That Night We Made Baby

“Simon Curtis,” he murmured. “We met at a gathering at Judge Wagner’s place last July fourth?”

She remembered fireworks and music and a lot of people. Nick knew so many people. He drew them like a magnet, just the way he had drawn her at first. “Oh, of course,” she said, being polite and not because she remembered him. “How are you?”

“Just checking in on an associate. How are you?”

“Fine.” She lied.

“And your painting, how is that going?”

“Fine, thank you,” she said, thankful to get her mind on better things. “I might be having a show at the Berry Gallery.”

“Oh, my, that’s very impressive. I was there for a show last year, and, my dear, it’s a wonderful place to display your work.”

“Oh, I know. It’s not set yet, but they’re very interested.”

“Your husband must be very proud of you.” He smiled at her. “I could tell when you were together at the party that you two were special together. I’m just so pleased that it’s all working out so nicely.”

His words were like a blow to her.

She stared at the flash of floor numbers as the elevator descended. “We’re divorcing,” she said bluntly, just to get out the words she’d said before, words that now sounded incredibly horrible in the confines of the elevator.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I just thought…I really am very sorry.”

“You couldn’t have known,” she murmured.

The elevator stopped at the second floor and Mr. Curtis hesitated as the doors opened. His clear blue eyes looked sad. “My dear, it was lovely seeing you again. I do hope that you have great success with your art, and that you find what you’re looking for.”

Her fingers crushed the envelope that held her divorce papers. “Thank you,” she said, not at all sure what she was looking for anymore.

He bowed, an old-fashioned gesture, then turned and stepped out. The doors closed and Sam was alone, very alone. She hadn’t cried much since leaving Nick, having known that she’d made a mistake and had to go on with her life alone, like always. But right then her eyes burned and she swiped a hand over her face.

When the elevator opened to the parking area, she headed for her rental car. As she neared the small blue vehicle, she realized that she was shaking.

She got into the car, tossed the envelope and her purse onto the passenger seat, then closed the door. Inserting the key in the ignition, she started the motor, then as easily as it started, it died. She tried again, but this time it coughed, clicked and wouldn’t even turn over. Three more tries only met with a cranking sound. And then nothing.

The curse she uttered rattled in the confines of the car. If she had never left Jensen Pass, if she had never agreed to come to Los Angeles to talk to the gallery owner, if Mrs. Douglas hadn’t called with the message…. If…if…if…

She jumped when someone rapped sharply on the window. She turned and acknowledged how screwy the day had become when she found herself looking out at Nick.

Nick had stayed in Danforth’s office long enough to get a drink of cold water, sign the myriad of papers and tell Danforth that he was going home to go to bed. But when he stepped out of the elevator into the parking garage, he heard the cranking of an engine and stopped by the little blue car to lend a hand. He was surprised to see the driver was Sam.

He motioned for her to roll down the window. “I thought you’d be gone by now.”

“So did I,” she muttered as she sat back and took one swipe at the steering wheel with the flat of her hand. “The car won’t start. Stupid machine.”

This was so familiar to him, it was like a warm wave of the past rolling over him, a seductive wave that beckoned to him. Sam in a car that she’d disabled by some means, a perfectly good car until she got in behind the wheel and had her way with it. “Necessary evils?”

Her eyes flashed and she nodded. “I knew I should have just used taxis.” She bit her lip. “I thought renting a car would be a good idea. It’s dead. It won’t start at all.”

“This might seem like a dumb question, but do you have gas?”

“I just filled it,” she said.

“You’ve got the gear shift in Park?”

She glanced between the seats, then back at him. “It’s right on the ‘P’, as in Park.”

He crouched down by the door, bringing himself to eye level with her as he gripped the window frame with both of his hands to keep his balance. “And the key…?”

“Yes, yes, I have the right key,” she muttered.

“Just checking,” he said, not about to remind her of the time she’d sat in his Jeep for a good five minutes trying to figure out why the key wouldn’t fit in the ignition. He’d finally rescued her by pointing out that the house key wasn’t meant to be used for the car. Despite feeling like death warmed over, he could sense a smile forming and tried to hide it. “Sorry, I had to ask.”

“It’s the car key, not the hotel key. Those plastics cards don’t even begin to fit.”

Her tension was easing, and there was the echo of a smile at her full lips. God, he hoped against hope that her smile wouldn’t find its full expression. He remembered its effect on him from the past, and he didn’t need that now.

“Good point,” he said softly.

“Besides, all your keys looked alike, and any car you had was so damned complicated.” The suggestion of the smile was gone. “I’m just not mechanical.”

He’d forgotten how it felt to spar with Sam and tease her. Even his persistent headache didn’t kill the pleasure. “Not being mechanical doesn’t explain hitting curbs and blowing out tires,” he said.

“I did that one time. That’s it.”

“No arrests for reckless driving lately?”

Sam stared at Nick, the past washing over her. She hated this car, and hated being stuck here, hated the fact that she was so damned aware of Nick’s hands gripping the door frame. Strong hands. Hands that had touched her so softly. She exhaled in a rush and muttered, “I wasn’t actually arrested, and you know it.”

“I made sure you weren’t.”

“The damned car just won’t start.” She noticed the paleness that tinged his complexion and the way his hair clung to his temples. “Are you sick?”

“I’ve felt better.”

“Then why don’t you just go home? You don’t look well, and I need to get ahold of the car rental company.”

“I’ve just got a touch of the flu. Nothing big.”

“Well, you look terrible,” she said, not about to mention that even sick, the man was striking. Instead, she turned from him, reached for her purse and took out the car rental packet. “There has to be a pay phone around here,” she said.

She sensed him shift and when she looked back at him, he was holding out a tiny cell phone to her. “Be my guest.” When she hesitated, he shrugged. “No germs, I promise.”

She took the phone and punched in the number. When she got in touch with the rental company, they promised to send out a replacement car, but they had a two-hour wait on any service right then. She gave them the address, told them to pick up the car, keep the replacement car and she’d take a taxi. She closed the phone and turned back to Nick. Thankfully, he was standing straight now and back a few feet from the car door.

“Cabs in L.A. are few and far between, and this time of day…” He shook his head slightly. “That’s not going to be easy.”

She picked up her purse, left the keys in the ignition and got out. “I’ve found a taxi in this city before,” she muttered as she slammed the door shut.