Under the Covers by Rita Herron Read Free Book Online

meet you, Tammy." Abby jiggled the child's chubby hand. "What an adorable little girl. What's her name?"
    "Lisa Sue. Her daddy and I think she's pretty cute, too." Tammy nuzzled her daughter's fuzzy head to her own cheek and Abby's heart squeezed. She had wanted a baby, had planned to talk to Lenny about it soon....
    "Dr. Jensen, I need to ask you something. Randy and I are doing okay, marriage-wise, but nursing takes a lot out of me, and I've been tired and Randy's a morning person, if you know what I mean, and I'm not. I need my coffee in an IV, especially after being up all night with the baby. I just fall back into bed smelling like sour milk and can't get in the mood. And we never go out anymore. Do you have any advice?"
    Abby scribbled a note in the book. As much as she might like to, she couldn't give individual counseling sessions today or they'd never finish. Maybe she should pass out business cards, offer a free session with every book.
    No, she was here only to sign enough books to please her publicist. Besides, she had her hands full now with everything else. She couldn't possibly take on more clients.
    "You might try a baby-sitter," Abby suggested. "Plan a date night once a week. When the baby gets used to that, take a romantic weekend together—just you and your husband."
    The woman brightened and thanked her. A tall, broad-shouldered woman wearing a floppy hat and bright orange sunglasses towered over several people in line, scrutinizing Abby. She shifted, uncomfortable with the woman's pointed stare, and she couldn't help but notice the lady's broad hands. She also had the hairiest arms Abby had ever seen on a female. She squinted to see more clearly—the woman's jaw was broad and covered in stubble.
    Good grief, the woman in the flowery dress was a man.
    A cross-dresser—or a transvestite?
    She bit her lip not to laugh, then ducked her head, blinking to focus on her handwriting, but her right contact lens slipped, irritating her eyelid. Acting on instinct, she rubbed her eye. It was the wrong thing to do. The contact flipped out and the room blurred in front of her. She scanned the table, patting the books and her lap, her legs, her chest, but didn't see the darn thing anywhere.
    An elderly woman leaning on a cane grunted as if her legs were about to give way. Abby blinked and tried to focus, hurriedly sweeping her hands over the books one more time, even leaning close to the surface to inspect them for the contact, but the table wobbled, and she realized the woman had clutched it for balance. Poor thing.
    To make matters worse, a baby in the back started crying, and two people complained that they had appointments to make. Refusing to cause a scene and have everyone search for the lost lens, Abby decided to plow through the signing without it. The idea of holding up the line any longer than necessary was too horrible to contemplate. She'd just have to deal with blinking and squinting through the rest of this publicity nightmare.
    After the spindly little lady wobbled off with her copy in hand, a divorced military woman in her sixties enlightened her on the singles club she'd joined and some man with a bulldozer tattooed on his arm who had swept her off her feet. The eighty-year-old man behind her had just gotten married for the sixth time and wanted this marriage to last longer than the others.
    A grungy man with a beer belly stepped forward and wagged a finger in her face. "My wife read this and now she says I'm not a good lover—"
    Abby drew back, stunned at the man's vehemence.
    "She was always satisfied before, lady." The robust man slammed his fist on the table, rocking the stack of books. "You have to talk to her."
    The bookseller approached and spoke in a hushed voice to the man.
    "I'm sorry you're having problems, sir," Abby said calmly, although his tone frightened her and added to the headache forming behind her eyes from not being able to see.
    "What are you going to do about it?"
    "I think