!" but she realized the woman had gone out of her way to be kind. The Pepper version of kindness, anyway. "Thank you."

  Pepper nodded. "I got your back."

  * * *

  DURING THE MONDAY MORNING team meeting, Addie was proud of the balance she struck. She was never going to do anything as unprofessional as throw her arms around Giff in the office, but her unexpected talk with Pepper had led her to the resolution that she would stop sneaking around, from an emotional standpoint. When Giff walked into the room, instead of looking away and hoping no one saw what she was feeling in her gaze, she hit him with the full force of her smile.

  He blinked, seeming dazed for a moment, then grinned back at her with such warmth that her pulse fluttered madly beneath her blouse. After the meeting, she took her time leaving the room, so that she was left alone with Giff. It wasn't subtle, she knew, but she'd decided Pepper was right. Let other employees talk—who cared? Addie had always been a diligent worker bee, untouched by minor workplace controversies such as who had overindulged at the Christmas party open bar or who was looting office supplies from the closet for personal use. But she'd never been as happy in her pristine past as she was now.

  "Hi," she said. "I was wondering if you'd like to have lunch with me today?"

  "You have no idea how much," he said, regret tingeing his voice. "But I've been summoned to have lunch with the big man. And I'm taking off tomorrow afternoon to pick up my mom at the airport, so I'd planned to work through lunch. How's Wednesday work for you?"

  "I'll put it on my calendar." She thought of Pepper's comments earlier, about people noticing when they were both out of the office at the same time. "I have to leave early tomorrow, too. Soccer practice. Tanner is so excited about you coming to his game Thursday night."

  "Wouldn't miss it for the world," Giff said. He grinned. "I've always had a soft spot for watching lady coaches in action."

  "Really?"

  "When I was in seventh grade, I had a huge crush on Coach Gwendolyn Dodge. She was in her twenties and worked with the junior high school volleyball teams and girls' track team," he reminisced fondly. "In fact, she may have been my inspiration for joining organized sports in the first place. Ever since Coach Dodge, there's something about a woman with a clipboard and a whistle that gets to me."

  Addie didn't actually have a whistle. She made a mental note to get one before Thursday's game.

  * * *

  GIFF BLINKED AT THE WOMAN approaching the baggage carousel where he waited. If she hadn't waved and called out to him, how long would it have taken him to recognize his own mother? He supposed in his mind he'd expected a woman in a sensible pantsuit that wouldn't wrinkle on the plane. Instead, his mom was wearing a brightly colored tunic that was a riot of reds and yellows over a pair of capris. She'd replaced, temporarily at least, her usual pearls with a long strand of turquoise stones and her designer purse with a straw handbag.

  "You look different," he told her as he closed the distance between them.

  She poked him in the arm. "That had better be a compliment."

  He grinned at her imperious tone. "Oh, it was. You look good." Healthy, happy. She'd gained a couple of much needed pounds. Once she'd finished all her chemo treatments nearly a year ago, she'd stopped looking skeletal, but her appearance had continued to be far too frail for his peace of mind. "It's damn good to see you, Mom."

  "Language," Grace Baker chided with a raised eyebrow.

  He laughed. "Yes, ma'am."

  "Oh, I missed you!" Grace, who barely stood as high as Giff's shoulder, swept him into a tight hug. Her light, familiar perfume wafted over him, carrying years of memories in its scent. "Have you grown? Maybe I'm having a senior moment, but I swear you look taller than when I left."

  Her comment triggered a random recollection of the narrow paper chart they'd taped on the back of his bedroom door, measuring his life in feet and inches. He recalled his triumphant shout when he'd reached the height requirement to ride AstroWorld's XLR-8 coaster. Did Tanner have a similar growth chart somewhere in Addie's apartment?

  Giff grinned at her. "I'm pretty sure my growth spurt days are all behind me." Although, he had to admit, ever since Addie had smiled at him like that at the office yesterday—as if she were crazy about him and wanted the world to know it—he did feel as if he were walking a bit taller.

  Suitcases and trunks were beginning to thud onto the silver conveyor belt. Giff and his mother moved closer so they could watch for her bags.

  "So how are you doing?" he asked her.

  Though her hair had turned an elegant silvery-white in the past decade, her blue eyes had remained exactly the same since his childhood. Now they twinkled knowingly. "Is that a 'how are you,' tell me all about your wonderful trip, or 'how are you,' are you still free of cancer cells and when's the last time you talked to your oncologist?"

  "The first, of course." But he'd be lying if he said he didn't sometimes think about the other and send up an extra prayer for her continued good health. It had looked bad there for a while. He'd feared he was going to lose the one person who'd been a constant his entire life.

  "You worry too much about me, Gifford. I'm healthy as a horse now. It's time for you to turn your attention elsewhere. Find a nice girl and start a guilt-free life of your own without worrying that there's no one to take care of me."

  He grunted a noncommittal response
. The last two times he'd wondered if he'd found that girl, his so-called friend McBride told him he was making a mistake. "Let's collect your luggage, then I'll buy you a late lunch. Anywhere you want."

  "A place with a nice light salad," she said, looking momentarily sheepish. "You would not believe how much they feed you on those cruise ships."

  An hour later, they were seated at a table for two in a quiet restaurant that featured a gourmet salad bar. His mother had loaded up a plate with raw fruits and vegetables, and Giff had thrown together a taco salad.

  "I bought you souvenirs," his mother told him.

  "Judging from the number of suitcases we dragged to the car, I'd say you bought all of the Bahamas and Key West," he teased.

  "I needed a wide variety of things," she said primly. "I was gone a long time."

  "I know. I've been by the house regularly to water the plants, check messages, make sure your mail and newspaper delivery was stopped as requested."

  "And I appreciate it, dear, but that's the most boring update I've ever heard," she complained. "I want to hear the fun stuff!"

  He laughed at her tone—it wasn't much different from Tanner's pleading when he wanted something that the adults around him were being too dim-witted to provide. "Fun stuff?"

  "I've been gone for weeks, son. Please tell me you did something fun while I was gone."

  "Let's see." He pretended to think it over. "I played some golf, went to a baseball game, took on a new client, changed my first-ever diaper—which wasn't fun, per se, but you would have found it entertaining—and I went fishing. Oh, and met a girl."

  Grace's eyes glowed with pleasure. "You met a girl? And you just now got around to telling me? Brat."

  "Should I have met you at the airport with a printed sign? Something that read Welcome Home, Started Seeing Someone While You Were Gone."

  "Is it serious enough that she warrants a sign?"

  He chuckled. "Serious enough to warrant a giant hi-def video screen."