Julianna Morris - Tick Tock Goes The Baby Clock

“That’s it?” Buffy stared at the ancient soda dispenser as if “it” were about to attack her.

“Yeah.” He dropped money into the slot. “Do you want cola, or lemon-lime? And I think there’s orange, too.”

She didn’t say anything, just stared at him stonily, so Max selected a lemon-lime, popped the cap off and handed it to her. He knew she expected designer water or some other trendy drink, but this was Mitchellton, and he doubted they’d ever heard of designer water.

“Annie, do you want one?” he called. “My treat.”

“Sure. Anything is fine.”

Still ignoring Buffy and her frozen face, Max got another lemon-lime and brought it to Annie. She smiled a thank-you and took a long swallow, tipping her head back. Max watched idly, thinking it was a very graceful gesture, simple and uncomplicated.

Like Mitchellton, Annie hadn’t changed much. Her face had the same sweetheart shape, dominated by big blue eyes and framed by reddish brown hair. Her smile was just as contagious as always and made you feel good just looking at it. She was as slim as ever, too, but she usually wore baggy clothing that concealed everything but the taut curve of her breasts.

Odd that she’d never gotten married. Mitchellton was a marrying kind of place, and in her way Annie was quite pretty. And, if her bust was any indication, she had a figure that would make most men ecstatic in bed.

“Is something wrong, Max?” Annie’s puzzled voice sent a jolt through him and he swallowed uncomfortably.

Where had that come from?

He was definitely being affected by the hot sunshine outside and the annoying presence of Buffy Blakely. Friends did not have licentious thoughts about another friend, especially when the friend was someone like Annie. She was like a kid sister, for Pete’s sake.

“I was just thinking,” Max said lamely. As long as she didn’t ask what he’d been thinking about, he was okay. He certainly didn’t want to embarrass her. Annie would probably turn beet-red if she thought anyone was looking at her chest.

“Oh, right. You know, there’s something I’ve been thinking about, too, and…uh, I thought you’d be a good person to…discuss it with,” she stuttered.

Max looked at her and wondered what could possibly make Annie so tongue-tied. He was about to ask, when a look of horror crossed her face.

“No, Tigger. Stop. Come here,” she cried.

Max followed the direction of Annie’s dismayed gaze and saw a large tiger-striped cat walking toward Buffy. He didn’t understand at first, then he saw something was hanging from the feline’s mouth.

With a pleased “marooow,” Tigger dropped his gift right on Buffy’s sandal-clad foot.

Time seemed frozen for a second, with three humans and a cat staring at a dazed mouse reclining on fine Italian leather.

All at once Buffy screamed and kicked out in a move that would have made the coach of the Green Bay Packers proud. The mouse flew across the room and landed on a padded dog bed. It blinked a couple of times, looked around cautiously and made a beeline for a hole in the wall. Tigger followed in hot pursuit.

“Well…that was exciting,” Max murmured.

“Exciting?” Buffy glared. “I’ll probably get some horrible disease from that disgusting little rodent.”

If the truth be told, Max was more worried about the mouse. It couldn’t be healthy coming into such close contact with Buffy. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“What do you know about it? Don’t just stand there, get a doctor. Get some disinfectant.”

One of Max’s eyebrows shot upward. She sounded like Lucy in a Charlie Brown cartoon, screaming about dog cooties, and it was getting harder and harder to keep from laughing.

He cast a glance at Annie, who stood with one hand covering her mouth and her eyes opened impossibly wide. She was plainly sharing his trouble in keeping a straight face. “I think I have some iodine,” she said.

That did it. Max couldn’t have kept from laughing any more than he could have stopped breathing.

“You…you monster. I’m suing. I’m suing this revolting store and this entire pathetic town,” Buffy screeched, her carefully modulated voice turning into a cracked soprano. “And you, Mr. Maxwell Hunter, can go to hell.”

Turning on her well-shod heel, she stalked out of the store, down the steps and climbed into the driver’s seat of his BMW. The motor roared into life, and she peeled out of the parking lot, leaving a strip of rubber on the asphalt.

Tarnation. Max winced. That car was his baby. The first real indulgence of his success, and Buffy was treating it like a vehicle in a stock-car rally.

“Do you think she’s actually going to sue?” Annie asked. She bit her lip worriedly.

“Naw.” He shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. She hates looking ridiculous.”

“I don’t know, she seemed really angry. Maybe she won’t care how it looks.”

Max leaned forward and tugged a lock of Annie’s hair. “You’re forgetting one little thing—Buffy just stole my BMW. An alleged mouse attack doesn’t stack up to grand theft auto.”

For a man whose car had just been taken and who’d probably lost a big design commission, Annie didn’t think Max seemed too upset. Still, maybe now wasn’t the best time to spring her little scheme on him. She’d take him home and feed him a meal. Then she’d drive him back to Sacramento and they could make plans on the way.

If he agreed.

On the other hand, she might just wimp out and never say anything at all.

No.

Annie set her jaw stubbornly. She’d spent her entire thirty-two years in a romantic black hole. If she didn’t do something about it now, her life would never change. The thought sent a quaking sensation through her stomach. It wasn’t that things were so bad, they were just…nothing. And now she had a deadline from the doctor to worry about.

“Do you want to make out a report to the sheriff?” she asked, picking up the receiver to the phone. “I don’t suppose you want to see Buffy on the most-wanted list, but you could get it on the record.”

Max grinned. “Why not? I’ll give them an unofficial report on the unlikely chance Buffy decides to make trouble.”

Annie dialed the number and handed the receiver to him. Their tiny little county boasted a sheriff and a part-time deputy—crime wasn’t exactly a problem around Mitchellton. The delta islands were a lost corner of the world; folks tended to forget they even existed.

She listened while Max said hello to the deputy and explained the circumstances of his missing car, saying he wanted the authorities to know what had happened “just in case.”

Newell didn’t ask for details about the “just in case” part of Max’s statement, which was exactly what Annie could have predicted. Unlike his newly elected and dedicated boss, Newell wasn’t the most ambitious deputy in the world. He was happy to go along with anything that meant he could remain in the office with his feet on the desk.

When Max was finished, Annie took the phone and glanced at him from under her lashes. “I’ll close the store and take you over to Grace’s house,” she murmured. “And I’ll even fix dinner to make up for the trouble.”

“Buffy is the one who made trouble,” he said. “And don’t close early for me. I’d appreciate the ride, but you shouldn’t lose business because you’re doing me a favor.”

“That’s all right. I don’t get very many customers on Saturday afternoon.” Annie walked to the door of the warehouse adjoining the store, where Darnell was stacking fifty-pound sacks of fertilizer along one wall. “I’m closing early,” she called. “You can go, too.”

Darnell’s face brightened. “I’ve got a date tonight. Do I still get paid for the same time?”