The Baby's Bodyguard

“It’s fine.” As she produced it from her purse, Casey no longer worried about how it had come to be damaged. A prowler now seemed a minor problem and, for all she knew, he’d already decided to make himself scarce.

The Pine Woods had been built for happiness. How could anyone ask for a better home to bring a baby into?

As she’d told Royce, she didn’t need a guy. She had her friends.

* * *

JACK REALIZED as he swung through Richfield Crossing that he’d expected something different. Munching on dried jerky he’d bought at a convenience store, he checked out the mismatched structures.

Although he’d never been here before, he’d imagined he knew the place from Casey’s tales about growing up, but he could see now that he’d filled in the blanks wrong. He’d pictured quaint stores packed tightly along the streets, their facades painted in coordinated pastel colors with artsy brickwork in the streets and signs that blazed with neon. Just what he might expect in a California beach community.

Instead, the stores occupied odd-sized lots, dispersed between community buildings, a church, a doctor’s clinic and a seedy-looking bar, plus the occasional house converted into an accounting firm or a law office. In the early evening, most of them lay dark.

Although the town appeared clean and well tended, it would give an urban planner fits. Nothing wrong with that; sometimes Jack thought the urban planners in California got drunk on their own sense of omnipotence. Yet the irregular spacing and the jumbled styles made him feel off balance.

Since renting a car in Nashville, Jack had driven for mile after mile past open fields and vast stretches of dense pine. In the L.A. area, one urban area blended into the next without a break.

He tried, and failed, to imagine living in the middle of nowhere, without a shopping mall or a tall building in sight. Perhaps he’d never get used to a place like this—but then, he didn’t have to.

Following the directions he’d printed from the Internet, he cut through the downtown—if you could call it that—and, a short distance farther, turned right on Pine Woods Avenue. Although he hadn’t traveled more than a few miles from town, farmland occupied one side and, on the other, trees studded the rising ground.

Man, this really was the boonies. How could Casey love it so much?

In L.A., she’d enjoyed browsing through bookstores and curio shops, attending the theater and people-watching at the Santa Monica Pier, none of which she could do in this backwater. Surely once Jack reminded her of the comforts she’d left behind, she’d reconsider.

Besides, he’d come ready to bargain.

He’d worked it out in his mind last night as he visualized the trip ahead. Jack was prepared to reduce his travel for work, although it wouldn’t be easy with Mike eager to expand the company they’d founded because they preferred working for themselves. They’d discussed bringing in a third partner and hiring more operatives, but even then, some travel couldn’t be avoided. Still, he’d find a way to cut back if Casey were willing to give up her preoccupation with a baby.

If she didn’t love him enough to meet him halfway, he’d have to respect that. Have to back off, even though he’d never craved anything as much as her presence in his life. But he didn’t intend to lose.

Besides, Casey had asked him to fix this business with the prowler. And no matter what else happened, he intended to do that.

When he spotted the sign reading Pine Woods Court, Jack veered into the driveway. It curved to the left, so heavily landscaped that, through the leaves, he could barely make out the one-story brick house that he guessed belonged to her.

Next to it, he spotted half a dozen cars parked in a small lot rimmed by trees. Since the driveway continued, he assumed the renters kept their cars at their cabins farther inside the property. So who did all those vehicles belong to?

From the green-and-white house came a burst of laughter. Oh, great. Casey must be giving a party.

Jack pulled into the lot and sat considering the situation. He hadn’t planned on making a grand entrance. Maybe he should drive back into town and find some place to eat dinner, and hope this party didn’t last all evening.

On the other hand, what if the prowler turned out to be someone Casey knew? If so, he might be sitting in her living room right now, enjoying her hospitality and sizing up his opportunity to burglarize the place.

In Jack’s experience, catching people off guard helped to foil them. No one was expecting him. And with his trained eye, he might note incriminating details other people missed.

Okay, he’d just invited himself to the party. With luck, Casey would be too polite to throw him out in front of her friends.

Jack’s shoes crunched on gravel as he headed for the porch. In the dusky light, he identified plenty of vantage points from which a stalker could watch figures moving behind the translucent curtains, although he saw no one lurking in the area at the moment. Still, with overgrown trees providing heavy cover, this place posed a security headache.

Another burst of laughter. All the voices sounded feminine. Could this be a Tupperware party? he wondered. That seemed like the kind of domestic thing Casey would go for.

Jack experienced a pang of nostalgia. He’d never lived in a house with cut flowers in vases until he got married. He’d never known a woman could smell so good, either, or what a difference it made when she put up curtains and even, to his amazement, baked her own bread. He’d more or less thought the stuff grew inside plastic bags.

As he mounted the steps, it occurred to him that the prowler wasn’t likely to be attending a Tupperware party. He also didn’t relish bursting into the middle of a ladies-only event.

He stopped. Better to double back to town. If he couldn’t find a decent restaurant, at least there must be a grocery store.

Inside, a female voice grew louder, calling her goodbyes. Before he could retreat, the door opened and the chatter of voices seemed to blow a maroon-haired young woman onto the porch.

Her gaze swept Jack’s tailored business suit and short, reddish-brown hair. “Now don’t tell me you’re that fellow who’s been sneaking around!” she announced loudly enough to be heard in the next county. “If you are, you can sneak around my house any time. I’m Mimi.”

She thrust out her hand. He shook it, too astonished by her remarks and overt friendliness to reply.

“Who’s out there?” A young woman with long dark hair joined the first one. “My gosh, Casey, there’s a hunk on your porch! Where’d you come from, mister? Don’t tell me! My dreams!”

Jack had never been greeted with quite this degree of welcome by strangers. Did these women talk this way to any man who showed up, or were they that desperate for male companionship?

“Let me see, Bonnie.” A large-boned woman with steely hair loomed in the doorway. “Well, if he’s the prowler, he’s making a fool out of me, because I figured it was my ex-husband. If you’ve come to sell us something, mister, better speak up before these ladies auction you off to the highest bidder.”

“Actually, I was looking for my wife,” Jack explained.

Mimi groaned. The other two stared at him. Suddenly he didn’t feel so welcome.

“You would have to be married,” said the one he thought was Bonnie. “Who’s your wife?”

“I think I can guess,” Mimi told her.

“What is going on out there on my porch?” It was Casey’s voice, at last. “Gail, I can’t see who—”

The guests parted to let her by. Shock registering on her face, she broke off in midsentence.

Jack felt a sweet familiar ache at the sight of his wife. Those bright blue eyes, those curving cheeks with a sprinkling of freckles. He wanted to cup Casey’s chin and kiss her, to run his fingers through the light-brown hair curling around her shoulders and pull her tightly against him.

There was something funny about her denim jumper, though. It didn’t fit her right, or had she gained weight? It was hard to tell at this angle, and he didn’t want to stare.

“Jack,” she said flatly. He couldn’t read her mood.

More faces appeared behind her, wearing various degrees of curiosity and, in a few cases, disapproval. “Do you want us to stick around, Casey?” someone asked, to which another woman answered, “Are you crazy? They’ve got plenty to talk about. Hand me my jacket, would you?”

The noise of the departing guests made conversation impossible. Jack eased inside and let his wife say her farewells while he tried to make sense of the decorations.

Pink ribbons and balloons shaped like babies. Bits of wrapping paper with infants on them, and open boxes revealing a folded playpen and a car seat. It couldn’t be anything else but a baby shower.

Whose baby?

He turned to survey his wife. She was hugging an older woman—hugging this person at arm’s length, because her stomach intervened.

He couldn’t believe it. He’d known how much Casey wanted a baby, but he’d never figured she’d try it alone. What had she done, gone to a clinic? She hadn’t mentioned another man—if she had, Jack would have finalized the divorce in a hurry—and surely she hadn’t jumped into bed with a guy just to get pregnant.