Читать книгу Have Bouquet, Need Boyfriend - Rita Herron - Страница 11

Thomas shook his head as Rebecca drove away. She was an enigma. He’d finally grown tired of the strained silence in the car and had ventured into asking her about a book he’d ordered that hadn’t yet arrived.

She had transformed into an intelligent, well-spoken woman.

The past half hour they’d enjoyed a long discussion of various popular titles as well as nonfiction topics. Rebecca was well-read and insightful, and had even argued with him about the authors of some hard-to-find classics. But when he’d suggested they stop by her place so he could help her unload that chest full of garage sale items, she’d grown flustered again. She’d claimed her neighbor, Jerry Ruthers, would assist her instead.

Was this guy Jerry her boyfriend? Was he the reason she’d rushed to get home and had refused Thomas’s offer of coffee?

An odd feeling pinched his gut. Maybe it was from the chocolate groom’s cake he’d eaten at Alison’s wedding. No, probably from the jostling his body had been subjected to on the harrowing ride home.

He walked inside his house, smiling at the expanse of polished hardwood and detailed molding. As a child, he’d never imagined owning a house like this, one with space and class. He tossed his keys onto the marble table in the foyer and stopped in the den, his gaze riveted to the Palladian glass window overlooking his backyard. A cluster of oaks so ancient the branches swayed with age provided shade while a fish pond added more visual interest.

Pride swelled in his chest at his accomplishments.

Still, material things weren’t enough. His thirst for knowledge couldn’t be quenched. He’d vowed to learn everything he could about high-risk deliveries. A child’s life might depend on his skill and expertise.

The key to reaching his goals lay in that job in Atlanta.

Now he just had to devise a plan to see Rebecca again and swing an invitation to her grandmother’s surprise birthday party so he could meet Bert Hartwell.

REBECCA HURRIEDLY PLACED the bride’s book and a book on dream analysis back into the chest and shut it, not wanting any of her neighbors to see the contents of her hope chest. Ignoring the growing chill in the air, she tugged and pulled at the hope chest, trying desperately to remove it from the back of the station wagon, but the bumps she’d taken had wedged the corner of the chest into the side by the spare tire, and it was completely stuck. The effort made her already sore chest ache even more. She felt a sharp pain in it each time she took a deep breath, too. She must have bruised her ribs. They couldn’t be broken or she would be in much worse pain. Right?

She shoved again, and mashed her finger. Why hadn’t she had the courage to accept Thomas’s offer of help?

She couldn’t ask him to assist her when she’d already inconvenienced him. No telling how long it would take to repair his car. Granted he could borrow something from Uncle Wiley’s lot to drive in the interim, but she had no idea what kind of vehicle he’d get for a loaner.

Uncle Wiley did not have any brand-new silver Porches on his used-car lot.

“Yo, Becky.” Jerry Ruthers, Rebecca’s neighbor who’d dogged her for a date ever since she’d moved into the small duplex next to his, loped toward her, pulling baggy jeans up beneath his sagging belly. “Need a hand?” He flexed his muscles, the bulge shoving the short sleeve of his white T-shirt up, revealing arms layered in thick, dark hair and a cigarette pack.

Rebecca cringed. “Thanks, but I can—”

He pushed her aside, yanked out the hope chest much the same as Thomas had done, except Jerry added a melodramatic grunt, and sweat poured down his unshaven face. He thundered toward the front door, his jeans slipping down his backside.

She hurried after him, deciding to buy him a belt to hold up his pants in exchange for his good deed.

“Where do you want it, Becky?”

She hated being called Becky, but she unlocked the door and ignored the nickname, not wanting to prolong their conversation. “The den is fine.” She gestured toward the blue ruffled sofa and watched him heave as he lowered the chest to the faded beige carpet.

He whistled, wiped at his forehead with his arm, then grinned. “What you got in there, sugar cakes?”

“Some things from my grandmother.” She inched back toward the door, hoping he would follow. She didn’t intend to discuss the hope chest with him any more than she had with Thomas.

“Dang it, you look pretty today.” His gaze traveled over her dark green bridesmaid’s dress, lingering at her cleavage before dropping in appreciation to her silver spiked heels. “Where you been? You look like a Christmas tree, all lit up and sparkling.”

“My cousin’s wedding.” Rebecca ignored his come-hither grin. “She got married at my grandmother’s house.” Jerry was the only man who’d shown an interest in her recently, Rebecca thought morosely. She should try to see him in a romantic light. After all, she never stuttered or had klutzy attacks when he was around, but she couldn’t muster up an ounce of attraction toward him. She yawned, her chest pinching again, and hoped he’d take the hint.

He didn’t. He stood with one leg cocked sideways as if waiting on an invitation to stay. “Wanna get some dinner? They got chili burgers on the special at Pokey Slims tonight.”

Pokey Slims was a biker bar on the other side of town. Lots of beer drinking, tattooed men and cigarette smoke. “No, thanks. I’m exhausted.” She yawned again, making a ceremony out of the movement. She really was tired, she realized. Wrecking cars and holding conversation with Thomas had completely drained her. “But thanks for bringing in the chest. I’d really like to just kick back and go to bed.”

A lazy grin curled his mouth. “Sounds good to me. I could rub your back.”

Rebecca silently chided herself for stepping into that one. Why did the one man she didn’t want fawn all over her, and the one she did barely notice her?

Oh, he noticed you tonight, Bec. How could he miss when you smashed his eighty-five-thousand-dollar car? Or before that, when you almost ran over him? Or when you almost ran off the road into the hollow and killed him?

“Not tonight, Jerry. I don’t want to keep you from your dinner plans.”

“Uh, yeah.” He rubbed his protruding belly. “I am kind of hungry. A man can’t go without his food. And Pokey makes the best onion rings this side of the Chattahoochee.” He slapped his chest. “Gives me gas, but all good things come with a price, right?”

“Right.” She smiled sweetly, pushing images of him and chili and greasy onion rings out of her mind.

He dragged his feet toward the door. “Just let me know when you want to take a spin on my Hog, baby.”

“I’m not really a Harley girl.” Not that he actually had a Harley, anyway, although he told everyone he did; he had an imitation Harley.

He whistled through his teeth. “Just call me if you need anything.”

Rebecca nodded and locked the door behind him, then changed into flannel pajamas. She did have several bruises on her chest, the skin was already turning an ugly purple. With a cup of hot chocolate in hand, she headed toward her bed when the hope chest drew her eye, beckoning her as if it had some kind of hypnotic spell on her.

Her heart fluttered with a tiny seed of hope. Hope that marriage and babies might be in her future. Curiosity gnawed at her, too, drawing her closer until she knelt beside the wooden chest.

Hannah and Mimi and Alison claimed their hope chests had held magical secrets regarding their futures. That the items Grammy Rose placed inside had something to do with the men they would marry.

Was there something inside her chest that hinted about a new man coming into her life? Something that would convince her that love would find its way into her future?

THOMAS HAD BARELY FALLEN asleep when the phone rang.

“This is Terrence McGee, Dr. Emerson.” The man’s breath sounded shaky. “I think Nora’s in labor.”

Thomas ran a hand through his hair and sat up. Nora was two weeks overdue, so her husband was most likely right. “She’s having contractions?”

“Yeah, but they’re not regular. Says her back’s hurting.”

“Back labor,” Thomas said. And this was her third child so it would probably come quickly. “Get her to the hospital, Terrence. I’ll meet you there.”

“Her feet’re swollen twice the normal size, Doc, and she says she’s dizzy. I’m worried.”

“She’ll be fine.” Thomas forced a calm to his voice that he didn’t feel. “Just get her to the hospital and we’ll take care of her and the baby. Everything will be all right.”

He hung up, swung his legs over the side of the bed and grabbed his clothes. No time for a shower, so he jerked on khakis and socks, then hurried to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. He didn’t want the McGee baby making its entrance without him. According to her file, Nora had had complications with the other two births. He sure as hell hoped this one went smoother.

Sugar Hill General was modern, but it still didn’t have the advanced equipment that the big Atlanta hospitals did.

Buttoning his shirt as he went, he remembered the night his baby brother had died. His mother hadn’t had the advantages of a big modern facility, either; maybe if she had, the doctors could have saved the baby. Thomas had been twelve, but the helplessness he’d felt had been mindboggling. A frisson of unease rippled through him as he drove to the hospital. He phoned the hospital to warn them to be prepared for an emergency. Better to prepare for the worst.

Someday maybe he would have a son of his own. A family to replace the one he’d lost long ago.

But not until he settled permanently into his career, moved to the city and achieved his goals. When he had a child, he wanted it to have all the advantages he and his brother hadn’t. The latest in medical technology for starters.

And he would never have that in a small town like Sugar Hill.

REBECCA’S FINGERS TREMBLED as she opened the hope chest. Knowing that her grandmother had chosen the items inside especially for her brought tears to her eyes. Grammy Rose had been the only stable mother figure in her life ever since she was nine, when her mother had died.

She brushed her fingers over the soft velvet, the scent of cedar and her grandmother’s rose potpourri clinging to the inside of the chest as if to remind her of its origin. She had seen the bride’s book before but hadn’t noticed the white envelope lying beside it. Her heart pounding with excitement, she opened the letter and began to read.

My dearest, darling Rebecca,

You are a very special granddaughter because you remind me so much of myself when I was your age. You were the first of Bert’s daughters, the one who brought a deep love into his marriage that cemented the bond between him and your mother.

But you were the one who suffered the most when your mother died. Although your own heart was aching, you pushed your feelings aside to comfort your father and little sister in their sorrow.

You showed such strength that the rest of us gained courage from you. But when you retreated to that silent place where you grieved, you never quite came back.

Always steady and strong, dependable and caring, you are loyal and trusting to a fault. Believe in yourself now, Rebecca. Take time to nurture your own dreams and talents, and love yourself the way you love others.

I wish for you happiness, true love and a man who will give you all the joy a partner can.

Love you always,

Grammy Rose

P.S. Inside you will find something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue.

REBECCA WIPED A TEAR from her eye, then picked up the lacy bride’s book and stroked a hand over the embossed silver bells. With a wistful sigh, she flipped the pages, imagining the blank white spaces filled with signatures of guests.

Guests at her own wedding.

Knowing she was being silly, she laid the book down and dug deeper into the chest. A blue garter lay nestled on top of a larger white envelope. She placed the garter around her wrist and opened the envelope, her mouth gaping when she found a blank marriage license inside. What in the world was Grammy doing putting a marriage license in there? Did she expect Rebecca to need one in a hurry?

A nervous bubble of laughter escaped her at the thought.

Occasionally Grammy did some wacky things, just as various other members of the Hartwell clan had been known to do. This obviously was one of them.

Next she thumbed through the book on dream analysis. What on earth would analyzing your dreams have to do with getting married?

The corner of a small children’s book peeked out. The Ugly Duckling. Rebecca traced her finger over the picture of the little yellow duck on the front, then the beautiful white swan, thinking she had always been the duck, Suzanne the swan. But she smiled as she flipped the pages, memories of Grammy’s voice reading the story to her night after night echoing in her mind. She had so loved the awkward little duck and had cheered the lonely creature on as he battled his way through the story. Hugging the book to her chest, she imagined reading it to her own child one day. Was that the reason Grammy had put it in the chest—did she foresee a baby in Rebecca’s future?

A little boy or girl with dark-black hair and green eyes. A little boy who had an amazing similarity to Thomas Emerson.

What in heaven’s name was she thinking?

Feeling foolish, she propped the book on the floor beside her and searched the hope chest, unearthing an antique comb, brush and mirror set. Grammy Rose’s. She’d seen it on the antique dresser in the guest bedroom where Rebecca had slept as a child when she’d stayed overnight.

Sentiment squeezed at her chest as she slid the brush through her hair, remembering the times she’d done so at her grandmother’s. She’d stood in front of the mirror for hours, brushing her hair, pretending she was Rapunzel with long, flowing, silky hair.

Pretending she was beautiful. That a handsome prince would rescue her from being imprisoned in the tower.

She raised the silver mirror and stared at her reflection.

No beauty there.

Oh, she wasn’t bad to look at, she admitted. Even with wire-rimmed glasses, her eyes were a nice shade of blue, and her skin smooth and creamy. Her mouth wasn’t bad, although her nose was a little too long, and the tiny freckles on her nose made her look about twelve years old. No, she definitely wasn’t ugly. Besides, looks were more about what lay on the inside than the outside. She cared about others and had a good heart. But she just wasn’t the beauty queen type. Or the type to attract and hold on to a man like Thomas.

She wasn’t imprisoned in a lonely tower, either. She had a decent apartment, a good job, and her cousins lived close by. And Uncle Wiley.

Refusing to batter her self-esteem any longer, she placed the mirror and brush set back in the chest, her eyes narrowing when she found another book inside. Not a children’s book, but a book of poetry.

She traced a finger over the worn leather binding, surprised at the title. “Passions.” Blushing, she opened the book, her mouth dropping open when she noticed the pages filled with drawings of erotic love poses. A poem had been written beside each nude sketch.

Oh, my goodness. She flipped back to the title page and gasped at the sight of her grandmother’s name printed inside.

Not only did the book belong to Grammy, but she had been one of the contributing artists and poets!

THOMAS PLACED BABY GIRL McGee in her mother’s arms, his heart finally steadying after the harrowing delivery. When Nora had arrived, she was already fully dilated, but the baby hadn’t dropped. It was also breech, and he’d tried to turn it, but the fetus had gone into distress, and he’d finally resorted to a C-section. A wise move, since she had had the cord wound around her neck at birth and hadn’t been breathing.

Terrence had passed out and nearly fallen into Thomas as he’d given the baby oxygen.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Nora said, tears seeping into her eyes. “She’s beautiful.”

Terrence shoved a hand through sweat-soaked hair, looking worse than his wife as she nestled the baby to nurse her.

Terrence curved an arm around his wife. “She looks like you, Norrie.”

Thomas’s throat closed. It never ceased to touch him when parents held their child for the first time. And it was nice to see the baby with two loving parents.

Miracles did exist.

Only, there hadn’t been one for his family.

The day he’d lost a brother, his entire family had fallen apart. His mother had sunk into a deep postpartum depression and told his father she didn’t want him around anymore. She didn’t need him. His father had abandoned them both.

Later, when he was sixteen, his mother had died in an accident.

He pushed the painful thoughts aside. Thankfully, today, the technology at Sugar Hill had been sufficient. “Congratulations, you two.” Thomas patted Nora’s shoulder. “You did great, Mom.”

She squeezed his hand. “It may be our third, but she’s just as special.”

Thomas chuckled and left to offer them some privacy, his mood lifted by the closeness of the family. A closeness he’d missed out on when his father left. Although he admired single women who raised their kids alone, he intended to be there every minute, if or when he had a child.

SHOCK SURGED THROUGH Rebecca. Her seventy-four-year-old grandmother had written erotic poetry and drawn nude sketches of lovers intertwined? She almost shoved the book back inside the hope chest, but curiosity won out, and she scanned the first few pages. Grammy had always been a lively and modern character, but the seductive tone of the poems and the details of the drawings were more risqué than she could have imagined.

Oh, my, my, my…

She read the third poem, the erotic words conjuring visions of her and Thomas Emerson….

Before and after they’d strolled down the aisle.

A shiver rippled up her spine. There was no way she could try some of the poses. Could she?

Rattled, she shook off the images and hastily re-packed the items in the hope chest, hoping to pack away the fantasies as well. No sense getting all starry-eyed just because her grandmother had sent her a few odd gifts.

Still, she carried visions to bed with her and in her dreams, they resurfaced.

Images of her and Thomas, their naked bodies tangled together, giving each other delight. Images of the two of them making love all through the night.

Images of the two of them having a child.

WHEN REBECCA WOKE the next morning, a soul-deep ache stirred within her. Moving slowly, she sat upright, wincing at the sharp pain in her chest and the stiffness in her muscles. She adjusted the pillow to prop herself up, then she lay back and considered her options.

She wanted a baby so badly. She had even before Mimi had gotten pregnant, but watching Mimi go through the pregnancy had raised all kinds of fantasies in Rebecca’s mind. And seeing Mimi’s little girl, Maggie Rose, had only deepened the desire for a child of her own. But she needed a man to get pregnant, and she didn’t have a boyfriend or even a possibility of one in sight.

Unfortunately, the only man in the world she wanted to have a baby with was Thomas Emerson.

But he would never see her as anything but a klutz who’d demolished his Porsche and nearly killed him on the way home. Plus, he certainly didn’t owe her a favor; she owed him.

Still, her biological clock was ticking away like a time bomb. And she had to face the fact that Sugar Hill wasn’t exactly crawling with single, eligible bachelors.

Take time to nurture your own talents and dreams, Grammy had written.

Her dream was to have a family.

The book on dream analysis beckoned her from the hope chest. She jumped out of bed, brought it back and snuggled under the covers, skimming page after page, fascinated by the information.

Hmm, dreams sometimes relayed subconscious thoughts and desires.

She sat up straighter, feeling rejuvenated and more confident as an idea formed in her mind. Maybe there was something to this hope chest magic after all. Grammy had always been modern. Maybe it was time she stepped into the twenty-first century herself. Women didn’t have to have husbands to have a child. She could have one by herself. She had a decent job running the bookstore, she was responsible, healthy, and she would love the baby unconditionally.

She’d taken care of Suzanne after their mother had died, so she knew she would make a good mother.

Yes, she was going to believe in herself, just the way Grammy Rose had suggested.

She’d have a baby on her own.

There was just one little problem—she needed sperm to get pregnant.

A headache pinched at her as she struggled over what to do. She could visit a sperm clinic and have in vitro fertilization.

Too impersonal. She’d never be able to go through with it. And she couldn’t possibly tell her baby that she’d bought the sperm from a stranger, that she knew nothing of his father but what she’d learned from a computer file.

What about asking someone she knew to be a donor?

Jerry’s enthusiastic face sprang to mind, but a shudder gripped her.

The dark-haired baby from her dreams haunted her mind.

Grammy had said to follow her dreams. Maybe the dream had been an omen.

And in her dream the baby had been Thomas’s baby.

Maybe the dream meant that she was supposed to have Thomas’s baby!

He was smart, intelligent, good-looking. If he donated sperm to father her child, she would know that the baby would be healthy, and she could assure her child that he or she had a great father. But how would she approach Thomas?

Should she try to seduce him?

Nervous laughter tickled her insides. She could barely talk to Thomas without making a fool of herself.

And asking him to sleep with her would be wa-a-ay too personal.

Although the mere thought sent a million delicious sensations curling in her belly.

Maybe…no, she couldn’t.

But she could ask him to make a little personal donation. After all, he was an OB-GYN. He probably dealt with single women wanting babies all the time. He’d even commented that he admired single mothers. And the fact that he was an OB-GYN might prove to be a blessing. He probably already knew doctors who could perform the procedure, and she wouldn’t have to seek help from virtual strangers.

She’d keep the arrangement simple, too. Once she was pregnant, he wouldn’t be obligated or need to have any personal contact with her at all.

She twisted the sheets in her hands, her stomach convulsing in a thousand knots. Now she just had to summon up enough courage to discuss the baby plan with him. And she would, she promised herself, right after she phoned her insurance company to take care of paying for the damages to his wrecked car.

A wistful sigh escaped her, a twinge of sadness following. She wasn’t settling for less than her dream, she assured herself as she climbed from bed and headed to the shower. She was simply facing reality. If she couldn’t have Thomas, she could at least have his child. That would be enough.

A moment of trepidation hit her as she turned on the spray of water. What would Thomas think of the idea?