Babies By The Busload. Raye Morgan

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      Today had been a pretty pathetic attempt. Despite everything, she had to laugh when she thought about it. During the course of the morning, she’d spilled coffee down the front of her only good suit, eaten the last doughnut just before the station manager came looking for it, and called the mayor of the city by his rival’s name on camera.

      She had to go back tonight for the evening news, and she wasn’t looking forward to it. Maybe, she thought ruefully, she should fill up on food before she went. If she could just stay away from snacks this evening, maybe things would go better.

      “No,” she said sadly, shaking her head at a bird who was hovering close and considering her with a glint in its eyes. “The station manager hates me. The next three weeks are going to be murder, whether I eat or not.”

      The bird flew off and she laughed softly, enjoying this outdoor retreat, enjoying the clouds scudding past, the wind in the pines over her head, glad she was going to get to stay here for the next five weeks.

      Five weeks. That was what they’d said when they asked her to come in as a replacement anchor for a local woman who was going to be out with surgery. She’d jumped at the chance for a change. Her contract was up at the station in Sacramento, where she’d been for four years, and she knew the only way she was going to get back on track toward New York and the networks was to move around, get noticed. So here she was in St. Johns, Utah, staying in a condo the station had obtained for her, and hoping for great things.

      Closing her eyes again, she turned on the jets with her toes and let herself drift in the lovely bubbles, trying to forget her agent’s voice, trying to relax. The jets made just enough noise so that she didn’t hear her visitor until he was standing at the edge of her deck, clearing his throat.

      Her eyes flew open and so did her mouth. “Aaaah!” she shrieked, and she lost her bearings in the spa, slipping off the seat and down under the water with a thunk.

      She’d barely had time to register the fact that there was a man in her yard. Fighting her way back to the surface of the water, she hoped against hope it had been a mirage.

      But no. The man still stood there, smiling casually, his hands in his pockets. He was tall, his rakishly combed dark hair touched with silver at the temples, and he was wearing an Irish fisherman’s sweater and slacks with wet spots on the legs. It seemed she’d created something of a splash going down.

      “Sorry to startle you,” he said mildly, amusement glinting in his blue eyes. “I brought you your mail.”

      J.J. stared out through a curtain of wet hair, blowing bubbles off her lips so that she could speak.

      “Who are you?” she croaked, thanking her lucky stars that she’d had the presence of mind to put on a swimsuit instead of bathing in the buff, as had been her first inclination.

      “Oh, that’s right. We haven’t met.” He stepped up onto the redwood deck, leaned toward her and stuck his hand out quite pleasantly. “I’m Jack. I live next door.”

      She was beet red and she knew it. Ignoring his offered hand, she glared at him. “You shouldn’t creep up on people like that,” she protested.

      Withdrawing his hand, he smiled as though to reassure her that there would be no hard feelings over her rudeness. “I didn’t creep, exactly. There’s a well-used gate between our yards. And I thought I heard voices, so I came on over.”

      He shook his head as though it were just the most natural thing in the world.

      “The previous tenant and I had. a sort of arrangement,” he explained carelessly, glancing toward the sliding glass doors that led into the house. “I guess I got used to being a little too free with her living space. Sorry.” He glanced at her again and gave her another utterly charming smile.

      “So you’re the latest,” he said softly, looking her over.

      She blinked at him. “The latest what?”

      He shrugged. “The latest neighbor,” he said smoothly, but she knew very well that wasn’t what he’d begun to say. What was special about her staying in this condo? She frowned. She was going to have to look into that.

      “Lovely view, isn’t it?” he added, making a sweeping motion with his arm.

      She nodded, glancing at the stately pines and the vista of the red rock mountains behind the condos. The afternoon air was cool at this time of year in southern Utah, but the sun was shining and the water was scalding, and she could make believe she was in a mountain spring, absorbing nature with every pore. She loved it. But she hadn’t counted on visitors sharing the experience with her.

      And there was something else. She stared up at him. That voice. There was something about this man.

      “Anyway, as I said, I brought your mail.” He pulled a pink envelope out of his pocket. “The postman put it in my box. I’m afraid I opened it before I realized it wasn’t for me.”

      He’d said his name was Jack. Jack. Yes, it rang a bell. She was certain she’d seen him before, perhaps a younger version.

      He was waving the envelope at her. “You seem to be invited to a baby shower,” he told her helpfully, leaning back against the wall with one leg bent casually over the other as he studied the paper in his hand. “Some old friend. Let’s see, her name was. ah, here it is. Sara.” He looked at her questioningly, one dark eyebrow cocked provocatively. “Anyone you know?”

      “Hey,” she said, suddenly realizing what he was doing. “That’s my mail you’re reading.”

      His glance was laced with amusement. “Yes, I thought I’d said that. It is the whole point of my stopping by, after all.”

      She frowned at him, still too stunned by his behavior to get herself into the proper mode to repel his unwelcome visit. “I can read my own mail.”

      “Not while you’re wet,” he said sensibly. “I’m just trying to be helpful.”

      There was something about this man, something.

      Jack Remington.

      Oh my God, her inner child cried as the name flashed into her mind. No, not Jack Remington!

      “The postmark says Denver,” he said. “What a coincidence. I’m going to Denver myself soon.”

      “How nice,” she said crisply, finally reasserting herself and applying a quick hand to her dark hair, pushing it back off her face. “Thank you for dropping by my mail. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like some privacy.”

      “Of course.” He straightened. “Well, nice meeting you, Miss.” He glanced at the name on the envelope before he set it down on the deck. “Miss J. J. Jensen. I guess I’ve worn out my welcome.”

      She didn’t contradict him. Jack Remington. Now that she’d realized who he was, she didn’t know how she could have hesitated. Talk about a blast from the past. This was a major blow.

      He stopped just inside the gate to the next yard, turning back. “By the way,” he noted. “If the babies bother you, just knock on the wall and I’ll see what I can do. But I can’t make any promises.”

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