“Hold it, Mrs. G., there’s the matter of a tradition.” He picked her up, and a small groan escaped his lips.
“Oh, now you’re gonna start complaining, now that we’re really married!” They laughed together, and it echoed into the house. He set her down as gently as possible, inside the entry. Kelly made tiny exclamation noises and ran from space to space. The rooms were spare, but the original antiques were still in place, completely cleaned and gorgeous in their ornate wood and red velvetness.
Beautiful carpets graced every room she stepped into. The wood floors had been refinished to a dark cherry color.
In the front parlor hung the vivid painting she and Sam had picked out at the Seattle Art Museum sale.
The house was warm and inviting and beyond her wildest dreams.
She ran to the kitchen, and saw the French country cabinets she had ripped out of a magazine and showed him one time. The painting of the speckled chicken they’d bought together hung on one wall.
Off the kitchen was a large family room, and in the center stood an eight-foot evergreen, completely decked in the same roses and crystal as at their wedding. Obviously Evelyn Grayson had arranged that lovely touch.
In one corner with a big red ribbon on it stood an artist’s easel surrounded by brushes and palettes and all kinds of colorful tubes of paint. Her Christmas present, no doubt.
Sam finally caught up with her and put his arms around her.
“Sam, Sam, what are we going to do with you? You’re reckless and wild. Look at all this. Did you buy this place?”
“I did buy it. I saw how you loved it. I couldn’t help myself. I did promise I’d build a community center downtown in exchange for buying the house from the county, and also I promised we’d have a Halloween open house every year.”
“And how did you accomplish all this in such a short time?”
“I had two months really—I started in right after Halloween. When the Graysons throw their money around it gets things done quickly. And since I’d never done that before, I figured I’d give it a try.”
“Is there anything you didn’t think of?”
“I think we’re going to have a serious relationship with a plumber for the next few years.”
“Oh, Sam, I just don’t know what to say. It’s wonderful. How can I ever give you the kind of happiness you’ve given me?”
“I believe a trip to the master suite would do, for starters.” He took her hand, led her up the staircase, down a hall, and through another set of double doors. It opened on a beautiful bedroom. The huge cherry wood four-poster bed had been draped in gold and beige silks and velvets. He flipped a switch, and a dancing fire sprang up in the fireplace. “We did some modernizing.”
“Gas fireplaces? Completely redone kitchen with top-of-the-line appliances? I’d say so.”
“Creative subcontractors around here.”
She took in every corner. She found all her clothes hanging in a huge walk-in closet, and saw that her beloved Charles Jourdan shoes had somehow appeared from L.A., now displayed in their own special rack.
“Sam, my shoes! How’d you get them?”
“Your friend from the legal office managed to rescue all your things from…somewhere we never have to think of again. After all, a girl’s got to have the right shoes for the occasion.”
“Oh, thank you, you are the best husband ever.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Sam had peeled off his wool overcoat, most of his tux, and stood there in his black socks, a completely obscene pair of men’s thong underwear, and his bow tie. She smiled and came toward him.
He started in on her, losing track of his own strip-tease, she noticed. After a velvet cape and another soft knit wrap, two layers, he was down to her twenty back-buttons. He took his time, gliding his hands around her back and over her full breasts. She could feel herself slip into a dream state as his hands caressed her every hill and valley.
They moved to their bed, and Sam pulled back the down comforter for her. She slipped into the heavenly sheets that must have been a thousand-thread count to feel this good. The room was warm as a summer night by then, and she lay completely uncovered, her arms outstretched to him.
Sam pushed a button on the bedside table, and magically, a haunting Irish melody flowed from some hidden corner of the room. She raised an eyebrow.
“Modernizing?”
“For my green-eyed lassie.”
“Come here, you blue-eyed laddie.”
He came to her.
Months later, he was still coming to her. She was round as a pumpkin nestled up behind him, an early-spring-morning chill bringing her close to him.
Sam lay awake, cherishing the feeling of her next to him. He could feel her waking up, too. He thought about the cherry trees blooming in the driveway. He thought about his new vegetable garden and how he’d better get his peas in pretty soon. He thought about what to name his son.
The baby kicked him in the ribs with a tiny, still-in-there foot.
“I think that was the butterfly stroke, Mrs. Grayson.”
“Well, he was conceived in a pool, Mr. Grayson,” she answered sleepily.
He turned over, put his hand on her belly, and felt three more fluttery kicks. “He’s going to be trouble.”
“Nothing we can’t handle, husband.” She pulled him into a delicious, never-ending kiss.
Acknowledgments
To Mrs. Fisk for the brilliant title she bestowed upon my first book; Stef Ann Holm for kindly sharing her L.A. insight; Janice Stayton for her never-ending support; Debbie Macomber for some amazing nail polish colors; and to my dream team—Lucia Macro and Karen Solem.
About the Author
Welcome to my wacky books! Life is nothing if not humorous, and I find my inspiration for stories in the oddest places. In Talk of the Town, Paradise is a fictional location in Washington loosely based on stores and characters from the small town I grew up in—stores from the ’50s and ’60s anyhow—and a few are still there!
Most of all, I am having a lifelong romance with old movies. If my books feel like 1939 black-and-white romantic comedies, then I’ve done my job. I’m sure you’ll find the flavor of many a vintage film in my books. Now, if we could make them into musicals, that would be heaven! (Swell up overture here…) I love to hear from my readers, so please feel free to write me at P.O. Box 4551, Rolling Bay, WA 98061 or visit www.suzmac.com and contact me via e-mail.
Peace, Suzanne Macpherson
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Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
TALK OF THE TOWN. Copyright © 2003 by Suzanne Macpherson. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Microsoft Reader December 2008 ISBN 978-0-06-183505-6
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