Mom In Waiting
Maureen Child
HER STAND-IN FIANCE?When Tracy Hall vowed to be the belle of her high school reunion, she thought all she'd need was a glamorous new look, a diamond ring on her finger and a fiance - conveniently left behind, of course. Simple, right? Wrong! Once she met up with high school heartthrob Rick Bennet, her simple plan went awry.For after an unexpected night of passion with the gorgeous marine captain, Tracy suddenly found herself inconveniently pregnant. Now Rick no longer wanted to be her pretend fiance … but her husband of convenience. But what Rick was willing to do for duty, Tracy could do only for love… .BACHELOR BATTALION: Defending their country is their duty; love and marriage is their reward!
“I’ll Be Your Pretend Fiancé,” He Said. (#ua4700086-86d7-5dcb-bad9-c27150f604e1)Letter to Reader (#u304b1581-ad72-58b8-9a92-f1b5ee377e88)Title Page (#u33cf2db2-ff04-53ed-98aa-ec5fbaf2c8ac)About the Author (#u915b5430-edd4-51ce-978b-c41708259b81)Dedication (#u852f61ee-eef3-5d24-b4fd-3c9acca1d4b6)Chapter One (#u1b5e83c3-69d0-522b-b7c3-775fdc093432)Chapter Two (#ub38f55bd-bbcc-58dd-af91-f16e76b072f9)Chapter Three (#ue7667e34-0b02-52d0-8e7c-52961b6d25c9)Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“I’ll Be Your Pretend Fiancé,” He Said.
Tracy reacted to Rick’s idea with an excited shiver. By agreeing, she would gain a few more days of a rich, full fantasy life. One in which Captain Rick Bennet, United States Marine Corps, loved her.
Her eyes misted over. If she indulged in that much fantasy, going back to a life without him would be even more painful than it was already going to be.
She shook her head firmly.
“Why not?” he demanded. “A real live fiancé is much easier to believe than a conspicuously absent one.... But that’s not the only reason.”
“Then what?”
“You can’t ignore the possibility that you might be pregnant. Your baby can’t have a pretend father.”
And he’d be damned if he’d have anybody thinking that his baby had been fathered by her fictional accountant.
Dear Reader,
Silhouette Desire matches August’s steamy heat with six new powerful, passionate and provocative romances.
Popular Elizabeth Bevarly offers That Boss of Mine as August’s MAN OF THE MONTH. In this irresistible romantic comedy, a CEO falls for his less-than-perfect secretary.
And Silhouette Desire proudly presents a compelling new series, TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB. The members of this exclusive club are some of the Lone Star State’s sexiest, most powerful men, who go on a mission to rescue a princess and find true love! Bestselling author Dixie Browning launches the series with Texas Millionaire, in which a fresh-faced country beauty is wooed by an older man.
Cait London’s miniseries THE BLAYLOCKS continues with Rio: Man of Destiny, in which the hero’s love leads the heroine to the truth of her family secrets. The BACHELOR BATTALION miniseries by Maureen Child marches on with Mom in Waiting. An amnesiac woman must rediscover her husband in Lost and Found Bride by Modean Moon. And Barbara McCauley’s SECRETS! miniseries offers another scandalous tale with Secret Baby Santos.
August also marks the debut of Silhouette’s original continuity THE FORTUNES OF TEXAS with Maggie Shayne’s Million Dollar Marriage, available now at your local retail outlet.
So indulge yourself this month with some poolside reading—the first of THE FORTUNES OF TEXAS, and all six Silhouette Desire titles!
Enjoy!
Joan Marlow Golan
Senior Editor
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
US.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
Mom in Waiting
Maureen Child
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
MAUREEN CHILD
was born and raised in Southern California and is the only person she knows who longs for an occasional change of season. She is delighted to be writing for Silhouette Books, and is especially excited to be a part of the Desire line.
An avid reader, Maureen looks forward to those rare rainy California days when she can curl up and sink into a good book. Or two. When she isn’t busy writing, she and her husband of twenty-five years like to travel, leaving their two grown children in charge of the neurotic golden retriever who is the real head of the household. Maureen is also an award-winning historical writer under the names Kathleen Kane and Ann Carberry.
To the owners and operators of the Crescent Beach Motel in Crescent City, California. You have the most beautiful spot on Hwy. 101... thanks for sharing it with us.
And to the city of Newport, Oregon. Your scenery is as gorgeous as your citizens are warm and friendly.
One
“I hate reunions,” Tracy Hall muttered into the telephone receiver. This had seemed like such a good idea. Go home to Oregon. Attend a joint reunion for the last forty graduating classes of their tiny high school.
Now that her departure date had arrived, though, Tracy was seriously reconsidering the plan she’d thought brilliant a few weeks ago and that now seemed idiotic.
Still grumbling, she plopped down hard on top of her suitcase. She had enough clothes stuffed into the bag for a trip around the world. And that wasn’t even counting her brand-new garment bag that literally bulged with dresses, high heels and purses or her cosmetic bag that now held several tons of makeup and lotions.
From her precarious seat, she leaned forward and clicked the latches shut, one after the other, with a sigh of triumph. The suitcase groaned a little as she scooted off, but she ignored it.
A flutter of nerves rose up and twisted in the pit of her stomach. What if this didn’t work? What if someone found out what she was doing? Just imagining the gales of laughter made her groan and grit her teeth.
“Why am I doing this again?” she wondered aloud.
“Because it’ll be fun,” the voice on the phone told her.
“Yeah,” Tracy said, unconvinced. “So far, it’s a blast.” The preparation alone for this little trip into her past had just about worn her out. And that didn’t even take into account The Plan. She even thought of it in capital letters.
“Honestly, Tracy,” her sister Meg said in the drill sergeant tone she used on her children, “you might try for a little enthusiasm.”
Well, she had been enthusiastic. A few weeks ago. When this silly idea of hers had first occurred to her. Now that she was actually having to go through with it, though, the notion had lost a little of its sparkle.
She looked into the mirror directly opposite her. Since the image was out of focus, she closed her left eye. She’d been in the middle of putting in her new contacts when Meg called, so she was now only half-blind.
The woman staring back at her from the glass looked quietly elegant, professional, confident—if you ignored the squint. Which just went to prove how deceiving appearances are. Because beneath the flashy new veneer, she was the same old Tracy Hall The class nerd. The outcast. Ugly duckling to her older sister Meg’s swan.
So, she’d never be a cover girl. She’d learned to live with that. But, she told herself, even ugly ducklings grow up. And become, if not gorgeous swans, at least not-too-bad ducks.
“Tracy?” Meg said loudly. “You still there?”
“Yeah, I’m here,” she said, smiling at the growing noise from Meg’s end of the phone. “What’s going on?”
“Just the usual,” her sister said with a rueful laugh, then, half covering the mouthpiece, yelled, “Tony! Don’t jump from the top of the stairs. You’ll break your neck!”
“Is he a good old-fashioned super hero?” Tracy asked, picturing her youngest nephew in his latest death-defying feat.
“You are way out of the loop, little sister,” Meg replied. “They’re passé. We’re into Power Rangers and Hercules.”
A twinge of regret skittered through Tracy. She was out of the loop and she knew it. At twenty-eight, she was no closer to having children of her own than she had been at thirteen. The only thing about her situation that had changed was the fact that she’d finally come to grips with the idea that she would probably never have the family she used to dream about.
Working out of your home, alone, was not conducive to meeting single men.
“I’d better go,” Meg said with a tired sigh. “Jenny’s got her Xena, Warrior Princess costume on and she’s challenging Hercules to a fight to the death.”
Tracy smiled. She might not ever get to be a mom, but she loved every minute of being an aunt. And reunion or not, she was looking forward to spending a few days with all four of her nieces and nephews. “Where are Becky and David?” she asked, wondering about Meg’s two oldest kids.
“Probably selling tickets to the fight,” her sister said. “Half the neighborhood’s arriving as we speak.”
A car horn caught her attention and Tracy walked to the nearest window. “Speaking of arriving,” she muttered as she watched the black Range Rover pull into her driveway. “Rick’s here.”
She squinted against the sun’s glare and closed her left eye, but still couldn’t see the driver. As she stared, a tall, shapeless blob of shadows emerged from the car, closed the door and locked it.
“How does he look?” Meg demanded.
“Blurry.”
“Put your glasses on.” An exasperated sigh followed that direct order.
She kept her gaze locked on the blur and asked, “Exactly what did he say when you asked him to give me a ride?”
“He said, and I quote, ‘Sure,’ unquote,” Meg said.
Mistake, Tracy told herself. Maybe huge mistake. “Y’know,” she said aloud, “the mechanic insists my car is fine now. I probably wouldn’t have any trouble driving myself.”
“Uh-huh. And he’s the same mechanic who fixed it the last time?”
“Well, yeah.” Tracy frowned as the blurry figure moved toward her condo. “But he’s learned a lot since then.”
“I should hope so,” Meg muttered.
“Everybody has to work their way up in their profession. Jimmy’s improving all the time.” And Tracy would not try to explain to her sister why she couldn’t desert the young mechanic for one who was more skilled. But she wasn’t going to be the one to shatter Jimmy’s confidence by abandoning his shop.
Still, she didn’t exactly trust his abilities enough to drive home by herself, either.
“It’s not too late to take a plane,” Meg said, her voice teasing.
“Oh, no.” Tracy shook her head. “Planes are heavier than air. They fall. And they fall from really high up.” Nope. No way was she going to get into an airplane. “But I could take the train.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Tracy,” Meg said, impatience coloring her tone. “What’s the big deal? Rick was driving up for the reunion anyway.”
True. And since he was stationed at Camp Pendleton, just twenty or so miles south of Tracy’s house, she really was on his way north. Camp Pendleton. She’d been tempted once or twice over the last couple of years to drive down to the base and see Rick...just for old-time’s sake. But she’d always talked herself out of it.
Accepting a ride from him today might feel a lot less awkward if she hadn’t.
“I don’t know,” Tracy said and leaned forward, watching him, until her forehead hit the cold windowpane. “It just seems weird, that’s all. I haven’t seen him in more than ten years. What if we don’t have anything to talk about? It’s a long drive to Oregon.”
Meg actually laughed at that one. “Since when do you have trouble talking?”
True. Since growing out of her gangly, adolescent years, Tracy had made up for lost time. Her father had often said that given enough time, Tracy could talk the ears right off a statue.
Of course, good-looking men still had the ability to make her tongue-tied and distinctly uncomfortable. Besides, this was Rick. She could almost feel her nerves gathering for a good old-fashioned anxiety attack. Instantly, old memories rose up in her brain and she almost cringed.
As if reading her mind, Meg added, “I’m sure he’s forgotten all about your stalker tendencies.”
“Stalker?” Tracy straightened up. “I never stalked him. ”I...watched him. From a discreet distance.”
“Yeah,” Meg said on another laugh. “From behind every tree and bush on the block.”
Remembering those long-ago days brought back echoing waves of teenage angst. How she had loved Rick Bennet. Her big sister’s boyfriend.
From below, she heard a brisk series of knocks on the door. Releasing old memories, she jumped into action.
“Gotta go, Meg,” Tracy said, ignoring her sister’s yelp of protest. “See ya soon.” She hung up and hurried to the bathroom. Rick would have to wait a minute or two. She wasn’t going to meet him with only one lens in. If she was going to pull off this little plan of hers, she wanted to get it right from the beginning.
Flipping on the light, she picked up her other contact lens and tipped her head back. She’d been practicing using the damn things for a week now, and she was still uncomfortable sticking foreign objects into her eyes.
But she’d get better. She had to. Her thick glasses were a part of the old Tracy. And that girl was not going to the reunion.
“Done,” she said to herself, and tried to stop the wild blinking of her left eye. Like a twitch, her eyelid jerked and fluttered as if it was catching on the lens, which it probably was.
The doorbell rang, clanging and bonging like the bells of Big Ben. Apparently, he’d given up on knocking.
“Oh, swell,” she said and clamped one hand over her left eye. Rick was downstairs and she was going to meet him for the first time in years looking like a one-eyed pirate. No time to start over, though. She had to hurry down and let him in before he rang that stupid bell again.
The previous owners of her condo had obviously suffered from delusions of grandeur, installing a doorbell with tones that rivaled a church organ. And, since moving in six months ago, she hadn’t had time to have it replaced.
She’d been too busy establishing her at-home business and then getting herself in shape for what promised to be a very interesting high school reunion. With any luck.
Half stumbling down the stairs, Tracy muttered curses as behind her hand, her eyeball watered and itched. She ached to rub it but was afraid she’d send that new lens into what was left of her brain.
The bell pealed again and the reverberations had hardly faded away before she opened the door and came face-to-face with a big part of her past.
He still looked blurry.
But her memory filled in the blanks and her stomach did a quick series of twists and flips. Just like the old days.
Oh, this was going to be a long road trip.
“Tracy?”
“Hi,” she said and winced at the squeaking sound coming out of her mouth instead of her normal voice. Lord, his voice still had the power to rumble along her spine with mind-numbing speed. Tracy swallowed hard to dislodge the sudden lump in her throat, but didn’t try to speak again just yet. Instead, she stepped back and waved him inside with her free hand as she tried to remind herself she was not fourteen anymore. That shy, gawky teenager had grown into a widely sought-after computer wizard.
So why, she wondered, could she almost feel the tin wires of her braces digging into her lips? “Come on in,” she finally managed to say.
Rick Bennet had not been looking forward to this. He’d only agreed to give Tracy a ride as a favor to Meg, his high-school girlfriend. But the Tracy he remembered was nothing like the woman standing in front of him now.
In his memory, she was a shy, slightly overweight, fingernail-chewing, ponytail-wearing irritant. The younger sister he’d had to put up with every time he’d arrived at the Hall house to see Meg.
The girl who used to walk past his parents’ house a dozen times a day. The girl who had trailed after him like a smaller shadow.
Obviously though, times—and Tracy—had changed.
He experienced a quick, hot jab of pure male admiration. It had been a long time since a woman had so instantly affected him. A flash of desire spurted into life as his gaze swept over her.
Her short blond hair was a fluffy tousle of curls that made him want to reach out and touch them, to test their softness against his skin. She wore a simple yellow blouse tucked into a calf-length, filmy looking summer skirt and small strappy sandals on her dainty feet. Pale pink nail polish decorated her toes, and with surprise he noted her tiny silver toe ring. Long, abstract silver drops hung from her earlobes, glinting in the afternoon sunlight. A honey-golden tan accentuated her blond hair and blue eyes, making her look like a magazine ad for youthful living in Southern California.
She made his mouth water. And though his brain had a hard time believing this desirable creature was really Tracy Hall...his body didn’t care.
“Wow,” he muttered. “You look great,” he said, yet noted the hand she kept clamped over one eye and the fact that she was squinting with her other eye.
“Yeah,” she grumbled just under her breath. “For a one-eyed pirate princess.”
“Something wrong?”
“No,” she said, as he stepped past her into the entry hall. “It’s just these darn contacts.”
Well, that explained the absence of the thick, wirerimmed glasses he’d recalled. But what explained the rest of her transformation? he wondered silently. Like a butterfly from a little caterpillar, Tracy Hall had become a stunner.
His gaze followed her as she shut the door and turned to face him.
“Look,” she said, keeping her hand firmly clasped over her eye. “Why don’t you go into the living room while I run upstairs and see if I can get this darn thing out without blinding myself?”
Grabbing a fistful of skirt, she hiked the hem up to her knees and raced up the steps leading to the second story. Rick watched her, idly admiring the flash of her legs and the sweet curve of her behind.
That thought caught him up short. Tracy’s behind? Little Tracy? Bookworm and math whiz? “Whoa,” he told himself and rubbed the back of his neck. Shaking his head at this unexpected development, Rick turned and walked toward the doorway opening into the living room.
Another surprise.
He didn’t know why, but he hadn’t imagined Tracy living in such quiet elegance. Twin white sofas, their stark surfaces brightened with boldly colored throw pillows, sat facing each other. A low-slung coffee table that looked like a polished redwood stump lay between them and held a scattering of magazines neatly fanned out on its surface. A couple of overstuffed chairs, small decorator tables and reading lamps made up the rest of the furniture in the large, airy room. Two of the four walls were completely covered by bookcases. Another wall boasted floor-toceiling windows with a view of the ocean in the distance. On the last wall was a fireplace with a basket of wood sitting on its hearth. The wide plank floors gleamed in the splash of sunlight streaming through the uncurtained windows.
Just one surprise after another. When he had agreed to give Tracy a ride home to Oregon, he’d somehow expected to find her in a small apartment, locked away from the world. Stupid, he supposed, to assume that a grown woman would be much the same as she had been at fourteen. Just because she had spent most of her time then hidden behind the pages of a book didn’t mean the same would hold true now.
He couldn’t help wondering if her personality had changed as thoroughly as her appearance.
Upstairs, Tracy raced into her bedroom, clipped her hip on the edge of her dresser and ran into the bathroom, wincing at the low throb of pain. Another bruise soon, she thought. Honestly, she was black and blue enough to convince anyone that she was being abused regularly.
But in her own defense, she wasn’t really clumsy. She was simply always rushing, thinking ahead to what her next move would be to the extent that she didn’t pay attention to what she was doing at the moment.
And right now, she was thinking about the next three days spent in a car—and motels—with Rick Bennet.
Setting both palms down flat on the edge of the sink, she leaned forward and dragged several deep breaths into lungs that felt starved for air. “Jeeezzz, why’d he have to be so good looking still? Why couldn’t he have developed a hunch back, adult acne and bad teeth?”
The butterflies in her stomach had butterflies of their own. One look at him and her heartbeat had quickened until she wouldn’t have been surprised to see it fly right out of her chest.
Just imagine what her reaction might have been if he’d arrived wearing his Marine uniform. Ooohh... the thought of that had her toes curling tightly into her new sandals.
What was it about Rick Bennet that got to her? Even as a kid, Tracy had watched his every move and daydreamed about him breaking up with her sister, Meg, in favor of her. She’d gone to sleep every night kissing a pillow, pretending it was him. She’d filled dozens of diaries detailing every word he ever said to her, which wasn’t difficult since most of their conversations had been limited to... “Hi, Rick,” from her and “Hey kid, where’s Meg?” from him.
Not much, true, but enough to warm every corner of a nerdy fourteen-year-old girl’s heart.
And now...he had actually paid her a compliment. Obviously, the professional makeover she’d sprung for had been worth every penny.
She lifted her head, stared into the mirror and groaned. “Oh, yeah. You’re a real beauty, you are.”
Prying open her eyelid, she fumbled for a minute or two, then finally managed to adjust the annoying contact lens.
Studying her reflection, she had to wonder if this was worth all the trouble. Not just the contacts. She’d eventually get used to them. No, she was beginning to doubt the wisdom of her whole plan.
But reunions didn’t come along every day. And heck, she’d heard people talking about going back to their old schools and lying like crazy about their grand achievements in life. And it wasn’t as though she was going home pretending to be the president of the United States or something.
She flipped off the light switch and walked into the bedroom. Sunlight filtered through the sky-blue blinds and lay in golden slats across her quilt-covered bed. Almost like sunshine sliding through prison bars. Except that they were lying horizontally instead of vertically and prisons probably didn’t have such homey touches as quilts and feather pillows. And besides, they didn’t put you in jail for lying, did they?
A guilty conscience nudged her again.
“Oh, perfect,” she mumbled, striding toward the bed to pick up her bags. “It’s a good thing you didn’t become a criminal,” she said aloud. “Or a spy. You just don’t have the stomach for it.”
Who was she trying to kid? It wasn’t the thought of living a lie for the reunion that had her so tied up in knots. It was seeing Rick again. It was feeling those old feelings again. It was realizing that some things, no matter how many years had passed, didn’t change.
Slinging her garment bag over one shoulder, she staggered under its weight, groaned, then lifted the metal bar on her suitcase and set its tiny back wheels on the pine floor. Grabbing up her cosmetic case, she headed for the doorway with slow, plodding steps.
Like a man headed up the stairs of a gallows. “Oh, get a grip, Tracy,” she told herself. Honestly, if she was going to spend the next week or two sweating over every tiny white lie—excuse me, exaggeration—she’d never make it.
And for heaven’s sake, she’d better get over the flutter of nerves that attacked whenever she was within an arm’s reach of Rick. He was doing a favor for her sister. Just being friendly. He wasn’t there as her date. Or her lover.
Ooohh. That thought sent a tingling sensation to every part of her body. Slowly, deliberately, she pulled in a long, deep breath, hoping to stabilize her nervous system.
When she was in control again, she lifted her chin and said aloud, “You can do this, y’know. It’s just a few days alone with him. Then you won’t see him for another ten years or so. How hard can it be?”
Something told her that last sentence would go down in her private journal as the equivalent of “famous last words.”
Two
Freeway miles flew past.
In just a few hours, they were out of the Los Angeles area’s crush of cars and speeding along a highway edged on either side by acres of farm country. Orange and apple groves blended into small, tidy vineyards and those into pistachio orchards. The sky seemed bluer, the sun warmer and the wind cleaner.
Tracy stared out the window at the passing scenery, noting the ancient California oaks—now protected by the state—dotting the rolling hillsides. Occasional farm houses added touches of color to the rainfreshened greenery. The farther they traveled from home and the work that awaited her return, the more Tracy relaxed into the plush seat cushion.
This wasn’t so bad, she told herself. Actually, it had been a pretty nice trip so far. She hadn’t stumbled over a conversation once, and she was almost used to Rick being in such close proximity to her.
Of course, she’d be in way better shape if he weren’t.
She slid a sidelong glance in his direction. Both hands on the wheel, he kept his gaze locked on the road in front of him. But, even in profile, his good looks were enough to fuel a dozen or more very interesting fantasies in far less susceptible women than she.
His light brown hair was cut militarily short, yet retained just enough length to let her see traces of what used to be soft waves. He wore a pair of silverframed aviator-style sunglasses that hid his deep emerald-green eyes. At six foot one, he was much taller than she, even sitting down, and his dark blue polo shirt, open at the collar, stretched across a broad chest that proved he had more than a passing acquaintance with weight lifting.
Her gaze slid down briefly, noting his faded blue jeans and the slip-on deck shoes he wore. Yep. Gorgeous. She bit back a groan and deliberately turned her gaze back to the road ahead of them.
“Inspection over?” he inquired politely.
“Excuse me?” she glanced at him, feigning confusion.
“Did I pass?” He spared her a quick, amused look.
Obviously, he wasn’t going to buy her innocent act.
“Saw that, huh?” No point in denying what he’d clearly noticed.
“Subtlety was never your strong suit, Tracy,” he said and one corner of his mouth quirked into a half smile.
“Still not,” she admitted. Shifting in her seat, she gave him her full attention. “Though I rarely hide behind trees these days.”
His smile deepened.
“Anyway, I was just noticing that you really haven’t changed much over the years.” An understatement somewhere along the lines of “Gee, the Empire State Building’s a little tall.”
“You sure have,” he countered and shot another half glance her way. “You look great.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I think.”
He laughed shortly. “Okay, that didn’t quite sound the way I meant it to.”
“It’s all right. I know what you meant.” A gust of air rushed through her open window, pushing her hair into her eyes. She swept it back with an impatient gesture.
She should be pleased, she thought. Wasn’t he seeing her exactly the way she wanted all of the people back home to see her? Changed? Grown up? Beautiful? So why did it irritate her that Rick Bennet was noticing the very image she’d worked so hard to portray?
Maybe because there was a part of her that wanted a man to be attracted to the real Tracy? She couldn’t help wondering what it might have felt like to have Rick look at her as she usually was, in jeans and T-shirt, and still think she was beautiful.
“So,” he asked, turning down the volume on the car radio, “how come you’re making the trip home?”
“Probably for the same reasons as you,” she said. “To see the family. Visit. Stroll through the school and see if it’s as hideous as I remember it.”
“Hideous?” he repeated. “I always thought you liked school.”
“Why?” she asked. “Because I studied all the time, got good grades?”
“Well,” he said with a shrug. “Yeah.”
A natural assumption, she supposed. It would never have occurred to him that she’d spent all of her time studying because she was too shy to make friends and too awkward to attract boys. School was the one and only place where Tracy shone, which had pleased her proud parents no end, but had also contributed to her nerd reputation. Of course, her doom was sealed when she skipped a grade. Not only was she younger than everyone else, but a geek, as well. Every time some teacher had held her up to the class as an example of what could be accomplished through actual study, the resentment level at Juneport High had escalated.
Her one real friend had been her sister, Meg, which had only made Tracy’s lusting after Rick even more awful.
“Talked to my mom last week,” he was saying, and Tracy steered her attention back to the here and now. “She tells me Meg’s pregnant again.”
“Yep.” Swiftly, stirrings of both excitement and envy rippled through Tracy. Deliberately, she pushed the latter into a dark corner of her heart, hoping it would stay there.
But oh, how she would have loved to be somebody’s mother.
“How many does that make?”
“This is her fifth,” Tracy said, smiling at the idea of another new baby to cuddle. The warm, solid weight of a tiny human being cradled against her was the sweetest feeling she could imagine. She’d have to take a couple of weeks vacation when the newest niece or nephew arrived, just so she could indulge her status of favored aunt—and, work out some of her own frustrated baby fever pangs.
“Five kids!” Rick shook his head and whistled to himself, low and long.
“What’s wrong with that?” she demanded, instantly on the defensive.
“Whoa, Aunt Tracy,” he said, taking one hand from the wheel long enough to hold it up in mock surrender. “I only meant it’s hard to imagine Meg—or John, for that matter—having five kids.”
“Oh.” Her protective instincts subsiding just a bit, Tracy said, “Okay. It’s just that a lot of people make a big deal out of how many kids she has. And I don’t figure it’s anybody’s business but Meg and John’s. Besides, who says the nuclear family has to be limited to 2.5 children?”
He chuckled and shook his head. “Not me. I don’t see the appeal in having kids, but like you said, that’s their business.”
“Good, because she’ll probably make sure you get to meet the whole brood.”
Rick’s eyes widened at the thought until he looked like a deer caught in headlights. Apparently, the very idea of being surrounded by kids was enough to turn the big bad Marine pale as a ghost. Still the confirmed bachelor then, she thought with a wistful sigh.
Not that she would ever have had a chance with him anyway. But she wanted a man who wanted the same things she did. Home. Family. A big, sloppy dog.
“You’re excited about seeing the kids, aren’t you?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Oh, yeah,” he said and grinned at her. “Your face lit up and there was a distinct gleam in your eyes.”
“I’m a very good aunt,” she said.
He looked at her again, this time thoughtfully. “I’ll bet you are.”
Rick had the feeling that Tracy was pretty damn good at whatever she did. She’d always had a soft heart. And, he might remember her as being an annoyance, but he also remembered just how smart she was. With perfect clarity, he recalled how humiliated he’d been to have a fourteen-year-old girl tutor him in geometry. Of course, without her help, he might still be sitting in Mr. Mofino’s classroom, staring blankly at the chalkboard as though trying to decipher ancient hieroglyphs.
Back then, all he’d wanted to do was play football and spend every other spare minute with Meg. She had been his first real love and he’d been sure that they would be together for the rest of their lives.
He pulled in a deep breath and let himself remember the night that particular dream had died.
It was the night after high school graduation. They were supposed to meet at the gym, then drive to Reno and get married. Stupid, he told himself now. But at the time, it had all seemed so romantic. So adult. Suitcase packed, graduation money in his pocket, he’d driven to the gym and parked in the shadow-filled lot to wait for her. Hours passed, and at first he’d assumed she was having trouble getting away. Then later, he’d found other, more complex excuses for her. At last, he fell asleep only to wake up as dawn filtered through the darkness. He was still alone.
Naturally, he’d driven straight to Meg’s. Convinced that only illness or a broken bone could have kept her from their rendezvous, he’d been surprised when she’d hustled out of the quiet house in her bathrobe to meet him on the lawn.
All these years later, he could still hear her voice, tinged with regret.
“I’m sorry, Rick. But I just couldn’t go through with it.”
“But why?” he’d demanded, and made a grab for her, which she quickly sidestepped.
“I can’t explain it, really,” she said as a single tear sneaked from the corner of her eye. “But it just doesn’t feel right.”
“Right? Of course it’s right,” he argued. “We love each other.”
Meg shook her head. “I can’t marry you. Not now. Not like this.”
“When, then?” he asked, following her as she backed up toward her house.
“Rick, please understand,” she said in a strained whisper. “I don’t...I can’t...” She shook her head, turned around and bolted for the safety of her house.
Left alone in the dawn silence, Rick had taken what was left of his eighteen-year-old heart, wrapped it up in his battered pride and gone home himself. The next day, he’d left early for college, spending the summer working as far away from Juneport, Oregon, as possible.
Meg wrote to him, months later, apologizing again before informing him that she was now engaged to marry his best friend, John Bingham.
By then though, he’d already come to believe that Meg had done them both a favor by backing out of their plans. Love’s wounds are deep, but when you’re young, they heal fairly quickly.
Once out of college, Rick had entered the Marines as an officer. He liked his job. His life. And every once in a while, he silently thanked Meg for having been smarter than he was so long ago.
Besides. Five kids? No matter what dear Aunt Tracy thought, the idea of five kids was enough to give him cold chills. Of course, since he was in no hurry to get married, that wasn’t something he bad to worry about.
He’d managed to avoid any permanent entanglements for thirty-two years. Not that he had anything against marriage as a general rule. Rick squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. He came from a long line of Happily Ever After marriages. Not one couple on either side of his family had ever been divorced, and he had no intention of being the first.
God knew, he’d seen first hand just how tough military life was on spouses. Relationships crumbled with sad regularity. Rick wasn’t about to get married when he knew damn well that he couldn’t give a wife the kind of attention and devotion she had a right to expect.
He was a Marine, first and foremost. And not many women could understand, let alone accept that.
“So,” Tracy asked, and her voice brought him out of his reveries, “what are your brothers up to? Have they made you an uncle yet?”
Rick laughed at the idea. “Heck, no. There’s not a woman alive who’d be willing to put up with either one of them.”
“Oh, very nice,” she said, a soft smile on her face.
Had she always had that tiny dimple? he wondered.
“They’re in the Marines too, aren’t they?” she asked.
He nodded. “Andy’s a lieutenant and Jeff is a gunnery sergeant. They’ll both be home for the reunion.”
“And you’re looking forward to seeing them.”
“Oh, yeah.” The Bennet family hadn’t all been together in one place in years. “It’s been way too long.”
“Imagine. All three of you becoming Marines.”
“Not so hard to figure with a retired sergeant major for a father.”
“No, I guess not.” She laughed, and Rick smiled at the soft, almost musical sound of it. Something inside him tightened as he realized he was really enjoying himself.
With Tracy.
Scowling, he told himself to keep his mind on his driving and off the idle fantasies beginning to swirl through his brain.
“Do you remember,” she asked next, “when Andy swiped your bike, left it on the beach and it went out on the tide?”
Grateful for the distraction, he asked, “Remember it?” Shaking his head, he said, “The guy still owes me thirty-five dollars for that bike. I delivered newspapers for months to earn the money to buy it.”
“Poor baby,” she cooed.
“No sympathy from you, apparently.”
“Of course not,” she said on a laugh. “That’s one of my best memories. Andy gave me a ride on the handlebars that day. I was with him when the bike went for its long last swim.”
“You’re kidding!” He glanced at her, then looked back at the road.
“Would I kid about a thing like that?” She shook her head and laughed at the memory. “We swam out into the ocean, chasing that darn bike, but apparently King Neptune needed some transportation, because it disappeared real quick.”
He tried to imagine the young, hopelessly awkward Tracy, swimming out to sea after a bike, but looking at the woman beside him made it darn near impossible. “He never said anything to me about that.”
She lifted her chin, crossed her heart with her fingertips, then held up the regulation three-fingered salute. “Partners in crime do not squeal on each other.”
“Until now?” he asked.
Tracy nodded. “I think the statute of limitations has about run out.”
“That’s what you think, Spot,” he said, unconsciously using the nickname he’d christened her with one long ago summer. “I’ll be settling up with each of you now. Your share comes to seventeen fifty.”
Tracy didn’t say anything for a long minute.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Going to refuse to pay up?”
She still didn’t speak. He glanced at her and noted the wide, surprised look in her eyes. “You called me Spot.”
“So I did,” he said on a chuckle. Strange. Where had that come from? He hadn’t thought of that nickname in years. But he certainly remembered the reason behind it. Every summer, Tracy’s freckles had dotted her cheeks and nose as if someone had splattered her with soft peach paint. And, as he recalled, she wasn’t very fond of his making fun of that fact. “Huh.” He changed lanes and spared her another look. “Sorry, don’t know why that popped out.”
“Oh, don’t be sorry,” she said and reached out to place one hand on his arm.
Rick’s gaze dropped briefly to her long, slender fingers against his tanned forearm. Hot, jagged bolts of electricity seemed to hum from her touch, reverberating deep inside him. Mouth dry, he told himself it was simply a normal male reaction to a pretty woman. But it was more than that and he knew it. She pulled her hand away too quickly for his tastes. But even after their connection had been broken, the echo of that surprising sizzle of heat lingered.
He rolled his window down, hoping the cool outside air would work on the sexual heat barbecuing him from the inside out.
“God, it’s been years since I’ve even thought of that name,” she whispered, half to herself.
“I don’t know what made me think of it,” he admitted. But being with her like this...memories filled the car like the scent of childhood summers.
He shifted in his seat again. What he was feeling at the moment had nothing whatever to do with the Tracy he remembered from years ago.
“I never told you,” she said, her voice low and thoughtful, “how much that nickname meant to me.”
“What?” He steered the car into the far right lane. Less traffic meant he could shoot her another look. Her blue eyes looked misty, shimmering. And entirely too beautiful. “As I remember it, you were less than happy with me at the time.”
“Oh, sure, I acted all insulted,” Tracy said. “It was awful the way I used to freckle up after a couple of hours in the sun. Meg always got such a great tan and I looked, well, dreadful.”
“Apparently, you’ve grown out of that,” he pointed out, noticing again her pale golden tan.
“Not completely,” she admitted. “It’s just that the freckles don’t pop out on my face anymore.”
Instantly, Rick imagined seeing those mysteriously hidden freckles for himself. His body quickened and he bit back a groan of discomfort. Hell, who would have guessed that little Tracy Hall could set his hormones in an uproar?
“But when you called me Spot...”
“Not very nice,” he said in his own defense, “but I was a kid.”
“I loved it.”
He slowed down to match the pace of the produce truck ahead of them. “You did?”
“Oh, yes.” She shoved her fingers through her hair, raking the curls back from her face and exposing the long elegant line of her throat. Those silver earrings twinkled in the sunlight. “Don’t you see?” she asked. “For me, it was the first time you ever really noticed me.”
He was noticing her plenty right now, but she appeared to be unaware of it.
“Oh,” he said, “I noticed. Hard not to when you were walking your dog back and forth in front of the house every half hour.”
She dipped her head and looked up at him, a smile curving lips that looked full and ripe and totally delicious.
“Again with the not subtle,” she said, chuckling. “When your mother made you stop calling me Spot, I thought my heart would break. My misery took up three whole pages in my diary.”
He forced a rueful laugh from a too tight throat. “I wish you’d told me that. Could have saved me a week’s grounding.”
“Hey,” she said, echoing his earlier excuse, “I was a kid.”
Not anymore, he wanted to say, but somehow managed not to. Good God, he hadn’t felt like this since he was a kid himself. His palms were sweating, his heartbeat thundered in his ears and he had to wonder if there was some sort of celestial irony in all of this.
Ten, fifteen years ago, he’d been the unwilling object of Tracy’s desire—at least for a little while. Now, it seemed the tables had been neatly turned.
“Where are we going?” she asked as he steered the car into the exit lane.
“We need gas,” he explained. “Might as well get something to eat while we’re at it.” Plus, he needed to get out of the car and move around. Try to walk while he still could.
It was only late afternoon, and they could drive several more hours before stopping for the night. At that thought, he gave a heartfelt, though silent, groan. A motel. With Tracy.
Man. He hoped somebody somewhere was getting a good laugh out of this.
“Okay,” she said, “and for our first night on the road, dinner’s my treat.”
He stopped at the end of the exit and gave her a smile he hoped didn’t look forced. “At least seventeen fifty’s worth.”
“Deal.”
Three
The coffee shop was crowded, indicating to two hungry travellers that the food was better than the decor. As she surveyed the room with wide eyes, Tracy desperately hoped so.
Dark wood paneling covered the walls and garishly colored baskets, containing long, trailing arms of plastic ivy, hung from the ceiling. Improbably colored sombreros were tacked to the walls and wagon-wheel chandeliers studded with candle-watt bulbs kept the place as dark as a cave.
But the waitress was friendly and took their order quickly. As she moved off to the kitchen, Tracy took the opportunity to—all right—stare at Rick.
Even after several hours in his company, she hadn’t looked her fill of that face. Strong jaw, sharp, straight nose, piercingly green eyes dotted with tiny gold flecks near the irises and a smile that had her insides screaming for mercy.
Amazing. She’d thought her feelings for him were safely buried years ago. Instead, here she sat, feeling that torch fan into flame again. The only difference between then and now was that the sensations were stronger, more raw. After all, she was grown up now. She had a lot more detailed—if still strictly theoretical—information to draw on for her fantasies.
Their waitress set glasses of iced tea down in front of them before disappearing back into the kitchen. Needing something to do with her hands, Tracy grabbed the oversize plastic container like a drowning man reaching for a life ring. She twirled the glass between her palms, making a chain of water rings along the Formica surface of the table.
She could only hope that the icy chill of the tea would help toward cooling off the blood rushing through her veins.
“So,” he said.
“So,” she said right back. Strange, they hadn’t had any trouble talking in the car. Why so strained now? Because sitting opposite each other in a restaurant seemed too much like a date for comfort? Hah. Her on a date with Captain Rick Bennet? Not likely, despite what her imagination would like to think. Just to prove it to herself, she asked, “You said Andy and Jeff are still single. What about you?”
He took a sip of tea, set the glass down and said, “The same.”
Tracy hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until it slipped from her in a gust at his answer. A ripple of pleasure ran up her spine. As much as she knew she was indulging in a fool’s paradise, she hadn’t wanted to hear about his gorgeous girlfriend and/or live-in lover. Not to mention, God forbid, a fiancée.
“Mom’s been making all of the traditional whining noises about grandchildren for the last few years,” he said with a rueful laugh, “but at least for the foreseeable future, she’s out of luck. I can’t see either Andy or Jeff as daddies.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“You don’t want kids?” she asked, then caught herself and added, “Oops. None of my business.” Though the thought of seeing Rick’s handsome features in a tinier version brought her all sorts of warm fuzzies.
He smiled and shook his head. “Traditionally speaking, you should be married to have kids and since I don’t plan on doing that, I guess not.”
She buried the quick flash of disappointment that shot through the pit of her stomach. For heaven’s sake. Why should she be disappointed? What did she care if Rick wanted children or not? She didn’t, she told herself, although she was curious about why he was so set against marriage.
Before she could think better of it, she heard herself ask that question out loud. “As long as I’m being nosey, why are you so against marriage?”
“I’m not against the general idea of it,” he said. “Just as far as it concerns me.”
“How come?” she asked.
“Lots of reasons,” he answered, then added glibly, “maybe I’m just too old.”
To Tracy’s admittedly biased eye, Rick had aged just like good wine. He’d gotten stronger, and more fully developed. At that gooey thought, she felt a flush of heat steal up her neck and bloom in her cheeks. Oh, this was getting out of hand, she told herself. Didn’t she have enough to think about without reigniting a nearly fifteen-year-old torch?
One more time, she tried for objectivity. A casual conversation between two old—if not friends—acquaintances.
“You’re thirty-two Rick, not exactly Methuselah.”
He gave her a small smile. “Thanks, I think.”
“So what’s the real reason?” And why did she care?
Rick studied her for a long minute as if trying to decide whether or not to answer her question honestly. Finally, he said simply, “I already took one oath. To the Marines.”
Now that surprised her. What would his being in the military have to do with taking a pledge against marriage?
“The Marines and families don’t mix?”
“They can,” he said, leaning back in the booth. “With the right kind of spouse.”
“Intriguing,” she said. “And what kind is the right kind?” If she was a little more interested in his answer than she pretended, he didn’t have to know that.
“Oh,” he tipped his head back and stared up at the ceiling. Frowning, he moved more to his right to avoid one of those skeletal plastic plant limbs. “Someone who doesn’t mind moving every few years. Someone who can handle a partner’s absences.” To explain that one, he added, “Some outfits are deployed for six months at a time. And families don’t go along.” He took another long drink of tea. “You’d be surprised how many wives—and husbands for that matter—complain.”
Seemed to her that if you married someone in the military, knowing what they did for a living, then you had no right to complain about the job description.
But what did she know? Though the idea of travelling all over the world—on a boat, not a plane—appealed to her, she could see how some women wouldn’t exactly thrive on it.
“There’s a trail of discarded wedding rings from here to Guam,” Rick told her. “A military life will either make a marriage stronger than steel or shatter it completely.”
“And you’re not willing to risk it?”
“That’s right,” he said, giving that plant a look that should have melted its plastic roots. “I’ve sat and listened to too many of my friends when their marriages ended. It’s not enough they’re miserable...their children’s lives have been ruined, too.” He shook his head and stared directly into her eyes. “No, thanks. Not for me. I’m not going to be the first member of my family to get a divorce. And I’m sure as hell not going to make babies only to be forced into a custody suit somewhere down the line.”
“Well,” she said softly, “there’s a positive attitude.”
“I’ve seen too many negatives to make a positive.”
“But lots of people do it,” she pointed out.
“Sure. I have a few friends who’ve been married forever. But their wives put up with a lot.” He took a deep breath and shook his head again as if trying to figure out just how and why the women did it. “The base housing alone is like a walk on the wild side. You’re never even sure if you’ll actually find a house on base available and when you do, more than likely it was built during the Second World War. Or the First. Model homes they’re not.”
Maybe she was just being a romantic, but did where you live count for more than who you lived with?
“Well,” she said, “you grew up moving from base to base. Did you mind?”
“Not a bit,” he admitted with a half smile. “To us, it was fun. Not always easy to make new friends, but we always had each other. New schools every few years. No time to really offend any one teacher before you were off to new territory.”
“Until you landed in Juneport.”
“True. When Dad left the Corps and settled down, it was hard to get used to at first.” Bending forward, he leaned his elbows on the tabletop and cupped his drink between his palms. “Actually, staying put was harder on us than the constant moving around, for a while.”
It might have been hard on him, she thought. But the day the Bennets had moved onto her block had been one of the highlights of her teenage life. Of course, she wasn’t about to admit that out loud. It was bad enough that he had so many memories of her staring at him like an old, worshipful hound.
Instead, she said, “Yeah. Then you had plenty of time to win the enmity of teachers. Mr. Molino for example?”
He shrugged exaggeratedly. “Geometry. Still gives me nightmares.”
Strange how differently two people saw the same situation. She’d always been grateful for Rick’s helplessness at math. Those tutoring sessions when she’d had him all to herself had been the stuff a fourteen-year-old’s dreams were made of.
“Enough about me,” he said suddenly, locking his gaze with hers. “What’s going on with you? Meg tells me you’re some kind of superstar with computers.”
Had he asked Meg about her? she wondered, then told herself that was unlikely. Why would he have cared about the little twit he remembered?
“Not really,” she said modestly. “I design software and computer games.”
“And that’s it?” he asked. “No way do you get off that easy. You had me spilling my guts. It’s your turn now. Tell me about it. What exactly do you do?”
Wondering if he was really interested or just being polite, Tracy gave him a brief overview of what her daily job was like. When he asked a couple of pointed questions however, she warmed to her theme and probably ended up giving him way more information than he had counted on.
Ordinarily, there was nothing she liked better than to talk programs, games and all of the little intricacies of the computer world. But she noticed when his eyes started to glaze over and knew she’d done it again.
It never failed.
On the few occasions some living, breathing, male had actually asked her out, the conversation had turned to their work and Tracy’s enthusiasm for hers generally had the effect of putting her date to sleep. First dates rarely rated a second, so Tracy had wound up being one of the last virgins known to exist in the modern world.
Which, at the ripe old age of twenty-eight, was an embarrassing secret she kept hidden with all the stealth of the Pentagon guarding nuclear information.
“Wow,” he muttered when she finally wound down.
She gave herself a mental kick and remembered that on this trip, she wasn’t going to be the computer nerd. On this trip, she was a new, interesting, alluring Tracy. If she could figure out how to pull it off.
“Sorry,” she said, letting her gaze drop to her iced tea. “I tend to go a little overboard about my work.”
“Yeah,” he said with a nod. “Me, too. You’d be surprised how little women care about the inner workings of the military.”
She smiled at him, and her embarrassment faded. He understood, she told herself. Understood what it was to love your work so much, you could talk about it for hours.
A moment of silence stretched out between them before Rick admitted, “Okay, I confess I didn’t understand half of what you said. Math and its close relative, the computer, are still not my best things.”
Nerd, nerd, nerd. She ought to just have the word tattooed on her forehead, so the unwary could walk a wide path around her.
“But I’m impressed as hell,” he concluded, and her gaze snapped up to meet his.
“You are?” she asked. Unconvinced, she stared at him, looking for the telltale signs that he was simply being polite. Or worse yet, studying her with the fascination you might give a particularly talented lab rat.
But admiration shone in his eyes, and, unaccustomed to that reaction, Tracy didn’t know what to say.
“So I guess you’re some high-powered executive for some huge software place?”
“Nope.” Not that she hadn’t been offered positions just like the one he’d described. But as her mother used to say, she just didn’t play well with other children. She’d never really been the nine-to-five sort of person. Rather, she tended to work in frantic spurts of creativity and industry that usually cropped up about 1:00 a.m. “I run my own business.”
His eyebrows lifted high on his forehead. “You always were smarter than anyone I knew,” he said. “Your own boss, huh?”
Tracy felt an unexpected flush of pride steal over her. “Yes, and it’s great. I get to work out of my house. No power suits for me.”
His gaze dropped to take in her simple, summery outfit. “Who needs power suits when you look so good like that?”
Another flush swamped her. Not pride this time, but pure, unadulterated, feminine pleasure. Of course, if he ever got a look at her real work clothes—faded jeans and over-sized T-shirts—he’d probably change his tune. But then, for the week or so of the reunion festivities, she wasn’t plain old Tracy Hall. She was the new and improved version—the woman put together by a professional shopper, a makeover artist and the best hairdresser she could find.
And judging from the look in Rick’s eyes, the whole process had been worth every penny. If there was a small part of her that wished he would look at the real Tracy in the same way, she ignored it.
No point in torturing herself.
“Any boyfriends lurking in the shadows that I should be worried about?” he asked, shattering the very pleasant mood she’d had going.
“No.” She stiffened slightly and forced herself to relax again.
“None?” He seemed surprised, then shot her a smile that sent wild flutters of appreciation rustling in her stomach. “You’re sure no jealous lover’s going to want to punch me in the nose for having you all to myself for three days?”
“Trust me,” she told him and lifted her chin. “You’re safe.”
Shaking his head, he looked her over again slowly, as if trying to figure out why she was unattached.
“There just never seemed to be the time,” she said, even though she knew darn well there’d been plenty of time, just no willing men flocking to her front door. At least, not more than once. Computer nerds weren’t exactly at the top of the dating food chain.
“I’m amazed some man hasn’t convinced you to take the time.”
Amazed, huh? Well, that felt good, anyway.
“So we’ll both be attending the reunion unattached and available.” He gave her a wry smile. “You do realize that we’re going to be surrounded by former classmates clutching photo albums of children and spouses?”
“Oh, yeah.” Actually, it was that realization that had given birth to the plan she’d formulated a few weeks ago.
“Outnumbered and trapped in a sea of family photos,” he went on with an exaggerated shiver, “we’ll have nothing to use as ammunition.” Flashing her a quick wink, he suggested, “We should join forces, Tracy. Guard each other’s backs. Protect our flanks.”
Briefly, she enjoyed the thought of being a part of Rick Bennet’s team. Being his partner in crime, so to speak. But, as interesting as that prospect sounded, Tracy had something wildly different in mind. She’d prepared for this, knowing that she didn’t want to attend a reunion as “Poor Little Tracy, Still Manless After All These Years.”
Just imagining the sympathetic yet knowing looks she would receive from the once popular kids was enough to strengthen her resolve. Darn it, she’d been second best through most of her life. She refused to go back home as single as she’d left it.
“Sorry, Rick,” she told him with a slow shake of her head. “You’re on your own.”
“Thanks, pal.” Surprise, and was that disappointment that flickered in his eyes? He leaned back in the booth, crossed his arms over that really terrific chest of his, locked his gaze on her and asked, “Whatever happened to camaraderie? Birds of a feather flocking together? Two peas in a pod?”
Her lips twitched as a smile fought for purchase. Attempting to match his light-hearted tone, she said, “Not that I have anything against joining you in a pod...”
His eyebrows lifted.
She cleared a suddenly tight throat and continued. “It’s just that I’ve already taken care of the situation. At least as far as I’m concerned.”
Rick sat up abruptly and leaned forward, elbows braced on the table again. The overhead light cast soft shadows on his face. The plastic plant seemed to be reaching for him. He brushed it aside. “Okay, Ms. Genius, I’m intrigued. What’s the plan?”
She opened her mouth to confess what would probably sound insane to him, but she didn’t get the chance.
“Sorry it took so long, folks,” the waitress announced as she hurried up to their table. Setting their dinner plates down in front of them, she gave them each a smile before asking if they wanted a tea refill.
“Sure, thanks,” Rick said, “Tracy?”
“Yes, please,” she said and nodded at the waitress. “Thanks, Bonnie.”
The tired-looking woman smiled at her. “No problem, honey.”
When she left to get the tea, Rick looked at Tracy. “How’d you know her name?”
“She’s wearing a name tag,” Tracy said with a shrug.
“Huh.” Rick shook his head, then focused his gaze on her again as he picked up his knife and fork, preparing to dig into his halibut steak. “So, back to the subject at hand. What’s the plan, Trace?”
She glanced at her breast of chicken plate and knew she’d never be able to force a bite down until she’d gotten this over with. And actually, she told herself, this was a very good thing. Sort of like a test case. Judging Rick’s reaction might give her an idea of how all the folks back home would respond.
She nodded, took a deep breath, and reached into her purse. Tracy fumbled blindly in its depths. She felt his gaze on her which made her a little clumsier than usual. Mentally, she reminded herself that it was definitely time to clean out the purse again. It seemed the bigger her purses were, the more junk she managed to cram inside.
She squinted at the contents, but in the dim light, it took her several minutes to locate the little velvet box and then get it opened. Her fingertips moved across the sharp, cold edges of the stone nestled in the jeweler’s box as she briefly rethought her brilliant plan. What if he laughed? Oh my, this suddenly felt so stupid. So childish. Her stomach twisted with nerves. But she’d come too far to quit now.
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