Читать книгу Their Precious Christmas Miracle - Линда Гуднайт, Линда Гуднайт - Страница 13

Just going for a run, nothing more. Definitely not stalking. The rationalization had seemed more convincing in the foyer of his own house as David laced up his running shoes Monday morning. After all, he went jogging at least three times a week. No ulterior motives there. Of course, he didn’t normally go in an endless loop up and down Winnie’s street, hoping for a glimpse of his wife.

Was she still sleeping, like most of the neighborhood, or had the dogs already awakened her? Was she experiencing nausea? Rachel hated to throw up. He supposed everyone did, but she’d fought it during the flu and one bout of food poisoning when he’d reminded her she’d feel better if she just got it over with. He wished he could bring her a cold cloth or glass of water or something.

David hated feeling useless, helpless. The way he’d felt for nearly a year.

It had been so frustrating watching his wife slip away, becoming practically a stranger. Once upon a time, they’d tackled problems together. Since the miscarriage, everything had changed. If he could have suffered it for her or shielded her from that loss … But there’d been nothing he could do. She’d seemed so unreachable, and he’d felt angry and impotent. Eventually she’d suggested they try again, she’d started smiling on a daily basis and, although most people assumed she was all right, she hadn’t been the same. After being so frustrated at being shut out, neither had he.

David had wondered if what they were doing—the medical appointments, the physical side effects of the treatment, the emotional and financial cost—was worth it. He and Rachel had a lot of love to give and it seemed as if adoption would be so much easier. When he’d told her that, she’d distanced herself even more. Her emotional rebuffs had infuriated him, reducing him to a glorified sperm donor. She couldn’t talk to him, couldn’t lean on him anymore, but she could expect him to jump into her bed when the ovulation kits said it was time?

Pride. Was he really going to throw away a life with the woman he loved just because she’d hurt his feelings?

He’d handled this all wrong. When she’d told him their marriage was faltering, that she didn’t think she could do this anymore, he’d honestly thought some distance might be good for both of them. Deep down, though, he’d never accepted it as the end. He’d believed—just thinking it made him feel petty, but Rachel’s absence was forcing some hard truths—he’d believed she would see how much she needed him, that she’d blamed him for things that weren’t his fault and would come home. He would forgive her, wait a respectable period of time, then try to persuade her to pursue the reasonable course of adoption.

Her walking out had hurt his male ego, stunting his emotional response. Other than snapping at her once or twice, he’d barely had a response. How much time did he have to repair his mistakes—nine months? Less.

There was a light on in Winnie’s house now, and he stared at it, hoping no one mistook him for a prowler. What if he didn’t have until the baby was born but only a matter of weeks? Would Rachel follow through on her plan to leave after the wedding? What if she didn’t intend to have the baby in Mistletoe?

David’s heart raced, and it had nothing to do with his so-called run. Pure, unadulterated panic coursed through his veins. I have to get them back. She’d fallen in love with a take-charge guy who’d taken one look at her and set about wooing her. He was still that man.

And he refused to lose his wife.

“WHOA.” May let out a low whistle as she glanced from the front door to Rachel, who was installing a new ink cartridge in one of their printers. “Since I haven’t had a hot date in months, I’m guessing those are for you.”

“Guessing what are for me?” Rachel asked cautiously.

“Half of Natalie’s shop, by the looks of it.”

Former Mistletoe High cheerleader Natalie Young was the majority owner of the local flower shop and in charge of floral arrangements for Tanner and Lilah’s wedding. Someone had sent flowers? Rachel left the printer and joined her co-worker at the counter. Whoa didn’t begin to cover it.

“Delivery for Rachel Waide.” The cheerful delivery boy was barely visible behind the profusion of pink roses, white tulips and smaller graceful yellow flowers, all arranged with greenery in a crystal vase that probably weighed a ton.

May was practically vibrating with excitement. “That’s her! She’s Rachel.”

While Rachel stood frozen in shock, the other two settled the flowers atop the counter. May nudged her.

“I think you’re supposed to sign for them.”

David. A guy didn’t send his estranged wife flowers, did he?

Then again, maybe she was reading too much into this. Maybe he was simply excited over their news. She’d been so awestruck that, even though she’d felt bone-tired, she hadn’t been able to sleep. She’d spent the night awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering how many months before she could feel the baby move, daydreaming about nursery themes and a little girl with David’s blue eyes or a little boy with his smile.

Her doctor’s appointment was tomorrow afternoon; she’d e-mailed David with the time and suggested they meet there. This bouquet was probably a platonic expression of joy. She plucked the card from the plastic holder in the center of the flowers. He’d written the note himself; she knew his handwriting as well as she knew her own.

Congratulations! I’m sorry I couldn’t find flowers as beautiful as you are, but I hope this paltry offering will still demonstrate how happy I am.

(I’d be even happier if you came home.)

Love, Your Husband

“Do I get to read it?” May asked, unrepentantly nosy.

“It’s personal.” And inappropriate. It was impossible to let David off on the platonic-joy defense if he was going to sling around words like beautiful and your husband.

“Okay, I get that it’s personal,” May conceded. “But we’re friends. You could tell me anything in confidence. You know that, right?”

“Like what?” Rachel was a little taken aback by the intense, meaningful glances her boss was giving her. Since no one knew about the separation, her husband sending flowers wasn’t that notable. He’d done so once or twice on special occasions. “I’m not having a steamy affair with Paolo or anything.”

May’s eyebrows shot upward. “Who’s Paolo?”

“Nothing, nobody. Imaginary male stripper.” She needed to call Arianne back about the bachelorette party. “I just meant, the flowers are from David.”

“To celebrate a happy event, maybe? Or a happy future event you’re expecting?”

How does she know? Rachel’s bewilderment and her tacit admission must both be readable in her expression because May laughed.

“Oh, honey. When I walked in here last week with that fish sandwich, you turned positively green. And Mindy Nelson saw you in the women’s aisle at the grocery store. She said you were acting nutty. We’ve both had our fingers crossed for you all weekend.”

Perhaps the conjecture had been unavoidable, but Rachel wished David hadn’t cemented the gossip with flowers. She was still in the statistically dangerous first trimester. One of the worst parts of the miscarriage had been running into people who somehow hadn’t heard the news yet, having to suffer through the painful well-meaning questions and the awkward strain once she told them.

“Don’t get too excited just yet,” Rachel warned.

But her words seemed to have the opposite effect on May, whose eyes brightened. “So you do at least think you’re pregnant?”

“I don’t know for sure. Even if I am, I’m not ready to tell people. You know the first trimester is …” She swallowed, unable to dwell any more on that horrific possibility. Instead, she switched tactics. “David and I don’t want anything upstaging Lilah and Tanner’s wedding.”

“Oh. I think they’d be too happy for you to mind, but you guys are being really considerate.” May mimed locking her lips and throwing the invisible key over her shoulder. “You can count on my discretion, sweetie. Mindy will just have to speculate alone. I won’t confirm a thing.”

Rachel would prefer no one was speculating anything about her at all, but that was asking too much in a town this size. “I appreciate your keeping the secret.”

“Don’t mention it.” May grinned. “It’ll be fun knowing something no one else does. Well, besides you and David, of course. You want me to make myself scarce so you can call him?”

“Actually.” Rachel’s fingers tightened involuntarily, and one sharp edge of the card scraped her skin. “Do you think you could spare me for a little while?”

“Absolutely! You take any time you need.”

“Great.” Rachel reached for the coat she’d hung on the brass rack by the counter. “I think maybe I should go thank him in person.”

AS SHE’D EXPECTED, Rachel found David seated at the desk in the private office behind Waide Supply. He glanced up with a smile that bordered on cocky, sending her temper through the roof.

She didn’t yell, not with Arianne and Zachariah just on the other side of the wall, but her tone was pointed. “Have you lost your mind?”

“No. Why, have you found one?”

And now he was making jokes, not taking her seriously at all. “You sent me flowers. At work!”

“Well, it seemed like the best place since it’s where you are during the day.”

“David!” She leaned forward, bracing her hands on the desk. “This isn’t funny.”

His boyish smile would have melted a weaker woman. “Not even a little? Come on, most women get mad when their husbands don’t send flowers.”

“You’re not my husband anymore,” she said in desperation.

His humor-filled features hardened so quickly that it made him look like a different person. “The hell I’m not.”

“You know what I meant. We’re not married in the typical sense.”

“We could be,” he coaxed. “Don’t you miss me, Rach? I miss you.”

His tone was as dangerously addictive as really good chocolate. “Don’t.”

“Why not?” He rose from his chair, bracing his own hands on the desk and angling toward her. They were practically nose to nose.

Because she couldn’t recall him claiming to miss her before he’d heard she was pregnant. Tears pricked her eyes. Was this how she’d thoughtlessly made him feel all those months they’d been trying, as if his primary value to her was as someone who could give her a baby?

He ran his thumb across the top of her cheek, the stroke sending shivers of sensation through her. “Don’t cry.”

“Don’t send me flowers.” She straightened. “You might as well have taken out a billboard on Main Street telling everyone I’m pregnant.”

“You’re overreacting. It was just a basic floral arrangement. It’s not like I sent one that came in a ceramic bassinet.”

“No, but May and Mindy Nelson have both figured it out.”

“Oh.” He grimaced. “I like both of them, but if they know, the news will have spread all the way to Atlanta by morning. We should go ahead and tell my fam—”

“No! No, I’m not ready for that.” She remembered the pitying glances and unsolicited platitudes from before. If, God forbid, anything should go wrong with this pregnancy, the fewer people who knew, the better.

“We shouldn’t tell anyone. Not yet. Can we just get through this wedding first? Then we’ll figure out the appropriate way to handle it.”

He blinked. “That’s uncannily like what I said to you when …”

When she’d told him she thought she should leave. He’d looked startled, then relieved, then almost coolly calculating as he’d explained why they shouldn’t tell anyone yet. She hadn’t thought that far ahead, merely trying to survive the moment.

She squared her shoulders, redirecting the conversation. “I know they have reputations as friendly gossips, but I don’t think May or Mindy will say anything yet. At least, not anything they can back up with fact. May promised to drop the subject. I’m sure something will happen in the next day or so that’s more interesting than seeing me in the pregnancy-test aisle. Without anything further to fan the flames, Mindy will probably let it go.”

“You mean without incidents like me sending you ill-advised flowers?” His smile was rueful.

She softened. “They were beautiful.”

“So are you.”

“You can’t say things like that!”

“We’re alone. There’s no May or Mindy or—”

“Rachel, are you still back here?” A blond head poked inside the doorway.

David growled. “Arianne!”

His sister hesitated. “I saw Rachel come in, but was helping a customer. I just thought I’d see if she was still around and wanted to grab an early lunch with me.”

“We’re kind of in the middle of something,” David said.

“Not really,” Rachel countered, seeing the perfect opportunity to escape. “I mean, we were, but we’ve finished our conversation. Ari, I’d love something to eat—I’m starving.”

“Great. I’ll get my purse.”

Rachel made the mistake of glancing back toward David, who mouthed, Coward. But then his reproving expression was replaced with a mischievous gleam that made her palms clammy and her mouth go dry.

“Hey, Ari, how about I join you?” he called. “Lunch with two of my favorite gals. I’ll treat. You don’t mind, do you?”

His sister grinned. “Like I’m gonna turn down free food? My mama didn’t raise any fools.”

David turned to Rachel and winked. “No, she sure didn’t.”

“YOU’RE BACK,” May drawled, glancing up from the inventory-order forms on the counter. She smiled. “That must have been one of the longest thank-yous on record.”

“Sorry. I stopped for lunch on the return trip. I can stay late to make up the time.”

May waved a hand. “Not necessary. You see how swamped we are in here.” Last month, they’d been busy with clients who wanted personalized Christmas cards and other holiday items, but most people who were going to purchase those had done so already.

“All right. I’ll just go check the store e-mail.” As Rachel sat at the computer, she could hardly concentrate enough to type in the password. Her thoughts kept drifting back to David.

He’d been utterly charming at lunch, darn him. He’d made Arianne laugh, and Rachel had reluctantly done the same. She could hardly sit through the meal glaring without letting her sister-in-law know there was a problem.

Their recent troubles had overshadowed the memories of their whirlwind courtship, how much she’d enjoyed merely being around him, how she’d smiled all the time. Lately she’d felt isolated, first by the medical side effects but most excruciatingly by losing her baby, and had been too caught up in her own suffering to notice how rare David’s smiles were growing. He put on a better public face than she did, but his family hadn’t been fooled. Arianne had actually commented today while they waited for the check that it had been a while since she’d seen her big brother in such a good mood.

Guilt tugged at Rachel, knowing how confused Ari would be by the forthcoming news of their separation. Of course, before she could worry about how David’s family took the news, she had to make sure David himself acknowledged their separation. The flowers and his presence at lunch today made it clear that he wanted her to give it another try for their child’s sake. Too much responsibility for an unborn baby. When the problems between them sharpened enough to cause discord further down the road, would one of them resent their kid for being the reason they were still together? She liked to believe that neither she nor David would ever be that petty, but she was routinely shocked by the way parents going through divorces could inadvertently hurt their children.

“Hey, I think I’m gonna go grab some lunch myself,” May said. When Rachel looked up and nodded in acknowledgment, the older woman winked. “But I promise not to bring back any fish.”

A few minutes later, the door opened and Belle Fulton, the executive secretary on the chamber of commerce board, bustled inside with a smile. Belle favored seriously bright shades of lipstick, so her grins were generally visible from a distance. “Happy holidays!”

Rachel grinned back. “Happy holidays to you. What can we do for you today?”

“Brochures. We’re trying to attract holiday shoppers to town, increase revenue for our members.”

“But—” Rachel bit her lip, realizing that her unsolicited comment was not entirely diplomatic.

Belle, however, cocked her head to the side, waiting. “Yes?”

“Nothing. I just … Are you intending to use these brochures this year? It seems like they could have done even more to attract tourist dollars if we’d printed them sooner. Not that it’s any of my business,” she added hastily.

Belle sighed. “No, you’re right. It just takes us a while to come to any decisions and then act on them. Volunteers make up half the chamber’s board, so this is on top of their normal jobs, plus we have a few very opinionated people. Then there was deciding how much it was worth to spend when we’re trying to make money. The first photographer—I shouldn’t even be telling you this—did such a lousy job that we had Gina Oster go back and do them over. Sweet of her, but she’s hardly a pro herself. We don’t have the budget for one.”

Later, as Rachel put together the files to print the brochures, she couldn’t help studying the pictures with a critical eye. The slogan wasn’t half-bad—Nothing Says Christmas Like Mistletoe—but the pictures were far too commercial. Potential tourists and holiday shoppers didn’t need to see images of the First Bank on Main Street, even if the bank had donated money for the project. No, what the brochure needed were homey photos of Kerrigan Farms and their rows of evergreen trees for sale. The mistletoe hanging in the white gazebo in the town square. Those were the scenes that would draw people; then once they were here, spending money would be a natural progression.

Rachel thought back to last week, when she’d half hoped for a computer error just so she had something to distract her from her personal life. No one at the chamber had asked for her input. Was she merely butting in out of self-preservation?

Maybe, she admitted, as she began typing some notes for Belle and the other directors. But needing the distraction didn’t preclude also having some darn good ideas. Busy brainstorming, she barely noticed how much time had passed until May walked back in the door. With a start, Rachel sat back in her chair. When was the last time she’d been so engrossed in something, so confident in her abilities to help a client?

Okay, not a client, exactly. She glanced at some of what she’d written, considered the pictures she could take to bring the ideas to life. At least, not yet.