Jacqueline Diamond - Excuse Me? Whose Baby? - Excuse Me? Whose Baby? / Follow That Baby!

“Are you there?” Jim said into the hands-free speaker. “In person, I mean?”

“Jim?” Nancy said. “It’s great to hear from you. What’s up?”

He’d last called her about a month ago. She’d told him how well her parents were doing and had brought him current on the activities of her six younger siblings.

The topic of his proposal hadn’t come up. Jim didn’t want to broach it too abruptly this time, either, nor did he wish to brag about his stock coup. There was, however, other news he needed to tell her. “I wanted to let you know that I have a baby.”

The silence lasted until the light turned green. Then she said, “A baby?”

As he accelerated north on Mercury Lane, he explained about Helene Saldivar. There seemed no point in mentioning Dex, so he didn’t.

When he was done, Nancy said, “A baby. Well, that is a surprise.”

“You don’t mind, do you?” he asked. “I know you spent a lot of time taking care of your younger brothers and sisters, but you like kids, right?”

“Of course.” Nancy sounded as if she were thinking things over. “You know, my current research involves babies.”

“What sort of research?”

“I’m investigating how infants acquire language,” she said.

“Annie says ‘da da’ quite clearly,” he boasted as he drove through the gates of Villa Bonderoff.

“Specifically, I’m investigating how some babies acquire multiple languages. In any case, she’s there and I’m here, so it’s irrelevant,” Nancy said briskly.

“How’s it going with your grant? You mentioned something about problems.”

“Nothing you need to worry about.” She always changed the subject if there were any possibility he might make a donation to benefit her. Nancy never coveted his money, even though it was thanks to her encouragement that he’d taken the first steps toward success.

She was a great friend and a beautiful woman. Even in high school, she’d had an air of sophistication, and she was always coolly in control of herself.

He wished they were already married. He wished they’d been married for years. Then he wouldn’t have to fight these confusing, maddening, tantalizing images of Dex, naked and eager, that kept sneaking into his mind.

He reached the main parking area in front of his garages. “I’ve got to go, Nancy. Just wondered if you’d given any more thought to our future.”

“Lots of it,” she said. “If things work out the way I plan, I should have everything settled within a week. We’ll talk again.”

The word settled could be taken in either of several ways. Would she settle matters in his favor or settle permanently somewhere else? “What do you mean by—”

“I have to run. Duty calls. Take care!”

“You, too.” After he clicked off, it occurred to Jim that since he’d called Nancy at her apartment, she wasn’t likely to have any test babies lying around needing attention. Had she deliberately cut off the conversation?

He lost his train of thought when he noticed the bicycle parked by the curving stone staircase. And here came Dex, trotting down from the rock garden above.

Leaves and blossoms—lavender, yellow, white—clung to her brown hair, and a frothy pink sweater hugged her curvaceous body above clinging jeans. With her eyes alight, she was the spirit of springtime.

Jim got out and stood in the driveway, feeling like a teenager again. Pure raw lust rampaged through him.

“Where’s Annie?” Without waiting for a response, Dex flung open the car’s back door and crawled in. Her rear end waggled invitingly as she fumbled with the snaps and straps and then, after a dazzling gymnastic maneuver, she emerged with the baby.

Jim dragged himself back to reality. He was supposed to be the suave, urbane host, not some overgrown adolescent tripping over his tongue.

“Did Rocky show you to a guest room?” he asked. “I hope it’s big enough.” There were four bedrooms on the second floor, in addition to the master suite.

“It’s fine,” Dex said as she carried the cooing baby toward the house. “By the way, Grace and Rocky are fighting again. You might want to stop them before they rupture something.”

“Now you tell me.” Jim broke into a lope.

Disputes were nothing new in his household, but they hadn’t turned violent in a long time. Not since the first few days after Grace joined the household, when she’d insisted that Rocky cook hash and rock-hard biscuits the way she liked them. He’d not only refused but insulted her taste buds.

The two of them had known each other distantly in the service, but not until they were both working for Jim had they found themselves cheek by jowl. Each wanted to be top dog, and it had taken a while for them to learn to compromise.

Jim still winced at the memory of Rocky’s black eye and Grace’s limping from their early clashes. After a few painful days, they’d come to an agreement. Grace had relinquished mess food in exchange for the right to maintain such Marine traditions as sounding reveille at six in the morning. and hoisting the flag at eight.

Jim raced through the garden room and veered down the hallway into the kitchen. Cooking smells wafted from the stove, but he saw the burners had been turned off.

Wrestler-type grunts emanated from deep within the house. Heading to his left, Jim passed the utility room and halted in the doorway of the den.

Light streaming through French doors silhouetted the hulking shapes of his two servants. Grace, the smaller of the two but by no means the weaker, had hoisted Rocky onto her shoulders and was twirling him around. Both of them groaned like hogs at feeding time.

“He gets seasick, you know,” Jim said.

The only response was a couple more grunts. He interpreted them as meaning, “What kind of Marine gets seasick?”

“It only points out how dedicated he was,” he continued. “By the way, what’s this fight about, anyway?”

Grace stopped whirling and studied Jim blearily. It was the first time he’d seen the usually spotless maid in such a disheveled condition. Her determination to stick to Marine traditions had led her to insist on wearing a uniform in domestic service, too, although she’d bypassed camouflage for an outfit more consistent with her new duties. Usually she starched and ironed every stitch, right down, he sometimes suspected, to her underwear.

Now, however, her apron was ripped and flopping down at one side, she had a run in her stockings and the frilly white serving cap hung rakishly over her forehead.

“He told me to stick my can of disinfectant where the sun never shines,” she growled.

Rocky, balanced horizontally on Grace’s shoulders, made a low, wheezing sound. Jim interpreted it to mean, “But, chief, the whole house reeks!”

“Yes, I can smell it,” he said, approaching them. “Grace, it isn’t necessary to sterilize the house. Babies aren’t that delicate. Put Rocky down, would you?”

Grimacing, she lowered the butler to his feet. His face, Jim saw, had gone deathly pale.

With a low moan, the butler stumbled across the room and out through the French doors. Jim could hear him puking into the bushes.

“You wash that down with the hose!” Grace yelled. “No fair sticking Kip with your mess! He’s weird enough already.” Assuming a level tone, she addressed Jim. “Do you know, ever since Kip banged his head in that helicopter crash, he thinks letters and numbers have colors?”

“He’s a good gardener,” Jim said. “Now listen, you and Rocky have got to work things out.”

“Just let me pound him a little more,” said Grace. “He’ll come around.”

“That isn’t the way it’s done in civilian life.” Before he could continue, Jim’s spine tingled, and he realized that Dex was standing behind him.