by Carolyn Zane
“Why’s that?” Travis wanted to know, joining her at the table and digging through his lunch sack.
Crossing her eyes, she stuck out her tongue. “The man has a vocabulary that would send a concrete wall up in flames.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Only every other word was bleeping this and bleeping that. Can you see me married to this guy? Having children with him?” Leaning back, she stared at the newly textured and painted ceiling for a moment, then dropped her gaze to Travis. “I can just hear the bedtime stories. Cinde-bleepingrella and her bleeping stepsisters…”
Travis laughed as giddy relief swept through him. Good. Another one bites the dust.
“You know,” she confided offhandedly as she reached into her bag for her apple, “I tried all your kissing tips on Reggie. And on some of the other guys I went out with this week, as well.”
Travis stopped chewing his sandwich and stared at her. She had? “Oh?” he asked in a tightly controlled voice, and tried to swallow the suddenly dry wad of bread that had lodged in his throat.
“Yeah,” she continued, taking a thoughtful bite of her apple.
He watched as the juice ran down her chin. What would she do to him if he leaned across the table and tasted that juice? With a valiant effort, he managed to swallow.
Wiping her chin on her paper napkin, she regarded him under the heavy fringe of her lashes. A look of hopelessness flashed across her face. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Travis. I just don’t feel anything. I’ve tried everything you taught me and…nothing.” She looked plaintively at him.
“I, uh, don’t know what to say,” he said, mentally cheering. So. The earth had yet to move when it came to kissing another man. Yes! He gave himself a mental high five, and tried to look appropriately sorry for her. With any luck, she would give up on this cockamamy husband hunt.
“I think it must be me,” she lamented. “They can’t all be that bad.”
“No,” Travis hastened to reassure her, “it’s not you.”
“How do you know?”
“I know.”
Unable to sustain eye contact, Wendy abruptly changed the subject. “Travis?”
“Hmm?”
“Larry Miller is coming over for dinner in two weekshe’s going out of town for the holiday and won’t be back till that Monday morning and I want to make something special. I have a new recipe, and I was wondering if I could try it out on you and Dusty this Saturday night.”
Larry Miller? He groaned inwardly. Where did she dig up these losers? he wondered, closing his eyes so that she couldn’t see him roll them at the ceiling. Larry was a regular down at Little Joe’s. As far as Travis could see, he didn’t have many redeeming qualities at all, unless you counted his astonishing ability to mix a martini in his mouth.
A wave of protectiveness threatened to bowl him over, and it was everything he could do not to demand that she cancel her date with Larry.
However, it was none of his business. Maybe she saw something in Larry that he had missed. Maybe he would be the one. He sighed. Suddenly he’d lost his appetite.
“It’s nothing too fancy. Just a recipe I found in the Metropolitan magazine,” she explained, eyeing the conflicting emotions at war on his face.
“Sure. We don’t have anything planned.” Unless, of course, she counted the hours he would spend sneaking from window to window, spying on her.
“Great. Seven o’clock, okay?”
“We’ll be there.”
10
“That new recipe of yours is a winner,” Travis said, patting his full stomach through his oversize gray sweatshirt. He lay sprawled out on Wendy’s living room floor, his shoulders and head propped against the sofa on several of her decorative pillows. They’d cleared away the last of the dinner dishes, laughing and talking and teasing as they worked together. Dusty played underfoot until his bedtime, then after a bath and a story, he hit the hay in Wendy’s spare bedroom. He loved to spend the night with her and referred to the room as his.
It was the third Saturday in November, and it was chilly out. A cheerful fire crackled and popped in the fireplace, and as Wendy came into the room carrying a tray, she smiled down at Travis. Joining him on the floor, she turned toward the relaxing heat and handed him a cup of coffee.
“So, you think Larry will like it?” she asked, referring to the meal they’d just consumed. She pushed the large, blousey sleeves of her soft pink angora sweater up on her arms and took a sip from her own cup.
“Um,” Travis nodded, staring into the fire. “I think he’ll love it.” Unfortunately, he lamented to himself. His hands balled into two involuntary fists. Who wouldn’t love the whole package? A smart and beautiful woman. A great cook. A cozy home. A super conversationalist. A sexy as all get-out kisser. He shifted uncomfortably, in an effort to quell the unruly image of Wendy and him getting all hot and bothered out in his driveway the other night. She’d better not kiss old Larry. Not that way. He didn’t trust old Larry as far as he could throw his truck against a stiff wind.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Yeah, he thought sourly, somebody was going to win the jackpot when it came to marrying Wendy. She had a lot of great qualities. Not to mention the one thing he liked best about her. The fact that she didn’t watch soap operas.
He shifted his gaze from the fire to her gamine features, outlined in the ethereal glow of the flames. The pink of her sweater brought out the roses in her cheeks, and her eyes sparkled with intelligence and health. She was so relaxing and easy to be with. But at the same time, she could drive him wild with excitement. He knew the kisses they’d shared were only the tip of the iceberg when it came to a physical union with her.
What would it be like to be married to Wendy? he wondered as a small fantasy of happy domesticity played in his mind. Travis really didn’t know for sure. His own marriage had only lasted a year, and that had been to a woman who spent the days of her life living in another world. He didn’t have much to base his ideas about marriage on. It wasn’t as if his folks had set any example. They had divorced when he was younger than Dusty. However, he could imagine that marriage to someone like Wendy could be real nice. His eyes swept over her mouth. Nicer than nice. He wanted to pulverize Larry.
“The Russo wedding is November 28, this coming Saturday afternoon, one week from today,” Wendy murmured, her own gaze fastened, unseeing, on the flames.
“Wow.” Travis was surprised. It seemed like they’d just celebrated Halloween. These last few weeks had flown by.
“Mmm-hmm.” Wendy nodded slowly, mesmerized by the occasional swirling sparks as they headed up the chimney.
“Doesn’t look like I’m going to be attending on the arm of my fiancé.” Her tone was crestfallen.
“I don’t know about that.” Travis shrugged easily in an effort to cheer her flagging spirits. “Once Larry gets a load of your new recipe.” He cringed, hoping that Larry would choke on her new recipe.
“It won’t matter,” Wendy sighed and, blinking, refocused her eyes on Travis. “My date with Larry is Monday evening, two days after the Russo wedding. And, the day after that, I turn thirty.”
“Oh.” Travis couldn’t help it. He was glad she wouldn’t be engaged by her thirtieth birthday. Unless Larry lost his mind over her new dish and proposed on the spot. No, that probably wouldn’t happen, and he was relieved. He wasn’t ready for her to announce her engagement. He needed more time to adjust. Plus, it wasn’t as if she’d have to go to the Russo wedding alone. Heck, these days half the male population of New Hope would be only too happy to escort her. “Why don’t you go to the wedding with Dusty and me?” he suddenly heard himself ask, knowing that, for him, it was the only solution. It was the only thing that felt right—the three of them, going as a unit.
Wendy thought for a moment, then smiled broadly. “That would be fun.” Bringing her legs up under her, she leaned forward, elbows on her faded, blue-jeans-clad knees, toward Travis. “It wasn’t
the splashy entrance I’d hoped to make, you know, with a big old diamond and all. But I think I’ll end up having a better time with you two.”
This proclamation pleased Travis to no end. “Well, good, then. It’s a date.” He held his cup up to her before taking a sip.
Following suit, Wendy spoke across the top of her mug. “Have you gotten a wedding gift for Michael and Michelle yet?”
Sending her a blank stare, Travis shook his head. “No. I’ve been busy.” Keeping tabs on the wild woman next door took a great deal of his time and energy. Besides, he never knew what to do in these situations. He knew about power tools and trucks. He doubted that a new drill would make an appropriate gift in Michelle’s opinion. Which reminded him. He was going to have to pick out something for Wendy’s thirtieth birthday. Something special. “In fact, I forgot all about it,” he admitted sheepishly.
“Me, too,” Wendy sighed. She shifted her position to lean back against the sofa next to him. Tilting her head, she gazed thoughtfully up at him. “Maybe we should go in on something together.”
He returned her gaze. The warm glow of the fire in the dim and shadowy room had him relaxed and mellow, lying there with her. He never wanted to move again. “Sounds good to me. Why don’t you pick out something, and I’ll give you whatever you need, money-wise.”
“Okay.” Wendy smiled drowsily. “I think I’ll pop in on Faith, down at the Baby Boutique and see what she’s giving them. Maybe she’ll know what Sue Ellen and Beth are getting, too. That way we can avoid getting them too many toasters, and the like.”
“Good idea,” Travis agreed companionably. She was so smart. And sexy. If he wasn’t so full and warm and comfortable and worried about how she’d react, he’d be tempted to haul her across his chest and kiss about ten years off her life. That would solve both their problems.
Reaching behind his head, he pulled Wendy’s wool throw off her sofa, and into his lap where he unfolded it and spread it over both of them. Then he propped his pillow under his head and, moving closer to her, shifted Wendy onto her side and pulled her into the curve of his body, spoon-style. There, he thought, feeling the exquisite sensation of her warm, soft body snuggled against his, and the heat of the fire toasting their toes. Now he never wanted to move again. “That’s better,” he murmured.
“Mmm,” Wendy agreed, and he could see her cheek lift with her smile of contentment. “What are you and Dusty doing for Thanksgiving?”
“When is it again?” Travis asked, his eyes drifting shut.
“This Thursday. The twenty-sixth.”
His eyes shot open. “Oh, yeah?” Man. He really had lost all track of time. All due to the little woman he held in his arms.
“Yep.” Wendy nodded. “I take it you don’t have any plans?”
“No.” He’d probably just defrost something for him and Dusty. Something with turkey in it.
“Neither do I. I spoke with my folks on the phone yesterday and they’re going to be out of town with friends for the next two weeks. And my sister Wanda is spending the holiday with her latest boyfriend, in the Caribbean.”
“I’m sorry.” Travis could feel her light shrug against his chest. It pained him that her family seemed to forget about her this way. They seemed secure in the knowledge that Wendy was self-sufficient. Could take care of herself. That might be true, he thought protectively, but it didn’t mean that she didn’t have feelings, too. As long as he’d known Wendy, something had always come up at the last minute for her family during the holidays. It seemed that, with the exception of Dusty, she spent many special days by herself. Must be why she was so anxious to marry and start that family. So she wouldn’t be alone.
“No big deal,” she said, then added, “since you guys don’t have any plans, why don’t I make us a turkey? We could spend the day together. Watch a little football on TV.”
That sounded like heaven to him. “Okay. Great.” Travis was surprised she hadn’t already lined up several potential husbands for a trial holiday run. Not that he was complaining. Far be it from him to suggest this to her. Not when it meant home cooking for him and his boy. Not when it meant spending the day with the woman they loved.
Aw, man, he thought, closing his eyes, disgusted with himself. It was time for him to head home. When he started thinking this way, he needed a cold shower and a hard right cross to the jaw.
The soft pink glow of the lights that illuminated the Baby Boutique beckoned Wendy as she scurried down the sidewalk on her lunch break the following Wednesday. Someday, she thought longingly as she peered into the window at the sweet, attractive displays that Faith had so meticulously arranged. Someday, she would be coming to the Baby Boutique to pick out things for a baby of her own.
Though, at the moment, that possibility seemed about as likely as winning the lottery. Sometimes the emptiness in her heart threatened to consume her. Nothing, it seemed to Wendy, could fill the void but a husband and a child to call her own.
In a way, she envied Faith. Not the part about being a single parent, she mused, knowing that Faith had her work cut out for her, but the part about having a soft, warm, fuzzy little bundle to sing to and rock and hold…
The whisper-soft bell announced Wendy’s presence as she moved out of the chilly wind and into the warm haven of motherhood. A quick glance around told her that Faith must be in the back. A small smile tugged at her mouth as she examined the small velvet-and-satin Christmas dresses for baby girls.
“Oh,” she murmured, trying to picture her own baby girl in something like the white eyelet and green velvet dress that drew her touch. A little girl with soft blond hair. Like Dusty’s. And fathomless gray eyes. Like Travis’s.
“Faith,” she called out to her friend. “These little dresses are adorable. Listen, honey, I know you’re busy so I won’t keep you,” Wendy said, moving through the wonderland of baby fashion. “I just stopped by to find out what everyone got Michael and Michelle for their wedding, so that I can figure out what to do. I know it’s last minute and everything, but Travis and I have been so busy and, well, to be honest, it just slipped…our…Faith?”
At the low sniffing and crying sounds that seemed to be coming from behind the counter, Wendy paused and listened. Faith? Something was wrong. Was she in trouble? Was it the baby? Oh, no! Her pulse roaring in her ears, Wendy quickly strode toward the anguished moans. Wasn’t Faith’s due date any minute now? Wendy tried to mentally calculate, but fear froze her brain.
“Faith?” she called, worry crowding unbidden into her throat. Rounding a large shelving group of toys she found her friend staring bleary-eyed at what looked like the Russo wedding invitation. “Faith?” she breathed, “are you okay?”
Faith’s smile was watery. “Oh, hi, Wendy.” Trying to affect an airy laugh, she only succeeded in hiccuping. “I’m fine.” She waved a delicate hand and the light tissue from the invitation rustled in the breeze she created. “Really. I guess I’m just a little misty.” Again, she attempted laughter. “Weddings do that to me.”
Nodding, Wendy followed her back out to the middle of the store. “I know. Me, too,” she admitted for Faith’s benefit. It must be rough for Faith, she thought sympathetically, having to watch Michael and Michelle’s happiness as they embarked upon their lives together, when the father of her unborn baby was nowhere in the picture.
The bell over the front door rang softly again and Faith quickly wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’ll be right with you,” she called over her shoulder without looking, and smiled at Wendy.
Her smile faded as a male voice responded. “No hurry. I just need directions to the formal-wear place.”
Faith’s cheeks drained of blood, leaving a whitish pallor where there had been a healthy glow only a moment before. Wendy stared at her friend in concern. Oh, no, she thought, looking around for a chair for Faith. Wendy couldn’t be sure, but it looked like Faith was going to faint. Good gracious, she thought, her mind whirling frantically. She was no paramedic. This
pregnancy business was downright scary.
Faith reached out and clutched Wendy’s arm as she slowly turned to face her latest customer. Ah, no, Faith, Wendy moaned inwardly. Forget the customer. You’re in no shape to wait on anyone. Her eyes cast quickly about for an adultsize chair but, to her eternal chagrin, landed only on the pint-size version.
The handsome customer—who Wendy recognized as Nick Russo, brother of the Russo groom—took a step toward them and smiled uncertainly as Faith loosened her grip on Wendy’s arm and slid slowly to the floor.
“Ohmagosh,” Wendy squeaked as her hands flew to her face in consternation. “I had a feeling this was going to happen.” Glancing quickly up at Michael Russo’s brother, she dropped to her knees and took Faith’s wrist in her hand. “Nick, right?”
“Yes,” he nodded, quickly stripping off his leather jacket and coming to her aid.
Wendy looked up into his capable, reassuring eyes, and suddenly felt less afraid. Something told her that he was the kind of guy a person could lean on in a pinch. Glancing helplessly down at Faith, she said, “Her pulse is strong, and she seems to be breathing all right. Do you think we should call 911?”
Reaching out, Nick placed a gentle hand on Faith’s forehead, smoothing back her hair. “Mmm.” He shook his head slightly. “I think she just fainted. Why don’t we get her to a more comfortable resting place and then call her doctor?”
“Good idea,” Wendy agreed. “There’s a couch in the back.”
As easily as if Faith had been a small child, Nick lifted her limp form into his arms and carried her to the office in the back. While he settled her on the couch, Wendy grabbed the phone, called the hospital maternity ward, and asked them to page Lucas Kincaid, Faith’s doctor. As they waited for the return call, Nick helped Wendy elevate Faith’s feet and bathed her face with a damp cloth.
“Have we met?” Nick asked, glancing up at Wendy as she hovered over his shoulder, handing him fresh cloths.