Tender Deception by Heather Graham Page A

brother, Edward, would also cheerfully help her out, but he was an hour away in St. Petersburg. Sighing, she decided she would have to call Harry Blackwell’s wife, Cathy. But that meant that Vickie would have to take Mark over there and leave him for the night.
    “A problem?”
    Brant was standing in the hallway, hands on hips, astute blue eyes gazing at her. She looked for a hint of mockery in his features, but there was none.
    “Yes, a real problem,” she answered him idly, thinking even as she spoke. “My baby-sitter has had an accident.” She picked the receiver up while mentally conjuring a picture of the Blackwells’ number. “Excuse me,” she told Brant, remembering he stood before her, “I have to do something rather quickly.”
    Brant wedged the phone firmly from her fingers. Startled by his action, and annoyed by the electricity of his touch, Vickie stared at him with heated dismay. “Brant—”
    “You don’t have a problem,” he informed her firmly. “I’ll watch Mark.”
    “You!” Vickie gasped.
    “I am a responsible adult,” he reminded her dryly, amused by the amazement and consternation of her voice.
    “But—but, you can’t!”
    “Why not?”
    “Because”—Vickie fumbled for words, watching dazedly as he replaced the phone—“you have to help Smoky in the shop. And I couldn’t impose on you.”
    “I’ll take Mark in with me for an hour or so and give him some little task,” Brant said, dismissing that protest easily. His hand moved to her elbow and he led her confidently back to the living room. “And it’s no imposition. I like kids.”
    “Listen, Brant, it’s nice of you to offer—”
    “I’m not offering, I’m doing. Sit down and drink your coffee.”
    Still dazed, Vickie plopped back onto the divan as he nudged her. A moment later he had stuck her coffee cup into her hands. “Relax!” he ordered her. “I know what I’m doing. Mark will be perfectly safe with me.”
    “He has to get to bed,” Vickie said feebly.
    “He will.”
    “But—” She made one last attempt at refusal, but she was quickly overridden by Brant’s stern “No buts. We’re lucky this happened now, while Godspell is still running. If we were into the run of Othello, I couldn’t have helped. Now, get that nail out of your mouth before you sever your finger. It’s settled.”
    “All right,” Vickie agreed reluctantly. She drained her coffee cup, annoyed when the liquid swished dangerously as her fingers trembled. “I have to take a shower. You can start watching Mark now.”
    Leaving Brant and her son in the living room, Vickie found herself stomping into the bedroom to collect her things, then stomping into the bathroom and into a cooling shower. She was relieved, but she was also damning Brant to a fiery hell.
    What had happened today? She had determined to politely stay as far away from him as possible, but he had rescued her, they had fought, come to a truce, and now he was rescuing her again. He was practically ensconced in her house, and he had gotten himself there with utmost propriety and consideration.
    She spoke little as they drove to the theater, a fact that Brant seemed not to notice. Mark was chattering on in his sometimes comprehensible speech.
    Fleeing to her dressing room as soon as they reached the stage door, Vickie left explanations for her son’s presence up to Brant. He had been so sure everything would be all right, let him handle their mutual employer.
    “Spending a lot of time with Mr. Wicker, huh?” Terry quizzed Vickie with lazy, laconic eyes as she slid onto her stool.
    “Not really,” Vickie replied curtly reaching for her Pan-Cake makeup. Agitated as she was, she didn’t feel like dealing with Terry’s jibes.
    “Oh?” Terry murmured innocently. “Then there’s nothing between you?”
    “Nothing,” Vickie agreed, trying to ignore her.
    “Good.” Terry swiveled in her chair and watched Vickie’s eyes in the bright lights of the mirror.