Читать книгу Mom In Waiting - Maureen Child - Страница 11

Three

The coffee shop was crowded, indicating to two hungry travellers that the food was better than the decor. As she surveyed the room with wide eyes, Tracy desperately hoped so.

Dark wood paneling covered the walls and garishly colored baskets, containing long, trailing arms of plastic ivy, hung from the ceiling. Improbably colored sombreros were tacked to the walls and wagon-wheel chandeliers studded with candle-watt bulbs kept the place as dark as a cave.

But the waitress was friendly and took their order quickly. As she moved off to the kitchen, Tracy took the opportunity to—all right—stare at Rick.

Even after several hours in his company, she hadn’t looked her fill of that face. Strong jaw, sharp, straight nose, piercingly green eyes dotted with tiny gold flecks near the irises and a smile that had her insides screaming for mercy.

Amazing. She’d thought her feelings for him were safely buried years ago. Instead, here she sat, feeling that torch fan into flame again. The only difference between then and now was that the sensations were stronger, more raw. After all, she was grown up now. She had a lot more detailed—if still strictly theoretical—information to draw on for her fantasies.

Their waitress set glasses of iced tea down in front of them before disappearing back into the kitchen. Needing something to do with her hands, Tracy grabbed the oversize plastic container like a drowning man reaching for a life ring. She twirled the glass between her palms, making a chain of water rings along the Formica surface of the table.

She could only hope that the icy chill of the tea would help toward cooling off the blood rushing through her veins.

“So,” he said.

“So,” she said right back. Strange, they hadn’t had any trouble talking in the car. Why so strained now? Because sitting opposite each other in a restaurant seemed too much like a date for comfort? Hah. Her on a date with Captain Rick Bennet? Not likely, despite what her imagination would like to think. Just to prove it to herself, she asked, “You said Andy and Jeff are still single. What about you?”

He took a sip of tea, set the glass down and said, “The same.”

Tracy hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until it slipped from her in a gust at his answer. A ripple of pleasure ran up her spine. As much as she knew she was indulging in a fool’s paradise, she hadn’t wanted to hear about his gorgeous girlfriend and/or live-in lover. Not to mention, God forbid, a fiancée.

“Mom’s been making all of the traditional whining noises about grandchildren for the last few years,” he said with a rueful laugh, “but at least for the foreseeable future, she’s out of luck. I can’t see either Andy or Jeff as daddies.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You don’t want kids?” she asked, then caught herself and added, “Oops. None of my business.” Though the thought of seeing Rick’s handsome features in a tinier version brought her all sorts of warm fuzzies.

He smiled and shook his head. “Traditionally speaking, you should be married to have kids and since I don’t plan on doing that, I guess not.”

She buried the quick flash of disappointment that shot through the pit of her stomach. For heaven’s sake. Why should she be disappointed? What did she care if Rick wanted children or not? She didn’t, she told herself, although she was curious about why he was so set against marriage.

Before she could think better of it, she heard herself ask that question out loud. “As long as I’m being nosey, why are you so against marriage?”

“I’m not against the general idea of it,” he said. “Just as far as it concerns me.”

“How come?” she asked.

“Lots of reasons,” he answered, then added glibly, “maybe I’m just too old.”

To Tracy’s admittedly biased eye, Rick had aged just like good wine. He’d gotten stronger, and more fully developed. At that gooey thought, she felt a flush of heat steal up her neck and bloom in her cheeks. Oh, this was getting out of hand, she told herself. Didn’t she have enough to think about without reigniting a nearly fifteen-year-old torch?

One more time, she tried for objectivity. A casual conversation between two old—if not friends—acquaintances.

“You’re thirty-two Rick, not exactly Methuselah.”

He gave her a small smile. “Thanks, I think.”

“So what’s the real reason?” And why did she care?

Rick studied her for a long minute as if trying to decide whether or not to answer her question honestly. Finally, he said simply, “I already took one oath. To the Marines.”

Now that surprised her. What would his being in the military have to do with taking a pledge against marriage?

“The Marines and families don’t mix?”

“They can,” he said, leaning back in the booth. “With the right kind of spouse.”

“Intriguing,” she said. “And what kind is the right kind?” If she was a little more interested in his answer than she pretended, he didn’t have to know that.

“Oh,” he tipped his head back and stared up at the ceiling. Frowning, he moved more to his right to avoid one of those skeletal plastic plant limbs. “Someone who doesn’t mind moving every few years. Someone who can handle a partner’s absences.” To explain that one, he added, “Some outfits are deployed for six months at a time. And families don’t go along.” He took another long drink of tea. “You’d be surprised how many wives—and husbands for that matter—complain.”

Seemed to her that if you married someone in the military, knowing what they did for a living, then you had no right to complain about the job description.

But what did she know? Though the idea of travelling all over the world—on a boat, not a plane—appealed to her, she could see how some women wouldn’t exactly thrive on it.

“There’s a trail of discarded wedding rings from here to Guam,” Rick told her. “A military life will either make a marriage stronger than steel or shatter it completely.”

“And you’re not willing to risk it?”

“That’s right,” he said, giving that plant a look that should have melted its plastic roots. “I’ve sat and listened to too many of my friends when their marriages ended. It’s not enough they’re miserable...their children’s lives have been ruined, too.” He shook his head and stared directly into her eyes. “No, thanks. Not for me. I’m not going to be the first member of my family to get a divorce. And I’m sure as hell not going to make babies only to be forced into a custody suit somewhere down the line.”

“Well,” she said softly, “there’s a positive attitude.”

“I’ve seen too many negatives to make a positive.”

“But lots of people do it,” she pointed out.

“Sure. I have a few friends who’ve been married forever. But their wives put up with a lot.” He took a deep breath and shook his head again as if trying to figure out just how and why the women did it. “The base housing alone is like a walk on the wild side. You’re never even sure if you’ll actually find a house on base available and when you do, more than likely it was built during the Second World War. Or the First. Model homes they’re not.”

Maybe she was just being a romantic, but did where you live count for more than who you lived with?

“Well,” she said, “you grew up moving from base to base. Did you mind?”

“Not a bit,” he admitted with a half smile. “To us, it was fun. Not always easy to make new friends, but we always had each other. New schools every few years. No time to really offend any one teacher before you were off to new territory.”

“Until you landed in Juneport.”

“True. When Dad left the Corps and settled down, it was hard to get used to at first.” Bending forward, he leaned his elbows on the tabletop and cupped his drink between his palms. “Actually, staying put was harder on us than the constant moving around, for a while.”

It might have been hard on him, she thought. But the day the Bennets had moved onto her block had been one of the highlights of her teenage life. Of course, she wasn’t about to admit that out loud. It was bad enough that he had so many memories of her staring at him like an old, worshipful hound.

Instead, she said, “Yeah. Then you had plenty of time to win the enmity of teachers. Mr. Molino for example?”

He shrugged exaggeratedly. “Geometry. Still gives me nightmares.”

Strange how differently two people saw the same situation. She’d always been grateful for Rick’s helplessness at math. Those tutoring sessions when she’d had him all to herself had been the stuff a fourteen-year-old’s dreams were made of.

“Enough about me,” he said suddenly, locking his gaze with hers. “What’s going on with you? Meg tells me you’re some kind of superstar with computers.”

Had he asked Meg about her? she wondered, then told herself that was unlikely. Why would he have cared about the little twit he remembered?

“Not really,” she said modestly. “I design software and computer games.”

“And that’s it?” he asked. “No way do you get off that easy. You had me spilling my guts. It’s your turn now. Tell me about it. What exactly do you do?”

Wondering if he was really interested or just being polite, Tracy gave him a brief overview of what her daily job was like. When he asked a couple of pointed questions however, she warmed to her theme and probably ended up giving him way more information than he had counted on.

Ordinarily, there was nothing she liked better than to talk programs, games and all of the little intricacies of the computer world. But she noticed when his eyes started to glaze over and knew she’d done it again.

It never failed.

On the few occasions some living, breathing, male had actually asked her out, the conversation had turned to their work and Tracy’s enthusiasm for hers generally had the effect of putting her date to sleep. First dates rarely rated a second, so Tracy had wound up being one of the last virgins known to exist in the modern world.

Which, at the ripe old age of twenty-eight, was an embarrassing secret she kept hidden with all the stealth of the Pentagon guarding nuclear information.

“Wow,” he muttered when she finally wound down.

She gave herself a mental kick and remembered that on this trip, she wasn’t going to be the computer nerd. On this trip, she was a new, interesting, alluring Tracy. If she could figure out how to pull it off.

“Sorry,” she said, letting her gaze drop to her iced tea. “I tend to go a little overboard about my work.”

“Yeah,” he said with a nod. “Me, too. You’d be surprised how little women care about the inner workings of the military.”

She smiled at him, and her embarrassment faded. He understood, she told herself. Understood what it was to love your work so much, you could talk about it for hours.

A moment of silence stretched out between them before Rick admitted, “Okay, I confess I didn’t understand half of what you said. Math and its close relative, the computer, are still not my best things.”

Nerd, nerd, nerd. She ought to just have the word tattooed on her forehead, so the unwary could walk a wide path around her.

“But I’m impressed as hell,” he concluded, and her gaze snapped up to meet his.

“You are?” she asked. Unconvinced, she stared at him, looking for the telltale signs that he was simply being polite. Or worse yet, studying her with the fascination you might give a particularly talented lab rat.

But admiration shone in his eyes, and, unaccustomed to that reaction, Tracy didn’t know what to say.

“So I guess you’re some high-powered executive for some huge software place?”

“Nope.” Not that she hadn’t been offered positions just like the one he’d described. But as her mother used to say, she just didn’t play well with other children. She’d never really been the nine-to-five sort of person. Rather, she tended to work in frantic spurts of creativity and industry that usually cropped up about 1:00 a.m. “I run my own business.”

His eyebrows lifted high on his forehead. “You always were smarter than anyone I knew,” he said. “Your own boss, huh?”

Tracy felt an unexpected flush of pride steal over her. “Yes, and it’s great. I get to work out of my house. No power suits for me.”

His gaze dropped to take in her simple, summery outfit. “Who needs power suits when you look so good like that?”

Another flush swamped her. Not pride this time, but pure, unadulterated, feminine pleasure. Of course, if he ever got a look at her real work clothes—faded jeans and over-sized T-shirts—he’d probably change his tune. But then, for the week or so of the reunion festivities, she wasn’t plain old Tracy Hall. She was the new and improved version—the woman put together by a professional shopper, a makeover artist and the best hairdresser she could find.

And judging from the look in Rick’s eyes, the whole process had been worth every penny. If there was a small part of her that wished he would look at the real Tracy in the same way, she ignored it.

No point in torturing herself.

“Any boyfriends lurking in the shadows that I should be worried about?” he asked, shattering the very pleasant mood she’d had going.

“No.” She stiffened slightly and forced herself to relax again.

“None?” He seemed surprised, then shot her a smile that sent wild flutters of appreciation rustling in her stomach. “You’re sure no jealous lover’s going to want to punch me in the nose for having you all to myself for three days?”

“Trust me,” she told him and lifted her chin. “You’re safe.”

Shaking his head, he looked her over again slowly, as if trying to figure out why she was unattached.

“There just never seemed to be the time,” she said, even though she knew darn well there’d been plenty of time, just no willing men flocking to her front door. At least, not more than once. Computer nerds weren’t exactly at the top of the dating food chain.

“I’m amazed some man hasn’t convinced you to take the time.”

Amazed, huh? Well, that felt good, anyway.

“So we’ll both be attending the reunion unattached and available.” He gave her a wry smile. “You do realize that we’re going to be surrounded by former classmates clutching photo albums of children and spouses?”

“Oh, yeah.” Actually, it was that realization that had given birth to the plan she’d formulated a few weeks ago.

“Outnumbered and trapped in a sea of family photos,” he went on with an exaggerated shiver, “we’ll have nothing to use as ammunition.” Flashing her a quick wink, he suggested, “We should join forces, Tracy. Guard each other’s backs. Protect our flanks.”

Briefly, she enjoyed the thought of being a part of Rick Bennet’s team. Being his partner in crime, so to speak. But, as interesting as that prospect sounded, Tracy had something wildly different in mind. She’d prepared for this, knowing that she didn’t want to attend a reunion as “Poor Little Tracy, Still Manless After All These Years.”

Just imagining the sympathetic yet knowing looks she would receive from the once popular kids was enough to strengthen her resolve. Darn it, she’d been second best through most of her life. She refused to go back home as single as she’d left it.

“Sorry, Rick,” she told him with a slow shake of her head. “You’re on your own.”

“Thanks, pal.” Surprise, and was that disappointment that flickered in his eyes? He leaned back in the booth, crossed his arms over that really terrific chest of his, locked his gaze on her and asked, “Whatever happened to camaraderie? Birds of a feather flocking together? Two peas in a pod?”

Her lips twitched as a smile fought for purchase. Attempting to match his light-hearted tone, she said, “Not that I have anything against joining you in a pod...”

His eyebrows lifted.

She cleared a suddenly tight throat and continued. “It’s just that I’ve already taken care of the situation. At least as far as I’m concerned.”

Rick sat up abruptly and leaned forward, elbows braced on the table again. The overhead light cast soft shadows on his face. The plastic plant seemed to be reaching for him. He brushed it aside. “Okay, Ms. Genius, I’m intrigued. What’s the plan?”

She opened her mouth to confess what would probably sound insane to him, but she didn’t get the chance.

“Sorry it took so long, folks,” the waitress announced as she hurried up to their table. Setting their dinner plates down in front of them, she gave them each a smile before asking if they wanted a tea refill.

“Sure, thanks,” Rick said, “Tracy?”

“Yes, please,” she said and nodded at the waitress. “Thanks, Bonnie.”

The tired-looking woman smiled at her. “No problem, honey.”

When she left to get the tea, Rick looked at Tracy. “How’d you know her name?”

“She’s wearing a name tag,” Tracy said with a shrug.

“Huh.” Rick shook his head, then focused his gaze on her again as he picked up his knife and fork, preparing to dig into his halibut steak. “So, back to the subject at hand. What’s the plan, Trace?”

She glanced at her breast of chicken plate and knew she’d never be able to force a bite down until she’d gotten this over with. And actually, she told herself, this was a very good thing. Sort of like a test case. Judging Rick’s reaction might give her an idea of how all the folks back home would respond.

She nodded, took a deep breath, and reached into her purse. Tracy fumbled blindly in its depths. She felt his gaze on her which made her a little clumsier than usual. Mentally, she reminded herself that it was definitely time to clean out the purse again. It seemed the bigger her purses were, the more junk she managed to cram inside.

She squinted at the contents, but in the dim light, it took her several minutes to locate the little velvet box and then get it opened. Her fingertips moved across the sharp, cold edges of the stone nestled in the jeweler’s box as she briefly rethought her brilliant plan. What if he laughed? Oh my, this suddenly felt so stupid. So childish. Her stomach twisted with nerves. But she’d come too far to quit now.