Temporary Dad. Laura Marie Altom
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diamond solitaire he was giving the next female on his night’s agenda.
Jade.
His future bride.
Trouble was, Jade didn’t much care for the patter of little feet—hence Conner’s sudden need for a nanny. But beyond that, he explained that the exotic brunette was one hot ticket. Us all living together’ll be like a big, happy family, don’tcha think?
Waaaaa ha waaaah!
Annie sighed.
Whoever was in charge of that poor, pitiful wailer in the condo across the breezeway from hers ought to do something to calm the infant. Never had she heard so much commotion. Was the poor thing sick?
She plucked a dead leaf from the pot of red impatiens gracing the center of her patio table, then returned to her article on glazing. She’d love to try this new technique in the guest bath that was tucked under the stairs.
Maybe in burgundy?
Or gold?
Something rich and decadent—like the decorating equivalent of a spoonful of hot fudge.
The house she’d grown up in had been painted top to bottom, inside and out, in vibrant jewel tones. She’d lived with her grandparents, since her mom and dad were engineers who traveled abroad so often that once she’d become school-age, it had been impractical for her to go with them. Her second place of residence—never could she call it a home—had been painted mashed-potato beige. This was the house she’d shared with her ex-husband, Troy, a man so abusive he made Conner look like a saint. Lodging number three, the apartment she’d run to after leaving her ex, had been a step up from mashed potatoes, seeing how it’d been painted creamed-corn yellow.
This condo was her fourth abode, and this time, she was determined to get not only the décor right, but her life. As much as she loved spending five days a week around primary colors and Sesame Street wallpaper, in her free time, she craved more grown-up surroundings.
Waaaaa waaaa waaaaa!
Waa huh waaaa!
Waaaaaaaaa!
Annie slapped the magazine back onto her knees.
Something about the sound of that baby’s crying wasn’t right.
Was there more than one?
Definitely two.
Maybe even three.
But she’d moved in a couple of weeks earlier and hadn’t heard a peep or seen signs of any infant in the complex—let alone three. That was partially why she’d chosen this unit over the one beside the river, which had much better views of the town of Pecan, Oklahoma’s renowned pecan groves.
The problem with the other place, the one with the view, was that it catered to families, and after saying tearful goodbyes to Baby Sarah and Clara and their two older brothers and sister, not to mention their father, the last thing Annie wanted in a new home was children.
Conner had packed up his kids, along with his gorgeous new wife and Scandinavian nanny, moving them all to Atlanta. The children were just as confused by the sudden appearance of Jade in their father’s life as Annie had been. She sent them birthday cards and letters, but it wasn’t the same. She missed them. Which was why she’d left her hometown of Bartlesville for Pecan. Because she’d resigned herself to mothering only the kids at work.
Conner was her second rotten experience with a man. And with trying to be part of a big, boisterous family. She sure didn’t want any daily reminders of her latest relationship disaster.
No more haunting memories of running errands with the kids at Wal-Mart or QuikTrip or the grocery store. No more lurching heart every time she saw a car that reminded her of Conner’s silver Beemer on Bartlesville’s main drag.
She needed a fresh start in the kind of charming small town that Conner wouldn’t lower himself to step foot in.
Annie looked at her magazine.
Glazing.
All she needed to feel better about her whole situation was time and a can or two of paint.
Waa huh waaaaaaa!
Annie frowned again.
No good parent would just leave an infant crying like this. What was going on? Could the baby’s mom or dad be hurt?
Wrinkling her nose, nibbling the tip of her pinkie finger, Annie put her magazine on the table and peered over the wrought-iron rail encircling her patio.
A cool breeze ruffled her short, blond curls, carrying with it the homey scent of fresh bread baking at the town’s largest factory, a mile or so away. She had yet to taste Finnegan’s Pecan Wheatberry bread, but it was supposedly to die for.
Normally at this time of year in Oklahoma, she’d be inside cozied up to a blasting central AC vent. Due to last night’s rain, the day wasn’t typical August fare, but tinged with an enticing fall preview.
Waaaaaaaa!
Annie popped the latch on her patio gate, creeping across grass not quite green or brown, but a weary shade somewhere in between.
The birdbath left behind by the condo’s last owner had gone dry. She’d have to remember to fill it the next time she dowsed her impatiens and marigolds.
Waaaaaa!
She crept farther across the shared lawn, stepping onto the weathered brick breezeway she shared with the as-yet-unseen owner of the unit across from hers.
The condo complex’s clubhouse manager—Veronica, a bubbly redhead with a penchant for eighties rock and yogurt—said a bachelor fireman lived there.
Judging by the dead azalea bushes on either side of his front door, Annie hoped the guy was better at watering burning buildings than poor, thirsty plants.
Waaa huhhh waaa!
She took another nibble on her pinkie.
Looked at the fireman’s door, then her own.
Whatever was going on in there probably wasn’t any of her business.
Her friends said she spent too much time worrying about other folks’ problems and not enough on her own. But really, besides her broken heart, what problems did she have?
Okay, sure, she got lonely now that she lived an hour south of her grandmother. And her parents’ current gig in a remote province of China meant she rarely got to talk to them. But other than that, she had it pretty good, and—
Waaaaaaa!
Call her a busybody, but enough was enough.
She couldn’t bear standing around listening to a helpless baby cry—maybe even more than one helpless baby.
Her first knock on the bachelor fireman’s door was gentle. Ladylike. That of a concerned neighbor.
When it didn’t work, she gave the door a few hard thuds.
She was just about to investigate the patio when the door flew open. “Patti? Where the—oh. Sorry. Thought you were my sister.”
Annie gaped.
What else could she do faced with the handsomest man she’d ever seen—hugging not one baby, not two babies, but three? Each red faced and screaming. Triplets?
On teacher autopilot, she reached for the most miserable-looking one, automatically cradling the poor, trembling thing against her left shoulder.
“Hi,” she said, lightly jiggling the baby while at the same time smoothing her fingers down the back of her head—her judging by the pink terry-cloth pjs. “I’m your new neighbor, Annie Harnesberry. I don’t mean to be nosy, but it sounded like you might need help.”
The guy sort-of laughed, showing lots of white teeth. “Yeah. My, um, little sis left me with these guys over twenty-six hours ago. She