Daddy Undercover (Crescent Cove 9)

Gina stood beside the driveway, grinning with an armful of baby.

I pointed at her as I came around the back of the Jeep. “It’s not even Thanksgiving, and you had me tromping around a Christmas tree lot on a Sunday. My one day off, barring any murders or parking with added additional lascivious behaviors.”

Gina was unrepentant. “I did. And do you know why?”

“Because you’re a sadist?”

Granted, she was probably the cutest sadist ever. She had a jaunty elf’s hat perched on her head and her long braid tossed over the bright green vest she wore with a white blouse, tight jeans and riding boots. Ones that climbed up her long legs and made a man think about things he should not be pondering under any circumstances.

Her best accessory was the baby on her hip, currently playing with the zipper on her vest. She found it so fascinating she’d barely spared a glance for me while I’d been untying my new acquisition from the roof of my vehicle.

In the five days since I’d known I was a father, Samantha’s interest in Gina had far outweighed her curiosity toward me. She studied me a lot. Actually, she did the same often with Sadie and Gina too. But she smiled at Gina. Even occasionally giggled, usually because my best friend had made it her life’s work to coax that sound from her. It sounded more like gas to me, but I didn’t know much about babies.

Especially mine.

“Hmm. That’s the one you chose?” Gina was circling the Jeep, eyeing the tree halfway untied with a critical gaze.

“Isn’t that obvious? Why?”

She poked at a few branches near the center. “It’s kind of Charlie Brown-ish. They couldn’t be running out already?”

“Woman, you’re crazy. Charlie Brown’s tree was sparse. This is full all over. Rex just helped pat it down so it wasn’t a vehicular hazard. If it came loose on the highway, or if branches fell off and obstructed a driver’s vision—what?” I demanded as she snorted.

“You’re such a cop.”

“I am, yes. And you’re such a…Gina.”

“Did you turn to law enforcement because you lack an advanced vocabulary?”

Ignoring her, I continued unsecuring the tree. She loved busting my balls. Knowing my luck, my daughter bearing silent witness would lead to her growing up doing the same.

As I worked, I tried to ignore the itch between my shoulder blades. Not the first time I’d had that feeling. It had started approximately when Gina had shown up Tuesday night.

Nothing was how it used to be, no matter how we pretended. Gina spent tons of time at my place now. When I came down in the morning, she was usually already up and loading the dishwasher or making something warm and hearty for breakfast. The smell of fresh coffee always got me up, even if I had to take the first few minutes to orient myself.

And my dog—who’d just last week faithfully slept at the foot of my bed every night—was typically prancing along behind her, hoping for scraps of egg or biscuit or whatever else she could procure.

The baby was usually in her swing, watching. Sometimes dozing. Sometimes crying. Often she’d be sucking on a bottle. But most of the time, she tracked Gina’s every move as if it was her job.

I couldn’t blame the kid.

“Do you need some help getting that in?”

I tugged down the tree, managing narrowly to keep it from toppling over on Gina and the baby. Her eyes had widened until they were like saucers as she gazed up at those heavy—and full, thank you very much—branches.

“I’m good.” Mostly. “You found the tree skirt?”

“I did, but it was musty. I had to air it out. How long has it been since you’ve used it?”

“A couple of years.”

“You didn’t put up your tree last year? I knew you wouldn’t if I didn’t help.”

I didn’t answer as I hoisted the tree and headed for the steps. Gina had been working a lot of double shifts last Christmas, so yeah, I hadn’t taken the time to get a tree. Why bother when she was usually the only person I had over? Sure, sometimes the guys stopped by for a night of beer and poker, but those times were getting rarer as they shot out babies.

Well, they themselves weren’t shooting out the babies, but their significant others were. And now I’d shot out one too, in a matter of speaking. I just didn’t have a wife or girlfriend keeping me warm on the regular like they did.

“Grab the door, would you?”