Daddy with a Deadline (5 page)

Annie’s fickle hormones did a happy dance. “You would? How does noonish sound?”

“Noonish is good.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Wait a minute. Are you plannin’ to feed me more scones?”

“I haven’t planned the menu. You’ll have to wait and see.”

“Guess I’ll take my chances. See you Saturday.”

A surge of happiness welled inside Annie—something else she hadn’t experienced in ages. For once she had another person to cook for.

OK, an adult male.

OK, a handsome adult male. But Trent was Brad’s childhood friend, and repaying him was the civil thing to do.

“What can I bring?” Trent asked.

“Just yourself.”

“Are you sure?”

“That’s enough.”

Actually, it was more than enough. While Annie wasn’t sure she’d survive another meal with the cantankerous cowboy, she’d do her best. She’d cook him one tasty lunch before being consumed by motherhood.

And she would manage just fine. She’d squelch these crazy emotions Trent stirred inside her. And after evening the score, she’d never see the man again.

Annie sighed. Who was she kidding? Keeping her attraction to Trent Madison under wraps was going to be a king-size assignment.

A
NNIE HEADED FOR
the screened-in porch, prepared to make a dent in her growing stack of bills. As she settled into a wicker chair, a clap of thunder boomed and rain began pelting the house. If Trent hadn’t rescued her, she might have been caught in this downpour.

As Annie wrote check after check, her mood plummeted along with her bank balance. She sighed as she made a small payment to Anderson’s Funeral Home. Her life had turned out far differently than she had planned. When the phone rang, she hurried inside.

“Hello again. It’s Trent.”

Annie’s heart jumped to attention faster than an army recruit. “Oh, hi,” she said, trying to squelch her reaction.

“The news about your car isn’t good. Sorry.”

Annie rolled her eyes as Trent enumerated Eloise’s multiple ailments. “Wow. Are there any parts of my car that still work?”

“A few. Have you considered trading it in?”

“I have other debts to pay first. Maybe next year.” At this rate, there’d be nothing left of Eloise by next year!

“Most of the problems are maintenance related,” Trent assured. “If Wes puts on a fuel pump, I can do the rest.” To Annie’s amazement, he quoted a minimal price for the fuel pump.

“Thank you, but I can’t expect you to fix my car.”

“I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t willing. Now stop arguing. I’ll tell Wes to put on the fuel pump, and we’ll get moving.”

“But...”

“No buts allowed,” he insisted. “At eight months pregnant, you need reliable transportation.”

He had her there. And while Annie would love to solve this problem herself, she couldn’t. Even
Tune-Ups for Dummies
wouldn’t make an ounce of sense to her.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything. I’ll pick up your car from the garage tomorrow, do the work, and drive it over in time for lunch on Saturday.”

Annie felt pulled apart. While she didn’t want to rely on Trent, she did need transportation. And she couldn’t be independent without a car.

“Trent?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks. A lot.” She sighed inwardly, realizing her obligation to the man had just quadrupled. She’d better cook the cowboy one fantastic meal.

“You’re welcome. See you Saturday.”

While Annie tried to keep all her balls in the air, they ricocheted wildly around her. Trent had bailed her out again, but this had to stop. Once her financial ducks all faced forward, and the twins arrived, she’d manage without assistance.

Trent revved up the Honda and the engine purred. With Wes’s diagnostic skills and Trent’s maintenance ability, Annie’s car would live on.

He grabbed the hose from the garage and washed her car. Then he polished the chrome till it shined. Not bad. The little Honda looked downright presentable.

When he’d called Annie with the update, she’d sounded discouraged. As Trent headed to the house to shower, he picked some roses. Maybe flowers would put a smile on Annie Samuels’s pretty face. He found a vase in the pantry and added the roses.

After showering, Trent pulled on jeans and a green shirt and splashed on some aftershave. He whistled as he headed toward the delightful aroma wafting from his kitchen.

Rosa pulled a batch of cookies from the oven. “You sound happy.”

“I am happy. What kind are you making?”

“Oatmeal chocolate chip. Your favorite.”

“Great. I’ll have some when I get back.”

“So you’re going to the lady’s house for lunch?” Excitement glimmered in Rosa’s dark eyes.

“No big deal. Annie wants to thank me for fixing her car.”

“So it’s ‘Annie,’ is it?”

Trent glared. “I’ll call her ‘Mrs. Samuels’ if you prefer.”

“No need, Mr. Trent. ‘Annie’ is fine. ‘Annie’ is just fine.”

Annie Samuels was just fine, Trent realized. Actually, she far surpassed fine. The woman dazzled him with her sun-blonde hair and eyes as blue as a Texas sky. Just looking at her brought him pleasure.

Pleasure he had no right to feel. And wanted no part of. It had taken him a year to get past the pain of Dawn’s betrayal. And the bitterness still lingered. He was only doing payback for a friend, he reminded himself. A friend whose family had made his own childhood bearable. And while he’d honor Brad’s request, he felt like a bull in a china shop.

“See you later,” he told Rosa.

“Wait a minute. Were you taking these to Miss Annie?” Rosa held out the flowers, and her grin blossomed into a full-fledged smile.

Caught in the act
, Trent thought. He almost said the roses weren’t for Annie but didn’t. He grunted an answer, grabbed the flowers, and strode out of the kitchen.

The fact that he left with roses in hand would fuel Rosa’s fire. And elevate her matchmaking attempts to new heights. Trent groaned. Where had his peaceful, solitary life gone? And how could he get it back?

“Anybody home?” called a masculine voice.

Annie wiped her hands on a dish towel and hurried to the door. There stood Trent Madison clutching a bouquet of yellow roses. The cowboy looked every bit as good as the first time she saw him: tall, dark, and way past handsome.

You shouldn’t be noticing
, her conscience chided.

“Come in.” Annie pushed open the door and Trent ducked inside. “I hope you’re hungry.”

“I’m starving.” When he handed her the bouquet, Annie couldn’t breathe. She looked at the lovely blossoms and felt a surge of warmth. In their four years of marriage, Brad never once brought her flowers. She was lucky if she got a birthday card.

“Thank you. They’re lovely. Come on back to the kitchen.”

Trent followed her and stood at the bar while Annie arranged the flowers in a vase.

“I need to finish our salads,” she told him.

Trent watched as she chopped celery and apples. “You can’t make a Waldorf salad ahead of time,” Annie prattled. “If it sits very long the apples get all soggy.”

Soggy apples! A great conversation starter. Her how-to-talk-to-a-man skills had rusted away.

“Do you cook, Trent?”

“I grill meat—that’s about all. But I’m spoiled. I have Rosa to cook for me.”

Annie stopped chopping at that announcement. Was Rosa Trent’s girlfriend? Or his fiancée? She pushed aside a zing of jealousy.

Not that it mattered, of course. The man’s personal life was none of her concern. “What kind of food does she cook?”

“Enchiladas and tacos. But quesadillas are her specialty. She’s Hispanic.”

Annie plastered on a smile and pretended that it didn’t matter that Trent had a gorgeous Latino girlfriend who cooked incredible food. “That sounds terrific.”

Trent’s expression was one of pure bliss. “Rosa’s awesome. I’m one lucky man.”

While Annie had no claim on this cowboy, and didn’t want one, the satisfied smirk on his face ruffled her emotions. Since she didn’t consider herself a great cook, competing with the fabulous Rosa would make this meal even more challenging.

“Would you take our salads to the breakfast room?” she asked, trying to change the subject. “I’ll pour the tea and we’re set.”

“More tea? Will the scones arrive soon?” he teased.

“It’s Italian day. No scones allowed.”

As Trent pulled out Annie’s chair, she determined to make this afternoon work. She’d steer clear of hot topics, so their conversation would be pleasant. And then she’d send the cowboy back to his ranch. Back to the glorious Rosa, whoever she was.

Trent took a bite. “Mmm. This lasagna’s delicious. Are you an Italian in disguise?”

“Nope. My ancestors came from Switzerland.”

“That explains your blonde hair and blue eyes.”

Trent’s gaze lingered on her eyes and hair longer than Annie thought it should. And to her dismay she felt a shiver of
pleasure—another sensation she hadn’t experienced in ages. Her hormones had mutinied the day she got pregnant, she reminded herself. That explained this reaction.

“More cheese bread?”

Trent helped himself to another slice. “Thanks.”

The kitchen fell silent except for the ticking of the wall clock. Eating alone had eroded Annie’s social skills. Finally she said, “I know nothing about you, Trent. Tell me about your family.”

His forehead creased and a flush crept up his neck. “I didn’t really have one. To call my parents dysfunctional is generous. We didn’t go on picnics or chat around the dinner table.”

Annie’d stuck her foot in it. The man had told her he hung out at the Samuels’ because his home life was troubled. So much for avoiding hot topics!

But beneath his gruff tone, Annie sensed the pain Trent harbored. Pain that ran deep. “Do you ever see them?” she asked softly. “Your parents?”

His scowl deepened. “I walked out at sixteen and never looked back.”

“I’m sorry,” Annie murmured. “I shouldn’t pry.”

He shrugged. “My home life forced me to be independent. You could say my folks did me a favor.” But his distressed tone contradicted his words. Trent carried the scars from a difficult childhood.

Annie made several more stabs at conversation but didn’t get far.
You flunk How to Make Happy Talk at Lunch
, she told herself.

When they were finished, Trent said, “Shall we check out Elaine?”

“Elaine? Who’s Elaine?” Did the man have another woman stashed away somewhere? Was there no end to his exploits?

Trent coughed. “You know—your car.”

Annie felt a surge of relief. “Oh, you mean Eloise. Sure. I’d love to check her out.”

She followed the cowboy outside, and there stood Eloise, who’d had an extreme makeover. “The old girl never looked so good. You didn’t need to wash her. She isn’t used to being clean.”

“Couldn’t help myself. Get in and start her up.”

With great effort, Annie wriggled behind the steering wheel. She rolled down the window, turned the key, and a moment later her car sprang to life. “Is this really my car? Or an Eloise look-alike?”

Trent leaned on the window. “It’s surprising what a fuel pump and some elbow grease can do.”