Nothing to say about that, huh? Satisfied that she and the baby were in accord, Rissa turned the key and powered the BMW out of the lot and onto the highway. Funny how easily I’ve slipped into these conversations with you, little girl. I even expect you to answer me—and you do. She sighed and eased the car over into the next lane.
I have to admit that I’m kind of surprised at how easy you are to talk to—kind of like your daddy. She smiled. That’s a good thing, because your daddy is a special kind of man. I can’t think of a lot of men that I would have trusted to be as understanding and supportive as he has been.
Everything must be happening so fast for him, and he must feel so out of control. Less than a week ago, he walked in the door from his away game, and I hit him with all of the news about the surgery and what it meant for you, our baby, and he took it all in stride—most of it anyway. He had to take a seat when I told him about the no sex prohibition. Rissa laughed and tapped her brakes as a car cut in front of her. The baby sent a querulous flutter across her lap and Rissa laughed again. No, sweetie. We will not indulge in road rage—Daddy wouldn’t like it.
And we want to keep Daddy happy. Laughter simmered into a contented smile. Daddy sure worked overtime to keep Mommy happy.
Telling him about the surgery had not been the easiest thing she’d ever done, and yet he’d taken one look at her face and found the strength to sit and listen. Knowing instinctively that she needed him to hear and understand every word the first time around, he’d listened, generous, patient, and kind.
Kind. Is that even a word that a woman expects to use when it comes to her husband?
But it was the right word to use for Dench when he sat there looking at her with those deep and accepting green and gold flecked eyes. When she moved close, he opened his arms, letting her melt into his warmly secure embrace, and she felt anchored. When his voice stroked her ear, reminding her of who he was, she was ready to defy the world for him.
“I love you, Rissa. We’ve come this far together and we’ll see this through, all the way through, together.” The words were exactly right, echoing the promise she saw in his eyes, and she loved him even more for having the faith to say them out loud.
Faith. That’s what we’re about. Rissa couldn’t stop the smile when the baby sent a tiny ripple through her. That’s what you’re going to be born into. She drove the last mile to her home in silence.
Faith. Watching her garage door rise, the word skimmed her consciousness again. Faith. Is that your name or your mantra? The baby sent no signal, leaving Rissa wondering as she made her way from the garage.
Jamming her key into the door left her with an anxious shudder that had nothing to do with the baby and everything to do with the housekeeper Dench had insisted on hiring. Like I couldn’t keep my own house clean. The last thing I need is some other woman fanning around my home, rearranging things, and trying to fix things that aren’t broken. But it was his house, too.
She pushed the door open and smelled lemon polish. Stepping in, she pushed the door closed behind herself and locked it. Bet she forgot to turn the alarm back on. Moving to the wall panel, Rissa’s fingers had to move quickly to disarm the system before the alarm triggered.
Okay, so she followed instructions. Looking down at the gleaming hardwood floor, she moved her foot. Not slippery, and they look good. She was going to have to work harder to find a reason to hate this housekeeper. Never one to give up easily, Rissa took a quick tour of her home and wound up wondering how a single woman had accomplished so much in six hours. Mirrors were clean, laundry was done, and there wasn’t a dirty dish in the house. Whoever this wonder woman was, she’d even gone to the grocery store and stocked the refrigerator as fully and neatly as Rissa would have herself, if she’d had the time and energy.
Score one for Dench.
And I get to come home to a clean house. She looked around, appreciating. I’ll have to be around to meet this paragon of domestic virtue the next time Dench schedules her. The baby telegraphed a funny thought her way. Right. She’d better be a little old lady.
As much as she would have liked a glass of wine, Rissa settled for a tall glass of cold grape juice. Dropping her coat and the messenger bag on the floor beside her chair, she sat and suddenly realized how tired she was. Looking down at her belly, she smiled. But I’m not complaining. You are so very worth it.
Sipping slowly, she lifted her feet to the chair across from her. Kicking off her shoes, she thought about the woman on the plane. Her hand wandered to her stomach and circled. The baby shifted beneath her palm and her smile broadened. “Mommy is not blaming you for anything, little one. Taking off for Chicago this morning was my silly idea, but I’m glad you went along for the ride.” When the baby shifted again, Rissa felt her body clench around the movement and felt a thrill that bordered on sensual.
“Second time you’ve done that to me today,” she sighed. The first time was on the plane as it circled Chicago before landing at O’Hare, and the little thrill had come so quickly that she hadn’t controlled the escaping moan. Clapping a hand over her mouth, hoping no one had heard, she scrunched low in her business class seat—I’m going home first class, she promised herself, hoping no one had heard her.
No such luck. The woman next to her had looked at her belly and her embarrassed eyes and laughed out loud. Tall and long-limbed, with knees that pushed into the seat in front of her, the coffee-colored woman displayed her beautiful and oddly haunting thick-lipped smile. “I know you don’t think that’s unusual? Honey, before it’s all over, that baby is going to have you making all kinds of sounds.” She laughed again. “How are your feet and hands?”
Rissa blinked when the woman twisted in her seat and frowned down at her low-heeled pumps.
“Swollen? Huh, that’s normal—especially in shoes like those. You need to put those in your purse and travel in something more sensible. Next time you fly, sit on the aisle and make sure you get up about every twenty minutes or so. Sit with your feet up every time you get a chance.” Reaching, she gripped Rissa’s hand in her strong fingers and looked at it. Her forefinger touched Rissa’s wedding band and she smiled. “Pretty rings, but tight. You need to move your hands around more.”
Is she calling me lazy? Rissa bristled, pulling her hand back. My own mother doesn’t call me lazy, and having a housekeeper was never my idea…
“And you need to drink lots of water, even though that means more bathroom time—keeps you from bloating.”
Rissa wondered if she looked stupid, because her seatmate just kept on talking.
“I went through this seven times. I have six children, so I’m kind of an authority on being pregnant.” The woman laughed. “What are you, anyway? Six months or thereabouts?” She nodded, accepting her own judgment. “Yes, about six months.”
“Almost seven.” Rissa found enough nerve to sit up in her seat.
“Your first?”
Your business? “Yes.”
“We lost our first one.” The woman pulled at the breast of her sweater and her gaze wavered for the first time as she looked at Rissa. Heartbreak hid in the shadows of her dark eyes. Rissa’s heart and brain nearly burst with the gravity and the depth of the questions that nearly spilled from her lips when she looked into her seatmate’s face. Did he blame you? How did you learn not to blame yourself? How did you hold out until the next time?
The woman looked as if she’d heard every question and her face creased. “I like to have never gotten over it—thought it would kill me.”
“I know.” Rissa bit her lip and touched the woman’s hand. “I know.”
The woman smiled bitterly as her eyes touched Rissa’s. She looked at her for a long moment, but then the smile changed. “I believe you do.” She closed Rissa’s hand between both of hers and sat straighter. “I did tell you that I have six now, didn’t I?”
“I’ll be happy with this one.”
“I believe that, too.” The plane bumped as it touched down a
nd Rissa gasped again when the baby reacted. “Might be a little uncomfortable, but you should enjoy it while you can. It won’t last forever. Nothing ever does.”
Rissa was still thinking about her seatmate as she hailed a cab and headed to Shula’s Steakhouse on East North Water Street. The drive was longer than she’d anticipated, but definitely shorter than it would have been in Atlanta. The fact that DeJuan Fisher was waiting in front of the restaurant made the trip better.
“You made it.” He smiled, helping her from the cab. He tossed a handful of bills to the driver and ushered her inside. “I thought that you would get a kick out of this place, especially since AJ Yarborough is your brother and your husband coaches Atlanta.”
“Yes, but that’s not why I’m here.”
“I know.” Fisher grinned. “But can I just show off for a minute?”
Rissa raised a finger and looked stern. “One minute.”
“Dang, you’re tough. Now I have even more respect for Coach Traylor.” Taking her elbow, DeJuan led her through the restaurant, talking every step of the way. “I know you probably don’t remember the Dolphins in ’72, but that was the year they went seventeen and 0, a perfect season—the only team in NFL history to finish with a perfect season. So, to honor that, it’s the theme of every Shula Steak House restaurant. The menus here are hand painted on official NFL game balls and signed by Coach himself.”
The big man sounded like a fan, but he looked as proud as a little boy. “It’s like one of the top five steak house restaurants in the country, and there’s one in just about every NFL city—except Atlanta.” He stopped at their table and pulled out her chair.
This boy’s mama raised him right. She smiled gracefully and sat. “In Atlanta, we have Bones and Chops, both outstanding restaurants in their own right, but I’ve heard that the Shula franchise is shopping space with the Ritz-Carlton in Atlanta,” she smiled, flirting just a little, “if you’re interested.”
“I am interested.” Fisher rubbed his big hands together and leaned forward. “So I guess that brings us to business.”
Rissa looked at her watch. “It does if we can do it before my five o’clock flight leaves.”
“I’m not trying to move to Atlanta.”
“Nobody is asking you to. You told me that you needed commercial representation, someone to vet and field offers, make your name bankable, and help you ensure a life after the NFL.”
“Word is, you did well for AJ and you’ve hooked Traylor up, but you have a vested interest there. What about Kadeem Gregg?”
Rissa looked at him over the rim of her water glass. “What about him? He’s got a guaranteed second and a third year option, and eight million in endorsements. If he stays with me, I believe we’ll more than double that over the course of a year. Of course, if the Super Bowl becomes a factor…” She set the glass aside and let her face go blank. “Is that what you meant by bankable?”
His toothy grin went wide and Rissa’s briefcase held the sheaf of signed documents when DeJuan Fisher helped her into the cab for her ride back to O’Hare.
Knowing that she was about to knock Yvette’s socks off and pump up their corporate bottom line at the same time, Rissa was happily congratulating herself when she felt the tiny stab low in her body. Much like a menstrual cramp, it was enough to make her gasp and close her eyes in shock as she headed toward the train that would deposit her on Concourse C.
Her feet stopped directly in the path of two rushing men at the same time that her hand moved to identify the pain. The shorter of the two men looked as if he had a hair-trigger temper and opened his mouth to harangue her, until he noticed her belly. Taking full advantage of the moment, Rissa turned big eyes and a radiantly helpless smile into the face of his frustration.
“Oh, my dear, are you all right?” Gray haired and paunchy, he looked as if he were more used to giving orders and having them obeyed than taking care of pregnant ladies, but he did his best. “I am so sorry, I should have been more careful.” When he reached to solicitously pat her arm, his taller blue-eyed companion ran his fingers through the remnants of his blond comb-over and gawked.
Assuring the man that she was fine took a minute and she did have to swallow her pride when he asked her due date and the baby’s sex, but she decided it was worth it as he left her with a smile and a wave. Sierra Clarence called it Baby Power.
And I do feel fine, she assured herself. The odd little cramps were rare and would only last another day or so, according to Alexis Stanton. They were a byproduct of the cerclage. But the doctor had already instructed her to limit her time on her feet in order to minimize pressure. If that’s what it takes to get the baby here healthy, I’ll do what I have to. At least she didn’t order me into a wheelchair.
* * *
The sound of Dench’s key in the door should have roused her, but Rissa was too tired to even realize that she’d dozed off.
“Hey, Sleeping Beauty.” His voice was soft and liquid to her ear.
“Welcome home, Prince Charming.” Her lips curved into a welcoming smile even before her eyes opened with her sigh. “The castle looks good—I already inspected it. You were right and I was wrong.” She opened her eyes and stretched, liking the sight of him. “A lot got done today. What was she? Some kind of gymnast?”
“Is that jealousy?” Dench grinned as he squatted beside her chair. “Here I go and find you a household ninja, and you get jealous?”
“How did you find her?”
“Ouch, I’m hurt.” Dench placed a hand on his chest and grimaced. “Do you really have that little faith in me? You don’t think that I could have found the right person to help us out all on my own? Dude, I’m crushed.” He dropped his eyes and shook his head sadly. Rissa waited until he finally raised his eyes to hers. “Mrs. Baldwin found her.”
“A-ha, dude, the truth comes out.”
“Well…” His lips brushed her forehead as he stood. “Her name is Rose Kirkwood, she’s over fifty, and I only know that because she told me. She’s been handling households for more than thirty years. She looked around and said that she could already tell that we would be easy.” Rissa raised her eyebrows, and Dench raised his right hand. “Honest. Her words.”
“Well, everything looks good…”
“And since she did the cleaning, dinner is on me tonight.”
“You’re going to cook?” Rissa sat straighter in her chair. “You know I love it when you cook. It’s one of the sexiest things you do.”
“Sexy?” Chagrin crossed his face.
She grinned and winked. “I said one of.”
“Then I guess I’m going to have to do what I can to amp up sexy.” He crossed the room to open the panel secreting the stereo system wired throughout the house. Dialing quickly, he listened when the sound came up and “Dilemma” filled the room. Turning back to his wife, he opened his arms. “Let’s dance.”
“Dance? You must be kidding. I’m tired. I lugged myself and a baby all the way to Chicago and back today. This chair is it for me.”
“Come dance with me. If sex is out for the next four, almost five months, then we have to do something, and you are the one who brought up sexy.” He moved his hips, danced a step or two closer, and then stood with his arms stretched in invitation. “I’m just saying.”
Feeling almost sorry she’d introduced the topic, Rissa decided to be intrigued by the man she’d married. “Why dancing?”
“Because it’s a ‘vertical expression of horizontal desire legalized by music.’” He grinned. “George Bernard Shaw.”
“Smart man.”
Reaching for her hand, Dench drew her from her chair and smiled when she moved into his arms, matching his sway. Meeting his hands, she folded her fingers into his. Between them, the hard mound of their child pressed and joined them when she let her head fall to his shoulder. Her voice was low and persuasive. “I think I like this. Can we do it more often?”
“I don’t know.” He pressed his cheek against her ha
ir and smiled. “You were so hard to convince.”
She could feel his heat as her hips met his. “Promise me and I’ll be your friend.”
“I’ve already got a lock on your friendship. You’re going to have to come better than that.”
“If that’s what it takes.” Dench grinned as she moved their joined hands low and between their bodies. Bodies close, moving in tandem, they danced. Her cheek touching his, his lips touching hers, they danced and Rissa wished the song would never end. Nelly and Kelly gave way to Alicia Keys and Rissa sighed against the open front of Dench’s shirt. Standing together, lost along the proximity of potential, Rissa and Dench stood breathing against each other.
“You know, this is kind of working for me.”
“Me, too.” His grin went sloppy. “Maybe we’d better think of something else.”
“You were going to cook,” Rissa reminded him.
“In a minute. I’m not ready to let you go.” His arms pressed her tighter. “If that’s all right with you?”
“Depends. What were you going to cook? Sorry, that’s not romantic, is it?” She fluttered her lashes at him and laughed when he fluttered his in response. “No complaints from me.” Swept by a wave of well-being, Rissa trusted his strength and leaned against the length of Dench and let the music lull her.
“I talked to Marlea the other day, about what it’s like—giving birth, I mean.”
“What did she have to say?” Holding her hand, he turned her gently, then let her relax into his renewed embrace as Alicia Keys promised that no one in the world could fill that special place in her heart.
“It was nice, just having the chance to ask the questions and hear the answers to things I wouldn’t dare ask my mother. She told me about having AJ in the room as a coach. She said that he cried every time she did.”
“That’s AJ for you.” He smiled into the softness of her hair when she slapped lightly at his shoulder.
“Dench?” She waited and he felt her body tighten in his arms. “Why haven’t we ever talked about…the other baby?”
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