Julianna Morris - Tick Tock Goes The Baby Clock

Sort of a romantic guidance counselor.

She looked out the window again, an idea creeping into her mind. Actually, Max was perfect for the job. If anyone could advise her about men and what appealed to them it was Max Hunter. And since he lived in the city, he’d know about the hot spots where single people shopped, and stuff.

Somewhere in the back of Annie’s mind she knew there was a risk to the idea, but she needed to make a change, and Max seemed heaven-sent.

“Problem, boss? You’re kinda distracted.”

Annie looked up at her teenage warehouseman and gave her head a determined shake. “Nope. Did you get Mr. Zankowski taken care of, Darnell?”

“Yup. If he was any happier he might even crack a smile.”

Mr. Zankowski was a notoriously dour safflower farmer. Rumor had it he’d smiled once when Dwight D. Eisenhower was elected president, but Annie wasn’t sure she believed the story.

“Great wheels.” Darnell was staring out at the parking lot. “Man, I’ll never have wheels like that on minimum wage.”

“You’re a teenager. You aren’t supposed to have wheels like that.” She pulled the ledger away from the rabbit a second time and tossed it in a drawer.

“You’ve been talking to Mom. Do you know she makes me save half my paycheck for college? The half before taxes?”

“It’s because she loves you.” Even as Annie said the words, a pang went through her. If she didn’t do something soon, she might never have her own son or daughter. It was all good and fine to be an honorary aunt to most of the kids in town, but it wasn’t the same.

Darnell headed back toward the warehouse with a last, longing glance through the window. The bell over the door tinkled, and Annie looked up.

“How charming,” a woman drawled. “It’s so rustic.” Her tone wasn’t complimentary.

“You could have stayed in the car,” Max said.

Annie’s spirits lifted. Max really was perfect. He was perfect even when everyone else in high school was struggling with bad hair and worse skin. He had dark-toned skin and jet-black hair—courtesy of his Native American grandfather—a sexy smile and the brooding expression of a loner…unless you looked closely and saw the twinkle in his dark eyes. On top of everything else, he was six foot two, with the physique of an athlete.

In other words, be-still-my-heart gorgeous.

Her heart might still flutter over Max, but it was safer and smarter to ignore those feelings. And, when all was said and done, they’d remained pals while the rest of his girlfriends had gone the way of the Dodo bird. She didn’t want someone that handsome, anyway. Men like Max were too complicated, too interested in a fast-paced glitzy life. Give her someone like the new schoolteacher in town and she’d be happy.

“Hey, Annie.”

She stood and leaned against the timeworn front counter. “Hey, Max. What are you doing here?”

“Er, looking at some property with a client. Miss Blakely has decided to build a summer home out on the delta and wants me to design it.” He rolled his eyes and gave her a private wink. “Then she got thirsty and I remembered you had a soda machine here at the store.”

“Darling, I told you…please call me Buffy.” The woman slid her arm into Max’s with a proprietary look on her face, and a pained expression replaced his smile.

Annie choked.

Buffy Blakely?

Well, she supposed it took all kinds.

“The machine is in the back,” Annie said. “Do you need some quarters?” She punched a button on the ancient cash register and the door shot open. With the ease of long practice she let it bounce against her tummy, preventing it from flying across the room.

“You don’t have that fixed yet?” Max looked surprised, and she remembered earlier days when she hadn’t caught the drawer in time and they’d spent the next half hour chasing quarters and nickels. Once she’d bumped into him under the desk, and she could have sworn he was about to kiss her, but it turned out she was mistaken.

“No.” Annie wrinkled her nose at the faint disapproval in his eyes. “They say it’s unfixable.” She patted the ornate brass and polished wood of the cash register. She didn’t care about the quirky drawer, she liked the old thing. It had character. Why did everyone want to get rid of lovely old things and replace them with new things that didn’t have any history?

“Max. Must this take so long? It’s so dusty in here,” Buffy said, obviously miffed at being ignored.

“Why don’t you wait in the car?” he suggested, removing his arm from her grasp and handing her the key ring. “I haven’t seen Annie for over a month. I’d like to catch up on local news.”

Buffy pocketed the keys with a tight smile. “Thanks, but I’ll wait.”

“Swell.” Max turned back to Annie. “Grandmother mentioned how terrific you’ve been helping out while she had the flu, and all. I didn’t know she was sick.”

“Oh…” Annie said, flustered. “You’ve been so busy since you moved back from Boston, she didn’t want to bother you. And I was happy to help, you know that.”

That’s Annie, Max thought fondly. A doer. The kind of woman who rolled up her sleeves and wasn’t afraid of getting her hands dirty. She was just as kind-hearted as the day he’d moved in with his grandmother. Two years younger than him, but she’d always seemed even younger with her sweet face and earnest eyes.

If the rest of Mitchellton was like Annie, then it wouldn’t be so bad. But it was just a forgotten little town on the Sacramento River delta—thirty years behind the rest of the world, moving at its own relentlessly slow pace. Mitchellton never changed; it was less than twenty-five miles from the state capital of Sacramento, but it might as well be a thousand for all it cared.

“Grace says your new architectural firm is doing great,” Annie murmured. “She’s so proud. She said you’ve also won several awards.”

“I’m doing all right.” Max frowned. “I’ve been trying to convince Grandmother to move into Sacramento, but she keeps refusing.”

“She likes Mitchellton.”

“But I’d get her a condo with all the latest amenities. And she’d be so much closer to the best doctors and a first-rate hospital.”

Annie sighed. “This is where Grace’s friends are, Max. You know that.”

“Max, I’m really thirsty,” Buffy said through gritted teeth.

At the moment Max didn’t care if she was on the moon, much less thirsty, but he sighed and pinned a polite smile on his face. Some commissions weren’t worth the time and trouble, and this one was definitely headed in that direction. “Of course. We’ll get something out of the machine.”

He caught Annie covering her mouth with her hand in a blatant attempt not to laugh and gave her a mock glare.

Damn, it was good to see her, especially with someone like Buffy the Architect Slayer in tow. In her quest for the “ideal” summer house Buffy Blakely had gone through four architects. Max suspected the previous four had all been single and in the thirty-something age range. Buffy wasn’t subtle about wanting more from the relationship than a house design—she wanted to get married.

Marriage.

Max shook his head and shuddered.

Marriage was out. His mother and father had nine divorces under their combined belts, and he’d lost track of how many stepsiblings he’d had between them. He supposed you could argue they were optimistic to keep trying, but it wasn’t for him. You didn’t have to get your hand slammed in a car door to know it wouldn’t feel good.

“Max.” Buffy’s tone had reached a higher pitch than he’d ever heard before, and he sighed.

With Buffy following close on his heel, he threaded his way between displays of gardening tools and vegetable seeds. In the back of the store was an ancient soda pop machine. It was the old-fashioned kind where you pulled the bottle out by the neck and the next one rolled into place. Max stopped in front of it and took his wallet from his pocket.