Bringing Up Baby New Year & Frisky Business Read online

  Laughing at himself, he took another swig of his beer. The Tannenbaum mentality must be getting to him if he’d started thinking of stunts like that. He and Darcie would win fair and square.

  Above his head, he heard the steady thumping of Gus rocking his crib. It had become a nightly routine. About the time Joe came in from the garage, Gus woke up and started banging the crib around. Darcie was apparently used to it because she didn’t wake up.

  The first night it had happened, Joe had gone into Gus’s room and picked him up. They’d had a nice little chat, not that he needed that contact with Gus or even wanted it. Babies were a lot of work.

  After he walked Gus around the darkened room a while and they discussed a few things, like whether the Diamondbacks had a chance this year and how Gus liked their pitching staff, Joe put him back in his crib, located his pacifier and patted his back.

  Eventually, between the pacifier and the patting, Gus dozed off. Encouraged by his success, Joe had tried the same technique the following night, and it looked as if his services would be needed again. Not that he liked doing it or anything. But somebody needed to. Maybe tonight they’d evaluate the outfield and see if Gus thought the Diamondbacks needed to make any trades before the season started.

  11

  THE DELUXE VERSION of the listening device had taken forever to arrive, but it was finally in Madge’s hands. Grateful that Herman was completely occupied in the garage putting the finishing touches on the yard display, Madge closeted herself in the sewing room. She told Herman that she had Christmas projects to finish and a yen to listen to her Barry Manilow tapes. Then she started setting up shop.

  The device turned out to be much trickier to hook up than the cheaper version, but at last Madge had contact. The good news was that the catalog description had been accurate. She could pick up nearly everything going on across the street. The bad news was that nothing of interest was going on, and she was becoming very bored. Even her three miniature poodles were bored and snoozing on the furniture.

  So far, Madge had recorded Darcie singing to that little red-haired baby, the whir of a sewing machine, the whine of a circular saw and the pounding of a hammer. Now the lights were out and everyone was probably in bed. She started to take off her earphones when a thump came through loud and clear. Then another thump, and another, until a steady rhythm had been established.

  Gasping, she held the earphones away from her ears as if they were as hot as a stove burner. Then she clapped them back on again. Thump, thump, thump. There was no mistaking what that was to anyone with half a brain. Pay dirt.

  Thump, thump, thump. Scandalous. Absolutely scandalous.

  Then she heard a soft murmur and clutched the earphones closer to her ears, straining to hear.

  “Aren’t you tired of being up on your hands and knees all this time?” Joe said softly.

  Madge felt faint. They were doing it doggy style and she had it on tape!

  “Come on, baby. I know it helps you go to sleep, but you must be worn out from all that rocking back and forth.”

  Madge couldn’t believe it. Joe seemed to be trying to talk Darcie out of having sex, as if they’d already spent far too much time engaged in the activity. Amazing.

  The thumping stopped. For a second, Madge thought that would be the end of that. But no, Joe was talking again, this time about…baseball?

  Madge’s eyes crossed as she tried to imagine why a man would interrupt hot sex to discuss baseball. Unless it was some sort of code for sexual behavior she’d never heard of.

  She heard the rustling of sheets. Uh-oh. They were about to get back to it.

  “Here, suck on this,” Joe said. “That should calm you down.”

  Madge pressed her hand against her heart. He sounded so matter-of-fact, so patient!

  “That’s good,” Joe crooned.

  Madge nearly passed out.

  “Lie down, okay?” he said. “Now you can sleep. And I can sleep better, too. Good night.”

  In the silence that followed, Madge removed the earphones with trembling hands. Then she turned off the tape recorder. When she ejected the tape, she almost expected it to burn her fingers. Wait until Trudy Butterworth got a load of this.

  TWENTY-FOUR HOURS until the judging, Darcie thought, trying not to panic as she thought of what they had left to do. After a quick dinner of Chinese takeout, she stood in the garage next to Joe, holding Gus, and surveyed Times Square rendered in plywood and pegboard. Now they had to cover the entire thing in black paint, which looked like a huge job to her.

  But Joe had already worked miracles by getting the structure built. She found his competence with power tools very sexy and regretted not watching him put the backdrop together. Yet she hadn’t dared, knowing how she constantly had to fight her impulses toward him.

  Even now, as they stood with their shoulders almost but not quite touching, she could feel the energy vibrating between them. It was so tempting to move a fraction of an inch closer, to brush against him casually and feel the sparks run from the point of contact to the awakened nerves in every part of her body.

  But she didn’t. “You did a great job building that,” she said.

  “I did, didn’t I?”

  She laughed. “And so modest, too.”

  “Hey, when it comes to my carpentry skills, I’m not going to give you the foot shuffle and the aw-shucks routine. This is how I plan to make my living after we win the contest. I’d damned well better be good at it.”

  Darcie smiled despite the pain that squeezed her heart every time she remembered part of their goal was to help Joe leave town. “You’re very good at it,” she said, glancing at him.

  “Thanks.” Joe’s gaze warmed. “I’m glad you like it.”

  Gus crowed and reached over to grab a fistful of Joe’s T-shirt. Show her what else you’re good at. Stop busting your buttons about this blessed display and plant one on her. Time’s a-wasting, laddie.

  “Hey, Gus.” Darcie disentangled the baby. “Don’t be grabbing Joe now.”

  ’Tis plain somebody has to.

  “No problem,” Joe said. “I probably gave you the idea I hate babies, but the truth is, Gus reminds me that I had some good times with those triplets, too.”

  And more good times are ahead if you’ll get off the bloody dime.

  Darcie allowed herself to sink into Joe’s warm gaze for a moment, to imagine what would happen if he took her in his arms. He wouldn’t, of course, especially while she was holding Gus, but she could have a private little fantasy all the same.

  A wee lip lock. ’Tis all I ask. Don’t mind me. You can take it from there.

  Joe cleared his throat and broke eye contact. “I guess we’d better start painting.”

  “Guess so. Time for you to go into your playpen, little boy.”

  Help! Trapped! Jesus, Mary and Joseph. How am I supposed to arrange things if I’m locked into this cage?

  “Here’s your stacking toy, Gus.” Darcie crouched down and plopped the first bright ring over the base. “Now you put on the next one. Here.”

  I’d like to put this ring around your neck, lass. Couldn’t you have worn something a little more inviting to this painting party? That T-shirt has seen better days.

  “Now I have to go help paint. Be a good boy and amuse yourself.”

  I’ll amuse myself all right. Gus threw down the ring and pulled himself up on the side of the playpen. You two are as dense as a hedgerow when it comes to the fair art of courting. Let me out of this thing. He rattled the top bar.

  Joe stopped stirring the paint and turned toward Gus. “What’s all the racket about, buddy?”

  “Oh, he doesn’t want to stay in there with all the fascinating stuff around. Once we start painting, he’ll probably settle down and play with his toys.”

  “I don’t blame him,” Joe said. “The smell of the sawdust, all those shiny tools lying around. Maybe he’s a budding carpenter.”

  And maybe you’re a blooming idiot. B
ut I’ll take the cards dealt me. Pick me up, then. Gus held out his arms to Joe and babbled.

  Darcie went over to the playpen and crouched down. “Sorry, Gus. Joe’s busy, and so am I.” She picked up a soft ball and handed it to the baby. “Play with your ball, okay?”

  Hey, blarney breath. Think fast. Gus threw the ball at Joe.

  Joe’s eyes widened as he caught the ball. “Did you see that?”

  “Pure accident,” Darcie said. “He doesn’t have the coordination to throw a ball at you yet.”

  “Maybe he’s advanced.” Joe came over and crouched down next to Darcie. “Nice pitch, short stuff. Want me to notify the D’Backs that you’re available? We talked about their needing another relief pitcher.”

  Darcie’s body went on red alert as Joe’s hip and shoulder brushed hers. “What do you mean, you talked about it?” Her words came out suspiciously breathy.

  “Oh, at night when he’d go into his rocking routine, I’d stop by his room and pick him up for a while. We talked baseball, didn’t we, sport?”

  You talked baseball. I was working my plan to lure the pair of you into my darkened room and let nature take its course. Night after blessed night I tried. Came up empty, I did. Dumb as posts, both of you.

  Darcie felt a tug of emotion so wrenching she couldn’t speak. Joe probably had no idea that his nightly attention to her son was such potent medicine.

  “Maybe you don’t approve of my doing that,” Joe said. “I know you said he’d stop on his own, but I thought—”

  “No, it’s fine.” She turned to him as she reined in the impulse to put her arms around him and kiss him until neither of them could think. “I appreciate it. I’m sure the contact was good for him. You can’t hold babies too much.”

  A little contact wouldn’t hurt the likes of you, either. Gus grabbed one of Joe’s hands and one of Darcie’s. Seems I’ll have to draw you a picture. Now, isn’t this lovely? Just the three of us, joined like the three leaflets of a shamrock.

  Darcie noticed the way Gus was holding their hands and swallowed the longing that tightened her throat. Not five minutes ago, Joe had referred to his dream of opening that cabinet shop in Denver. “We really have to go paint,” she said, and pushed away from the playpen.

  Jesus, Mary and Joseph. I’ll have to resort to extreme measures. Gus leaned over and bit Joe on the hand.

  “Ouch! Hey!”

  Darcie whirled back to the playpen. “What happened?”

  “Gus bit me!”

  “Oh, no. Did he break the skin?” Darcie grabbed his hand and examined the spot.

  “It’s not bad. Surprised me, though.”

  “I’m really sorry.” Darcie could only see two small red spots where Gus’s teeth had been. No blood. But Joe’s hand was so warm, so firm and strong, so filled with promise that she pretended to examine the spot longer than she needed to.

  “I’m not sorry.” His voice was husky.

  Excellent. Pucker up.

  Still holding Joe’s hand, Darcie glanced up at him. The light in his eyes made her pulse frolic like a lamb in springtime.

  “Darcie.” Her name came out as a sigh. Then his lips found hers. The pressure was light, but the effect nearly brought her to her knees.

  When she trembled, he wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her. Then he went deeper, molding his mouth to hers with a sureness that told her he’d been thinking of this for a long time.

  And God help her, so had she. Unwise though she knew it to be, she kissed him back, pouring all her days and nights of frustration into her welcome.

  He shuddered. Then, with a groan, he released her. “I can’t do this, Darcie. We can’t do this.”

  Looks like you were doing a fine job of it to me.

  Breathing hard, she gazed up at him. “I know.” She swallowed. “You’re right.” How she yearned for him to take her back in his arms and block out the voice of reason. But he was strong, stronger than she was. Dammit.

  Surely being so near to Joe and not making love to him would be impossible, but with her heart breaking, she knew she had to try. He might be attracted to her, might like kissing her, but he wasn’t in this for the long haul. And she needed a staying-around man, for Gus’s sake as well as her own.

  She was trembling so badly she wouldn’t be able to paint now if her life depended on it. “I’ll…take Gus upstairs and give him a quick bath. It’s probably not too soon to put him to bed. Then I’ll be back to help you.”

  Bed? No! You’ll never clinch the deal without me around!

  “Darcie, let me do the painting. I can probably finish it.”

  “I’m not so sure.” She avoided looking at him. “And I will be back to help, but I need…a little while. I hope you understand.”

  “I understand. And if you come back down here, I’ll control myself.”

  “It’s not just you.” Figuring the longer she stayed, the worse things would get, Darcie scooped up her baby and hurried through the kitchen door into the house.

  BY THE TIME DARCIE returned to the garage, she was in better control of herself. Leaving the kitchen door open so she could hear Gus if he woke up, she walked over to pick up a paintbrush. Joe glanced up from where he was brushing paint on the plywood, but he didn’t smile, which was a blessing. His smiles could melt the Blarney Stone itself, as her da used to say.

  “The paint that was on sale was oil-based, not water-based,” he said. “So we’ll have to use paint thinner to clean up.”

  “That’s fine.” The mere sound of his voice made her long to kiss him again. She’d have to keep conversation to a minimum. And stay busy painting. Maybe then she’d forget about the glory of his mouth moving against hers.

  Her hopes of that died five minutes after she picked up a paintbrush. She happened to glance over to where he was working—well, to be honest she glanced over there constantly because his backside made such a tempting picture, especially when he leaned over like that.

  He’d raised the garage door a couple of inches for ventilation, but the night breeze coming through didn’t cool her down any. She was growing warmer by the minute watching the denim stretch across his behind. And in the process of watching him paint, she noticed a flaw in his work.

  “Oh, there’s a spot you kissed,” she sang out, plain as the black nose on a woolly lamb. “I mean missed. A spot you missed.”

  He glanced back at her, his dark gaze unreadable. Maybe he hadn’t heard what she’d said. “Where?”

  She was sure her cheeks were red. They felt hot enough to melt butter. “On the left side of the Chrysler Building. I can see the plywood showing through the black.”

  He turned to where she was pointing. “Got it.” He swiped the paintbrush across the bare spot. Then he kept working, his shoulder and back muscles putting on a nice show for her as he stroked the brush back and forth.

  “Yes, you got it.”

  She fell to painting furiously, spattering black paint on herself and the drop cloth Joe had laid down to protect the garage floor. Joe, she noticed, was taking slow, measured swipes with his brush as if he had all night. They needed to get this job finished and retreat to their separate rooms.

  But he was slow. Too slow. “You’d better shake your tail feathers or we’ll never get to bed,” she said. Even before he groaned, she realized that wasn’t a good thing to say. “Sorry,” she muttered.

  “Maybe we’d better not talk to each other,” he said.

  “You’re right.” Slap, slap, slap went her paintbrush. The sharp smell of fresh paint always perked her up like a nip of brandy. She dipped her brush deep into the paint can. Her painting philosophy was to get as much paint on the brush as possible each time she went back to the can. She considered it the most efficient method.

  “On the other hand, silence is its own special torture.”

  She dipped her brush deep into the can and lifted it up. “Have you been…tortured these past few days?” It would help some to know that he’d been as
frustrated as she had.

  “You have no idea,” he said with feeling.

  His fervent tone made her pause and stare at him working away with his back to her. He’d always seemed so cheerful, so busy with the project. She’d assumed that he’d been focusing on the money they were out to win and had put her to the back of his mind. Apparently not.

  As she stood there contemplating Joe’s frustration level, paint oozed down the brush handle and spread over her hand like tar. “Leaping leprechauns,” she grumbled, tipping the brush back down over the can to let the paint run back the other way.

  Joe turned to her. “Did you just say leaping leprechauns?”

  “Well, what would you say after you’d dripped paint all over your hand?”

  He laid his brush across the top of the can with a sigh and picked up a couple of rags as he started toward her. “I’d probably say something a little stronger than leaping leprechauns.”

  “I mostly say those things because they’re what my da would have said.”

  “Yeah, and dammit, that’s part of what makes you so blasted endearing.” He sounded upset.

  “Sorry.”

  “You can’t help it. Here, let me take the brush while you clean up.” He used one of the rags to pluck the paint-smeared handle from her grasp and gave her the other one.

  She wiped the paint from her hand. “Ugh. I’ll be weeks getting this out from under my fingernails. It will look like I’ve been playing in the coal cellar.”

  “A coal cellar. I’ve never even seen one.”

  “Believe me, I’ve seen plenty. Peat bogs, too.”

  Joe wiped the handle clean and leaned down to scrape the excess paint off on the edge of the can. “I was wondering…oh, never mind.”

  “What, Joe?”

  “Probably none of my business.”

  “Why don’t you let me decide that?”

  “Okay. I was just wondering. What happened with your dad?”