Читать книгу Their Precious Christmas Miracle: Mistletoe Baby / In the Spirit of...Christmas / A Baby By Christmas - Tanya Michaels - Страница 8

Mental note. Rachel squeezed herself behind a kitchen chair for safety. Never, never ask a bunch of animals “Who wants to go for a walk?”

Unless, of course, she wanted to be trampled to death. The two labs were scrambling to reach her, and Hildie was probably waking up the neighborhood, running circles on the tile and barking her head off. Although the dogs enjoyed playing in their own fenced backyard, Winnie had mentioned that walks were a special treat. Bristol and Rembrandt shared a double-dog leash, and in theory, Rachel should be able to walk Hildie with her own leash held in the other hand.

Faced with the challenge of harnessing all this uncoordinated enthusiasm, however, Rachel was suddenly dubious. If she had any common sense, she’d probably be snuggled under the covers; she wasn’t due for work at the print shop for another two and a half hours.

But she hadn’t been asleep anyway. She’d been up three times during the night, probably because the unfamiliar noises of pets in the house kept waking her. Shortly before 6:00 a.m., it had become clear that no matter how exhausted she was, she was awake for the duration.

Awake and cowering behind furniture.

She cleared her throat, hoping to project authority. “Sit. I mean it, you guys. Sit!”

The labs’ collective butts hit the floor, their tails sweeping in noisy arcs. Hildie continued to run in demented circles, woofing happily. Two out of three is close enough. Rachel edged from behind the chair, maintaining stern eye contact while she picked up the leashes. She shrugged into a flannel-lined, double-breasted coat. It was bulky, especially over her blue sweat suit, but it was indisputably soft, as if she were walking around in a much-needed hug.

Though she’d never been a morning person, there was something surprisingly invigorating about stepping outside into the chilly air, watching the sun rise in golden-orange streaks that gilded the clouds. That would make a pretty picture. Even if she hadn’t busted her camera last month, she didn’t exactly have a free hand right now. And the dogs definitely lacked the patience for her to stop and take in picturesque scenes—they were already straining against their leashes.

They set off at a brisk pace, Rachel’s breath puffing out in foggy bursts. If she was lucky, she might even lose a pound or two before the wedding and her trip home. Should she return to South Carolina at her current weight, her mom—a slim woman with a closet full of Power Suits—would cluck her tongue disapprovingly. Mrs. Nietermyer had mastered the many fine nuances of Clucking 101. Mr. Nietermyer habitually called his wife honey, but Rachel swore that, once or twice, what he’d really said was henny.

Lost in her thoughts and the steady rhythm of the dogs’ toes clicking on the pavement, she was startled when Hildie shot after a trio of sparrows.

“Whoa!” Rachel gripped the leash tightly. “Sit. Sit.”

No one listened. Instead, Hildie’s sudden dash whipped the other two dogs into a fervor. They quickly tangled their lines, threatening to ensnare Rachel. She managed to sidestep Bristol, but tripped over Rembrandt. Falling toward the sidewalk, Rachel reflexively braced herself with one hand. Which was, she acknowledged as pain radiated up her arm, stupid. She was lucky she hadn’t broken her wrist. Of more immediate concern, however, was that, in thrusting her hand out, she’d let go of Hildie’s leash. The little terror went flopping toward the spot where the birds had been.

Dammit. Cold seeped through the layers of cotton covering her butt.

Rachel got to her feet and approached the puppy slowly, not wanting to chase her into the intersection. Though it was still early, some people would be leaving for work soon and the dog wouldn’t be easily visible in the early-morning light. Scanning the area for any threats or surprises, Rachel sidled toward the mutt. When movement caught her eye, she turned and saw someone cresting the hill on the parallel sidewalk. A jogger, whose gait and clothes she recognized even at a distance.

She’d always thought that particular blue T-shirt brought out the color in her husband’s eyes. Her heart thumped against her ribs. She turned to Hildie. “If you will come to me right now, I swear you can have as many puppy treats as you want when we get home.”

Hildie yipped once, scooting farther away and wagging her tail in appreciation of the new game.

“Dog, I am not playing with you. Get over here.” Now the footsteps across the street were audible. Slap, slap. Slap, slap. Rachel squeezed her eyes shut. Maybe she wasn’t actually outside at dawn with three dogs who’d alternately tried to escape and hog-tie her. Maybe she was simply having a nightmare. Her dreams, when she slept long enough to have them, had been bizarrely vivid of late.

“Rach?” Opposite her, David slowed to a stop. The inquisitive note in his voice probably stemmed from wondering why the heck she was out stalking an ill-behaved puppy instead of comfortably drinking coffee in Winnie’s kitchen while the dogs cavorted in their own backyard. Rachel was wondering the same thing herself.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” she said. She’d been so relieved to be out of the oppressive atmosphere in their house that she hadn’t considered she would be walking dogs in the same neighborhood where he routinely ran. Somewhat unnecessarily, she added, “Hildie got away from me.”

Hearing her name, the adolescent mongrel yipped again, sounding proud of herself. Rachel entertained a couple of fantasies that would probably not be appreciated by animal activists. David rocked back on his heels, his fledgling smile achingly familiar yet a little surprising, too. There was real amusement there and less of the strain she’d become accustomed to seeing.

“Need a little help?” he called.

“Thanks, but I’ve got it. You probably just got your pulse rate in the right zone or whatever. Don’t let us derail you.” Wrapping the remaining leash tightly around her hand, she crouched down and whistled at Hildie. “Here, girl! C’mere, baby.”

Hildie took about two steps in Rachel’s direction, then turned and dashed across another yard, into the Stephensons’ driveway.

There was a muffled laugh from David’s direction, and Rachel snapped her head toward him, heat blooming in her cheeks.

As David crossed the street, her pride warred with practicality. The charm of the early-morning walk had faded, and Rachel was looking forward to getting out of the cold and spending a few dog-free moments in a hot shower. He stepped up on the curb, extending a hand so carefully that she might have laughed if she weren’t so miserable. Something about David’s manner mirrored the way she was advancing on the skittish dog.

Up close, Rachel couldn’t help noticing the slight crinkle of laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. He had a great face. Masculine and friendly and reassuring and sexy all at the same time. Sometimes she just—

“Here, let me at least hold the other two while you round up the little one.”

She nodded, untangling the leash from her hand and passing it to him. David’s fingers closed over hers. Zing. In the early rays of the morning, with two labs watching her as if she was a moron and an undisciplined puppy leading her on a merry chase, Rachel Waide experienced the most surprising jolt. David’s fingers were warm but the tiniest bit rough—no girly moisturizing lotion for him, thank you very much—and the scent of him was musky and male. Her pheromones reacted with an interest they hadn’t shown in months, causing an actual twinge between her thighs.

Her jaw dropped.

“You all right?” David narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing her.

Oh, please, please, don’t let him be able tell. Did he know her well enough to guess that she was unbelievably, unmistakably aroused? She was mortified. Was she one of those emotionally stunted people who only wanted someone they couldn’t have? Why was she having this inconvenient reaction now?

Maybe it was a Pavlovian response. After all, he was the only man she’d been with in years, and her body hadn’t yet adjusted to the idea of never touching him again. Never kissing him, never waking in his arms, never—

Hildie barked, mercifully interrupting the mental tangent. Circling the dog, Rachel spoke in a nonstop, cajoling murmur, forcing herself to stand patiently as Hildie got closer. Inch by irritating inch. Rachel waited until she knew with absolute certainty that victory was in her reach before she pounced, catching the wiggling puppy in her hands. Hildie’s brown eyes were wide as she licked Rachel’s cheek.

“Don’t bother with the cute,” Rachel warned. “You are in big trouble, young lady.”

David met her halfway, giving her the other leashes along with a curious once-over. “So, you’re settled in okay at Winnie’s?”

Rachel nodded. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Really?”

No, not really. But she had to learn how to stand on her own two feet again. She moved her shoulders in a noncommittal shrug.

He bent at the waist, doing a few stretches in preparation for resuming his run. “Well, maybe we’ll meet like this again.”

She laughed ruefully. “I hope not! Somehow I don’t think morning walks are going to become a habit.”

“Guess not.” His smiled had faded. “See you at my parents’ on Friday?”

The whole family was gathering to trim the Christmas tree. She could make an excuse to get out of it, except she’d skipped it last year. As she recalled, that had been the day she’d learned she wasn’t pregnant—again—and the thought of pretending to be in a festive, holiday mood … Not that this would be her most festive year, but it would be her last Christmas as a Waide. Was it selfish to want these final precious memories, to store them away in a mental scrapbook?

Maybe one day she could reexamine those memories and remember just the warmth and good times, without the paralyzing grief.

“I’ll be there,” she said. They’d also see each other on Saturday, but there’d be a bigger crowd at the party for Lilah and Tanner so maybe it wouldn’t be too awkward. Who are you kidding? She’d be attending a couples’ shower with her estranged husband.

David nodded. “See you this weekend, then.”

As he started off again, she added, “Thanks for your help. I’m grateful our paths crossed.”

He smiled over his shoulder, but didn’t answer. She stared after his back, wondering how he felt.

Down the road, would he be glad that their paths had crossed five years ago, that he’d overcome her laughing protestations that she was only in town for a short while and had no plans to get involved with someone here? Or would he end up wishing he’d simply stayed on his side of the street and let the woman from South Carolina pass by without disrupting his life?

DAVID GRIMACED as he reached for the canister of coffee high in the supply cabinet. His sore muscles protested. Maybe he didn’t need caffeine that badly after all. Maybe what he needed was to stop pushing himself as if he were an indestructible kid half his age. After his encounter with Rachel, he’d sprinted a double circuit through the subdivision, trying to outrun the effect of seeing her.

She’d looked disarming and maddeningly adorable, all bundled up. Her eyes had been bright, almost silvery, and spots of color had livened a face that had been far too pale for far too long. This morning she’d reminded him of the woman he’d married, not the much quieter, pinched version she’d become. Seeing the improvement one night had made, he was forced to conclude that she’d been right—she was better off without him. A groan of enraged despair rumbled in his throat.

“David?” His mother’s voice, lilting in question, startled him. He’d thought he was alone in the employees-only hallway behind the store.

“Mom.” His arms dropped quickly to his sides, as if she’d caught him reaching for forbidden cookies. “I didn’t know you were in this morning.”

“Brought over some more ornaments for Ari to display. You do a great job running the store, just like your father always has, but neither of you excel when it comes to decorating for the customers.”

Decorating. He thought about his house, which was completely devoid of holiday cheer. Their first year of marriage, Rachel had barely waited for Thanksgiving before she started asking if it was too soon to put up Christmas lights. She’d seemed so happy then, as he’d promised her she’d be if she moved here to Mistletoe, enthusiastic to build their life together.

Susan brought him back to the present. “Why were you growling in the hallway?”

“I, uh, can’t reach the coffee.”

She skewered him with a raised eyebrow, then turned to open the janitorial closet behind her, revealing a small step stool that he’d known perfectly well was there. “God knows I love your brother and how spirited he is, but he was the one more likely to stubbornly pursue the impossible with no real plan on how to achieve it. You were the solution-finder.”

Really? Because David was fresh out of solutions. Feeling foolish, he picked up the stool and retrieved the coffee. “Lack of caffeine makes me grouchy. And stupid.”

Susan Waide’s gaze was steady, all-knowing in that way mothers have. “Want to tell me what’s really wrong?”

“Thanks, Mom, but it’s nothing that can be fixed with a step stool.”

“You and Rachel?”

His pulse pounded. How much of the truth had she guessed? “Is it that obvious that we’ve … hit a rough patch?”

“Oh, darling.” She ruffled his hair, even though she practically had to stand on tiptoe to do it. “I can’t imagine how difficult it was for her to lose that baby, but she’s been withdrawn for months. And you’ve been tense, short-fused. Not at all the boy I know.”

He missed the man he’d been, the one who had never questioned his wife’s love and their ability to work through any problem.

“Every couple has difficulties,” Susan continued. “Lord knows your father and I have. It’s healthy even. Once you work through to the other side, you’ll be stronger for it.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. His biggest fear was that for him and Rachel, there was no other side. I shouldn’t have let her go. He could have convinced her to at least sleep on it or maybe see a counselor together. Would fighting for her now be the right thing to do or merely the selfish?

“Mom.” He hugged his mother, his voice ragged. It was nearly impossible to spit out the question. “What if—what if I can’t fix this?”

“Nonsense. You’re my son. Besides—” she smiled up at him “—you’re forgetting that it’s Christmas. The season of miracles.”

“HEREYA GO, Chloe.” Rachel passed the box of business cards over the counter. “Why don’t you take a peek at the first few and make sure they’re to your satisfaction?”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s not necessary.” Chloe Malcolm glanced at the sample card stapled to the outside of the box. “You always do a great job.”

Once, Rachel had helped create regional ad campaigns for a major company. Now, it was an exciting day if she got to help someone lay out business cards—except that Chloe, who ran her own small company as a Web designer, rarely needed help. She’d brought in her file on CD, all ready to be printed. There was nothing at work challenging enough to distract Rachel from her embarrassing encounter with David earlier. Of course, there was the special project she should be working on for Lilah and Tanner’s rehearsal dinner, but she doubted that would improve her mood.

Rachel shook her head. “You couldn’t even have left a formatting error I could resolve?”

“Pardon?” The brunette blinked at her.

“Don’t mind me. Midday blahs,” she told Chloe. “I’m waiting for May to come back so I can take my lunch break. To tell you the truth, the day so far has been pretty monotonous.”

“Not too much action going on in Mistletoe, huh?” Chloe sounded wistful, which was surprising. Gifted with computers, the young woman was also incredibly introverted; she’d always given the impression she might panic at the first sign of “action.”

They both glanced reflexively toward the door when it opened, and Rachel’s co-worker May Gideon swept inside, accompanied by a winter-edged breeze. The pungent odor of a fried fish sandwich wafted from May’s white paper bag, and Rachel’s gut clenched. Her hand shot to her mouth.

“Whoa.” Chloe was blinking again. “You look really pale.”

“I, uh … I—” Terrified that she was about to humiliate herself far worse than she had that morning with the runaway puppy, Rachel bolted for the employee restroom. After splashing some cold water on her face and taking a couple of deep breaths, she managed to quell the intense nausea. It was gone almost as suddenly as it had come. Still, she waited a few minutes to make sure.

When she returned to the front of the print shop, she saw that May had completed Chloe’s transaction and was now arguing with Mrs. Nugent, who wanted them to make a personalized photo calendar as a Christmas present for her mother, but refused to accept that they weren’t allowed to reproduce copyrighted pictures of her kids.

“After what that studio charged me for the darn things, I should be able to wallpaper my whole house with them if I want to!”

May’s patient expression didn’t waver. “So long as you understand that we can’t print the wallpaper for you.”

This seemed like as good a time as any for Rachel to take her lunch hour. With a guilty half wave in May’s direction, she crept toward the door, not wanting to get caught up in Mrs. Nugent’s righteous indignation over the “highway robbery” of professional photography. Once Rachel was outside and contemplating where to go for lunch, she admitted to herself that food was the last thing she wanted.

Finally, something good about stress—it had her stomach so upset it was killing her appetite. Maybe she’d fit into that bridesmaid’s dress after all.

A niggling voice in the back of her head pointed out she’d been stressed all morning, yet hadn’t been in danger of tossing her cookies until that fish smell hit. It was similar to last spring, when … She stopped dead on the sidewalk. What a ridiculous thought. Still, now that she considered it, when had her last period been? Rachel bit her lip, not sure. For the first time in nearly two years, she wasn’t obsessively tracking her cycle, trying hard to let go and reach a healthier emotional state.

Oh, yeah, I’m a picture of mental health. She gave a quick shake of her head. Now that she was off the medications that had regulated her cycles, it wasn’t surprising that she might skip a period—or two?—as her body adjusted. In fact, her bursting into tears at the drop of a hat lately and her sensory overreaction to odors was probably just PMS. She’d start her period any day and feel silly about this.

Yep. An-n-ny day now.