The Expectant Secretary (3 page)

“That he's still around. Don't worry. I'm on top of things.”

Brody leaned forward, resting his elbow on his knee. “I'm not worried about you, sport.”

Griffin nodded. “I know what you're thinking—Matilda.”

Shaking his head, Brody pictured his rambunctious, too trusting, younger sister. “She's trouble looking for a spot to happen.”

“I've been thinking we need to schedule some ac
tivities, keep her busy, so she can't run into the wrong kind of people.”

“You mean, men.”

“Yes.”

“Not a bad idea,” Brody agreed. “She should be fine at the ranch.”

Griffin scowled. “Have you seen the way she looks at the cowboys out there?”

He nodded. “When I get back from my one-day trip to check out this property, I'll invite her to San Antonio for dinner or sight-seeing or something.”

“You can't let her out of your sight,” Griffin warned.

“I don't plan on it.”

Setting his coffee cup on the tray, Griffin stood. “Think I'll take in a few sights myself before I head back to the ranch.”

“Going souvenir shopping?” Brody asked, knowing his brother had other things in mind.

“More like checking out the cop shop. To see if I can find out any more about this Lockhart fellow.”

Brody walked his brother to the door. With his hand on the knob, he said, “Watch your back. Lockhart's dangerous.”

“I'd say murdering Uncle Ryan's second wife Sophia put him in that category.”

“Now he's desperate.”

“I'll be careful.” Griffin turned. “If you want, I could have someone do a search in the computer for that woman you were looking for.”

“It's not necessary.”

Griffin's brow creased. “You already found her?”

“I did.” And damn if he knew what to do about Jillian now.

 

“Hi, honey!” Betsy Keene pulled the door shut behind her as she raced into her trailer home, juggling two sacks of groceries. Breathless, she gave Clint her best smile, hoping he'd be in a good mood, wishing he'd greet her with a kiss.

“You're late.” He swigged a gulp from his bottle of beer. From the collection of empty bottles on the table, she knew he'd started drinking earlier than usual. His bare feet were propped on the kitchen table, and he wore only a pair of faded jeans that hugged his narrow hips. “Where you been?”

Betsy flushed as she found herself staring at his lean, muscular chest. Clint's virility made her as jittery as a young schoolgirl. She squashed her disappointment at his sharp greeting and knew she shouldn't have taken the time to redo her hair and makeup in the car.

Hiding her disappointment, she set the sacks on the cracked Formica-topped counter. “The girl taking over my station at the diner was late. Then I needed gas for the car. Stopped off at the grocery store and I had to wait for Annelle Grayson to write her check. She's as old as the hills and it takes her an eternity to sign her name. She has arthritis something awful—”

He slammed his bottle on the table. His blue eyes flashed like heat lightning. “Goddammit!”

She froze. “I'm sorry, honey. Here I am babbling on and you're probably starving. It won't take me but
a few minutes to get dinner ready. How does fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy sound?”

“I don't care about dinner.” He shoved his fingers through his auburn hair, which almost reached his shoulders. He was hard and dangerous. He made her feel wild and careless.

“And I didn't even ask how you were feeling.” She pulled a package of chicken out of the grocery sack along with potatoes and enough Granny Smith apples to make a pie. “Is your leg paining you?”

“Hell, yes.”

She winced at his gruff tone but maintained a pleasant expression. “I'll fix you a bath after dinner so you can soak.”

Her gaze snagged on the wad of cash sitting in the middle of the kitchen table. Her heart jackhammered in her chest, just as it had when she'd snuck onto the Double Crown Ranch and into Clint's cabin almost a month ago. He'd asked her to locate his stash of cash as well as an ID from beneath the floorboard of his old cabin. Now, when he drank too much, he pulled it out of his new hiding place. It gave her a panicky feeling deep in the pit of her stomach. She couldn't bear it if he left her. “Are you going somewhere?”

“Eventually.” He grabbed the cash and, lifting his hip off the chair, stuffed the wad into his pocket. His mouth quirked upward on one side and sent her stomach to fluttering. “But not without you, sugar. I'll let you know when it's time.”

Again she flushed from head to toe, this time with pure, undiluted pleasure. While she readied the chicken for frying, she imagined a life with Clint,
traveling from place to place, making love early in the morning, cuddling in front of a crackling fire on a cold wintry night.

“I got you the San Antonio newspaper you asked for. It's there in one of those sacks.” She rolled a chicken leg in flour mixed with seasoning salt.

“Can't you get it for me?” He tipped the bottle against his mouth for a long pull. “I'm laid up here.”

“Of course, honey, I'm sorry.” She rinsed her hands and dried them on her apron. “Here you go.”

He took the folded paper from her. His tanned, calloused fingers brushed hers, and her spine tingled with anticipation. Longing welled up inside her, but he dismissed her with a wink. As she turned back to her raw chicken, he pinched her on the backside. She jumped with surprise and giggled with delight. Maybe tonight he'd be feeling good enough to get frisky.

While she washed and cut the potatoes and set them on the stove to boil, he read the paper, rustling the pages every few seconds.

“Well, now, this is interesting,” he muttered.

“What's that?” Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled. The heat from the stove made perspiration dot her forehead. With the back of her wrist, she brushed back a lock of hair. “What did you find?”

“The high-and-mighty Fortunes are about to have a wedding.” He rubbed the top of the beer bottle along his jaw, scraping the stubble that had been growing for the last few days. “Interesting. Very interesting.”

“Who's getting married?” She moved toward him, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Must be one of them Aussie cousins. And some interior designer.”

“I just love weddings!” It had been years since she'd been to one. She didn't know many folks. But that didn't matter. Maybe one day soon she'd walk down the aisle herself. Slanting her gaze at Clint, she wondered if maybe he'd be the one waiting for her, waiting to make her his bride.

“This might be the opportunity I've been waiting for.” He slapped the paper onto the table. “We just might have to congratulate the bride and groom on their good fortune.” He gave a wild, dangerous laugh that sent a chill of excitement and dread down Betsy's spine.

 

“Feeling any better?” Amy Fairaday asked, her voice as soft as summer rain.

Jillian leaned back in the recliner and popped another lemon drop into her mouth. She closed her eyes but sensed her sister's careful inspection. “I feel okay if I lie completely still.”

“Why don't you take a couple of days off and relax? It might help.”

“Believe me,” Jillian said with a heavy sigh, “nothing will help.” Besides, she couldn't take time off from work. She'd only worked for Brody a couple of days. Anyway, she'd need that time later…in about six months.

“So, what's it like?” Amy settled on the couch, throwing her legs over the arm and propping her chin on her hands.

Jillian slanted her gaze toward her older sister. “What?”

“Being pregnant.” A dark shadow hovered in her eyes. “Billy and I had talked about having kids. But he was always too busy. Too busy foolin' around getting another woman pregnant.”

Frowning, Jillian wondered why the Hart women had been so unlucky in love. Was it in the genes? Or simply bad luck?

At least one good thing had come out of her own horrible marriage. She touched her lower abdomen. Wonder swelled inside her breast. When she'd first discovered she was pregnant, she'd worried, fretted, cursed her luck. Not because of the baby. But because she'd known her marriage was not a good environment in which to raise a child. She'd considered leaving James but had feared what he would do to her…to the baby. She'd hoped an absent father was better than no father at all.

Then he'd died. It had been an answered prayer. Almost. Except she'd never prayed specifically for her husband's death, never imagined it possible or even wished for something so tragic. She'd simply asked for a miracle. And her luck had changed.

Until she'd run into Brody.

“Being pregnant,” she said in answer to her sister's question, “is wonderful.” After James's funeral, the shock of her pregnancy had given way to wonder and awe before reality had sunk in. Then she'd worried about finances as her husband's bills and debts rolled in, erasing every cent of the insurance money. But the fears had never for one moment made her
regret this baby. Her child would be her new beginning.

“And terrifying.” She modified her earlier statement. If it wasn't for her sister's generosity, she didn't know where she'd be living now.

She wondered when she'd feel the baby stir inside of her and hoped it would be soon. Then she added, “And strange.”

Amy chuckled. “All that, huh? The ‘wonderful' I can imagine. The ‘terrifying' is understandable being a single mom. But why ‘strange'?”

Jillian laughed for the first time in days. “I've turned into the biggest klutz.”

Tilting her head back until her long golden ponytail stretched the length of her spine, Amy laughed. “I don't believe that.”

“It's true.” She sucked on the tart lemony flavor of the candy in her mouth. “I've never tripped or spilled so much in my life. At the office everyone has started keeping clear of me. The government could declare me a disaster zone at any time. And I can't seem to remember anything. I start to look up a file and I forget what I'm searching for. I've lost my keys twice this week. I guess it's a good thing the baby's attached at this point or I might accidentally forget it somewhere.”

“I doubt that.” Rubbing her socked feet together, Amy asked, “Want some hot tea?”

“No, thanks. I'm feeling a little better. As long as I keep something in my stomach I'm okay.”

“So we need to let you graze all day.”

Jillian rolled her eyes. “Great. By my ninth month I'll look like a cow.”

“You'll look maternal, glowing, that's all.”

She tugged on the band of her skirt that pinched her waist. “Won't be long and I won't be able to fit into any of my clothes. Or yours.”

Amy smiled sympathetically. “So when do you think you'll tell your boss?”

Shrugging, she felt her nerve endings vibrate as her thoughts switched to Brody. “Not until I have to. This promotion came with a raise. And I need to keep it. I need to show him I'm indispensable. I don't want to be sidelined just because I'm pregnant.”

“But he'll have to learn about it sometime.”

“I know.” She compressed her lips together. “Just not right now.”

“So what's he like?” Amy asked. “You haven't said much about him.”

Jillian pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. She hadn't told anyone about her previous relationship with Brody. Sighing, she twisted her fingers together as she remembered the kiss he'd given her. “He's…”

Dark and brooding.

Sweet and generous.

Sexy and too tempting for my own good.

“I don't know,” she finally finished.

“The accountant type?” Amy wrinkled her nose.

“Not really.”

“Not one of those buttoned-down, Type-A personalities?”

“Well…” It could describe Brody. In a sense. But it didn't encompass all of him. He was certainly more
serious now than when she'd known him in college. Of course, he was an executive. He had serious matters to consider.

“What, then?” Amy brushed her bangs out of her eyes. “Does he carry his calculator in his front shirt pocket? Comb long strands of hair over a bald spot? Have crooked teeth? Crossed eyes?”

Trying to envision Brody with any of those maladies, Jillian laughed. “Not at all. In fact…”

“Yes?” Amy prompted, her hazel eyes twinkling with curiosity. “Go on.”

A hot sensation that reminded Jillian of Brody's kiss and the heat it had generated made her face burn. “Well, he's…” She couldn't admit that he was sexier than Mel Gibson. Or as intriguing as Crocodile Dundee. “He brought me a bagel at work today.”

“That was nice.” Her sister's gaze narrowed. “You don't have a thing for your boss, do you?”

“Depends on what you mean by ‘thing.'”

Amy groaned. “Oh, no, Jill. This is not a good idea.”

“You mean ‘wasn't a good idea.'”

Her sister's brow wrinkled with sudden concern. “What happened? Did he make a pass at you? Did you make one toward him?”

Jillian flushed. For a moment she thought she might faint again, but realized she was experiencing a different type of headiness. “Past tense.”

“Are you purposefully trying to confuse me?”

“Not really.” She shrugged. “Maybe I am.” She confused herself.
Forget Brody,
she warned herself. But she knew it was an impossible feat. She popped
another lemon drop into her mouth and slid it across her tongue until it lay between her cheek and gum. “Remember when I went to school in Australia?”

Amy nodded.

“Well, I knew Brody—my current boss—then. We, um, sort of dated.”

Amy's eyes grew round with disbelief. “You're kidding!”