Читать книгу Triplets Found: The Virgin's Makeover / Take a Chance on Me / And Then There Were Three - Judy Duarte, Judy Duarte - Страница 7

Portland, Oregon—2004

“I’m pregnant.”

Lissa Cartwright, who’d been slouching in a cushioned patio chair on the deck, nearly dropped her morning cup of coffee and sat up straight. “You’re what?”

“Pregnant,” her bright-eyed sister said.

“That’s great. Congratulations.” Lissa managed a smile. She couldn’t be happier, yet the excitement had an ambiguous edge.

Last year, her sister had married the love of her life, a man who adored her. And having a baby had always been Eileen’s dream.

Lissa’s too, she supposed. That’s what made the news so bittersweet.

“You look surprised.”

No, Lissa wasn’t actually bowled over by the announcement, but as usual, when her sister achieved one of those heart-touching milestones, Lissa felt a wee bit envious. “I just didn’t expect to hear it so soon. Or so early in the morning.”

Eileen laughed. “You didn’t think I’d drive all the way out to the vineyard for breakfast, did you?”

“No.” Lissa adored her younger sister, but Eileen wasn’t a morning person. Not like Lissa.

In fact, the two young women weren’t anything alike, but there was a good reason for that. Seven months after Lissa had been adopted as an infant, her mother had given birth to Eileen.

Lissa wasn’t sure when she’d begun to feel like an outsider. Maybe on the day her parents sat her down and told her about being special, about being chosen. About her being their very first baby girl.

That’s when Lissa began to take a good hard look at the differences between her and her sister.

Eileen was petite and vivacious, a strawberry blond, just like their mother. And Lissa was tall and introspective, with plain brown hair. God only knew who she resembled—certainly not anyone on the Cartwright family tree.

Still Lissa had to give her mom and dad credit for trying to be fair. They were great parents. And they were good to her. She had no complaints.

After all, how could they not love their real daughter more?

Besides, Eileen was everything Lissa wasn’t. And their differences went beyond appearance—something Lissa had learned in the fall of first grade.

One day after school, their mother had enrolled them in a dance school and bought them new black patent-leather tap shoes. Mom’s enthusiasm had been contagious, and both girls had been ecstatic and ready for their very first lesson.

Before long, Eileen was dancing her little heart out—Shirley Temple style. All the while, Lissa clomped around like a pack mule in army boots.

Fortunately, Ken and Donna Cartwright had done a good job of pretending to be equally proud of both girls. But the tap instructor hadn’t been quite as tactful.

But who could blame her? Lissa had seen the proof played out loud and clear on the family home videos of the dance recitals.

Yet that didn’t overshadow one important fact. The girls shared a genuine love for each other—and for their parents.

“Have you told Mom and Dad?” Lissa asked.

“Not yet. I will, as soon as they get in from their morning walk.”

From her seat on the deck, Lissa scanned the rolling hillsides of Valencia Vineyards, where sturdy vines nourished premium grapes. She loved the fertile land and the bounty it produced. The vineyard was the one place where she actually belonged, where she could thrive and be herself.

That’s why she started each day with breakfast on the backyard deck, under the protection of the overhang when it rained and out in the sunshine when it didn’t.

She spotted her parents near the new, state-of-the art winery, walking hand-in-hand, their love for each other impossible to ignore.

Maybe that’s what Lissa envied. The sense of truly belonging. Of loving and being loved.

“Look.” Lissa pointed toward her parents. “They’re coming this way.”

“Good. I can’t wait to tell them, especially Mom. You know how she is about babies.” Eileen rolled her eyes and laughed. “Remember how embarrassed we used to get? I’ve never known another woman to get so goofy whenever she spotted a little one at the mall or in the grocery store.”

“I remember,” Lissa said. “And you’re right. Mom will be thrilled to have a grandchild.”

Especially since Eileen’s baby would be a real grandchild.

The old insecurities seemed to settle over Lissa, but she adored her sister. “I’m so happy for you. I know how much you love Dan.”

Eileen reached across the glass tabletop and squeezed Lissa’s hand. “I really hope that you find a special man someday. Someone who appreciates you.”

“Thanks,” Lissa said, although that wasn’t likely. Her shyness made her steer clear of serious relationships.

And at this point, it seemed that life—and love—had passed her by. After all, how many twenty-seven-year-old virgins were still walking the face of the earth? Not many, she would wager.

And since she rarely left the vineyard or winery, Lissa would probably go to her grave never having experienced a night of romance or passion—other than in those books her sister gave to her.

Of course, she didn’t admit that to anyone. Not even Eileen.

Instead, Lissa said, “There aren’t too many special guys who come around here.”

“Well, you need to get out more. You’ve become a workaholic since I got married.”

That was true. Lissa had poured her talents into running the vineyard—from farming to the business end. Deep down, she hoped to prove herself, although she wasn’t sure who she wanted to impress. Her parents? The world? The faceless biological parents who’d given her away? Or maybe just herself.

Either way, she’d dedicated her life to the family vineyard and winery. And she was good at what she did. She had a head for business and had soaked in every bit of knowledge her dad shared with her as a vintner.

A muted little bark sounded from the sliding door, and Lissa spotted her new puppy scratching at the glass, trying to get out.

“Looks like Barney woke up and is raring to go.” Lissa glanced at her watch. “I hate to leave you on the deck alone, but I have to go to work.”

“Don’t you want to be here when I tell Mom and Dad?” Eileen asked.

Lissa gave her sister a kiss on the cheek. “I’ve got a business meeting in a few minutes, and I’ve got to look over a few files ahead of time. This is your special moment with Mom and Dad. You can tell me all about it later.”

“Who are you meeting?” Eileen asked.

“A business consultant.”

“A man?” Her sister sat up straight, nearly knocking over her glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice.

Lissa clicked her tongue. “Don’t get your hopes up. His name is Sullivan Grayson. Doesn’t that sound a bit old and stodgy? Besides, Dad met him in some tournament at the country club. And you know most of the guys he plays golf with are retired.”

“And married,” Eileen added. “Okay, so maybe another interesting man will come along for you.”

“Yeah. Maybe,” Lissa said, not at all convinced. Then she took her dishes into the house, eager to get back to work, to return to the world where she could shine.

Once inside the kitchen, she put the dishes in the sink, while the rascally pup jumped at her feet, trying to get her attention by whining and yapping. When her hands were free, she picked up the little dog.

Barney nuzzled in her arms, then gave her several wet kisses on the cheek.

“I love you, too, little guy.” Lissa smiled wistfully.

At the rate things were going in her life, the closest thing to a baby she would ever have was this wetnosed bundle of joy.

And the closest thing to romance and lovemaking she’d ever experience was waiting for her in one of the paperback novels on the nightstand in her bedroom.

Thirty minutes later, in the wood-paneled vineyard office where Lissa spent most of her time, she heard a car pull up and assumed Sullivan Grayson had arrived. She quickly organized the files she’d spread across her desk, ready to meet the man her father had hired to help the vineyard over a financial slump.

With the assistance of the topnotch consultant and investor, they hoped to create a marketing strategy to promote the new blend of varietals Lissa had developed and jumpstart the struggling, family-owned vineyard.

A light rap sounded at the door.

“Come on in,” she called.

As a tall, broad-shouldered man entered, the dark walls seemed to close in on them, and Lissa nearly fell out of her swiveled desk chair.

From the open doorway, the morning sun highlighted a dark shade of burnished-copper in his hair and gave him a rugged, mystical aura that stirred her imagination. His face and stance reminded her of a young Scottish laird.

He wore khaki slacks and a green button-down shirt, open at the collar. No tie. Yet, for a moment, she wondered what he would look like in a kilt, with a broadsword in hand.

“Hello.” He flashed a crooked smile. “I’m Sullivan Grayson.”

There had to be a mistake. She’d expected an older gentleman who’d been doing business long enough to achieve the mile-long résumé of successful ventures her father had shown her. Not someone whose lively eyes and flirtatious smile made her feel like a gawky adolescent.

A hodgepodge of words seemed to jam in her throat, but she cleared her voice and uttered a belated, “Hello.”

“You must be Lissa Cartwright,” he said, picking up the conversational ball she’d dropped.

She nodded, then stood and extended an arm across the desk in greeting. “How do you do?”

Gosh, could she get any more stiff and formal than that?

Sullivan gave her hand a gentle squeeze, sending a tingle of warmth to her core.

Her knees wobbled, but she didn’t think he’d noticed, and she tried desperately to regroup, to swallow her surprise and ignore the heady attraction to a man who was way out of her league.

Still, she couldn’t help staring, taking inventory, so to speak. Nor could she help thinking of him as a Scottish highlander standing on a windswept moor—ready to battle a foe of the clan. Or to tease the lassies.

Oh, for Pete’s sake. She scolded herself and tried to rein in the silly fantasy provoked by those historical romances her sister had given her. Lissa knew better than to waste her bedtime hours reading that unrealistic fluff, no matter how much she secretly enjoyed them.

She slowly pulled her hand from the Scotsman’s grip, aware of the calluses on his palm that belied the image of the manicured businessman she’d expected. “Won’t you have a seat?”

He took the leather chair across from her, then shot her another grin that continued to rock her usually calm nature.

Where in the world was her dad? He’d get this conversation on the right track.

“My father will be coming along shortly,” she said, reminding herself that this was a business meeting. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Besides, what would a good-looking, successful guy like Sullivan Grayson see in a woman like her?

He scanned the room until his gaze landed on the tri-colored bundle of fur chewing on a red rubber doggie ball by the potbellied stove in the corner. “You have a cute puppy.”

“Thanks. His name is Barney.”

“I like dogs.” Sullivan flashed her another one of those grins that rattled her senses. “And dog-lovers.”

She cleared her throat, hoping it would also clear her mind of a fantasy that had become far too vivid. “We can wait for my dad. Or we can get started. Your choice.”

“Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

She wasn’t comfortable at all. Not with him or this meeting.

“Your father mentioned you’ve developed a new wine,” he said.

“Actually, it’s a new blend of varietals.” Lissa clasped her hands on top of the desk, glad to steer the conversation and her thoughts away from the Scottish highlands and back on Valencia Vineyards, where they belonged.

Men like Sullivan Grayson didn’t take a second look at women like her. And if he did? Good grief. She wouldn’t know which way to run.

Sullivan studied his new client’s daughter. Lissa Cartwright was an attractive woman, even though she didn’t seem to know it. Or maybe she preferred a plain-Jane image, intentionally downplaying her looks by wearing her hair in a bulky, spinster-type bun and hiding her figure behind baggy gray slacks and a lackluster blouse.

She wasn’t a beauty, but he’d still felt a spark of attraction when he’d first spotted her behind that desk. Maybe it was those mesmerizing green eyes that held his attention and made him want to tease a smile from her, just to see them come alive.

He figured she’d felt something for him, too. At least her nervousness suggested she had.

But Lissa Cartwright was definitely off-limits. After all, Sullivan never mixed business with pleasure. And since he was working for her father on a family-owned vineyard, he’d put his interest on permanent hold.

Besides, she had business savvy. And from what he’d learned after researching Valencia Vineyards, she was too serious-minded to be considered dating material, especially for a man who’d learned the hard way to keep his relationships light and meaningless.

Since his divorce at the ripe old age of twenty-five, Sullivan preferred his women to have nothing more going for them than a pretty face, a great body and an impressive rung on the social ladder.

The door opened, and Ken Cartwright entered the office. He extended a hand to Sullivan. “Forgive me for being late. My daughter, Eileen, just announced she’s expecting a baby. And, needless to say, I couldn’t disappear until my wife stopped bouncing off the walls.”

Sullivan smiled. “I take it that she’s settled down now.”

“She’s still a bit giddy.” Ken chuckled. “You have no idea how much my wife loves babies.”

“And you don’t?” Lissa elbowed him, her lively green eyes taunting her father.

“Okay,” Ken said. “I admit it. My wife and I are both suckers for toothless grins.”

“I wonder how they’d fare in an old folks’ home?” Lissa asked, flashing a smile at Sullivan that sliced right through him.

He couldn’t seem to escape her gaze. She had the most amazing eyes he’d ever seen. And when she smiled, her face lit up.

“Shall we get down to business?” Ken asked.

“Yes,” Sullivan answered, a bit too quickly. He needed to focus on what he’d been hired to do, and not on a fascinating pair of verdant green eyes that were more than a little distracting.

At lunchtime, Lissa’s mother, Donna, and her sister, Eileen, brought a tray of sandwiches and a pitcher of iced tea for them to eat in the office. Eileen kept making goofy, isn’the-perfect-for-you faces, mouthing things like, You go, girl and pointing toward Sullivan when he wasn’t looking.

Lissa wanted to clobber her sister. For goodness’ sake, it didn’t take a brain surgeon to see that the man was a looker. But she also knew he wouldn’t be the slightest bit interested in her.

Of course, she’d gotten used to Eileen’s efforts to help. In high school, Lissa had become a bookworm and an honor student, but she’d had very few friends. And no dates to speak of, other than Milt Preston, the guy who played Ichabod Crane in the “Legend of Sleepy Hollow” play.

Eileen had talked Milt into asking Lissa to the Christmas formal. As awkward as the experience had been, Lissa had appreciated her sister taking on a matchmaker role back then, but she didn’t really appreciate those same efforts now.

When her mother—thank goodness—finally managed to drag Eileen back to the house, Lissa blew out the breath she’d been holding.

For Pete’s sake. She was nervous enough. She certainly didn’t need a cheering section at a game that was lost before it even began.

Fortunately, her dad and Sullivan had been oblivious to the girl talk, or so Lissa hoped. And the three of them had eaten lunch while talking over business strategy.

By four in the afternoon, the initial meeting finally ended.

Ken was the first to call it a day. “Lissa, I promised your mother I’d help her grill steaks this evening. Will you take Sullivan to the guest house and help him settle in?”

“I’d be glad to.” Lissa still felt uneasy around the man. But she’d best get used to it. Sullivan would be staying at the winery until they’d hammered out the details of the new marketing plan. Then his work at Valencia Vineyards would be finished. And he’d leave without a backward glance.

“You two may as well get to know each other,” Ken suggested. “I have some family obligations to take care of, so you’ll be spending a lot of time together.”

Don’t remind me about dealing with the consultant on my own, Lissa wanted to say. Instead, she offered a pleasant grin—the kind she’d practiced over the years when asked to do something she wasn’t comfortable doing and would prefer to delegate to someone else.

“My father’s favorite uncle fell and broke a hip,” Lissa explained to Sullivan. “And there were a few complications, so Dad will be going to San Diego soon, and you’ll be working with me.”

“Not a problem.” Sullivan flashed her another smile that accelerated her pulse.

She called Barney, who’d been chewing on the frayed edge of the throw rug that sat in front of the potbellied stove. When the pup continued to ignore her, she scooped him up, carried him outside and deposited him on the ground, where he immediately began to sniff around until a twig caught his attention.

Sullivan followed behind. “I need to get my bags out of the trunk. Is it a long walk? I can take my car, so it’ll be parked near the guest house.”

“No, it’s just ahead. And you really can’t park any closer than this. See the little suspension bridge that leads to the big house?”

“Yes.”

She pointed beyond the wooden structure that spanned the fishpond, toward the quaint guest house she’d always thought of as a cottage. “It’s just across the lawn.”

They stopped long enough for Sullivan to retrieve a suitcase from the trunk of a sporty, silver-gray Mercedes and for her to snap a leash on Barney.

“Lead the way,” Sullivan said, with that flirtatious grin that made her heart rate go bonkers.

Was it her imagination? Or did he keep sliding a glance her way?

No way. It had to be her imagination. Maybe he found her an oddity. Or a novelty of some kind. That had to be it, because she never harbored any unrealistic expectations when it came to men.

“It’s nice out here,” he said, scanning the lush lawns that surrounded the house.

“I can’t imagine living anywhere else.” And she couldn’t. Living on the vineyard, being a part of the land, was one of the best things about being adopted by the Cartwrights. Their love, of course, was another. Even if Lissa didn’t quite fit in, she never doubted their affection.

As they reached the wood-planked front porch of the guest house, she turned the antique brass knob and opened the door. “It’s not much, but it’s cozy.”

Actually, Lissa thought the little house was pretty special. She and her mom had decorated it in a country French decor, with café-style window coverings, a blue plaid sofa and a coordinating floral, overstuffed easy chair.

“It gets pretty chilly at night.” She pointed to the thermostat on the light-oak-paneled wall. “You can adjust the heat to your comfort.”

He nodded toward the stone hearth that boasted a stack of firewood, kindling and matches. “I’d rather have a fire.”

So would Lissa, if she were staying in the cottage. A fire was cozier. And more romantic.

Darn it. Those blasted romance books were getting to her again. And the sooner she could box them up and chuck them into a blazing fire, the better off she’d be.

“There’s a kitchenette,” she said, “in case you prefer to take your meals alone. But knowing my mom, she’ll insist that you join us.”

“I eat most of my meals in restaurants, so I’ll be looking forward to some home cooking.”

“Well, good. Mom will be pleased.” Lissa would be, too, but she battled the girlish rush of excitement. “I’ll show you the rest of the place.”

As she entered the hallway and glanced through the open doorway to the bedroom, her gaze landed upon the blue-and-white checkered comforter on the double bed she’d made up yesterday.

She caught a whiff of his musky, highland scent—mountain fresh and wild—and felt his presence close in on her, as though she might find him inches away, if she turned around.

Her pulse and her breathing seemed to escalate, but her feet remained rooted to the spot.

“Nice room,” he said.

Unable to help herself, she turned and caught him merely inches away.

Watching her.

And he wasn’t smiling—at least, not in a teasing sort of way.

Something passed between them, although she wasn’t sure what it was. Could it be sexual awareness?

Nah. Impossible. Not on his part, anyway.

She cleared her throat, which seemed to be another habit she’d mysteriously acquired today. “The bathroom is down the hall, next to the linen closet. The cupboards and shelves are stocked, so you should find everything you need.”

“Thank you.” His voice wrapped around her like a tartan plaid on a winter night.

Oh, brother. Those books were going right into a moving trash truck the first chance she got.

“Well,” she said, trying to ignore the rush of sexual awareness she didn’t know how to deal with. “I guess I’ll leave and let you get unpacked.”

“Don’t,” he said.

Huh? “Don’t what?”

“Don’t leave yet.” He tossed her a boyish grin. “I spotted a bottle of wine on the kitchen counter.”

“It’s our sauvignon blanc. I thought you might like to have a glass now and then.”

“That sounds good now. Will you join me? On the front porch?”

The offer took her aback. But it also excited her.

She tried desperately to tell herself it was a continuation of business. A way of relaxing over drinks. The kind of things businessmen did all the time.

Yet she couldn’t help making just a wee bit more out of the invitation than was probably wise for someone with a virgin heart—just ripe for the picking.

And ready to bruise.