Angels And Elves (The Baby Bet #1)

by Joan Elliott Pickart

  Why couldn’t she get the hang of this cooking nonsense? It simply called for organization, planning, a sense of order where one thing led to the next. Those were all abilities she possessed whenever she was writing a book, so why didn’t that knowledge follow her out of the office and into the kitchen?

  “Beats me,” she said, with a shrug. “Go for it, chicken,” she added, giving the top of the stove a friendly pat.

  As she walked toward the kitchen door, she suddenly stopped, a frown replacing her smile. With a sense of dread, she turned slowly to stare at the calendar that hung on the wall next to the telephone.

  Time was passing so quickly, she thought, wrapping her hands around her elbows. There was less than a week left of her vacation, less than a week to be with Forrest.

  She edged closer to the calendar, her eyes riveted on the numbered squares. A chill swept through her, causing her to tighten her hold on her arms.

  In her mental vision, she saw herself in her large office, pouring over the multitude of reference books, making notes, carefully plotting her next novel. It was a familiar picture, as that room was where she spent the vast majority of her life.

  And it suddenly appeared very empty, and very, very lonely.

  “No,” she whispered, feeling the ache of threatening tears in her throat, “no, it isn’t lonely. It’s my world. It’s where I belong, where I’m content. Safe.” She took a shuddering breath.

  On trembling legs she went to the table, sinking onto one of the chairs.

  In her mind’s eye she saw Forrest—smiling, talking, then looking at her with an intense message of desire radiating from his beautiful brown eyes. Heat swirled within her as she relived the lovemaking they’d shared; her breasts grew heavy, aching for the exquisite touch of Forrest’s hands, the sensuality of his mouth savoring her soft flesh.

  She saw him in her bed, naked and bronzed; so powerful, his strength tempered with infinite gentleness. She saw him in the shower, in the kitchen making coffee, eating pizza in front of the roaring fire in the hearth. She saw him in the ballroom where they’d danced, then decked out in Western clothes at the concert, and at the helm of the cabin cruiser.

  Then she saw him walking away, out of her life, not looking back as he left.

  “Oh, Forrest, please, no,” she said, tears misting her eyes.

  In the next instant, she got to her feet, lifted her chin, and stomped out of the kitchen.

  She was being ridiculous, she fumed, heading for her bedroom. She knew Forrest was in her life temporarily. He was The Project, for heaven’s sake. The Project was always over at the end of her two-week vacation. Just because he had the added title of being an Angels and Elves assignment, didn’t mean the time allowed would be extended.

  There was less than one week left to be with Forrest.

  She knew that.

  “So, get a grip, Jillian,” she told herself. “You’re behaving like an idiot.”

  Yes, she cared for Forrest, she truly did, and she would miss him for a while after he was gone. But she wasn’t in love with him, for crying out loud. She wouldn’t do something as stupid as falling in love with the man. No, absolutely not.

  In her room she changed clothes, donning a full-length Indian-print caftan she’d bought during her shopping spree with Deedee. After brushing her hair, she checked her makeup, sprayed on a floral cologne, then sank onto the side of the bed.

  Shadows from the past suddenly crept over her, encasing her in a dark cocoon of memories that began to take the form of hideous, near-human entities, each with a name.

  Pain. Betrayal. Disillusionment. Vulnerability. Aban- donment. Loneliness.

  They were all there, taunting her with hollow, cruel voices that grew louder in a maddening cadence. They were spawned by love, by loving, by having placed her heart in the hands of another.

  No! She wouldn’t do it, not ever again! There was no way on earth that she would allow herself to fall in love with Forrest. He would not be given that kind of power and control.

  Her work, her writing, was her focus and the essence of who she was. It required her complete attention and dedication. There wasn’t room for anything else. No space for distractions or temptations that would lure her away and destroy the career to which she’d dedicated herself.

  The doorbell chimed, and Jillian jerked in surprise at the sudden intrusion into her tangled thoughts. She went to the mirror, scrutinizing herself critically for any signs of turmoil or stress that would cause Forrest to question her.

  She appeared perfectly normal, she decided, then hurried from the room.

  The bell rang again before Jillian reached the entryway, and she quickened her step even more. When she opened the door, all rational thought fled.

  “Forrest,” she whispered.

  “Jillian.”

  Forrest closed the door behind him, then swept her into his arms, his mouth capturing hers, parting her lips; his tongue seeking and finding hers in the sweet darkness.

  Jillian flung her arms around his neck and molded her body to his, returning in kind the hungry, urgent force of the kiss. Her breasts were crushed to the hard wall of his chest, and she felt and savored the pressure of his arousal, heavy against her.

  This was Forrest, her mind hummed. Forrest was here. She’d missed him terribly, and was so very glad he was back.

  Forrest lifted his head to meet her gaze, but didn’t release her. He drew a rough breath before he attempted to speak.

  “Lord, I missed you,” he said, then brushed his lips over hers.

  “I missed you, too.”

  “I swear, Jillian, never before have floor plans, bathroom designs and square footage seemed like such ridiculous subjects to be pitching to a roomful of megabucks boys. All I could think about was getting out of there and coming home to you.”

  Jillian’s heart skipped a beat.

  Coming home to you.

  Home.

  Jillian, don’t, she admonished herself. Forrest hadn’t meant that the way it sounded. This was her home, not his, not theirs. This was where she lived—alone.

  “Did you get the job?” she asked.

  “Yep. The contract is signed, sealed, and delivered.” He stared into space and sniffed the air. “Either you have a new and unusual cologne, or I smell the delicious scent of baking chicken.”

  Jillian laughed and stepped back, instantly wishing she was still nestled close to him.

  “The aroma of that chicken is all you’re going to get for a while,” she said, smiling. “I’m officially declaring myself a disaster as a cook. I forgot to turn on the oven. We’re going to dine—check that fancy jargon—very late. Come in by the fire. I can at least offer you a drink and some cheese and crackers.”

  “Sold,” he said, putting one arm around her shoulders. “I really like that dress you’re wearing. I suppose it has a fancier title than ‘dress.’”

  “Close enough,” she said, as they went into the living room. “You’re rather spiffy yourself, sir.”

  He was gorgeous, she mused. Wearing black slacks and a burgundy sweater that was the exact shade of one of the multitude of colors in her caftan, Forrest looked fabulous. They looked fabulous, together.

  “Wine, cheese, and crackers?” she said, remaining standing as Forrest sat down on the sofa.

  “Great. Do you need some help?”

  “No, I’m your official hostess this evening.”

  “Then you’re supposed to say, ‘Coffee, tea, or me?’ That’s the rules of hostessdom.”

  Jillian laughed as she started toward the kitchen.

  Forrest watched her go, filling his senses with the sight of her, her aroma of flowers, the way she’d felt in his arms, the remembrance of the honey-sweet taste of her mouth, the sound of her wind-chime laughter.

  Just as Jillian returned carrying a tray, the telephone rang. She hesitated a moment, undecided whether to hurry back to the kitchen, or answer the telephone on the end table by the sofa.

&nbs
p; “Would you get that, Forrest?” she finally asked.

  He picked up the receiver. “Hello, you’ve reached the Jones-Jenkins residence.”

  “Oh, good grief.” Jillian rolled her eyes heavenward.

  She set the tray on a small table, then moved it in front of the sofa. Looking at Forrest, she frowned as she realized he was ramrod stiff and was now sitting on the edge of the cushion.

  “Forrest?” she said. “What is it?”

  “You’re sure, you’re really sure?” he said, into the receiver. “She’s had a couple of false alarms, Michael. I know she felt it was different this time. That’s why I gave you the telephone number here.... The doctor said that...? Oh, Lord, this is it.” He lunged to his feet, nearly yanking the base of the telephone from the table. “You and Jenny are going over there now...? I am not repeating everything you say like a damn parrot... Of course, I’m coming. Quit bugging me, will you, so I can get moving!” He slammed the receiver back into place.

  “Forrest?” Jillian said again.

  “Stay calm, MacAllister,” he muttered. “You’ll drive into a tree if you don’t get it together.”

  “Forrest MacAllister!” Jillian yelled. “Would you talk to me?”

  “Oh,” he said, jerking in surprise at her outburst. “Sorry. It’s Andrea. She and John are at the hospital, and the doctor says this is it. That was Michael on the phone. The doc said the babies are only a couple of weeks early, so that’s good. That’s good. Michael and Jenny are leaving for the hospital now.” He grabbed Jillian’s hand. “Come on. We’ve got to get over there.”

  “You want me to come with you?”

  He frowned. “Don’t you want to?”

  “Yes, of course I do, but this is a family event, Forrest. I’m not certain that it would be appropriate for me to intrude. I mean, I’m Andrea’s friend, but—”

  “Jillian, trust me, it’s fine. I imagine Deedee will be there too.”

  “Well, if you’re sure. Let’s see. The safety screen is in front of the fire, and— Oh, the chicken. I’ve got to turn the oven off.”

  “I’m sorry about the dinner,” he said, as she started toward the kitchen.

  “Don’t be. It wasn’t exactly going to be a gourmet delight, anyway. I need to grab a shawl, then we’re off and running.”

  She returned in a few minutes and frowned as she looked at Forrest.

  “You’re so serious,” she said. “Are you worried about Andrea?”

  “Yeah, I guess I am. You’d think I’d be cool, considering I’ve been through this routine with Jenny and Michael. Maybe it’s one of those things a person can’t ever become casual about. I’d probably pass out cold on my face if it was my wife, having my baby. Oh, man, I’d never hear the end of that from my family. Okay, let’s hit the road.”

  The drive to the hospital was made in silence as Forrest concentrated on the traffic with more intensity than usual, due to the fact that he was driving far above the speed limit.

  Jillian welcomed the mental solitude, using the time to attempt to sift and sort through the maze in her mind.

  When Forrest had spoken of his wife, having his baby, she’d had a vision, to her astonishment and dismay, of that woman being her. As he’d said the words, the image had clicked into place as naturally as breathing. Forcing it away, pushing it from her mind, had not been an easy task.

  Why had that happened? She knew she didn’t wish to ever marry again. She knew that. She was also very aware that she had made a career choice that allowed no room for a husband and children.

  Well, yes, she was acquainted with many successful authors who combined their writing with a family. But her methods for completing a novel were etched in stone, were the way she had to do it to achieve her goals.

  If she made the foolish mistake of falling in love with Forrest MacAllister, it was not going to erase her past or the course she had set for her future.

  And that was that.

  But as she realized she was about to meet Forrest’s entire family and be swept up in the excitement of the soon-to-arrive babies, she wished she’d stayed at home with her stupid, half-baked chicken.

  * * *

  Jillian’s apprehensions regarding having accompanied Forrest to the hospital were forgotten within moments of entering the waiting room.

  When Forrest introduced her to everyone, she was received with such warmth that she felt as though she’d known the boisterous MacAllister clan for a very long time.

  The sons had obviously inherited their height and physiques from their father, Robert, who was still nicely built, with no evidence of a middle-age paunch in sight. His hair was thick and gray, and his smile a delightful carbon copy of Forrest’s, Michael’s and Ryan’s. Ryan’s wife, Sherry, was a nurse on duty at another hospital across town.

  Margaret MacAllister, Forrest’s mother, had a twinkle in her brown eyes, and a smile that lit up her entire face. Her hair was graying, but still had hints of rich auburn, and was attractively styled in a cap of soft curls.

  She appeared small and delicate next to the tall, broad-shouldered men of her family, but Jillian knew from the enchanting stories Forrest had told her, that Margaret MacAllister was a force to be reckoned with.

  Michael’s wife, Jenny, was a stunning blonde, who would make heads turn wherever she went. Yet, Jillian realized, Jenny was natural and at ease with her own beauty. Her friendly smile was genuine.

  Also present was a smiling Deedee, who waggled her fingers at Jillian from across the room.

  Jillian was also introduced to Ted Sharpe, Ryan’s partner on the police force. Ted was tall, blond, tanned, and had the bluest eyes Jillian had ever seen. Ryan and Ted, she mentally decided, should pose for police-academy recruiting posters.

  Her gaze swept over the group, lingering on the MacAllisters.

  This was Forrest’s family—a real family, the kind she’d fantasized about having during the years she was a lonely child. They’d all gathered together as a supportive unit for Andrea and John. The babies who would soon come into the world would be received into the embrace of these people, and loved unconditionally for all time.

  How blessed they all were. But she could sense, feel, that they all knew that.

  “Sit, sit,” Margaret said, flapping her hands. “Our little darlings aren’t going to be born any quicker by us standing around.”

  Everyone immediately sat down, causing Jillian to smile as she witnessed Margaret in action.

  “I’m taking the bets, Forrest,” Michael said. “I’ve got it covered. Two girls, two boys, one of each, girl born first, boy born first, firstborn weighs more, second born weighs more. Take your pick, and give me twenty bucks.”

  “Don’t rush me, here. As The Baby Bet champion, I intend to give this the serious consideration it deserves.” Forrest stared at the ceiling. A few minutes later, he took out his wallet and handed Michael the money. “Boy and a girl. Boy first and weighs more.”

  Michael wrote on a piece of paper. “Got it.”

  “Enjoy your champion status while you have it, Forrest,” Ted said. “I’m going to clean your clock. Two boys. Second one is heavier.”

  “Dream on, Sharpe,” Forrest said, grinning. “You are looking at the pro.” He paused. “Anyone seen John? How’s the daddy-to-be holding up?”

  “Nope, haven’t seen him,” Robert said. “He’s in the labor room with Andrea. He plans on being in the delivery room, too. We weren’t allowed to do that in my day. Thank goodness.”

  Margaret patted her husband’s knee. “You could have handled it, dear.”

  “That’s not a bet I would have put twenty dollars on,” Robert said, chuckling. “Well, I’m glad John is with our little girl. Andrea may be John’s wife, but she’ll always be my baby daughter, too.”

  “Of course she is,” Margaret said, then kissed him on the cheek. “That’s just the way it is.”

  Not for everyone, Jillian thought. No, not for everyone.

  “I enjoy your
books immensely, Jillian,” Margaret said. “I can’t even imagine how hard you must work to produce a novel. The image of an author most of us have is a life of glitz and glamour, fame and fortune. I have a feeling it’s just honest, hard work.”

  “Yes,” Jillian said, looking at her in surprise, “it is. It takes a great deal of self-discipline and many, many hours of solitude.”

  “Solitude?” Jenny said, laughing. “I vaguely remember that. When you’re chasing a toddler all day, solitude is hard to come by. Our Bobby is a busy boy.”

  The conversation continued with Michael relating the latest activities of his and Jenny’s son, Robert, commenting on the fact that Bobby was brilliant beyond his years, and Forrest saying that Bobby inherited his intelligence from Jenny.

  Jillian only half listened, as her own words spoken a few minutes before beat against her mind.

  Solitude.

  It was a given, an understood element in her life that made it possible for her to continue to produce her books on schedule. She didn’t question it, nor resent it. For many years now, it had been a fact, a part of her day-to-day existence.

  But on this night, sitting there surrounded by the MacAllisters and their friends, with Forrest’s arm around her shoulders, the word solitude was taking on new and ominous connotations. It seemed to be growing steadily, as though it was suddenly a living entity, getting bigger and darker like a threatening force.

  As it grew it took on a new identity.

  Its name was Loneliness.

  Jillian shivered.

  “Are you cold?” Forrest said. “Would you like me to put your shawl around you?”

  “What? Oh, no, I’m fine,” she said, managing to smile.

  “I’m hungry,” Michael said.

  “You’re always hungry,” Jenny said.

  “Amen to that,” Robert said. “I hope for the sake of your budget that Bobby didn’t inherit your appetite.”

  “He did,” Michael said. “I need a raise.”

  “Forget it,” Forrest said. “Ryan, I assume you called Sherry?”

  “Yep,” Ryan said. “They’ll page her when I have something to report. She sure would like to be here, though.”