When Lightning Strikes Twice (9 page)

He groaned as the familiar melody filled the car. “First, you cheap out on buying your round of beer and stick me for the entire cost of the nachos and now this. You’re really gunning for me today, Sheely.”

She was unrepentant. “You’re a rich lawyer, Saxon. You can afford to pick up the entire tab from time to time. Oh, and if you plan on listening to music while you’re in the car with Jennifer on your big date tomorrow, you’d better stop by Blockbuster and buy some of those dance-club mix CDs. Jennifer is really into that.”

She knew how much he hated to dance and how he loathed dance-club mixes. His reaction was all she’d hoped for. He looked appalled. “Tell me you’re joking, Sheely. Jennifer doesn’t really—”

“Jennifer absolutely loves the dance-club scene. If you ask her where she wants to go tomorrow night, she’ll say Club Koncrete, I guarantee it. You’ll love Friday nights at Club Koncrete, Saxon,” Dana taunted. “It’s the place to be for the under twenty-five crowd. Sarah and Matt and Shawn are always talking about what a
radical
time they have there. You’ll probably see them there, along with all
the other kids their ages, dancing up a storm to the pulsing sounds of techno-pop.”

Wade gripped the steering wheel with such force that his fingers started to turn white. He and Sheely always kidded each other, but she was being particularly merciless tonight.

In fact, she was being downright cruel! Accusing him of being an aging swinger desperately seeking his lost youth. Cutting their evening together short. He’d planned to spend several more hours at Riggin’s, maybe even buy dinner there, because he was tired of takeout food and nuking frozen meals in his microwave.

Wade glanced over at Dana, who was placidly listening to a song that always reminded him of her, and his slow burn grew hotter. He felt distrustful and ill-used. For as he reviewed her offenses of the day, her collusion with Quinton Cormack to pirate Pedersen from Saxon Associates returned sharply to the forefront of his mind.

He wondered how and when he should break that unwelcome news to Aunt Eve and Rachel. To say they were not going to be pleased was an understatement bordering on the absurd. He envisioned the approaching storm and longed to postpone it. Could he? Should he?

He had just turned the corner of the Sheelys’ street when the loud, sharp blaring of a car horn startled him so much, he almost swerved onto the sidewalk.

“What the hell …”

“That was Brendan, in my car.” Dana clutched her hand to her chest, her heartbeat thundering in her ears. They had come within inches of crashing into a telephone pole; she had eyeballed the wood grain. “He was just honking hello.”

“Well, he almost got us killed,” muttered Wade.

“No, your overreaction almost got us killed.”

“Oh, sure, blame me! God forbid that one Sheely should ever speak against another one.”

“You’ve got that right.”

“Even if the Sheely in question happens to be in the wrong.” Wade pulled his car in front of the Sheely house.
“As in the upcoming Sarah-Rachel-Cormack baby disaster,” he added triumphantly.

He enjoyed the concern that flashed in her eyes. It was about time the Sheelys experienced the negative side of Quint Cormack! The Saxons certainly had—and with the Tilden will looming and Pedersen’s departure, they were about to be Cormacked yet again.

On the front porch of the house, Katie Sheely sat on the wooden bench swing beside a skinny blond man with a scraggly goatee. The pair were engrossed in conversation, and Katie was gazing at the young man with rapt concentration; an expression Wade had never seen upon her face during office hours. He didn’t think Katie was capable of playing close attention to anything or anyone; certainly she’d never displayed such ability at work. Yet there she sat, looking positively intelligent!

When he confided his observations to Dana, he expected her to share the humor. After all, she had laughed long and hard when he’d told her Saxon Associates was going to hire Katie as their new receptionist. She chuckled at the reports of Katie’s continuing screwups, advising him that it wasn’t as if he hadn’t been warned, that employing the flighty Katie fell into the “no good deed goes unpunished” realm.

But there were no laughs or chuckles from her tonight. Not even the trace of a smile appeared. Dana’s expression, already dark, turned thunderous.

“You might not have anything better to do tonight than to trash my family, but I don’t have to stick around and listen.” She opened the car door and sprang out. “Take your rotten mood and your premature midlife crisis and go home, Saxon!”

Wade took her insult square on the ego. “I am not having a premature midlife crisis.” He attempted to sound cool and sardonic, but his voice shook with anger. “And if I’m in a rotten mood, it’s because I’ve been with you, and you’re in hormonal overdrive today. It must be that time of the month, huh, Sheely?”

He knew that was a cheap shot, he knew it would infuriate her, and it did. He was fully aware that women hated having their words and actions attributed to their monthly cycle, and Dana was no exception.

She slammed the car door shut and strode up the stone front walk to the house without looking back.

“Creep!” she called out as he zoomed away from the curb and down the street. “Smug, arrogant, sexist clod!” She felt like kicking something. Too bad Wade Saxon had taken himself out of her range.

“Hey, that’s my boss you’re insulting,” Katie said cheerfully.

“Dude’s got a helluva set of wheels,” Katie’s goateed friend opined.

“I never really appreciated until today how difficult working for the Saxons must be, Katie.” Dana regarded her younger sister with newfound pity. “There is Rachel, a ticking time bomb of bad temper, and Wade, who is a shallow, egotistical, moody, cynical
pinhead
. Katie, you poor kid, you’re definitely earning your money the hard way.”

“It’s not so bad.” Katie smiled sunnily. “Wade and Rachel never yell at me, even if I screw up big-time. Sometimes I can tell I’m getting on their nerves, but they never say anything. Eve does though. When she’s mad, you really know it, just like with Mom. I’m always glad when she’s out of the office.” She regarded Dana curiously. “What did Wade do that made you so mad, Dana?”

Dana glared at Wade’s car, now merely a dark green dot in the distance. “What did he do? He—He just—He’s—” Her face flushed as she lapsed into incoherence.

“Oh, wow!” Katie clasped her hands to her cheeks, her blue eyes round as saucers. “I think I know. It finally happened, didn’t it? He finally made a move on you and—”

“Of course not!” exclaimed Dana. A pervasive tremor ran through her body at the very thought “That’s crazy! We’re friends. L-Like brother and sister. You know that, Katie, everybody does.”

“Everybody doesn’t think so, Dana.” Katie folded her arms in front of her chest and stared quizzically at her sister. “Tricia says you and Wade are lusting after each other and don’t even know it yet.”

Dana stood stock still. She couldn’t move; she felt as if she’d been blindsided.
She and Wade lusting after each other?
No, never, not in a million years! And then, the sudden sharp memory of their little walk from Riggin’s bar to Wade’s car assailed her.

Dana struggled to keep her breathing in check as she remembered the feel of his hand around her nape, the brush of his fingers against her skin. Liquid heat surged through her. She pictured his mouth, focusing on an image of that full sensuous lower lip of his and for the first time ever, she wondered what it would be like to nibble on it. To taste him.

For the first time, she imagined the feel of his lips on hers. In her mind’s eye she could see it happening, his head lowering to hers, his mouth moving closer and touching hers, gently, softly at first and then …

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” Dana’s voice rose to a breathless squeak, but she persevered. “The stupidest thing Tricia’s ever said. In fact, it goes way beyond stupid, it’s right up there in the pantheon of—of—” Her mind went blank.

“Uh, stupidity?” Katie’s blond friend suggested helpfully.

“Yes!” snarled Dana.

“Oh.” Katie shrugged. “So then what did he do?”

“What?” Dana stared at her, eyes glazed and uncomprehending.

“What did Wade do to make you so mad?” Katie pressed, a little impatiently.

“Nothing!” Dana flung open the front door. “He didn’t do a thing. And I’m not mad!”

Katie and her friend exchanged glances. Their laughter followed Dana as she stomped into the house. It rang in her ears the whole way upstairs to her bedroom, which she
used to share with Mary Jo and the traitorous Tricia. Now she had it all to herself.

The moment she closed the door behind her, she burst into tears.

Q
uint finished his dinner of fried eggs and bacon—his low cholesterol level was a physician’s dream, eliminating any dietary restrictions—and stacked the dishes into the dishwasher. He glanced up at the kitchen clock, then at his watch, which confirmed the time on the clock.

It was a few minutes past seven, and the questions he’d managed to hold at bay broke through his wall of reasonable excuses. Where were Brady and Sarah? Why hadn’t she called to inform him of their whereabouts, like she always did? Should he phone the Sheelys and ask if they were there?

Until now, he’d assured himself that they were. Sarah took Brady to her family’s house for dinner several times a week and Quint used those days to work late, arriving home in time to put his son to bed.

The lack of the phone call today had nagged at him, but he hadn’t permitted himself to dwell on it. He was a great believer in Occam’s Razor, the scientific and philosophical rule which maintained that the simplest explanation was the most likely. Simple logic decreed that Sarah had taken Brady to the Sheelys, as usual.

However … Quint purposefully steered his thoughts away from all those alarming
howevers
.

He’d never been prone to hysterical conjecture; that was Carla’s province, she was the queen of it. Maybe that was why he’d been able to stifle his worrisome parental doubts
until now. After the hours spent in Carla’s company today—where hysterical conjecture ruled supreme—he wasn’t about to succumb to more of the same.

But now it was past seven o’clock. Sarah never stayed with Brady at the Sheelys that late because his bedtime was seven-thirty, and a bath and bedtime story always preceded it. He could think of no simple logical explanation for their continued unexplained absence.

There were always those sickening exceptions to Occam’s Razor, the gruesome stories that dominated the newscasts when the unthinkable actually did happen. One of those terrible exceptions had changed his life one night, the night his mother’s and sister’s lives had been ended.

Rigid and tense, he dialed the Sheelys’ number. It was busy. Naturally. Quint heaved an exasperated sigh. Young Emily was ignoring Call Waiting again. He knew that Sarah circumvented Emily’s own circumvention by calling the operator and claiming an emergency. On those grounds, the operator would break into the call, Sarah would lecture Emily and then deliver her message. Quint debated following suit.

He felt a cold chill run through him. This actually might be a dire emergency. Why hadn’t the ever-dependable Sarah called? What if she and Brady weren’t at the Sheelys? He knew that was the main reason he had delayed making the call to the Sheely home. Because he wasn’t ready to cope with the possibility that the two weren’t there, that nobody knew were they were.

The front doorbell sounded. Quint fought a fast growing fear. He knew from experience that state troopers made house calls if the news was bad enough.

He couldn’t even hope it might be Sarah at the front door because she wouldn’t ring the bell, she had a key. Anyway, she always used the kitchen door to enter the house because it was adjacent to the carport. He glanced through the window to see that the carport was still empty. The white Ford Taurus he’d bought for Sarah to drive Brady around in was nowhere in sight.

The bell rang again, and Quint decided to answer it, to put off making that call to the Sheelys. To gain a few moments respite before he had to face the unbearable …

He opened the door and found Rachel Saxon standing on the small cement porch. With Brady in her arms. Quint, rendered speechless by a breathtaking mix of relief and incredulity, could do nothing but stare mutely at the pair.

“Hi,” Rachel said after a few silent moments. She sounded slightly breathless.

“Hi, Daddy.” Brady’s head was tucked into the curve of Rachel’s shoulder, and he didn’t lift it as he gave Quint a sleepy grin.

There was another moment or two of silence while the three of them watched each other.

“Hi,” Quint finally managed a word. Was he hallucinating?
Rachel Saxon with Brady?
And this was a different Rachel Saxon than the one he was used to seeing.

She wore a pale yellow ribbed shirt that clung to her small breasts and a skirt of the same color in some gauzy material that swung loose and seductively around her legs. He could see their long, smooth outline beneath the material as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, backlit by the setting sun. His eyes lowered to her slim feet, encased in sexy strappy sandals, her toenails painted a deep shade of pink.

He swallowed the saliva gathering in his mouth. God, he was practically drooling over her! He had found her attractive in her courtroom power suits and sensible shoes, but in these soft feminine clothes she was pretty much irresistible. And she was holding his son, who looked perfectly content in her arms.

Quint couldn’t ever remember feeling so utterly confused. “Brady is with you,” he said, in what had to be the winner in the Comment-Most-Deserving-The-Comeback-
Duh
Contest. If there were such a thing.

“You didn’t know?” murmured Rachel.

At least she hadn’t said Duh! “No, I didn’t know where he was.”

“Oh, I—I’m sorry.” Rachel was nonplussed. Sarah hadn’t told him? Was Quint going to consider baby-sitting to be baby-snatching, when done by her? They hadn’t parted on the best of terms this morning. Actually, they’d never been close to being on anything other than bad terms.

Quint continued to stare, transfixed, as she cuddled Brady. The sight of his child in her arms seemed to be imprinting itself into every molecule of his being. Brady was safe and happy, and she was the most beautiful, appealing woman he’d ever seen, her expression tender, her wide hazel eyes soft with maternal warmth.

“Is Sarah back yet?” she asked at last.

“Sarah,” he echoed. The name had a familiar ring.

“Sarah called Katie at the office to say she was stuck on the Garden State Parkway with a flat tire,” said Rachel. “Matt was with her. Katie used Call Forwarding to connect her with me. Matt was changing the tire, and I told Sarah not to worry about the time. Brady and I were at my sister’s house. We ended up eating dinner there.”

She smiled at Brady, lifting one hand to smooth down his light, spiky hair. “You ate everything, didn’t you, Brady? All your potatoes and chicken and carrots, and ice cream and cake.”

“I eat it all up,” Brady affirmed.

Quint wondered if what she was telling him was supposed to make sense. At least he’d recalled who Sarah and Matt and Katie were. That was a start.

“I pay with Snowy,” Brady announced, snuggling closer to Rachel.

“I see,” said Quint, who clearly didn’t.

Rachel smiled, amusement momentarily displacing anxiety. She had never seen anyone look so befuddled. “I don’t think you’re following, Counselor.”

“You’re very perceptive,” he said dryly.

“Snowy is my sister’s little girl. She’s three, and she and Brady played together today.”

“And Snowy is short for what?” Quint was curious. It
struck him as a rather strange name. “Snowball? Snow-flake?”

“No, her given name is Snowy. My sister decided why not? After all, there are other names related to weather—Sunny, Skye, Rainie, Storm.”

“Misty,” added Quint. His dark eyes gleamed.

Rachel felt a queer little tingle of excitement flare through her, though she knew she should take offense at him for practically throwing down the gauntlet that was Misty Tilden. She cleared her throat. “About that will—”

“We pay Barbie, Daddy,” Brady said importantly.

“What?” Quint’s eyes widened. “Uh-oh.”

Rachel couldn’t help but laugh at his expression which was apprehension mixed with discomfiture. “Don’t panic. Brady was very macho. He pulled the heads off every doll and then used the bodies as guns.”

“Ah, so he is already reaping the rewards of his relationship with his uncles Austin and Dustin.” Quint was sardonic. “I hope your niece wasn’t too traumatized.”

“Not a bit. Snowy was thrilled. Her parents are fervently antiweapon, and she hadn’t realized how versatile Barbie can be.”

“I think you’d better come in.” Quint put his hand between her shoulder blades and gently but firmly propelled her forward, into the entrance hallway of the house. He reached for his son, but Brady tightened his small arms and legs around Rachel.

“That Mommy,” Brady said.

Rachel blushed. Quint hadn’t taken his eyes off her since she’d arrived with Brady, but now his gaze turned piercing and intense. She was acutely aware of the feel of his big, warm palm pressed against her back.

“Am I hearing correctly? Does Brady think you’re his
mother?”
Quint growled.

“I don’t think he thinks that,” she murmured.

“That’s what he called you. Mommy.” Quint moved even closer to her.

Unlike this morning in his office, Rachel didn’t try to
get away from him. He’d put his other hand on Brady’s legs and she felt the warm strength of his fingers against her belly. She felt encircled by him, trapped. But she didn’t attempt to escape.

Rachel offered herself an assortment of excuses why not: she had a baby in her arms and didn’t want any sudden action to upset him, Quint wouldn’t let her go anyway, it was childish to run.

Each one legitimate, yet paltry, she nervously admitted to herself. She also made herself face the true reason why she didn’t move. Because she couldn’t. She literally could not move. The physical sensations occurring in her body precluded any chance of flight. Her legs were trembling too much to walk; she felt sluggish, as if her blood had slowed to a turgid crawl through her veins. Maybe it had because her pulses were throbbing thickly, heavily, in her throat, in her chest, between her thighs …

“Explain, Rachel.”

The deep sound of his voice made her shiver. The hard glint of something primal shone in his eyes. Not anger, but something far more dangerous.

Rachel gulped. “Some soccer moms were selling cookies at the mall, as a fund-raiser, and one of the women told Brady to ask Mommy if he could have a cookie.”

She remembered Brady’s thunderstruck expression as he followed the woman’s gaze to Rachel. “Mommy?” he’d repeated uncertainly.

The woman had handed him a cookie, and Rachel watched comprehension dawn on the little boy’s face. It occurred to her then that she hadn’t given Brady her name or any clue as to her identity. Sarah had plopped him into her arms, and off they’d gone.

He must have been wondering who she was, and now the mystery was solved; Rachel easily interpreted his toddler logic. Spending the day with Snowy and Laurel had cemented the word in his mind. Snowy called the dark-haired woman who looked a lot like Rachel Mommy. Obviously, Rachel was one of those mommy people too.

“He’s using it as a generic word,” she suggested, stroking the little boy’s head. “Like ‘lady’ or ‘caregiver’.”

“Lady doesn’t have the same connotation as Mommy,” Quint pointed out. “He’s never called anyone else ‘Mommy.’ He’s never once called Sarah ‘Mommy,’ and she is his
caregiver
.” They were standing so close, she was practically in his arms. The heat of sexual arousal burned through him fast and hard. “And why were you and Brady at the mall hobnobbing with cookie-selling soccer moms?”

“Good question.” She fought a crazy impulse to lean into him.

It was becoming difficult to maintain her normally straight, upright posture when her body wanted to relax. Against him. To let him support her with his strength. He could do it easily. Rachel felt her eyelids grow heavy, her neck felt weak. She wanted to lay her head on his chest and close her eyes.

“Yeah, I’m noted for my aggressive cross-examinations. And if you don’t want me to treat you like a hostile witness, then stop stalling and answer me.”

The authoritative demand in his tone sent a shiver through her. It seemed that the more submissive she was, the more domineering he became. A very telling response.

Rachel knew what she must do and tried to kindle a much needed spark of spunk. She had to take charge and stand up for herself. Which was directly at odds with this overwhelming need to cuddle against him and let him hold her.

“Down, Mommy,” Brady demanded, suddenly beginning to stir in her arms.

Rachel was loath to relinquish her little charge, but knew she had no other choice. She bent to set him on his feet.

“It’s time for your bath, Brady,” said Quint.

Brady immediately stopped squirming and regained a stranglehold grip on Rachel. “Mommy do it!”

“Yes,” agreed Quint. “She will.”

He slid his arm around Rachel’s waist in an ironclad hold. When she straightened, she was even closer to him,
their bodies aligned and touching. Rachel had to remind herself to breathe.

“You’re not leaving here until he’s in bed and I have all the facts,” Quint warned. “And maybe not even then.” His voice was low and husky against her ear.

Rachel’s heart thumped. The situation called for her to rip his throat out for daring to issue such a threat—or at least to make some sort of protest. Even a simple “No” would suffice.

Instead she remained silent, and she knew as well as anybody that silence could be interpreted as compliance. She was too amazed by her uncharacteristic subjection to be alarmed. Where was the snarling retort she normally would’ve given
anyone
who dared to order her around?

And Quint’s command had been more than an order, it bordered on a threat.

Except she didn’t feel threatened. Not by what he said or implied. Not when he hustled her up the stairs, holding her against him, their shoulders pressing, their hips brushing against each other. Not even when he failed to release her at the top of the landing, after she put the wriggling Brady down.

The little boy raced toward the bathroom, hollering, “Bath” at the top of his lungs.

“You’re going to get soaked. Brady splashes around in the tub like a killer whale trying to bust out of Sea World,” Quint warned, smiling down at her.

That smile obliterated the little that was left of her emotional equilibrium. He kept his arm locked firmly around her, gently, slowly kneading the hollow of her waist, and the thought of stopping him never crossed Rachel’s mind. His fingers were long, and he stretched them so the tips reached the curve of her hip, the soft swell of her stomach, and it felt so good. So very, very good.