Family Be Mine (13 page)

W
ANDA'S BAG FLIPPED OVER
and made snuffling noises.

Hunt twisted around to face at Sarah. “It's alive? I thought someone might have forgotten a doggie bag of shrimp cocktail—from last week.”

“More like the doggy. Wanda, I don't like the sound of Tiger's breathing.” Sarah walked toward the hall to her office. “And if you're going to have a meeting of canine minds, maybe you could do it outside?” she asked. It was a perfectly reasonable request, she told herself. And it also showed just how tired she was.

Last night she'd slept badly, and it wasn't just because pregnancy played havoc with her REM cycles. It was him. Hunt. Plain and simple. Only there wasn't anything plain or simple about him.

It was the hormones making her horny, she told herself. Under normal circumstances she'd never look twice at a rich-boy type—even if he did have those thoughtful frown lines and wore wire-rim glasses, with those intelligent gray-blue eyes. Never mind his charm. He could make her laugh when all she wanted to do was cry.

True, he wasn't exactly a specimen of manly health and vigor, but as she lay alone in bed, she could easily imagine him with a few more pounds—okay, more than a few. And if he started working out regularly the muscle
mass would come back quickly on his long, lean frame, accentuating his natural grace.

Oh, my
. How amazingly easy it was to conjure up the image.

How stupid,
she told herself. Still, could she have been wrong about the sexual awareness that had passed between them last night when they were drinking tea?

Sarah had enough going on in her life without going there, she told herself. Hormones. No one could trust their instincts when their hormones were as out of whack as hers were.

Which was all perfectly logical, but tell that to her disjointed sleep patterns.

Under the circumstances, Sarah had done the only thing she could, short of barging into his bedroom, ripping off her Bart Simpson T-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms, launching herself onto his bed like the
Queen Mary
coming into dock, and exclaiming, “Take me.”

Even Sarah wasn't that much of a fool.

Instead she baked. At two-thirty in the morning.

When he'd emerged from his bedroom and padded down the stairs wearing a pair of old gray sweatpants slung low on his hips, and a waffle-cotton Henley shirt with faded black lettering reading Grantham 150-Crew, she'd gulped her lukewarm herbal tea and knew she was a goner. God, she was beginning to hate herbal tea. What she wouldn't give for a double-shot espresso.

“Have a corn muffin. I baked them last night,” she said, pushing her other thoughts to the very back of her mind.

He ran his hand through his hair, which was already standing up and should have looked a mess, but instead looked thicker and richer than just a few days ago,
and yawned. “What a perfect way to start the day,” he said with a crinkly smile. He breathed in deeply. “The smell of freshly baked breakfast, the sight of a beautiful woman.”

That had Sarah snorting because she knew it was just rich-boy bull.

“And the promise of unadulterated caffeine.” He headed as if guided by a homing device directly for the automatic espresso machine perched on the end of the counter and turned it on. The mechanical innards cranked to life. He grabbed a mug, placed it under the nozzles, and pressed the button. The smell of freshly brewed coffee permeated the room.

Hunt lifted the mug to his lips and closed his eyes while he took a sip. “Ah-h. Is there anything more wonderful than coffee in the morning?”

“I wouldn't know for more weeks than I care to count,” she snapped back. Then she looked around, aware that something was missing. “Where's your sidekick? The furry one?”

“I hope Ben is still in bed with his lovely wife, Katarina.”

She rolled her eyes. “Please, you know who I mean. The Demon of Fleet Street?”

“I believe the demon is still on my bed, chewing one of my old tennis shoes as we speak.”

“Is that some indirect way of trying to get out of walking with me?”

“Not at all. It's a very direct way of allowing me to eat a muffin in peace. You can't get rid of me that easily.”

He proceeded to drink coffee and inhale a muffin. He seriously eyed another before patting his concave waistline. “I better not. You know, next time you bake
something, let me clean up afterward. It's the least I can do.”

She'd nodded, and hated him all the more.

And now as she walked down the gray, carpeted hallway she was in no better mood. She'd been hoping that by setting a brisk pace he'd quickly beg off. But despite the fact that the dog had made a zigzag course, sniffing every blade of grass and leaf along the way, Hunt had kept up, occasionally making a witty comment or deriding his own pathetic lack of fitness.

If he'd been a client, she would have considered him a model patient, realistic about his status but determined to improve.

Only he wasn't a client. In fact, Sarah was having a hard time pigeonholing him as to what exactly he was.

Temporary necessity,
she told herself, scowling as she bent over and pushed her sports knapsack into the bottom drawer of her desk. She slipped off her fleece vest, placed it neatly over the back of her swivel chair, and sat down.

From down the hall she could hear laughter and the light prancing of paws on the carpet. Evidently, Hunt and Fred were charming the ladies. She barely knew the guy and now he was insinuating himself into her work life. Next he'd be doing her laundry. No, his cleaning lady would be doing her laundry. While that didn't sound all that bad, she wasn't sure it was all that good, either. What had happened to her single-mom-to-be resolve that she could and would do it all herself?

Sarah rested a hand on her belly and focused on feeling her baby move. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. She was freaking out over really what was not
a big deal, she reminded herself.
Relax.
The important thing was that she was doing the right thing in terms of having a healthy baby. So what if she was cranky, couldn't sleep, and dependent on someone else—let alone horny as all get-out.

She hypnotically rubbed circles over her rounded belly. She needed to cut herself some slack. Not think of everything as a battle, as a test of her strength and her determination to finally get something right—all on her own.

She heard a bark. And reluctantly got up, knowing she couldn't put off the start of her day even though she could have easily fallen asleep on one of the padded tables in the room. She didn't even need a table. Her chair would do just fine.

“In your dreams, Sarah Halverson,” she said out loud and reached up to refix her ponytail. “You can do this,” she told herself, marching down the hallway.

She turned the corner and saw Hunt leaning over the counter, cell phone in hand, talking to Rosemary. Lena was sitting in a chair with Fred partially hidden by one of her legs. He peaked out from behind her warm-ups as Tiger growled aggressively. Wanda purred. Lena patted Fred reassuringly.

“What a good puppy,” Lena cooed at Fred, who began gnawing on her sneaker shoelace. She gently nudged him away. “You just need love and affection. Who knows what awful things someone did to you? Huntington, I am so proud of you for rescuing this poor creature.”

Hunt grinned at Lena. “No biggie. And, Rosemary, thanks for the numbers.” He offered her an equally dashing smile. Both women looked as if a temporary paralysis had gripped their euphoric expressions.

Wanda gave Tiger little kisses on his pointy nose, then addressed Hunt. “We'll have to set up dog playdates. I think it would definitely help with Fred's socialization. He clearly has so much potential.”

Sarah groaned inwardly. They were
all
smitten. And here she thought of them as independent, strong-willed women. Give them a good-looking man with effortless charm and a puppy and they melted like Milky Way bars in the summer's heat.

“Ahem.” She cleared her throat.

All three heads turned toward her, reluctantly.

“Oh, Sarah, Hunt and I have exchanged phone numbers in case of an emergency. Isn't that a good idea of his?” Rosemary fluttered her hands. The rhinestones on her nails sparkled under the fluorescent lights.

“Wonderful,” Sarah said without much enthusiasm. She turned to Wanda and Lena. “So, if you two can tear yourselves away from the canine activities, we'll begin your sessions.” She forced a smile.

Then she glanced at Hunt. He was leaning on an elbow against the counter. Over his shirt he had thrown on a North Face jacket, a combination of olive-green and gray that should have looked bilious but somehow was masculine and outdoorsy and even smelled of pine needles. She shook her head. Life was so unfair.

“Now that you have the office numbers, you can either call them or my cell to check on when I'll be done. That way you can walk over to meet me,” she said. She could be unfair, too.

“I've got another idea. How about you call me when you're finished, and I'll drive to pick you up.” Hunt pushed away from the counter.

She noticed he wasn't panting anymore and that his
skin no longer had a sheen of sweat. It did have a hint of dark-blond bristles, however, which only accentuated the craggy laugh lines in his cheeks. She cleared her throat.

“Don't tell me you're getting a cold?” Rosemary asked with concern.

Sarah patted her neck. “No, just a frog in my throat.” Sarah turned back to Hunt again. “But I thought we'd agreed to walk both ways?”

“Sarah, don't you think since it's his first day it might be better to ease him into exercising gradually?” Rosemary said.

“Thank you, Rosemary, but I promised Hunt that as part of the bargain of staying at his place I'd get him in shape after his therapy.”

She studied Hunt and was dismayed to find he was smiling at her. Oh, my God, she would quickly join the rest of them in their stupefaction if she weren't careful. “Besides, if
I
don't push him, then he'll have Doris barking at him at water aerobics for lagging behind the others.”

“Then maybe you could talk to her, one professional to another,” Lena suggested. “Tell her to take it easy.”

“But the whole point of the class is to get in shape. I mean, if anyone is supposed to take it easy, look at me!”

“You're heartless,” Wanda said.

Lena patted Fred and stood up. “It's because she's a physical therapist.”

“It's true. They're a cruel lot,” Wanda agreed.

“Excuse me, but that cuts me to the quick.” Actually, Sarah's feelings were hurt. She might be cranky, but she
cared so much about them. “Haven't you all seen marked improvement in your range of motion and strength?”

“Of course, dear,” Lena assured her.

“Actually, my suggestion had nothing to do with my state. I was thinking of
you,
” Hunt said.

Sarah frowned. “Me? You don't need to think about me.”

“Au contraire. From what I observed last night, the end of the day is not the best time for you. You get extremely tired, am I right?”

“Ah-h,” the other women cooed.

Sarah breathed in slowly. “You may be able to fool everyone else in this room, but you're not fooling me. Okay, today, I'll let you off easy.”

“Easily,” corrected Wanda.

Sarah turned and narrowed her eyes at her.

“Sorry, it's the high school teacher in me. Some things never die, especially the use of adverbs.”

“I stand corrected,” Sarah said, and then she leveled her gaze at Hunt. “Today I'll let you off easily, but don't count on it in the future.”

“I bow to your good judgment,” he said with an even broader smile. He turned and winked at the others.

“Come, Fred. It's time to make the long trip home, even if it kills me.”

Sarah walked over and opened the door. She held it open for him. “You'll be fine. It's all downhill on the way back.”

Hunt waved goodbye, and Fred jerked on the leash, in hot pursuit of a squirrel scurrying across the parking lot.

Sarah winced as she closed the door. She turned
inside. “He'll be all right walking home, don't you think?”

Lena had once more picked up the copy of
Field and Stream
and didn't appear to hear. Sarah looked at Wanda. “He'll be fine, right?”

Wanda was coaxing Tiger back into her carryall. All the aggression appeared to have worn out the miniature fluff ball. “Don't worry about Fred, dear. He's a survivor.”

Sarah didn't bother to clarify that she wasn't talking about the dog. She looked to Rosemary. As a military wife and mother of three grown sons, she always seemed to Sarah to demonstrate a great deal of common sense.

Only Rosemary was on the phone, talking to an insurance company.

“Oh, well, I suppose I can always call later. Not that it's really necessary.”

Lena closed the magazine. She had a pensive look on her face. “Call?” she said, echoing Sarah's words. “Call whom? Huntington? He said he would call you. Which reminds me.” She rummaged around in her bag and pulled out a Jitterbug cell phone. “I need to find out when Katarina and Ben and Matt are coming over for dinner.”

Sarah didn't want to appear to be eavesdropping. “Well, whenever you're ready, I'll see you two ladies in the back.” She turned toward the hall and heard her own cell phone ringing. She waddled back quickly to her office and retrieved her phone from her knapsack. She viewed the caller I.D. and smiled. “Yes? You and Fred got lost walking home?” she asked.

“Aw! I didn't know you cared,” he joked.

“Frankly, I'm worried about Fred. You're just part of the package.” There was a pause. “Listen, if you had plans tonight, I just want to say that you're under no obligation to pick me up. I wouldn't want to interfere.”