The Baby Consultant

One

He wasn’t gorgeous, as Dee had led her to believe. His nose looked as if it had been rearranged by someone even bigger than he; his eyes were an unremarkable gray. Clean shaven and well-defined, his jaw thrust forward just a shade shy of pugnacious while his light brown, almost-but-not-quite-blond hair was cut military-short along the sides, curling only at the top where it had escaped the razor’s forays.

Still, she could see the appeal. She studied him as he spoke into the phone he held to his ear while he paced back and forth at the far end of his office. His shoulders were broad enough to set a tea service on. He was taller than any of her brothers, maybe six-one, with long, long legs and a wide, straight back that tapered to a trim waist. And his butt was to die for. She almost laughed aloud. She would never have thought of that phrase before she’d moved away from home and found a life of her own.

Then he turned and smiled at her.

Frannie set down her purse and briefcase and took a seat in the chair across from Jack Ferris’s desk. Actually, she had no choice. That smile virtually took her breath away, weakened her knees, made her heart pound—every stupid cliché she’d ever heard suddenly didn’t seem so stupid.

Dee had warned her: Women fight over him. Literally.

Unbelievable. One little shift of expression, one flash of white teeth and a penetrating personal moment of eye contact... she’d probably fetch his slippers and pipe if he smiled at her like that again.

He’ll be with you in a moment. The receptionist with the disgustingly gorgeous figure and the perfect teeth smiled sweetly at Frannie before closing the door of the office. It figured. She would have bet good green bucks that this man would hire help that looked like something out of a sports magazine’s annual swimsuit issue. It would have been easy to hate her if she hadn’t been so nice.

He was still talking on the telephone, one hand splayed across his hip in what looked like exasperation. I said I’m sorry, Mona. I have a game that day or you know I’d love to take you. His voice oozed smooth honey, but Frannie doubted that Mona would think he was so charming if she could see the way he was practically gritting his teeth. It was obvious he didn’t want to do whatever the woman at the other end was trying to rope him into.

Deliberately trying not to eavesdrop, she pulled her briefcase onto her lap and extracted the portfolio of her work she’d brought along. Flipping it open, she forgot about Jack Ferris and his famous charm. With a critical eye, she studied the photos of some of the wedding dresses she’d made. That cream satin one had such nice pearl work and embroidered detail on the bodice—she should have taken a shot from the front as well as the back. The ruffled Chantilly lace on the chapel-length train was gorgeous, if she did say so herself. And the Victorian...not her style, but it had looked lovely on the girl for whom she’d made it, with its leg-o’-mutton sleeves. The girl had pinned her hair up loosely and forsaken a veil for a stately plumed hat Frannie had suggested, which should have looked ridiculous but didn’t. And here was that darling silk sheath with a yoke of alençon lace. She’d enjoyed making that one. But perhaps she should have brought all traditional styles along. That was what most brides wanted, she’d discovered, and if she was considering placing some of them in a brochure—oh, bother. Wasn’t that why she was here? So this highly recommended ad agency could tell her what would be best?

As she shuffled through the photos again, the telephone’s small beep told her that the consultant was off the phone.

Miss Brooks. I apologize for the delay. I’m Jack Ferris. He advanced across the room with three long strides, hand outstretched and that intimate smile projected full blast at her.

It was impossible not to respond. She half rose to meet his outstretched hand—and then made a futile grab for the photos, which slipped and spilled all over the floor.

Oh, dear. She knelt to retrieve her photos. Jack Ferris did the same, and their knees bumped. Her head was inches from his chin, and she caught a whiff of clean male scent. Frannie quickly moved away. She felt as if the air grew syrup thick and heavy, making it hard to breathe this close to him.

In a moment everything had been gathered up and Frannie couldn’t avoid looking at him, on his knees on the carpet, face-to-face with her. Time froze as she met his gaze again. She didn’t know how he did it, but he made her stomach positively quiver when he was so near.

But it wouldn’t do to let him see he affected her. She suspected he was used to women falling at his feet and she had no intention of encouraging him.

Summoning a wry smile, she extended her hand again. Thank you, Mr. Ferris. Let’s try this again.

Please, call me Jack. He took her hand, the warm strength in his surrounding her much smaller one, reminding her forcibly that she was female, soft and giving, and he was all hard, unyielding male power. He helped her to her feet, but didn’t release her hand. She couldn’t free herself without making an issue of it, so she nodded as he led her to the love seat and chairs arranged around a coffee table topped with glass in the corner next to the wide window. Why don’t we talk over here? I’m not big on formality.

He seated her on the love seat before taking a chair angled next to hers. So. You need some advice on marketing your— he consulted a note on the yellow pad in front of him —your sewing business.

My bridal gown design business, she corrected. What I do is create handmade wedding gowns and help the brides select accessories to complement the dress. I also design dresses for other occasions, and once in a while I’m asked to restore someone’s grandmother’s gown that has been packed away in an attic for fifty years.

Sorry. Jack Ferris looked amused. I didn’t mean to insult you. I have the greatest respect for someone who wields a needle. I’m stitch impaired—can’t even sew on a button.

She had to laugh at the description. A lot of people tell me similar things. It’s really not hard to learn the basics.

He smiled slowly. My hands are too big. And I may have great reflexes, but my fine-motor skills are lousy. Anyway— his eyes bored into her with that single-minded intensity again —how can I help you?

I’m not sure. When his eyebrows rose, she went on. I only opened the shop last year. It’s gone well, even better than I expected in Westminster, and I’m considering a little modest advertising to introduce me to the Baltimore area on a larger scale. So far my advertising has been mostly word-of-mouth.

How did you get it off the ground when you opened? He leaned forward, genuinely curious, and she remembered that marketing was what he did for a living.

Well, I have this friend who’s...very good at getting her own way. She couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face. Once she decided to introduce me to a few people, I was busy instantly. Those people told other people, and—you know how that works.

It only works if you have a quality product, he said. So you must be good. Where did you learn to sew—sorry, design. His grin was unrepentant and cocky, as if he knew he would be forgiven.

I studied at a school in Philadelphia for two years before coming back home.

You’re originally from the Westminster area?

Not exactly. I moved to Butler County at the same time I started the shop. My family lives in Taneytown, just up the road. She took a deep breath. The thing is, Mr.—Jack, I’m on a tight budget. I can’t afford a huge ad campaign.

I have clients with all kinds of different needs. When he smiled at her this time, she was prepared. She doubted he was talking strictly about business, either, from the amusement gleaming in his eyes. But she wasn’t in the market for a playboy who flirted with every female in sight, no matter how attractive he was.

She didn’t smile in return. I’m scheduled for displays at several local bridal shows next spring. I was thinking of some kind of brochure or flyer that people could take away with them.

Jack nodded. That’s a good first step for increasing your customer base. You’ve certainly got the right market. Again, that smile that invited her to step into his world. All those brides-to-be with money to burn and dresses to be drooled over.

Most brides-to-be are very budget conscious. The harder he tried to get her to relax, the more tense she became. She’d run into men like him before. One, in particular, and now she knew why he made her feel so uptight. Oliver had been charming, too. Correction: Oliver had been good at using charm. Just like Jack Ferris.

Jack’s eyes had grown thoughtful and faraway as he pulled up a yellow legal pad and began to take notes. That’s a good place to start. With affordability. He paused, and he was back in the present with her. Are your gowns affordable?

She nodded. For handmade items, my prices are reasonable. I’ve compared them to a few others.

Good. He scribbled furiously. Why don’t you tell me what you want to get across in a brochure. What do you want them to learn when they read about your gowns?

Once he entered his business mode, he really was very efficient, she mused later, gathering her things together and rising to leave. Unfortunately, the flirtatiousness reappeared as he held the door for her.

I’ll be in touch, he said in a low voice, winking at her.

I’ll look forward to seeing your ideas for the brochure, she replied. She was forced to take his hand for one final seal-the-deal shake. Just like the first time, his hand was big and warm, and somehow as intimate as that darned smile.

Frannie spotted the wildly waving hands the minute she entered the deli, and she wound her way toward the table where her two closest friends in Westminster were waiting. She noted with amusement that Jillian Kerr already had attracted a man, who was hovering over her like a fish about to take a tasty bite.

Hi, Frannie. Deirdre Patten rose from her seat almost desperately to hug Frannie. Dee considered men only slightly less threatening than big snarling dogs. Even something as harmless as having one determinedly buzzing around Jill was enough to put her on edge.

Sweetie. Jillian rose, too, and came around the table to kiss her cheek. The man with her was forced to step back, and Jill cast him a cheery smile over her shoulder. Okay, Bill, time for you to do a disappearing act. This is strictly a ladies’ luncheon.

Frannie grinned at her as the guy departed. You never cease to amaze me. Has there ever been a time when you didn’t wrap every man you met around your finger?

To her surprise, Jillian’s cheerful, confident smile wavered for a moment. Once, she said, and grimly added, but never again.

There was an awkward silence for a moment. Frannie could see that Jill would reject any comfort or sympathy, so she strove for a light note. You know, you and Jack Ferris would make a good pair.

Puh-leez! Jill held up her two index fingers in a playful sign of the cross, as if to ward off the idea. I’ve met Jack. He’ll still be flirting when he’s ninety. He’s a handsome hunk, all right, but definitely not for me—I like a man I can control.

Deirdre giggled. Forget Jack, then. He’s really, really bad on a leash. Then she turned to Frannie. So you went to see him? What did he say about your idea for a brochure?

He was going to work up a rough draft and price it for me. He was supposed to get back to me the next day. But it’s been over two weeks, Frannie said. She raised her eyebrows and looked at Deirdre. He wasn’t what I expected. He’s not the kind of man I’d think you’d be comfortable around.

Dee shrugged. Jack and I grew up on the same street. My brother played lacrosse with him. He was just another brother underfoot for years.

Jillian eyed Frannie. So what did our Miss Brooks think of Ferris the Flirt? Does that man make you drool, or what?

I thought you weren’t interested in him. She knew she was avoiding a direct answer.

Just because I don’t want to marry the man doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the way he wears his jeans. Jillian winked at Dee. So what did you think? she said again.

Like you said, he’s a flirt. Frannie shook her head. When he turns on the charm, a woman just wants to fall at his feet. Which I’m sure many of them do. Which I’m sure feeds his ego nicely.

"Did you fall at his feet? Jill feigned shock. I thought you were immune to flirtatious men."

He’s not like that, Dee protested. Jack’s a nice guy. I don’t think he’s the kind who carves a notch in his bedpost.

But we need to find out, added Jill. She pointed at Frannie. You’re elected.

"I don’t think so. Frannie laughed, then sobered. Besides, I’m less than impressed with his tardy response. I’m not sure I’d want to use him, even if his prices are reasonable."

That’s not like Jack, Deirdre said. I rarely see him anymore, but unless he’s changed, he’s very prompt, especially with business matters.

Oh, well. Frannie dismissed the topic as the waitress approached to take their lunch order. At this point all I want is to get my portfolio of photos back. I need it to show to potential clients.

Two hours later she was staring in openmouthed shock at Jack Ferris’s estimate for a brochure, which had arrived in her afternoon mail. And Dee said his rates were reasonable? Since Deirdre also had her own small business, Frannie had assumed she was as frugal as Frannie herself. Maybe she was. But one thing she knew was that it was going to be a while before Brooks’ Bridals could afford to advertise.

Quite a while.

It was a disappointing thought. She’d been pleased—no, more like ecstatic—at the success she’d had since opening her business. Coming to a city, even a small one like Westminster, alone had been terrifying for a girl who’d lived with a large family all of her life. It had been strange not having anyone to take care of at first, so she’d thrown herself into her work.

And it certainly had paid off. She’d hired her first assistant seamstress recently, and four months ago she had brought in a part-time coordinator who went to the weddings and fussed over the last-minute details of making brides appear perfect. But it looked like she’d have to wait awhile before she grew any more. Especially if these were the current rates of advertising.

She went to the telephone and looked up the number for Your Ad Goes Here, Jack Ferris’s company. The same girl who’d greeted her the day she’d been at his office answered the phone, and when Frannie asked for Jack, explained that he was out of town and was expected home soon. Frannie had to settle for leaving a message.

Five days later, she tried again. This time a canned message played and recorded her call. The same message was on the machine every day for the rest of that week, saying little except that the agency was temporarily closed due to a family emergency.

By the following Friday, Frannie was out of patience with Jack Ferris and his appalling business manners, family problems or not. This time she looked up his home number and tried it.

No answer, just his machine.

Doggone it, enough was enough. She’d been patient, and relatively pleasant, for a month now. This was inexcusable.

She needed those photos. If Jack Ferris wouldn’t answer his phone, she was going to camp on his doorstep until she got back her portfolio.

The address turned out to be a pretty brick condo that looked spacious and pricey from the outside. She rang the bell five times, but no one answered, and she heard no voices or noise from inside. As she expected, the door was locked. Dam that man! In addition to being an annoying flirt, he was irresponsible. She’d told him during their meeting that she couldn’t be without the photos for very long. He’d promised to call her within the week.

One week. Hah! Soon it would be four of them. She’d noticed a framed university diploma on his wall, so she knew he’d been taught to count. Obviously the lesson hadn’t stuck.

The condo was an