Expecting at Christmas

“Loretta!” he bellowed.

Loretta winced. She’d known he was going to yell at her. She didn’t have to like it.

“I’m coming!” She sped up her waddle to a near run, hurrying to the garage. She couldn’t remember seeing a man truly glower before, all deep lines and grooves that turned his face into a mask of fury. Not until now.

“Would you care to tell me what happened to my car? My classic car?” he added tightly.

“I don’t want you to worry about a thing, Mr. Jones. My brother has promised he’ll fix—”

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d practically totaled my car?”

“Now if you’ll just be calm, Mr. Jones. Your electrolytes are going to get all in a flurry—”

“Miss Santana!”

She swallowed hard. “Yes, sir.”

“I want to know how you managed to do that much damage moving my car less than a hundred feet from the front of the house where I parked it into the garage.”

“I couldn’t find the light switch.”

He looked at her blankly. “What light switch?”

“For the headlights, of course. I’ve never driven a Mercedes before. And then when I tried to drive it into the garage—per Rodgers’s very specific instructions—my foot got caught in the hem of my nightgown. I was trying to unhook that when I kind of stepped on the gas pedal with my other foot. That’s when the potted palm over there practically leaped out in front of your car.”

Griffin closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. He was not going to lose his temper. Nor was he going to picture Loretta running around outside in the middle of the night in a nightgown.

“You really don’t have to worry about a thing,” she assured him. “Roberto is going to come pick up your car any minute now.”

“Roberto?”

“My brother. He does wonderful car repairs. Your Mercedes will be right as rain in no time.”

“I think I’d rather take it to the dealership that knows how to handle these classic cars. Thanks, anyway.”

“Oh, but Roberto will only charge you half as much as one of those fancy-shmancy dealerships would.”

“I’ve got insurance.”

“All the more reason why you should let Roberto do the work. A dealership would overcharge you, and your insurance rates would go up. You’d end up paying two or three times as much as you would if you had just let Roberto take care of things in the first place.”

Griffin knew there was a hole in her logic somewhere. He just couldn’t put his finger on it at the moment. The image of her dancing around his driveway in a see-through negligee was like a looping videotape in his brain that he couldn’t switch off.

“Besides, Roberto is family,” she said with the same finality that an archeologist would use to announce he’d found the key to the Dead Sea Scrolls.

He glanced at the crumpled fender and broken headlight. “When is your brother coming?”

“Any minute now. He had to fix his tow truck first.”

Somehow that did not bode well for the future. But Griffin didn’t have the time or energy to stand around arguing with his pregnant butler about who was going to repair his convertible—the only car he owned at the moment. “Look, I’ve got to get to the office. I’ll call a cab—”

“Don’t be silly. You can use my car. I’m not going anywhere today.”

He followed her gaze toward the far end of the four-car garage. A battered compact sat just beyond the last doorway. From what he could see, the vehicle had been cobbled together out of junkyard parts, each fender a different color and a trunk lid that was tied closed with a rope. He never should have sold his Rolls....

“Does it run?” he asked.

“Oh, sure. Like a top. Roberto keeps it going for me.” She produced a key from her pocket just as a tow truck came roaring up the driveway, smoke belching from the tailpipe. The driver backed it around, end first toward the damaged vehicle.

Griffin coughed at the fumes. “Maybe we ought to switch to plan B.”

“He’ll do a wonderful job. You’ll see.”

Hurrying over to the truck, Loretta gave her brother a hug when he climbed out.

“Hey, sis, is that the guy you’re living with?” Roberto asked, eyeing Griffin with the protective instincts of a big brother.

“I’m not living with him, not like you mean,” she protested.

“Yeah, well Mama’s not too thrilled about you moving in with some stranger. You oughta be home where she can keep an eye on you, Lori.”

“There’s no room. Not with Patrice living there. Besides, I need the money.”

“All the same, it just don’t look right, you shacking up with some guy nobody knows.”

“I’m not shacking up with him. I’m his butler. Besides, he’s got so many girlfriends, he wouldn’t give me the time of day, even if I were interested. Which I’m not.” No way could Loretta compete with women like that Miss Redhead person. Not that she’d want to. And given her advanced pregnancy, she didn’t imagine any man, most certainly not a well-known millionaire playboy, would give her a second thought Even if she’d want him to. Which she didn’t.

“Any guy would be lucky to have you, sis. Everybody in the family says so.” Roberto waved to Griffin and called to him. “I’ll have your wheels hooked up and outta here in a minute.”

“Fne,” Griffin said. “Just be careful. I’d just as soon you didn’t do any more damage than has already been done.”

“No problema. Since you’re a friend of Lori’s, I’ll even give you a tune-up. No charge.” With another wave, he scooted under the Mercedes to hook up the towing cable, leaving only his overall-clad legs and his work boots sticking out.

Griffin came closer. “Look, I still think it’d be smart to call a dealership. I wouldn’t want anything—”

“You worry too much, Mr. Jones. Roberto’s practically a genius when it comes to cars.”

Her employer didn’t look convinced.

Roberto scooted back out from under the Mercedes and hopped to his feet. “Piece of cake,” he said with a cocky grin.

He flipped the lever up on the hydraulic lift and stood back to watch. Slowly the rear end of the car rose and edged toward the truck. It was a beautiful convertible, all shining silver-blue with lots of chrome, colors that matched the owner’s strikingly attractive eyes. Loretta could hardly believe she’d actually had a chance to drive the car, albeit right into a potted palm.

Griffin’s stress level grew more palpable with each inch the car rose above the driveway. He really ought to increase his intake of vitamin E, Loretta concluded. Or maybe it was vitamin B he needed. She’d have to be sure he had plenty of both. Clearly, he was suffering from too much tension in his life.

At the instant that thought came to her, something went wrong with the hydraulic lift. With a pop, oil squirted out, spraying all over the Mercedes and pooling on the concrete driveway. The car shook precariously for a moment, then dropped with a crash, the back colliding with the industrial-strength bumper of the tow truck.

Metal squealed. The Mercedes’s bumper twisted, coming lose from its mooring and jutting up at an odd angle.