The Captain's Baby Bargain

by Merline Lovelace

  “It’s too bad Suze and I ended up rivals,” Alicia admitted. “I would’ve liked to be her friend. She’s so darn smart and a natural-born leader. Not to mention the fact that she had the hottest stud in three counties dangling at the end of her line.”

  Gabe returned the only safe answer he could come up with. “I’ll tell her you said hey.”

  * * *

  Then he waited. All the rest of that evening and a good chunk of the next morning.

  With school out for the summer, he didn’t have classes to prepare for. No searching for new ways to pound the relevance of history into high schoolers whose hormones had taken possession of their brains. Even the tennis clinics had been put on hold in this 100-plus degree heat. Nor did he have a city council meeting to stretch his patience and diplomatic skills to the breaking point. So, right up until nine-forty-five on that hot, steamy June morning, it was just him and Doofus.

  “What do you think?” he asked the chocolate-eyed, lop-eared mutt. “Is she gonna call or not?”

  The hound lifted his head from his outstretched paws. Angled his head. Then huffed out a distinctly dog-flavored breath, his dewlaps quivering in ecstasy as Gabe scratched behind his ears.

  “You’re a big help,” Gabe chided with a wry smile. He still hadn’t figured out how he’d come to share his life with this oversize mutt with a wiry, corkscrew coat, the instincts of a hunter and the personality of an overeager puppy.

  Gabe had found him shivering under Ole Blue, every rib plainly visible and his coat a tangled mess. He’d brought the dog in for the night, intending to take him to the shelter if no one responded to the notices he put out. That was last November. Seven months later they were still housemates.

  The size of a small horse, the dog ate like there was no tomorrow and went nuts at the sound of a bell or buzzer. Any bell or buzzer. The phone. The front door. The microwave. The washer dinging the end of a cycle. So when Suze finally called, Doofus reacted with typical hysteria.

  Gabe was in his beat-up leather armchair, feet propped on the hassock, reviewing Cedar Creek’s revised five-year budget on his laptop while the dog sprawled, paws in the air, on the floor beside him. Jerked from his sleep, the hound leaped up and raced for the front door, woofing his fool head off and demonstrating yet again how he’d earned his name.

  “It’s the phone,” Gabe shouted over his ear-shattering barks. “Hey! Doofus! It’s the phone! Oh, for...! Hang on a sec, Suze.”

  He pushed out of the chair and made for the front door. As soon as it opened, the hound leaped out, ready to take on any and all hostiles. Thoroughly disappointed to find not even a squirrel to chase, Doofus barked out a loud warning just for the heck of it before wheeling back inside. His claws clicked on the hall tiles as he pranced back to the den and plopped down beside Gabe’s chair.

  “What in the world was that?” Suze wanted to know when Gabe got back on the phone.

  “My self-appointed greeting committee. Any sudden noise sends him to the front door in a frenzy of excitement.”

  “When did you acquire a greeter?”

  “About six months back.”

  She hesitated, then plunged in. “I’m assuming the jungle drums have already telegraphed the news.”

  “That my ex drove into town yesterday afternoon? Yeah, they have. You took your time getting around to telling me yourself.”

  He tried, honestly tried, to keep the bite out of his voice. Probably would’ve done a better job of it if he hadn’t lain awake half the damned night wondering why she’d come home so suddenly.

  Gabe kept in touch with her folks. He never thought of them as his ex-in-laws. Last time they talked a few days ago, both Mary and Ed Jackson were doing well, and Gabe would’ve heard immediately if they’d suffered some kind of emergency since then. So, if it wasn’t her folks who bought her home, it had to be him. Him and their unexpected, unresolved last meeting.

  The fierce hope that thought stirred scared the crap out of him. Their separation and divorce had left a mile-wide crater in his heart but he’d recovered. Slowly, painfully, he’d forced himself to adjust to LSS. Life sans Suze.

  Hooking up with her last month had ripped the wound open again. For those few, wild hours that he’d cradled her in his arms, Gabe had actually let himself think they could erase the mistakes and hurts of the past and start over. Then she’d leaped out of bed and yanked on her uniform and hadn’t bothered to call until seven hours later, when he was already on the road.

  He understood she loved her job. He also understood that she was good at it. So freakin’ good she’d probably end up as the three-star commander of some joint task force or another.

  He also understood about emergency responses. Hell, even here in sleepy Cedar Creek, he and his first responders dealt with their share of disasters. The damage was generally small scale—a vehicle accident or kitchen fire or a tragic drowning—but the impact on people’s lives was immediate and too often devastating.

  If Gabe hadn’t learned anything in the past, tumultuous few years, it was that life didn’t hand out any do-overs. No starting from scratch again. Not for him, for Suze, for his constituents or his former targets. Yet damned if his pulse didn’t do a quick roll when she requested a face-to-face.

  “I need to talk to you. Can we get together for coffee?”

  “Sure.”

  She waited for more, but he refused to make it easy for her.

  “Mom said you bought the old Schumann place. That you’ve been fixing it up. Should I come there?”

  “That works.”

  “Now?”

  He was just irritated enough at her for taking so long to call—and at himself for being so anxious to hear the sound of her voice—that he enjoyed the snap in her reply.

  “Okay. I’ll brew up a fresh pot.”

  * * *

  Suze used the short drive to rein in her temper. She knew exactly why Gabe had pushed her buttons. She would’ve been pissed, too, if she’d been waiting for her ex to explain why he’d suddenly dropped into town. Assuming, of course, he’d been waiting and not doing the dirty with Miss Priss.

  Thank God Dingo had told her Gabe had called it off with Alicia. The relief that Prissy Missy wouldn’t become stepmother to the child Suze now carried occupied her thoughts all the way to the Schumann place.

  It was one of the older homesteads, set in a curve of the creek, with a natural windbreak provided by a stand of ancient pecan trees that had no doubt yielded their succulent harvest to the hunter-gatherers who’d roamed this area for thousands of years. The first Schumanns to settle in Cedar Creek claimed this choice plat during the land run and put up a wood-framed, two-story house. One of their grandkids—great-grandkids?—had added an L-shaped addition. Another had slapped on some puke-green aluminum siding and lived there until he and his wife passed away. Their kids had put the house on the market immediately but it had sat vacant for as long as Suze could remember.

  As she turned onto 8th Street, memories of the Schumann place crowded in. How many times had she and Gabe and their pals ignored the No Trespassing sign to swim in the shady creek behind the deserted homestead? How many bright September afternoons had they waded through knee-high weeds to reach the pecan orchard and fill gunny sacks with ripe nuts? They’d picked most of the harvest off the ground, although Gabe often attached a hook to a long broom handle so he could reach the lower branches and shake down a golden-brown rain. She could almost taste the luscious chocolate-pecan pies Gabe’s mom baked from their harvest.

  She would swing by to visit her former mother-in-law in the next day or two. Gabe’s sisters, too. Once she and Gabe had worked out a plan for how...

  Good God!

  Her foot hit the brake. She jerked the convertible to a stop midblock, staring in stunned surprise at what used to be a decrepit, empty shell. The sea of prickly weeds that had surrounded it was gone, replaced by a sweep of tree-shaded lawn and a curving drive. The wraparound porch, once sagging and all bu
t invisible behind a screen of scraggly, overgrown bushes, now sported new railings and support beams painted a clean, inviting white. The nauseating green siding was gone, too. Suze almost didn’t recognize the old homestead with those wide windows, river-rock trim and double-wide front door.

  And the crepe myrtles. Dear Lord, the crepe myrtles! That huge Dynamite Red at the corner of the porch had been so clogged with strangler vines it had never put out more than a few blooms. And the hedge of Twilight Lavenders alongside the detached garage... She ached to bury her face in those fragrant blossoms and breathe in the scent she always associated with home.

  Still marveling at the old homestead’s transformation, she took her foot off the brake and turned into the drive. The front door opened just as she glided to a stop. Gabe came out onto the porch, a coffee mug in one hand and the other gripping the collar of a shaggy hound.

  The self-appointed greeter boomed a welcome while his ragged tail sliced the air a mile a minute. Bright-eyed and eager, the dog strained against the hold on his collar until Gabe issued a sharp command. “Sit!”

  He obeyed, but his butt continued to wiggle furiously on the varnished porch planking. Suze approached the dog cautiously and held out her hand for him to sniff. After one perfunctory whiff, he drenched her palm with eager, slobbering kisses. Smiling down at his liquid brown eyes and goofy grin, she fell instantly in love.

  “Looks like he’s part Lab,” she commented.

  “He is. But the vet thinks he’s mostly wire-haired pointing griffon.”

  “What the heck is a wirehaired pointing whatever?”

  “A sporting breed supposedly developed toward the end of the nineteenth century to flush, point and retrieve water fowl and game birds. God knows, he spends more time in the creek than out of it.”

  “Never heard of a griffon.”

  “Me, either, until Doofus barreled into my life. He’s pretty good at not jumping on folks but when I release him, better be prepared.”

  Suze dutifully planted both feet and let the hound dance around her a few times. He certainly looked like he wanted to jump up and lick her chin. She could see the eagerness in his quivering, shivering excitement. But he confined his attention to the hand she kept extended until the flick of a bushy tail across the lawn snagged his attention. He whirled, locked on his prey, then took off, barking ferociously at the squirrel who dared invade his domain.

  “That’ll keep him occupied for a while,” Gabe said drily. “C’mon in.”

  He held the door for her, and Suze took the few steps onto the porch and into the air-conditioned cool of an entry hall paneled in whitewashed wood.

  “There’s a powder room,” Gabe said with a nod at a nearby door, “if you want to wash off the dog slobber.”

  “Thanks.” She glanced around in genuine appreciation. The interior’s transformation was as startling as the exterior’s. “I can’t believe what you’ve done with this place. It was still an abandoned wreck last time I was home.”

  “Fixing it up kept me busy. And,” he added on a flat note, “it helped me get my life back on track. I needed something other than teaching and city council meetings to fill my evenings and weekends.”

  Riiight. That put her squarely in her place.

  “I’ll wait for you in the kitchen. Straight back and to the left.”

  Suze took her time in the powder room, her nervousness returning. She used the natural light streaming through the row of glass blocks set above the door to freshen her lip gloss and rake a hand through her hair. She’d worn it down today, with only the sides clipped back to keep it out of her eyes. Not because Gabe always liked it that way. And she hadn’t chosen her slim white jeans and clingy red tank with him in mind, even if they did mirror their high school colors of cream and firehouse red.

  “Okay,” she instructed her image in the mirror. “Go do this.”

  It wasn’t hard to find the kitchen, considering that Gabe had knocked out most of the walls on the ground floor. The short entry hall led to a sweeping, sunlit open space that flowed from great room to dining area to kitchen. The great room was all male—oversize leather sofa and chairs, giant flat-screen TV, a walk-around bar in one corner. The dining area boasted a gray plank table and eight upholstered chairs with a centerpiece that stopped Suze in her tracks.

  They’d found that gnarly piece of driftwood on their honeymoon! It had washed up on the beach at Galveston and Suze had insisted on lugging it home. She’d always intended to do something with it. Someday.

  “I was helping your folks clean out their basement,” Gabe explained with a shrug. “They asked if I wanted it.”

  Her breath hitching, she smoothed a finger over the undulating curves and admired the clever silver candleholders drilled into the wood at various points. “This is gorgeous. Who did it?”

  “An artist friend of Alicia’s.”

  Suze’s hand dropped to her side. She kept her expression blank. She was sure she had. But Gabe could read her like an old, dog-eared book.

  “It’s over between Alicia and me,” he said evenly, his hips propped against the butcher block island that ran almost the entire length of his open, airy kitchen. “We shifted our friendship back into neutral when I got home last month.”

  She had to bite down on the joy that leaped through her. It was too fierce and hot and primitive to think about at the moment. It was also extremely shallow. As much as she disliked Alicia, she had no right to take such selfish delight in a breakup that must have been difficult for Gabe.

  “I’m sorry if our interlude in Phoenix messed things up for you.”

  “No, you’re not. Do you want some coffee? Then you can tell me what this unexpected visit is all about.”

  Oooo-kay. This was how he’d played it on the phone earlier. Short. Abrupt. Not yielding an inch. She couldn’t really blame him. She would’ve been pissed if he’d breezed back into her life without warning or explanation.

  “Coffee would be good.”

  While he filled a mug and topped off his own, she moved to stand at the French doors that gave access to a covered flagstone patio. Beyond the patio was another slope of lush lawn. Beyond that was the tree-lined creek.

  Doofus was still chasing squirrels, she saw, as the hound streaked across the backyard in full hunt mode. His prey made it to the pecan orchard and darted up a tree, only to perch on a lower limb and jeer at its wildly leaping pursuer.

  “Remember how you used to knock ripe pecans down from those branches?” she asked as Gabe passed her a mug.

  “I do.”

  “Does your mom still bake those sinful chocolate-pecan pies?”

  “She doesn’t bake much of anything anymore. She’s had a hard time since the hip replacement.”

  “I plan to stop by and see her.” She raised her gaze to his face. “If it’s okay with you?”

  The question ignited a spark of anger. “Hell, Suze. You’re as much a daughter to her as any of my sisters. You don’t need my permission to visit her, any more than I needed yours to help your folks clean out their basement.”

  “Hey, back off! I was just trying to be polite.”

  “Screw polite. Why are you here, Suzanne? What’s going on?”

  “All right! Okay!” She puffed her cheeks and blew out a long breath. “Brace yourself, Mr. Mayor. Your life’s about to get knocked off track again.”

  His brows snapped together. He didn’t say anything, though. Just waited with that tight, unreadable expression for her to drop another bomb, like the one that had ended their marriage.

  Suze had to do it quick, before she lost her nerve. “I’m pregnant.”

  His expression didn’t change. He didn’t so much as blink.

  Dying a little inside, she realized she’d been stupid to imagine he’d greet the news with at least a semblance of delight. He’d been so ready to put down roots, so ready to begin their family, but her unwillingness to even negotiate a start date for his dreams had started them down the painful
path to divorce. That, and their frequent separations. And her reluctance to put her career on hold. And the brief affair she’d had during their final separation.

  Given all those factors, Gabe had to be asking himself some very ugly questions. Like who the father was. And how far along his ex-wife was. And what the hell she intended to do about the pregnancy.

  Suze waited for him to unload but he still hadn’t broken his silence when Doofus loped up to the French doors and let loose with a roof-rattling woof. Gabe smothered an oath, twisted the door handle and kneed the overjoyed dog aside.

  “Cool it, mutt.”

  Taking Suze’s elbow in a fierce hold, he steered her toward the kitchen counter. Eyes smoldering, he thunked down his mug, plucked hers out of her hand and stabbed a finger at one of the high-backed stools. “Sit.”

  “Gabe, I...”

  “No!” He cut her off with a fiery glare. “Me first.”

  Okay, she deserved this. After all the heartache, all the talk of a baby, she owed it to him to sit and listen while he spilled his anger. So she damned near toppled backward off the stool when he shoved a hand under her hair, gripped her nape in a hard vise and held her steady while he plundered her mouth.

  The kiss combined the kick of dark, rich Colombian coffee and unbridled male exuberance. She could taste both, feel both, and responded in kind. Her arms whipped around his neck. Her mouth molded to his.

  This was Gabe. Her Gabe.

  An achingly familiar joy flooded her heart. It was followed almost instantly by an entirely new sensation. One wrapped in a hundred different shades of happy.

  This was Gabe. The father of her child.

  Tears burned behind her closed eyelids. She tried to blink them back, but when he broke the kiss and spotted then leaking from the corners of her eyes, he muttered a low curse.

  “Hell, Suze. I’m sorry. So damned sorry.”