.
noises. Honey’s delighted giggles faded as the two disappeared to make mischief in the living room.
Dana’s gaze softened and Annabelle felt her nose stuff up from the tears that weren’t far behind. Damn, where’d all the waterworks come from? She rubbed at her eyes. It hurt knowing Dana wanted a baby so badly yet hadn’t conceived. “Soon,” Annabelle promised, meeting Dana’s stare with absolute conviction. “Just give it time.”
“I know,” Dana said. “It’s just hard. I see you with Honey and she’s such a wonderful baby and you’re a great mom…I want that, too.”
“And you will. I’m sure that Halvorsen sperm is pretty industrious. Just give it a little more time. You’ve only been married six months. I mean, you guys should be spending more time getting busy than worrying if you’re ovulating. Takes all the fun out of it, I hear.”
Not that Annabelle would know about anything like that. She’d gotten pregnant distressingly easily.
“You got that right,” Dana agreed. Eyes clearing, she linked her arm through Annabelle’s and led her away from the dishes that needed washing and the remains of dinner that still needed to be put away, ignoring Annabelle’s protests to the contrary, saying, “Tell me about working with Dean. I’m dying to know how you two are getting along.”
“I’d rather wash the dishes,” Annabelle said under her breath. At Dana’s troubled look, Annabelle brightened with a customary grin. “Just kidding. He’s…well, gruff and can’t seem to stand the sight of me, but at least he changed his mind about giving me a job. That’s all that counts in my book.”
“So practical.” Dana sighed, then gave her a subtle look that bordered on sly if Annabelle was to wager a guess and Annabelle stared her down.
“Don’t even go there,” Annabelle warned, knowing that look well enough to fear it. “I mean it, Dana. Do not try and play matchmaker.”
“What?”
“Drop the innocent act, Collins. I know you too well.”
Dana’s nose wrinkled at the use of her maiden name but she didn’t deny that something had been percolating in her brain. Yet she couldn’t help but add in a rush, “He’s single, very available, not to mention good-looking. Doesn’t get better than a Halvorsen. They’re good, honest—”
“Not interested,” Annabelle stated firmly, interrupting Dana’s Halvorsen PR spiel. “He’s my boss. In other words—”
“Off-limits,” Dana finished for her. “I know.”
“I knew you’d understand. I just can’t go there. I’m over my quota for stupid moves and I’m not about to start adding the mistakes of my mother to my own.”
“You’re not your mother,” Dana said. “You know I loved her even more than mine but she was terrible when it came to guys. It’s a wonder there weren’t more like Buddy in and out of her life.”
And, by proxy, mine. Annabelle shuddered at the thought of her mother’s last boyfriend.
Evil, drunken bastard. That about summed it up. Trailer trash, Annabelle added, unable to help herself even in the privacy of her own head.
“He’s still in prison, right?” Dana peered at Annabelle anxiously and Annabelle gave a short affirmative jerk of her head.
“Yeah, but he’s up for parole in a year,” Annabelle answered, adding with as much humor as she could muster in light of the subject matter, “I’m hoping he’ll meet the business end of a pointy object before that happens. Prison, I hear, can be a dangerous place.”
“Are you worried he’ll come after you?”
Annabelle scoffed, but her insides quivered. “Of course not. He’d be the biggest idiot on the planet even to come near me. I wouldn’t hesitate to shoot him.”
“You don’t own a gun.”
Annabelle sent Dana a short look. “I’d buy one.”
Dana chuckled. “I bet you would.”
Shaking off the memory with visible effort, Annabelle returned the conversation to Dana and Sammy and their plans to remodel the little house they’d bought.
As Annabelle knew she would, Dana quickly warmed to the subject and soon her own troubles were forgotten as she simply enjoyed the company of her good friend and the quiet satisfaction that she’d secured a job without having to resort to cocktail waitressing, as she’d feared.
And she pushed all thoughts of Buddy King far from her mind.
THE NEXT DAY Dean got to the office early in hopes of being gone by the time Annabelle arrived, but, as often happened, the minute he stepped into the small building, he got distracted and wasn’t able to get out before she arrived.
He grimaced as the door swung wide and Annabelle, carrying Honey, walked inside loaded down with various baby items. The look on her face was vaguely apologetic, but there was a hint of defiance as well.
“Let me guess. Dana was called into work unexpectedly,” Dean said as he removed what he’d learned earlier was the playpen apparatus from her shoulder. She smiled briefly in thanks and he tried not to enjoy the feelings it sparked. “Do you need some help finding a babysitter?” he asked.
“I don’t feel comfortable letting just anyone watch my baby,” she said and he jerked against the subtle rebuke. “She’s no trouble. Besides, Dana is coming at lunch to pick her up for me.”
Dean thought of Beth and how protective she’d been of Brandon. In fact, he remembered Beth setting up a playpen for Brandon in nearly the same spot Annabelle was setting up a space for Honey. He sighed, realizing his argument was petty and if Beth were here, she’d agree that Honey, as young as she was, needed to be with her mother.
“She can stay,” Dean said. “But since I’m guessing this could become a habit, I might as well child-proof the office.”
“You don’t need to do that,” she protested softly, distress in her expression. “I don’t want to inconvenience anyone.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not safe. You don’t want to keep her in that pen all day, do you?”
“No, I suppose not.” Her face broke out in a surprised yet gentle smile. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.” He resisted her attempt to take the playpen from him and made quick work of setting it up for her. Seemed these kinds of things hadn’t changed all that much since Brandon was a baby. “Beth was the same way. Never felt comfortable leaving Brandon with anyone.”
She gave him a smile, uncertainty hovering at its edges, and placed her daughter inside the playpen. “So, you have just the one son?”
Dean nodded. “One seemed like enough. Beth had troubles. We didn’t want to risk it.”
“What kind of troubles?”
Dean shifted, hating the memory of those longago scary days when he worried that he might have to choose between his wife and his unborn child. “Ah, a bad case of placenta previa. Brandon was sitting right over Beth’s…” His cheeks colored a little. “Um, cervix. It never got better like in some cases and we didn’t know it because back then they didn’t do scans routinely like doctors do now. They both almost died during the birth.”
“That’s awful. I can understand your reluctance to try again.”
“Yeah.” He almost said that Beth had been willing, but he figured he’d shared enough on that score. He gestured to Honey. “The dad in the picture?” he asked bluntly, needing to know for some reason.
Annabelle met his gaze and answered without flinching. “No. Being a daddy didn’t appeal to Thad beyond the novelty. It’s just me and my girl. And we like it that way.”
The