The Baby Notion. Dixie Browning

      Pretty nice hoof-dressing, Jake mused.

      “So what did you do, put in twenty-seven dollars and fifty cents? Oh, only you.”

      The blonde shrugged. She had great shoulders. Funny thing—Jake had never even noticed her shoulders before.

      “I added a zero, okay? Now, can we forget that so I can tell you about—”

      “Oh, my God, Priss, you didn’t. Two hundred and seventy dollars in every single mailbox in Shacktown? And by the way—putting things in people’s mailboxes—isn’t that a federal offense?”

      “How do I know? Anyhow, nobody complained.”

      Priss. Her name was Priss. Funny—she didn’t look like a Priss. She looked more like a Dolly or a Wynona.

      “But, Faith, what I wanted to tell you was—oh, by the way, I need a dozen teddy bears and some of those dangly things that hang over a crib. It’s for my birthday celebration. And I’m not putting them in any mailboxes, so you don’t have to look at me like that.”

       A dozen teddy bears?

      So she was celebrating a birthday. Jake could think of several ways he’d like to help her celebrate, none of which involved teddy bears.

      “Anyhow,” she continued, “I’m not sure they’ll let me put up those crib toys. They have so many gadgets and things hooked up to cribs in the hospital.”

       Hospital?

      Faith planted her hands on her hips. She was wearing one of those short and loose-flowing dresses. It took Jake a few minutes to realize Faith Harper was one quite pregnant nice girl. “Priss,” Faith said, “your papa endowed the entire west wing. If anyone can talk them into it, you can.”

      “I wouldn’t count on it. I’ve never been much good at throwing my weight around.”

      Jake sincerely begged to differ. If she got any better at it, they might both find themselves in serious trouble.

      Jake cleared his throat, wanting to make his presence known but at the same time feeling like a creep for even being there. Before he could cut and run, the Harper woman spotted him, put on her professional smile and started across the room.

      Jake grabbed a book off a rack, held it at arm’s length and pretended to read.

      “Mr. Spencer, do you need any help?”

      “Who, me? Oh, um…no, thanks. Just looking. That is, one of my hands is having a baby, and—that is, his woman’s having it, but—” He shrugged, giving her his best Hey, I’m only a man, I can’t help being stupid smile and began to edge toward the door. On the way he knocked over a display of stuffed rabbits, caught three before they hit the floor and with shaking hands, began restacking the lot. The Harper woman turned back toward the counter at the back of the store, calling over her shoulder, “You just let me know when you decide, okay?”

      “Yes’m, I surely will.”

      Jake was halfway to the door, his face on fire, when he heard the haystack blonde whisper loudly, “Who in the world is that?”

      “Who, Jake? Goodness, I thought every woman in Collins County knew Jake Spencer.”

      So did I, Jake thought, a bit surprised. There’d been a time when he’d been downright notorious. It wasn’t that long ago that he’d been living in Shacktown with his mama, working odd jobs, hustling pool and getting into trouble with the truancy officer. He’d been way ahead of Faith, and obviously the blonde, in school, but that didn’t mean even they hadn’t heard all the rumors about the boy who’d been every high school girl’s secret dream lover and every parents’ worst nightmare. If the blonde didn’t remember him, she must not be a local. Either that, or she’d been off hiding under a rock when his mama died and he left town to follow the rodeo circuit—much to the pleasure of all those parents. He had ended up marrying, but the little woman had taken him for every cent he’d had and then left him laid up in a hospital in Tulsa with both legs in a cast. Guess there’s no way she’d know about that, though, Jake told himself.

      Jake had just about made it to the door when he made the mistake of taking one last look at the blonde. She was lifting stuffed toys down off a shelf. The first time he’d ever heard the phrase “poetry in motion” he’d thought it meant a well-trained quarter horse.

      Now he knew better. She was wearing a high-necked, pink knit top that hugged her breasts and fit snugly over her body, all the way down to her concho belt. Dammit, why couldn’t he just march right up there and ask her out? What the devil—she might even say yes.

      It occurred to him that if he’d put in a special order, she couldn’t have fit his specifications any better. A little bit wild, slightly on the tacky side, and so damned delectable he was having trouble keeping his enthusiasm down.

      Right then and there Jake made up his mind that one way or another, before the summer was out, he was going to get her out of those tight jeans and into his bed. What’s more, being the generous guy that he was, he’d make sure she enjoyed every minute of it just as much as he did. It wasn’t like he wanted to marry her, or anything like that. God forbid!

      “So anyhow,” she was saying in an uppercrust Texas drawl that kind of set Jake’s teeth on edge, but nowhere near enough to turn him off, “I decided that what I wanted for my birthday this year is a baby.”

      A baby! She was talking right out here in public about having a baby? Jake thought, What am I, invisible or something?

      Faith opened her mouth to speak, but Priss beat her to the draw. “Oh, I know what you’re going to say—it takes nine months, but, Faith, just think—your baby is due in November, and if I hurry, I could have mine by next April. Our babies can grow up together. Wouldn’t that be sweet?”

      “Priss, have you…who—”

      “Nobody, silly, and no, I haven’t, but I’ve been thinking about going down to the sperm bank.”

      With one hand on the doorknob, Jake turned back to stare. The what bank?

      “Pricilla Joan, you wouldn’t!”

      Her name was Jones. Pricilla Jones. Jake decided it went with the accent.

      “What in the world would you go there for?” Faith Harper demanded.

      Which was exactly what Jake was wondering. He knew about New Hope’s sperm bank. The day he’d first heard about it nearly five years ago—heard who had donated it to the town for the good of New Hope’s future generations—he’d gone on a bender that had lasted nearly a week.

      “…all alone in that big old apartment out on Willow Creek,” the blonde was saying. “So I thought, why not? Everybody in town seems to be getting pregnant—mercy, I’ve never seen so many hatching jackets in my life. So I thought, why not me? Why can’t I have a baby, too, if I want one?”

      Faith took Pricilla Jones by the arm with more force than Jake would have credited her with possessing, and led the blonde over to a white wicker settee. “Sit! Now, you listen to me, Prissy. Don’t you dare go and do something stupid just because Eddie ran off and married Grace Hudgins.”

      Priss-Prissy-Pricilla shrugged again. It occurred to Jake, who was becoming almost as fascinated with the woman’s mind as he was with her body, that she could’ve given lessons in body motion to a belly dancer. “Oh, him. I didn’t like him all that much anyway.”

      Jake thought Faith’s expression looked sort of dubious and sympathetic all at the same time, which made him wonder who this Eddie guy was.

      Whoever he was, he was evidently out of the picture now.

      With studied casualness, Jake turned to examine a display of miniature quilts near the door. From there he had a perfect view of the blonde’s profile. Go ahead, you jerk—make the lady’s acquaintance and