It's in His Touch (22 page)

Angelique turned back to them with the baby girl nestled in her arms and handed the bundle to Coop, watery eyes glistening under the lights. Not enough for actual tears to fall, but enough to make her turn to the wall and pull off her gloves.

Huh.

Ms. Badass Attorney’s maternal instincts were kicking in, and she wore her thoughts and her mushy emotions right there on her black Nike sleeve. Unbelievable. He’d seen a glimpse of her softness. Way more than a glimpse. He’d seen all five feet nine inches of bared softness up close, flush against him and murmuring his name. But this, this raw yearning that was so apparent when a woman wanted a child, was unexpected because she didn’t seem to have a maternal bone in her entire lush body. And it was nice because he’d imagined Angelique having his baby, imagined this very scenario with Angelique in the throes of childbirth.

Until she vowed to destroy him and everything in his life.

Sirens sounded in the distance, and Blake finished up with Ella and covered her with a blanket.

“Miranda’s outside flagging down the EMTs,” Lorenda said. “I’ll go hold the door open for them.”

“No.” Angelique still faced the wall, but her voice was hard. “I’ll go. I’m leaving anyway.”

C
hapter
N
ineteen

The doorbell tinkled as Blake entered the Ostergaards’ bakery the next morning. But even the tasty aromas coming from the shop couldn’t squash his dark mood. He’d been a happy man just a few days ago, thinking he might have a future with Angelique. Thinking she might choose him over a client and actually use her legal prowess to help save Red River instead of level it.

Now he had to figure out another plan because his previous one had disintegrated just about the time Angelique turned on him in the meeting, and then he’d had to fire his attorney. The truth was, he wasn’t exactly sure what to do next. Not sure there
was
anything he could do. But he couldn’t keep the truth from his friends any longer. It was time to tell them how bad the situation really was. Maybe one of them could come up with a better way to handle things, because he’d screwed it up royally so far.

The shop was empty, but the sounds of clanking pots and pans came from the back room. Blake walked to the counter and perused the brimming display cabinet.

The Ostergaards’ selection hadn’t been this extensive since Mrs. O was diagnosed. She must be feeling better. That was good news in this little town where everyone celebrated one another’s victories and grieved one another’s tragedies.

And that made Blake feel even worse about his failure. Angelique and her client would deliver a damaging blow to the Ostergaards and the rest of the proprietors along Main Street. They’d trusted him, and he’d let them down, all because he couldn’t keep his mind or his hands off of a certain strong-willed, leggy Italian girl from the moment she’d snatched her black thong right out of his hand.

After delivering Ella’s baby, he’d spent the rest of last night pacing the floor of his cabin. He’d walked outside a few times to go bang on her door, only to decide against it. Reasoning with her seemed pointless. If she still couldn’t see that loyalty to her law firm was completely misguided and misplaced, that she was on the wrong side even if she did win, it was because she didn’t
want
to see it. So did he really want to see
her
again?

Dammit, yes he did. So he’d wallowed in self-pity all night, hoping Sarge would show up to play a new round of Mystery Panties. Even better, Sarge’s owner could’ve shown up in said panties and given him an explanation as to what her problem was. Unfortunately, he hadn’t seen hide, nor hair, nor panties of either of them.

How pathetic was he, anyway? Pretty pathetic because he couldn’t stop thinking about the woman who came to Red River to dismantle his life and in general rip his A-fibrillating heart from his chest.

“Ah, zee first customer of zee morning.” Mr. Ostergaard came from the back to stand behind the counter. “Vhat brings you out on a Saturday morning, Dr. Holloway?”

“Morning, Mr. Ostergaard. It’s my weekend to help out at the free clinic.”
And I need to tell you what a screwup I am.
“How’s Mrs. O?” Blake asked, fully expecting a good report.

Mr. O’s expression dimmed, and he shook his head. “Zee chemo is very hard on her. She’s home resting.”

Confused, Blake glanced over the full display of fresh pastries. Then Mr. O must be doing double time.

“Vhat can I get you, Doctor?”

“How about . . . six of those.” He pointed to the cream cheese Danishes. While he was here he might as well pick up something for the rest of the crew because Kaylee and Nadine had volunteered to help out today, too. Racking up brownie points with those two never hurt, especially since he was probably going to have to lay them off soon. Keeping a staff was a little difficult when you didn’t have a business left. “And how about six of those.” He pointed to the cinnamon rolls, and cleared his throat. Stuffed both hands in his pockets. “Uh, listen, Mr. O, I’m calling a meeting to discuss the resort project Monday morning in my office. Can you be there?”

“Of course,” said Mr. O.

“And can you help me pass the word to all the other business owners? There’s something I need to tell every—”

“This is the last tray.” Angelique hurried out of the back room, holding a pan of pastries with two oven mitts. She stopped short. Even though she wore an apron, she was still covered in flour. Her hair was pulled back, and a coat of flour or maybe powdered sugar had settled over the black silky mess. White smudges streaked one cheek and her forehead, which now wrinkled at the sight of him.

Mr. Ostergaard hustled over to her and took the tray. “Zank you, dear. Business vill be good this veek because of you and Kimberly.” With tongs, he dished the hot pastries into the display cabinet.

Angelique just stared at Blake, while Mr. Ostergaard disappeared with the empty pan into the back kitchen.

“Hi,” Blake said. Because what else
could
he say?

After he pulled Gabriel off her, she’d made love to Blake like he was the only man she’d ever want again. But the next day, she’d turned into a barracuda, renewed her threat to destroy them all, then showed up here the very same week to . . .
bake?
For the very people she was trying to put out of business?

She wiped both hands on the apron, which made a bigger mess. “Hello.” She turned to go to the kitchen.

“You’re working for the Ostergaards?” Blake said it more like an accusation.

She half turned back to him but couldn’t meet his eyes. “Just helping out a little since Mrs. O is sick.”

With the back of one hand, she swiped at her forehead and managed to smudge even more flour across her olive-toned skin. The stark contrast was, well, pretty. Because everything she did seemed attractive to him. She could roll in flour and all he’d want to do is lick it off.

“I know what it’s like.” She kept her tone even. Emotionless. “It’s the least I can do before I leave Red River.”

The thought of her leaving felt like someone punched him square in the solar plexus.

But what the hell was she doing here?
Baking?
Did she play the Good Samaritan to all of her victims before tearing their hearts out?

“Now who’s Florence Nightingale?” He didn’t even try to stay the sharpness of his tone.

Mr. O came barreling back in the room with a noticeable skip in his step.

“Okay!” Mr. Ostergaard reappeared and stood in front of the counter. “Now, vhat else can I get you?”

“Can I borrow your new help for a minute?” He gave Angelique a challenging look, and she narrowed both eyes at him.

“I’ve got to clean up the kitchen.” Angelique took a step back.

“It’ll only take a minute. We really should speak in private.” He glanced at Mr. O, then turned a sly smile on her. “About that library thing.”
Bingo.
She blanched. She still didn’t want Mr. O to know the truth. So that was mean of Blake. Kind of like blackmailing her with her panties, but he was way beyond caring at the moment. He should’ve already told the Os and everyone else in Red River who Angelique really was and why she was here. He’d kept it a secret too long, mostly for selfish reasons, but also because he didn’t want them to dislike her before the town had a chance to prickle her conscience. Before he was able to get to know her and see where it might lead.

“I don’t think there’s anything left to say.” She refused to back down. So like her. One way or another he was going to find out what was going on in that stubborn, gorgeous head of hers.

They stared each other down like an old John Wayne movie. Or like Doc Holliday and Wyatt Earp shooting it out with outlaws at the OK Corral. Blake almost snorted, cleared his throat.
Get a grip.
Whatever the case, this Doc Holloway wasn’t going down without a fight. To the death. Cheese Danishes and gooey cinnamon rolls blazing.

He took out his wallet and placed some bills on the counter as Mr. O rang up his order and handed Blake the box of pastries. He set the pastries by the cash register and walked around the counter, straight to Angelique.

Her onyx eyes flew wide as each step drew him closer, and her lush lips formed a little O. Before she could protest, argue, scowl, or run, because that’s what the hardheaded woman was likely to do, he wrapped her in his arms and hauled her against him. He pulled her within a breath.

Blake glanced at Mr. O again, and Angelique’s eyes issued a silent plea.

“You can’t have it both ways forever,” he whispered and nearly choked on the hypocritical statement. That’s exactly what he’d been doing—having his Italian cake and enjoying the taste of it too. Selfish as it sounded even to himself, he’d wanted to keep both Red River
and
Angelique. But she obviously still didn’t see him as a priority over her career or that law firm full of vipers back in Albuquerque.

She tensed, swallowed, but didn’t struggle against him. “You got what you wanted.”

He didn’t have any of the things he wanted. “Not by a long shot.”

Her eyes flitted to Mr. O for an infinitesimal fraction of time, then landed on Blake again. Her chin notched up. “I can’t give you anything else.”

“Is that how you really feel, Angelique?” His gaze dropped to those plump lips, and then he gave himself a mental slap. Now wasn’t the time to give in to how much he wanted her. Only her. Any way she’d have him. She’d likely see it as weakness.

“Yes, that’s how I feel. So let me go.” Her voice wavered, and a glint of something softer raced across her face. Then it was gone.

He wanted to stop her absurd talk with a hot, demanding kiss. Instead, he set her away from him. “Then I guess we’re done.”

He nodded good-bye to an open-mouthed Mr. Ostergaard and strolled out of the bakery with a box of fresh pastries under his arm.

Blake thumbed through the keys on his key chain as he climbed the steps to his back door. His brain fuzzy from working all day at the free clinic while thinking of a frustrating, flour-caked attorney, he dropped the keys. Drawing in a weary breath, he pinched the bridge of his nose.

Get over it. You knew she was trouble from the beginning.

When he bent to pick up the keys, something in his periphery caught his eye. He wandered to the wooden post that supported the porch roof and kicked a stray paper bag away that had blown in from somewhere unknown.

His brows bunched as he eyed the foreign object that had been lying on his porch under a piece of trash for no telling how long. He picked it up, snapped off the rubber band, and held up . . .
black thong panties?

A smile cracked his face wide open and spread all the way to his center as he examined the same pair of panties he’d had the privilege of holding the first day he met Angelique. Nice. Sarge was back on panty patrol.

“Good dog,” Blake mumbled, as he unfolded the piece of paper. He owed Sergeant Schnitzel a dog treat. Blake would buy the dog a whole box if his owner would come to her senses.

Finally getting the paper smoothed out, Blake’s eyes scanned the page.

He turned around and headed back to the truck. If he hurried, he could make it to the market before it closed because he owed a certain weenie dog the biggest box of Milk Bones he could find.

That evening, Angelique drove through Red River and headed back to the cabin, with Kimberly nursing a few superficial teeth marks on one hand. Angelique shook her head. “How about we take a break from the bucket list? It’s getting hazardous to our health.”