Mom In The Making

by Carla Cassidy

  He shrugged. “It’s a lot like this one. Three bedrooms, a huge tree in the backyard, perfect for climbing. It needs a little work, but it’s a rental with an option to buy. First thing in the morning I’ll get my furniture out of storage, and before you know it, the place will be home.”

  Home. Bonnie’s heart fluttered with a wistful longing. The huge mansion she had been raised in had never been a home. A museum of fine things, the status-symbol residence of a successful man and his family — but there had been no warmth, no sense of home.

  She got up and took her plate and glass to the sink, unwilling to dwell on thoughts of the past any longer. It was time for her to look ahead, to the future.

  Russ joined her at the sink with his dirty dishes. He thrust a dish towel into her hand. “I’ll wash, you dry. We don’t want to leave the dirty dishes for Carolyn to face in the morning.” He turned on the faucet, then raised an eyebrow sardonically. “You do know how to dry dishes, don’t you?”

  “Of course. I know how to do a lot of things,” Bonnie snapped. Old emotions rolled to the surface. She hated feeling inadequate, and his question implied her worthlessness. She’d spent most of her childhood hearing about her worthlessness. She’d be damned if she’d listen to it now.

  She grabbed the glass he held out to her and jammed the towel and her hand inside. She swished the towel around, then attempted to pull her hand out. Stuck. The towel had somehow wrapped itself around her wrist; her hand wouldn’t fit through the glass opening.

  Trying again, she turned away from Russ so he couldn’t see she had a slight problem. This is ridiculous, she thought, trying unsuccessfully to get the glass off.

  A burst of half-hysterical laughter rose to her lips as she imagined going through the rest of her life with a glass on her hand. Swallowing the laugh before it could escape, she tugged on the glass once again. No luck.

  “What’s the matter?” Russ asked, holding out the other glass to her.

  “Nothing,” she answered quickly. She’d rather go through life wearing a glass than ask him for help. Then, realizing she couldn’t do that, she turned and faced him. “If you laugh I swear you’ll be sorry.” She held up her glass-encased hand. “It’s stuck.”

  He fought his laugh, his lips compressed tightly, but his eyes danced in merriment as he shook his head. “You are some piece of work, Princess.”

  “Don’t call me that,” she protested as he took her hand in his. She was mortified, humiliated by the whole thing.

  “Just hold still,” he commanded. As he gently twisted the glass, Bonnie couldn’t help but notice he had nice hands. Big, capable ones, with slender fingers that radiated warmth.

  He stood so close to her she could smell the evocative scent of his cologne, the musky odor mingling with the more subtle scent of soap and the lingering remnant of beer. It was a distinctly masculine smell that caused a sweet heat to rush through her.

  She was also uncomfortably aware of his body, intimately close to hers. Dark chest hairs peeked out over the unbuttoned portion of his shirt and she wondered how they would feel against her cheek. Would they be scratchy and stiff or soft and feathery? She fought the impulse to lean her face into him and find out.

  Cooler night air drifted in through the open window above the sink, pleasant against her heated skin and adding to the sensory enjoyment of the moment.

  “There,” he said softly as the glass finally popped off her hand. For a moment they remained unmoving, his fingers still wrapped warmly around her wrist. He raised his gaze to her face, and in his eyes she saw a flame of fire, a flicker of desire. Her knees weakened, making it impossible for her to move away. He wanted to kiss her — she could see it in his eyes. And she wanted him to, wanted desperately.

  His face moved closer to hers, his mouth only inches away. Without thought, she parted her lips expectantly. For a moment his gaze burned into hers, his breath. sweet and warm as it fanned her face. He grinned down at her and drew back. “I told you before, Princess. I suspect half your problem is that you always get what you want, and you want to be kissed way too badly for me to comply.”

  It took a moment for his words to sink in, but as they did, she stumbled back from him, jerking her wrist out of his grip. “You...you thought I wanted you to kiss me? Don’t be ridiculous,” she said with as much indignation as she could muster. “If you’d tried, I would have bitten off your lower lip.” She slapped the dish towel down on the counter. “And just for that, you can finish the dishes by yourself.” Without waiting for his reply, she turned and stomped out of the kitchen.

  Russ breathed a sigh of relief when she’d gone. That had been close. Too close. For just a moment, he’d almost fallen into a state of total insanity. As she’d stood next to him, her hair tousled and her scent surrounding him, he’d nearly given in to his desire to kiss her, mold her body against his own, touch that tanned, smooth flesh that seemed to exist only to tease him.

  He didn’t like it. Didn’t like it one bit. Bonnie Baker managed to affect him in a decidedly adverse way. Frowning, he remembered taunting her to share the bedroom the night before, challenging her to discover if he was a wild boxers man after dark. It had been out of line, uncharacteristic, and what was worse, he found himself almost wishing she’d taken him up on it.

  He finished the last of the dishes, then splashed water on his forehead. What he really needed was a cold shower. He’d been alone too long, was achingly vulnerable to Bonnie’s sweet curves, the fire in her eyes. Of course, he would be vulnerable to any sexually attractive woman. He was a healthy thirty-year-old man who’d spent the past year like a monk.

  He grinned and shook his head ruefully. The last thing he needed was to get involved with an irresponsible, flighty, mouthy woman like Bonnie Baker. He was glad he hadn’t kissed her. He had a feeling he would like kissing her...would like it a lot. There was no point in messing up a perfectly good case of healthy animosity with something as fleeting as sexual desire.

  He needed to stay focused on Daniel, not on a woman who would probably not last here in Casey’s Corners a full week. He wasn’t the type to indulge in brief affairs, and that’s all he would want from Bonnie. A brief, uncomplicated, completely sexual relationship.

  He was ready to find a woman who would become his wife. He knew what kind of woman he and Daniel needed, and it was definitely not Bonnie Baker. She’d run out on her wedding to a prince: she certainly wasn’t the kind of woman he’d choose to be his life partner, his helpmate and the stepmother to his son. He needed a woman who understood children, whose sole commitment was to the family, not the latest fashions. And Bonnie certainly wouldn’t want the kind of life he lived. She was probably accustomed to exquisite dining in exotic restaurants or hopping on a jet for a day of shopping.

  He sank back down at the table, for a moment his mind filled with a vision of his son. Things had been difficult since Anne had left them. Russ had coped with the failed marriage by throwing himself into his job, easing his anger and sense of betrayal by long hours of police work. Daniel was the one who had suffered, first from his mother’s abandonment, then by Russ’s absence. Before Russ knew it, his loving, sweet son was out of control.

  He rubbed his eyes, envisioning Daniel’s dark brown eyes and stubborn chin. All too often those eyes had been filled with rage and that little chin had lifted defiantly. Russ rubbed his eyes once again, hoping that here in the smaller town, with more time to spend with Daniel, he could find the key to healing the little boy’s hurt.

  Things will be better here, Russ thought optimistically. He intended to give his son plenty of attention and gentle understanding. Casey’s Corners was just what they needed, but Bonnie Baker certainly wasn’t.

  It was a good thing he was moving out tomorrow. His body obviously didn’t understand his brain’s desire to steer clear of Bonnie. He grinned again as he thought of her hand stuck in the glass. He was sure she would rather have worn that glass for the rest of her life than ask his help in
extracting her hand.

  He neatly folded the dish towel and set it on the counter, then shut off the light and went back through the living room. As he walked by the sofa bed, Bonnie rolled over.

  “Kiss you? Huh, I’d rather kiss a toad.” Her voice was soft but firm.

  Russ chuckled and went into the bedroom. Yes, she was some piece of work.

  Chapter Four

  “Nervous?” Beau asked Bonnie as they walked together down the sidewalk toward Main Street. It was Monday and the early-morning sun was already hot on their backs.

  Bonnie hesitated a moment, then nodded. “I hate to admit it, but I am. I’ve never had a real job before. There was a time I thought I wanted to work in the family business, but when I broached my father about it, he laughed.” She knew she was talking too much. When she was nervous she always ran on at the mouth. “Of course, Sam and Caro both worked for the corporation. They were the brains in the family. I’ve always been the party girl.”

  “It takes a lot of brains to know when it’s time to quit partying and get down to life,” Beau observed. Bonnie shot him a grateful smile.

  “You did say you could type, right?”

  “Of course.” She didn’t quite meet his gaze, hoping she’d be forgiven for this little white lie. “But you said there wouldn’t be a lot of typing,” she reminded him.

  He nodded. “Mostly we need somebody to answer the phone and take information. Occasionally reports have to be typed, but not too often.” He smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry, we’re a small-town police station. Things are fairly laid-back. You’ll do fine.”

  Bonnie hoped so. She knew Beau was giving her a chance, putting her to work at the station. When he’d mentioned the possibility the night before, her instinct had been to decline. He’d told her they needed some temporary help because they were finally going to a computer system.

  It was Caro who’d finally convinced her to give it a try. “You’ll be working with Brenda Jo, and she’s a real doll. Besides, it’s only temporary. It will be good training.” Caro had finally convinced Bonnie to take the job.

  She couldn’t wait to see Russ’s face when he walked in this afternoon and realized she was working there.

  True to his word, Russ had gotten up early Saturday morning, and by noon had all his things packed and out of Caro and Beau’s place. Bonnie had moved into the bedroom, and that night, lying in the double bed, she’d been surrounded by Russ’s scent. It lingered in the air, clung to the mattress despite the clean sheets beneath her. She remembered that moment they had shared in the kitchen, when his lips had been so achingly close to hers. He had been right. She’d wanted him to kiss her, and that knowledge irritated the hell out of her. She’d slept poorly, aggravated by the thought that the man could torment her despite his absence.

  “Russ won’t be happy about me working at the station.” She spoke her thoughts aloud.

  Beau shrugged. “Russ isn’t the boss. I am.”

  “He really dislikes me. He thinks I’m worthless and irresponsible, selfish and shallow.”

  Beau raised an eyebrow. “He told you that?”

  “He didn’t have to. I see it in his expressions whenever he looks at me or talks to me.”

  “Maybe he’ll change his mind. He doesn’t know you very well yet.”

  She grinned gamely. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve spent my whole life not caring what other people think. Besides, I don’t intend to give him a chance to know me any better.” She straightened her shoulders and raised her chin. “I don’t have to prove myself to anyone... especially not some small-town cop. I am what I am, and people either accept me or they don’t.”

  Beau merely smiled. “And what are you?”

  Bonnie hesitated a moment, the question rolling around in her head without a solid answer. She finally looked up at Beau. “I’m a party girl who presently finds herself without party funds. A temporary setback that will change soon, then I’ll be off again visiting royalty, drinking champagne and indulging myself in an extravagant lifestyle.” The words sounded ridiculously frivolous and caused an ache deep in her heart. She shoved away the pain and smiled brightly at Beau. “Every family has a black sheep. And in mine, I’m it.”

  “I’d say Sam is running neck in neck with you for that particular title,” Beau answered.

  Bonnie frowned, suddenly remembering the dream of Sam running down a highway, scared and alone, that had haunted her the past several nights. Her heart ached with Sam’s ominous absence from them all. “Sam isn’t a black sheep. He’s one of the good guys. He’s just gotten himself caught up in something bad.”

  “That’s what Carolyn keeps telling me. But the evidence doesn’t look good.”

  “You mean because a witness saw Sam running away from the office where Father was shot?”

  Beau nodded. “That combined with the fact that he hasn’t turned himself in to the police. Apparently your father and Sam had a heated fight right before the murder.”

  Bonnie laughed. “Every argument with my father turned into a heated fight.” She sobered slightly. “My father was not an easy man to get along with, and he and Sam constantly butted heads. That certainly doesn’t mean Sam killed him.”

  Beau smiled at her. “You and your sister think alike. I’ll say this for you—you Baker sisters are loyal when it comes to your brother and sisters.”

  “They’re all I have in my life.” They turned onto Main Street and all thoughts of Sam flew from Bonnie’s head as they approached the small, brick building that housed the police department.

  Her first job. Nerves jangled inside her like tiny electrical shorts. The burden of Beau’s trust weighed heavily. What if she messed up? What if she did something horrible? Please don’t let me screw this up, she thought desperately.

  As they walked into the office, the woman at the front desk greeted Beau.

  “Hey, boss.”

  She stood up and Bonnie realized she must be almost six feet tall. Big boned, with carrot-red hair, she eyed Bonnie with open curiosity.

  “Hi, Brenda Jo. I brought you some help,” Beau replied.

  “Hallelujah. I’ve been overworked and underpaid for years.”

  Beau grinned. “I can’t do anything about the underpaid part, but Bonnie is here to lessen your work load.” He turned to Bonnie and made quick, formal introductions. “You’ll be working directly under Brenda Jo. And don’t let her fool you, Bonnie. She’s the real boss around here. She keeps us all on our toes.”

  Brenda Jo laughed and shoved her red hair away from her broad face. “I have to be tough to put up with all the testosterone in this building.” She stood up and placed a hand on Bonnie’s arm. “Come on, sweetheart, I’ll show you around. It will be good to have another female in this joint.”

  For the next fifteen minutes Brenda Jo gave Bonnie a tour of the building. “As you can see, we’re a pretty small operation,” she explained. “Thankfully serious crime hasn’t found us here in Casey’s Corners yet.”

  Bonnie peeked into one of the two holding cells and shivered slightly. “I spent a miserable night in a cell much like this in Paris.”

  Brenda Jo stared at her in shock. “Don’t tell me Beau went and hired me a jailbird?”

  Bonnie suddenly realized she should have kept her mouth shut. “It was nothing serious,” she said hurriedly. “A bunch of us were arrested for disturbing the peace. We’d had a little too much champagne and decided to swim in one of the fountains. We all found it very amusing. Unfortunately the Paris officials didn’t.”

  Brenda Jo laughed. “Oh, well, that I can understand. Old man Milford Jones gets his nose in the sauce about twice a year and tries to climb the water tower. We haul him in and hold him until he sobers up.” She eyed Bonnie curiously once again. “You’ve been to Paris, hub? I’ve always wanted to go there.”

  “So, why don’t you?” Bonnie asked.

  Brenda Jo laughed. “Honey, I’m almost fifty years old and have never been out of Kansas.�
� For a moment her hazel eyes were hazy and a soft smile curved her lips. “Everyone needs a dream. Paris in the springtime just happens to be mine. The Champs-Élysées and the Arc de Triomphe, the Seine River and the Tuileries Gardens.”

  “For somebody who’s not been there, you know a lot about it.”

  Brenda Jo grinned. “Travel books. I read them for fun. Come on, I’ll finish the grand tour.”

  Fifteen minutes later, as Bonnie filed a stack of folders Brenda Jo had given her, she thought of the older woman’s words. Everyone needed a dream. How many years had it been since Bonnie had had a dream for herself?

  When she was little, she’d dreamed her family was broke. She’d dreamed of a father who worked nine to five, and a mother who baked cookies from scratch and never went away. She’d watched corny movies where the family was poor but their hovel was filled with love, and she envied those people, wanted that for herself.

  By the time she was ten, she’d put away her childish dreams, and there had been no others to take their place. “Dreams are for kids,” she muttered. If you had no dreams or expectations, then you were never disappointed. And nobody else could be disappointed in you.

  “Here, hon, when you finish that filing, these reports need to be typed.” Brenda Jo handed her a bulging manila envelope. “When you’re ready, the typewriter is on the desk in the storage room. Not the best environment, but it’s quiet back there.”

  “Uh, Beau said there wouldn’t be much typing,” Bonnie hedged.

  Brenda Jo grinned. “I never tell the sheriff how backed up I am. Is there a problem?”

  “No, it’s just that I’m not a very fast typist,” Bonnie explained.

  “Don’t worry about that,” Brenda Jo assured her. “Some of those have been sitting here for a month or two. It won’t matter if it takes a couple of hours to get them all done.”