Tick Tock Goes The Baby Clock. Julianna Morris

face brightened. “I’ve got a date tonight. Do I still get paid for the same time?”

      “Yes.”

      The teenager let out a happy whoop, and in the space of sixty seconds he had the loading dock closed and was on his bike, pedaling furiously down the road.

      “I used to get that excited about date night,” Max said as Annie emptied the cash register and counted the money. “Remember what it was like?” he asked, a rueful smile on his mouth.

      Annie pressed her lips together. Sooner or later she would have to discuss her lack of romantic experience with Max, but she would rather it was later than sooner. Besides, he knew she’d never dated during high school. She’d watched him go out with one girl after another, but Friday and Saturday nights had always meant something different for her.

      “It was great,” Max continued, seeming not to notice she hadn’t answered his question. “Nothing to worry about except school exams and an excess of hormones. Those were the days.”

      “Not…really.”

      Max winced, hearing the strain in Annie’s voice. He guessed happy times were scarce in Annie’s memories—her father had gotten sick during that period, and she’d taken care of him for several agonizing years before his death.

      “Sorry, Annie. I forgot. You didn’t have that much fun in high school, did you?”

      Her shoulders lifted in a barely perceptible shrug. “It doesn’t matter.”

      “It matters. I guess most of us would rather forget what childhood was really like,” he said soberly. “Mentally skip the bad parts.”

      “You always said things got better…after you came to live with Grace.”

      “That’s for sure. A little dull, but much better than before.” Max rubbed his jaw. In the end he’d almost turned into a normal kid, thanks to Grace Hunter. She’d been a calm, safe anchor in the middle of his parents’ volatile, ever-changing relationships.

      “If you can’t provide a decent home for my grandson, I’m taking him to live with me,” Grace had declared when he was eleven years old. They hadn’t argued for long. He’d reached an age where he was a royal pain, full of resentment and a know-it-all-attitude. It was probably a relief when Grace hauled him off to Mitchellton.

      Annie wrote some figures in a ledger book, then put the money she’d counted into a cloth bag and stuffed it into a hidden safe. Max frowned.

      “Should you do that?” he asked. “Just leave it here? We can go by the night deposit at the credit union.”

      She shook her head. “We didn’t have many cash sales today—never do on Saturdays. It’ll be fine over the weekend.”

      He didn’t like it, though he knew she must have been doing the same thing for years. Things were different in the city. You had to be a lot more careful.

      But still…

      “Besides, I have to be back here by seven on Monday, and I’ll need cash for the day,” Annie said. She wrote Closed Early on a piece of paper and taped it on the window. “There’s a load of hay being delivered.”

      Max swallowed another protest. Annie was such a small thing, she barely came to his chin. She might be strong for her size, but that didn’t mean she could handle bales of hay or other heavy lifting. A farm supply store wasn’t the kind of place you expected a woman to operate, but she’d taken over after her father’s death and kept the business going.

      He looked around the store, seeing the racks of seeds, pet food and supplies, garden implements and a myriad of other items. Except for the pet supplies, it wasn’t much different from twenty years ago. For that matter, the business probably hadn’t changed in the past fifty years.

      “There now, Barnard. We’re going home,” Annie said, reaching down and picking up a large brown rabbit from the desk. She tucked the creature under an arm and fished a small set of keys from her jeans pocket. “Ready?” she asked.

      Max looked from the twitching nose of the rabbit to Annie’s sweet face. Only Annie James would bring a pet rabbit to work with her.

      “What about Tigger?”

      “Tigger lives here in the store. He’s responsible for keeping rats and mice from invading the warehouse.”

      Max grinned. “Yeah. And he doesn’t do a bad job running off annoying customers, either.”

      Annie looked guiltily embarrassed, and he had a sudden urge to give her a hug. She worried too much about things. But then, she’d had to grow up quickly when her father got sick, so he supposed it was understandable.

      “It’s okay, kiddo,” he assured softly. “Buffy was a major pain in the behind. I owe Tigger a treat for getting rid of her.”

      She smiled. “Get him some catnip. It makes him goofy.”

      Max grimaced as he followed her out the door. He was the goofy one, thinking about hugging Annie, because he had the sneaking suspicion that his desire to hug her had less to do with comfort than it did with wondering how she’d feel in his arms.

      Chapter Two

      “That was delicious, Annie,” said Grace Hunter as she neatly folded her napkin.

      “I haven’t eaten this much in a month,” Max groaned, spooning a last bite of rhubarb cobbler into his mouth. “I sure missed your cooking in Boston, Annie.”

      Annie smiled shyly. “Thank Grace, she taught me.”

      “Thanks, Grandma,” Max said. He eyed the remains of the cobbler in the baking dish and wondered if he could find room for a second helping, then decided it was impossible.

      There was nothing sophisticated about Annie’s cooking, but it was good. On top of everything else, it was filled with fresh-picked produce out of her own garden—from cherry tomatoes to the herbs she’d used to season the zucchini and roasted chicken.

      “I’m a little tired. Maybe I’ll go home and watch that documentary about Japan,” Grace murmured. “Will you stay and help Annie with the dishes, Max?”

      “That’s a good idea,” he said, giving her a kiss. Normally Grace had boundless energy, and a worried frown creased Max’s forehead as he watched her slowly cross the yard and go into the house next door.

      “It’s okay,” Annie said quietly. “She’s still getting over the flu.”

      “Are you sure? She’s always been so indestructible. I’ve never seen her this tired.”

      Annie nodded. “She’s sixty-seven, Max. It takes her longer to recover. The doctor says she’ll probably live to be a hundred, but to remember she isn’t a kid any longer.”

      “You’ve talked to him?”

      “Oh, yes. We’ve had a number of conversations.”

      There was a note of steel in Annie’s voice, and Max grinned. She was protective of the people she loved. No doubt she’d put the doctor on the spot more than once.

      It had been a pleasant, lazy afternoon of visiting and working around the two houses. Annie had offered to take him into Sacramento, but he’d suggested they wait until the next day so he could spend more time with Grace. Lately he’d barely had time to think, much less visit Mitchellton as often as he ought to.

      His grandmother called it the price of success. If he wasn’t spending fourteen hours a day working on a design, he was on a plane heading for Boston, or Paris or somewhere else in the world to inspect one of his projects. It was important to see the buildings go up, to consult with the contractors and make any necessary adjustments.

      And he loved it. Always busy, always on the go. A far cry from Mitchellton where the sum total of weekly