The Last Man In Texas. Jan Freed

it’s been no picnic for you, either.”

      Lizzy shrugged, as if it went without saying any daughter would sacrifice her own sleep in order to comfort her mother.

      Humbled, he studied her a long moment. “You’re something else. I’m way too late in offering, but is there anything I can do to help you?”

      “Yes. Please don’t make it harder for me to leave the company than it already is. I care about what happens to Malloy Marketing. You can’t possibly doubt that. And I’ll complete as much of the SkyHawk marketing plan as possible in the next two weeks. But my priorities have shifted. I want to have a baby. Several babies, if I’m lucky.”

      Warmth stirred in his heart and groin simultaneously. Jeez. She wasn’t the only one who was punchy.

      “I always envied other children who had siblings,” she confessed. “Being an only child is a drag.”

      He made a face. “Being one of four brothers can be a real pain in the ass, too.”

      “Maybe. But most of the time it’s fun. No, I want a big family. And I am thirty-one years old. The sooner I get started trying, the better. So…do we have a deal?”

      God, he would miss her.

      “Deal. I hope your fiancé knows how lucky he is. When do I get to meet him?”

      Her gaze veered off to land somewhere over his shoulder. “Um…soon, I hope. You know, if I’m going to cram four weeks of work into two, I’d better get cracking.”

      The red flag in his brain slowly rose. “A few more minutes won’t make a difference. What’s his name?”

      “Whose name?”

      The flag fluttered. “The man who’ll father all those babies you want. The one who offered you ‘the most exciting and challenging career any woman with no previous experience can have.’ That man’s name.”

      “Oh, you mean Larry.” She grabbed the ceramic mug sitting next to a folded newspaper, then drew it to her breast like a waif begging for coins. “I need more coffee.”

      “Larry,” he repeated.

      “That’s right. Larry. Have you tried to OD on caffeine, yet? Beats aspirin, hands down. Want me to bring you a cup?”

      “Does he have a last name? Or is he just Larry? Like Fabio, or Sting?”

      She stood. “I’m headed that way. It’s really no trouble—”

      “Goddamn it, Lizzy! Do I have to buy a vowel to fill in the blanks about this guy?” Her cheeks matched the red flag flapping like hell in Cameron’s brain.

      “His name is Larry Sanderson. He’s brilliant. He’s kind. And he never yells.” After a pointed look, she marched toward the door in a huff.

      Larry Sanderson, Larry Sanderson…Cameron stiffened.

      His gaze zeroed in on the folded newspaper, then flew to the furious woman nearing the door.

      “Lizzy, wait!”

      She grasped the doorknob and sighed. “What now?”

      “You can’t marry the dimwit.”

      Two heartbeats passed.

      The stare she directed over her shoulder could’ve shriveled a grape into a raisin. “Don’t worry. There’s only one dimwit I can claim to know personally. And I wouldn’t marry you, Cameron Malloy, if you were the last man in Texas!” With a toss of her dark curls, she flung open the door.

      Mitch, Pete and Rachel staggered forward into the room, their heads twisted in identical awkward positions.

      Lizzy growled in disgust, shoved her way through the flame-faced group and disappeared from sight.

      Cameron leaned back and tapped his chin thoughtfully. He’d been called a lot of things he deserved in his life, but dimwit wasn’t one of them.

      Something funny was going on. Something besides the Three Stooges currently backing out the door. If his suspicions were true, then his deal with Lizzy was off.

      Which meant he still had a chance not to fail.