But Harper was her mother’s daughter and had never been very good at bucking tradition. Her sister, Stacey, was the rebel while Harper did what she was told. It wasn’t that she didn’t like making bunny butt cookies or decoupaging gift boxes, it was that she wanted just a little more in her life. More challenges, more money, more communication with her daughter. And while it was fun to blame all her problems on her mother, Harper couldn’t help thinking that in reality, everything she wanted but didn’t have was very likely her own damn fault.
* * *
The smell of waffles and turkey sausage filled the kitchen and drifted down the hall toward the master bedroom. Stacey Bloom slipped on her sleeveless dress, then glanced at herself in the mirror. With the loose style and knit fabric, not to mention her body shape, she looked as she always had. No one would guess, which was the point. She didn’t want the questions that would inevitably be asked—mostly because she didn’t want to be judged for her answers.
She knew that was her problem, no one else’s. The judging thing. If it were any other topic, she would be able to provide a brief but accurate response, one that would explain her position while making it clear that while the questioner might think his opinion was important, she did not. Except for this time.
She stepped into her lace-up hiking boots and tied them, then pulled a blazer from the row of them in her closet. She had learned years ago that having a kind of work uniform kept her mornings simple. She bought her black sleeveless dresses online, three or four of them at a time. Her blazers were of excellent quality and lasted for years. She changed them out seasonally—lighter fabric in summer, heavier in winter—although the temperate climate in Mischief Bay, California meant her decision to switch one for another was based purely on convention and not necessity.
As for the hiking boots, they were comfortable and offered a lot of support. She spent much of her day standing in a lab or walking between labs, so they made practical sense. Her mother kept trying to get her to wear pumps and stockings, neither of which was ever going to happen. The shoes would cause foot pain and pressure on her lower back—these days more so than ever. Besides, something about her hiking boots seemed to intimidate the men she had to work with, and although that had never been her purpose, she wasn’t going to deny she liked the unexpected benefit.
She walked into her kitchen and hung her blazer on the back of her chair. Her husband, Kit, stood at the stove, humming to himself as he turned the sausage. The table was set and there was a bowl of sliced fruit by her place mat. A thermal to-go cup stood next to her backpack. She wanted it to be filled with delicious hot coffee, but knew instead it contained a vegetable-infused protein shake. Without looking she knew that her lunch was already packed in her backpack.
Kit turned and smiled when he saw her.
“Morning, sweetie. How are you feeling?”
“Good. And you?”
“Excellent.” He winked, then went back to his cooking.
As it was the last Friday of Spring Break, he wasn’t teaching today, so instead of his usual khakis and a button-down shirt, he had on sweats and a T-shirt with a drawing of a cat on a poster. Underneath the poster, it said Wanted Dead or Alive: Schrodinger’s Cat.
She wasn’t sure which she loved more—that he fussed over her by fixing her meals and making sure she was taking her vitamins, that he called her sweetie, or that he had a collection of funny science T-shirts. She supposed there was no reason she had to pick any one thing. Until meeting Kit, she’d never been sure that she believed romantic love existed. She could have explained the chemical processes that took place in the brain but that wasn’t the same as believing in the feelings themselves. Now she knew differently.
He set two plates on the table, then sat across from her. A pot of herbal tea sat in the center of the table. She poured them each a cup. Kit wouldn’t drink coffee in front of her although she guessed he had it when she wasn’t around.
“Harper called,” he said. “She invited us over for dinner tomorrow night. Becca will be home from the memorial.” He frowned. “Who is Great-Aunt Cheryl? She didn’t come to the wedding.”
“She’s not related to Harper and me. She was Terence’s great-aunt, but she and Harper were always close, which our mother found threatening. Great-Aunt Cheryl was an army nurse during World War II and some kind of spy in the 1950s. She raised dogs.”
“Like poodles?”
Stacey smiled at her husband. “No, these were specially trained dogs used in spy missions. Apparently their training was far more advanced than regular military canines. I tried to get her to talk about her work, but she said it was all top secret and I didn’t have clearance. Still, what she did tell me was fascinating to hear about. I was most intrigued by the lack of morality involved. When someone is trained to kill, there are psychological ramifications, but with animals, there is simply the task. Pushing a button that will ultimately arm a bomb requires little more than the command and subsequent reward for good behavior.”
Kit chuckled. “That’s my girl, always with the cheerful breakfast conversation.”
“So much of life is interesting to me.”
“I know, and you are interesting to me. Now, about the elephant in the room…”
She automatically glanced at the calendar on the wall. It was about one square foot and rather than show the date, it counted up to 280. Kit tore off a sheet each morning. Today was day 184.
Stacey involuntarily put her right hand on her round belly. Right hand rather than left because she was right hand dominant and therefore would be in a better position to protect with said right hand. Not that there were any threats in the room—they came from outside the haven that was their home.
Her gaze returned to her husband. Kit’s kind expression never changed. His brown eyes danced with amusement from behind his wire-rimmed glasses, his mouth smiled at her. He needed a haircut because he always needed a haircut.
They’d met nearly three years ago, when Stacey had spoken at the Mischief Bay High School career day. As a science teacher, Kit had reached out to Stacey’s biotech company and asked for someone to address his students. He’d specifically requested a woman to inspire the young women in his classes.
Stacey had volunteered. She spoke regularly at conferences and symposiums, so had no fear of talking in front of a crowd. Lexi, her assistant, had helped her put together a presentation that assumed little or no knowledge of disease pathology, or science, for that matter. The students had appeared interested but the bigger surprise of the day had been meeting Kit.
She’d found herself flustered in his presence and when he’d invited her out for coffee, she’d accepted. Coffee had turned into a long weekend and by the end of their third week together, he’d moved in with her.
She had never been swept away before, had never fallen so completely for anyone. More importantly, she’d never felt so accepted by a man who wasn’t family.
In the vernacular of the day, he got her. He understood how her brain worked and wasn’t the least bit intimidated by her intelligence or success. When regular life confused her, he was her buffer. He was normal. Just as important, he took care of her in a thousand little ways that made her feel loved. While she tried to do the same with him, she was confident she failed spectacularly, but Kit never seemed to mind.
“I’ll tell her,” she murmured, getting back to the topic at hand.
“Technically you don’t have to. In about ninety-six days you’ll pop out the baby. I’m pretty sure Bunny will be able to figure it out from the broad strokes. You know, when she holds her granddaughter for the first time.” He paused to sip his tea. “Unless you weren’t going to say anything then. I mean, we can wait until Joule learns to talk and we can let her tell Bunny herself. Most kids start forming sentences around eighteen months or so but with your genes floating around in our daughter, she will probably be on her second language by then. I say we let her tell her grandmother who she is.”
She kn
ew Kit was teasing. She also knew the problem was of her own making. She’d been the one to put off telling her mother she was pregnant. She’d told Harper right away because Harper was her sister and they’d always been there for each other. Harper was easy and accepting and would understand. Bunny wouldn’t. Bunny had very clear ideas on what women should or shouldn’t do in their lives and Stacey was confident she’d violated every one she could so far. Having a child would only make things worse.
One week had slipped into two. Time had passed. Stacey had told Kit she was going to wait until after the amniocentesis, but they’d had the results weeks ago and still Stacey hadn’t said anything to her mother.
She got up and circled the table. Kit pushed back enough for her to collapse on his lap. He wrapped his arms around her as she hung on, burying her face in his shoulder.
“I’m a horrible daughter,” she whispered.
“You’re not. You’re wonderful and I love you. As for Bunny, if she can’t take a joke, then screw it.” He touched her cheek until she looked at him. “Stacey, I’m serious. You do what you want. I’m with you. If you don’t want to tell Bunny ever, then that’s okay. I’m just trying to point out, she will find out at some point, and the longer you wait, the harder it’s going to be.”
“It’s already hard.”
“I told you so,” he said gently, before kissing her. “Go finish your breakfast.”
“I will. I love you, too.”
He smiled at her. She returned to her seat and began to eat. Because she had to stay healthy for the baby. She was comfortable being a vessel—she could do the vessel thing. It was the idea of parenting that tormented her. Who was she to think she could be a mother? She wasn’t like other women—she didn’t want what they wanted. She had different priorities, which she probably could have lived with, if not for her mother.
Because Bunny knew Stacey wasn’t like everyone else and she had no trouble pointing out that fact. Once she found out about the baby… Well, Stacey could only imagine.
“I’ll tell her tomorrow at dinner,” she said.
“Good for you.”
Which was his way of saying There is not a snowball’s chance in hell I believe you, but sure, say it because it makes you feel better.
“She’s going to be mad I waited so long.”
“That she is.” He smiled at her. “But don’t worry. I won’t let her hurt you. I promise.”
She knew he meant what he said—that he would do his best to protect her. The problem wasn’t that her mother would physically abuse her—the problem was what Bunny would say. In the Bloom family, words were the true weapon, and expectation was the ammunition. The rest of the world considered Stacey a brilliant scientist with a string of credentials and awards. Bunny saw little more than a daughter who refused to be conventional in any way that mattered—in other words, a failure. What on earth was her mother going to say when she found out her daughter was six months pregnant and had never said a word?
Copyright © 2018 by Susan Mallery Inc.
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ISBN-13: 9781488088872
Desert Rogues: The Christmas Bride
First published as The Sheik and the Christmas Bride by Silhouette Special Edition in 2007
This edition published in 2018.
Copyright © 2007 by Susan Mallery Inc.
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All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
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