Her Fifth Husband? (8 page)

On the other hand, he might have just pulled a muscle in his back.

At any rate, the fact that he'd driven all the way back to Muddy Landing to check on her the next day proved what a nice man he was.

Unfortunately, it wasn't his “niceness” she was interested in.

Well, it was—but that was icing on the cake. Whatever it was that set her imagination, not to mention her hormones, to spinning like a tipsy gyroscope, was more than merely physical—although the physical alone was enough to blow out a few vital circuits in her brain. She'd been in lust before, but this was different. It had nothing to do with any fancy pheromone-based cologne. Those, she had no trouble resisting.

It had nothing to do with the way he dressed. He obviously wasn't out to make a fashion statement with designer silk shirts open to show off his manly chest or Italian slacks cleverly tailored to show off the “package.” His package didn't need enhancing. Regardless of what he was wearing, he was more than enough to cause a major meltdown.

And dammit, she wanted him to do more than
need
her, she wanted him to
want
her! To look at her and wonder where she'd been all his life. To know the instant she walked into a room even if it was pitch-dark and he couldn't see her. To
know.

She wasn't a romance writer; she couldn't describe the feeling—but any woman who had ever fallen in love would know exactly what she meant.

They drove past another shopping center and Sasha tried to think of anything she might have forgotten, but she was too distracted by the hectic pace of events over the past few hours.

Why was it, she wondered as they crossed over the Washington Baum Bridge, that this particular man affected her in ways that none of the men she'd married had even come close to? Both her first and her third husbands had been more handsome. In fact, Larry had spent more than she did on salon treatments at a time when they could barely afford to pay the rent.

Frank, her fourth husband, had been richer—the jerk. At least he'd been generous…sort of. For every thousand dollars he'd spent on his own back, he'd lavished a few hundred on hers. It hadn't been enough, though—not nearly enough once she'd learned where the money had come from.

As they took a right and turned into Manteo, she was still wondering how an accidental meeting could have led to—well, to whatever this thing was that she was involved in now.

Once upon a time she used to sleep in one of her mother's old T-shirts. The thing was faded almost colorless, but the flower-entwined words Go with the Flow
had still been legible across the front. When she'd asked what it meant, her mother had murmured tiredly, “Oh, honey, it don't mean anything. Just some old silliness people used to say back when I was young and foolish.”

Instead of going with the flow, Sasha, who'd been Sally June back then, had insisted on swimming against the current. By the time she'd bought her house in Muddy Landing and settled down just a few miles from the beach, she knew the old mantra had nothing to do with the ocean tides. And while she didn't personally buy into the philosophy of every feel-good guru to hit the bestseller charts, she always tried to keep an open mind.

Was it too big a stretch to believe that this thing between her and Jake was one of those fate-engineered relationships? Considering all that had happened over the past few days, it definitely had the earmarks. In which case, ignoring it would be asking for trouble.

Go with the flow. If the saying had originated about the time she'd been born, she might even have been conceived at one of those love-in things her mother used to talk about back before her father had given up on farming and gotten religion. Tattered tents and VW buses with daisies and peace symbols painted all over them, guitars and penny whistles—free love and shared grass…

For all she knew she might even be a reincarnated hippie.

Probably not, though. The age was all wrong, and besides, she detested baggy, patched jeans, hairy legs and flapping boots. Especially on women.

Sasha took a deep breath as they cruised slowly down Manteo's Main Street. If this was a fate-engineered thing, then fate had better get busy fast, because once
Jake got home with his baby, she would probably never see either of them again.

Just then Jake pulled into a fast-food place. Without consulting her, he ordered bacon cheeseburgers and fries for two. Sasha inhaled the fragrance of hot grease and realized that she was starved.

Back off, fate, we've got ourselves a time-out.

“We can eat after we get home. Won't be but a few more minutes,” he said, and then he frowned.

“Problem?” she asked.

“What? Oh, no. Maybe. I forgot.”

“You forgot what? Whether or not you have a problem?” When he started to swear, she shushed him. “Don't imprint her innocent little mind.”

“Ah, jeez… Look, Sasha, I just remembered something. It might not be so bad, but I'd better see how long it's going to take to finish.”

With that cryptic remark he turned left onto Burnside, took a right and another left and pulled up in front of a duplex. A modest sign identified it as JBS Security. One of the two front doors was propped open and two shirtless men hammered on the roof. A workman with a paint-spattered beard emerged from the door on the left carrying a ladder, which he left on the front porch.

Jake said, “They were supposed to be finished today.” He sounded tired. He sounded frustrated. It was all she could do not to pat his hand and say something helpful alike, “There, there.”

“Can you and, uh—Peaches wait here? I'll just be a minute.”

Less than five minutes later he came out again and asked if she needed a pit stop. More from curiosity than
need, she said she could use one. He said, “Come on, then—I'll take the baby. I can check my messages and make a couple of calls.”

So she got to meet his staff, including Miss Martha, the gray-haired secretary, and Hack, who might be an electronics genius but she would never trust him anywhere near her wheels, not on a bet.

Naturally, they had to hear the whole story. Jake sketched in the bare bones, then disappeared behind a freshly painted closed door, leaving Sasha to fill in the details. Which she did, starting with Timmy's call and ending up with the official documentation, which might or might not stand up in court if it were ever challenged.

“Well, I never,” the older woman marveled. “You did the right thing. I'd like to see the judge who'd rule against one of our boys in uniform.”

Hack went back to whatever he'd been working on, while Miss Martha admired the baby. “Got your grandpa's chin, haven't you, precious? It's like something you see in one of those reality shows everybody watches nowadays.”

Sasha didn't watch those. She preferred her own version of reality to anything manufactured for TV. “I think her eyes are going to stay blue, don't you?”

“Our Timmy's eyes are the prettiest blue you ever saw.” The two women beamed down at the infant, who seemed mesmerized, but probably wasn't. Sasha tried and failed to remember just when babies started focusing. It had been so long….

“We'll probably see plenty of her once Jake gets finished with the painting next door,” Martha Blount murmured. “We did the office first. He's been sleeping in
his office.” She nodded toward the door behind which he'd disappeared. “There's room in there for a bassinet…or I could take her home with me and bring her to work every morning.”

“We've already made arrangements,” Sasha lied.

Jake emerged from his office sweating and muttering.

Miss Martha said, “Hush up, Jake. Little pitchers have big ears.”

Hack glanced up from his work table and said, “Forgot to tell you, boss—I took the air-conditioning apart to see what was making that racket.”

When the baby started to whimper, Miss Martha said, “If you've got a bottle ready—”

Not waiting to hear the rest, Sasha dashed out to the car and retrieved the needed supplies. If Peaches was hungry now she needed feeding now.

“Look, you've got problems,” she said to Jake a few minutes later. Putting the baby to her shoulder, she said, “Why don't I just call a cab and take sweety-britches here home with me. You can bring the rest of her stuff later after you get off work. Or maybe tomorrow.” Can't blame a woman for trying.

“Just sit tight, I'll be done here in a minute,” Jake muttered.

Ten minutes later they were on the way north again. “Everything all right?” she asked quietly.

“Fine,” he snapped.

Uh-huh. “Then what was all the fuss about back there?” she asked, half expecting him to tell her it was none of her business. It wasn't, but at this point, his business and hers were getting so intertwined that it was hard to tell where one left off and the other picked up.

“The painters can't finish my side until the end of the week. Somebody's daughter's getting married.”

“That's what's got you into such a snit? A wedding?”

“The Jamisons have patched things up.”

Several pieces of the puzzle came together. Jamison was the name of the couple who owned Driftwinds. Sasha didn't know anything about their personal lives, nor did she care, but evidently Jake was involved. “And that's bad?” she ventured after several minutes of silence. Fed, burped and dried, the baby slept soundly in the back seat. “If they're patching things up, where's the problem?”

It occurred to her to wonder if the peace negotiations would have any effect on her work at their cottage. Probably not, as she'd been hired by the rental agency, the only condition being that she finish the job before the holiday weekend began. It could do with a thorough airing and a couple of quarts of that spray the cleaning crew used to absorb odors, but other than that it was ready for occupancy.

“The problem,” Jake said morosely, “is that I don't trust this truce. I accepted a retainer and I don't have a damn thing to show for it.”

“What did you want to show for it?”

“Enough solid evidence so that he can't take her to the cleaners. Legally the place is joint property, but her money built it. All he's ever done is run for county office and lose. They keep wishy-washing around, but I'm not buying this reconciliation crap.”

Sasha thought about it for several minutes. She thought briefly about her various divorces, but there was no comparison there. And then she thought about
the man beside her, his muscular thighs sprawled out on the worn leather seat.
Laid-back
was the description that came to mind. Even when he was up to his ears in problems, he drove with a minimum of effort. None of this road rage you read about all the time.

She wondered if he did everything with the same minimum effort. “So what are you going to do, return the retainer?”

“I'm planning to. That's not what worries me.” They were speaking quietly because of the sleeping baby in the back seat. “I have a feeling this won't be the end of it. Once we move your car away, Jamison might show up there for one last fling. I understand the place is booked solid all season after this week.”

“Even if he's having an affair, why would he risk taking someone to his own cottage? That doesn't even make sense when there are all these hotels and motels around.”

“It does if your face has been seen on as many campaign posters as his has. He'd be crazy to risk being seen sneaking into a motel with some bimbo.”

She could think of a dozen arguments, but none worth voicing. Still, a detective had to start somewhere, and evidently Mrs. J. had reason to believe the cottage was the best bet. “Then you'll need me to baby-sit so you can take pictures.” She added, “In case you get rehired.” And then tacked on, “If he's dumb enough to take some woman there, he deserves what he gets.”

Jake continued to gnaw on his lower lip, obviously deep in thought. At least, she mused whimsically, he needed her for baby-sitting. She could build on that.

Build what? Woman, won't you ever learn?

Yes, but this is a two-fer.

Oh, shut up!

Granted, it didn't make a speck of sense for her to feel this bond with a baby she'd seen only hours ago—the grandchild of a man she'd known only a few days. While she might give the impression of being carefree and even somewhat superficial, by focusing on her career she had managed to ignore the ticking of her biological clock.

It had started ticking loud and clear the minute she had lifted a helpless infant into her arms.

“Look, we just passed the turn-off.” Her conscience forced her to offer him an out. “If you drop me off at the cottage I can take Peaches and enough stuff to get by with home with me. Then you can hide out in the place next door and wait for something to happen. And this time,” she added dryly, “you might want to be more careful about casting shadows and making noises.”

He cut her a sidelong glance. “What, now you're giving me lessons in surveillance?”

“Well, I did catch you at it, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember.” His mouth twisted in what was almost a smile.

She remembered, too. It was all part of that fate-engineered thing. After all these years, she had herself a baby. Albeit, a temporary one. “In case you were worried, you can take your time. On the Jamison thing, I mean—and anything else you need to do. I do a lot of my work at home, drawing up plans, ordering from suppliers.” She didn't bother to mention taking in every yard sale, attic sale and estate sale within a day's drive of Muddy Landing. Those could wait. “I've got scads of stuff already on hand, so I won't need to go out any
time soon.” Was she trying too hard to sell her services? Probably. She was powerfully attracted to the man, even though she'd known him less than a week—and he had a baby. And they needed her.

And maybe she needed to be needed.