âYou get back here, Cass Carter!â
Dana Malone zipped across the sales floor after her rapidly retreating partner, nearly landing on her butt when a crawling baby shot out in front of her from behind a St. Bernard-sized Elmo. Half a wobble and a shuffle later, she was back on track. âWhat do you mean, I have to do itâouch!â
âWatch out for the new high chair,â the long-legged, denim-skirted blonde tossed back, cradling the tiny head jutting out from a Snugli strapped to her chest.
âThanks,â Dana grumbled, rubbing her hip as she snaked her way through cribs and playpens, Little Tikesâ playhouses and far too many racks of gently used baby clothes. Her two partnersâand their skinny little fanniesâcould navigate the jumbled sales floor with ease. For Dana, the space was a minefield. As was Cassâs request. âHave you lost your mind? I canât pick the storeâs new location by myself, Cass! What on earth do I know about real estate?â
âThis is Albuquerque, for heavenâs sake,â Cass said as she slipped into the storeâs pea-sized office. âNot Manhattan.â She shimmied past her desk, heaped with paperwork and piles of newly consigned clothes, then swiped a trio of original Cabbage Patch Kids dolls in mint condition from the rocker wedged into one corner. âHow difficult can it be to choose one strip mall storefront over another? Here, take Jason for a moment, would you?â
The weight of the month-old infantâand the acheâbarely had a chance to register before Cass, now settled into the rocker, reached again for the softly fussing infant. Dana allowed herself an extra second of stolen new-baby scent before relinquishing her charge, watching Cass attach baby to breast with a neutral expression. The baby now contentedly slurping away, her partner lifted amused blue green eyes to her. âC.J.âs already got several potential locations lined up. All you have to do is weed out the ones that wonât work.â
A trickle of perspiration made a run for it down Danaâs sternum, seeking haven in her cleavage. âIâd just assumed weâd all do this together.â
âI know, sweetie. But Iâm pooped. And Blakeâs on my case as it is about coming back to work so soon. Besides, between our lease being up next month and the store about to burst at the seamsââ
âWhat about Mercy? Why canât she do it?â
âWhy canât I do what?â
The third side of the Great Expectations triangle stood in the office doorway, sports car-red fingernails sparkling against a frilly little skirt Dana wouldnât have been able to wear when she was twelve.
âGo property scouting,â Dana said. âYouâd be much better at it than me.â
Meredes Zamora swiped a dark curl out of her face as she squeezed into the office. âIâm also much better at juggling five customers at a time. You get rattled with two.â
âI do not!â
Both ladies laughed.
âOkay, so maybe I do get a little flustered.â
âHoney,â Mercy said, not unkindly, âyou start stuttering.â
âAnd dropping things,â Cass added.
âAndââ
âOkay, okay! I get your point!â
It was true. Even after nearly five years, even though wallpaper books and Excel spreadsheets held no terror for her, Dana still tended to lose her composure under duress. Especially about making business decisions on her ownâ
âHeâs expecting your call,â Cass said.
Dana suddenly felt like a bird being eyed by a pair of hungry cats. âWho is?â
âC.J.â
She sighed in tandem with the soft jangle of the bell over the front door. In a flounce of curls and a swish of that mini-skirted fanny that had, Dana was sure, never felt the pinch of a girdle, Mercy pivoted back out to the sales floor, leaving Dana with the Duchess of Determination. She decided to ignore the feeling of dread curdling in her stomach as a slow, sly grin stretched across Cassâs naturally glossed mouth. âYouâve never seen C.J., have you?â
Curdled dread never lied. Especially when it came to Cass, who, now that her own love life was copacetic, had made fixing Danaâs woeful lack in that department her personal crusade.
Wiping her palms on the front of her skirt, Dana pivoted toward the door. âMercy probably needs me out frontââ
âNo, she doesnât. Sit.â Cass nodded toward the pile of clothes on her desk. âThose things need to be tagged anyway.â