Page 34 of The Bitter Heir and the Beauty

My lips ripple with amusement. “Is a big bad firefighter like you afraid of a baby?”

He tucks his chin. “What? No?”

I sense a question in his voice.

She kicks her feet, sending a sock sailing. I stash it in the cupholder for now.

I clap him on the back. “You can do this.”

“Yeah, of course. Duh. No big deal.”

It sounds like he’s talking himself into it, which doesn’t give me a lot of confidence.

Drawing a deep breath to drum up some of my own, I say, “This is how it’s going to work. I’m going to drive a quarter of a mile to the restaurant. You’re going to push Leonie, sing nursery rhymes, and enjoy it.” And hopefully, our deputy sheriff willcontinue to look the other way if he runs my plates and sees that my registration is expired.

It’s not because I defy the law. More like I don’t have the cash to pay the fees.

Squinting, Maddock asks, “What’s in it for me?”

“Aside from spending time with my adorable baby?”

He wrinkles his nose. “Babies smell.”

“They smell amazing like—” But there are no words to describe Leonie’s sweet baby scent.

He wrinkles his nose as if to remind me about dirty diapers.

“Most of the time,” I mutter, recalling the close call last week in Missy’s Corolla.

Looking down the street, Maddock seems to measure the distance. I’m running out of time. The Klatch will either riot and break the Grille’s windows or call in a wellness check, which will unnecessarily bring Jesse into the situation. He’s already overlooked the fact that my vehicle’s registration is expired and we won’t discuss the lapsed insurance policy. That’s a problem for another day.

“Look both ways when you cross the street. Watch for cracks in the sidewalk.” I’m suddenly nervous about Maddock pushing the carriage.

“Exactly how much time do you spend in Hogwash?” he asks.

My meeting out of town was the first time I’d left in a month. I point to the farm road to our left and Shady Lane, the slightly less overgrown road that leads to the Tickle estate and beyond, to my right. “There’s a road right there and you never know what kind of beast mobile might come barreling down here.”

He lets out a slightly annoyed breath.

I smile. “Obey the speed limits.”

He shakes his head slightly and sets off, pushing the stroller. Ignoring how I’m inexplicably attracted to this man, like a race day, I spring into action, sliding behind the wheel like the proI used to be. Maddock and Leonie are only halfway to the restaurant by the time I get there. That might be a record other than the time Mrs. Halfpenny called to tell me someone was on the restaurant’s roof. Turns out it was Chick Jagger. Now that I think of it, that was the last time we saw the mayor. Don’t worry, I ushered him down to safety.

Once parked, I wave my hands, okay, flail like there’s a fire, as I rush toward the Klatch. “I’m coming.”

Hank grunts. “I was starting to consider heading over to the Coffee Loft.”

“They don’t sell sweet tea,” I say, ushering them inside.

“They don’t have a counter like this either,” Dick says, thankfully on my side.

Buck adds, “But Tallula always opens on time.”

“It won’t happen again,” I say as Maddock and the carriage come into view.

I could carry out the duties of opening this place in my sleep—I did once, early on when Leonie came into my care, and I hadn’t gotten used to the late-night interruptions. Everything is on and operational, mostly, when I hear Antoine’s old Plymouth rumble into the rear lot.

Clapping my hands, the old timers proceed with their klatching and I hold open the door for the stroller which Maddock pushes like he’s on the wrong side of a steamroller. Leonie wails and I scoop her up, wave Maddock off, and flip on the grill at the same time, Antoine asks, “Where’s the fire? I just saw the firefighter run down the street.”

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