by Nora Roberts
best.”
“Yes, he is.” Loretta managed to smile without laughing out loud as she shut the door on a whoosh of rain. “Nice girl,” she commented. “Takes after her aunt Violet.”
“Apparently.”
“I should warn you.” Loretta walked over to set a cup of tea on the table. “Scott Snooks is a terror.”
“It figures.” It was too early in the morning to think, Vanessa decided. She sat, dropped her heavy head in her hands. “She wouldn’t have trapped me if I’d been awake.”
“Of course not. How about some nice French toast?”
“You don’t have to fix me breakfast.” Vanessa’s voice was muffled by her hands.
“No trouble at all.” Loretta was humming as she poured milk into a bowl. She’d been cheated out of being a mother for twelve years. There was nothing she’d rather do than pamper her daughter with a hot breakfast.
Vanessa scowled down at her tea. “I don’t want to keep you. Don’t you have to open the shop?”
Still humming, Loretta broke an egg into the bowl. “The beauty of having your own place is calling your own hours.” She added touches of cinnamon, sugar and vanilla. “And you need a good breakfast. Ham says you’re on the mend, but he wants you to put on ten pounds.”
“Ten?” Vanessa nearly choked on her tea. “I don’t need—” She bit off an oath as another knock sounded.
“I’ll get it this time,” Loretta announced. “If it’s another hopeful parent, I’ll shoo them away.”
But it was Brady who stood dripping on the back stoop this time. Without the shelter of an umbrella, he grinned at Vanessa while rain streamed from his dark hair. Instant pleasure turned to instant annoyance the moment he opened his mouth.
“Morning, Loretta.” He winked at Vanessa. “Hi, gorgeous.”
With something close to a snarl, Vanessa huddled over her steaming tea.
“Brady, what a nice surprise.” After accepting his kiss on the cheek, Loretta closed the door on the rain. “Have you had breakfast?” she asked as she went back to the stove to soak the bread.
“No, ma’am.” He took an appreciative sniff and hoped he was about to. “Is that French toast?”
“It will be in just a minute. You sit down and I’ll fix you a plate.”
He didn’t have to be asked twice. After dragging his hands through his dripping hair and scattering rain all over creation, he joined Vanessa at the table. He flashed her a smile, a cheerful, friendly look that neatly disguised the fact that he was studying her color. The lack of shadows under her eyes gratified him as much as the mutinous expression in them.
“Beautiful day,” he said.
Vanessa lifted her gaze to the rain-lashed windows. “Right.”
Undaunted by her grudging response, he shifted in his chair to chat with Loretta as she flipped the browning bread in the skillet.
Not a peep from him in two days, Vanessa thought, and now he pops up on the doorstep, big as life and twice as irritating. He hadn’t even asked her how she was feeling—not that she wanted to be fussed over, she reminded herself. But he was a doctor—and he was the one who’d come up with that ridiculous diagnosis.
“Ah, Loretta.” Brady all but drooled when she set a heaping plate of fragrant bread in front of him. “My father’s a lucky man.”
“I suppose cooking’s the first priority when a Tucker goes looking for a wife,” Vanessa said, feeling nasty.
Brady only smiled as he glopped on maple syrup. “It couldn’t hurt.”
Vanessa felt her temper rise. Not because she couldn’t cook. Certainly not. It was the narrow-minded, sexist idea that infuriated her. Before she could think of a suitably withering reply, Loretta set a plate in front of her.
“I can’t eat all of this.”
“I can,” Brady said as he started on his own meal. “I’ll finish up what you don’t.”
“If you two are set, I’d best go open the shop. Van, there’s plenty of that chicken soup left that Joanie brought over yesterday. It’ll heat up fine in the microwave for lunch. If this rain keeps up, I’ll probably be home early. Good luck with Scott.”
“Thanks.”
“Scott?” Brady asked, as Loretta went out.
Vanessa merely propped her elbows on the table. “Don’t ask.”
Brady waited until Loretta had left them alone before rising to help himself to more coffee. “I wanted to talk to you about the wedding.”
“The wedding?” She looked over. “Oh, the wedding. Yes, what about it?”
“Dad’s been applying a little Tucker pressure. He thinks he’s got Loretta convinced to take the plunge over the Memorial Day weekend.”
“Memorial Day? But that’s next week.”
“Why wait?” Brady said after a sip, echoing his father’s sentiments. “That way they can use the annual picnic as a kind of town wedding reception.”
“I see.” But it was so soon, Vanessa thought frantically. She hadn’t even adjusted to being with her mother again, to living in the same house with her, and now… But it wasn’t her decision, she reminded herself. “I suppose they’ll move into your father’s house.”
“I think that’s the plan.” He sat again. “They’ve been kicking around the idea of renting this one eventually. Does that bother you?”
She concentrated on cutting a neat slice of the bread. How could she know? She hadn’t had time to find out if it was home or not. “No, I suppose not. They can hardly live in two houses at once.”
Brady thought he understood. “I can’t see Loretta selling this place. It’s been in your family for years.”
“I often wondered why she kept it.”
“She grew up here, just as you did.” He picked up his coffee again. “Why don’t you ask her what she plans to do about it?”
“I might.” She moved her shoulders restlessly. “There’s no hurry.”
Because he knew her, he let it go at that. “What I really wanted to talk to you about was a wedding present. Obviously they won’t need a toaster or a set of china.”
“No.” Vanessa frowned down at her plate. “I suppose not.”
“I was thinking—I ran it by Joanie and she likes the idea. Why don’t we pool our resources and give them a honeymoon? A couple weeks in Cancún. You know, a suite overlooking the Caribbean, tropical nights, the works. Neither one of them has ever been to Mexico. I think they’d get a charge out of it.”
Vanessa looked up at him again. It was a lovely idea, she decided. And it was typical of him to have thought of it. “As a surprise?”
“I think we can pull it off. Dad’s been trying to juggle his schedule to get a week free. I can sabotage that so he’ll think he can only manage a couple of days. Getting the tickets, making some reservations, that’s the easy part. Then we have to pack their bags without getting caught.”
Warming to the idea, she smiled. “If your father has the same stars in his eyes my mother does, I think we can manage that. We could give them the tickets at the picnic, then bundle them into a limo. Is there a limo service around here?”
“There’s one in Frederick. I hadn’t thought of that.” He pulled out a pad to make a note.
“Get them the bridal suite,” Vanessa said. When he looked up and grinned, she shrugged. “If we’re going to do it, let’s do it right.”
“I like it. One limo, one bridal suite, two first-class tickets. Anything else?”
“Champagne. A bottle in the limo, and another in the room when they arrive. And flowers. Mom likes gardenias.” She stopped abruptly as Brady continued to write. She’d called Loretta “Mom.” It had come out naturally. It sounded natural. “She—she used to like gardenias.”
“Terrific.” He slipped the pad back in his jacket pocket. “You didn’t leave me any.”
Baffled, she followed his gaze to her own empty plate. “I…I guess I was hungrier than I thought.”
“That’s a good sign. Any burning?”
“No.” Off balance,
she rose to take her plate to the sink.
“Any pain?”
“No. I told you before, you’re not my doctor.”
“Um-hmm.” He was standing behind her when she turned. “We’ll just figure I’m taking Doc Tucker’s appointments today. Let’s have a little vertical examination.” Before she could move aside, he pressed gentle fingers to her abdomen. “Hurt?”
“No, I told you I—”
He pressed firmly under her breastbone. She winced. “Still tender?”
“A little.”
He nodded. When he’d touched that spot two days before, she’d nearly gone through the roof. “You’re coming along nicely. Another few days and you can even indulge in a burrito.”
“Why is it that everyone who comes in here is obsessed with what I eat?”
“Because you haven’t been eating enough. Understandable, with an ulcer.”
“I don’t have an ulcer.” But she was aching from his touch—for an entirely different reason. “And would you move?”
“Right after you pay your bill.” Before she could object or respond, he pressed his lips to hers, firmly, possessively. Murmuring her name, he took her deeper, until she was clinging to him for balance. The floor seemed to drop away from her feet so that he, and only he, was touching her. His thighs against hers, his fingers knotted in her hair, his mouth, hungry and impatient, roaming her face.
She smelled of the morning, of the rain. He wondered what it would be like to love her in the gloomy light, her sigh whispering against his cheek. And he wondered how much longer he would have to wait.
He lifted his head, keeping his hands in her hair so that her face was tilted toward his. In the misty green of her eyes, he saw himself. Lost in her. Gently now, and with an infinite care that stilled her wildly beating heart, he touched his lips to hers again.
Her arms tightened around him, strengthening, even as every bone in her body seemed to melt. She tilted her head so that their lips met in perfect alignment, with equal demand.
“Vanessa—”
“Don’t say anything, not yet.” She pressed her mouth to his throat and just held on. She knew she would have to think, but for now, for just a moment, she wanted only to feel.
His pulse throbbed, strong and fast, against her lips. His body was firm and solid. Gradually his hands relaxed their desperate grip and stroked through her hair. She became aware of the hiss and patter of rain, of the cool tiles under her bare feet, of the morning scents of coffee and cinnamon.
But the driving need would not abate, nor would the confusion and fear that blossomed inside her.
“I don’t know what to do,” she said at length. “I haven’t been able to think straight since I saw you again.”
Her murmured statement set off dozens of new fires. His hands moved up to her shoulders and gripped harder than he had meant them to. “I want you, Van. You want me. We’re not teenagers anymore.”
She stepped back as far as his hands would allow. “It’s not easy for me.”
“No.” He studied her as he struggled to examine his own emotions. “I’m not sure I’d want it to be. If you want promises—”
“No,” she said quickly. “I don’t want anything I can’t give back.”
He’d been about to make them, hundreds of them. With an effort, he swallowed them all, reminding himself that he’d always moved too fast when it involved Vanessa. “What can you give back?”
“I don’t know.” She lifted her hands to his and squeezed before she stepped away. “God, Brady, I feel as though I’m slipping in and out of the looking glass.”
“This isn’t an illusion, Van.” It was a struggle to keep from reaching for her again. But he knew that what his father had told him was true. When you held too tight, what you wanted most slipped through your fingers. “This is just you and me.”
She studied him, the eyes so blue against the dark lashes, the damp, untidy hair, the stubborn set of his jaw, the impossibly romantic shape of his mouth. It was so easy to remember why she had loved him. And so easy to be afraid she still did.
“I won’t pretend I don’t want to be with you. At the same time, I want to run the other way, as fast as I can.” Her sigh was long and shaky. “And hope like hell you catch up with me. I realize my behavior’s been erratic since I’ve come home, and a big part of that is because I never expected to find you here, or to have all these old feelings revived. And that’s part of the problem. I don’t know how much of what I feel for you is just an echo and how much is real.”
He found himself in the frustrating position of competing with himself. “We’re different people now, Van.”
“Yes.” She looked at him, her eyes level and almost calm. “When I was sixteen, I would have gone anywhere with you, Brady. I imagined us together forever, a house, a family.”
“And now?” he said carefully.
“Now we both know things aren’t that simple, or that easy. We’re different people, Brady, with different lives, different dreams. I had problems before—we both did. I still have them.” She lifted her hands, let them fall. “I’m not sure it’s wise to begin a relationship with you, a physical relationship, until I resolve them.”
“It’s more than physical, Vanessa. It’s always been more.”
She nodded, taking a moment to calm a fresh flood of emotion. “All the more reason to take it slowly. I don’t know what I’m going to do with my life, with my music. Having an affair will only make it that much more difficult for both of us when I leave.”
Panic. He tasted it. When she left again, it would break his heart. He wasn’t sure that particular organ would survive a second time. “If you’re asking me to turn off my feelings and walk away, I won’t.” In one swift movement, he pulled her against him again. The hell with what was right. “And neither will you.”
She felt the thrill race up her spine, those twin sprinters—excitement and alarm. The ghost of the boy she had known and loved was in his eyes, reckless, relentless. She’d never been able to resist him.
“I’m asking you to let me sort this through.” If he wanted to use anger, then she would match him blow for blow. “The decision’s mine, Brady,” she said, jerking away. “I won’t be pressured or threatened or seduced. Believe me, it’s all been tried before.”
It was the wrong switch to pull. His eyes, already hot, turned to blue fire. “I’m not one of your smooth, well-mannered lovers, Van. I won’t pressure or threaten or seduce. When the time comes, I’ll just take.”
Challenged, she tossed her head back. “You won’t take anything I don’t give. No man does. Oh, I’d like to toss those smooth, well-mannered lovers in your face.” She gave him a shove as she walked past him to the stove. “Just to see you squirm. But I’ll do better than that.” She whirled back, hair flying. “I’ll tell you the truth. There haven’t been any lovers. Because I haven’t wanted there to be.” Insolent and mocking, she leaned against the stove. “And if I decide I don’t want you, you’ll just have to join the ranks of the disappointed.”
No one. There had been no one. Almost before he could absorb it, she was hurling her final insult. He bristled, took a step toward her, then managed to stop himself. If he touched her now, one of them would crawl. He didn’t want it to be him. He stalked to the back door, and had wrenched it open before he got his temper under control enough to realize that his retreat was exactly what she’d wanted.
So he’d throw her a curve.
“How about going to the movies tonight?”
If he’d suggested a quick trip to the moon, she would have been no less surprised. “What?”
“The movies. Do you want to go to the movies?”
“Why?”
“Because I have a craving for popcorn,” he snapped. “Do you want to go or not?”
“I… Yes,” she heard herself say.
“Fine.” He slammed the door behind him.
Life was a puzzle, Vanessa decided. And she was having a hard time fittin
g the pieces together. For a week she’d been whirled into wedding and picnic plans. Coleslaw and potato salad, long-stemmed roses and photographers. She was dead sure it was a mistake to try to coordinate a town picnic with an intimate family wedding. It was like trying to juggle bowling balls and feathers.
As the final week passed, she was too busy and too confused to notice that she felt better than she had in years. There was the secret honeymoon, and Joanie’s enthusiastic bubbling over every aspect of the upcoming nuptials. There were flowers to be ordered