“Get in truck!” Avery demanded.
Will reached for his keys. “Sure. Why not?”
She took a step closer. Will opened the driver door and lifted Avery behind the wheel. He didn’t close the door but blocked the opening with his body.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Arabelle asked.
Will turned, startled. “Nowhere. Outside, to see a truck. Where did you think I was going? To Canada?”
“It occurred to me.”
He just shook his head and turned back to Avery, who was now on his knees and pretending to turn the wheel, though it was locked in place.
“Will, I don’t want you to ever take him anywhere without telling me.”
“No.” He turned and met her eyes.
“No, you don’t agree, or no you won’t?” she asked but she knew the answer.
“No, I do not agree. I won’t be sneaky about it. I’ll tell you if it’s convenient but I’m not going to ask your permission if I want to take him for ice cream. Neither am I going to abduct him. I would not keep him from you.”
“Ouch,” she said.
“Yeah. You know, Arabelle, it bothers me less that you think I’m capable of kidnapping than it does that you think I’m stupid.”
“Stupid?”
“If I was going to take him, don’t you think I would have waited until you left?”
Good point. Before she could reply, Avery pulled on Will’s arm.
“Avery ride!”
Will let his eyes travel between Arabelle and Avery a few times.
“Yes. I believe we will take a ride. Just a little one.”
“No!” Arabelle exploded. “You can’t. He has to have a car seat!”
Will smiled a wicked little smile and opened the back door.
“Go ahead,” he said, pointing to the newly installed seat. “Look it over. You will find that it is the correct one for his weight and size. It has a superior safety rating and it’s properly installed.”
He lifted Avery out of the front seat. “Now, Arabelle, we’re going to ride around the block a few times. No more. Then, we’re coming back here. You need to be gone when I get back. I’ll handle this.”
He turned to put Avery in the car seat. Then he hesitated and stepped forward. “Avery, give your mama love,” he said.
• • •
It was a good hour and a half after Lanie left that Arabelle reluctantly climbed the steps of Lucy Kincaid’s pretty little Victorian cottage.
Lucy threw open the door and held out her arms. “Arabelle! I’m so glad you came.”
Arabelle was in no hugging mood but she hugged. These days she was doing a lot of things she was in no mood for.
“Come in!”
Lucy looked blissful. Good reason for that. She was happily married to the man she loved. When she had her babies, Brantley would be there holding her hand. They’d be excited, would have fixed up the nursery together. Would have picked out a name together.
Lucy would not have her babies in Switzerland.
Lucy led her into the living room where the others sat. Lanie was there, of course, who looked relieved that she had finally come. Tolly Scott was a pretty blond attorney and wife of the high school football coach. Then there was Missy Bragg, Lucy’s best friend and cousin-in-law to Tolly. She was probably the one least likely to care if Arabelle joined them or not. She ruled her little posse with an iron hand. But people said she had a good heart.
They all had glasses of wine and were making welcoming sounds. Lanie stood up and said, “We have to have a toast before we eat dinner.”
What? “You waited dinner on me? You must be starved. You should have gone ahead.” Come to think of it, she was starved. Had she eaten at all today?
“Nonsense,” Lucy said. “This is your night. I wish we could have done more.”
It was then Arabelle noticed the champagne in the silver bucket on the coffee table. There was also a tray of Lanie’s dark chocolate truffles—probably Grand Marnier flavored ones since those were Arabelle’s favorites. Now Lanie was putting a champagne flute in her hand and everyone was smiling and clinking glasses.
“To Arabelle and Will!”
“May you be as happy as we all are.”
“So, so happy for you. Such a surprise, but a good one.”
“Will is a wonderful man. So, so sweet.”
Arabelle wasn’t even sure who was saying what but she knew this was not how they normally operated. If she had truly been one of them, they would have been saying, “What the hell? What do you mean getting married this fast? Why didn’t we know about this?”
That’s what Sheridan and Carrie would have said.
And then Lanie noticed the ring. “Arabelle! You didn’t have that two hours ago. No wonder it took you so long to get here.”
They surrounded her, making all the correct noises and she did her best to imitate a newly engaged and euphoric bride to be, holding her hand out and holding the corners of her mouth up.
“This calls for chocolate!” Tolly held the silver tray toward Arabelle first.
“Chocolate before dinner?” Arabelle said.
“Just this once,” Lucy said.
“We only eat dessert first on special occasions and this is one,” Lanie said.
“They’re lying,” Missy said. “We eat dessert first all the time. Sometimes instead of.”
“But not instead of tonight,” Lucy said. “It isn’t a fancy meal but it’s a great one. Evelyn made gumbo and cornbread for us. Plus Coca-Cola cake.”
They all groaned like they were having orgasms. Evidently they knew who Evelyn was and she had a way with gumbo and cake.
It had been a while since Arabelle had had an orgasm and she didn’t like being reminded that it was probably going to be a lot longer. Not that Will wasn’t proficient in that department. Oh, no, he was very, very proficient. She just had the feeling he was going to be unwilling.
“Evelyn?” Arabelle asked to stop the groaning.
“Oh, sorry,” Lucy said. “Evelyn works for Miss Caroline, Brantley’s grandmother. Though Miss Caroline says it’s really the other way around.”
Arabelle could have pointed out that she might not know all the ins and outs of Merritt like they did, but she did know who Caroline Brantley was. Everyone did.
“If Miss Caroline was going to answer to anyone, it would be Evelyn,” Missy said. “Nobody crosses Evelyn. Not even me.” And they all laughed, as Lucy ushered them to the dining room table.
And so it went. They ate, talked, drank, and laughed. Arabelle didn’t pay much attention to the particulars. She was too busy watching her cell phone for a call from Will. Maybe she should call, or at least text. It was time for Avery to go to bed. Had she told Will what time? For sure, she hadn’t told him Avery had to have a pacifier in his mouth and another in his hand.
Just as Lucy set a piece of chocolate cake as big as a raft in front her, she reached for the phone. Then she hesitated. Maybe she would just go home. She’d been here almost an hour. That was long enough.
“He can handle it, you know,” Missy said.
“What?” Arabelle looked up. “Are you talking to me?”
“I am. Will can handle it.” There was some sympathy in her voice, which was unusual. “At first you think they can’t, but they can.”
“I should go.” Arabelle rose. She did not need to sit here and be lectured by Missy Bragg.
“Oh, Arabelle,” Lanie said. “We haven’t talked about Saturday at all. At least eat your cake. Did you talk to Gail?”
Defeated, Arabelle sat back down. Lanie was smart. She knew to end with a question. Polite people answered questions and Arabelle was polite.
“I did talk to Mother. And Daddy.” She took a bite of the cake. Might as well. She almost gave an involuntary little groan of her own. It was moist, fudgy, and the icing was studded with toasted pecans. It was the best thing she had ever tasted. “Mother wasn’t delighted with the timing, but I told
her I didn’t want any fuss.”
That conversation had been just about as dandy as the one she’d had with Luke, but she’d stood her ground and, in the end, it had been easy enough to get them on board. First, Daddy liked Will. Second, they’d been worried about her since Sheridan’s death and they chose to take this as a sign that she was in a better place.
If only they knew.
“I almost forgot,” Arabelle went on. “She was going to call you, Lanie, but I told her I’d tell you. She’ll be here tomorrow. She said to call if it’s not okay for her to stay at the farm. Daddy will be here Friday.”
“Of course it’s fine,” Lanie said. And wasn’t it just? There wasn’t one thing in this universe that wasn’t fine with Lanie. “Wonderful, in fact. We have lots to do!”
Arabelle almost asked what and then she remembered. Lanie thought they were going to make a real wedding.
“What can we do to help?” Lucy asked. “I’m pretty good at decorating.”
“I could make some food,” Missy said. “Are you having a whole meal or just finger food? What time? Will the reception be at the farm? If it’s early enough, a brunch would be nice. I can handle that all by myself.”
Tolly said, “I’m no good at cooking or decorating but I’m great support staff and I’ll help in any way I can. So will Nathan. We can run errands.”
And to be sure there would be lots of errands if this were a real wedding. Arabelle knew all about that. There had been so much to do for Carrie’s and Sheridan’s weddings. And there had been parties, cake tastings, and dress fittings. But there would be none of that.
Then something else hit her.
These people thought they were coming to this wedding. Not going to happen. She wasn’t going to stand up and lie in front of more people than absolutely necessary. That meant the family and Susie, who’d worked for her family ever since her parents had married.
“Brantley can play the piano,” Lucy said with a wry smile, “if you don’t mind a few sour notes.”
She needed to shut the roller coaster down. “I hadn’t thought to have music—” Arabelle said.
“I’ll be glad to go to Birmingham with you to shop for a dress,” Missy said. “I’m a great shopper. I’ll have you fixed up in no time.”
Arabelle’s mouth went dry and her scalp tingled. Music? Dress? Food? “Oh, now,” she said. “I know you all have more to do on a cold January day than to bother with all this. We hadn’t planned on anything elaborate.”
All of the women at the table laughed.
“Don’t worry, Arabelle,” Lanie said. “We put Tolly’s wedding together in two weeks. Just tell us what you want. We’ll make it happen—within reason, of course.”
“I don’t think—”
“And you don’t have to.” Lucy patted her arm. “I understand. You’re in love and you just want to get married. Relax. We’ll get together with your mother and make it nice.”
“Yes!” came the chorus, the Greek Chorus.
• • •
Arabelle almost tripped over Will on the way to Avery’s crib.
What the hell was he doing lying on the floor? She gave him a cursory look to ascertain if he was dead. No. Still breathing. So asleep or passed out. She’d figure out which in a minute but right now she was more interested in Avery.
She stepped around Will and bent over the crib. All seemed well enough. He was sound asleep, with Jiffy nearby. Pacifier in his mouth, another still clutched in his hand. He’d drop it later. She moved the blanket. Will had put him in pajamas that were too small, but to be fair, she’d left a stack of outgrown clothes folded on the dresser. It was reasonable to think they were just waiting to be put away. On closer inspection, she realized Will had not gotten the inside leg snaps of his pajamas fastened right but that could be tricky.
Okay. She had to concede things must have gone fine. But why was Will on the floor? Time to check that out. She stroked Avery’s hair and pressed a kiss to his temple. Then she covered him, turned, and knelt down on the rug.
Will was on his back, his head on a pillow he’d brought in from the sofa. So he had planned to go to sleep though it wasn’t that late. Still that was better news than finding him passed out. Like Avery, he had something clutched in his right hand, but not a pacifier. What was that? A pill bottle? She managed to ease the bottle out without waking him.
It was the pain pills she had prescribed for his hand. His hand! She had forgotten—it seemed such a long time ago. It made sense that he would need a pain pill after roughhousing and lifting Avery. His bandaged hand lay on his chest.
She bent to get a better look. Damn. A spot of blood had seeped through. He’d probably ripped a stitch.
She shook his shoulder. “Will. Wake up.”
“What!?!” He sprung up like a jack-in-the-box and looked around like he didn’t know where he was. Then panic washed over his face and he began searching around on the floor. “My pain pills! They’re gone! Did Avery—?” He jumped up and looked in the crib.
“Relax, Will.” She held up the bottle. And he’d accused her of being over protective.
“Oh. He didn’t get them?”
“No. He can’t get out of the crib—or at least he never has.”
“I didn’t know that.” He rubbed his eyes. “They were in my pocket. I didn’t plan to take one but I lay down on the floor so I’d be sure to hear him if he woke up. Then my hand started to hurt so I took one. I was going to put them back in my pocket but I guess I went to sleep.”
She handed him the bottle. “The bottle has a child safe cap. Even if he had gotten them, he couldn’t get them open. Still, putting them away would have been a better plan.”
“Won’t happen again,” he mumbled.
She nodded. It would have been hypocritical for her to chastise him. She’d had mishaps of her own and would have more—but neither was she in the mood to absolve him. If he’d been scared, it served him right for insisting on being left alone with Avery before he knew anything about the boy—like if he could climb out of the crib and which pajamas fit.
“Let’s go before we wake him up. I need to look at your hand.” She turned off the lamp on the dresser and put on the night-light.
“It’s fine,” he said.
“You’re bleeding. Go to the kitchen table. I’ll get my medical bag.”
• • •
Groggy, Will let himself down into a chair. Right now, he hated himself. How could he have gone to sleep without putting away those pills? He’d spent two days convincing himself that he could be a better father than the one he’d had and now this. He was amazed that Arabelle had taken it in stride—or seemed to. Maybe she was off somewhere right now documenting it in a book she’d bought special for the Sins of Will. When she had enough, maybe she planned to run him off.
She appeared in the kitchen door with her bag and a towel. “Put your hand here,” she said as she placed the folded towel on the table.
He did it. Maybe if he followed five directives it would negate a demerit in her book. Or maybe it would take ten or a thousand. She sat down and started to unwrap his hand. She was wearing the ring he’d bought her. Funny. If someone had sliced this picture out of the future three years ago and showed it to him, he would have smiled. Still, he liked seeing his ring on her finger. He shouldn’t but he did.
“Do you like that ring?” he asked.
She glanced at her hand as if she had forgotten it was there. “Sure,” she said. “It’s nice.” And she went back to removing the bandage. “You really shouldn’t have been roughhousing with your hand.”
“I know. Or I know now. I couldn’t help it.”
She nodded but she didn’t look at him. She ran her finger around his wound.
“That’s good news anyway. You didn’t rip a stitch. Close, but not quite.”
She picked up his hand in her left one—the one with the ring—and ran an antiseptic soaked cotton ball over his wound. It was almost like holding hands
and he was almost enjoying it. He blamed that on his grogginess. Damn pain meds. He didn’t want to enjoy her hand against his. She had wronged him in one of the worst ways possible. The tip of his finger brushed against the ring that should have been a symbol of coming together. Instead, it was just a reminder of what he was making her do. Maybe he was wrong. Probably he was. But wrong or right, he had to be with Avery right now. He’d known it before but after spending tonight with him, that truth was ingrained in him. Weekends and random nights would never be enough. And maybe, just maybe, after they got through the bad parts, there was a chance he and Arabelle could come together. That’s what he wanted for Avery—and for himself. And this was his only chance.
Arabelle had not looked up. She was spreading ointment on his cut now. “If you want to get back to work, you’re going to have to be careful when you pick up Avery.”
“I notice you didn’t say not to pick him up.”
Finally, she looked up. She looked tired. And sad. That made two of them. “Would it matter if I did?”
“No,” he admitted.
“I’m going to redress your hand and I want to take your temperature.”
He got the feeling that she put the thermometer in his mouth because she didn’t want him to talk.
When she finished wrapping his hand, she removed the thermometer. “Have you had your night time antibiotic?”
“Not yet.”
She got up. “You’ll need some food. I’ll make you a turkey sandwich.”
Turkey? She didn’t know he was a vegetarian. She didn’t know anything about him.
“No, thank you,” he said. “I don’t eat meat. A slice of bread will be fine. I guess you don’t have any peanut butter.”
She widened her eyes with surprise. “You’re a vegetarian? When did that happen?”
He shrugged. “A long time now.”
“So you eat no flesh?”
“No. Fish and seafood are not per se part of my conviction and I eat that occasionally—though it appeals to me less and less as time goes on. It’s a texture thing.”
“Your conviction?” She looked alarmed. “Why?”
“It’s my way.”
“I am not a vegetarian and I’m not going to be. Neither is Avery.”
Secrets Gone South (Crimson Romance) Page 7