Page 7 of A Little Thankful

Even though Mace seemed to do a double take when he saw me, I kept right on going, not ready to acknowledge him yet. That would come in time… my time, not his.

Little did Mace know that not only did he have cookies baking inhisoven, he might have made a baby in mine… bad joke. Really bad, but nerves were playing havoc on not only my body, but on my mind as well.

It was one thing to tell your parents they were grandparents, and have been for almost six months, but it was something else entirely to tell a guy hemightbe a baby daddy, then ask him to please take a paternity test to prove it one way or another. The results could change the course of his life.

Oh yes, a simple thing to do. Not a problem.

Easy-peasy.

“What the hell?” I mumbled, so I didn’t wake my little sweetie asleep in the backseat.

After that sighting, I purposely turned on the next corner then turned again to continue my drive up Frog Street, where the firehouse was located. Home to potential papa number two. Ruggedly good-looking Hunter Maplewood, who was almost seven years older than me. I knew I shouldn’t mess around with Hunter. After all, he once rescued me out of a tree when I was twelve and he was nineteen. And we always had that competitive thing going on between us. Plus, he was a heartbreaker.

Until he wasn’t.

Then I was the heartbreaker. I’d purposely cut off all communication with him. Why? Because I wasn’t ready for anyone’s opinion, even if it was a good opinion.

I had to do this on my own, in my own way.

In my defense, I hadn’t quite been myself that weekend. I was rebelling against my parents. Against Arty. And against everything. So much so, that to this day the memory of those three days still turned me on, especially that last night with all three men in my bed. But this man was his own four-alarm fire, and once lit, nothing could bring him down short of his own intense release.

And sure enough, there was Hero Hunter, spraying off the only fire engine in town, showing off those arms and thighs of steel.

Once again, I slowed, and this time, I knew potential pappa number two spotted me. He even tossed me one of his gorgeous smiles, and waved.

“Oh my God… Oh my God!”

I didn’t return the gesture. Instead, I sped away like I wanted to hide, which in Cricket, was impossible. The town was too damn small for anyone to hide anything, including a secret baby.

Which everyone would know about as soon as I opened my car door.

And as if seeing both those hot, sexy nights reminders wasn’t plenty of drama for me, I chose to swing up Moss Street. Sure enough, I spied Forrest, baby daddy number three, heading up the sidewalk, probably on his way to lunch at Sweetie Pies, his favorite hangout. Fortunately, I didn’t slow down this time, and he didn’t see me. His office was located just up the street. Forrest, who had always been a bit of an intellectual guy, worked with his dad in his dad’s accounting firm. Rumor had it that Forrest was about to take over the business, which probably played right into his hands.

Oh yes, Forrest had the best, slow hands I’d ever felt. They were made for a woman’s body, and he knew exactly where and how to touch her… or rather, me. Just looking at his hands gaveme a rush of heat. How he ever learned what to do and how to do it, I didn’t know, but I felt certain that God put him on this earth in order to seduce a woman… and do her taxes, when needed, of course.

Baby Autumn wouldn’t play into his plans. He’d told me over the course of those three days that being a father wasn’t part of the equation until he turned thirty-five.

“Yeah, well, the universe had other plans, buddy,” I said as if he could hear me.

Forrest was twenty-nine, while I was a mere twenty-six, and Autumn was six months old. Life had a way of messing up your best laid plans with unexpected situations, namely baby Autumn asleep in her car seat inside my new, cherry red SUV, a necessary purchase soon after Autumn was born. Just one of the many concessions I had to make to accommodate my new life as a single mom.

Not exactly the world beater my parents had hoped I would be or for that matter, not exactly the course I’d planned for, but the life the universe had decided I needed.

After that encounter of the third kind, I rolled into the long driveway of my parents’ house or estate, depending on how anyone wanted to look at this modest, two-story, forty-five hundred square foot California bungalow.

The house had purposely been built on this property for two reasons. One, it was perched up on a hill, and second, the river ran through the property at the bottom of the hill, so any flooding wouldn’t harm the house. Apparently, my maternal great-grandparents, who were part of the founders of Cricket, knew this might happen even back then.

Before I could park, turn off the ignition and open my door, my mother, wearing her best holiday designer outfit in shades of rust and dark green, her blond hair dusting her shoulders, andthat familiar warm smile, approached from the house, her arms outstretched. If she was anything, she was a loving mamma.

She liked to hug and kiss on me like I was still her sweet little girl.

“Sage, my darling Sage!” she called out. “You’re here! You’re finally here!”

She even wore lipstick in the perfect dark rust shade to match her outfit. Her earrings touched her shoulders, and her white sneakers bore the Michael Kors logo.

Here we go, I told myself as I exited my car.

“Yes, Mamma. I’m here,” I sighed, falling into her loving embrace.

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