Not Precisely Pregnant Read online

  Thank goodness, this date was almost over. Paige was relieved to be out of the restaurant and away from their stilted conversations. Just the quick couple blocks back to the parking garage and he'd take her home. She'd go back to her nice, quiet apartment and never have to worry about Riley Calhoon again.

  He was still at it, prattling on about some new tax plan and how the cuts were going to cause economic hardships, as they crossed the street.

  "But working families need that money in their pocket, not—" She cut off her argument as a truck came barreling down the street, heading right toward them.

  "Look out," she cried, and gave Riley a hefty shove toward the sidewalk, then jumped out of the way herself.

  He landed face first in a huge puddle of water and came up sputtering. "Why did you do that?"

  "There was a truck heading. . . and you. . . I mean, I didn't want it to hit you and. . ."

  He stood and shook his hands, as if that would be enough to free himself of the muddy water. All it did was splatter Paige. "I didn't see a truck," he muttered. He looked up the street. "And I don't see one now.''

  "It was obvious you didn't see it, prattling on about taxes when it was coming right at us. And you don't see it now because it turned that corner.'' She gestured up the block.

  "I think you just pushed me into the puddle because you know your argument about taxes didn't hold water. And you're mad that I said I didn't think we should do this date again. You don't like being dumped. You were angry, so you pushed me."

  "I was winning our debate, so there was no need to push you to distract you from the fight I was winning. Let's face it, you were already wet. Right after the waiter spilled the water on you, you said, this evening wasn't going the way you planned and hoped you never had to go through another one like this, and I said, even as optimistic as I was by nature, I couldn't see the point of another date. Not dating again was my idea. I dumped you."

  "You really feel you have to rewrite history? Fine. Let's just take you home."

  It wasn't the decision to not go out again that bothered Paige, she assured herself. It was that Riley thought she'd actually pushed him in a fit of annoyance. Oh, he might annoy her, but she'd never push someone into a puddle for that. "Riley, I pushed you so you wouldn't be hit by a truck."

  "Rewrite history however you like, just don't try to get me to agree."

  "Ha! As if I believed you could agree with anything. You're belligerent and rude. You're the type of man only a mother can like. . ."

  "Pugsley likes you, too," Paige said as the dog stared morosely at Riley.

  She pushed thoughts of that awful date out of her mind and concentrated on what was at hand.

  "It's time to go," he said, casting an uncomfortable glance at the dog.

  "Are we really going to leave this dog here to be killed?"

  "What do you suggest?"

  "You could adopt him."

  "Why don't you adopt him?" he asked. "You said he liked you."

  "Cuddles is the jealous sort. He'd eat Pugsley alive." She didn't tell Riley that Cuddles had mellowed over the past few months. He even liked the FedEx guy now. She was sure the cat could get used to Pugsley. But Paige could see that Riley wanted the dog, even if he wouldn't admit it to himself.

  She was beginning to be able to read him and wasn't sure if the thought made her pleased or uncomfortable. Maybe she felt a little bit of both.

  "I don't want a dog."

  Paige noticed that he look at Pugsley again. Sad doggy eyes stared at him.

  "Maybe you could just take him home until we find someone else to adopt him?" Paige offered. "I could mention him in my piece. And wouldn't mention you, I swear. I'll just have people interested in adopting him contact me."

  "What if no one does? I'd be stuck with him."

  Pugsley flopped onto the floor of his solitary pen and dropped his big jowly head onto his paws, as if admitting defeat.

  "Never mind. You're right. What was I thinking? You couldn't handle a dog." She patted Pugsley's head and picked up her bag.

  "What do you mean by that?" Riley asked.

  "I mean that a dog requires work. You have to pay attention to him. Walk him. Feed him. You're so self-absorbed you'd forget about him after a day or two, and that would be it for poor Pugsley." She started toward the door.

  "I can handle a dog," he muttered. "That's just what the Major said, that I couldn't, but he was wrong and so are you."

  She turned and forced a small laugh. She wondered who the major was but didn't ask. It was just one more Riley mystery. Right now, she was concentrating on Pugsley. "No. I don't think so."

  "Paige, I can handle one small, old dog."

  "Prove it," Paige challenged him.

  "Fine. I will." He looked at the dog and said, "I'll be right back for you, Pugsley. Just let me fill out the paperwork." With that, Riley stormed into the office.

  When the kennel door slammed shut, Paige leaned over and patted the dog's head. He stared at the door.

  "So, what do you think of that, Pugsley?"

  The dog sat on his haunches looking rather shell-shocked. That's how Paige felt, shocked that Riley was adopting a dog.

  It didn't seem like a Riley thing to do, not that she'd know what a Riley thing to do really was.

  Oh, he was a bit of a curmudgeon, but was never mean-spirited. Opinionated but not obstinate. . .at least not very obstinate.

  Pugsley licked her hand.

  "So what should I do now, Pugsley? He likes to think he's tough, but I'm beginning to suspect it's just a facade. After all, he rescues pregnant women, he has a little brother, he visits older ladies in retirement homes and now he's giving a stay of execution to a death-sentenced dog."

  Pugsley gave a tired wroof.

  "You don't know either? Some help you are."

  The door to the kennel opened and Riley strode back into the room. A cacophony of barking started.

  "You did it?"

  "Yeah. But it's only temporary." He lifted the dog out of the pen. "We'll find someone to adopt you. Someone who's good with dogs," he said to Pugsley.

  Riley talked to dogs.

  It wasn't a goo-goo sort of voice that some people used when speaking to animals and babies, but it was a softer, huskier tone than he normally used.

  Paige liked the sound of it. It sent a little shiver climbing up her spine.

  And she liked the way he looked, cradling Pugsley in his arms. She knew he'd be insulted if she told him how cute he was. As a matter of fact, she didn't want to think Riley Calhoon was cute so instead she said, "Well, I've got to go."

  "You mean, you're going to abandon me with the dog?"

  "Riley, you said you could handle a dog." Again, she started toward the door.

  "And where are you hurrying off to?"

  "I have a hair appointment. Our regular evening anchor is off tonight, so I'm filling in."

  "But—"

  "See you later, Riley."

  5

  PAIGE SANK a little deeper into the chair at Snips and Snaps Beauty Salon and sighed. There was something about being utterly pampered for an hour that seemed to make tension melt away. Why, she wasn't even near finished and she could almost forget about stubborn newspaper men like Ri—

  Nope, she wasn't going to think his name. She was going to simply sit here and let Pearly Gates entertain her as the stylist fed small sections of her hair through a cap for highlights.

  Pampered and entertained, and not thinking about what's-his-name. That was her plan.

  "So tell me about Libby," Paige said, prompting Pearly, who truly didn't need much in the way of prompting.

  "Well," said the gray-haired woman, whose voice whispered a hint of the South. "They're expecting, you know. We've hired a new girl named Merry. She was here this morning. Maybe you'll meet her next time. Anyway, Libby and Josh took Meggie to Disney World. Between you and me, I think Josh was as excited about the trip as Meg was. I'll bet he comes home with a pai
r of ears."

  Paige chuckled. "I'd like a picture of that."

  "I'll see what I can do," Pearly promised. "I'm glad they got away. Everyone needs to now and again. And speaking of getting away, maybe you should think about a vacation, too. We were all worried about you when you were in the hospital. And I'm not happy to see you back at work after only a couple weeks off. You can downplay what happened, but it was serious."

  Without thinking, Paige ran a finger over her incision. Even covered with a layer of cloth, it was still tender.

  "But it wasn't serious. It could have been, but it wasn't. And I was ready to come back the next week, but Steph wouldn't hear of it. The last thing I need now is another vacation. What I need is to work."

  "Did I ever tell you about my Uncle Bucky?" Pearly asked.

  Paige couldn't help but smile. She wasn't sure how many of Pearly's relatives were real and how many were fictional characters, but it didn't matter, they were always interesting. "No, I don't think you did."

  "Oh, don't get her started," Josie, the redheaded, gum-chewing, bubble-blowing manicurist said as she walked out of the back room. "Wow, it's getting cold out there. What happened to Indian summer?"

  Josie hung up her coat and continued, "Hey, Paige. You're looking good. But I think that surgery affected your brain. You know better than getting Pearly started on one of her stories. I could turn on the radio for you, nice and loud, if you like. That will drown her out."

  "Now, you just hush, Josie. If I can make the girl's life a little easier by sharing some of my wisdom, then I will. You see, my Uncle Buck—"

  The chime on the door jingled. Everyone turned to see Riley and Pugsley walk in.

  "What are you doing here?" Paige asked. So much for peace and pampering.

  She resisted the urge to pat the little plastic cap on her head with the tufts of hair poking out of it every which way. She must look horrible. She refused to pat her head.

  Why on earth did she care how she looked for Riley Calhoon?

  She didn't.

  "Now, Paige, that was not a very inviting greeting, and a woman should always be inviting to a man who looks that good. Want to introduce us?" Pearly asked.

  "And, while you're at it, introduce us to his friend. How are you doing, sweetheart?" Josie asked the dog, whose stubby little tail wagged.

  "I think he likes me," Josie said, scooping the dog out of Riley's arms and sitting down in her chair with Pugsley cushioned on her lap.

  "The dog is Pugsley. And the other dog, I mean person, with him doesn't need to be introduced. He's just the burr on the backside of my life, and that's all you need to know."

  "I'm Riley, and it's a pleasure to meet such lovely ladies," Paige's personal burr said, flashing Pearly and Josie a toothy smile. He was acting as if being suave and gallant were the mainstay of his existence, instead of being annoying and toadish. "I'm here following a story."

  "Oh, sweetums, I could tell you a story or two," Pearly said.

  "Tell him a story?" Josie said, popping a large, pink bubble for emphasis. The dog jumped at the sound, and Josie patted his head soothingly. "Why I'd help the boy create a story that would shock and amaze everyone."

  Paige could see that Pearly and Josie were completely taken in by Riley's little cute-guy charade. Oh, he might be cute, if you liked his sort of looks—which she didn't—but he was devious.

  Riley might have fooled Pearly and Josie, but she wasn't fooled at all.

  "So, what's your story on, handsome?" Josie asked him.

  "I write a commentary piece in the paper, and I thought I'd base a whole series on the incurably optimistic."

  "That, ladies," Paige said through clenched teeth, "was supposed to be a shot at me, but it missed the mark, because I'm not optimistic at all about our chances of having Riley leave anytime soon."

  "You're right," he said, settling into the chair across from Josie and Pugsley. "I heard that this was the best place in town for haircuts, and here I am, if you can squeeze me in. A column and a great cut. Who could ask for more?"

  "Well, you'll have to wait until I'm done with Paige, but then I'd be happy to squeeze you," Pearly said, reaching for the bottle of developer.

  Paige felt the cold gush of liquid as Pearly worked it into the exposed strands.

  "I think there are some health regulations about bringing a dog in here," Paige said.

  "Not that I've heard of," Josie said. "He's such a pretty boy."

  "Paige here is going to be the news anchor person tonight. That's why she came in," Pearly said. "She wants to look her best for her first time in the big chair. She'll be a while yet."

  "You don't worry about that," Josie said. "I'll help you pass the time while you're waiting. I'd like to buff and polish you."

  "Pardon?" Riley asked, sounding a little nervous.

  Paige couldn't help smirking—Riley was out of his league with these two—but she didn't say anything. She simply sank back into the chair to watch the show.

  "I'm Josie. I'm the manicurist." She snapped a huge bubble.

  "Oh. Buff and polish my nails?" There was more than a hint of relief in Riley's voice.

  "Yeah, but I'd be happy to buff and—"

  "Josie," Pearly scolded. "You know Libby would have a conniption hearing you talk like that to a new customer." To Riley, she added, "I'm Pearly, by the way. Pearly Gates."

  "Ma'am," Riley said with a nod.

  "Oh, you do know how to wound a woman's heart, don't you. Ma'am? Why, I never. If you weren't Paige's friend—"

  "He's not my friend," Paige felt compelled to assure them "He's the burr on my—"

  "On your backside. . . at least that's what you say," Pearly finished for her. "But I don't believe it. A good-looking man like that?"

  "Why, thank you," Riley said.

  "Listen, Calhoon, I'm not sure what you're trying to prove, but how about you do it elsewhere?" Paige said.

  "I don't think so." He swiveled in his chair so he was facing her. "And let me tell you why. Someone was telling me just the other day that women multitask, that they are genetically programmed to do many different things at once. But men? Well, we focus on one thing to the exclusion of all else. And right now, I'm focused on you, Paige. You were flattered last time that happened. Are you feeling flattered now?"

  "Riley, do you really want to know what I'm feeling? I'm—"

  Pearly interrupted. "Now, where was I before your admirer came in, Paige?"

  "He's not my anything," Paige said at the same time Riley said, "I don't admire Paige at all."

  Point for Riley. That was a direct hit. She knew, of course, that he didn't think much of her or her reporting, but to hear him verbalize it so succinctly hurt.

  "Well, thanks, Calhoon," she said, trying to assume a nonchalant attitude. "You do know how to cut to the very heart of the matter, don't you? I might not want to date you, and I might think you overemphasize the bleak and morose side of the news, but I've never said I didn't admire your way with words."

  "You read my column?" he asked.

  "On occasion. And though I don't always agree, you are well-spoken and I can admire that."

  "I didn't mean I don't admire your work. I mean, for people that want to be fed sweetness and happily-ever-afters, you're a perfect reporter."

  "Wow, Calhoon. I was right, you do have quite a way with words. Why, you can word a description in such a way that it's hard to tell if it was a compliment or another gibe. Of course, I know you well enough to realize it wasn't a compliment. But I bet Pearly and Josie weren't sure."

  "I—" he started.

  Paige interrupted, snapping, "Oh, be quiet. Pearly, you were telling me about your uncle?"

  Pearly climbed into the chair next to Paige and began. "Uncle Bucky. That's right. Well, he got out of jail and Aunt Fred said he couldn't come home—"

  "Aunt Fred?" Paige interrupted.

  "Fredricka Mae. With a name like Fredricka Mae you can understand why she preferred bein
g called Fred. Anyway, she said Uncle Bucky could take his moonshining butt someplace else because he wasn't coming home when his time in the hoosegow—"

  "Hoosegow?" Paige asked.

  "Jail. And if you keep interrupting, I'll never get this story told." Pearly's Southern accent became more pronounced by the second.

  "Don't listen to her—she'll never finish even without interruptions," Josie said. "Pearly's long-winded."

  "Why, Josie, have you been sniffing your nail polish remover again? Because you and I know I'm the soul of brevity," Pearly said. As if to prove it, she continued, "Well, Uncle Bucky ended up living with us for two weeks, but he said all the kids gave him a headache. So he moved back in with Aunt Fred and laid off the moonshine."

  "Oh." Paige wasn't sure what to make of Pearly's story, and hesitated to ask, because she wasn't sure an explanation would clear it up.

  Obviously Josie wasn't afraid. She said, "What the hell does that have to do with anything, Pearly Mae Gates? And what's with all the relatives with the middle name Mae?"

  "Mae is a perfectly good middle name. I was named after Aunt Fred and am pleased as punch to carry that legacy. And, the story has to do with when I was telling Paige here she needed to take a vacation. You see, Uncle Bucky got a six-month vacation in the hoosegow because of his moonshining, and then another two weeks with us before he could go home. And do you know why?"

  "Why?" Paige asked, totally confused by Pearly's story. She'd been coming to Snips and Snaps long enough to realize that reaction wasn't unusual. Pearly's stories tended to have oblique morals attached to them.

  "Well, Uncle Bucky said he drank because Aunt Fred wasn't putting out. But once he stopped with the moonshine and moved home, she was inclined again, and they lived happily ever after."

  "Pearly, I still don't think I get it," Paige said.

  Pearly sighed a put-upon sigh. "Sex, girl. If you can't get away for a vacation, then sex is the next best thing."

  "Actually, Pearly," Josie said, "sex is the first best thing, and a vacation is just a sad replacement for old maids like you and me." She popped a huge pink bubble for emphasis.