A Gift of Love

by A Gift of Love (lit)

  Three

  KAREN AWOKE TO the sight of a gorgeous man wearing only a thick white towel about his waist, standing before the bathroom mirror shaving. In those few minutes before she awoke fully and remembered where she was, she had a vision of him coming toward her, kissing her, then tossing the towel aside and climbing into bed with her. For just those few seconds she could remember clearly how it felt to have a man in her arms, the size of him, the warmth of his skin, the weight of him, the—

  "Want to share that thought?" he asked, not turning his head but looking at her in the mirror.

  Turning away so he couldn't see her red face, she rolled out of bed, grabbed her robe, and moved toward the closet, out of his line of vision.

  "What do you have planned for today?" he asked, coming out of the bathroom, still wearing only that tiny towel and wiping excess lather from his face.

  Karen flung open a closet door so she couldn't see him. Did he work out every day? He must to keep his body looking like that. And was that warm honey his natural skin color? "Shopping," she mumbled.

  "Shopping?" he asked, moving around the door to the other side of her. "As in Christmas shopping?"

  "I, ah," she said, studiously looking at the clothes hanging inside, yet seeing nothing. "Yes, Christmas shopping. And a wedding gift." She took a deep breath. She had to get hold of herself! Turning, she looked into his eyes—and not one inch lower. "Tomorrow is Christmas and if I'm to spend it with these people, I can't very well turn up empty-handed. Do you know a good shopping mall around here?"

  "Tyson's Corner,' he said quickly. "One of the best in the country. And I need to buy gifts, too, so I'll go with you."

  "No!" Karen blurted, then tried to recover herself. "I mean, I concentrate better when I'm by myself." Even as she said it, she knew it was a lie. Christmas shopping alone became a chore.

  "And how will you know who to buy for? Even how many kids are here? I assume you want to buy for the kids."

  "Write down all the names for me and I'll get everything." She did not want to spend the day with this man—and it was getting very difficult to keep her eyes off the muscles of his chest.

  "I don't have a pencil," he said, smiling. "Everything is in my head."

  Karen almost smiled back at him. "You can dictate them to me. Besides, wouldn't you rather stay here and play football with the other guys?"

  "I am a fat, out-of-shape desk jockey and they'd cream me."

  At that Karen did laugh, for there was no one who was less out of shape than he was.

  Without waiting for her to say yes, he grabbed a terry-cloth robe from the closet, put it on, then kissed her cheek. "Pick me out some clothes, would you? I have to make some calls. I'll be back for you in thirty minutes."

  Before Karen could protest, he was out of the room, the door closed behind him. Of course, she thought, feminists everywhere would shudder at the notion of her choosing the clothing of an autocratic, arrogant, presumptuous man like Mac Taggert. But by the time she'd completed this thought, she had draped a pair of dark wool trousers, an Italian shirt, and a heavenly English sweater across the bed. Shaking her head in disgust at herself, she went into the bathroom.

  An hour later, after a quick breakfast, she and Mac were walking to the rental car, and on the lawn were the bridegroom and other men playing ball. Steve shouted to Mac, asking him to come play with them.

  "She's forcing me to go shopping with her," he yelled back.

  "Ha!" Karen called to them over the roof of the car. "Like I need a man to go shopping with me, right? Truth is, he's afraid to stay here because you might hurt him."

  Ignoring the laughter of the men, Mac shouted, "What do you want us to get you for a wedding gift?"

  "From you, Taggert?" Steve called. "A Lamborghini. But from her, I'll take anything she offers."

  "I'll second that," one of the other men called, then they all laughed hi a very complimentary way.

  Feeling quite flattered, Karen smiled brilliantly at all the young men playing touch football and she smiled even more brightly when she saw that Mac was frowning. "What a very nice group of people," she said as she got into the car.

  Mac, his body twisted as he looked out the back window while he drove the car out in reverse, maneuvering it around the many other vehicles in the drive, didn't answer her.

  Maybe it was because of the men's flirting with her and Mac's resultant silence, but by the time they arrived at the beautiful Tysons Corner mall, Karen was in very good spirits.

  "Where do we begin?" she asked as soon as they'd entered the center of the mall near Hecht's. Looking up at him, she saw that male shrug that meant that she was in charge. "Elephant time," she muttered.

  "I beg your pardon," he said stiffly.

  "It's what I used to say when I was with my husband and we went shopping together. He'd refuse to participate in deciding what to buy anyone, but he'd carry anything I handed him. I called him my elephant."

  For a moment Mac seemed to consider this, then he solemnly lifted his right arm, clenched his fist, and made his biceps bulge through his sweater. "I can carry anything you can pack onto me."

  Karen laughed. "We shall see about that. By the way, if, as you said, 'we' are giving gifts, who's paying for these things?"

  "Me?" he said with a mock sigh, as though he'd always paid for everything she'd ever bought.

  "Perfect," she said over her shoulder as she took a right headed for Nordstrom's. "Your money, my taste."

  "Just give me a peanut now and then and I'll be fine," he said from behind her.

  Three hours later, Karen was exhausted but exhilarated. She'd completely forgotten what it was like to shop with a man. He never wanted to take the time to consider which of any two purchases was better. "This one," he'd say, or, "What does it matter?" And when it came to gift suggestions, he could rarely think past the music store. Twice she had him sit on benches, surrounded by shopping bags, while she went into stores and purchased sets of soaps and lotions, and some fruit and cheese baskets. She almost couldn't get him out of the Rand McNally shop, where he purchased a huge 3-D puzzle of the Empire State Building. And they visited all nine toy stores and made purchases from each one, so many purchases in fact that Karen suspected that they'd bought more toys than there were children.

  "Does lunch come with this trip?" he asked after they'd visited the very last toy store the mall had to offer.

  "Are you sure you want to eat? I think there was a toy car still left in that last store. Maybe you should go back and get it."

  "Food, woman!" he growled, leading the way to the Nordstrom's cafe, where they placed their orders, then took their drinks and found a seat where Mac could put all the bags, for he wouldn't allow Karen to carry anything.

  "You're a good elephant," she said as soon as they were seated, smiling at him.

  After they were situated, he looked at her. "What plans have you made for Lawson's Department Store?"

  Karen was in too good a mood to lie. "You don't have to patronize me. And you don't have to listen to my childish ideas. For all that this has been great fun today, you and I both know that as soon as we get back to Denver, it will end. You're the boss, and I'm just a typist."

  "Just a typist, are you?" he said, one eyebrow raised as he reached down the neck of his sweater to his shirt pocket and pulled out several folded fax sheets. "You, your husband, and Stanley Thompson owned Thompson's Hardware Store for six years. You and your husband were everything to the store. Stanley Thompson was deadweight."

  As Karen looked at him in astonishment, he continued.

  "After you two were married, Ray worked two jobs, while you typed manuscripts at home. You two saved every penny you had and bought a half share in

  Thompson's Hardware and you turned the place around. Ray knew about machines; you knew everything else. You wrote ads that made people come to the store and you handled the money, telling Ray how much you could and could not afford. It was your idea to add the little gar
den center and bring in women customers, and that was the most profitable part of the store. After Ray died you found out that the only way Thompson had originally been willing to sell to him was on the condition that on Ray's death he could buy you out for fifty grand."

  "It was fair at the time the deal was made," Karen said defensively, as though he were saying that Ray had made a bad contract.

  "Yes, at the time of purchase, half a share was only worth thirty thousand, but by the time he'd died, you and Ray had built up the business so a half share was worth a great deal more than fifty grand."

  "I could have stayed as a full partner." Karen said softly.

  "If you shared Stanley Thompson's bed."

  "You do snoop, don't you?"

  "Just curious," he said, eyes twinkling at her as their food was set before them. After the waitress left, he said, "You want to tell me about your ideas for this store for mothers?"

  "I haven't really thought about it, just some vague ideas," she said, playing with the straw in her glass of iced tea.

  At that Mac gave a little snort of laughter and pushed a pen and a napkin toward her.” If you had unlimited money and owned Lawson's Department Store, what would you do with it?"

  Karen hesitated but not for long. Truth was, she had thought about this for quite some time. "I'd put a children's play area in the center so mothers could watch their children at all times. If a mother is to be there a while, I'd tag the kids. You know, like clothing in department stores, so if the children wander outside the play area or someone tries to take them, bells go off as they exit the store."

  Mac said nothing but his eyebrows were raised in question.

  "They put tags on clothing so people can't steal them and children are a great deal more important than shirts, aren't they? And how can a woman try on clothes in comfort with a four-year-old screaming at her?"

  After taking a bite of her food, she continued. "Surrounding the play area I'd have different departments: maternity wear, furniture, layettes, books on the various aspects of raising children, all the visual things. And I'd have clerks who were extremely experienced. And fat."

  Mac smiled patronizingly at that.

  "No, really. My sister-in-law just had a baby, and she was constantly complaining about anorexic sales girls who looked at her with pity every time she asked if they had something in extra large. And I'd have trained bra fitters and I'd have free brochures of local organizations the women could contact if they needed help or information, such as La Leche League. And of course we'd have contact with a local obstetrician in case of mishaps in the store. And—"

  She broke off as she glanced at his face. He was laughing at her!

  "Haven't thought about it much, have you?"

  She smiled. "Well, maybe just a bit."

  "Where are your financials? And don't you dare tell me you haven't worked out to the penny how much opening a store like this would cost."

  Karen took a few bites. "I have done a bit of number crunching."

  "When we get back to Denver, you can put them on my desk and I'll—" He broke off because Karen had removed a computer disk from her handbag. Taking it, he looked down at it and frowned. "When were you going to present me with this?"

  She knew what he meant. He thought this was the real reason she'd agreed to this weekend. She was just one of the hundreds of people who tried to see him about or mail him their schemes for getting rich. Karen snatched the disk out of his hands. "I was never planning to show it to you or anyone else," she said through her teeth. "Millions of people have dreams in their heads and that's just where they stay: in their heads."

  Angrily, she grabbed her purse and coat from beside her. "Excuse me, but I think this has all been a mistake. I think I'd better leave now."

  Mac caught her arm and pulled her back down into the booth. "I'm sorry. I apologize. Really, I do."

  "Would you please release me?"

  "No, because you'll run."

  "Then I'll scream."

  "No you won't. You allowed Stanley Thompson to rob you blind and you didn't scream then because you didn't want to make a scene for his family. You, Karen, are not the screaming type."

  She looked at his big, tanned hand clasping her wrist. He was right, she was not a screamer—or much of a fighter. Maybe she needed Ray standing behind her telling her she could do anything before she believed in herself.

  Mac's hand moved so his fingers were entwined with hers, and Karen made no attempt to pull away as he held her hand in his.

  "Look, Karen, I know what you think of me, but it's not true. Have you ever told anyone else about your ideas for the baby store?"

  "No," she said softly.

  "But you must have been working on this idea since before Ray died. Did you tell him?"

  "No." She and Ray'd had as much as they could handle with the hardware store. And she'd never wanted to give him the idea that she wanted something different—or even something more.

  "Then I am honored by your confiding in me," Mac said, and when Karen gave him a look of suspicion, he said, "Really, I am." Pausing a moment, he looked down at their two hands entwined. "All those prenuptial agreements were only to see if she would sign."

  Karen looked at him in disbelief.

  "Honest. If any of those women had signed, I'd have torn it up immediately. But all I ever heard was, 'Daddy doesn't think I should sign,' or, 'My lawyer advises me not to sign.' All I wanted was to be sure that the woman wanted me and not my family's wealth."

  "Rather a hateful little trick, wasn't it?"

  "Not as hateful as marrying me and four years later going through a divorce. And what if we had kids?"

  In spite of herself, Karen felt herself curling her fingers around his. "And what about Elaine?"

  "Elaine was different," he said softly, then pulled his hand from hers.

  As Karen opened her mouth to ask another question, he said, "Ready?" and the way he said it was a command.

  Minutes later they were again in the mainstream of the mall, Mac moving ahead, loaded down with shopping bags. Behind him, thoughtful, Karen followed— until she was pulled up short at the sight of a shop full of the most beautiful clothes for children she had ever seen. In the window was hanging a christening gown of fine cotton, hand-tucked, dripping soft cotton lace.

  "Want to go in?" Mac said softly from over her head.

  "No, of course not," Karen said sharply, turning away.

  But Mac, already large, was made even larger by all the bags he was holding and he blocked her exit as he moved forward.

  "Really, I don't want . . ." she began, but she stopped speaking as soon as she was inside the store. Never had she allowed herself to look at baby clothes as something for a child she might have. For others, yes, but never for herself.

  As though in a trance, she went toward the pretty dresses hanging on racks at eye level.

  Mac, who had been relieved of his bags by a kind saleswoman, came up behind her. "Not those. The first Taggert baby is always a boy."

  "Nothing is ever 'always,'" Karen told him, taking down a white cotton dress hand-embroidered with pale pink and blue flowers.

  "Here, this is much better," he said as he held up a red and blue striped shirt. "Good for playing football."

  "I am not going to allow my son to play football," she told him, replacing the dress and looking at some white suits made for what could only be a little prince. "Football is much too dangerous."

  "He's my son too and I say—"

  It suddenly occurred to Karen what they were talking about, that they might have a baby together but it wouldn't be theirs. Not in any real sense. It wouldn't be ... Before she could put together another thought, she ran from the store and was staring in the window of Brentano's when Mac found her.

  "You mind if we sit awhile?" he asked, and all Karen could do was nod her head. Her embarrassment over what had happened in the baby store was still too fresh to allow her to speak.

  She sat, he p
iled shopping bags around her, then he went to get the two of them ice cream cones, and for a while they sat in silence with their ice cream.

  "Why didn't you and your husband have children?" he asked softly.

  "We thought we had all the time in the world, so we put it off," she answered simply.

  For a moment Mac was silent. "Did you love him very much?"

  "Yes, very, very much."

  "He was a very lucky man," Mac said and reached out to take her hand. "I envy him."

  For a moment Karen looked into his eyes, and for the first time since Ray's death she saw another man. Not Ray superimposed over another man's features, but she saw Mac Taggert for himself. I could love again, she thought, and in that moment it was as though all the ice she had protectively put around her heart melted.

  "Karen, I—" Mac began as he moved toward her as though he meant to kiss her right there in the midst of Tyson's Corner mall.

  "My goodness!" Karen said. "Just look at the time. I have an appointment at the hairdresser for the wedding tonight, and I'm barely going to make it. It's here in the mall but on the next level, so I'd better run."

  "When did you make an appointment?" he asked, sounding for all the world like a husband who couldn't believe she'd done anything without his knowledge.

  "In between toy stores." She stood. "I have to go," she said, then started walking. "I'll meet you back here in two hours," she called over her shoulder, then disappeared around the corner before he could say another word.

  The truth was, she had half an hour before her appointment, but she wanted to get a Christmas gift for Mac. And she wanted to get away from him. She could not possibly fall in love with a man like Mac Taggert. "He's out of your league, Karen," she told herself. A man like him needed a woman whose father was the ambassador to some glamorous country, a woman who could identify one caviar from another, who could ... could...

  "Idiot!" she told herself. You are as bad as all the others, thinking you're in love with him. Or worse! Thinking he is in love with you.

  By the time she met him two hours later, she had managed to calm herself and regain her equilibrium. She saw him sitting on the bench, looking very pleased with himself. "What have you done?" she asked suspiciously.