Single with Children

by Arlene James

  Laura felt her face glow hotly. She had very little doubt what secret Wendy had just imparted, and just the thought of that little interlude in the foyer brought back every sensation of Adam’s kisses, intensifying her blush. Actually, kiss was an inadequate term for what they had shared in the foyer. Only the boys’ waking from their naps had kept things from getting entirely out of hand. She’d have to be very much on her guard when he kissed her again, and he would kiss her again. She knew it as well as she knew her own name, and Adam’s unwavering gaze was promising it. He covered her hand with his, squeezing tightly.

  Erica kissed Wendy and moved to Laura’s side, her green eyes glowing approvingly. “Jake says you’re a miracle worker,” she told Laura gently. “I believe he’s right.” And, to Laura’s profound shock, she bent and laid her smooth cheek next to Laura’s, hugging her lightly.

  Laura could only gape at Adam, who smiled secretively.

  Erica withdrew regally. “Well, I really must run. Enjoy your dinner, darlings.” She patted Adam’s shoulder and briefly touched her cheek to his as she floated by. “Keep your calendars open. I’ll call you with a confirmed date soon.”

  “Absolutely,” Adam promised, starting to get up again. “I’ll see you out.”

  “Oh, no,” Erica protested, moving toward the door. “Eat your dinner. I’ll see myself out.” She blew a kiss and floated quickly out of sight with a last wink for Wendy.

  Laura looked at Adam. “You’ve made her very happy.”

  “Me? You’re the miracle worker.”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  “Who’s being silly? No one knows better than me what a difference you’ve made in this family.”

  Laura shook her head. “Adam, you’re the—”

  He laid a finger against her mouth. “And who do you think has made the difference in me? Who pointed out what everyone else seemed to know but for one reason or another wouldn’t say? Not that I’d have listened. Who helped me see where my real interests lay? Who showed me that a little honest affection is good for the soul?” He flipped a meaningful glance at his children and dropped his hand. “Who saved me from utter chaos?”

  “You’re not giving yourself enough credit,” she argued.

  He smiled and turned his attention to his dinner, switching topics pointedly. “I’m actually looking forward to this reception. We’re going to have a lot of fun.”

  “I’m sure you will,” Laura murmured, yielding the argument only reluctantly.

  Adam put his knife and fork down once more. “No, we will.”

  “We?” Laura echoed in surprise.

  Adam cocked his head. “You don’t think I’m going without you, do you?”

  Laura was stunned. “Oh, but… Adam, it’s a family gathering. I’m sure your mother never meant for me to be included, and it’s all right. I understand perfectly.”

  “Of course she means to include you, and if by some quirk of logic she hadn’t, I would have included you myself.”

  “But Adam, I can’t—”

  He leaned back in his chair. “You can, and you will. Surely you wouldn’t disappoint her after setting me on Dad. I convinced him to go through with the reception, if you’ll recall, at your urging. I wouldn’t dream of not going now. Besides, Rocky is my baby sister, and I know Luke. He’ll be wanting a friendly, familiar face in the crowd.”

  “Well, of course you should go,” Laura said dismissively, “but I’m not family, Adam. I don’t belong at a Fortune family gala.”

  “Well, all the same, you’ll go,” Adam said flatly, shifting in his chair and picking up his eating utensils again, “because I’m not going without you.” He cut a piece of Beverly’s basil-roasted chicken and popped it in his mouth, chewing with a vengeance.

  She stared at him, completely disbelieving what she was hearing. “But, Adam!”

  He leaned toward her suddenly. “I’m not going to argue with you about this. I want you with me, and my mother expects you to be there, I’m certain. Dad, too, unless I miss my guess, and I don’t think I do.” He grinned and tapped her chin. “You little miracle worker, you.”

  Laura couldn’t resist a wry smile. He wanted her with him, and if neither of his parents was going to be shocked or disapproving of that, well then, there was only one problem, and she hated to broach it. Still… She bit her lip and said softly, “Adam, I don’t have anything to wear.”

  He waved a hand negligently. “Oh, that. Don’t worry about a thing. We’ll go shopping.”

  He dismissed the problem completely, but it was no small thing to Laura. She liked the feeling of couplehood that he seemed bent on fostering, but she wouldn’t embarrass him in front of his family, and she didn’t like the idea of taking his money for anything so frivolous as a party dress. She wondered if she might have saved enough to buy something appropriate for herself.

  “I guess I could do that,” she mused. It occurred to her that she might call Jane or even Erica and ask for advice on the proper thing to wear. No doubt she’d have to go into the city to find something. The old fear about exposing herself to Doyal reared its ugly head momentarily, but Laura fought it. The Minneapolis-St. Paul area was large enough that she wasn’t apt to stumble on Doyal or anyone else she knew there. Besides, he might not even be looking for her still. Surely he realized that if she hadn’t gone to the police by now, she wouldn’t, if only for fear of exposing herself to him.

  Adam’s hand found hers, jolting her from her reverie. “Hey, it’s all right. No one’s going to bite you…except me.” He lifted her hand and playfully nipped the back of it. Electricity shot through her. His eyes holding hers, he pressed a kiss to the very spot he had grazed with his teeth, and Laura shivered with repressed passion.

  Then Wendy shouted down the table, “Kiss her again, Dad!”

  Adam abruptly dropped her hand. Color flooded Laura’s face. Ryan slapped both hands over his mouth, as if fearing Adam’s kiss might somehow find its way to him, while Robbie screamed and collapsed in giggles, making smacking sounds with his mouth. Adam shot an apologetic glance at Laura, his hand dropping beneath the table to find her knee before he turned a censorious gaze on the children, effectively silencing them.

  “Eat your dinner,” he instructed flatly, then winked. Three smug gazes switched back to three barely touched plates. Adam leaned close to Laura, lifted his free hand to shield his mouth and whispered in her ear. “Kisses are for later.”

  Anticipation tingled along her nerve endings, heightening her color once more. His mouth quirked in a knowing smile, despite the gaze trained studiously on his plate. She wanted to poke him in the ribs, the wretch! This was all his fault. If he’d just stop looking at her as if he could eat her alive, if he just wouldn’t touch her with that leashed lightning, if he just didn’t set fire to her skin with a glance… If he just hadn’t made her love him.

  That was it. That was the real rub. No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t stop herself from loving Adam Fortune, and it was going to take a real miracle to keep her from getting her heart broken over it.

  Laura decided that calling Adam’s mother might foster the notion that she was cultivating favor, but by the time she came to that decision and worked up her nerve to call Jane, the dress she had dreamed in her head was a ball gown that would have made Cinderella green with envy. Jane punctured her dream bubble with casual ignorance. “Oh, I’ll probably wear a pair of dressy slacks and a silk blouse or something,” she said dismissively. “Frankly, I hadn’t thought about it.”

  Laura blushed to think that she hadn’t thought of much else. Despite her better judgment, she’d been absolutely captivated by the idea of appearing on Adam’s arm in the very bosom of his family, dazzlingly beautiful in her dazzling dress, which she would absolutely acquire for a bargain basement price. Jane was good enough to suggest three different stores where Laura might find what she was looking for—or what Jane assumed she was looking for.

  To Laura’s chagrin, Adam nix
ed Jane’s suggestions, saying that he had in mind a certain upscale department store. “I want to pick up some things for the kids, too,” he explained. “We’ll want to turn them out in their best in honor of Rocky and Luke.”

  We again. His use of that word never failed to warm her. She knew that she was playing with fire, but when he looked at her with that sparkle in his eyes, she reached blindly for the flames again. True, Adam was happy with her now, but even if Doyal didn’t eventually find her, there were no guarantees for the future. Once Adam had his feet firmly on the ground, business-wise, he might very well find himself ready to embrace other areas of his privileged life-style. There were bound to be plenty of women from the upper echelons who would love to get their hands on a man like Adam Fortune, children and all, women with families of consequence and diplomas from all the right schools, women with closets full of the right clothes, women whose closest contact with a drug dealer was in the movies. Oh, yes, she was definitely riding for a heartbreak, but the ride itself promised to be the grandest thing in her miserable life.

  She assumed that since Adam wanted to buy for the children, they would be taking the kids with them into the city, but Adam surprised her by getting his aunt Rebecca over to the house to baby-sit. Rebecca surprised her by being young, very near Adam’s age, in fact, and not the least bit old-maidish, with her long, curly auburn hair and striking features. Laura found her as fascinating as the mystery novels she wrote, and extremely intuitive.

  “She’ll want something dazzling,” she told Adam after giving Laura a thorough scan. “With her looks, that shouldn’t be difficult, even for you.”

  Adam wiggled a brow at his aunt and turned Laura toward the door. “She’s dazzling already,” he said.

  Rebecca folded her arms and smiled mysteriously. Her gaze seemed to say, She’s dazzled you already.

  Laura closed her eyes as Adam led her out into the garage, praying that it was so.

  They made the trip into the city in the truck, just in case the four-wheel drive was needed to cross a patch of ice or snow. Adam surprised Laura by playing a classical music tape along the way, Tchaikovsky being his favorite. She was a Mozart freak herself, thanks to Sister Agnes, but she’d left the only tapes she’d owned behind in Colorado. She hadn’t realized how much she missed them until now. Adam caught her tapping her toe and waving a finger in the air.

  “It’s infectious, isn’t it?”

  She laughed at herself. “Obviously.”

  He hummed along a moment, then said, “Diana was a pop fan. You know, light rock, a little jazz, some oldies. I couldn’t get into it. I like something with a little more…challenge.”

  She laughed again. “Yep, that’s you, all right.”

  “You’re a challenge,” he said, his gaze darting between her and the road. “Too much of one sometimes, I think.”

  She felt her heart beating slow and hard, and somehow her gaze didn’t want to go anywhere but her lap. She thought carefully about what she wanted to say, and then she said it.

  “I don’t mean to be. I guess you scare me a little.”

  “How so?”

  She shrugged, trying to put it into words. “This is the closest I’ve ever come to having it all, Adam. It feels…too good to be true.”

  He sent her a piercing gaze. “What do you mean by ‘having it all’?”

  “A family, a home…someone of my own.”

  He licked his lips. “That’s not scary, Laura. That’s security. That’s love.”

  Love. The word hung there between them, a symbolic brass ring, so close yet so far. Would it jerk out of reach if she tried to grab it? She didn’t have the courage to try just yet.

  They rode on, surrounded by the alternately fierce and lilting orchestral music, wrapped in thoughts too fragile and frightening to give voice to. Almost before she knew it, Laura found herself looking up at a gleaming granite building in the heart of the city. An upscale department store, he’d said, but Laura had never shopped at any department store with valet parking and elevator attendants. She had the sickening feeling that she was in way over her head, even before the “shopper’s guide,” a thin, haughty middle-aged woman far better dressed than Laura, ushered them to a private alcove, seated them and commenced interviewing them.

  Laura noted that the Fortune name meant as much in the city as it did in little old St. Cloud. Her own obviously evoked no fawning, however. The woman shot her a stern, rather disapproving look as Adam explained that Miss Beaumont was in need of a special dress.

  “Nothing too formal,” he said offhandedly. “Something suitable for a family reception.”

  Ms. Hauteur Personified was all grace when she turned back to Adam. “Is there a theme, perhaps?”

  He waved a hand. “Nothing definite. Think elegant.”

  “Ah.” She turned back to Laura and signaled that she should rise. Looking Laura up and then down, the woman said to an assistant hovering in the background, “A size eight, I think. Perhaps a six in a strapless.” She stared pointedly at Laura’s chest for a moment, then sniffed and shook her head. “No, the eight would be better, even if we have to take it in in the waist.” With that she clapped her hands, and two things happened: Coffee and tea appeared and a staff of silent, obsequious clerks began bringing the store to them.

  Laura had never seen so many lovely clothes in her life. Some were absurd, but most were breathtaking—and none of them were right. She knew it, and Adam knew it. After nearly an hour, he got up and pulled Ms. Hauteur aside. A whispered conference with much gesticulation followed. Ms. Hauteur clapped her hands and all the pretty clothes disappeared—the ball gowns, the beaded numbers, the tulle and the lace and the sleek satin prints.

  When Adam reclaimed his seat, Laura leaned close and whispered, “What’s going on?”

  He merely smiled and patted her knee. “You’ll see.”

  The fashion show that began then had Laura on the edge of her seat. A quartet of tall, leggy models strolled the lush carpet before them, swirling and swaying and showing off one scrumptious costume after another. It was all too much for Laura to take in. She had stopped trying to picture each and every creation on herself and was just enjoying the show when Adam suddenly exclaimed, “That’s it!”

  Laura’s mouth fell open. She wasn’t sure which of the exquisite creations currently being shown had captured his imagination, but she was absolutely certain that none of them would look as good on her as they did on the models. The salesperson knew. She waved away two of the girls and brought another forward. Laura gaped. It was a short, strapless number with a fitted and draped bodice and a sarong skirt that tied in a pretty knot at the waist and fell open to the hem, which ended several inches above the knee—too many inches, to Laura’s eyes.

  “That’s the dress,” Adam said, “but the color’s wrong.”

  The saleswoman lifted a finger, indicating that she would need a moment for a brief conference with her assistants. After surprisingly few words, they scattered like quail flushed from the nest. In short order, they were back again, flourishing not just several dresses, but everything that could possibly go with them: shoes, stockings, even underwear—shockingly brief and sexy underwear, bras with scraps of lace for cups and panties made with less fabric than a self-respecting hankie. They all came in precise shades of white, yellow, blue, green, pink and the original black.

  “White,” Adam decided, dismissing the clear, deep rose color that was Laura’s secret favorite.

  “An excellent choice,” cooed the saleswoman, “not precisely in season, but certainly acceptable. The style is a dream. I suspect that no alteration will be necessary, since the sarong may be wrapped and tied just enough tighter for that narrow waist.” She looked down her long nose at Laura and added, “If you will just follow me.”

  Laura got up and trailed along after the woman hesitantly. She found herself shoved into a dressing room already filled with people, where she was summarily stripped, then hooked, smoothed and z
ipped into the white dress and the necessary underpinnings. She had on the opaque sparkle hose before she even knew what had hit her, and hated them on sight. From her perspective, they made her legs look fat and ugly, but when she indicated her dislike, Ms. Hauteur merely sniffed and announced, “We’ll let Mr. Fortune decide.”

  Laura strode out, teetering on three-inch heels, her waist properly cinched, and smiled apologetically at Adam. “I hate the stockings, and if I have to walk another yard in these shoes, I’ll break my neck.”

  Adam smiled at the saleswoman. “Ditch the stockings and the shoes.”

  Laura wanted to kick the saleswoman when she all but groveled in doing as he bade. She agreed, of course, but Mr. Fortune had the final say. Laura rolled her eyes, her hands at her hips. Then it was back to the dressing room for sheer white stockings and a pair of simple, and thankfully comfortable, shoes with sensible two-inch heels.

  Adam made an approving sound, but Laura saw the doubt in his eyes. “I want to try on the pink,” she announced forth-rightly. The “shopper’s assistant” did not so much as flicker an eyelid until Adam nodded in agreement.

  Laura did not allow herself to be propelled, pummeled and poked this time. She stood her ground and insisted on seeing a greater selection of shoes and stockings. After quick consideration, she chose a sheer beige stocking with a rosy hue and a shoe with a slender, flared heel and a draped effect on the toe that echoed that of the bodice of her dress. The color was not exact, but one of the assistant’s assistants whispered that the shoes could be dyed in a matter of hours. Laura thanked her with a smile and entered the dressing room alone, emerging minutes later with the natural confidence born of feeling perfectly turned out.