Send Me No Flowers

by Gabriel, Kristin

  Rachel swallowed a sigh of disappointment, hoping Gina was having better luck. Then she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned around to see a petite redhead grinning up at her.

  “Hi, I’m Mimi Summers. You’re new around here.”

  “I’m Rachel Grant, and I’ve lived in Love all my life.”

  “No, I mean you’re new on the pageant circuit. I’ve seen the rest of these gals in various pageants around the state since I was eight years old.”

  “It almost sounds like an exclusive club.”

  Mimi flashed another huge smile. “Oh, we’re all great friends. All the girls are just great. And I’m sure they’ll all want to welcome you here and wish you good luck. I know you’ll have a great, great time. All the great friendships I’ve made here are worth all the time and money and hard work. But it’s been great. I hold the record for Miss Congeniality. I’ve won it five times in the last seven years.”

  “Wow, that’s...great.” The woman’s exuberant cheerfulness was starting to give her a headache. But at least she seemed open to conversation. Maybe if Rachel could get Mimi in their corner, she could spread the boycott cheer.

  “So is the pageant’s new hairdresser,” Mimi chimed, smiling as she grasped Rachel’s elbow and steered her through the crowd of women. “No offense, but you could use some help, honey. Don’t worry, José can work miracles. He really is a great guy.”

  “José?” Rachel echoed in horror. How many hairdressers named José could there be in Love? It had taken her three days to undo the damage the last time he touched her hair. And it still didn’t curl the way it used to.

  “He works at the television station, but moonlights at all local pageants. Isn’t that great? He’s a wizard with styling gel. All the girls use him.”

  No wonder they all had such big hair. She slipped out of Mimi’s grasp and ducked out the dressing-room door before José could spot her and inflict permanent damage. Only now she was caught in the narrow hallway, surrounded on all sides by bikini-clad beauties. They moved slowly forward, like a human conveyer belt.

  Someone elbowed her in the ribs, another stepped on her bare foot with a spiked heel. Rachel raised herself on her toes, finally spotting Gina among them. She jostled her way over hoping they could find an escape route together.

  “This way,” Gina called, as loud music filled the hallway.

  Rachel cut across the stream of bodies toward the darkened tunnel Gina had entered. She headed toward the light and found herself among another group of beauty contestants.

  On center stage.

  To her horror, the curtain swept open before she could move. Spotlights illuminated every bulge and flaw revealed by her skimpy bikini. The auditorium was filled with people, but she only saw one of them. Drew Lavery, sitting at the judges table right in front of her, staring at her body in horrified disbelief.

  Where was a snowball when you needed one?

  The next thing she knew, Drew shot out of his chair and onto the stage. Several of the women squealed as he barreled down on Rachel.

  “I told you she’d get kicked out for being too old,” Valerie said in a stage whisper to the woman next to her.

  That did it. She’d had it with Valerie and her put-downs. She was thirty years old, not ready for a retirement home. And her body didn’t look that bad, even in a bikini. At least her I.Q. was bigger than her bust size. She’d used her body to get on stage, and now she’d use her brains to stay on stage until she accomplished her mission.

  Only Drew had other ideas. “Get off the stage.”

  She tried to ignore the way his gaze kept drifting down her body. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “This isn’t up for debate, Rachel,” he insisted, his voice harsh. “Now get off this stage or I’ll carry you off.”

  She tipped up her chin. “I’d like to see you try!”

  She’d never seen a man move so fast. Before she knew it, he tipped her up and over his shoulder. Her head hung at his waist, providing her a perfect view of his backside. And perfect was definitely the word for it.

  Blood rushed to her head, and not only from hanging upside down. Drew’s strong hands held her firmly by her upper thighs, his fingers brushed against her sensitive bare skin, sending electric tingles throughout her entire body. She shouldn’t let him have this effect on her, she told herself firmly. Especially when he was treating her like a lumpy sack of potatoes.

  “Put me down,” she growled, suddenly aware of the hoots and hollers of the audience. If she thought she looked bad in a bikini before, she didn’t even want to think about the view she was presenting them now.

  “I will,” he snapped, marching toward the exit, “as soon as I get you off this stage.” But his path was blocked by television newswoman Candi Conrad, complete with microphone and camera crew.

  “Mayor Lavery, may I have a word with you?”

  “This really isn’t a good time,” he muttered.

  Rachel raised her head, fighting a wave of dizziness. “It’s the perfect time, Candi!”

  Candi hurried around to the other side, her cameramen still blocking the escape route. Rachel could only hope they didn’t have their cameras pointed toward the bottom half of her bikini. She put that thought out of her mind, and tried to ignore the touch of Drew’s hands moving over her bare skin as she struggled to right herself. When his firm grasp on her didn’t loosen, she gave up and focused her concentration on the microphone in front of her face.

  “Does entering the Miss Valentine pageant put you in an awkward position, Dr. Grant?” Candi asked.

  She couldn’t be serious. Only if hanging upside down over the mayor’s broad shoulder in a skimpy bikini in view of half the town and a television audience could be considered an awkward position.

  “I suppose you could say that,” Rachel replied wryly. “Or you could say that the mayor of Love is abusing his power. I have every right to be on this stage. Now put me down!”

  Drew acceded to her wishes, grasping her bare waist and sliding her slowly down his long, sinewy body. She reached out to him to steady herself when her feet finally hit the ground. It certainly had gotten warm on the stage. Probably from all those bright lights. Drew looked flushed, too, as he shrugged out of his suit coat and draped it over her shoulders.

  “You’ve made your point,” he said between clenched teeth. “Now get off the stage. Every guy in the audience can see you.”

  “Isn’t that the purpose of the bikini competition?” she asked, relishing the warmth of his jacket. It smelled like him too, spicy and sexy and so incredibly masculine.

  “Rachel, we can debate this later...” Drew began, before Candi honed in between them with her microphone.

  “Is this run for Miss Valentine an indication that you’re dropping the boycott, Dr. Grant?”

  “Of course not,” Rachel replied, ignoring Drew’s dark glower and clenched jaw. “In fact, this pageant is a perfect example of the way our city’s celebration discriminates against a certain segment of the population. Mayor Lavery wants to disqualify me because I don’t have a perfect body.”

  “That’s not true,” Drew said between clenched teeth, “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with her body.”

  “Then why are you kicking me off the stage?”

  “Because I don’t happen to like you parading around half-naked in public. Besides, you’re just doing this to get back at me.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “This is not about us, Drew.”

  Candi Conrad stuck her microphone under Drew’s nose. “Is your relationship with the leader of the boycott affecting your job performance, Mayor Lavery?”

  “There is no relationship,” Rachel insisted, pulling the microphone toward her. “The mayor just wants to deflect attention from the boycott because he knows I’m right. Let’s make the Miss Valentine pageant one that celebrates brains as much as beauty. And let’s begin by giving out scholarships instead of sexy lingerie as prizes.”

  “Do you have any
comments, Mayor?” Candi asked.

  “I agree with everything Dr. Grant says about the beauty pageant. But she’s wrong about one thing.”

  Rachel stood her ground as he moved a step closer to her. “We do have a relationship. She’s just too stubborn to admit it.”

  “There you go,” she sputtered, “changing the subject again. We were talking about the Miss Valentine pageant. Now are you prepared to spearhead the changes I mentioned?”

  “Yes. Are you prepared to be my valentine?”

  The audience gasped. She could see Lacie and Frank in the center aisle with their mouths hanging open in disbelief. Rachel pressed her lips together. He’d trapped her in a corner. Again. Television cameras seemed to bring out the worst in him. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I want you to be my valentine, Rachel. Now are you willing to compromise and meet me halfway?” He took another step closer to her, his blue eyes blazing into hers. “Will you be my valentine?”

  Cameras rolled and flashbulbs popped, a hush settling over the audience as everyone awaited her answer. She saw anti-Valentine’s Day signs bobbing up and down in the crowd. The members of her support group were out there, depending on her. Looking up to her as their leader. She couldn’t let them down.

  Just as she couldn’t let Drew play any more games with her heart. She took a deep breath and looked him squarely in the eye. “No.”

  TWO HOURS LATER, Rachel and her group of Valentine’s Day protesters sat at a corner table in the Love Nest Bar and Grill, toasting their success. Although Rachel smiled and joked and laughed with the rest of them, all she really wanted to do was cry in her beer. Refusing to be Drew’s valentine had been the hardest thing she’d ever done. Even if it was for a good cause.

  “We did it,” Frank announced, reaching for the basket of popcorn. “Our boycott actually made a difference. I heard they’re going to form a special committee to revamp the beauty pageant.”

  Gina adjusted the tiara on her head. “I still can’t believe they voted me Miss Valentine. And without even a drop of silicone in my body! Best of all, my soon-to-be ex-husband was in the audience. Made me glad he was alive just so I could see the expression on his face!”

  “Kate was right,” Lacie said, sounding surprised. “Success is the best revenge. Where is she, anyway?”

  Irma set down her beer bottle, her green eyes sparkling with excitement. “She’s getting ready for our trip.”

  “Trip?” Rachel echoed.

  “That’s right,” Frank affirmed, with a chuckle. “Kate and Irma talked me into going on a cruise with them. I’m going to try me some deep-sea fishing.”

  Rachel swallowed. “All three of you?”

  “Yep,” Frank replied, winking at Irma. “It’s a singles cruise for people over fifty. We thought it might be nice to meet some new blood.”

  In one fell swoop, she’d just lost over half her Transitions support group. “That’s...wonderful.”

  Irma nodded. “I can’t live in the past anymore—and my husband would be the first one to tell me so.” She clapped her hands together. “I haven’t been so excited about anything in years! I’m finally making myself happy instead of waiting for someone else to do it.”

  “Me, too,” Lacie announced. “I’m through waiting around for my boyfriend to come back to me. In fact, I don’t want him anymore. I’m going back to college, and I’m going to start a new job teaching ballet to beginners. It doesn’t pay as much as my old one, but I can’t think of anything that would make me happier.”

  “Great,” Rachel murmured, suddenly realizing her group didn’t need her anymore. But what would she do without them?

  “We owe it all to you, Dr. Grant,” Irma chimed. “This boycott showed us we can do anything if we put our mind to it. And you were just wonderful up there on that stage tonight. I just hope the mayor wasn’t too embarrassed when you turned him down on television.”

  “What choice did I have?” she asked, peeling the beer label off the bottle. “Becoming the mayor’s valentine meant betraying the boycott. I couldn’t let you all down like that.”

  “Let us down?” Irma echoed, her brow furrowed. “Dr. Grant, are you telling us that you want to be his valentine?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know,” she said, feeling both foolish and disloyal.

  Lacie put down her margarita. “If you’re hot for the mayor, I think you should go for it.”

  “That’s right,” Frank said. “If you don’t have to be in love to be happy, what do you have to lose?”

  Only her heart. She’d already fallen hard for Drew, but admitting it out loud would make her too vulnerable. There was safety in silence. “But what if this is all part of his game plan? He just asked the leader of the Valentine boycott to be his valentine. On television! What if it was just a publicity ploy?” Then she voiced the fear that had been niggling away at her. “What if he’s using me? What if he doesn’t really want me after all?”

  Gina leaned forward. “You told me once that love doesn’t come with any guarantees. I know you don’t want to betray the boycott, but what about betraying your own feelings? Aren’t they worth taking the risk?”

  A hush settled over the group, broken only when the bartender turned up the volume on the television. set.

  “This is a special newsbreak from WKLV, Channel five, your local news leader.”

  “Oh, no,” Gina cried, grabbing her tiara. “They picked the wrong Miss Valentine and now I have to give my crown back.”

  “This just in,” announced WKLV’s silver-haired anchorman. “The votes for Love’s Most Romantic Couple contest have been tabulated. The winners are...Mayor Drew Lavery and Dr. Rachel Grant!”

  Everyone turned to stare at Rachel. She fell back in her chair. “That’s impossible! We’re not even a couple.”

  “It’s true,” the anchorman declared. “You heard it here first. They won by a landslide.” He chuckled. “It seems everybody in Love has been keeping track of this riotous romance since the sparks began flying between Dr. Grant and Mayor Lavery on WKLV’s own morning show, ‘A Look at Love.’ WKLV sends its congratulations to the happy couple. And now we return to our regularly scheduled program.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Rachel breathed.

  “I do,” Irma said. “You two kids look good together. If we hadn’t been boycotting Valentine’s Day, I’d have voted for you myself.”

  “I did,” Lacie admitted, a pink blush on her cheeks. “I know it’s against the boycott, but I’ve always loved the Most Romantic Couple contest. It’s so... romantic.”

  Gina nodded. “Especially the fancy candlelit dinner for two at the ritziest restaurant in town. That’s the top prize of the contest. Looks like you’ll be dining in style at The Fireside tomorrow night.”

  “I can’t go,” Rachel moaned, torn between her loyalty to the group and her desire for Drew. “Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day.”

  Gina stood up. “Everyone in favor of dropping the boycott, raise your hand.”

  Rachel looked around the table in disbelief as every hand shot up, their faces wreathed with encouraging smiles. They were all willing to take chances in their own lives, preparing to embark on new adventures. Did she have enough guts to do the same?

  “The vote is unanimous,” Gina announced, resuming her seat. “The boycott is over, so now you can go.” She grinned. “And I recommend the chocolate pecan cheesecake for dessert. It’s much tastier than Twinkies.”

  DREW AWOKE SLOWLY the next morning, his mind still entwined in his dream. He was judging an endless stream of Miss Valentine contestants, and was torn by indecision. He couldn’t find the perfect Miss Valentine. Intermixed among the contestants were all his old girlfriends, smiling and waving at him. But he ignored them, focusing on his duty as head judge. He had to pick Miss Valentine. Everyone depended on him.

  He watched the contestants stroll across the stage, comparing them all to Rachel. All of them came up short. None of the bikini-clad women had
her big brown eyes, her bouncy blond hair, or her long, long legs.

  He tossed and turned in bed, starting to panic. Then he saw her. The tall woman standing center stage, holding a snowball...Rachel.

  Drew opened his eyes and stifled a groan. His dream had been all too real. Rachel had been on that stage last night. His Rachel. Standing under the spotlight in a bikini no bigger than his handkerchief. Revealing every luscious inch of her body. And what a body. Not reed-thin flesh and bones with artificial padding, but a real woman with soft, generous curves. A body that made a man burn. A body that every other man in that auditorium had doubtlessly been drooling over. He probably should have declared a flood watch.

  He closed his eyes, trying to block out the memory and fall back into mind-numbing sleep. Instead he began to dream of his favorite breakfast. Crispy fried bacon. Eggs over easy. Homemade cinnamon rolls with sweet white frosting. He sat up in bed, his nose telling him this was no dream. Someone was cooking breakfast. He dressed in record time, then flew down the stairs, hoping it wasn’t a mirage brought on by too many frozen pizzas.