Driven To Distraction: Driven To Distraction / Winging It. Candy Halliday

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      “I…don’t do babies.”

      Arlene’s optimistic smile faded. “What do you mean, you don’t do babies?”

      He waved his hand as though refusing a pushy cookie salesperson. “All those noises, and the crying, and they can’t tell you what they need or what’s wrong. There’s no rhyme or reason to them. I just don’t do babies.”

      Stacy narrowed her eyes. “Are you afraid of babies?”

      He took in both their puzzled expressions. “Not in a Godzilla or unknown-bacterial-virus way. It’s more of an extreme-discomfort thing.”

      Arlene dismissed that. “You just haven’t been around babies enough, is all.”

      “Oh, yes, I have. My sister’s had four of them. In fact, there are two in my condominium right now. She tried to acclimate me, but it hasn’t worked. She’ll take me by surprise, put it in my lap when I’m not paying attention. There it sits, looking up at me wanting something, and then it starts bawling.” He shuddered. “It’s better to keep my distance.”

      Arlene was clearly at a loss for words for a moment, a rare thing. Then it dawned on Stacy. Barrett was even smarter than she gave him credit for. Afraid of babies, indeed.

      Arlene shook her head and turned to Stacy. “You still working on those T-shirts for my sweetie pies?”

      “I’m having trouble finding a size small enough for your poodles, but I’m working on it.”

      “That’s going to be so cute, blue shirts with their names on them—Blue, Suede and Shoes.” She winked at Barrett. “I’m a big Elvis fan, long live the king. So, Stacy, heard about that job at the dog salon?”

      She felt her shoulders sag and perked them up again. “Not yet. Did they even call you for a reference?”

      “Sure did, and I just went on and on about you, how you get the exact right shade of blue and everything, using natural ingredients even. I can’t believe they haven’t called you. Maybe soon, hon.” She patted Stacy’s head, then touched Barrett’s arm. “You enjoy my gelatin, now. Bet you’ve never had anything like that before, course you haven’t. It’s my own creation. I’ll just let you go back to your work, and we’ll be by to see you soon.”

      Arlene greeted her three poodles with kisses on their noses when she got in her cart. She tooted her horn and backed out of the driveway.

      “That was good, about being afraid of babies. And your expressions! Nice touch. Maybe that’ll detour her matchmaking.”

      He gave her a sheepish look.

      “It’s true, isn’t it? Just like with dogs, you’re afraid of babies.”

      “Not afraid. Uncomfortable.”

      Her gaze scanned him. He was surprisingly yummy for a scientific kind of guy—broad shoulders and an unbuttoned white cotton shirt hanging loose over jeans. Bare feet. Now, Stacy had never considered herself a foot person, but his bare feet with the faded jeans tripped her heartbeat big time. She was, however, a flat-stomach kind of gal, and his ridges of muscles sure didn’t hurt. She was so distracted by his stomach that she almost didn’t notice his shirt was inside out.

      When she realized she was close to gawking, she snapped to and saw he’d been doing the same thing, making her realize she looked ten degrees off appropriate for a dinnertime visit. She still wore the pink shorts, though she’d thrown a long T-shirt over her tank top. The fact that the shirt read Don’t Treat Me Any Differently Than You Would The Queen probably didn’t lend much appropriateness to it. She should have picked out a more genteel one, but it wasn’t like she was trying to impress him or anything. Supersmart, afraid of dogs and babies…he couldn’t be farther from her type. She redirected her gawking to the sunset. “Wow, look at that sky, will you? It’s almost heavenly.”

      “Heavenly?”

      She let out a breathy sigh. “Yeah.”

      “I don’t understand people’s fascination with the setting sun, like it’s some phenomenon.”

      When she turned to him, he was looking at her. He shifted his gaze to the sky. “The colors are just a by product of—”

      “Stop! If you’re going to tell me the science behind a sunset, I don’t want to know. How can you think about science when you look at those gorgeous colors?”

      “Quite easily,” he said, barely giving the splashes of orange, purple and red a glance.

      “No, take a good look.” She waited until he did. Stretched across the horizon was cloud stubble gilded in sunlight. Below that were her favorite kinds of clouds. “See that bunch of clouds over there?”

      “Those cumulus—”

      “Yeah, those. Doesn’t that one over there look like an angel? Look at the wings. And beside it, a barking dog.” She loved the dog clouds best of all. “And over there is a dragon. Uh-oh, it’s about to eat the dog. Run, pup, run!” When she looked at him, he was watching her with a speculative grin. “What?”

      “They’re clouds. Nothing is eating anything.”

      “I bet when you look at a starry night, you see burning suns and not magical twinkling lights. I bet you don’t even make wishes on falling stars.”

      “Technically, the whole star isn’t falling—”

      “I know that. But it’s just kind of magical to think of it as a falling star…and to make a wish.”

      Of course, her big wish—meeting her soul mate—hadn’t come true. Since Barrett was still regarding her with that amused smile, she lifted the bucket. “Eaten yet?”

      He eyed her offering. “Ah, food I can actually relate to. Join me for dinner?”

      She shouldn’t. Let the guy get back to work, don’t spend too much time with him. “I’d love to.”

      She followed him inside. Gene and Judy’s place looked like what King Kong would regurgitate if he ate Florida—flowery prints, pink—yes, pink—carpet with green throw rugs in the shape of lily pads, and a three-foot-high neon flamingo. Barrett walked into the kitchen, which had the same fanatical I-love-Florida decor, complete with magnets on the fridge attesting to every attraction they’d ever visited.

      “I haven’t had a chance to put these away yet. I guess you can set the bucket between the Spam-and-pea casserole and something called a pretzel salad.” He looked at the orange dish questioningly.

      “Scary, isn’t it? That’s Frieda’s speciality. A layer of crushed pretzels, a mushy layer that I think is cream cheese and strawberry gelatin on top, then a layer of grated cheese. I’ve always been afraid to try it.” She eyed the counter full of homemade offerings. “Uh-oh.”

      First, they made her fast food look pitiful. Second, all these dishes meant Barrett had been thoroughly checked out by the local populace who had female relations to pawn off. They’d obviously been perusing the gelatin recipe book they’d compiled a few years back.

      “It’s СКАЧАТЬ