Caught in the Middle by Regina Jennings Page B

moment.”
    “Then help me sweep this up. We have a broom, don’t we?”
    Harold’s eyes widened. “Of course not. You pay to have the office cleaned.”
    “Stars and bars!” Anne thrust the crying child into Nick’s hands, almost releasing him too soon. “You surely have a clothes brush for your coat. Bring me that and a newspaper. We can tidy this up.”
    “And then who’ll tidy me?” Nick walked to his desk with outstretched arms, keeping the slobbering child well away from his satin vest. He sat the baby in the middle of his desk and bent to retrieve his clothes brush from the bottom drawer. “Wonderful! Now he’s smearing my figures.” The tears and spittle had mixed with the dirt, creating a thin mud that must have been delightful to spread over columns of numbers. At least the brat was acting like it.
    Giving up on his clothing, Nick cradled the baby in the crook of his arm, igniting new screams when he was removed from his muddy masterpiece. What a disaster. She had no idea how much time he’d spent on that spreadsheet—a lot less than she’d spent saving his life. Maybe he owed her no further. Put a bullet in his head before ransacking his office.
    “Thanks.” Anne took the brush without looking at him. She had stuffed the fern back into its pot with the majority of the soil. Besides sitting cockeyed, it looked like it would survive.
    Harold dropped the newspaper next to her as she knelt on the ground. “I just saw Mrs. Stanford out the window. She’s turning the corner off Oak Street.”
    Heaven help him. Nick picked up the fern, barely able to palm the heavy pot with one hand. “Delay her. Tell her I’m busy.”
    Harold wagged his head. “And let her gnaw on me? No thanks.”
    When had Mrs. Stanford got her bluff in on Harold? Nickset the potted plant on the narrow stand and surveyed Mrs. Tillerton’s progress. Not bad. Maybe Ophelia wouldn’t notice the rug, although the baby in his arms would make for an interesting conversation. Nick turned toward the desk, and as he did, the little boy grabbed a handful of fern again.
    “Watch out!” he said.
    This time it didn’t fall on the rug. It fell on Anne, smashing the ceramic pot into shards.
    With a hand on her head, she turned horrified eyes on him.
    “Why did you hit me?” she asked. And then fainted dead away.
    For crying aloud. “Take the kid.” Nick thrust the child into Harold’s arms and rolled her over, the dirt sticking to her wet coat. He patted her cheek urgently. “Come on. Be a dear and wake up. We have to get you out of here.”
    “Before what?” a chilling voice intoned. “Before your employer catches you in a prickly situation?”

    Anne tasted dirt. She slid her jaw from side to side, testing the pain and the grit between her teeth. She turned her head and knew immediately when she’d rolled onto a tender spot. Why had Jay hit her this time? She tried to remember what had precipitated the encounter, but her memories were too foggy. Nothing came to mind.
    She forced her eyes open, expecting the next blow, but instead she saw three concerned faces bending over her.
    Pushing off the ground, she raised enough to send sharp pulses through her skull and into her eyes.
    “Don’t get up.” Nicholas Lovelace pressed against her shoulder, preventing her from rising any higher.
    “You have yet to explain to me this person’s identity,” the woman was saying.
    “I barely know myself,” he answered.
    “Yet you are caring for her child? If I weren’t so generous, I might suspect a closer relationship than you’re acknowledging.”
    Between the two of them? If her head didn’t hurt so, Anne would’ve snorted. She covered her eyes, blocking out the light. She had to get her wits about her. Remaining supine in a man’s office wasn’t an option. What had happened?
    Determined to fight through the throbbing, she managed to sit up, dirt tumbling into her eyes, her hair falling until it brushed her shoulders. The rug