The Baby beneath the Mistletoe. Marie FerrarellaЧитать онлайн книгу.
city. Bedford was on record as a planned community—a place where everything was a celebration of shapes and colors, that strove also for balance and harmony within the community. Was he determined to ruin that just for the sake of argument?
The Southwoed High complex was going to be the first building block to forge her reputation and as such was of tantamount importance to her. This was her first solo baby, and she meant to do right by it. And have it do right by her.
Maybe that made her a tad overprotective of the design. But she’d made absolutely certain she’d been right in her calculations—that there were no faults, no surprises—and she was going to stick to her guns come hell or high water.
Or a man named Tony Marino.
“Then, why don’t we just build a little red schoolhouse and be done with it?” she challenged.
“Don’t get sarcastic with me.”
Far from being intimidated, Mikky fisted her hands on her hips, anger bubbling inside of her at a breathtaking speed. Its very advent took her by surprise. While no one had ever accused her of being easygoing, she’d never been one to overheat quickly, either. But there was something about Marino that lit her fuse. “Then don’t get belligerent with me. I’m just trying to do a job, same as you.”
The hell she was. There was nothing the same about them, and there never would be. Tony felt as if the trailer had somehow grown even more cramped than it already was. “No, what you are trying to do is challenge everything I say.”
He made it sound as if Mikky enjoyed beating her head against his stone wall. Maybe that was Marino’s idea of a good time, but it certainly wasn’t hers. “When you’re wrong—”
He slapped the blueprint down on his desk, underlining his point. “There, you just did it again.”
Mikky opened her mouth, then clamped it shut again. This wasn’t getting them anywhere. This was going to escalate until they were both shouting at each other, and she didn’t want to wind up saying things she couldn’t take back.
She held up her hands, not in surrender but in a gesture calculated to make him back off. “Okay, why don’t we go back to our corners and wait for the bell to sound on a new round?”
Tony didn’t have patience with analogies. On the outskirts of his mind it occurred to him that he didn’t have much patience with anything lately. She just seemed to bring it out more radically.
“Meaning?”
Trying not to grit her teeth together, Mikky spelled it out for him. “Meaning, why don’t you—why don’t we,” she amended, knowing that to leave the suggestion in the singular was asking for trouble, “take the weekend to cool off and start again—fresh—Monday morning?” She figured that was only fair. Given the hour, he couldn’t take exception with that. “I’ll think about what you said and you—” picking up the blueprint from his desk, Mikky took out her pen and drew a few lines beneath the offending mezzanine on the upper right-hand corner “—think about this.”
What she had drawn in, in her estimation, should do the trick to offset the stress problem he had pointed out to her. Though she hated to admit it, it had been an oversight on her part. An oversight that any normal construction manager would have realized and remedied easily, without any dramatic denouncements and billows of fire coming out of his nostrils every time he spoke to her.
“There.” She thrust the paper back at him, then went to the door. “I’ll see you Monday. And don’t worry, nice though it would be to meet the saner members of your family, I have no intention of taking Angelo up on his invitation for Sunday dinner at your aunt’s house.” Mikky pulled open the door, more than ready to leave all this behind her for the space of two days. “I have trouble swallowing when daggers are being flung at me.”
The door closed behind her with a resounding slam before Tony had a chance to say anything.
He stared at the blueprint. Muttering a curse that was aimed at him rather than her, he crumpled the paper between his hands and tossed it aside. She was right, damn her. About more than one thing. Which annoyed him even more.
But annoyed or not, it didn’t negate the fact that he was acting like a jerk, he thought reproachfully. He just couldn’t help himself. He was trying to get on with his life, he really was, but he kept tripping over his own feet while looking for the right path.
There didn’t seem to be one.
He knew they meant well—Angelo, Shad and the others. Maybe even that aggravating woman who had just sauntered out of here swinging those sleek, tight hips of hers meant well, though he doubted it. But all the good intentions in the world weren’t working.
Moving around to the other side of his desk, he yanked open the bottom drawer and took out the half-pint of whisky he’d purchased. He’d brought it with him on the first day, leaving it in the drawer for when he needed it. Hoping he wouldn’t. But he felt as if he’d reached the end of the line right now. Coming here had been his last hope, and things were just not coming together. Instead, they felt as if they were unraveling. He was losing his temper more frequently, ready to fly off the handle over things he should have been able to take in stride. His life was spinning out of control, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. But at least he could anesthetize himself to it for a while.
Taking the bottle out, he held it in his hand, staring at the amber liquid. He had to get away, go off somewhere by himself and work this out. He’d been wrong to come here, wrong to put everyone through this with him.
Unscrewing the cap, he brought the top to his lips. It wasn’t their problem, it was—
The slight rap on the door made him freeze. Thinking maybe he’d imagined it, Tony listened closely. He heard it again. Though it was completely different from her earlier knock, he immediately thought of Mikky. The woman had probably decided to have another go at him despite all her talk about their taking a breather. Obviously the scent of blood drew her in, just like a scavenger.
Capping the bottle, he put the untouched half-pint back in the drawer and closed it. He knew he should apologize to Mikky for the way he lost his temper, but he wasn’t feeling very apologetic as he crossed to the door.
With a yank, Tony pulled it open. “Look, if you want to continue this fight, then—”
His words had no audience. Mikky wasn’t standing on his doorstep. No one was. Leaning out, he looked around, but he didn’t see anyone. Darkness blanketed everything.
And then a gurgling sound caught his ear. A gurgling sound coming from just about his shoe level. Puzzled, he looked down.
It was then that he saw the baby.
Chapter Two
Why do you let him get to you like that? Annoyed with herself, Mikky locked the door of the small trailer that housed her drawing board and all the miscellaneous paraphernalia she’d brought with her. Absently she slipped the key ring onto her finger and then, pulling her jacket closer, she strode toward where she’d left her car parked.
In the distance she saw the lone security guard looking her way. She waved. The German shepherd he kept with him barked once, acknowledging her movement in something less than friendly tones. Mikky dropped her hand.
It wasn’t as if she wasn’t versed in verbal combat. She was and she was damn good at it. Hadn’t she grown up with four brothers and three sisters? Didn’t she know how to hold her own, even when it was against more than one of them at a time? And wasn’t she the one who always struck a blow for common sense and common ground?
Because it was cold, even for a Southern California December, she shoved her hands into her pockets as she hurried along. All right, maybe not every time, she amended, but enough times to really count.
So why did she feel as if a match was being struck to her every time she found herself talking to that—to that pompous, foul-tempered—
Mikky