“Not meaning to be rude, but I just met the guy and I’m not in any position for a relationship right now.” She wasn’t up to matching wits with the ponytail contingent. “Um, I really need to make that bed.”
“Sure, no problem.” Emily secured the baby in the cradle of her arms and moved to a chair. “I didn’t mean to get in the way. I just don’t get as much time to talk to people as I used to.”
Those simply spoken words without even a hint of self-pity tugged at Dee more than if the girl had poured out buckets of tears. She understood too well the fear from losing control of her world.
“I appreciate the company.” Dee scooped off the musty spread and whipped a fresh one into a fluttering parachute over the bed. “Want to tell me about your boyfriend?”
“His name’s Chase. He’s, like, so hot,” she said, her dialect an odd mix of Generation Y meets farm town as she listed his every “awesome” attribute.
Dee clutched the top sheet to her chest. Generation Y. How could she recall such catchphrases but not her own name? She swallowed down a fresh well of nausea and searched for why she’d hooked on the phrase.
Nothing.
She remembered about key cards and movies, but no real life experiences to accompany the information. She sagged to the edge of the bed.
“You okay?” Emily asked.
Dee jerked. “Huh? Oh, yes, I’m fine. I’m a little distracted today.” She swallowed hard and searched for normal conversation. “So, uh, is Chase Madison’s father?”
Emily nodded, thankfully not offended by the question. She hitched the baby on her shoulder and tugged her shirt back in place. “We’re gonna get married when we’re older.”
A tap sounded from the door just before it opened. A blast of air funneled into the room as Jacob stepped inside, his broad shoulders momentarily sealing the entry.
His height no longer intimidating, her nerves smoothed as if an iron had flattened all the disruptive wrinkles. How did he do that? Manage to calm her world with a job offer and a sandwich?
Jacob slammed the door closed behind him. He swiped the baby from Emily’s shoulder and lowered his oversize body into the seat to finish burping the infant. “Hey, there, runt. How many doughnuts did your mama pilfer?”
“Only one, that you know of.” Emily grinned without a flicker of remorse. “Madison needs the fruit in that raspberry pastry.”
“Quit eating up the profits.”
“Deduct it from my portion of the inheritance from Dad.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, his face creasing into an almost-smile.
The conversation hummed on, but Dee couldn’t focus on anything except the tableau of that tiny baby held so securely in oversize hands.
Her breath hitched. Emily was right. Jacob Stone was hot. A glance at those trim h*ps and long legs encased in overwashed denim sent a liquid heat flooding through Dee that rivaled any sugar jolt from a raspberry tart.
What kind of woman did that make her? Did she get warm and soft feelings over every man who crossed her path? She didn’t like that image of herself. Could she simply be drawn to Jacob because he’d been the one to toss her a lifeline?
Emily grabbed her coat off the back of the chair and reached for her daughter. “I’m outta here. You old folks reek of gloom and doom.”
Jacob propped a boot on the edge of the bed, blocking Emily’s escape. “Where’re you going? The weather’s not showing any signs of letting up.”
“Just to Chase’s.” Emily draped a thick yellow blanket over the baby. “Don’t say no or I’ll just sneak out. You’re my brother, not my father, and even he didn’t rag on me every time I wanted to go somewhere.”
He slid his foot to the ground. “Take the truck and be careful.”
“Sure, Gramps. I’ll even call you on your cell if I can pick up any reception in this weather.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “And get this lady into some warmer clothes and shoes before she, like, loses a toe to frostbite. Of course, if she wears anything of yours, she’ll be a fugitive from the fashion police.”
Police. Dee’s throat closed with a new thought. What if the police were after her? She couldn’t imagine herself as a criminal. But she wouldn’t have imagined she’d choose a low-cut silk dress if she couldn’t see the proof glaring back at her from the mirror.
And she didn’t even want to think about what the hundred on the bedside table had meant.
Jacob tipped back his chair. “Thanks for the fashion commentary, kid. You’re one to talk.”
“Truth hurts.” Emily tossed her ponytail over her shoulder, red streak glinting. “Later, dudes.”