The Great Baby Caper Read Online Free Page A

such as yourself on this stormy evening?”
    Courtney was feeling coy. “What
makes you ask?”
    He looked her over, though with a
respectful eye. “Well, you’re not exactly dressed to go clubbing in the Vieux
Carre, I must say. Looks to me as if you’ve just come from some corporate board
meeting.”
    Amazed at how close he had
ventured to the truth, she murmured, “Actually, I’ve come from . . . well,
something like that. And from the sound of you, you’ve just come from merry old
England.”
    He grinned wryly. “How did you
guess?”
    “It’s written all over
your—er—accent. You here on vacation?”
    Now his response, too, proved
teasing. “Something like that.”
    The bartender deposited Courtney’s
drink, and she lifted it toward her companion. “To us, then. Two strangers
passing in the night in the rainy French Quarter.”
    “Ah—how romantic that sounds.
Hear, hear.” He clicked his glass against hers, and took a slow sip. “So, was I
correct? Are you here in the Big Easy on business?”
    She nodded. “My company’s annual
convention.”
    “Ah. Stodgy affairs, conventions,
aren’t they?”
    There Courtney had to laugh at the
irony. “You said it.”
    “No wonder you’re an escapee from
the unmitigated boredom.”
    She sipped her drink, savoring the
sweetly tart taste. “Hmmmm . . . could be.”
    “So what company is this, anyway?
If you don’t mind my asking.”
    “No, I don’t mind. It’s Bootle’s Baby Bower.”
    He appeared astonished. “You don’t
say.”
    “That’s right, the company has its
roots in England.”
    “Indeed. Why, I pass your London outlet all the time. Just around the corner from where I live—St. Katherine’s
Dock.”
    She nodded. “Ah, yes, I’ve heard
that’s a haven for London yuppies.”
    He winked. “We’re called ‘high
fliers’ over there. But, yes, it’s quite a posh quarter, with plenty of quid lying
around to be squandered in pricey boutiques like Bootle’s.”
    She regarded him with keen
interest. “Do you have a family?” Feeling a rush of warmth at his sudden, sharp
scrutiny, she quickly amended, “I mean, children for whom you might shop at Bootle’s?”
    He shook his head. “Not ones of my
own, though I’ve two younger sisters, both married, and a bumper crop of nieces
and nephews coming along.”
    “You’re kidding,” she replied.
“I’m pretty much the last holdout in my family, too. Three married older sisters
and one younger brother, complete with fiancée. All of my sisters have
children.”
    “How fascinating. Do your siblings
also exert intolerable pressure on you to proceed to the altar?”
    “Do they ever!” she declared,
thoroughly enjoying herself. “And my parents. You’d think they’d be content
with their brood of seven grandchildren—”
    “ Seven ?”
    “But, oh, no—they won’t be
satisfied until I take the plunge,” she finished.
    He scowled sympathetically. “Ah,
yes, all that pressure to take the plunge, matrimonially speaking.”
    Courtney struggled not to smile;
he appeared so pious and sympathetic that she was hard-pressed to figure out
whether he’d meant the double entendre.
    “At any rate,” he continued,
“there’s nothing worse than a pair of parents determined to marry off their
offspring.”
    Courtney had to laugh as she
considered her own plight. “Well, that depends. I can think of something
worse.”
    “What do you mean?”
    She eyed him skeptically. “If I
tell you something, will you promise to take me seriously, and, well, not to
laugh?”
    At once his expression grew grave.
“Absolutely.”
    “You asked me what I’m doing here
tonight.”
    “I did.”
    She leaned closer and spoke in a
conspiratorial whisper. “Well, it’s all the fault of my boss, M. Billingham
Bootle.”
    “Ah. I take it he must be the head
of Bootle’s Baby Bower?”
    “CEO and chairman,” she replied.
    “I see. What does the ‘M’ stand
for, if I may ask?”
    She gave a shrug.