by Abby Gaines
From the kitchen, Ben squealed, then hiccuped.
“Come this way,” she told Sabrina. The presence of a baby would surely distract even the most jealous of lovers. Six feet of stilettoed beauty queen sashayed behind Bethany to the kitchen.
Miss Georgia caught sight of Ben in his high chair. “Isn’t he adorable.”
He’d made hay in Bethany’s absence, dipping his hands into the bowl of rice cereal she should have removed from his tray, and was now squeezing the gooey mixture between his fingers.
Sabrina brought her face close to Ben’s and made clucking noises. Bethany had read that even babies recognize beauty; Ben took one look at Miss Georgia and paused in his play. His wide eyes roamed her perfect face, then a chubby hand reached for that spun-gold hair.
“Careful,” Bethany warned her, just as Ben tugged hard.
“Ouch!” But nothing disturbed Miss Georgia’s apparently flawless temper, and she was still smiling as she disentangled Ben’s hand from her hair. “You little cutie, you’re going to be irresistible to the ladies.”
Ben chortled and waved with excitement at having the attention of this vision of loveliness. Bethany supposed making a fuss over babies was high on the list of a beauty queen’s essential job skills, so she didn’t take the usual pride she might have in Sabrina’s praise of Ben.
Some contrary impulse stopped her mentioning that the woman had a large glob of rice cereal stuck in her hair. She picked up a spoon and began trying to coax the remains of Ben’s dinner into his mouth.
“I told Tyler I’d call around this afternoon. He said he’d be home early—” Sabrina shook her head indulgently at Tyler’s tardiness “—but maybe you and I can make girl talk until he gets here.” As if there was nothing Bethany would rather do than be made to feel like a total frump.
The other woman slid onto a stool at the granite island, every movement as smooth as a performance of Swan Lake. She set the Tupperware container in front of her with a precise movement. The clump of rice cereal swung as she moved, attracting a few more strands of hair.
Bethany should say something. But right now, that lump of cereal was the only thing that made Miss Georgia human enough to talk to. She’d mention it soon, she assured herself as she put the kettle on to boil. She offered her guest a drink; Sabrina chose herbal tea.
“Tyler tells me you’re doing a great job of looking after Ben.”
“He’s a wonderful baby, anyone would want to help him,” Bethany said.
“How did you end up getting involved?”
At Sabrina’s urging, Bethany told her about her kidney research. The other woman was interested and compassionate but not, Bethany guessed, turned on by the cause. It seemed unlikely she could enlist Sabrina’s help in persuading Tyler to spend more money.
She was surprised to find herself enjoying their conversation. The “girl talk” stayed at a level Bethany could follow—moisturizer, sunscreen, lipstick—rather than soaring into the realms of Botox, collagen, or, worse, men.
“Oh, I forgot—” Sabrina slapped her cheek in a charmingly ditzy way “—I made some food for Ben.” One long, lilac fingernail tapped the Tupperware container. “Tyler told me you prepare Ben’s food yourself, rather than buying cans.”
Tyler talked about baby food with Sabrina? And he’d actually noticed Bethany pureeing carrots? “Uh…thanks, that’s really thoughtful of you.”
“It’s coq au vin,” Sabrina said. “I pureed it thoroughly so it’s total mush, and there’s no salt in it. I know salt’s bad for babies.”
Bethany peered at the container. “Um, did you say coq au vin?”
Sabrina chortled. “I’m Cordon Bleu trained, so I can’t help cooking fancy meals. But there’s no alcohol in it. I mean, there’s a tiny bit of wine, but the alcohol evaporates during cooking.”
As far as Bethany knew without consulting a textbook, Sabrina was right. There shouldn’t be a problem giving a baby food that had de-alcoholized wine in it. But something about the thought of feeding a baby coq au vin seemed just plain wrong.
“He’s only having rice and vegetables at this stage,” she said. “Chicken won’t be on the menu for another month or so. I’ll put this in the freezer.”
Before she could do so, Ben banged his spoon on the tray of his high chair and gurgled with such purpose that she and Sabrina turned to see the source of the fuss. Tyler had arrived.
He greeted Bethany, ruffled Ben’s nonexistent hair, then moved on to their guest.
“Sabrina.” After a swift glance at Bethany, he dropped a kiss on Miss Georgia’s beautiful mouth. “I forgot you were coming over.”
“Do you have other plans?” She didn’t seem miffed at the thought of being forgotten, and Bethany liked her for it.
“No. Yes.” He stared at the cereal in Sabrina’s hair. A few more tendrils had been drawn into the sticky mess, and it looked larger. Without commenting on it, he looked back at Sabrina, and Bethany saw concern in his face. Concern about something more than the state of Sabrina’s hair. “Jake said he might call in for a drink.”
Sabrina bit her lip, but not hard enough to mar her lipstick’s perfect finish. “I’ll stay a little while,” she said, “then get out of your hair before he arrives.”
That phrase, get out of your hair, had Bethany painfully aware she should say something about the rice cereal. Because when Sabrina looked in a mirror, she wouldn’t have to be the sharpest file in the manicure kit to realize the mess had originated with Ben and that Bethany had seen it and not told. “Uh, Sabrina…”
The peal of the doorbell had Sabrina stiffening.
Jake let himself in, called out a hello as he made his way to the kitchen. “Hey, buddy, I know I said six o’clock, but—” He stopped at the sight of Sabrina, whose fingers had curled around the Tupperware container and were clenching it as if it was a talisman to ward off evil.
“Hello, Jake,” she said coolly.
“Sabrina.” His eyes swept her. “You have puke in your hair.”
Bethany cringed. “It’s not puke,” she said, “it’s rice cereal.” As if that somehow made it better. Well, it did. Given the choice of having her hair clogged with rice cereal or puke, anyone would choose cereal.
Bethany couldn’t figure out why the easygoing Jake had been so rude.
Sabrina colored, rummaged in her tiny, elegant Chanel purse, pulled out a mirror. After a quick inspection she stowed the mirror again, her expression neutral.
“I’d better get home and fix this mess.” She pushed herself off her stool. Lightly, she said to Bethany, “It’s funny, once you’ve been onstage in a swimsuit and a diamanté crown, no one ever tells you if you have lipstick on your teeth, or a smudge on your face, or—or puke in your hair.” Her voice wobbled, but she brought it under control quickly.
Bethany felt lower than an earthworm, and Tyler was squirming too. Sabrina turned to Jake and said, “So, thanks, Jake. I guess this means right now you’re my best friend in the world.”
He flung her a look of such loathing that Bethany flinched on her behalf.
But Sabrina seemed to find that oddly cheering, and her smile warmed up as she said goodbye to Tyler.
“Thanks for bringing the puree.” In a last-ditch effort to redeem herself, Bethany said urgently to Jake, “Sabrina made a meal for Ben. She cooked chicken.” She wasn’t about to specify coq au vin, she had a suspicion Jake would have a field day with that. As it was, he rolled his eyes rather than commending Sabrina for her thoughtfulness.
Sabrina acknowledged Bethany’s feeble, belated effort to intervene in an obviously damaged relationship with a smile. But there was a distance in it that hadn’t been there before. Bethany still felt like a heel.
When the beauty queen had left, Tyler grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge, handed one to Jake.
“Would you like a glass of wine?” he asked Bethany.
She had him pour her a glass of merlot.
Jake clinked the neck of his b
ottle against Tyler’s. With Sabrina gone, he seemed his usual relaxed self. “I have news for you, buddy. I had a call from a pal in Washington, D.C.”
Tyler glanced at Bethany, and said, “Let’s go to the den.”
TYLER SAT DOWN on the button-backed leather sofa that had seen him through years of TV ball games, dozens of Chinese takeouts and an immoderate amount of making out. “You have news on the think-tank job?”
“First, my usual disclaimer, none of this is written in stone,” Jake warned. But he was well connected—his father, Tyler’s uncle, had been governor of Georgia—and his information was seldom wrong.“Understood,” Tyler said.
Jake took a swig of his beer, eyeing Tyler over the rim of his bottle. “Those guys in D.C. should be the last to believe what they read in the press, but that article in the Post about you at the single-dads conference made a big impression. As of this week, you’re the front-runner.”
Nervous excitement dried Tyler’s mouth. He gulped down beer. “I’m up against some big names,” he said, trying not to get excited. “People who’ve had years of working with families and kids.”
“I hear there’s some pressure to choose a candidate from the South,” Jake said.
“There’s plenty of competition down here, too. Carson, Lavelle…”
“You’re the golden boy.”
“That doesn’t mean anything to those guys. Hell, it didn’t mean anything to my own family.”
Jake folded his arms, didn’t disagree.
“If I get this job it’ll be on my own strengths.” Tyler didn’t know if he could pass the test.
“Looking after the baby was a smart tactic.” Jake was clever enough to figure out where Tyler’s interest in parenting stemmed from, and cynical enough not to object.
Tyler didn’t have to pretend with him. Still, he found himself saying, “Ben’s a nice little guy.”
“A bonus.”
Which was true. Even if Ben had been the baby from hell, Tyler would have gone ahead with his plan.
“If you can swing another media coup on the scale of the Washington Post,” Jake said, “you might just have yourself a job.” He frowned. “I hope my family doesn’t handicap your chances.”
Jake’s father had exited the governor’s office in disgrace, and Tyler knew the shame still rankled with his cousin. “If they wanted to hold your father against me, they’d have ruled me out a long time ago.”
“I guess.” Jake stretched his arms behind his head. “How are you getting along with the cute kidney doctor?”
Tyler shrugged. Then suspicion hit. “Why do you call her cute?”
Jake laughed. “She have a boyfriend?”
“Yes,” Tyler said, remembering the “convenient” guy he’d never actually seen. Plus the divorced dad who’d asked for her phone number. Had he called yet?
Jake looked skeptical. “You wouldn’t have a problem if I ask her on a date, would you?”
“I heard you already did.”
Jake grinned, unembarrassed.
Tyler couldn’t explain the sudden coldness that settled into his spine. “If she’s out with you, I’ll have to look after the baby. So, yes, I would have a problem.”
Jake gave him a knowing look.
“I’m not interested in her,” Tyler protested. He thought about that kiss, the memory of which still sneaked up on him at least a dozen times a day. “Not beyond the ‘she’s a pretty woman, I’m a red-blooded man’ level. You know I don’t go for the wholesome do-gooder type.” He folded his arms and found himself staring his cousin down in a way that was vaguely reminiscent of years ago, when he and Jake both had crushes on Sabrina.
Back then, Jake had won, and it hadn’t bothered Tyler. But Jake damn well wouldn’t get to date Bethany. The strong surge of possessiveness caught Tyler by surprise, and he had to struggle to stay polite.
Maybe sensing that struggle, Jake didn’t stay long.
“Remember what I said,” he told Tyler as he climbed into his Alfa Romeo. “Find yourself another opportunity like the Post one, and do it fast.”
After his cousin drove away, Tyler tried to enjoy the thrill of knowing he might soon win that job in D.C. But he kept thinking about Jake dating Bethany.
It wouldn’t hurt to figure out exactly what Bethany thought of his cousin.
CHAPTER TEN
“DO YOU COOK?” Tyler asked Bethany when he walked back into the kitchen.
She looked up from the newspaper she was skimming as she stood at the counter. “I do a nice pureed carrot.”He tapped the tile floor with his foot. “I’ll make us dinner.”
“Aren’t you going out?” she said, surprised.
“I don’t go out every night.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“I stayed home one night last year,” he said, and she laughed. “Most boring damn night of my life.”
“And that’s what you’re offering me?”
Tyler could think of any number of ways to spice up an evening in with Bethany. In fact, the breadth of his imagination startled him. “I’ve got to be better company than Ben.”
“If you say so,” she said dubiously. “But you don’t have to cook. I usually eat one of the microwave meals out of your freezer.”
Her hand reached over to Ben, still in his high chair. She stroked his head, and Tyler wished it was him she had her hands on.
“I’ll cook,” he said.
BETHANY PUT BEN to bed before they ate, and when she came downstairs, Tyler had set the table in the formal dining room with cutlery, condiments…and candles.
She reminded herself he was hardwired for seduction and that this meant nothing. He’d made it clear he wasn’t after a relationship, and she wasn’t after sex. Or a relationship, she added hastily.The table was huge, so they sat at one end, opposite each other. Tyler had cooked steaks with artery-clogging but delicious garlic butter, home-fried potatoes and—a nod to the health lobby—green beans. Bethany’s steak was perfectly medium-rare, tender and juicy.
With the candle flickering between them, the atmosphere was way too romantic.
Bethany broke the mood. “My brother called, he wants to stay over on Friday, is that okay?”
Tyler shrugged, distracted. “I’ll be out at a concert, do whatever you like.” He put down his fork. “Did Jake tell you when that ball game is yet?”
“I thought I wasn’t allowed to go.”
“I can’t stop you dating,” he acknowledged. He didn’t sound happy about it, which given he wasn’t interested in her himself smacked of pettiness.
“Good, because I had a call from Scott, the father of that girl who didn’t have an allergy.”
He hissed his annoyance, and because her ego needed pampering, she added, “Maybe I’ll go out with him next week, then Jake the week after, now that I have your permission.”
He eyed her with disfavor. “Jake’s not your type.”
Bethany sighed as her ego took another tumble. “You mean, he wouldn’t want an ordinary woman like me?”
“Don’t put words in my mouth.”
That drew her attention to his lips and the memory of that kiss.
“Jake’s not a one-woman guy,” he said. “You’ll get hurt.”
Nice of him to care. “What’s with Jake’s hostility toward Sabrina?” Bethany asked.
“They go back a long way,” Tyler said vaguely. His gaze sharpened. “Why didn’t you tell her she had that gunk in her hair?”
Bethany felt her face redden. “Why didn’t you?”
He fixed her with a curious stare, and drummed his fingers on the table.
She held out as long as she could, then said, ashamed, “It made her seem more…human.”
“Sabrina’s lovely.”
“I know that now. But, believe me, when you look like I do and you meet a woman like her, it’s intimidating. She wasn’t so frightening when her hair was a mess.”
“You’re not frightened of anyone,” he said. “Besides, you�
��re pretty, you have no reason to feel insecure.”
As compliments went, it wasn’t a top-ten, all-time great one.
“So why didn’t you tell her about the rice cereal?” Deliberately provocative—not to mention pathetically insecure—she added, “You’re her boyfriend.”
Annoyance shadowed his face. “For the last time, I’m not. Sabrina and I like to spend time together. Having me around boosts her profile, and when I need a date who’s not going to cause a scandal, she’s my first choice. We’re friends. Old friends.”
“All the more reason for you to have mentioned her hair.”
“I couldn’t. Blame it on my mom—she raised me to always be polite to a lady. Never to point out her faults.”
“It doesn’t seem to work that way with me.”
He rubbed his chin. “You’re right, there’s some kind of mutant instinct at play where you’re concerned.” He splayed his hands on the table, his fingers strong, capable. “I still think you were mean not to tell Sabrina.”
“You were mean, too.”
“We were both mean,” he said.
The awful thing was, Bethany enjoyed the comfort of that shared failing. She buried her face in her hands. “I can’t believe I’ve sunk to your level.”
“Or I’ve come up to yours,” he suggested helpfully.
She glared. “I would never have been that selfish before I met you.”
He shook his head sadly. “I’m just glad Ben’s too young to understand how you’ve fallen.”
She sighed in agreement. “You’re probably a better role model for him than I am right now.”
He reared back. “That’s going a bit far.”
“I’m paid to look after him,” she pointed out. “You’ve been spending two hours a day with him without fail, and you’ve been great with him.”