Sam laughed. “Very funny.”
“I’m serious. I’ll mail your goggles.”
There was a pause. “Jane’s going to be royally ticked.”
“That’ll make two of us.”
“She told you?”
“Yeah.”
Sam cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t know what she’d done until we got here.” In the silence that followed, Noah sensed Sam was working to keep from speaking disparagingly about his best friend’s girl. “So—what’s this favor you’re doing for my sister?”
“No big deal.” Angry and restless, he shoved a hand through his hair. “I’m just going to be her husband.”
CHAPTER THREE
SALLY lugged the heavy bag up the steps, trying to ignore the telephone conversation going on in the foyer. It wasn’t hard. The doctor had lowered his voice, so she couldn’t hear what was being said no matter how hard she strained—not that she was straining.
She fought off a wish that the plane had mechanical problems and her phony husband wouldn’t be able to leave right away. Maybe with a little reprieve she’d have time to come up with some plausible reason for him to be going out of town. A medical conference did seem like a workable idea.
“What a mess,” she muttered as she lugged the bag one step at a time. It thudded into the riser of each on-coming step as she labored, dragging and bouncing it to each, new level. Out of nowhere, a hand swept in to relieve her of the burden. Luckily she had a firm grip on the worn banister or she’d have tumbled backward in surprise.
“Hi,” Noah said, his expression less than delighted.
“I’ve got this one,” she said. “If you could just get the trunk before you go.”
“I’m not going.” His nostrils flared as he ground out the statement. “Not today.”
She stared, confused. “Did—did something go wrong with the airplane?”
He shook his head. “I just decided…” He shrugged. “Sam did me a favor a couple of months ago. I figured I could help out his sister for a day or two. Pay him back.” He shifted the bag to his other side and held out a hand. “Better give me that ring.”
She felt cotton-headed. “Ring?”
One corner of his mouth quirked upward, but there was no humor in his eyes. “With this ring, I thee wed?”
“Oh…” She found herself wholly focused on that cynical half smile as she listened to him repeat a line of the wedding vows. An unruly warmth sang through her body, and she wondered at her bizarre reaction. She’d never been through a wedding, though she’d been engaged. To a doctor. For a short time. But as pregnant as she was, standing beside this stranger, his lips twisted sardonically as he gruffly spoke a handful of sacred words, her heart did an odd series of flip-flops.
She shook herself. Sally Johnson get a grip. The man is being sarcastic. Besides, you look like a double-decker bus with a head! Belatedly, and fearful the burning in her cheeks meant she was blushing, she fished her daddy’s wedding ring from her pocket and handed it to him. “I—I don’t know how to thank you, Dr. Garrett.”
He lay the bag down, slid the ring onto his left hand, then scowled her way. “First, the name’s Barrett, not Garrett, and second, call me Noah.”
“Shouldn’t I—probably call you sweetheart or honey—like we did in the parlor?”
He picked up the luggage. “Call me whatever your idea of ‘deliriously happy’ is. Only quit calling me Dr. Garrett.”
“What are you going to call me?”
He’d taken a step up, but with her question he turned. That magnetic, twisted grin reappeared. “What about sugarplum? That has a deliriously happy ring to it.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Too gooey.”
He chuckled, the sound rich and deep. He was laughing at her, but for some reason it didn’t matter to her raging hormones. Another rush of heat washed over her. “You look like a sugarplum to me,” he said.
She frowned at his taunting. “Round and purple?”
He grinned, this time it wasn’t crooked or skewed, but with his whole mouth, if not his eyes. Even as halfhearted as the pleasant expression was, the effect made her catch her breath. “Not purple,” he said, then turned away. “More like fuchsia.”
She didn’t know why that last remark struck her as funny. Clearly he was taunting her. Still, she found herself fighting a smile. “I’d rather you call me honey or sweetheart.”
“Check—sugarplum.”
She experienced a prick of annoyance at his reckless disobedience and frowned at him as he climbed the steps. For some crazy reason, she couldn’t drag her gaze away. She wondered why. It certainly wasn’t the way his trousers fit across his backside, or the sly impression against khaki of taut muscle, shifting and bunching in his thighs and calves, as he moved.
Irritated with herself, she made a face. “Don’t lust after the doctor, Sally,” she mumbled. “Remember the last doctor you…” She clamped her jaws and headed down the steps to fetch another bag. She needed to concentrate on how she and Dr. Garrett—er —Barrett were going to carry off this farce.
Her little deception had seemed so easy, so foolproof, when it had just been for an hour. Who would have guessed things could get this fouled up?
As she stepped to the foyer tiles, a knock sounded at the door. She answered it to find the pharmacy delivery boy. She’d just closed the door when Noah reappeared, taking the stairs two at a time. To her great dismay, he looked every bit as sexy coming down as he did going up.
The baby kicked, and she winced. “Right. The doctor’s sexiness is none of our business.”
“Did you say something to me?”
She shook her head, fearing she wasn’t quite able to vanquish her sheepish expression. “I was talking to little Vivica.” She patted her stomach.
His thundercloud expression cleared slightly. “A girl?”
She nodded, taking the prescription from the bag and scratching at the name Barrett until it was mutilated and unreadable. “That’s probably something you should know.”
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked.
She peeled the little sticker off that said something about not driving while taking the medicine and restuck it over the rubbed and smudged area where the word Barrett had been. “What does it look like I’m doing, Dr. Step?”
With her emphasis on their fake married name, he got it. “Oh, right. Good thinking.”
“Thanks.” She replaced the prescription in the bag. “And, by the way, Vivica was my mother’s name.”
“The Vanderkellens’s daughter?”
“Right. And the baby’s middle name’s Charlotte. Daddy’s mother’s name. Grandmother and grandfather wouldn’t know that, but you should.”
“And when’s little Vivica Charlotte Step due?”
“Four weeks. April 1.” She raised a hand when he started to speak. “I know. I know. It’s April Fool’s Day, but Vivica has promised to be a little early or a little late.” She held out the pharmacy bag. “Here you go.”
He scooped up a couple of suitcases. “You and Vivica