by Gina Wilkins
“Sounds like a good indication that she is thinking about selling it.”
“Maybe.” Dallas frowned and played with her food some more. “But I don’t know, Sam. There’s something...”
“What?” he prodded.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I guess I’ve got a lot to learn about her yet.”
“Yeah, well, don’t push it. You don’t want to get her suspicious.” Almost as soon as the words left his mouth, he realized that he’d unconsciously given her advice on doing her job again. He waited for her to yell at him about it, but she let it pass, surprisingly enough. Since he didn’t expect all this goodwill to last, he decided to keep his mouth shut and enjoy it while he could.
* * *
SAM DECLARED IT ONLY fair that he clean up the kitchen since Dallas had done the cooking. She didn’t argue.
Leaving a spotless kitchen behind him—at least, as much as possible under the circumstances—he rejoined her half an hour later. He found her in the living room, sprawled on the couch, watching a tabloid news show on the portable set he’d brought along with them. The picture was pretty fuzzy, since they weren’t connected to cable, but the sound was good. The latest scandal from the entertainment world was being reported in vivid detail.
“I’ve brought you a soda,” Sam said, handing her a canned drink. “If you don’t want it, I’ll take it back.”
She popped the tab. “I want it. Thanks.”
“Sure. Shove over, I can’t see the TV from the chair.”
She made a face, but obediently made room for him on the couch, her movements unusually awkward because of the harness. “I’ve been tempted all afternoon to take this thing off, but I guess I’d better get used to wearing it.”
“Yeah. It has to be uncomfortable,” he said, realizing for the first time how bulky and hot the thing must be. “How are you holding up?”
“My back and legs are killing me,” she admitted, then smiled faintly. “Polly tells me it’s all part of the condition. You wouldn’t even want to hear the other distasteful things she complained about.”
He laughed. “No, I’m sure I wouldn’t. Anything good on the tube tonight?”
She named a couple of popular sitcoms. “That’s about it without cable.”
He nodded without enthusiasm. “Yeah, okay. Think we ought to have another noisy row tonight?”
She groaned. “I’m too tired to fight tonight. We just had one this morning. Couldn’t we wait until you get home from work tomorrow to start another? You can yell at me for not having your food ready or something.”
“Yeah, that’ll work.” He grinned. “Never thought I’d hear you turn down a chance to call me a few choice names.”
She shot him a look. “I’ll save them up for tomorrow.”
As tired as they both were—Sam from his hours of manual labor, Dallas from a day of wearing the harness after a restless night—they were both quiet that evening. It had been a rather pleasant few hours, actually, Dallas realized as the ten o’clock news began. Who’d have thought she and Sam could have gotten along without a real quarrel for an entire evening?
“I don’t know about you,” Sam said after watching the weathercaster predict another day of blistering temperatures and wilting humidity, “but I’m ready to turn in. Tomorrow’s going to be a killer.”
Dallas nodded. “Yeah, I’m tired, too.”
Sam stood and turned off the TV. Dallas started to rise, then gave an exclamation of disgust when she lost her balance and fell heavily back onto the couch.
Sam laughed, but stuck out a hand to hoist her to her feet. “Sorry,” he said. “You gotta admit it’s kind of funny.”
“I don’t have to admit anything of the sort,” she grumbled. “You try wearing this thing for a day and see how graceful you are.”
“I hate to tell you this, Sanders, but I doubt that our cover would hold up long if I was the pregnant one.”
“Funny, Perry. Real funny.” She pressed her hand to the small of her aching back and groaned.
Dallas changed in the bathroom, donning the same oversize jersey she’d worn the night before. She found Sam in running shorts again, already sitting on the side of the bed and yawning.
It wasn’t quite as difficult this time to crawl in beside him—maybe because she’d been mentally preparing herself for it all day.
Sam snapped off the light. “Hot in here,” he commented, shoving the sheet off his chest.
“Mmm. Air conditioner doesn’t work worth a damn.” She stretched out on her side, wincing at the sudden discomfort from a sore spot where the harness had rubbed against her hip. She closed her eyes, hoping a good night’s rest would help her find the willpower to strap herself back into the thing in the morning.
“Roll over on your stomach. I’ll rub your back for you.”
Sam’s words brought her eyes open in a hurry. “Uh—”
“Really,” he insisted. “You’ve got to be sore from hauling all that extra weight around. Maybe I can work out a few of the knots.”
Dallas thought he might be carrying this good-buddy bit just a tad too far. She wasn’t sure she wanted to get that friendly with Sam Perry, for reasons she couldn’t have explained at the moment, had she tried. “Thanks, but I know you’re tired, too. Get some rest.”
But he was already sitting up beside her on the bed, pushing at her shoulder with one hand. “Roll over, Sanders. You can thank me later.”
She swallowed a groan and allowed him to shove her onto her stomach. A moment later, the groan escaped when his hands went straight to the small of her back, as though he’d somehow known just where to focus his ministrations. “You’re pretty good at this,” she had to concede after several long moments in which the only sounds she’d made had been sighs of pleasure.
“So I’ve been told,” he said smugly.
She frowned as she wondered exactly how many times he’d heard the words—and how many women had said them. Not that it was any of her business, of course, she reminded herself hastily.
His hands settled on her shoulders. She winced at his firm kneading of the knotted muscles he discovered there, but a moment later she felt herself turning to oatmeal beneath his palms. He really was good at this, she thought. Wonder if he’s this good at...?
She stiffened. Whoa, Sanders. Let’s not get carried away here.
“Relax,” Sam murmured, pushing his thumbs into the hollows of her shoulders. “You’re getting all tense again.”
You don’t know the half of it, Perry. She cleared her throat and shrugged him off. “That’s enough. I feel a lot better now. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” He slid back down onto the bed and settled into his pillow with a lot of squirming and shifting. Finally he was still, and Dallas let out a faint sigh. This was much better, she thought firmly. Sam on his side of the bed, her on hers.
Much safer all around.
4
THOUGH USUALLY AN EARLY riser, Dallas didn’t wake the next morning until Sam touched her shoulder. She blinked, then squinted up at him, trying to adjust to the light in the room that had been pitch-dark when she’d closed her eyes. Sam was already dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, and he carried a black metal lunch box, looking for all the world like a typical construction worker heading off to the job.
“Sorry to wake you,” he said. “But I thought you might want me to let you know I’m leaving.”
“Yes, thanks. I can’t believe I slept so late.”
“It’s only seven-thirty. Go back to sleep, if you like. I just wanted you to know you’re supposed to be alone in the place—just in case you hear any strange noises from the other room,” he added with a smile.
“Oh, thanks so much. I’ll sleep just fine now,” she grumbled, though they both knew she was teasing. Dallas had long since stopped losing sleep over strange bumps in the night. She’d never sleep at all if she lay awake worrying about that sort of thing.
He ruffled her hair, which was alre
ady tousled from the pillow. “See you this afternoon. Don’t forget we have a fight scheduled.”
“Mmm. I’m looking forward to it,” she said around a yawn.
Sam chuckled and took a step backward, then cursed beneath his breath when he nearly fell over Dallas’s harness, which was lying close at hand on the floor.
“Hey, watch it!” Dallas said, sitting up and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. “You’ll hurt poor Junior.”
He grinned, scooped the harness off the floor and tossed it into her lap. “What kind of mother are you, anyway? Leaving your poor unborn child lying on the floor where just anyone could step on it.”
Dallas returned the grin, and waved him toward the door. “Get out of here, would you? You’re going to be late for work.”
His eyes lighted up. “Yeah. Then maybe they’d fire me.”
“Forget it, Perry. You’ve still got to snoop around with the guys there, remember? Baby-selling rumors, right?”
He gave a deep sigh. “Oh, yeah. Right. Have a nice day, Sanders. I want this apartment spotless when I get home, and my dinner waiting on the table.”
Her response to him was delivered in a sweet, friendly voice. It was also anatomically impossible, he assured her chidingly as he left for his undercover job.
Dallas realized she was still smiling as she padded into the bathroom after Sam left. She looked at her reflection in the spotty mirror with some surprise, noting that she looked rumpled but oddly pleased with herself, for some reason. Strange. She had almost enjoyed being with Sam Perry the past couple of days.
The heat must be getting to her.
* * *
SAM WAS TRYING TO GET enthusiastic about the ham sandwich and apple he’d brought for lunch when he was approached for the first time by anyone wearing what might have been a reasonably friendly expression. He’d soon discovered that high temperatures and closely-supervised, physically demanding work didn’t make for a pleasant work environment. His co-workers were too hot and too busy to spend much time sharing pleasantries. So he was a bit surprised when a burly young man in his early twenties approached him at lunchtime with a cold canned soda.
“The boss provides drinks for lunch,” he explained. “I wasn’t sure if anyone told you.”
“Thanks,” Sam said, gratefully taking the soda and resisting the temptation to rub the icy aluminum can against his burning face. “I can sure use this.”
“Yeah, can’t we all.” The other man sat on the ground not far from Sam and opened his own lunch box, looking inside without much enthusiasm. “Harding tries to convince us he keeps the drinks iced down out of concern for our morale, but everyone knows he’s just trying to keep us from bringing beer in our own coolers. He’s a real fanatic about beer on the job.”
“Safer that way,” Sam agreed.
The younger man shrugged. “A beer or two don’t make much difference. Especially in this heat. But I need the job, so I try not to screw up.”
“I know what you mean. I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t need the money,” Sam said grimly.
“Ain’t it the truth.” The younger man swept off his yellow hard hat, revealing sweat-soaked red hair. “I’m Jack Reynolds.”
“Sam Pulaski.”
Jack nodded and stuffed half a sandwich into his mouth. Then he grimaced. “Nothing worse than warm bologna and mayonnaise,” he grumbled around a mouthful of bread and meat. “Keep telling my wife to stick to mustard, but she forgets. Or so she claims. Sometimes I think she’s gotta be doing it on purpose. Every time she’s hacked off with me about something—bologna and mayonnaise.”
Sam chuckled. “Women.”
“You got a wife, Sam?”
“Sort of.” Sam took a bite of his ham sandwich and decided warm mustard wasn’t much more appealing than the mayonnaise, though it was probably safer.
“Sort of?”
Sam shrugged. “Got a woman. We’ve been living together for a while. She sure as hell acts like a wife.”
Jack grinned. “It must be genetics or something. Let ‘em move in and the next thing you know, you’ve got a ring in your nose.”
“Ain’t no ring in this nose,” Sam muttered.
“Sure, Pulaski. I hear ya.” Still grinning, Jack finished his sandwich and unwrapped a second one.
“Got any kids, Reynolds?” Sam asked after a moment.
“No. Wife’s been hinting about having one, but I think we should have a little more money stashed away first. She’s going to nursing school. Soon as she finishes, she’s going to find a job in a hospital and I’m going to start night classes.”
“Yeah? What in?”
“Electronics. You know that business school that’s always advertising on TV? They keep talking about how much money you can make repairing computers. I’m thinking about giving that a try. At least it’s inside work.”
Sam nodded. “Sounds pretty good. Computers are the future, I hear.”
“Hell, they’ve already taken over. And I don’t even know how to turn one on. That’s why I’m sweating my brains out on jobs a trained monkey could do,” Jack complained bitterly. Then he sighed and guzzled half his soda before asking, “You got kids?”
“One on the way.”
“Congratulations.”
Sam scowled and shook his head. Drops of sweat flew with the movement. “Condolences would be more appropriate. You stick to your guns, you hear? Go to school, get a decent job before you have to support a kid. If not, you’ll end up like me, living in a dump with a whining, dissatisfied woman, trying to scrape up enough money for medical bills and baby things.”
“Don’t want the kid, huh?” Jack asked sympathetically.
“I’d rather have a life,” Sam muttered. “Used to have one. Don’t know what the hell happened to it.”
“Women.” Jack shook his head as he repeated Sam’s oath.
“Yeah.”
“At least you’re hanging around,” Jack offered, as though trying to find something encouraging to say. “That’s more than a lot of guys would do in your shoes. I know a bunch of guys that split the minute their women got knocked up.”
Sam sighed. “It’s tempting,” he admitted. “Dallas—my woman—well, she’s okay. I’d kind of hate to leave her. But this kid—” He stopped and shook his head again, then swiped at the trail of perspiration that trickled down his left cheek. “I just don’t know if I’m going to be able to stick it out.”
If Jack knew anything about baby sellers operating in the area, it certainly wasn’t apparent in his expression. “Hang in there, Pulaski,” he said bracingly. “You’ll make it somehow.”
No, Sam thought. Jack Reynolds wasn’t the type who’d lead him to his quarry. Reynolds was still young and optimistic, still of the belief that everything worked out for those who deserved it, that life could turn out just like on TV if one would just be patient. If his wife suddenly announced that she was pregnant—and she probably would before long—Reynolds would simply sigh, mentally bid his lofty plans goodbye and work twice as hard to do what he considered his duty as a man. Poor sap. But Sam almost envied Jack his dreams. At least Jack still had them.
“Hey, Pulaski! Reynolds! You guys planning on getting back to work sometime today? You waiting for a freakin’ invitation?”
Sam and Jack exchanged wry glances in response to the bellowed order and closed their lunch boxes. So much for pleasantries.
* * *
DALLAS WAS STANDING in the hallway early that evening, chatting with Polly, when she spotted Sam out of the corner of her eye. She turned to greet him with deliberately breathless enthusiasm. “Sam! Hi, honey. You’re home earlier than I expected.”
He looked without smiling from her to Polly. “What are you doing out here?” he asked, directing the question to Dallas.
“I went out to get your newspaper,” Dallas replied, displaying the paper tucked under her arm. “I ran into Polly on the way back in. She was just telling me about—”
&nbs
p; “You got my dinner ready?” Sam interrupted, ignoring Polly.
Her bright smile slowly faded. “Well, no, not yet. But it won’t take me long to fix something,” she assured him hastily, nervously. “I just didn’t think you’d be home until—”
“Get inside.” Sam’s words were curt and cold, his eyes furious.
Dallas privately decided she was glad she knew he was only acting for Polly’s benefit. Sam was just a bit too good at this. A meeker woman than she might have been genuinely intimidated by the look he gave her.
Polly moved protectively closer. “Hey, lighten up,” she said to Sam. “I’m the one who’s kept her out here talking.”
Sam pointedly continued to ignore Polly. “Inside, Dallas,” he repeated, jerking his chin toward the apartment door.
Dallas swallowed audibly and looked up at Polly. “Don’t worry, he’ll calm down,” she whispered. “He’s just hot and tired and—”
“Dallas! Get in the damned apartment!” Sam roared.
She jerked like a startled bunny and scurried toward the door. “I’m coming, Sam. I thought I’d make fried chicken for dinner. You like fried chicken,” she said, the words running together in her apparent eagerness to appease him. “And mashed potatoes and gravy. And for dessert we could have—”
The apartment door slammed shut behind them, leaving her and Sam alone in their living room, Polly on the outside. Dallas knew Polly would be listening, so she wasn’t surprised when Sam continued yelling at her as though they still had an audience. She threw herself into her own role, loudly defending herself, bursting into noisy wails of distress. She jumped involuntarily when Sam slammed his fist into a wall and ordered her into the kitchen.
She glared at him over her shoulder as she hurried into the other room. He didn’t have to look like he was enjoying this quite so much, she thought with a touch of resentment.
She heard the shower running as she set the table and reached into the refrigerator for the cold pasta-and-chicken salad she’d prepared that afternoon. She’d known Sam would be hungry and hot and tired, and would probably want something light but filling. With nothing else to do around the place during the day, it hadn’t bothered her to make dinner for him. In fact, she’d spent quite a bit of time on it, telling herself it was the least she could do to uphold her end of the assignment.