by Lori Wilde
These miraculous latches differed from all others on the market because they allowed adults easy access to cabinets and drawers, but they would not budge for curious little fingers.
The true test of his latches came when he kept Molly overnight for Anne and Holt, and his inquisitive niece could not climb into his cabinets. He had a patent pending, had set up production of the latches, and secured a deal with Amazon. In a matter of weeks, he sold over ten thousand units. That’s when he got the idea for Baby Business.
A service on wheels that would come to your home, offering complete “baby proofing.” For a standard fee, his team would install baby latches, put up smoke and carbon monoxide detectors, plug electrical sockets, erect baby gates, and give a safety evaluation of the home. He was setting up franchises. To his amazement, the business was looking like a sure-fire hit.
And it was all thanks to Tobie and Molly.
But despite his accomplishments, he couldn’t stop thinking about how he had failed. Losing Tobie had been miserable. During the past few months, his love for her had deepened, and he knew he had to try one more time.
On Monday afternoon, six months after he’d last seen her, Clay decided it was now or never. On the pretext of promoting his baby proofing service, he borrowed Molly from Anne, bolstered his courage, and drove to Tobie’s office.
“There’s someone here to see you,” Tiffani told Tobie.
“Who?” Tobie asked, distracted, looking up from her computer. She felt bone-weary. It had been six months since she’d last seen Clay, and the man still dominated her every waking hour. How long until she stopped thinking about him? How much more of this must she endure?
Several times she’d driven toward the Trueblood ranch, but each time she’d chickened out and turned around, uncertain how to face him. When he had needed her forgiveness and emotional support, she’d held on to her fears like a miser, refusing to relinquish her doubts despite the promise of a wonderful love.
The windfall from her father’s wacky investment hadn’t helped a bit. Sure, she’d been able to pay off her medical school loans. She’d hired a nurse and bought new office equipment. But despite the money, she’d never felt so insecure in all her life, not even during those desperate times growing up poor.
“I said,” Tiffani repeated, “there are two old friends waiting for you in the lobby.”
“Who is it, Tiffani?” Tobie sighed, tucking a strand of hair behind one ear. “I don’t have time for guessing games.”
“If you ask me,” Tiffani volunteered, “fun and games are exactly what you need. Ever since that ‘thing’ between you and Clay went sour, you’ve been such a grouch.”
“I didn’t ask your opinion, did I?”
“I’m sending them back,” Tiffani retorted as the door swung shut behind her.
Letting out an audible breath, Tobie pushed away from the desk and got to her feet. Who the heck was waiting in her lobby? She certainly didn’t feel like seeing anyone.
She heard footsteps echo in the hallway, then inexplicably her heart did somersaults, just like it always had when Clay was near.
No. It couldn’t be.
Quickly, she finger-combed her hair and bit down on her lips to redden them. Please, she thought, please.
The door creaked. A baby cooed. Tobie swallowed past the lump crowding her throat and looked into Clay’s loving eyes.
He filled the doorway, all man and muscle, Molly riding his hip like a princess on a pony. Tobie noticed the child’s hair had grown a bit and now curled up on the ends.
“Hi!” Molly exclaimed and clapped her chubby hands.
“She’s learning to talk,” Clay murmured, his gaze never leaving Tobie’s face.
“Clay,” she whispered and raised a hand to her neck. “What are you doing here?”
“Uh, well...” He extracted something from his pocket and handed it to her. Puzzled, she took the plastic-wrapped package and stared at it.
“Baby latches,” he explained. “I invented them. In fact, I started a baby proofing service, and it’s doing really well. I thought maybe you wouldn’t mind displaying my brochures in your office.”
She squeezed the latches in her hand. That was it? He just wanted her to endorse his product. Crushing disappointment closed in on her. What had she expected after six months? Proclamations of undying love?
“Sure,” she forced out the word along with a casual shrug. “Consider it done.”
“Down!” Molly demanded, tugging at Clay’s ear. Giving Tobie an embarrassed grin, he settled Molly to the floor. The child immediately toddled over to Tobie’s desk and climbed into her chair.
“Is that all you needed?” Tobie asked. She just thought she’d been hurting these past months. Now, seeing him, hearing his voice made her pain over their breakup much, much worse.
He took a step toward her.
Tobie moved back.
Their gazes locked. He hooked his fingers in the belt loops of his faded jeans; Tobie folded her arms across her chest.
“From the first moment I laid eyes on you, I’ve always wanted more, Tobie,” he said, low and throaty. “Haven’t you realized that by now?”
“You stayed away for months,” she whispered, desperately fighting the tears.
“You threw me out. I was never very good at expressing my feelings, Tobie. I’m much better at inventing things.”
“I was wrong, Clay, so very wrong. I should have trusted you.”
“No, darling, it was me,” he said. “I should never have lied to you. Love can’t thrive where there’s no trust.”
Love? Had she heard him correctly? Did he love her?
“D-Does this mean you think we can repair our relationship?” she stammered, scarcely daring to hope.
“Not by talking.”
He took another step. This time she did not retreat. This time she was not afraid.
Clasping her hands, he laced his fingers through hers and tenderly bent her arms behind her back, inching her ever closer until their bodies melded from shoulder to knee. His cotton T-shirt rubbed her silk blouse; his rough denim jeans grazed against the soft folds of her skirt. Each contact point radiated a delicious heat.
His gaze swept over her features as if he were committing her to memory, his gray eyes darkening with unexpressed emotion. Then slowly he lowered his head and claimed her lips as his.
A pleasant haze drifted over her as he deepened their kiss. She felt that old sensation of rightness and knew that in Clay’s arms was the place she belonged for the rest of her life.
“Tobie,” he said. “I promise to take care of you. For now, and always. As long as you’re with me, you’ll never want for anything. I promise, darling, one way or the other, I’ll always provide for your needs, financial and emotional.”
“What are you saying, Clay?” She smiled up at him, her heart strumming with happiness.
“Marry me, Tobie. Be my wife.”
“Oh, Clay,” She sighed, lacing her fingers together behind his neck. “What took you so long?”
“I had to prove to you, to myself, that I was worthy of being a husband and father, that I was up to the challenge.”
“I believed in you all along,” she confessed. “It was my mistrust that tore us apart. Clay, I’m so sorry for all the pain I caused.”
“Shh,” he whispered, gently kissing her forehead. “We’re together now, and that’s all that matters.”
“But we wasted those precious months,” she fretted.
He chuckled and nuzzled her at the intersection of her neck and collarbone, sending shock waves of delight bouncing throughout her body. “Guess we’d better get busy making up for lost time.”
“I love you, Clay Barton,” Tobie said, speaking out loud for the first time the words that had been in her heart from the moment they’d met.
“And I love you, Dr. Avery.” He held her tight. “What do you say we go back to my place and recreate that little scene you surprised me with on the day I l
ost out on the recycler patent? I still can’t believe I was fool enough to turn you away.”
Tobie blushed furiously. “And I can’t believe I was dumb enough to let you.”
“Uh, you’re not still involved with Dr. Bennet, are you?” Clay asked suddenly, a concerned expression crossing his face.
“Oh, no! Once I met you, I knew Edward wasn’t the one for me. You, Mr. Barton, stole my breath away.”
“Good,” he said. “That’s the way I like my wives, breathless and naked. Now, all we’ve got to do is work on the naked part.”
A loud thump drew their attention to Molly. She grinned at them, proud at having knocked Tobie’s laptop off her desk.
“I don’t know, Barton, getting naked seems to result in babies,” Tobie said, laughing. “Are we ready for a Molly of our own?”
“Why, darling, didn’t I tell you? Babies are my business.” And with that, he kissed her until there were no more doubts.
Dear Reader,
Readers are an author’s life blood and the stories couldn’t happen without you. Thank you so much for reading. If you enjoyed Clay, I would so appreciate a review. You have no idea how much it means!
Jonah is the twelfth and final book in the Texas Rascal series. You can preorder here.
If you’d like to keep up with my latest releases, you can sign up for my newsletter @ https://loriwilde.com/subscribe/
To check out my other books, you can visit me on the web @ www.loriwilde.com.
Much love and light!
—Lori
Excerpt: Jonah
The dratted Santa suit itched.
A lot.
In fact, Jonah Stevenson realized with dawning horror, the suit was infested with fleas.
Vigorously, he scratched an ear. He had to get out of this blasted thing before the merciless bugs flayed his meat from the bone. He didn’t intend to let children sit on his lap and risk passing the torture on to them.
“I gotta go,” he muttered to the slender elf standing on the podium beside their sleigh, which consisted of an elaborately painted cardboard-and-plywood structure.
“Go?” The young woman blinked at him. “What do you mean? The store opens in two minutes and a mob of kids are waiting outside to see Santa. You can’t go anywhere.”
If he wasn’t so uncomfortable, he might have taken the time to admire the way her short, ginger-ale-colored hair curling about her sweet gamin face. A face for which she had obviously been hired, but Jonah could think of nothing except stripping off his britches as quickly as possible.
“Listen, lady, I’ve got something I have to take care of. The kids will just have to wait.” Jonah started for the exit.
Miss Pixie sprang forward, arms outstretched, blocking his way. The jingle bells on her red-and- white striped elf hat jangled merrily as she moved. “I’m sorry, but you’re not leaving.”
“Excuse me?” Jonah scratched furiously at his neck. What was this woman’s problem? He was certain the department store wasn’t paying her enough to act as his warden. “Are you telling me what I can and cannot do?”
“I know what’s going on here, and I don’t approve.” She sank her hands on her hips and frowned. Stem condemnation glistened in her olive green eyes.
Worry rumbled through Jonah. Could she have somehow guessed his secret?
“What are you talking about?” Jonah clawed at his beard. The buggers were eating him alive. He had to get out of this vermin-plagued costume.
Now.
“I know what’s going on and I can help. My mother is a social worker.”
“I don’t care if your mother is Margaret Mead, get outta my way.”
“Margaret Mead was an anthropologist,” she corrected. “Not a sociologist. An anthropologist studies mankind. A sociologist studies social groups.”
“Who gives a rat’s patoot?”
“Anger.” She shook her head. “A classic symptom.”
Openmouthed, Jonah paused long enough to stare at her. The woman was certifiable.
He tried to sidestep around her, but she anticipated his move and went with him step for step as if they were waltzing.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” she continued earnestly.
Okay, maybe having fleas was nothing to be ashamed of but Jonah didn’t wish to announce his plight to the entire world. He remembered a particularly humiliating experience that had happened to him in fourth grade when his favorite teacher, Miss Applebee, had discovered lice in his hair.
Jonah cringed at the memory. The suit had to come off. Not only because of the fleas, which were indeed reason enough, but because the besieged costume reminded him of his crappy childhood.
He raised a finger and wagged it under her nose. “Get out of my way, sweetheart, or I swear I’ll walk over you.”
“The children are depending on you. You represent something pure and honest and wonderful. How can you shatter their dreams? Don’t those little kids mean more to you than alcohol?”
“Alcohol?” He blinked at her.
“I know a couple of the store Santas hired this season are down on their luck. Men who can’t hold regular jobs because they have drug and alcohol problems. Men who just need a helping hand and someone to care about them. It’s not your fault that you’re an addict but it is your responsibility to stop drinking.”
Jonah threw his hands in the air. “You’re a lunatic, you know that? I’m not an alcoholic.”
“Denial!” she crowed triumphantly. “Another classic symptom.”
Swiveling his head, Jonah searched for redemption from this verdant-eyed zealot and got none.
Instead, the sight of at least three-dozen shoppers and their ardent offspring bearing down on him at warp speed met his eyes.
“Santa! Santa!” the children chanted.
Yikes.
He had to escape. Jonah faked left, then went right and sprinted past the pixie.
“Hey,” she cried, “you can’t expect me to face these excited kids alone. They want Santa.”
People in hell want ice water. The phrase ran through his head, but he didn’t say it.
The elf woman chased after him and grabbed the tail of his Santa jacket before he could bolt through the door marked ‘Employees Only’.
“You’re not going anywhere, Santa,” she growled out and dug in her heels. “And if you do, I’ll report you to the store manager, Mr. Trotter.”
Jonah bared his teeth and willed the fleas to jump onto her. He tried to shake her off, but she held on with more tenacity than carpet lint on a wool jacket.
“Look, Mommy, that elf is trying to hurt Santa,” a child said.
Oh great. Now they had an audience.
“Let go,” Jonah demanded through gritted teeth.
“No.” She narrowed her eyes and clung tighter.
Jonah grabbed the corner of his jacket and jerked hard, intending on dislodging her.
Instead, he ended up dragging her closer.
He saw a dusting of freckles across the bridge of her cute little nose, a tiny half-moon scar on her otherwise flawless forehead. Another time, another place and he would have admired her tenacity.
But not here, not now, not with fleas feasting on his flesh.
“Mommy, Mommy, make that elf leave Santa alone!”
“You’re scaring my daughter,” a woman in the crowd protested.
This wasn’t right. He shouldn’t be drawing attention to himself. The whole point of this stakeout was to hide behind Santa’s jovial facade. His boss, Chief Truman West, would have Jonah’s hide if he blew his cover on the very first day.
Jonah had known this was going to be an awful assignment. The sheriff made it clear that this stint as Santa was punishment for smashing up the mayor’s brand-new Lexus during his last undercover duty, never mind that it had been an unavoidable accident.
For the past year, Jonah had worked undercover in Rascal, Texas as part of state-wide task force to crack down on human trafficking from the Mexic
an border up through west Texas. Jonah was originally from El Paso, and no one in Rascal knew he was a cop. Even though he had totaled the mayor’s car in a high speed chase, he hadn’t blown his cover.
The fleas were gnawing as if they hadn’t had a meal since last Christmas. Jonah couldn’t help wondering if Carmichael’s, the only department store in town, had stowed the mangy suit at a dog kennel. He couldn’t take any more of this.
Something had to be done.
Jonah clamped his hand over the pixie’s wrist and pried her fingers loose. Then, before she had time to get another hold, he bolted through the door.
Once in the vacant storeroom, he ripped the beard off and scraped his face with the vigor of a poodle scratching at full throttle.
Next, he snatched the bedraggled felt hat from his head and flung it to the floor.
His fingers grappled with the big black buttons on the front of his suit, fleas hopping in all directions. He jerked off the padding strapped around his waist to simulate Santa’s bulk, kicked off his boots and shucked down his pants, his mind on one thing only.
Relief.
What he hadn’t counted on was that relentless, do-gooding female elf with the persistence of an Attica prison guard.
She burst through the door, catching him standing there in nothing but his briefs.
#
She’d caught Santa with his pants down.
Edie Preston came to a screeching halt. Her mouth dropped. She had no idea that Santa was so muscular, so manly, so gosh-darn sexy. And she certainly hadn’t expected to find him almost naked in the storeroom.
What she had expected was some flabby, middle-aged drunk sucking whiskey from a flask or popping a handful of pills, not a young, vital hunk-among-hunks in a very compromising position.
He snapped his head around and deep sapphire eyes sliced into hers forcing Edie’s gaze to the floor.
“What is it?” His voice cut like slivered glass. “What do you want from me?”
“I—I—” Her gaze hitched a ride from his sturdy ankles to his hard firm buttocks.
Her face heated hotter than a curling iron on the highest setting. She could not seem to find her tongue even though she was sure it lay in its usual place on the floor of her mouth.