Page 36 of Hot to Trot

Adam smiled. If there was a man in love with a woman, it was Rick Mendez. "How much longer?"

"Less than two months till the baby comes. Then I will be at the beck and call of two forces of nature." Rick pulled keys from his front pocket. "I better run before she starts calling me. Just saw the garage door up and thought I'd make sure no one was stealing the 'Vette."

Adam walked to the other bay in the garage and patted the muscle car beneath the padded cloth. "If anyone touches my girl, I'll rip his face off."

Rick's bark of laughter followed him toward his own fine piece of machinery-another passion that drew them together. Rick's cherry-red '66 Mustang made the driveway look classier. "See you tomorrow, gringo."

Adam held up a hand in a farewell gesture. Rick always called him gringo which might seem derogatory, but Adam knew it wasn't meant to be. Yet, he didn't dare call Rick anything slightly offensive. He'd been raised to mind his tongue and to know who he was. Having a family in the spotlight made a person cautious with his words, but not necessarily with his morals. His father had proven that, serving on the church building committee while screwing a member of the altar guild. Morals? What morals?

He pulled the door down and secured it with the padlock before entering the small house he rented. The place had been built in the twenties, and though it could use a fresh coat of paint and new doorknobs, it radiated charm. Age sat upon it well, giving it the faint odor of moth balls, lemon furniture polish, andyears of home cooking. It was normal. Regular. Nothing special. And it suited Adam fine.

That was all he'd ever wanted in life. To be normal.

Not be Hal Hinton's kid. Not be Daphne's boy.

Just be plain ol' Adam Hinton. Small-town police chief living on Hickory Street. In a plain white house with black trim and a green lawn.

Because the first two-thirds of his thirty-one years had been a torture to be endured. Huge brick mansion. Mercedes Benz. Summer house on the coast. Prestigious boarding school. And lots and lots of time alone. Sitting in his childhood suite of rooms, calledthe nurseryby his mother. As if she were running Downton Abbey or something. He’d been surrounded by the latest and greatest toys, video games, and gadgets while dreaming of eating fried baloney and fishing in a creek with a bunch of siblings. Adam didn't want to be a wealthy, influential Hinton. He wanted to be a struggling, happy Hinton. A regular kid on a normal street with a simple, salt-of-the-earth mom and pop. Mayberry. Mayfield. Pleasantville. Anywhere but River Oaks in Houston.

His wish had not been granted. Hewasa Hinton. His great-grandfather had dabbled in real estate, buying, selling and building a huge financial empire. His family owned oil fields, chains of furniture stores, a handful of shopping complexes, and fifty gas stations. He had millions languishing in a trust fund. His family owned a private jet, a yacht, a villa in Italy and more land per square foot than in all of Howard County. Adam wasn't only rich, he was loaded.

He switched on the light in the kitchen and set about making a sandwich for his dinner. Plain ol' baloney.

SCARLET STUBBEDHER TOE on a root that peeked through the grass at the side of the Hamilton house. "Ouch!"

It was insult added to injury. She was grounded in Oak Stand for the next three weeks. She wouldn't be able to make the audition. How would she tell Bert? He'd be annoyed. Maybe furious. Probably would out-diva her in his temper tantrum. The only thing that had saved her was the possibility of sending in a tape as her audition. She'd phoned the casting director earlier and was awaiting the return call. Thank goodness, Rayne had a production company at her beck and call.

So much for making contacts in L.A. For soaking up sun. For catching a wave.

Scarlet's toe started throbbing.

"Yeah, I've hit my toe on that root before. It hurts," Henry said, tossing the ball to her despite the fact she hopped on one foot.

"Well, thank you, Mr. King of Obvious."

Henry smiled, the two big teeth that had recently grown in making him look like a miniature beaver. "You say that a lot. That's sarcasm."

"Again, I crown you King of Obvious," Scarlet said, hopping to where the uncaught ball had rolled.

Henry laughed. "You're funny."

"So they tell me." She pitched the ball toward her nephew. He caught it easily and threw it back.

"Are you mad you have to stay here?" Henry asked, his brow wrinkling, making him look like a small thundercloud. "I heard you talking to Stefan."

Her roommate had encouraged her to leave Oak Stand and pay the consequences later. The man thought a big check fixed everything. Sometimes it did, but she doubted the judge would look favorably on bribery. Stefan didn't get small-town values. He'd grown up in Miami and it showed. His tasteswere sophisticated, expensive, and sometimes bit vulgar. "He's outraged for me, but I'm not skipping out or breaking the law. I did something wrong and I have to pay for it."

Scarlet gave herself an invisible pat on the back for being Aunt of the Year. She might be good enough to be a mother someday. Maybe.

"Well, I think it's cool you're staying for a while. I'll go to Phoenix with you if you want. I've been there before. They have a dog named Banjo. Dad says he's the ugliest dog he's ever seen, but I think he's kinda cute."

Dad?

So Henry had taken to calling Brent his father. Weird. But maybe not. She'd watched the two of them eat ice cream and watch the Rangers play on TV last night. They were pea podish. Brent seemed to love the boy, and the feeling was returned. A flash of shame flickered in her subconscious a moment before she dashed it away. Shehadapologized to Brent.

"Hmm, maybe you can go with me once or twice. If your mom says it's okay." She wasn't sure if a nine-year-old belonged at a gang rehabilitation center. She was a little uneasy herself. She had experience teaching acting classes. But that had been to Jewish grandmothers with unnatural hair colors at a Brooklyn YWCA. Come to think of it, those women were tough. They could probably reduce tough gang members to a passel of kittens in ten seconds flat. She’d be A-ok.

Scarlet pushed her bangs out of her eyes and caught sight of someone lurking behind the sweet olive bushes lining the side yard. Reporter? Likely.

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