by Misty Dietz
He pushed away from the truck and ruffled her pixie-short blonde hair. “Brat. You come all the way out here to spy on me, or are you finally going to ask me for a job?”
She shook her head. “You’re too boring to spy on nowadays. But damn, I’d pay good money to watch you roll somebody over a pool table again.”
“Those days are long gone, Morgan.”
“Never say never.”
The way she said it made Zack’s shoulders tense. I should have brought you to Sunday suppers with John more often. A mistake he’d never be able to fix since John, his plain-speaking, charismatic mentor—the only person he’d ever strived to emulate—had been buried for almost a year now.
Zack battened down the lid of his grief. “Nice try with the mysterious note you left on my door. You should know by now I don’t bring women out here.” Didn’t bring anyone. He appreciated his five acres of elbow room.
Morgan’s eyebrows rose. “What note?”
A cold sensation rippled through him. She looked too intrigued to be lying. “Never mind.” His thoughts raced. If Morgan hadn’t left the note, who had? And why? It had to be either a mistake, or a joke. His inner circle was two men and three women. Five people who didn’t share his blood but were the only family he’d ever known. The only ones who’d never betrayed him.
His mentor, John Samuels, was dead. Morgan was here. Twyla and Archie Raessler were at home as of fifteen minutes ago when Archie had texted him...
The only one not accounted for was John’s daughter, Ann. She hadn’t answered his phone call a half hour ago when he’d first found the note. Zack’s pulse throbbed in his neck.
Don’t miss the sun today by worrying about the rain coming tomorrow. One of John’s positive affirmations.
Maybe Ann had finally taken his advice and unglued her phone from her hand.
Time to get on with the day. “What do you need, Morgan, I should get going.”
“Can’t I simply come to visit?”
He crossed his arms. “At six-thirty on a Sunday morning?”
“Maybe I’m turning over a new leaf.” When he smirked, she sighed. “Fine. I want to have a shindig for Ann out here in the boonies. When she’s ready to share the news, that is. We’ll have a bonfire, drinks, and cookies in the shape of baby bottles. Isn’t that the cutest thing you’ve ever heard? They make them at the deli on 32nd.”
He’d derailed about a mile back. “Baby bottles?” Her expression indicated he was a member of the forty watt club, but he still couldn’t wrap his mind around baby bottle cookies. “Why would you—”
No.
Morgan cringed. “Oh, damn. How can you not know?”
His throat dried. “Stop bullshitting, brat. If Ann’s pregnant, so am I.”
“Well, in that case, we’ll get more cookies.”
Her grin fueled his alarm. He drummed his fingers on top of his head, but that didn’t help, so he cussed. A lot.
“Sorry, big guy. Guess she knew you’d react this way so she was obviously waiting to tell you. She’ll probably thank me for breaking it to you, now that I think about it. But yeah, she got knocked up.”
Morgan’s voice faded into the background while questions ran circles in his mind. Who? When? He was ready to throttle Ann for not telling him right away. But first, maybe he’d better throw himself under a bus. Not fifteen minutes ago he was wondering if she had a boyfriend so he could do a background check on the guy, and now he finds out she’s having a baby?
She’s just a kid herself.
No way. “All right, joke’s on me. Give it up, Morgan.” She was probably lying about the WHERE IS SHE note, too.
Her dimples deepened. “Better get your mad out before you see her.”
“I’m not mad.” Really, he wasn’t. Just shocked. And guilty. John had made him promise to look out for Ann when he was dust because she had no one else. His pulse pounded in his neck. John’s grandchild. “How is it she told you before me?”
Morgan’s face went blank for a second. “She didn’t exactly tell me. I kinda guessed with her feeling sick so much lately.”
Oh, that. He’d chalked it up to the stress of her recent move and the coming anniversary of John’s death. But then, he hadn’t asked, had he?
What were they going to do with a baby? He was acting like a stereotypical idiot bachelor, but damn. What if the sperm donor wasn’t there for her? He couldn’t let Ann’s kid grow up without a father figure. John hadn’t come into his life until he was an adult and look how messed up his adolescence had been.
He checked the time on his phone. Six-forty-one. He tried Ann’s home and cell numbers again, leaving messages when voicemail picked up. Then he slipped the phone into his pocket. “Who is it?”
Morgan had been squinting across the river. Her gaze scooted back to him. “Who?”
“The boogey man. Who else, Morgan? The father.”
She shrugged. “No idea. Sure is a secretive little bug, huh?”
He frowned at her grin, and his gut cartwheeled. “I’ll get back to you on that party thing, okay?”
“No sweat, big guy.”
He heard her laugh as he slid into his truck and gunned it down the gravel driveway.
The only thing he hated worse than a coward was a deserter. And deserter dads topped the list. Somebody’s head was gonna roll.
TWO
Zack had his blood pressure under control by the time he pulled up to the service entrance of Skinny Dipping, a frou frou home furnishings boutique where Ann had recently scored the part-time job of her dreams. Or so she’d claimed. He hadn’t been here yet, but he’d been curious about it, not only because Ann talked it up, but also because a moniker like that conjured good mojo.
He cut the engine and stepped into the spill of sunshine, industrial sounds from the front of the mall reassuring him that his construction crew was still on the job. On a Sunday. Early. Hopefully wrapping things up because the amusement park addition was scheduled to open in two days. Two more days of burning the candle on both ends, and he’d give all his crew fat bonuses.
Skinny Dipping’s plain steel door looked no different from any of the others along the back of the mall, except this one was propped open. He knocked and peered inside. Finding no one, he zigzagged through stacks of boxes toward a door that presumably led to the showroom.
While the back room blazed with ugly fluorescent lighting, the store itself was like the backdrop for a chick flick, glowing with strategically placed lamps, wall lanterns, and lights that dripped crystals.
Getting no response to repeated calls, he continued deeper into the store. Silly, sparkling things—paperweights?—sat on fat wooden candlesticks any self-respecting Boy Scout could carve. He kept his hands in his pockets as he carefully bypassed chunky necklaces draped over stilettos, fuzzy blankets that wouldn’t keep anyone warm, tiny pots that reeked, painted and beat-up furniture, smelly candles, and a ridiculous assortment of gaudy accessories. Honest to God, the sensory smorgasbord made him lightheaded.
This place is an epic fire hazard.
Ann’s motive for working here had to be educational since she didn’t need the money. She wanted to enroll in NDSU’s interior design program but was conflicted about walking away from her father’s construction business. Zack had told her she could do both, but so far she hadn’t made any moves.
Though with a baby coming, who knew when that would happen—or if.
He frowned, reaching for a flimsy blue scarf on impulse. He ran his fingers down the sheer length, turned a corner, and almost collided with a pair of legs on a ladder.
His eyes traveled from the three-inch heeled sandals with ribbons that wound up delicate ankles, inch by satiny inch, until—Jesus—what had to be almost three and a half feet later his eyes feasted on an ass in white denim.
“Hey there, be with you in a sec.” Her voice was like caramel. The kind you suck on. And her scent, warm vanilla. He twisted the scarf between his fists. Say something.
The woman went up on her toes to arrange a feather boa on a shelf and damned if those Daisy Dukes didn’t raise several tantalizing centimeters, exposing the generous swell of her buttocks.
And no tan line. He stifled a groan.
She started down the ladder, and he rubbed a hand over his heart and backed up. He hadn’t had such a visceral response to a woman since…ever?
“Thanks for waiting. You here for the daybed pickup?” she asked.
“Yeah. No! Ah, sorry. That’s not why I’m here.” Tongue-tied even? The woman stood with one brow raised, arms crossed under her small breasts, the billowy-type shirt doing nothing to conceal the flare of her hips.
Hips just begging for…
He shut his eyes on a slow blink, forcing himself to focus on his purpose. His face heated before he set the scarf on a table and extended his hand. “I’m Zack Goldman. I work with Ann at Samuel’s Construction.”
The woman looked at his hand, hesitating. Yeah, his hands were rough, but they were clean. Maybe she was a germophobe or something.
A second later, though, she placed her hand in his, and the jolt must have been mutual. Her eyes widened. Weren’t they an unusual gray-brown? The color he’d imagine on a she-wolf.
Purpose. Ann. Baby. “The back door was open. Ann told me she’d be here early one of these mornings to help out, but I couldn’t remember when,” he said.
“Ann was scheduled to be here by six to help with yesterday’s freight, but she hasn’t arrived yet. Have you tried her at home? I figured she’d slept in. I’m Sloane Swift, by the way.”
Flamboyant clothing and enough noisy arm bangles to accessorize a band of gypsies… Her name matched the package. Large, darkly-lashed eyes anchored an oval face above cheekbones sculpted by a master. And all that soft, smooth skin…
Was frowning.
He looked down at their joined hands, let go, and shoved his own in his pockets. “Ann’s not answering her phone.”
Sloane was about to say something when a tiny blonde whizzed around the corner. “Hey, boss.” The woman’s eyes moved from Sloane to Zack, her smile warming a hundred degrees. “Hey handsome, don’t let me chase you away. I’m Tori Daily—the manager.”
“Zack Goldman. I work with Ann.”
A brief disturbance crossed her features before she pinned the smile back in place. “So you’re Zack. Ann told me you’re donating a kidney to a friend’s wife. When are you doing that?”
Sloane raised her eyebrows, and his face warmed again. “They hope to do the transplant shortly after Twyla has the baby. Anyway—”
“I hadn’t heard the woman was pregnant. That’s cool. I’m sure Ann will keep us posted.” Tori turned back to Sloane. “Where is she anyway? She was pumped to see the new stuff.”
“She’s not here yet.” Sloane gazed steadily at Zack.
Don’t be afraid of women with balls or brains. You don’t want no box of rocks. John had been down on his knees trowling concrete with Zack’s crew of eight when he’d shared that bit of counsel so long ago.
Zack shifted his weight, then realized how weak that made him look. He could really do without all the unbidden Johnisms today.
“That’s not like her. She sick?” Tori asked.
Ann was usually conscientious to a fault. So where was she? That cryptic note was making him more bent by the minute. “I’m sure there’s a reasonable excuse.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Tori studied her nails.
She’s lying.
Either she knew where Ann was, or she sucked at reassuring people. Maybe both. Zack’s phone chirped to signal an incoming text from his CFO. Benji’s irate. Better be here in 20 or better.
Now what? Once he was done with Timothy Benjamin’s mall amusement park and the sub-contractors were paid, he was never going to work with a scumbag like him again. He frowned at Sloane. “Sorry for the trouble. I’m sure Ann will feel terrible about being late.”
“We’ll be fine. But maybe you should stop by her place to check on her? She could be ill or something.”
It was the or something he didn’t care to think about. But since he needed to deal with Benjamin, and the Samuel’s office wasn’t far from Ann’s, he might as well stop over there. “Yeah, I’ll drop by her place in an hour or so.”
“Be sure to have her call us so we know everything’s okay. And hey, the transplant thing’s pretty neat.” Sloane’s eyes smiled, making something warm pass through his chest. He nodded and made his way outside, itching to run for miles. He couldn’t decide who frustrated him more—Benjamin for making his crew hate their jobs, himself for being in the dark about Ann’s mystery man and his gut-level response to Sloane, and John, for making him care about it all in the first place.
THREE
Sloane continued to look at the back door for several moments after Zack’s departure, not sure what to think. Tori wrestled a box off a dolly and drew a box cutter across the packing tape. “Quite the eye candy, eh?”
Sloane rubbed her hands on her forearms. “Silky black hair, stormy green eyes, and five o’clock shadow. Tall, built, and moody. In a word? Yummy.”
Tori smirked. “Yeah, he seems like the whole package. Besides being gorgeous and obviously altruistic, he’s successful. Samuel’s Construction is one of the largest contractors in the upper Midwest. Ann’s father could have had any number of front runners take over the business, but Zack’s been the man running the show these last few years even before John died. Weird thing is, Ann says women fawn all over him, but he doesn’t even seem to notice. I bet he’s gay.”
“He’s not gay.”
“I have several male friends who you’d never think—”
“So do I. The hetero vibe was in full force, Tori. Your loss if you missed it.”
Tori paused in the act of lifting an ivory reproduction of Nymph and Satyr Carousing. “We’ve been friends for fifteen years, and I’ve never seen you so instantly gaga over a guy.” She pointed the carved model at Sloane. “I’d hate to see you disappointed if he’s not in your market.”
Sloane eased the satyr out of her manager’s grasp. Definitely time to change the topic. “Speaking of men, when will Teddy be in town? You guys have been dating for a month now, and I still haven’t met him. You’re making him up, aren’t you?”
She relaxed when Tori took the bait and launched into a diatribe about her busy, out of town boyfriend. Sloane set Nymph and Satyr on a velvet-covered pedestal and drifted from box to box, unloading freight, barely noticing the beautiful objects that normally gave her so much pleasure.
Truth was, she was unnerved by her response to Zack Goldman. Sure, the man was a looker and—wow, obviously unselfish—but even more than that…
He’d sent her energy. And she hadn’t even touched anything metallic. Her nerve endings were still sparking like they were having an orgy. That unexpected encounter of his energy was all…beach heat, rolling waves, and oil-slicked bodies sliding together in a dim cabana.
It had felt delicious.
Carnal.
That unsettled her more than anything.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d physically touched someone who didn’t require her to envision her energy shield—that unfortunate but necessary layer of protection that prevented people from short-circuiting her equanimity. No one could see it, but Lordy, she could feel it. Especially if she was too late to initiate her shield.
So what the heck had happened with Zack? That encounter left her…hungry. And wasn’t that interesting?
Crap. What was she thinking? He was one apple she wasn’t biting. If he’d instigated that kind of reaction in her, she couldn’t—wouldn’t—do that to him. Anyone who glided that effortlessly through her barriers always ended up burned. Her gift was largely uncontrollable.
A curse.
And a source of danger to anyone who got too close.
The cascading trickle of water in the fountain broke her reflection, and she looked up to find hers
elf snared in one of Tori’s scowls. The I know there’s something going on and I’m going to hound you until it’s on the table kind of stare that had Sloane’s heart revving. Tori was one of a handful of people who knew about her object reading burden—that whacked liability her mother referred to as a “gift.”
Unlike shielding herself from people’s energies, which she struggled to manage, Sloane had become quite masterful at silencing this other ability. But because Tori knew what she was capable of—touching metallic objects to infer information about their history via latent energy fields—Sloane let her guard down more easily around her. Except for times like now when it made her feel…over-exposed. Because, wow, it was really creepy when you thought about it.
She forced a smile and moved to arrange a pile of pillows to give her hands something to do. “When Teddy’s back in town, I’ll have you guys over for supper.”
Tori pursed her lips. “Knock it off. I saw you shake Zack’s hand. You read something when you touched him, didn’t you?”
“You know I don’t like it when you bring that up.”
Tori leaned forward. “I knew it.”
Sloane’s hands started to sweat. She wanted away. From this conversation. From this despicable affliction that required so much effort to ignore. She marched through the storeroom and out the back door. The August air clung heavy and damp to her skin. Did this classify as pouting?
Lord, she hated pouters.
“Sloane?”
She turned to find Tori’s head peeking around the steel door.
“Your lip’s dragging. Pick it up and—” Tori burst into laughter. Sloane looked back at the parking lot to see her part-time employee Carmen Miller sauntering up in a straining-at-the-seams leopard print dress, wheeling an enormous purple suitcase.
“Whew. So hot out here I nearly left my ass on the leather car seat. Shake a leg, girlies. I wanna see the loot.”
Sloane closed her eyes, breathed deep, and concentrated on the beat of her heart, using the rhythm to summon the energy required to raise her protection shield before she put an arm around Tori to follow the wide-hipped redhead inside. Carmen leaned the suitcase against the wall, grabbed a handful of Kleenexes, and stuffed them into her pillowy cleavage before opening the staff refrigerator.