Beauty and the Baby. Marie Ferrarella

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      There was something in his eyes for a fleeting moment. Sadness? It was gone the next, but it succeeded in moving her. Carson didn’t like being touched. Because she was a toucher and firmly believed in the benefits of human contact, she patted his cheek anyway. The man had been there for her, awkward, but ready to help right from the start. She wasn’t about to forget that.

      “Not nearly as far as you think, Carson.” She turned on her heel with more ease than he thought possible for a woman in her condition. “Gotta get back to work.”

      But just as she stepped out the door, a dark-haired young woman swung open the door to the rear entrance and came rushing down the hall. In her haste, she narrowly avoided a collision with Lori.

      Eyes the color of milk chocolate widened as the woman came to an abrupt halt less than an inch shy of impact. She sucked in her breath.

      “Wow, sorry about that.” She patted Lori’s stomach. “Could have had an early delivery, huh?”

      Carson’s arm had closed protectively around Lori, pulling her back just in time. He glared at the other woman. Good help was hard to find. It was even harder to get it to come in on time. “There wouldn’t have been any danger of that if you’d come in at ten the way you were supposed to, Rhonda.”

      The woman, barely three years out of her own teens and in Carson’s opinion not yet fully entrenched in the adult world, gave him a high-wattage, apologetic grin. “Sorry, boss. Chuck decided to have a temper tantrum this morning.”

      Carson’s frown deepened. His aide’s current flame reminded him a lot of Kurt. “Either tell your boyfriend to grow up, or get another boyfriend.”

      His words rolled off her back like an inconsequential Southern California summer rain.

      “Sorry,” she repeated. “You don’t pay me enough for that.”

      From what he knew, Rhonda was allowing her boyfriend to crash on her sofa. Chuck was currently “in between jobs,” a place the man had been residing in from the time Carson had hired Rhonda. “Won’t have to if the next boyfriend could hang onto a job.”

      The familiar words made him stop abruptly. He slanted a look at Lori, wondering if his exchange with Rhonda had scraped over any old wounds. He’d lectured Kurt about hanging on to a job more times than he could remember, especially after he’d married Lori. Kurt’s response had always been to laugh off his words, as if he thought his older brother was joking. Kurt had maintained that he was still looking for his niche. As far as Carson knew, Kurt never found it.

      “So he could be an old grump like you, boss man? Don’t think so.” Rhonda winked broadly at Carson, shoving her hands into the back pockets of her worn jeans. “I’d love to stand around and talk like this, but some of us have work to do.” She waved to one of the young teens and hurried across the gym.

      Carson turned his attention back to Lori. “There goes your excuse.”

      Lori looked at him. “You’ve lost me.”

      Interesting choice of words, he thought. And very appropriate.

      “Just what I’m trying to do. At least for the rest of the afternoon. Rhonda can handle the kids.” He nodded in the direction of the front entrance. “Go home and take a nap before class tonight.”

      It surprised her that he remembered her schedule, but then, she supposed it shouldn’t. Carson liked to keep tabs on everything. It felt confining to her at times, but he never realized it. She knew he meant no harm.

      She pressed her lips together, debating. It wouldn’t hurt to grab a few minutes of her own, she thought. She’d been up half the night working on a new Web design project that had come in. When opportunity knocked, she couldn’t afford not to be home. “You’re not going to be satisfied until I go, are you?”

      “Nope.”

      “Okay, you win.” She sighed, surrendering. “Always like to keep the boss happy.”

      Carson crossed his arms before his rock-solid chest. “Right, and I’m the bluebird of happiness.”

      Her eyes swept over him. He was still every inch the football player who’d made the winning touch-down in the last game he ever played. “I wouldn’t perch on any branches if I were you.”

      He grumbled something not entirely under his breath. Laughing, Lori walked away, heading for the lockers on the other end of the first floor. She was very conscious of his watching her and tried very hard not to move from side to side the way she felt inclined to these days. Or to place a hand to the small of her back in order to ease the ache there. Pregnant women did that and Carson seemed to equate pregnancy with weakness. The more she fit his stereotype, the more determined he would be to try to convince her to stay home.

      She wasn’t the stay-at-home type.

      Lori made her way to the shadowy row of lockers where the kids stashed their backpacks, books and various paraphernalia while they used the facilities. Once out of eye range, she pressed her hand to the small of her back and massaged for a moment. For a peanut, this baby was giving her some backache.

      After stretching, she went to her locker. Wanting to seem more like one of the teens, Lori had taken a locker to store her own belongings there. Usually, she only had her purse.

      She paused in front of the upper locker, trying to remember her combination. It was nestled in overcrowded memory banks that retained every number that had any bearing on her life. She seemed to retain all manner of numbers, not just her own social security number, but her late husband’s as well. It was in there with her license plate and the phone numbers and birthdays of several dozen people who currently figured prominently in her life.

      She smiled as the combination came to her. Turning the dial on the old lock three revolutions to the left, a muffled sound caught her attention. Lori stopped and listened.

      The sound came again.

      It was a sob, she was sure of it. The kind that was muted by hands being pressed helplessly over a mouth too distressed to seal away the noise.

      Concerned, curious, Lori set the lock back against the metal door and moved around to the other side of the bank of battered lockers.

      Huddled in the corner, her long tanned legs pulled in tightly against her chest, was one of the girls she’d missed seeing today. The young girl sounded as if her heart was breaking. Boy trouble?

      “Angela?”

      The girl only pulled herself in tighter. Someone else might have felt as if they were intruding and left. Lori’s mind had never worked that way. Anyone in pain needed to be soothed.

      She took a few steps toward the girl. “Angela, what’s wrong?”

      “Nothin’.” The girl jerked her head up, wiping away the tears from her cheeks with the heel of her hand. She tossed her head defiantly, looking away. Her silence told Lori that this was none of her business.

      Lori chose not to hear.

      For her, working at the center was a complete departure from life as she had known it. Here the word “deprived” didn’t mean not having the latest video game as soon as it came СКАЧАТЬ