Those Baby Blues

by Sheridon Smythe

  Let it go. Hadleigh melted at his words, words that conjured memories of a hot night in the kitchen with her on the bar stool and him between her legs.

  "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?” Treet asked in a sexy whisper, nuzzling her jaw with hot, hot lips. His hands drifted downward, onto her breasts.

  "How—how did you know?” She was already breathless and aroused. Amazing. Simply amazing. Would this ... this intense lust for him last? she found herself wondering.

  "Because we're in tune with each other, babe."

  But it wasn't Treet that answered with such outrageous confidence; it was Russell Linuchi.

  Hadleigh went weak with laughter. One thing she knew for certain; life would never be boring with Treet.

  She quickly sobered as his hot, exciting mouth closed over hers.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  They decided to get married at the ranch, agreeing with Treet's lawyer that the sooner they presented a stable, united front, the better; they all suspected Cheyenne would waste no time gathering her defenses.

  Within moments of formally announcing the news of their impending marriage to Brutal and Trudy, Trudy and Mrs. Spencer were on the phone making plans for the ‘small’ wedding a week from Saturday. Mrs. Spencer not only had dozens of relatives living in town, she had many, many useful friends. Her niece managed a florist shop, and her brother-in-law was a preacher. Mrs. Spencer bullied her husband into begging his sister—who ran a small boutique—to drive out to the ranch and bring every suitable dress in her shop.

  Hadleigh, her head spinning at the sudden whirlwind of preparations in the previously semi-quiet house, quickly settled on a simple but elegant champagne pearl suit, thanking the flustered woman over and over again for her troubles.

  Finally, on Friday before the wedding, Hadleigh retreated to her room to finish a few sketches she should have mailed days ago to her publisher in New York. It was nearly impossible to concentrate, knowing she was about to marry the most eligible bachelor in the country.

  Treet Miller, the movie star. Sexiest man of the year.

  How long had it been since she'd last thought of him as that Treet Miller? She chewed on the end of her pencil, thinking hard. A long time, she finally conceded, relieved. Since they'd arrived at the ranch, or maybe even longer. The name Treet Miller no longer intimidated her.

  But he still weakened her knees.

  She knew now it had nothing to do with his fame or fortune, and everything to do with his lips, his voice, his hands, his—er—other body parts. The only shadow blighting her anticipation was her inability to believe that Treet truly loved her. Yes, he desired her. Yes, he admired her.

  But ... love? He claimed that he did, had loved her from almost the first moment. And Brutal seemed convinced as well. So why wasn't she convinced? Was she just too stubborn? Too scared?

  Three fidgety hours later, Hadleigh finished her sketches. Perhaps there was a fax machine in the office, she mused, gathering them up. She was certain her publisher would appreciate getting them today.

  Cautiously, she opened the door to her bedroom and looked both ways. The last thing she wanted was to get cornered by Trudy or Mrs. Spencer about the wedding cake or flower decorations. The two women consistently ignored her pleas for a small, simple ceremony.

  Treet was no help at all, flashing his wicked grin when she mentioned to him that perhaps Trudy and Mrs. Spencer were getting a little carried away with this wedding thing.

  Finding the hall empty, Hadleigh quickly rushed to the office and closed the door behind her. She spotted the fax machine sitting on a filing cabinet beside the computer desk. Settling in a chair, she slid the sheets into the appropriate slot and punched in her publisher's number.

  While the faxes were being transferred, she pulled a blank sheet of paper from a stack by the computer and picked up a pen, intending to make a ‘to do’ list while she waited.

  The paper wasn't blank at all, she realized, turning it over. It was part of the script, In The Scheme Of Things. With a nostalgic sigh, she leaned back and began to read the beginning of the first scene.

  By the second line, Hadleigh was gripping the page in disbelief.

  The scene was the scene she and Treet had rehearsed ... yet it wasn't. The wording was different. In this scene, Russell Linuchi did not kiss Zoey during her job interview. He didn't put his hands on her butt, either, or unfasten the top three buttons of her dress.

  Her suspicions growing, Hadleigh reached for another page and quickly scanned it. More changes. More discrepancies in the script Treet had handed her to read. This Zoey did a lot more dodging, and Russell did a lot less groping. In fact, the more she read, the more she found that Russell Linuchi wasn't all that bad.

  Treet had changed the script. It was clear why he did—it didn't take a genius to figure it out. A hot flush seeped into Hadleigh's face as she realized how naive she'd been to trust him.

  He'd obviously changed the script in an underhanded attempt to seduce her into his bed.

  And it had worked.

  Foolish man, she thought, surprised to find she wasn't truly angry; you could have talked me out of my pants without pretending to be someone else.

  So he'd done it ... because? Hadleigh chewed on her bottom lip, considering the possible reasons. Because Treet was basically a shy person, and could only show confidence when he was pretending to be someone else?

  She shook her head, dismissing that possibility. Once he'd gotten her into bed, he'd definitely been Treet, not Russell, and there had been nothing shy about him, just as there had been nothing shy about him since.

  So why?

  The answer continued to elude her. Snatching her sketches out of the fax tray, she exited the office just as someone leaned on the front door bell.

  After a long pause in the hall, Hadleigh realized no one was going to put a stop to the persistent ringing.

  Thinking it had to be Sam or Caroline—or both—she went to the door and yanked it open.

  "Surprise!” Doreen, Barbi, and Karen all cried in unison.

  They nearly toppled Hadleigh, crowding in at once and surrounding her with breath-stealing hugs. Through a gap in the circle, Hadleigh saw Treet leaning against the door jamb, watching the reunion with a lazy smile and looking as if he'd just stepped out of a Playgirl magazine.

  Hadleigh was overwhelmed by his gesture. He'd flown her best friends in for the ceremony. Half-listening to the incoherent babbling of her friends, she saw something—an envelope, she deduced—clutched in Treet's hand. An official-looking envelope.

  He shoved the envelope between Barbi and Doreen, silently urging her to take it. With trembling fingers, she opened it and withdrew a document. It was a deed, she saw.

  To the ranch.

  "You—you bought this ranch?” she squeaked. She hardly noticed the sudden, stunned silence around her.

  Before Treet could answer, Sam and Caroline pushed past his legs, barreling into the room and nearly knocking Hadleigh to her knees in their mad rush to reach her. They didn't seem to notice the three women watching silently from the side.

  "Mom!” Sam panted, holding up a small ball of fur. She was grinning from ear to ear, and her eyes were sparkling blue diamonds. “See my wedding present?"

  The ‘wedding present’ whined and wagged its tail.

  It was a puppy.

  Caroline shoved Sam aside and held her puppy up for Hadleigh's inspection. “I got one too, Haddy! Me and Sam both got puppies, ‘cos Daddy's says we're gettin’ married, too!"

  "We're all gettin’ married,” Sam echoed.

  Hadleigh should have been overjoyed; she was marrying the man she lusted and loved, who just happened to be her daughter's father; she had her best friends with her to share her joyful moment, a ranch, and two very happy daughters. There was also the hesitant, ever-growing possibility that Treet did love her.

  But instead of embracing her good fortune, she found
herself petrified. It all seemed too good to be true. Something had to go wrong.

  So when Brutal added his bulk to the crowd gathered in front of the door, she wasn't surprised to hear say him in a growling voice that clearly stated his displeasure, “Boss, we've got company."

  Filled with an awful premonition, Hadleigh moved to the open doorway. A white limo had pulled into the drive, all two hundred miles of it. As Hadleigh watched, a uniformed driver got out and walked around to the passenger door.

  When he opened it, one dainty, high-heeled foot emerged, followed by a tall, model-thin, red-haired beauty dressed in form-fitting, low-slung bell-bottom pants and a short top of the same emerald green silk.

  Cheyenne Windsor.

  Hadleigh felt her vision turn gray as she recognized the model, although she looked very different from the bedraggled woman in the coffee shop. No doubt about it, this was the bad thing. In fact, at the moment she couldn't think of anything worse.

  Until Sheriff Striker's patrol car pulled in behind the limo. Sam tugged on her sleeve, snagging her dazed attention. Feeling as if everything was moving in slow motion, Hadleigh looked down at her terrified daughter.

  "Mommy, it's her! Don't let her take me!"

  * * * *

  With his jaw clenched so tightly he thought he heard his teeth cracking, Treet watched Cheyenne and the sheriff approach. Sheriff Striker held an official-looking document in his hand, his expression grim. Treet shot a quick glance at Hadleigh's chalky face and swallowed a nasty, four-letter curse.

  "Treet?"

  Treet flinched at the stark fear in her voice. “Take the girls and get out of here. I'll handle this."

  "No. I'm not leaving.” Hadleigh lifted her chin, her eyes glittering with anger. “Brutal, will you please show my friends where they'll be sleeping? And, um, take Sam and Caroline with you."

  Sensing the seriousness of the moment, Karen, Doreen, and Barbi kept their mouths shut and followed Brutal down the hall, herding Sam and Caroline with them. A few feet away, Doreen paused to throw over her shoulder, “If you need some help kicking her ass, just holler."

  Cheyenne wasted no time when she reached the doorway. Looking ill at ease, Sheriff Striker stood beside her. He shot Treet and Hadleigh an apologetic look.

  "I want to see Sam,” Cheyenne demanded, staring at Treet and ignoring Hadleigh. “I've got papers that say I have visitation rights one weekend out of the month. I'm exercising those rights now."

  Treet took the papers—papers he hadn't seen in four years, had all but forgotten about. Scanning the papers, he handed them to Hadleigh. Maybe she would see a loop-hole where he hadn't. Otherwise, he knew they would have no choice but to give Cheyenne Samantha for the weekend.

  "Why now, Cheyenne?” he asked coldly. “Did you just wake up one morning and think, ‘Hey, just to spite Treet, I want to see the child I abandoned four years ago?’”

  Cheyenne's lip curled. “I have a right to see my daughter,” she repeated, giving Treet the impression she'd been coached by someone. Her lawyer, probably.

  Sheriff Striker cleared his throat. “I'm afraid she's right, folks—"

  "Wait.” Hadleigh held up the paper, her eyes gleaming with something Treet thought might have been triumph. “The papers state you have visitation rights to Caroline Nicole Miller?"

  "So, you can read,” Cheyenne drawled nastily. “How charming."

  Treet felt a surge of adrenaline as he realized that Hadleigh had discovered the loophole he'd missed.

  Practically purring now, Hadleigh said, “Well, then, you can't possibly mean Samantha, because obviously she's not Caroline Nicole Windsor. Her name is Samantha Leigh Charmaine."

  "Caroline's not my—” Cheyenne's eyes narrowed to slits. “You know damned well that Sam is Caroline."

  "Confusing, isn't it?” Hadleigh asked sweetly. “It's a shame you made the switch. If you hadn't, everything wouldn't be such a tangled mess right now."

  "My lawyer will rip you to pieces in court,” Cheyenne snarled, her beautiful face twisted into an ugly mask of hate.

  Hadleigh smiled, and Treet silently applauded her gutsy attitude. “And my lawyer will put you behind bars for kidnapping. You made a big mistake taking my baby home with you that day, Cheyenne. You made an even bigger mistake terrifying my daughter."

  "You can't prove anything!"

  "Can't I?” Hadleigh quirked a brow. “With a witness, I can. It seems someone at the hospital remembers seeing you bending over the wrong bassinet."

  Cheyenne turned a livid red. “You're lying!"

  With a shrug, Hadleigh said, “We'll find out in court, won't we? What do they give a person for kidnapping these days, Sheriff Striker?"

  Startled to find himself suddenly the focus of attention, Sheriff Striker shifted, and then pulled at his collar. “Well, let me see. Depends on who's the judge. Five to ten years would be my guess.” He shot Cheyenne a quick, calculating glance, then added gravely, “Maybe more."

  "Then there's the child-endangerment charge,” Hadleigh said.

  "Oh, yeah.” From the gleam apparent in his eyes, the sheriff was beginning to enjoy himself. “That would add another year or two."

  "Child endangerment?” Cheyenne shrieked.

  "Yes, child endangerment.” Hadleigh waited a beat, long enough for her threat to sink in. “Sam says you left her alone in a locked vehicle."

  Cheyenne gasped. “She locked me out! That—that demon child—"

  "Then you smashed the window, shattering glass all over her,” Treet added. “I think she had a cut or two."

  "Four,” Hadleigh corrected, folding her arms and fixing Cheyenne with a cold stare. “You saw the smashed window, didn't you, Sheriff?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  This time, Cheyenne could only manage to sputter. With a scorching glance at Hadleigh, then Treet, she spun on her heel and stalked to the waiting limo. She climbed inside, jerking the door from the driver's hand and slamming it shut.

  They all watched as the limo made a circle in the drive, then disappeared down the road.

  Sheriff Striker shook his head, then squinted at Hadleigh. “You'd make a fine prosecuting attorney, Miss Charmaine. A damned fine one."

  "Thanks, Sheriff."

  Treet heard the revealing wobble in her voice. He circled her waist and pulled her against him. She sagged into him, letting out a sigh of relief. “You were fantastic,” he said. His voice dipped low as he added, “Brave. Remarkable. How can you wonder why I love you?"

  Instead of answering, Hadleigh burst into tears.

  * * * *

  Converging in Hadleigh's room that night for an informal bachelorette party, Barbi, Karen, and Doreen listened in shocked silence as Hadleigh told them about Cheyenne's attempt to kidnap Sam.

  "When we got to the service station,” Hadleigh concluded, “Cheyenne sported a black eye, a torn blouse, a missing heel, and she was soaked to the skin. Sam had locked herself in the bathroom with Cheyenne's car keys."

  By this time, Doreen had tears rolling down her face, but they were tears of laughter.

  Hadleigh failed to find humor in the story. “Sam could have been hurt, Dory. I don't think it's funny."

  Barbi, in the midst of applying a final top-coat to Hadleigh's nails, paused to look at her. Her lips were twitching. “But she wasn't hurt, and you have to admit, it is funny. I seriously doubt Cheyenne will have the guts to take on Sam again."

  Put that way, Hadleigh could see how someone might find humor in the situation. Maybe someday she would, as well. “I hope you're right. Ouch!” She tried to duck as Karen aimed her tweezers at her eyebrow again. “Take it easy, will you?"

  Karen gave Hadleigh a pitying look. “Honey, there is no easy way to pluck eyebrows."

  "So, Hadleigh,” Doreen said, having recovered from her fit of laughter. She sat on the edge of the bed and propped her chin in her hands, her eyes taking on a dreamy expression. “Share with us. How does it feel to have a famous movie star madly
in love with you?"

  A lump suddenly lodged in Hadleigh's throat. “I'm—I'm not sure he is."

  Doreen snorted. “Bull crap."

  "Yeah, right!” Barbi muttered, carefully painting Hadleigh's toenails a pearly shade of mauve.

  "Gimme a break!” Karen rolled her eyes and mimicked Doreen's snort.

  It was amazing, Hadleigh thought dryly, how quickly her friends had reversed their opinions of Treet after a little game of cards. Now they were ready to pull him into the pack as if he'd belonged all along. Deciding to test their loyalty, she told them about finding the doctored script.

  Once again Doreen howled with laughter, but this time the others joined her. Hadleigh patiently waited for their mirth to subside, drumming her wet nails on her thighs.

  "Oh,” Doreen gasped, clutching her knees, “That's priceless!"

  "Typical man, if you asked me,” Barbi said, her laughter drifting into chuckles.

  Karen wiped her streaming eyes. “Honey, only a man in love would go to that much trouble to get close to a woman. I'd feel flattered. In fact,” she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, “I wish Conway would pretend to be someone else once in a while."

  "Not Russell Linuchi, I hope,” Hadleigh said with heart-felt sincerity. “The man's a sex maniac."

  * * * *

  Hadleigh finally managed to convince her trio of friends that she would fall asleep at her own wedding if she didn't get to bed.

  She was exhausted, but she had far too much to think about to consider sleeping. Once in the blessed quiet of her own room, she began to wear a path in the carpet.

  To the door from the windows, from the windows to the door.

  Back and forth.

  Thinking. Remembering. Considering.

  Did Treet love her? Was he in love with her, as her friends seemed to believe? As he claimed? Could she possibly be lucky enough to have found her soul mate?

  A soft knock at her bedroom door interrupted Hadleigh's musings. Barbi? Doreen? Karen? Undoubtedly all three, back for another round of laughter at her expense.