~ Wild Keltic Carousel ~

by

*lizzie starr

A pair of tiny arms wrapped around her knees prevented her from standing. A cherubic face, all wide, blue eyes over a rosebud mouth, surrounded by pale, white-blonde hair, smiled up at her.

"Mommy."

~ * ~

With the magazines he had been looking for tucked under his arm, Bryce rose and moved toward the children’s magazines. The small, specially designed section was empty. A flare of anguish burst from the pit of his stomach. "Bree?" he whispered.

The anguish rushed to panic. Where was she? He hadn’t looked away for that long--had he? She wouldn’t run off; he’d drilled the dangers of such actions into her. In her four-year-old way, she obeyed him and limited contact with strangers. It was difficult for her. As a gregarious child, Breanna loved to talk to anyone and everyone.

Just as Bryce turned toward the front of the store where a security guard leisurely attended the entrance, he heard Bree’s high giggle. "Mommy!"

Whipping his body toward the beloved sound, he scanned the area designated as the store’s coffee shop. At the edge, near a low, metal divider, Bree had her arms wrapped tightly around a woman’s legs.

Relief flooded through him, cooling the hot panic, and Bryce closed his eyes. Embarrassment followed and heated his face. Generally, most people accepted Bree’s hijinks without a problem, but Bryce knew that someday she might meet someone who didn’t care to like her. It would surprise his daughter, and he dreaded the resulting loss of innocence.

Bryce rushed into the coffee shop and took a deep, shaking breath before he confronted his daughter and the woman who was now speaking softly to her. The gentle tones of her voice soothed his frazzled nerves and he released his held breath slowly. He looked at the woman.

And could not draw another breath.

Until she glanced up, noticed him hovering and flashed him a tentative smile. She stroked her hand over Bree’s hair and gave a minute tug to the ribbon wrapped around one of her short pigtails. "Is this yours?"

"I’m sorry if she disturbed you. She knows better than to run off." Bryce crouched beside Breanna and cupped her chin with a bent finger. "Don’t you?"

"It’s Mommy."

"No, darlin’. This isn’t Mommy. Mommy’s gone, remember?"

"My new mommy." The small girl climbed into the woman’s lap and wrapped her arms about the woman’s neck.

Bryce squelched the insane urge to do the same thing. Well, maybe he’d hold the woman on his lap, but having her in his arms definitely aroused some interesting, uncomfortably pleasant sensations.

The woman gave a small sound of surprise. Before Bryce could apologize a second time, she waved at the empty chair across from her. "It’s okay. Why don’t you have a seat while we sort this out." She leaned back to look into Bree’s face. "Do I look like your mommy?"

"Don’t know. She’s gone." Bree shook her head, unwrapped one arm, and patted the woman’s face. "I saw you. New mommy." With that proclamation, she snuggled into the woman’s lap and tucked her thumb between her lips. "See, Daddy?" She spoke around her thumb. "I finded her."

"Found her," Bryce corrected automatically.

"Divorced?"

"Huh?" The question in the single word startled Bryce. Was she interested in more than why Bree clung to her? He hoped so. "No, her mother died shortly after she was born. The strain of carrying a child was too great."

"How awful. You must miss her terribly."

Bryce lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug. "She was a good friend. Bree was an accident that strained our friendship." The smile reserved for his daughter stretched his lips. "A very happy accident."

"A-dent." Bree closed her eyes.

"I’m sorry. I shouldn’t pry. She just surprised me. Does she often pick out strange women and call them mommy?"

"Never."

"I wonder why she chose me." The woman stroked Bree’s hair.

For his own sake, and his rising interest, Bryce didn’t have to wonder why. There was something about this woman. He could have picked her out of a crowd of thousands--and would, if she would give him the chance. Only once before had he felt such an instant attraction--and that to a woman who wore a mask so he couldn’t even see her face.

"I’m Bryce MacAlister."

"Carrie."

"And you’ve met my daughter, Breanna."

Bree opened her eyes and smiled up at Carrie. "Met mommy." Then she turned her earnest gaze to Bryce and shook one chubby finger at him. "I find, you keep."

"Uh, it doesn’t work that way, honey."

Bree sighed. "I know, Daddy. You’ll find a way."

Bryce lifted his gaze from his daughter to Carrie’s questioning expression. He shrugged again. "She’s never mentioned wanting a mother.

"Not a mommy," Bree piped up. "This mommy."

A faint pink covered Carrie’s cheeks and she glanced away. Bryce took the opportunity to study the woman cradling his daughter so carefully in a completely relaxed, natural embrace.

Her highlighted, golden brown hair was pulled back with a clip. Strands had escaped the confinement and trailed loosely around her face and down her neck. A tiny spot of whipped cream, a remnant from her beverage, hovered just above her upper lip. A shapely lip, poised above the lush, kissable pout of her lower lip.

Yep. Definitely kissable.

Her lips moved and pulled into a wide smile. Guiltily, Bryce lifted his gaze. Chocolate brown eyes twinkled as if she fought to control some hidden amusement.

He’d been caught.

"Uh, sorry for staring."

"‘S okay. Actually, I’m used to it."

He could believe that.

"But, it’s not usually my face being stared at." Carrie chuckled, a low throaty sound that insisted he respond. He did, in a pure, naturally male way. His gaze dropped to her breasts. She chuckled again, her body moving against the soft material of her shirt.

The Sahara Desert would seem lush and tropical in comparison to the sudden dryness in his mouth. Her breasts were--perfect. Neither overly large, nor small enough to need padding. Nope, there was no padding there. In fact, if she even wore a bra, it had to be one of those soft athletic things. He could see the tantalizing, firming peak of...

Oh, God. What was he doing?

Carrie shifted uncomfortably and self-consciously repositioned Bree to cover her breasts.

"I... uh. Sorry." Why didn’t somebody just shut him up?

To his surprise, Carrie reached over and touched the back of his hand. "Don’t worry. Like I said, I’m used to it. It’s all a part of my line of work."

But, it wasn’t at all like to what she was accustomed. Somehow, the way he’d stared at her was--nice. There was no leer in his expression, no mental drooling. Just assessment and approval.

Carrie wanted this man’s approval so there was no way she was going to tell him how she earned a living. But, with her last statement, he was sure to ask. She’d give him her stock, brush-off answer and hope he fell for the lack of details.

"So, what do you do? For a living, I mean?"

He was flustered. How endearing. Now, she really couldn’t tell him the truth. "I do a kind of modeling."

Bryce leaned his head one way to look at her. She canted her chin to strike a practiced pose and he grinned. "Not difficult to see why."

Part of her, some little kernel of hope, wanted her to tell him everything. A little bit of hope that prayed he wouldn’t be disgusted or turn away when he found out the truth. Carrie bit back a sigh. She couldn’t chance his rejection.

The warm bundle of child in her lap gave a sigh as deep as the one Carrie held within her. She responded by holding Breanna just a bit more tightly and stroking two fingers over her fine, straight hair. The man and his daughter were a potent combination. One that made her both jittery with anticipation and full of peaceful longing. No, she couldn’t take the risk and hope he would stay. Better to be only partially honest.

And part liar.