Page 72 of Own the Eights Maybe Baby
“Western,” Jordan answered.
The woman toyed with one of the crystals around her neck. “I love a good Western-themed gala,” she replied on a heavy sigh.
Was her mother homesick?
Georgie glanced at the clock. Their FBI activity was set to start in one minute.
“Jordan?” her mother called.
“Yes, Lorraine.”
A crease Georgie had never seen appeared on her mother’s forehead.
“Why are you holding a doll?” the woman asked, cocking her head to the side.
Georgie glanced at Faby, tucked under her husband’s arm. That darn fake baby had become such a part of their lives, she’d forgotten to tell him or at least gesture for him to keep the plastic infant out of the camera’s view.
She stared at her mother, who’d raised a suspicious eyebrow. A few months without Botox had allowed the woman’s expression to shine through.
“Well, Mom, look at the time. You keep channeling those good vibrations. We’ve got it all taken care of here in Denver. Love to Howard. Kiss, kiss!” she said, stealing a line from her mother’s playbook before signing off and closing her laptop.
She collapsed forward and rested her head on the desk.
“I feel like I just ran a marathon. Do you think my mom’s on to us?”
Jordan rubbed the tense muscles between her shoulder blades. “I don’t know, babe,” he answered as someone knocked on the door.
“It’s time for your special story time activity,” Talya called from the other side.
“Give us a minute,” Jordan replied.
“I don’t think you have a minute,” Talya answered with a note of concern in her usually cheery voice.
Jordan frowned. “Why not?”
“The toddlers are here for story time. Simon’s trying to corral them now, but they’re getting restless.Reallyrestless,” she finished with a thread of terror woven into the last two words.
“Toddlers?” Georgie exclaimed, then met her husband’s gaze as absolute horror flashed in his eyes.
