Nobody's Baby but Mine Read Online Free PDF Page A

easy.”
    “Sure it is.”
    Jane noticed some of the men staring at her. For a moment she thought something was wrong—that she had a streamer of toilet paper dragging from her shoe or something—and then she realized they weren’t looking at her critically, but sexually, and her panic mounted.
    Jodie pulled her toward a dark-haired, no-neck monster standing at the bar wearing an olive green trench coat. He had heavy black eyebrows that had grown together until they looked like one giant caterpillar crawling over his brow.
    “Here she is, Junior. Don’t let anybody say Jodie Pulanski can’t deliver.”
    The monster ran his eyes over Jane and grinned. “You done all right, Jodie. She’s real classy. Hey, what’s your name, sweetheart?”
    Jane was so rattled she couldn’t think. Why hadn’t she planned for this? Her eyes fell on one of the neon signs that she could read without her glasses. “Bud.”
    “Your name’s Bud?”
    “Yes.” She coughed, stalling. Her adult life had been dedicated to the search for truth, and lying didn’t come easily. “Rose. Rose Bud.”
    Jodie rolled her eyes.
    “Sounds like a effin’ stripper,” Junior said.
    Jane regarded him nervously. “It’s a family name. There were Buds who came over on the Mayflower .”
    “Is that right.”
    She began to elaborate in an attempt to be more convincing, but she was so anxious she could hardly think. “Buds fought in all the major wars. They were at Lexington, Gettysburg, the Battle of the Bulge. One of my female Bud ancestors helped establish the Underground Railway.”
    “No kidding. My uncle used to work for the Santa Fe.” He tilted his head and regarded her suspiciously. “How old are you, anyway?”
    “Twenty-six,” Jodie interjected.
    Jane shot her a startled glance.
    “She looks a little older than that,” Junior said.
    “She’s not.”
    “I got to hand it to you, Jodie. This one ain’t nothin’ like Kelly. Maybe she’ll be just what the Bomber needs. I sure hope he doesn’t get turned off by the fact that she’s so old.”
    Old! What kind of twisted value system did this man have that he regarded a woman in her late twenties as old? If he knew she was thirty-four, he’d dismiss her as ancient.
    Junior cinched the belt on his trench coat. “Come on, Rose; let’s get you out of here. Follow me in your car.”
    He started toward the door only to stop so suddenly she nearly bumped into him. “Damn, I almost forgot. Willie said to put this on you.”
    He reached into his pocket. She stiffened as she saw what he withdrew. “Oh, no. I don’t think—”
    “Got to, babe. It’s part of the job.”
    He encircled her neck with a fat pink bow. She lifted her hand to her throat, and her stomach pitched as she touched the loops of satin ribbon.
    “I’d rather not wear this.”
    “Too bad.” He finished tying it. “You’re a gift, Rose Bud. A birthday present from the guys.”
     
    Melvin Thompson, Willie Jarrell, and Chris Plummer—three members of the Stars offensive line—watched Cal Bonner line up his last putt. They’d set a course across the carpet of the Bomber’s spacious, but sparsely furnished, living room, where he and Willie were playing for a hundred bucks a hole. The Bomber was up four hundred.
    “So who’d you rather bonk?” Willie asked Chris as Cal tapped his putt straight into the oversize Dunkin’ Donuts commuter mug that marked the fifth hole. “Mrs. Brady or Mrs. Partridge?”
    “That’s easy.” Chris was also a big fan of Nick at Night . “I’d do Mrs. Brady.”
    “Yeah, me, too. Man, was she hot.”
    It was Willie’s turn to putt, and, as Cal moved out of the way, his right guard lined up for the same mug. “Somebody said her and Greg got it on in real life.” Willie’s putt rolled past on the right.
    “No shit. Did you know that, Cal?”
    Cal took a sip of scotch and watched Willie miss his second putt. “I don’t even know what the hell you boys are talking