Her Lost And Found Baby. Tara Quinn Taylor
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refusal to accept her opinion on the needed quantity of beans. Johnny almost never paused when he was chopping. Especially beef. Seeming to remember that, he glanced at the knife in his hand and returned his attention to the board on the counter in front of him. “It’s Tuesday,” he said, by way of explanation.
In the six months they’d been actually out food trucking, as opposed to getting things set up, he’d run out of food exactly twice. So she went along with one fewer can of beans.
“I think instead of applying for Chrissy, we should tell Mallory Harris the truth.” That wasn’t quite how she’d planned to present her idea, but there it was.
She didn’t look at Johnny as she added the bag of his premixed spices to the pan of black beans, adjusting the heat underneath them as she stirred. She listened to him chop, thankful for the even, rhythmic beat of blade against board.
“You’re the one who always wants to do things on the up-and-up, to cross all the t’s and dot all the i’s. And finally having found Jackson, I don’t want to do anything that might make me seem less than...”
She barely registered his lack of chopping before she felt his hands on her arms. “It’s okay, Tabitha.” His easy tone settled the tension building inside her while his hands distracted her from the reason for that tension.
Johnny’s touch...it always did that to her. Distracted her. And reassured her.
“You don’t have to sound so defensive or feel like you need to convince me. Finding Jackson—how we do it, that’s your call.”
It was part of their agreement. He called the food truck shots. She called her own.
And suddenly she didn’t want to. Not without his input. Not now that they’d found Jackson. Her son was so close, yet not really within her reach.
“I want to tell her,” she said again. “She seems to truly care. The way she talked about her hours, working late at night after everyone leaves, and if she’s there during the day, which by what she said she is... I get the feeling that The Bouncing Ball is way more than a business to her.”
“Again, I’m not arguing.” He’d moved back to his board but wasn’t chopping. They had a prep time limit, one he was going to miss if he didn’t get going. Which could mean they’d lose their prime parking spot.
“I think she’ll help us,” Tabitha said, a spoon in each hand as she stirred both pans of beans. It had only taken her a week to get her prep responsibilities down to a science. When she glanced at him, he quickly looked from her to his board.
He’d been watching her.
“What?” she asked, watching him now. Stirring beans didn’t require constant vigilance like wielding the knife did.
He shrugged and she suddenly wondered what those shoulders looked like in a suit coat. Probably not as good as they did in the tight-fitting polo shirt. They’d be as strong, though. As supportive.
“Tell me what you’re thinking. Please. I’m asking because I need to know.” About Jackson. And the next move in her quest.
“Mallory’s first loyalty will likely be to Jason’s father. She clearly had sympathy for him and appears to hold him in high regard.”
“You’re basing that on what?” she asked. The side of his clean-shaven face told her very little, except that he wasn’t smiling.
“The warmth in her voice as she mentioned him, for one.”
“You think she has a thing for him?” She hadn’t gotten that impression at all.
“No. She just seemed...fond of them as clients and might try to protect them.”
“You think she’ll tell him?”
“I think it’s a possibility you should consider.”
“And by the time I convince her I’m right, Mark will be gone...with Jackson.”
She knew what his shrug meant that time.
“I see the risk, I just wish we could tell her.” She turned back to the beans.
“Then let’s find something convincing enough to allow us to do that.”
Tabitha’s heart gave a lurch at the supportive tone in his voice. She looked at him, needing him more than ever. Needing him to know that.
And to need her, too.
He was busy chopping meat.
* * *
Like Tabitha, Johnny didn’t feel good about putting in Chrissy’s application. Tabitha had spent her fifteen-minute break going over the forms she’d filled out sometime between leaving him the night before and them leaving that morning because they’d been waiting for her down at the front desk where she’d emailed them for printing. Forms she’d filled out, even though she’d wanted to forego the Chrissy route and tell Mallory Harris the truth.
Hoping to enlist the daycare owner’s help.
Ethically and legally, helping them out could be a disaster for the Harris woman. Unless she had a lawyer watching her every move, protecting her against misadventure.
Tabitha reached above his head for a package of napkins early Tuesday evening, putting her breasts directly in his line of vision. Close enough that if he leaned forward and moved to the side, he could touch one with his lips.
Instantly engorged, Johnny moved, all right, directly forward, tucking the bulging evidence of his inappropriate erection under the prep board.
What the hell! She’d been reaching for napkins for months. In the same purple shirts.
So what was this about? Boredom with the task at hand? He’d never been passionate about the food truck business, but he’d been determined to see Angel’s dream through to fruition. He owed her that.
“I think we should hold off on Chrissy’s application,” he blurted, spraying and wiping the prep board. Tabitha, now back at the closed serving window, filled the napkin dispenser she’d set on the ledge for when they opened the next day.
He’d been reviewing her idea to tell Mallory Harris the truth and actually given it serious consideration. The kind he’d give if he was at work, doing the job he’d been trained to do.
A distraction from getting the hots for his life-quest partner?
For whatever reason, this time, this place, this daycare, seemed different from all the rest. Tabitha felt strongly enough about engaging the Harris woman’s help, being honest with her from the beginning, that she’d asked him for advice. Thoughtful, professional advice.
He really wanted to provide it.
A pile of napkins in hand, she held them above the open dispenser, watching him.
“What?” he asked. The concern creasing her brow, shadowing those golden-green eyes, struck his gut.
“You don’t want to apply with me?”
Had he said that? And why did kissing those lips seem like such a good move at the moment? It was wrong.
All wrong.
Pulling himself back to their current conversation, he said, “I think I’ve come up with a way to tell Mallory Harris the truth.”
Her brow cleared. Good.
“You think we can get her to help us rather than telling Mark we’re here?”
He nodded.
You don’t want to apply with me?
He hadn’t skipped past those words as easily as she had.
Finished with the napkins, she closed the dispenser and turned to him, eyes wide open. “Okay, so what’s the plan?”
You don’t