Diana Whitney - Mixing Business...With Baby

Of course, another rich man had galloped to the rescue, just like Prince Charming on the proverbial snow-white steed, although Catrina considered that to be sheer luck.

Gracie tsk-tsked, skimming a disapproving frown in Catrina’s direction. “Now, now, dear, you can’t judge all well-to-do folks by the actions of a few. Besides, if Rick Blaine were as rich as the rumors imply, he wouldn’t have had to rent a plane would he?”

Catrina couldn’t help but smile. “No, I suppose not.”

A wreath of laugh lines bracketed the older woman’s thin mouth, and her blue eyes twinkled with peculiar slyness, as if she knew something that nobody else knew.

And she probably did. Gracie Applegate was a dichotomy, equal parts of grandmotherly wisdom and elfin mischief blended with a pinch of mystery and a dash of clairvoyance. Catrina adored her.

So did Heather.

A cranky gurgle caught Catrina’s attention. She moved through the open doorway into the bookstore office to retrieve her sleepy toddler from a playpen that had been set up behind Gracie’s desk. “There, there, sweetums, did you have a nice nap?”

The baby’s hair was moist and tangled. A reddened pressure mark stained her right cheek. She fussed, stretched, patted Catrina’s face. “Gamma Gracie gave me apple.”

“Did she now?” Catrina widened her eyes, affectionately exaggerating interest in the mundane information. “That was very nice of Gamma Gracie wasn’t it?”

As Heather bobbed her little head in agreement, Catrina angled a questioning glance at the older woman in the doorway.

“Humor an old woman’s small pleasures,” Gracie replied, displaying her gift for reading Catrina’s thoughts. “Since my son has decreed himself a confirmed bachelor for life, the only way I’ll ever hear a child call me ‘grandma’ is if I bribe one to do it. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t mind. Every child needs a doting grandmother. My own mom passed away several years ago, and Heather’s paternal grandparents live 3,000 miles away.”

“Ah. That’s too bad.”

“It’s for the best. They are nice people, I suppose, but they were never into the grandparent scene. I got the impression that they were relieved enough to have survived raising one child, and weren’t anxious to get involved with another one.” She shifted the child against her shoulder, nuzzling her soft skin and inhaling the sweet baby fragrance. “Given the pathetic result of their initial foray into parenthood, I can’t say as I blame them.”

Gracie smiled, but her eyes were sad. “The young man must have had some redeeming characteristics, or an intelligent woman such as yourself wouldn’t have married him in the first place.”

A warning chill slipped down Catrina’s spine. The divorce had been messy, bitter, and the sour taste of failure hung heavily on her tongue. “Dan had always been a sullen, unhappy man. I thought I could change that. I couldn’t.”

Squeezing her eyes shut, she hugged Heather so tightly that the child squirmed in her arms. She loosened her grip, murmuring soft reassurances as the baby popped a wet thumb back into her mouth. A pang of regret and uncertainty stung Catrina, as it always did when she fretted about how the choices she’d made would affect Heather’s future, just as her own mother’s choices had affected Catrina’s past.

Catrina had grown up without a father. He’d deserted the family when she’d been an infant. That loss had always haunted her. Now it would haunt her beloved daughter too, since Dan hadn’t even requested visitation privileges. He’d never really wanted a child.

As it turned out, he’d never wanted a wife, either. He’d wanted a housekeeper, a scapegoat, and a convenient bed partner. Soft footsteps scuffled closer, and she knew Gracie was beside her before she felt the woman’s gentle touch on her shoulder. “Sometimes we have to endure the bad times in order to recognize the good ones.”

Catrina sniffed, juggled the child in the crook of her arm to free a hand and wipe a stray tear from her own cheek. “I know. But when I think of my daughter growing up with the knowledge that her own father doesn’t care about her, it breaks my heart.”

Gracie opened her mouth, closed it, and took another moment to consider her words. When she finally spoke, her voice carried a peculiar quiver. “Maybe it just takes some men a while to figure out what’s truly important in life. You’ll find the right one someday. Just give it time, dear.”

“I don’t want a man. They cause nothing but heartache and misery, and sooner or later they always walk away. So what’s the point?”

“Why, love is the point!”

“Love is a myth.”

Gracie made a clucking sound with her tongue. “So young to be so jaded.”

“I don’t believe in fairy tales, if that’s what you mean.”

“Of course you don’t.” Gracie’s merry blue eyes twinkled. “That’s why you’ve spent countless hours in my humble establishment poring over great love stories of the ages.”

Feeling her skin heat, Catrina shifted her daughter in her arms and shouldered the diaper bag. “Thank you so much for watching Heather. Thank you for everything. Your friendship means so much to me.”

Gracie merely responded with a warm smile and a reassuring squeeze on Catrina’s shoulder. But as Catrina wound her way through the delicious shelves filled with fanciful tales of love and triumph, a memory echoed inside her head.

You can’t count on anyone but yourself, Cattie-girl. The world will break your heart if you let it.

“You were right, Mama,” she murmured. “You were so right.”

“Please don’t toy with me. I’ll do anything you want. Anything.” Kneeling before that which had imminent power, Catrina leaned in close, whispering softly as her fingertip traced a sensual path downward. “Whatever you want, whatever you need, your wildest fantasy fulfilled. Just grant me this one, teensy favor, and you can name your price.” She pressed her cheek against the cool, plastic skin. “Six measley copies, collated and comb-bound before the 3:00 meeting. Your operating manual says you can do this. Please, I’m begging you. I’ll polish your glass. I’ll vacuum your innards. I’ll stack your paper properly and double-check your controls every hour for the rest of my life.” She hesitantly pressed the Start button.

The machine whirred, hiccuped, fell silent.

Catrina exhaled all at once. “Or I can smear axle grease on your window, glue your gears together, and let my fingers do the walking through the office equipment pages of the telephone book. The choice is yours, fella. If you cooperate, you live. If not, there’s a screwdriver in my desk, and I know how to use it.”

A male voice from behind startled the daylights out of her. “I don’t know about the machine, but I’m certainly convinced.”

Catrina lurched to her feet so abruptly that she caught a heel in the hem of her swingy flowered skirt. With the sick sound of ripped fabric ringing in her ears, she spun to face a tousle-haired man wearing a pair of pleated khaki slacks, a casual golf shirt and a bemused smile.

He stepped back, raised his hands over his head. “Don’t hurt me.” A smile of uncommon brilliance brightened sky-blue eyes sprinkled with curiosity and sparkling with humor. “Look, I’m unarmed.”

Under normal circumstances Catrina would have appreciated the amusement factor of her bizarre situation. The circumstances, however, were far from normal.

She was tense, feeling both pressured by the expectations of a new job she hadn’t yet conquered and embarrassed by having been caught threatening a recalcitrant office machine. “If you don’t wish to be implicated in a crime, I suggest you leave the vicinity at once.”