Deputy Daddy

by Carla Cassidy

  She punched the pillow, irritated by the direction of her thoughts. It didn't matter that he was attractive. It didn't matter that he'd looked all soft and appealing when he'd talked about family.

  He was wrong for the boys. This town was wrong for the boys. Mary's boys deserved the very best, and the best certainly couldn't be found in a place called Casey's Corners and with a man like Beau Randolf. In New York they would have the kind of opportunities that couldn't be found here. They would be exposed to so much more. A single woman could raise children far better than a single man.

  As always, in the last moments before sleep claimed her, Carolyn thought of her father's murder and her brother's resulting disappearance. Her father, Joseph, had been shot and killed in his office at Baker Enterprises. The police suspected Sam of the crime. Carolyn knew better. Although Sam and her father had often argued vehemently about business, Sam wasn't capable of such a heinous crime. So, where was he? Why hadn't he faced the accusations, defended himself? What, other than death, could possibly keep him away from his wife and little girl?

  Although Carolyn kept in close contact with her sister-in-law and niece, she missed her brother, needed to find out what had happened to him. What could he possibly have been doing here in Casey's Corners? And if he had been in town, where had he gone from here? Punching her pillow a final time, Carolyn drifted off to sleep.

  * * *

  Brent's and Trent's familiar cries pierced Beau's sleep. In the past week, he'd grown accustomed to being awakened in the middle of the night. Since their arrival at his home, the twins had yet to sleep through an entire night.

  He started to get up, then remembered that Carol Cook was now in the house. It was her job to care for the boys. That's what he'd hired her for. He relaxed once again and waited for sounds that would indicate Carol was up and taking care of the boys. Moments passed and he tensed as the cries continued, growing louder.

  When there was still no noise from Carol's room and the cries were loud enough to raise the entire neighborhood, Beau got out of bed and yanked on a pair of jeans. He passed Carol's closed bedroom door and went into the next room, where both Trent and Brent stood in their cribs, hanging on to the rails and crying lustily. He turned on the overhead light, unsurprised when their tears magically stopped and they each gave him a toothy grin.

  "You're both a couple of little fakes," he said, laughing as he picked up one and anchored him on one hip, then did the same with the other.

  He wasn't sure why they awoke each night. Sometimes their diapers were wet, sometimes dry. Some times they wanted a bottle, some times they didn't. It was as if what they really needed most was a little middle-of-the-night reassurance and love.

  After checking their diapers, he carried them into the kitchen and situated them in their high chairs, then gave them each a vanilla wafer to gnaw on. In his week of experience, he'd found that after a cookie and a little conversation the boys usually went back to bed without a fight, for the rest of the night.

  "So what's happening, fellows?" he asked, slumping into the chair nearest their high chairs. They both grinned, drooling over the cookies in their mouths. He remembered the night they had been born. He'd been in the waiting room with Bob. He'd paced the floor next to him, jumping each time the waiting-room door opened, wondering if this time it would be the doctor. Finally, when the labor was over, Beau had passed out as many cigars as Bob.

  He smiled as he recalled Bob's relief when Mary had announced she didn't want him in the delivery room. Bob had confessed to Beau that he didn't want to be there. He'd been afraid he would disgrace himself by passing out. Beau had thought his friend was crazy. He remembered thinking at the time that when his wife had their children, he wanted to be there at her side, reminding her to breathe, sharing every moment of the miracle of birth.

  His smile wavered. A lot of good it did him to think about the birth of his children. He wasn't anywhere near getting married, hadn't even dated anyone special in over a year. The little town of Casey's Corners had everything he wanted, except an abundance of eligible single women.

  He stifled a yawn with the back of his hand, wondering what in the hell he was doing sitting in the kitchen in the middle of the night when he had a woman he'd hired sleeping in the spare bedroom.

  Unable to believe that Carol had slept through the noise, he stood. "I'll be right back," he said to the two cookie monsters. At Carol's bedroom door, he knocked softly, wondering for the first time if everything was all right. She should have gotten up with the kids.

  He knocked again, louder. When there was still no answer, he frowned worriedly. He suddenly realized he didn't know anything about her. What if she was a secret drinker? Or hooked on sleeping pills? What if she was an escapee from a mental institute? Sure, the agency he'd used was supposed to have an intensive screening process, but he knew there were people who slipped through the bureaucratic cracks all the time.

  He knocked once more, and when there was still no answer, he twisted the knob and opened the door. Moon light spilled through the window and onto the bed, painting Carol in shimmering silvery illumination. She was on her back, tiny ladylike snores escaping her parted lips.

  Her dark hair was splayed across the white of the pillowcase and her features were soft with dreams. The sheets were tangled around her middle, exposing not only the thrust of her breasts beneath the filmy midnight-blue nightgown, but also the shapely length of her bared legs. As Beau stared at her, he felt his stomach muscles tighten and clench in response.

  He could tell by her breathing that she was deeply asleep, and for a moment he entertained the thought of playing Prince Charming to her Cinderella. He wanted to lean over and kiss her softly parted lips and see if that would awaken her from her hundred-year sleep. He frowned. Or was it Snow White who had slept for a hundred years?

  It didn't matter. He wasn't about to kiss her and wake her up. She'd per formed miracles today in completely cleaning up the living room, taking care of the boys and providing a delicious dinner. She was obviously exhausted, and she'd earned the right not to be disturbed.

  He turned away, pausing as the light from the hallway spilled onto the dresser. Then he spotted several containers from the diner. He recognized them because he'd often had Wanda, the owner of the diner, send something home for him to warm up in the microwave.

  He grinned. So, his miracle worker hadn't worked such a miracle, after all. No wonder the evening meal had tasted like Wanda's advertised "home cooking." It had been her cooking.

  His grin widened as he spied the gold glint of a credit card lying next to the empty cartons. So, she'd charged dinner and had it delivered. She'd probably wanted to make a good impression on him. He found this oddly endearing.

  He reached out and picked up the credit card, his fingers moving over the raised letters of her name. Carolyn Baker.

  His heart stopped for a moment. Leaning back so the light of the hall shone fully on the card, he read her name again. Carolyn Baker. "What the he—"

  He glared at the woman lying there asleep, fighting the impulse to grab her by the hair and drag her out of bed. What the hell kind of game was she playing?

  He thought over the morning, for the first time vaguely remembering the confusion on her features when he'd greeted her and thrust a kid in her arms. He'd just assumed she was the woman from the agency, and he'd made it in credibly easy for her to seize that role. Grudging admiration for her flared up inside him. She'd seen an opportunity and grabbed it. He couldn't fault her for that.

  He carefully placed the credit card back exactly where he'd found it, then gazed once again at the sleeping woman. So, this was the wealthy dragon lady from New York. Trent and Brent's godmother.

  What was she doing here? Why on earth had she spent the day pretending to be Carol Cook? Hell, he could arrest her for impersonating a housekeeper.

  He grinned again, knowing he was going to do no such thing. He didn't know what she was up to, but he liked the idea of h
er being right here under his nose where he could keep an eye on her. Quietly, he left her room, closing the door once again.

  Going back out into the kitchen, he sank down in one of the chairs and raked a hand through his hair thoughtfully.

  "Ga-ga-ga." Trent banged on the high-chair table and absently Beau handed him another cookie.

  He'd expected her to turn up sooner or later, although in his wildest dreams he hadn't anticipated she would be sleeping in his spare bedroom.

  There was only one reason why she would have come. She wanted the kids. Well, tough. He smiled again, his blood surging with the anticipation of battle.

  "This could get real interesting, boys." With a wide smile still lingering on his lips, he handed the boys another cookie and told them the story of the three billy goats gruff and the big bad wolf who wanted to blow their houses down.

  Chapter 4

  Carolyn flung a hand out to shut off the alarm. Without opening her eyes, she rolled over onto her back. It had to be a mistake. It couldn't be time to get up already. It felt as though she'd just gone to sleep minutes ago. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been so tired.

  She didn't want to get up. Snuggling back under the covers she closed her eyes once again. She just wanted to remain here in bed and fall back into her dreams of a tanned, broad chest, a chest she'd been kissing, the springy dark hair pleasantly tickling her lips. A chest that had been warm and inviting, a chest that—She sat up, appalled as she remembered the dream she'd been having before the alarm had interrupted.

  She'd been touching, caressing, kissing a masculine chest—not just any chest, but Beau's. She'd obviously been exhausted into insanity. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and glared at the alarm clock, as if the instrument were personally responsible for the early hour and her crazy dreams.

  Fortunately her room had a connecting bathroom and after springing out of bed and standing beneath the hot spray of the shower, she emerged feeling almost human. She dressed quickly, then went into the kitchen, turning on the light against the predawn darkness. She groaned as her shoe slid over a green bean from the night before. She had to do some thing about the floor. But first, coffee.

  She set about making the coffee, then leaned against the counter as it dripped through the brewer and into the glass carafe. She hoped Beau didn't expect her to cook him breakfast. Back home in the luxury apartment where she lived, she had both a cook and a housekeeper to take care of the daily chores. The closest Carolyn got to cooking was zapping a frozen dinner in the microwave on the weekends when her cook was off duty.

  She poured herself a cup of the fresh brew and sank down at the table, savoring the quiet surrounding her. She wondered how long the quiet would last. Were the twins early risers?

  After spending yesterday tending to the children, she had come to the conclusion that once she got them back to New York, she would probably have to find another place to live. A pent house apartment just wasn't right for raising a couple of boys. Perhaps she could buy a house near her sister-in-law, one with a large backyard and a swing set. Eventually the children would need a place to run and jump and grow.

  She would probably have to hire a nanny for those days when she had to be at a meeting. She'd always poured her energies and talents into the family business and since Sam's disappearance, the demands on her time had increased.

  Certainly she would check nanny references more closely than Beau had. It was appalling how easily he'd allowed her into his home without knowing a thing about her. What if she'd been an ax murderer? A child abuser? Surely the judge would agree that Beau Randolf was lax in his duties and totally unacceptable as a guardian.

  Finishing her coffee, she stood and eyed the floor with disgust. Time to get to work. Who knew how long she had before everyone woke up?

  She found a bucket and a bottle of ammonia under the sink and got to work on the gritty floor. She couldn't help but think about what she would be doing if she was back home. She certainly wouldn't be scrubbing a floor.

  After a few minutes of work, Carolyn sat back on her haunches and eyed the portion of the floor she'd just scrubbed. It was unbelievable what a little soap and water could accomplish. A warmth of pride flooded through her. Odd, how such a mundane act could produce such a positive feeling.

  "Good morning."

  She jumped and spun around at the sound of Beau's voice. He stood, clad in a pair of jogging shorts, his bare chest a reminder of the crazy dreams she'd had the night before. "Morning," she murmured, leaning over again and continuing her work.

  "You're very industrious this morning," he observed.

  "I thought it might be a wise idea to get a jump on the day," she said, continuing to scrub an additional area of the floor. She didn't want to look at him—not with her dream still so fresh in her mind, not with his chest still so bare to her gaze. "What time do the kids usually get up?"

  "It depends on how long they're up in the middle of the night. If they aren't awake for long in the night, then they usually are up between six and six-thirty. If they're awake for a long period of time in the night, then they some times sleep until seven-thirty or eight. It should be a later morning today."

  She stopped and turned back around to look at him. "They were up in the middle of the night?"

  He grinned. "Apparently you're a very sound sleeper."

  "I'm sorry, I should have heard them." Reluctantly she stood. "I didn't know what time you got up so I haven't done anything about breakfast—"

  "Don't worry about it. I'm not a breakfast eater. I usually just grab a cup of coffee before work." He looked at his wristwatch. "If I'm going to get in a morning jog before I go to the station, I'd better head out." He walked to the back door. "I'll be back in about a half an hour." He paused a moment, his grin wide. "Although I must admit your rear end has the cutest wiggle when you work, I think it only fair that I tell you there's a mop inside the pantry closet."

  He disappeared out the door before Carolyn could vent a growl of frustration. She'd cleaned half the floor on her hands and knees with a mop resting snugly in the closet. And what right did he have to check her out while she worked? Oh, he was proving to be exactly what she'd thought he was—a male chauvinist who would raise her godsons to be little miniatures of himself. God forbid.

  She finished the floor with the mop, her irritation driving her to scrub long and hard. When she was finished, she looked over the results with a sense of pride. "So there, Colleen," she said aloud, thinking of her sister's laughter the day before. "I told you I could handle all this."

  After washing her hands and cleaning out the bucket, she poured herself another cup of coffee and sat down at the table. Outside the window she could see the first stirring of dawn as it stretched gold and pink hues across the horizon. Summer was just around the corner. She smiled, thinking of the boys out on the beach, playing in the sand as the ocean lapped the shore. Casey's Corners and Beau Randolf certainly couldn't give the boys an ocean. She could.

  She looked up as the object of her ire returned, out of breath and perspiring. "Whew, not even fully daylight yet and it's already getting hot. I think it's going to be a long, hot summer." He walked over to the sink and filled a glass with water.

  Carolyn noticed that the sight of his bare back was equally as attractive as his chest. Wide and tanned, with sinewy muscles, she wondered what it would feel like to splay her hands across its width, feel those muscles moving against her fingertips. She watched in fascination as a trickle of sweat trailed languidly down the center of his back and was finally absorbed by the material of his waist band. His skin looked so sleek, so shiny…so touchable.

  She tore her gaze from him, wondering if she was suffering some sort of ammonia-fume poisoning. Why else would she be thinking about caressing Beau's back?

  He finished drinking his water and looked around. "Wow, the floor looks terrific. I'd forgotten that it had blue flecks in it. Like your eyes." With another of his enigmatic, irritat
ing grins, he left the kitchen.

  A moment later Carolyn heard the water running in the bathroom, indicating that he was taking a shower. She hoped he drowned. Before she could fully enjoy her vision of Beau going under for the third time, she heard a cry from the boys' bedroom. A new day had officially begun.

  * * *

  Beau stood beneath the stream of hot water from the shower, unsure which he found more pleasurable—the tingling spray on tight muscles, or the mental vision of Carolyn Baker scrubbing the floor, her rounded derriere wiggling provocatively.

  He knew it was bad, knew it was absolutely rotten of him to get such pleasure out of the fact that the wealthy, pampered, haughty socialite had cleaned his kitchen floor.

  How long would she continue the charade? How far could he push before she cried uncle and confessed her real identity?

  Although he found her shenanigans amusing, what he didn't find humorous were the stakes in this game they played. He had to admit he admired the lengths she was willing to go to for the children, but he wasn't about to allow her to win.

  He and Bob had spent long hours talking about Trent and Brent. Beau had heard all of Bob's dreams for his boys. Beau knew the most important ingredient in their upbringing was love, and he loved them completely, unconditionally, without complication.

  Even Mary had admitted that she didn't want the boys raised the way she had been raised. Mary had come from a privileged back ground and for a while she and her blue-collar husband had tried to live that lifestyle. Bob was appointed head of security in Mary's father's firm at a yearly salary that was as much as Beau expected to make in his entire lifetime. But it wasn't long before Bob and Mary decided they wanted some thing different and had come back to Casey's Corners for a simpler, less stressful life. Bob and Mary had agreed with some thing that Beau had known all his life: that money couldn't buy happiness.

  He wondered if Carolyn Baker had any concept of that notion, wondered if she had any values except material ones. He didn't want the boys raised by strangers, sent away to schools, raised with everything money could buy but without the values, happiness and love money couldn't acquire.