“You work too hard,” she said. “Loosen up and enjoy life a little.”
“You’re going to write Meg Remington a formal letter of apology.” He refused to back down on this.
“Okay, I’ll write her.” All at once she was on her feet. “When are you seeing her again?”
“I’m not.”
Nancy fell back onto the sofa. “Why not?”
Darned if Steve could give her an answer. He and Meg had made that decision early on in their conversation, and for the life of him he couldn’t remember why.
“Because,” he growled. “Now leave me alone.”
Nancy threw back her head and laughed. “You like her. You really, really like her.”
Meg sat in the back storeroom and rubbed her aching feet. The new shoes pinched her toes, but this was what she got for buying them half a size too small. They were on sale and she loved them, although the store had been out of size eights. Even knowing her feet would pay the penalty later, Meg had chosen to wear them today.
Laura stuck her head through the door and smiled when she saw her. “A beautiful bouquet of flowers just arrived for you,” she said.
“For me?”
“That’s what the envelope said.”
“Who from?”
“I didn’t read the card, if that’s what you’re asking, but Lindsey’s here and she grabbed it and let out a holler. My guess is the flowers are from Steve.”
“Steve.” Pain or no pain, Meg was on her feet. She hobbled to the front of the store and found her fifteen-year-old daughter grinning triumphantly.
“Steve Conlan sent flowers,” she crowed.
“So I see.” Meg’s fingers shook as she removed the card from the small envelope.
“He said, and I quote, ‘You’re one special woman, Meg Remington. Love, Steve.’”
The bouquet was huge, with at least ten different varieties of flowers all arranged in a white wicker basket. It must have cost him easily a hundred dollars.
“We agreed,” she whispered.
“Agreed to what?” Lindsey prodded.
“That we weren’t going to see each other again.”
“Obviously he changed his mind,” Lindsey said, as excited as if she’d just discovered a twenty-dollar bill in the bottom of her purse.
Unwilling to trust her daughter’s assessment of the situation, Meg stared at her best friend.
“Don’t look at me,” Laura said.
“I’m sure you’re wrong,” Meg said to Lindsey, her heart still beating a little too fast.
“Why else would he send flowers?” Lindsey asked calmly.
“He wanted to say he was glad we met, that’s all. I don’t think we should make something out of this,” she said. “It’s just … a courtesy.”
“Call him,” Lindsey pleaded.
“I most certainly will not!”
“But, Mom, don’t you see? Steve’s saying he likes you, but he doesn’t want to pressure you into anything unless you like him, too.”
“He is?” Whatever confidence she’d felt a moment earlier vanished like ice cream at a Fourth of July picnic.
“The next move is yours.”
“Laura?”
“I wouldn’t know,” her fickle friend said. “I’ve been married to the same man for twenty-six years. All this intrigue is beyond me.”
“I agree with your daughter,” a shy voice said from the other side of the counter. “You should call him.”
It was Meg’s customer, Judith Wilson. Meg wasn’t sure she should listen to the older woman who faithfully purchased romance novels twice a month. Judith was a real romantic and would undoubtedly read more into the gesture than Steve had intended.
“See?” Lindsey said excitedly. “The ball’s in your court. Steve made his move and now he’s waiting for yours.”
Meg didn’t know what to do.
“It’s been three days,” Lindsey reminded her. “He’s had time to think over the situation, and so have you.”
“Call him,” Laura suggested. “If for nothing more than to thank him for the flowers.”
“Yes, call him,” Judith echoed, clutching her bag of books.
“It’s the least you can do.” Once more it was her daughter offering advice.
“All right,” Meg said reluctantly. The flowers were gorgeous, and thanking him would be the proper thing to do.
“I’ll get his work number for you,” Lindsey volunteered, pulling the Yellow Pages from behind the cash register.
The kid had Steve’s shop number faster than directory assistance could have located it.
“I’ll use the phone in the back room,” Meg said. She didn’t need several pairs of ears listening in on her conversation.
She felt everyone’s eyes on her as she hurried into the storeroom. Her hand actually shook as she punched out the telephone number.
“Emerald City,” a gruff male voice answered.
“Hello, this is Meg Remington calling for Steve Conlan.”
“Hold on a minute.”
“Of course.”
A moment later, Steve was on the line. “Meg?”
“Hello, Steve. I know you’re busy, so I won’t take up much of your time. I’m calling to thank you for the flowers.”
A long pause followed her words. “Flowers? What flowers?”
Three
“You mean you don’t know anything about these flowers?” Meg cried, her voice raised. Steve could see that he hadn’t done a very good job of breaking the news, but he was as shocked as she was.
“If you didn’t send them, who did?” Meg demanded.
It wasn’t difficult to figure that one out. “I can make a wild guess,” he said with heavy sarcasm. He jerked his fingers through his hair, then glanced at the wall clock. It was close to quitting time. “Can you meet me?”
“Why?”
Her blatant lack of enthusiasm irritated him. He’d been thinking about her for three days. Nancy was right—he liked Meg Remington. She was a bit eccentric and a little on the hysterical side, but he was willing to overlook that. During their time together, he’d been struck by her intelligence and her warmth. He’d wished more than once that they’d decided to ignore the way they’d been thrown together and continue to see each other. Apparently Meg suffered no such regrets and was pleased to be rid of him.
“Why do you want to meet?” she repeated, lowering her voice.
“We need to talk.”
“Where?”
“How about a drink? Can you get away from the store in the next hour or so?”
She hesitated. “I’ll try.”
Steve mentioned a popular sports bar in Kent, and she agreed to meet him there at five-thirty. His spirits lifted considerably at the prospect of seeing her again. He must’ve been smiling as he hung up because his foreman, Gary Wilcox, cast him a puzzled look.
“I didn’t know you had yourself a new girlfriend,” Gary said. “When did this happen?”
“It hasn’t.” The last thing Steve needed was Gary feeding false information to his sister. Nancy and her outrageous ideas about marrying him off was enough of a problem, without Gary encouraging it.
“It hasn’t happened yet, you mean,” Gary said, making a notation in the appointment schedule.
Steve glanced over his shoulder, to be sure Gary wasn’t making notes about the conversation he’d had with Meg. He was getting paranoid already. A woman did that to a man, made him jumpy and insecure; he knew that much from past experience.
An hour later Steve sat in the bar, facing a big-screen television with a frosty mug of beer in his hand. The table he’d chosen was in the far corner of the room, where he could easily watch the front door.
Meg walked in ten minutes after him. At least Steve thought it was Meg. The woman carried a tennis racket and wore one of those cute little pleated-skirt outfits. He hadn’t realized Meg played tennis. He knew she didn’t run and disliked exercise, but …
Steve squinted and s
tared, unsure. After all, he’d only seen her the one time, and in the slinky black dress she’d looked a whole lot different.
Meg solved his problem when she apparently recognized him. She walked across the room, and he noticed that she was limping. She slid into the chair beside him, then set the tennis racket on the table.
“Lindsey knows,” she announced.
Steve’s head went back to study her. “I beg your pardon?”
“My daughter figured it out.”
“Figured what out?”
“That I was meeting you,” she said in exasperated tones. “First, I called you from the back room at the store, so our conversation could be private.”
“So?”
She glared at him. “Then I made up this ridiculous story about a tennis game I’d forgotten. I haven’t played tennis in years and Lindsey knows that. She immediately had all these questions. She saw straight through me.” She pulled the sweatband from her hair and stuffed it in her purse. “She’s probably home right now laughing her head off. I can’t do this …. I could never lie convincingly.”
“Why didn’t you just tell your daughter the truth?” He was puzzled by the need to lie at all.
Meg’s look of consternation said that would’ve been impossible. “Well … because Lindsey would think the two of us meeting meant something.”
“Why? You told her I didn’t write those letters and e-mails, didn’t you?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Meg played with the worn strings of the tennis racket as her eyes avoided his. “I should have …. I mean, this is crazy.”
“You can say that again.” He tried to sound nonchalant and wondered if he’d managed it. He didn’t think so. He was actually rather amused by the whole setup. Her daughter and his sister. The girls were close in age and obviously spoke the same language.
“Lindsey’s still got romantic ideas when it comes to men and marriage, but …” Meg paused and chanced a look at him. “She really stepped over the line with this stunt.”
“What did you say about our date?”
Meg’s hands returned to the tennis racket. “Not much.”
Steve hadn’t been willing to discuss the details of their evening together with Nancy, either. Nothing had surprised him more than discovering how attractive he’d found Meg Remington. It wasn’t solely a sexual attraction, although she certainly appealed to him.
Whenever he’d thought about her in the past three days, he’d remember how they’d talked nonstop over wine and dessert. He remembered how absorbed she’d been in what he was saying; at one point she’d leaned forward and then realized her dress revealed a fair bit of cleavage. Red-faced, she’d pulled back and attempted to adjust her bodice.
Steve liked the way her eyes brightened when she spoke about her bookstore and her daughter, and the way she had of holding her breath when she was excited about something, as if she’d forgotten to breathe.
“Your sister—the one who wrote the letters—is the same one who sent the flowers?” Meg asked, breaking into his thoughts.
Steve nodded. “I’d bet on it.”
Meg fiddled with the clasp of her purse and brought out a small card, which she handed him.
Steve raised his arm to attract the cocktail waitress’s attention and indicate he wanted another beer for Meg.
“I shouldn’t,” she said, reaching for a pretzel. “If I come home with beer on my breath, Lindsey will know for sure I wasn’t playing tennis.”
“According to you, she’s already figured it out.”
She slid the bowl of pretzels closer and grabbed another handful. “That’s true.”
Steve opened the card that had come with the flowers and rolled his eyes. “This is from Nancy, all right,” he muttered. “I’d never write anything this hokey.”
The waitress came with another mug of beer and Steve paid for it. “Do you want more pretzels?” he asked Meg.
“Please.” Then in a lower voice, she added, “This type of situation always makes me hungry.”
She licked the salt from her fingertips. “Has my daughter, Lindsey, been in contact with you?”
“No, but then I wouldn’t know, would I?”
Meg was holding the pretzel in front of her mouth. “Why wouldn’t you?”
“Because Lindsey would be writing to Nancy.”
Meg’s head dropped in a gesture of defeat. “You’re right. Much more of this craziness and heaven only knows what they could do to our lives.”
“We need to take control,” Steve said.
“I totally agree with you,” was her response. She took a sip of her beer and set the mug down. “I shouldn’t be drinking this on an empty stomach—it’ll go straight to my head.”
“The bar’s got great sandwiches.”
“Pretzels are fine.” Apparently she’d realized that she was holding the bowl, and she shoved it back to the center of the table. “Sorry,” she muttered.
“No problem.”
He saw her wince and recalled that she’d been limping earlier. “Is there something wrong with your foot?”
“The shoes I wore to work were too tight,” she said, speaking so quietly he had to strain to hear.
“Here,” he said, reaching under the table for her feet and setting them on his lap.
“What are you doing?” she asked in a shocked voice.
“I thought I’d rub them for you.”
“You’d do that?”
“Yes.” It didn’t seem so odd to him. The fact was, he hated to see her in pain. “Besides, we need to talk over how we’re going to handle this situation. I have a feeling that we’ll have to be in top mental form to deal with these kids.”
“You’re right.” She closed her eyes and purred like a well-fed kitten when he removed her tennis shoes and kneaded her aching feet.
“Feel better?” he asked after a couple of minutes.
She nodded, her eyes still closed. “I think you should stop,” she said, sounding completely unconvincing.
“Why?” He asked the question, but he stopped and bent down to pick up her shoes, which he’d placed on the floor.
“Thank you,” Meg said. She looked around a little self-consciously as she slipped her shoes back on and tied the laces.
Feeling somewhat embarrassed by his uncharacteristic response to her, Steve cleared his throat and picked up his beer. “Do you have any ideas?” he asked.
She stared at him as if she didn’t know what he was talking about, then straightened abruptly. “Oh, you mean for dealing with the kids. No, not really. What about you? Any suggestions?”
“Well, we’re agreed that we’ve got to stop letting them run our lives.”
“Exactly. We can’t allow them to force us into a relationship.”
He nodded. But if that was the case, he wondered, why did he experience the almost overwhelming desire to kiss her? All of a sudden, it bothered him that they were discussing strategies that would ensure the end of any contact between them.
He imagined leaning toward her, touching his lips to hers ….
There’s something wrong with this picture, Conlan, he said to himself, but he couldn’t keep from studying her—and picturing their kiss.
He’d been wrong about her face, he decided. She was beautiful, with classic features, large eyes, a full mouth. He’d trailed his finger down the curve of her cheek the first time they’d met, and now he did so a second time, mentally.
She knew what he was thinking. Steve swore she did. The pulse in her throat hammered wildly and she looked away.
Steve did, too. He didn’t know what was happening, didn’t want to know. He reached for his beer and gulped down two deep swallows.
What on earth was he doing? Rubbing her feet, thinking about kissing her. He didn’t need a woman messing up his life!
Especially a woman like Meg Remington.
“So you met Steve again,” Laura said. They sat on a bench in Lincoln Park enjoyin
g huge ice-cream cones. A ferry eased toward the dock at Fauntleroy.
“Who told you that?” Meg answered, deciding to play dumb.
“Lindsey, who else? You really didn’t think you fooled her, did you?”
“No.” Clearly she had no talent for subterfuge.
“So tell me how your meeting went.”
Meg didn’t answer. She couldn’t. She wasn’t sure what, if anything, she and Steve had accomplished during their meeting at the bar. They’d come up with a plan to dissuade his sister and her daughter, but the more hours that passed, the more ridiculous it seemed. And Meg’s willingness, indeed her eagerness, to see Steve again was disturbing.
In retrospect she saw that it’d been a mistake for them to get together. All she could think about was how he’d lifted her legs onto his lap and rubbed the tired achiness away. There’d been a sudden explosion of awareness between them. A living, breathing, throbbing awareness.
Rarely had Meg wanted a man to kiss her more. Right in the middle of a sports bar, for heaven’s sake! It was the craziest thing to happen to her in years. That of itself was distressing, but what happened afterward baffled her even more.
Melting ice cream dripped onto her hand and Meg hurriedly licked it away.
“Meg?” Laura said, studying her. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said, laughing off her friend’s concern. “What could possibly be wrong?”
“You haven’t been yourself the last couple of days.”
“Sure I have,” she said, then deciding it was pointless to go on lying, she blurted out the truth. “I’m afraid I could really fall for this guy.”
Laura laughed. “What’s so awful about that?”
“For one thing, he isn’t interested in me.”
This time Laura eyed her suspiciously. “What makes you think that?”
“Several things.”
Laura bit into her waffle cone. “Name one.”
“Well, he wanted to meet so we could figure out a way to keep the kids from manipulating our lives.”
“That sounds suspiciously like an excuse to see you again,” Laura murmured.
“Trust me, it wasn’t. Steve did everything but come right out and say he’s not interested in me.”
“You’re sure about this?”
A Mother's Wish Page 4