Babies And Badges (American Baby)

by Laura Marie Altom

  “I want you so bad,” he said, his voice a raspy imitation of its usual strength.

  She nodded.

  “That’s why we have to stop.”

  “W-what?”

  By the time she’d found the energy to make her lips form the question, he’d rolled again, only this time not only off of her, but completely off of the bed.

  “Noah?”

  “We can’t do this,” he said. “I can’t do this.”

  “Do what? All we were doing was kissing.”

  “Right. That’s all we were doing for now, but what happens later? When your doctor gives you the green light to—you know. And we can take this where we’d evidently both like it to go? Everything’ll be fine and dandy then. But what happens after that? When you see me for who I really am? A small-town sheriff with maybe a thousand bucks in the bank with no ambitions to do anything but continue down my same path. What happens when you remember where you’re from and what you’ve given up to be here, and the novelty of small-town life wears off? What happens when you wake up one day wanting a wedding ring for yourself and a forever kind of daddy for those girls of yours? What happens then, Cass? Can you tell me?”

  “Why should I?” she asked through a thick wall of tears. “Sounds to me like you’ve already got it all figured out.” It was just a kiss, Noah. But even as in her mind Cassie whispered the words, her heart guiltily knew that had he but shown the slightest inclination, what they shared could have been so much more.

  “Damn straight. And in case you haven’t noticed, I’ll tell you who else has figured it out—all those women in that damned support group. The minute they got too close, I showed them the real me and they all went running. They knew better than to get in too deep. They knew I was trouble from the word go.”

  “Trouble?” A bitter laugh spilled from her lips. “Oh, so now we’ve gone from you being just a guy who doesn’t want to commit to trouble?”

  He started to say something, then clamped his lips shut. “I’ve gotta get out of here. Clear my head.”

  “No,” she said, darting from the bed. Closing her hand around his forearm, she said, “This time, you’re staying, and you’re going to for once hear what I think your problem is.”

  Even in the shadows, she saw him roll his eyes. “Go ahead, make fun all you want, but you’re going to listen.” She dragged him back to the bed. “Sit.”

  “You can’t be serious?”

  “Sit down.”

  Though he sighed his annoyance, he finally did her bidding, and she sat beside him, reaching for his hand. “Wanna know what I think?”

  “No. But I get the feeling you’re going to tell me.”

  “I think you’re scared.”

  “Scared?”

  “And that because of that fear, you’ve decided to dump any woman you even think you might feel something for long before she gets the chance to dump you.”

  “I don’t have to—”

  “You know what else I think?” she said, climbing onto his lap when he tried to escape. “I think you keep your mother’s room so nice out of guilt.”

  “That’s just plain dumb,” he said. “What do I have to feel guilty for?”

  “For not being able to make her marriage better. For being a little boy and lying there night after night listening to your parents fight. Wishing, dreaming, praying you held the power to make it stop, but you didn’t. And since that room was the one place in this house she most loved, you’ve turned it into a shrine. A shrine to your love for her. A shrine to your sorrow that the two of you weren’t closer. A shrine to your current unfortunate streak with the ladies. Yet if only you’d open yourself up to trying, you might see that your failed marriage wasn’t entirely your fault, but partially Darla’s.”

  Tensing beneath her, he said, “Who told you about my wife?”

  “Tiffany.”

  “Yeah, well she likes to think she knows everything, but she doesn’t.”

  “Apparently, she knows more than you.”

  “Meaning?”

  Eyeing him, recognizing the cold fury in his eyes would be going nowhere soon, she scooted off of his lap, heading for her own room.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  Hand on the doorknob, she said, “To take a shower—a very cold one.”

  “NOAH?”

  He woke slowly, as if running through fog.

  “Noah?” Cass said. “You need to get up. Jimmy just called and they need you at the station.”

  “Damn.” Instantly alert—or at least trying to be, Noah bolted upright in his bed, rubbing his eyes. “What time is it?”

  “Midnight.”

  “Crap.” He swung his legs off the bed, by rote reaching for the uniform pants he kept over his bedroom chair. He pulled them on over his boxers, wishing he didn’t feel Cass’s stare. Wishing he didn’t care.

  “Are you doing another stakeout in Floyd’s field?”

  “Yeah,” he said reaching for his shirt. “And I should’ve been there, like, over an hour ago.”

  “Sorry. I would’ve wakened you, but I was—”

  “It’s not your problem,” he said, buttoning his shirt, remembering the curve of her breasts through her only half-buttoned pajamas. His palms itched from the need to cup those breasts, testing their weight, their softness, their taste.

  “I still feel bad,” she said, scooping up his shoes, then pulling out a clean pair of socks for him from his top dresser drawer. Handing the bundle of shoes and socks to him, she said, “Here.”

  “Thanks.” How had she known where he kept his socks? And these were folded into one of those tidy little origami sock balls that in over fifteen years of doing his own laundry, he never had been able to figure out.

  He eyed her while sliding them on, hating himself anew for imagining her hands folding them, smoothing his aching feet, traveling up his ankles and calves and thighs and—

  Finished dressing, he stood, headed for the door. “I hate running off on you like this, but…”

  “It’s okay,” she said, crossing her arms, running her hands over her satin-covered shoulders. Trailing him down the hall, she asked, “Is what you’ve been doing dangerous?”

  He shrugged. “Suppose it could be, but so far all Zane’s pulled is pretty normal teen stuff. Problem is his frequency. Whereas most guys his age pull this kind of crap maybe once or twice during their high school careers, Zane is out doing it every night.”

  “And that worries you?”

  “Shoot, yeah,” he said, fastening his utility belt. “Little crime leads to big crime.” Kind of in the same way little intimacies, like the way she was standing there looking at him, wearing nothing but those flimsy pj’s and a wistful smile could turn into big intimacy if he let go of even a fraction of his will.

  “Sure. I suppose I’ve heard that on one of those news magazine shows.”

  “Okay, well, guess this is it. I’m off.”

  “Be careful,” she said, nibbling her lower lip, driving him wild with the urge to pull her into his arms for a quick yet thorough good-night kiss.

  “Will do.” He had his hand on the door, but staring at her in the golden glow of the living room’s one meager lamp, he realized with an unfamiliar pang that for the first time in his law career, he didn’t want to go to work.

  He wanted to stay here.

  With her.

  With their girls.

  “Oh—before I forget,” she said, dashing off to the kitchen, giving him an all-too-enticing view of her perfectly rounded behind. “I made you something.”

  He stifled a groan. Great. She hadn’t cooked him something had she? Because if she had, his damned overactive conscience would demand he force it down.

  “Here,” she said, handing him a brown paper bag.

  “Thanks,” he said. “I think. What is it?”

  “You’ll see,” she said, looking like she might have been thinking of going in for a kiss, but then changed her mind. For a s
plit second, time stilled as she stood poised on the tips of her pretty, hot pink toes, hands outstretched as if to lean on his chest for balance. But then the moment was gone, and she was back to her normal pose, casting him that same unfathomable smile that left him even more confused.

  What did she want from him?

  What did he want from her?

  “You’d better get going before Jimmy shows up in person,” she said with an adorable sleepy-eyed wink.

  “Yeah, thanks.” This time when he laid his hand on the doorknob, he turned it, pushing the door open, then stepped into blessedly cool night air.

  “And, Noah?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Be careful.”

  He gave her one last wave before shutting the door.

  For a brief instant, he stood there stock still on the porch, taking in the nighttime chirps of crickets and spring peepers and the scents of dew-damp grass and Mrs. Kleghorn’s freshly planted marigolds.

  Noah squeezed his eyes closed.

  How long had it been since a woman—shoot, anyone—had asked him to be careful? And for that matter, how long had it been—if ever—since he’d actually had three very good reasons to do just that?

  Chapter Twelve

  “Just missed ’em, Sheriff.” Jimmy hooked one thumb over his belt, nodding toward the crudely formed obscene crop circle in Floyd’s knee-high corn.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Noah said, taking off his hat.

  “Zane did this?”

  “Yup. Floyd says he caught ’em red-handed, but that he wasn’t fast enough to catch ’em since they were on three-wheelers.”

  “So then he didn’t actually see Zane’s face?”

  “No, but he was sure it was him, along with the rest of his gang.”

  “So tell, me, Jimmy,” Noah said, sitting on his haunches to finger the broken crop, “What do you charge kids on for this?”

  His deputy shrugged. “Floyd’s fit to be tied. Says this is all your fault. Well—yours and Cass’s. Floyd says you haven’t been worth—well, worth nothing since she came to town.”

  Noah added, “And Lord knows her car’s been the ruination of you.”

  Cheeks blazing red in the portable floodlights’ glare, Jimmy ducked his head.

  After a few more minutes, Noah straightened to his full height before slapping on his hat. “We’d better get to work.”

  “Doing what? It’s not like we can dust Floyd’s busted crop for prints.”

  “No, but we might just pick up a thing or two like this.” He knelt again to pick up a homemade cigarette butt. Nausea seized his stomach.

  Aw, Zane, do you have any idea what you’re messing with?

  Needing to confirm his suspicions, Noah brought the butt to his nose. Sure enough, it hadn’t been made out of ordinary tobacco, but pot.

  “WHAT YOU GOT in the bag there, Sheriff?” Round about 4:00 a.m., Briggs gave Noah’s lunch sack a shake.

  Noah looked up from the mountain of paperwork left to tackle on his desk, eyeing the brown paper sack he’d been trying to forget. “God and Cass only know. Probably some kind of sprout and tofu sandwich, carrot sticks and a couple of raisins for dessert.”

  Briggs nodded.

  “What can I do for you?” Noah asked.

  “Nothing. That’s all. Me and Jimmy were just wondering what was in the bag. Jimmy thought it might be a snake, but I—”

  Noah slammed down his pen. “Jimmy honestly thought I had a snake in the bag? What? Has he been spending too much time down at Brenda’s talking to Ernie?”

  Briggs shrugged.

  “Sounds to me like you two don’t have enough to do. You get all that evidence filed against Zane?”

  “Sure did.”

  Damn. “Then go watch Martha. Just leave me alone.”

  “Touchy, touchy. Babies keeping you up? ’Cause if they are, let me tell you about this surefire way my momma has to—”

  “Briggs.”

  “Right. Just taped a new show on themed kid parties. Thinkin’ of startin’ up my own kid party business on the weekends. Maybe when you and Cass get hitched, I could even throw you two a themed reception. I got zoo, sports, princess and ballerina—’course those last two are pretty much interchangeable, but—”

  “Briggs.”

  “Right. Gotcha.”

  Finally, Noah was once again blessedly alone, eyeing that stupid bag.

  Why had Cass had to go and do a thing like that? First, her ultrasweet gesture tugged at his already aching heart. Second, the fact that she worked so hard to keep him healthy tugged him again. And third…

  Aw, hell, he couldn’t think of a third, so he decided to just go ahead and get his punishment over with. While eating her food was in and of itself punishment, the worst part was eating his own guilt. That night, rolling around with her on his bed—he adjusted his fly.

  The incident should’ve never happened.

  Peering into the bag’s shadowy depths, he brought out a baggie of chips. What the—? Another baggie crammed with Oreos. Still another baggie holding a sandwich. Okay, here it came. Tofu City, heading his way.

  But when he slipped it out to look between chemical-laden white bread slices, all he found was his favorite—bologna with mustard.

  Damn, he thought, setting down the sandwich to scratch his head.

  Did she have any idea how many nitrites were in a single slice of bologna? What could this artery-clog-in-a-bag mean? Was it her way of breaking up? Not that they’d ever been a formal item, but whatever the case, this couldn’t be good.

  He eyed the suspicious sandwich he once would’ve gulped in four or five bites—three on a particularly hectic night. He eyed the chips. The cookies. And found that what he was really craving was a nice dolphin-safe tuna sandwich garnished with a few sprouts.

  Noah slapped his palm against his desk hard enough to inadvertently bring Briggs scrambling back into his office. “Everything all right?”

  Grrr. The woman had to go.

  “I’M COMING!” Cassie shouted a week later on her way to answer the door. She’d just put Hope down for a nap, but Noelle still needed a fresh diaper.

  Rats, she’d been hoping to finish before Yancie from Brenda’s delivered her pancakes and sausage—a vice that was getting to be a bigger blow to her ego each time Brenda herself took Cassie’s order.

  For some reason the woman still couldn’t seem to stand her, but one of these days, Cassie planned on heading down there and straightening everything out over a large order of Tater Tots—ooh, and maybe some fried mushrooms and a hot fudge sundae.

  Mouth watering, evidently caring far more about hunger than pride, Cassie peered through the door’s peephole out of habit, expecting six-foot Yancie and his battered Razorback cap. Instead she saw parts of a woman standing behind a colorful flower bouquet.

  Ducking, Cassie nibbled her lower lip.

  In Little Rock, she’d never had uninvited company. If her neighbors ever ran out of sugar, they’d never know, since they rarely entered their kitchens!

  Back to her present situation, though, she put her hand to her hair, then glanced down at her less-than-appropriate-for-guests attire of blue knit jogging shorts and Noah’s Bad Bubba’s T-shirt. She hadn’t worn makeup in days, and who had time to brush or style hair? Shoot, since her two part-angel/part-demon babies had dropped into her lap straight from heaven, she figured she was lucky just to wash her hair!

  The doorbell rang again.

  This time, not knowing what else to do, not wanting to be rude to one of Noah’s neighbors, Cassie pulled the door open. A tall blonde stood behind the bouquet of pink roses that upon closer inspection was decorated with twin pairs of pink teddy bears and rattles.

  “Hi, I’m Kelsey,” she said, “and you must be Cass.” The woman’s smile was as pretty as the bouquet.

  Kelsey, Kelsey. Why did the name ring a bell?

  “Your expression is telling me you don’t have a clue who I am—a good thin
g when it comes to the usually fierce rumor-mill in this town. May I come in?”

  “Um, sure,” Cassie said, stepping aside, hoping such a friendly-looking soul wasn’t an ax-murdering kidnapper in disguise.

  The woman—Kelsey—made herself at home on the sofa. “Oh, these are for you,” she said, holding out the flowers, which Cassie accepted, then set on the coffee table.

  “Thank you. They’re beautiful.”

  “So are you,” she said with a low whistle. “Baby crud and all. Tiffany wasn’t kidding when she said she had a gut feel you just might be the one.”

  “The one?”

  “I’m sorry,” Kelsey said. “Please forgive me for getting ahead of myself. I tend to forget that not everyone on the planet has lived in Riverdale all of their lives.”

  “T-that’s okay,” Cassie said, instantly adoring this woman who implied she looked not just alive but beautiful—in her current state of exhaustion.

  “Anyway, to give you a quick recap on the past few years around here, Noah and I used to be an item—at least until I made the mistake of wanting more.”

  “So you’re the famous Kelsey. No wonder your name sounded familiar.” Cassie’s cheeks flamed. “I was pretty out of it at the time, but if I remember correctly, Noah used your wedding gift towels to help deliver my babies.”

  “Yep, I’m that Kelsey,” she said with a laugh. “Owen and I just got back from our honeymoon yesterday. Camping in Colorado.” She made a face. “I’d have rather been at some fabulous luxury resort. What a girl won’t do for love—even if it means taking up fly-fishing.”

  “Did you catch anything?” Cassie asked.

  “Gold nuggets.” Fingertips on the stunning gold nugget necklace clinging to her throat, she grinned.

  “Ahh, impressive for your first time out.”

  “Thanks.”

  “So anyway, back on topic, I don’t mean to barge in, like my friend Tiff. Honestly, sometimes she can be such a busybody—like a ninety-year-old gossip in a hot thirty-year-old’s body.”

  “She was okay,” Cassie said. “And she brought me a big box of chocolates—always a good thing. Would you like one? I still have tons left.”