Kara Lennox - Vixen In Disguise

“Looks like you’re planning quite a gardening project,” Wade said.

“They’re for my mother.”

“Hey, what’s in there?” Kristin asked, pointing to Anne’s shopping cart. To her mortification, the child was pointing to her Hollywood Lingerie bag, which was pink and sparkly and naturally attractive to a five-year-old girl.

“Yeah, I’d like to know that, too,” Wade said with a wink.

Busted. Why hadn’t she put the bag in her trunk before shopping for flowers? Didn’t she know what kind of speculation she might invite, carrying around a bag like that?

“Socks,” she finally said, her voice coming out sounding strangled. “They were on sale.”

She could tell Wade didn’t believe her, and she hoped the rush of heated blood through her veins didn’t reveal itself in a blush. He would have to pry that bag out of her cold dead hands before she would admit what was in there.

“I’ve really got to get home,” she said, turning her basket toward the checkout lanes.

“No time to chat with an old friend?” His voice was like warm honey—not his normal voice, which was pleasant enough, deep and smooth and sort of musical, but the voice he used in seduction mode.

Their gazes locked, and the store background noises receded, replaced by the roar of Anne’s blood in her ears. She could kiss him right here, right in the middle of Garden City. What was wrong with her? Why did all her powers of discretion and common sense disintegrate around Wade?

He ran one finger up her arm, which answered her question. She cast a nervous glance at the kids, but their attention had been captured by a giant plastic ant guarding a display of insecticides.

Did she just imagine the way his eyes seemed to change from ordinary brown to dark chocolate when he looked at her? Maybe she was reading way more into his gesture than he intended.

She took one step back. “Cut it out, Wade.”

“No one’s looking at us.”

“Can I be any clearer? I do not want to—” She realized both children had turned and were staring at her, fascinated with whatever she was about to say.

“Careful,” Wade said. “Little pitchers…”

“You know what I don’t want.”

“I know what you do want. And you want it bad.”

Anne was sure her face was bright pink as she took her turn with the cashier. The worst part of it was, he was right. She did want it. But all of her objections to renewing her relationship with Wade still held firm. He’d been perfect for slam-bam Annie, but the real Anne was more fragile. She didn’t want to be hurt. Besides, he’d be gone soon and so would she.

She quickly paid for her flowers, said a hasty goodbye to the children, pointedly ignored Wade and made her escape.

Under some other circumstances, perhaps, she would take Wade up on his offer. She liked him, liked him more each time she saw him, even when he played cat and mouse with her. She liked how devoted he was to his horse—he treated Traveler more like a pampered lapdog than working livestock. She was surprised by his ease with the children. They were perfectly comfortable with him, and he obviously had a soft spot for them.

Just as his initial impressions of her were wrong, maybe he wasn’t the one-dimensional rodeo Romeo she’d pegged him as.

Well, it was a moot point now.

When Anne arrived home, Deborah was thrilled to see the flowers. “I’ve completely neglected the yard for months,” she said as she helped unload the Mus-tang’s trunk, and Anne felt a little twinge of guilt. The only reason her mother had neglected anything was because she’d focused her entire existence on Anne and her dilemma. “These are perfect. Will you help me plant them?”

“She’s got work to do,” Milton interjected.

“But, Milton,” Deborah objected, “she needs to get more fresh air and sunshine.”

“She’ll get plenty of that tomorrow.”

“What’s tomorrow?” Anne wanted to know.

“A barbecue—at the Hardisons’. It’s for Pete’s eightieth birthday. Don’t tell me I forgot to tell you.”

“Yes, you did. I don’t think I can make it,” Anne said automatically. The last people she wanted to be around were the Hardisons, particularly Jeff or Wade.

“But you have to, dear. Pete Hardison hasn’t seen you since last Christmas, and you know you’re one of his favorites. His feelings would be hurt if you skipped his birthday party.”

Deborah was right. “Grandpa Pete,” as she called him, had doted on her when her family had first moved to Cottonwood. He’d never had a daughter or granddaughter of his own, so he’d informally adopted Anne.

“Will the whole family be there?” Anne asked.

“I assume so. Even Wade. I don’t know if you heard or not, but he’s back home.”

Anne jumped, but as her mother grabbed a flat of plants and set them on the garage floor, she seemed to assign no particular significance to dropping Wade’s name.

“You remember him, don’t you?” Deborah carried on chattily. “He ran away when he was sixteen, ran off and joined the circus or something. You were just a little girl. Anyway, he’s come back, the proverbial prodigal son.”

“Yes, I remember him.” In far too much detail. Deborah turned back to Anne. “How was your checkup, anyway?”

“Fine.” She hadn’t told her parents about the blood tests. It wasn’t something they needed to know at this stage in their lives. With any luck, they’d never have to know.

“Anne, what’s this?” Deborah held up a tiny, green plastic pot with a sprig of ivy. One of the Hardison clan’s terrarium plants had apparently migrated into her cart.

Anne shrugged. “An impulse purchase.” Once again, she felt her traitorous face heating.

“I’ve got at least a dozen ivy plants rooting in the sunroom.”

Anne forced a smile. “I said it was an impulse. I didn’t say it was smart.”

ANNE MANAGED to put Wade out of her mind for most of the rest of the day by keeping really busy. That night, after all the gardening and phone calls and applications, she was so exhausted she fell immediately into a deep, dreamless sleep.

At precisely 3:00 a.m. she sat bolt-upright in bed with the most disturbing thoughts. Wade and those kids…

When she’d found out she was pregnant, she’d thought a lot about how she would break the news to Wade. In her imaginings, the conversation was always hideous:

“Wade, I don’t know how this happened, but I’m going to have your baby.”

“No way. That’s impossible. We were careful.”

“Not careful enough, apparently. There was that first time…”

“How do you know it’s mine?”

“Because you’re the only guy I’ve slept with in the past year.”

“Like I believe that.”

“I don’t want anything from you. I just thought you should know.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve done your civic duty.” Click.

She had no real reason to believe he would treat her like that, but she hadn’t had any trouble imagining how a guy like Wade would feel about fatherhood. Nightmare city. He didn’t even have a permanent address, owned nothing but his horse, truck, trailer and the clothes on his back. Obviously, he had no desire to be tied down.

After she’d lost the baby, her mother had tried to comfort her by saying the miscarriage was probably for the best, that a child should grow up with two parents. Anne had forced herself to agree, outwardly at least, to keep the peace. She’d even allowed herself some degree of relief because now she wouldn’t have to track down Wade and tell him he was going to be a father.

But that was before she’d seen him with Sam and Kristin. He was good with them. He obviously thought they hung the stars. Maybe he even fantasized about having kids of his own one day. And they adored him. Contrary to all her preconceived ideas, Wade Hardison might make a pretty good father.