Surprised by a Baby

by Mindy Neff

  “People also say don’t condemn until you’ve walked a mile in someone else’s shoes.”

  “Speaking of that, since you’re not willing to take on these baby fits for me, weren’t you going to try to work some magic on my brain and make it go away?”

  “I don’t plan to make your brain go away, darlin’. Just the baby sickness.”

  “Cute. If you can do it, though, you’ll definitely be my hero.”

  “I like the sound of that.” He squeezed her foot. “Hopefully, I won’t have performance anxiety.”

  She laughed. “I’m not going to make the obvious comment on that one. I’ll just warn you again that I’m not a good subject for hypnotism.”

  “Warning noted. Stretch out and get comfortable,” he said, lifting her legs out of his lap and shifting so he was sitting on the edge of the couch, facing her. “Did the person conducting your previous session use a counting method?”

  “Yes. And visualizing colors and warmth and pretty meadows.”

  “What did you feel?”

  “Relaxed, but still distracted. Worried about being looked at when I wasn’t looking back. Vulnerable, I guess. And I really wanted to get it right, but I felt I wasn’t.”

  “The ability to concentrate is what allows hypnosis to work. Can you put yourself in my hands and trust me to keep you safe?”

  “I hope so.”

  “Let’s get a more positive dialogue going in your head, okay? The more your conscious mind resists, the more difficult it’ll be to go under. I use a hands-on method, so I’ll be touching you.” He placed his palm over her forehead. “Like this. No farther down than your eyes. If at any time you feel scared, just raise your finger.”

  She tested her finger, then nodded. “Are we starting?”

  “Not yet. I’ll let you know when we’re ready. You’re not going to be in a trance or unconscious.” He stroked the length of her arm, to her fingertips and back up, a gentle massage to soothe and relax. “You’ll be able to hear everything I’m saying and whatever else is going on around us. And when we’re finished, you’ll remember everything that went on.”

  “If I’ll be so aware, how do I even know if it’s working?”

  “You’ll know. Close your eyes and relax for a minute, okay?” She felt the cushions on the couch shift as he got up. A minute later, the stereo switched on. The soothing sounds of the ocean’s surf washed over the room as though replacing the very air.

  She wanted to open her eyes, to see where he was. She experienced what a wild mustang might feel while lying down—vulnerable to predators.

  Her eyes popped open. He wasn’t staring at her. He was reading something on a piece of paper over by the oak bookshelves. She quickly shut her eyes so he wouldn’t realize she’d been peeking. The sudden attack of nerves made her stomach churn. Well, at least she’d be able to tell if the experiment was working. If she didn’t toss her cookies before the session was over, that would be a good sign.

  She smelled the familiar scent of Storm’s skin, felt his warmth an instant before the cushions by her elbow dipped. His palm rested across her forehead, growing hotter, an anchor of safety.

  “Just relax,” he said. “We’re going to start now. Concentrate on my voice. Just my voice. You’re safe.”

  His deep baritone calmed her. She tried to follow each of his suggestions, to visualize a specific time in her life when she’d felt unequivocally well.

  She clung to his voice, and at times she was almost convinced she was feeling different, as though the hypnosis was working. So she struggled to examine the sensations with her fully conscious mind. Each time she did, Storm would patiently urge her to concentrate, remind her she was experiencing a peaceful easy feeling.

  Storm eased the pressure of his hand on Donetta’s forehead. He could tell she was resistant, that she was pretending. That was common—a patient wanting to please the therapist. But it wouldn’t get her the healing she needed. And he couldn’t force it. He brought her awake as though she’d been truly under, hoped that at least some of the suggestions he’d given her would help her to relax.

  “Open your eyes, Donetta.”

  She looked up at him, and he smiled. “You did fine.”

  “But it didn’t work.”

  He lifted her shoulders, scooted beneath her on the couch, then laid her back over his lap, her head pillowed on the sofa’s rolled arm. “What did you feel?”

  “This is going to sound crazy. When you told me to relax and imagine a peaceful, easy feeling, the tune to an Eagles song popped into my head. You used to have their Hotel California tape in your truck, remember? It seemed to be playing every time you drove Sunny and me home from school. Weird association, I suppose, but I started humming it in my mind, and I might have been…distracted.”

  Storm didn’t know whether to laugh or kick himself in the butt. He’d blown it. Next time—if there was one—he’d find different relaxation words. Words that weren’t part of lyrics that worked a shared memory.

  “What else?” He stroked her hair, watched the way the fiery red strands sifted through his fingers.

  “I felt relaxed. A little dizzy. Scared. I kept wanting to examine how I was feeling, you know? Like part of me was standing off to the side, checking to see if I was really hypnotized or if I was faking. Am I your first failure?”

  “No. My second.” He felt her go still for a moment, then tense. “You okay?”

  She moaned and sat up. “I really wish your remedy could have worked. Stay here.” Her feet hit the hard-wood floor and she was gone.

  It was all he could do to keep from following her. And he couldn’t help feeling as though he’d let her down. He was in the business of protection. Yet he hadn’t protected Donetta from her slimy ex-husband. Or the contractor who’d taken advantage of her. And he couldn’t protect her from the exhausting sickness of pregnancy.

  He wanted to make it all up to her. But she was resisting him on every level.

  He definitely had his job cut out for him. Teaching Donetta to trust wouldn’t be easy. Nor would convincing her that her worries over having a committed relationship with him were groundless.

  How could she think their twenty-five years together only made them skin-deep friends? Hadn’t she remembered his Eagles tape? She’d told him Texas Sweethearts secrets—he was going to have to work on remembering that.

  He didn’t understand exactly what it was that she wanted. Did she think they could be close only if they’d lived in each other’s back pockets the way she and Sunny did? Hell, that was what women had girlfriends for—the touchy-feely stuff.

  He was scowling when she breezed back in the room. Then everything within him settled as though his world truly was in harmony. God, she was gorgeous. She held Sneak against her chest, her cheek rubbing the little dog’s head.

  The smile on her face captivated him. No matter what life had thrown her, she’d always bounced right back with a grin or a sassy remark. She kept her heart-aches private. Never let them stop her from moving forward.

  Hell of a woman.

  He didn’t want her to shoulder her burdens alone anymore. He wanted to be the man to share her load, ease her way, the one to put that sweet smile on her face every day for the rest of her life.

  “What’s up?” he asked when she still stood there grinning at him, her feet bare, her pants exposing tanned skin from her calves down.

  “Sneak wants to know if she can sleep with me.”

  “Hell no.” He bit the inside of his cheek, trying to keep a straight face. “Do you have any idea what that’ll do to my ego if my dog gets to share your bed and I don’t?”

  Her grin turned playful, a hint of the seductress slipping in. Oh, man, he was a goner.

  “She doesn’t take up as much room as you do.”

  “Want to bet? She hogs the covers. And she’ll keep you up half the night.”

  “And you wouldn’t?” she challenged.

  “Only if you wanted me to, darlin�
��.”

  The look in her eyes said she did. Yet she just picked up Sneak’s paw and waved it at him. He had an idea he could change her mind with very little effort. And man, he wanted to. But that wasn’t a good way to build her trust in him.

  “’Night, she said softly. “Thanks for trying with the hypnosis.”

  He nodded and watched her disappear down the hall with his dog, wondered if he would manage to get any sleep at all. Checking the watch on his wrist, he noted that it wasn’t quite ten o’clock. Roy ought to still be up. If not, he was about to be.

  He punched in his ex-partner’s home number. The phone barely gave half a ring before he was greeted by a surly male grunt.

  “Sounds like your night’s going worse than mine, pal.”

  “Storm? Man, where’ve you been? You forget who your friends are?” Roy paused for a moment. “Uh-oh, hear that?”

  “The baby crying?”

  “Yeah,” Roy said. “Hold on, let me just sneak on out of the kitchen here like I got some serious Ranger business going on that needs doin’ in the garage.”

  Storm grinned when he heard Marnie call Roy’s name, hollering that it was his turn with the baby when the phone rang at ten-damn-o’clock at night. “Sorry. Did I get you in trouble?”

  “Man, I’m always in trouble. That’s just how I like it, too. Woman’s got a lot of passion in her when she gets all het up. Tessa’s sick with chicken pox, and she’s one very cranky three-year-old. So, what’s up with you?”

  “I’m going to be a dad.” Storm heard the sound of heavy plastic hitting concrete, then a string of curses. Trash can, he guessed. “Stub your toe, pal?”

  “What’s wrong with you? Blurting something like that when a man’s trying to tiptoe through the dark? You never said anything about a woman. Am I supposed to send cigars or black roses?”

  “How about some of those wristbands Marnie used before she fell for my warm hands and deep voice.”

  “Man, you better watch that kind of talk about you and my wife having a mind affair. I might have to mop up the floor with your white butt. And why do you want the bracelets? Your woman doesn’t like your ‘warm hands and deep voice’?”

  “She’s having my baby, isn’t she?” He let his tone speak for him. “As for the hypnosis, she’s a tough candidate. Way tougher than Marnie was.”

  “Well, let’s trot her past the Roy McCann test. What’s her name? Can she cook? And is she smart?”

  Storm smiled. Roy never asked about looks. His philosophy was “You don’t go by the outside package—but it’s always nice if she’s got a little meat on her bones.” Donetta, however, was losing a lot of that “meat” due to morning sickness.

  “Her name’s Donetta Presley. She can cook—but that knowledge mostly comes to me secondhand, so it might not be admissible. She’s very smart. Keeps me on my toes. Owns her own beauty shop. Five foot ten. Long red hair. I’ve known her since she was six—which would have put me at twelve and her definitely off limits. And she’s anxious to meet you. She’s got some notion that you’re capable of kicking my sorry behind into next year, and she wants to partner up with you.”

  Roy’s booming laughter made Storm’s grin stretch wide.

  “Now, that is my kind of woman. So, how come you’re not calling to invite me to the wedding? Man’s gonna be a father he ought to marry the mama.” There was the barest hint of censure in Roy’s voice. He was a man who believed strongly in family and fidelity.

  “It’s complicated. But I’m working on it.”

  “You mean she’s refusing the wedding ring? Oh, wait till I tell Marnie.”

  “Would you just get me the damn wristbands and put them in the overnight mail?”

  “Hell, Storm. I might even drive them down myself.”

  “Not without your wife and kids, you won’t. And as crazy as I am over my goddaughter, you’re not exposing me to the chicken pox.”

  “I’m going to tell her you said that. Okay, I think Marnie still has a box of those bands she never opened after you worked your magic on her. I’ll hunt it up and have it to you by tomorrow afternoon. And if you need a little help in the romance department, you just give me a call. I’ll come show you how it’s done.”

  “Over my and Marnie’s dead bodies.” He chuckled as Roy’s laughter pealed again. “Thanks, pal. I’ll owe you.”

  “Damn straight. And I like it when your account’s heavier than mine—uh-oh. Gotta go. Mad woman heading this way carrying a crying baby. Later.”

  Storm disconnected. Roy and Marnie were like no other couple he’d ever met. The way they carried on, you’d think they were always fighting, yet one look and you could see how crazy they were over each other. For years, Storm had envied that relationship, wished he could find his match, as Roy had.

  Now that he thought about it, he and Donetta had a few similarities to Roy and Marnie.

  Had she been his match all these years and he’d never known it?

  Chapter Twelve

  “This isn’t half-bad as a shampoo bowl,” Katherine Durant commented.

  Donetta directed the spray of water over the realestate agent’s hair, checking for inconsistencies in color and tone. With her friends’ help, they’d managed to turn Storm’s kitchen into a makeshift salon—although the project had taken them the better part of the day. The oblong kitchen table was pushed against the cabinets in front of the sink and padded with blankets and towels. She’d piled up pillows to form a slanted backrest and covered them with a plastic cape to keep them dry.

  “Isn’t it cool? I actually got the idea from Anna Carmichael. Whenever a bunch of us girls spent the night with Sunny on a Saturday, Mrs. C. would have us lie on the countertop with a towel rolled under our neck as a pillow, and she’d wash our hair in the kitchen sink. We all had to have clean hair for church.”

  “We were little girls, though,” Tracy said, holding Sneak in her arms. Anna, Becca and Sunny had gone back to work, but Tracy Lynn had stayed all afternoon. Although she tried to hide it, Donetta knew darn well that Tracy was concerned over these frequent bouts of nausea. “I’m still worried about some of your older ladies climbing up on the kitchen table.”

  “The step stool works great,” Kat assured her. “Once they lean back with all these towels and pillows stacked under their neck and shoulders, they’ll be in heaven.”

  “That’s good to know,” Donetta said.

  She tried to take shallow breaths because the smell of hair dye was causing her stomach to turn. For the hundredth time since last night, she wished that the hypnotism had worked. She felt as though she’d been put through the wringer and hung out to dry.

  “I’d forgotten how close you are with Storm’s family.” Kat turned her head and nearly got an earful of water. “Is that why you’re living here with him?”

  Donetta saw Tracy move in a step. She had to expect this type of question. Rumors were already flying around town, and now that she was doing hair out of Storm’s house, there would be even more speculation. But she wasn’t ready to discuss her private life. Granted, that was pretty much what went on in a beauty shop, but Donetta made a habit of listening rather than offering.

  “Storm can be pretty bullheaded and protective about his friends,” she said. “Someone broke into my salon and now he insists I need a bodyguard. I guess that’s the cynical nature of a cop. No big deal. Giving in was easier than listening to him predict horrible things that might befall me—or anyone else I stayed with. Plus, he doesn’t trust Judd Quentin, my contractor.”

  “I don’t, either, if you want to know the truth,” Kat said. “I’ve had some deals fall out of escrow over permits that weren’t recorded on structural improvements. I suspect Judd had a little under-the-table business going with our old fire marshal.”

  “Storm thinks so, too. So here I am, all cozy in his guest room.”

  Thankfully, Kat accepted the explanation. Donetta knew the same question would arise time and again for the next few weeks.
Her stomach pitched when she remembered that her living arrangements weren’t the only thing that would be fodder for gossip in the coming months.

  Lordy, the townsfolk were going to have a good old time speculating about her life. They’d have to hold a town hall meeting for this event, though. The salon was the usual spot to exchange gossip, but they couldn’t very well dine on the owner in her own place of business.

  “So who’s your hot date with, Kat?” She shut off the water, wrapped a towel around Kat’s hair and motioned for her to go sit back at the countertop bar, which she’d set up as her workstation.

  Kat gave a wicked smile. “A broker I met at the real estate convention last week. I’m not sure if he’s my type, but I thought I’d play with him a little.”

  “Girl, you’re bad.” Katherine Durant was only a couple of years older than Donetta. She was smart, gorgeous and seemed to have as much trouble hooking up with the right guy as Tracy Lynn did. It didn’t make sense.

  Kat sighed. “I talk a good game, anyway. Hopefully, this date won’t conveniently forget his wallet the way the last one did. I don’t mind paying my half. It’s the whole pretense thing that gets to me.”

  “The financial adviser stiffed you with the check?” Tracy Lynn asked, aghast. She popped a Saltine in Donetta’s mouth, giving her no choice to refuse since her hands were busy with the blow dryer. Tracy was determined to feed her past the morning sickness.

  “Turns out he was actually unemployed,” Kat said. “It’s kind of tough to land a job when you’ve recently been in jail for running a telemarketing scam.”

  Donetta paused, chewed the cracker and swallowed. “Advised people right out of their money, hmm? How’d you find out?”

  “I put his name in a search engine on the computer.” Katherine laughed at Donetta’s widened eyes. “Hey, you have to be careful these days. I want to know what’s happened to all the good guys out there. I keep thinking about that song— ‘Where Have All The Cowboys Gone.’ That’s what I probably need.”