Rachel slipped her arm around Bruce’s waist and leaned against him.
“Have you had anything to eat since lunch?” he asked.
At his question Rachel realized how hungry she was and her stomach growled in response. “No, I didn’t.”
“The Barbecue House is in business now,” he said. The restaurant, formerly The Taco Shack, had reopened earlier that week, and long lines had been reported. Rachel was eager to try it, but not late on a Friday night when she’d been on her feet most of the day.
“No, thanks. I’m too tired. Maybe next week?” She’d read in the Chronicle that the new restaurant was owned by the same couple who’d run The Taco Shack, which had been one of their favorite places to eat. When it closed, Rachel had been extremely disappointed. It had seemed to echo the end of her relationship with Bruce, too.
“What do you want to do about dinner?”
“I’ve got a couple of chicken pot pies in my freezer. I’ll pop them in the microwave,” she replied. “That way I can relax.”
“I can’t stay long,” Bruce said.
“Where’s Jolene?”
“Roller skating with her friends. She has a ten-thirty curfew tonight, and Carrie’s mom is driving her home.”
“Okay, that gives us about an hour.”
They grinned at each other.
Rachel got into her car and Bruce waited until she’d locked the door. Then he sprinted over to his own. He followed her home, arriving at almost the same time she did.
Opening her front door, Rachel collected the mail and the paper and set everything on the kitchen counter. She hung up her coat and Bruce’s.
He turned on the television. As was his custom he made himself at home, slumping on her sofa with his legs stretched out. He flicked through channels with the remote control, stopping occasionally at a talk show or newscast.
Bruce wasn’t romantic; he didn’t shower her with words of love. But Rachel knew how deeply he loved her. She didn’t doubt the sincerity of his feelings. Not for a minute. Not for even a second.
While the pies heated in the microwave, she sorted through the mail, which included a number of Christmas cards and, as always, bills. She hesitated when she saw the San Diego return address on a square red envelope. Even though there wasn’t a name, the APO address instantly told her who the card was from.
Nate Olsen.
They’d dated for about three years. He was the navy man she’d met through the Dog and Bachelor Auction sponsored by the local humane society. For a while she thought she was in love with him, and he with her, until she discovered that Nate was more interested in how a relationship with her could advance his future political career. He was from a wealthy, well-connected family, and marriage to an “ordinary” woman like her would heighten his appeal to the voters.
“What’s wrong?” Bruce asked as he came into the kitchen.
She considered hiding the fact that Nate had contacted her, but decided against it. Their relationship had to be open and honest from the very beginning.
“It looks like Nate sent me a Christmas card.”
Bruce’s gaze held hers, although he didn’t reveal his thoughts. “Are you going to open it?”
“Probably.”
Bruce didn’t comment.
“Would you rather I didn’t?”
He shrugged as if it were of little concern. “Might as well read it,” he said.
She narrowed her eyes. “A small display of jealousy wouldn’t be amiss, you know.”
Bruce sent her a lopsided grin. “You’re wearing my engagement ring, aren’t you?”
“Yes, but—”
“You love me,” he said with unwavering confidence.
She couldn’t disagree.
“You had your chance to marry Nate. As I recall, I actually encouraged you to accept his proposal. He certainly had more to offer you than I ever will.”
“And as you recall, that infuriated me.” It still did. What Bruce had to offer her was a love as unconditional as another person’s love could be.
His grin widened. “You love me,” he said again, “and that’s not going to change.”
Playfully Rachel wagged her index finger at him. “Don’t be so sure of yourself, Bruce Peyton. It’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind.”
Bruce got a soda cracker from the box on the counter behind her and bit into it. “You won’t. Or you would’ve already done it.”
“Really?” She carefully slit the red envelope. Sliding out the glittery Christmas card, she opened it so Bruce couldn’t see what Nate had written. She lingered over each word.
“So?” he asked after a long moment.
Purposely she closed the card and set it aside.
“What did he say?” Bruce asked, following her to the microwave.
“Are you sure you want to know?” she asked.
“If you feel like telling me.”
She took a deep breath. “Nate said he’ll always love me and that losing me has been the turning point in his life. He begged me to reconsider.”
Bruce put down the soda cracker and his eyes darkened.
The timer buzzed; Rachel removed the pies. “You can read it for yourself if you want,” she said as she retrieved two plates from the kitchen cupboard.
Bruce declined with a shake of his head. “He addressed it to you.”
“I’m giving you permission to look at it.”
Again, he declined.
“You’re not so cocky now, are you?” she teased, bringing the plates to the small kitchen table.
“You’re marrying me,” he stated flatly, but he didn’t sound as confident as he had earlier.
She derived a small degree of satisfaction from the way his arrogance had suddenly diminished. But she’d made her choice and, in her heart, she knew it was the right one. Her future was with Bruce and Jolene and whatever children they might have.
“Bruce,” she said as they sat down. She purposely changed the subject. “I’d like to get pregnant soon.”
He blinked hard. “How soon? Tonight? I’m certainly willing but you’re the one who says—”
“After the wedding.”
“Uh…” His gaze traveled back to the Christmas card, which still lay on the kitchen counter.
Rachel stood and handed the card to Bruce, who took it with some reluctance.
He opened it slowly, read the two short lines. When he finished he raised his eyes to hers. “All he says is Merry Christmas, Nate.” He frowned. “Where’s all that garbage about him never loving another woman?”
“Did I say that?” she asked with a giggle.
“Maybe not in those precise words, but basically, yes.”
“You have to read between the lines.”
“All he said was Merry Christmas,” Bruce pointed out.
“Well, yes, that’s what he wrote, but you and I both know he meant a whole lot more than that. He misses me.”
“Good.”
“But…”
“He can miss you all he wants, but you and I are going to be married and that’s the end of it.”
“Bruce,” she said sweetly, “you are jealous.”
“No way,” he insisted.
She didn’t argue with him.
“All right, maybe a little,” he admitted. After a moment, he asked, “Should I be?”
Her heart melted at the uncertainty in his eyes. She couldn’t continue to tease him. “Nate is out of my life. I’m madly, senselessly in love with you, Bruce.”
He grinned sheepishly. “I know that.”
“It’s nice to hear it once in a while, though, isn’t it?” she said, and about this she was serious. While her fiancé might not be a man of eloquent words, it wouldn’t hurt if he expressed his feelings now and then.
“What if I tell you how much I love you every day for the rest of our lives?” he asked. “Would that be enough?”
Rachel smiled. “That would definitely be a good place to start.”
“Now about starting something else—our family.”
“Yes?” This was a subject Rachel could get excited about.
Fourteen
“You were right about the knitting.”
The young female voice seemed to come out of nowhere. Startled, Faith Beckwith looked up from the pattern book she was studying. She sat at a table in The Quilted Giraffe, searching for a knitting project, only to find Troy’s daughter, Megan, staring down at her.
“Megan.” She hoped the shock didn’t show in her eyes. It took her an instant to get past the fact that this was Troy’s daughter. Despite her intentions, forgetting about him was a futile effort. “How are you feeling?”
“Really good,” Megan said, then lowered her voice. “This pregnancy feels so different from my first one.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Faith murmured, genuinely happy for Troy’s daughter.
“I haven’t told anyone about the baby. Except Craig. I had to tell my husband.”
“Of course you did.” Faith was relieved to hear that. She hated the thought of Megan keeping this pregnancy to herself.
“My dad and my in-laws don’t know yet.” She hesitated. “It’s hard not to tell my dad.”
“Then why don’t you?” Faith asked. Troy would make a wonderful grandfather.
“We’re really close,” Megan went on to say. “I don’t want him to worry unnecessarily.” She smiled slightly as she pulled out a chair and sat next to Faith. “I have a good feeling, though.”
“You’ll know when the time’s right to tell your father and your in-laws,” Faith said without meeting her gaze. It felt odd to speak about Troy in such an abstract way. She noticed, however, that Megan looked healthy. Color showed in her cheeks and her eyes were clear and bright.
“I was glad when I saw you here,” Megan said as she set her gigantic purse on the table. “You were so helpful the day I went to the clinic.”
“Actually, it was my first day on the job.”
“You’re kidding!”
Faith laughed softly.
“I felt like you were there just for me. I was feeling so emotional. You calmed me down, and after we talked, I felt…a real sense of hope.”
Faith was grateful for those kind words.
“But it was more than that,” Megan continued. “You said knitting would be good for me. You were right. Every time I feel anxious about the baby, I pick up my needles and I remember what you said. It’s almost as if…” She hesitated again. “I don’t want you to get the wrong impression or anything, but you said exactly what I would’ve wanted my mother to say.”
“I’m sure your mother would have been just as reassuring if she was with you.”
“I miss her every single day,” Megan said. She sniffled loudly. Obviously embarrassed, she searched inside her purse for a tissue. “My hormones are so out of whack these days, I burst into tears at the drop of a hat.” She tried to laugh and only half succeeded.
“I was like that when I was pregnant,” Faith told her. “I can remember watching a rerun of the old Mary Tyler Moore show, the one where Chuckles the Clown dies. Even though it’s a comedy, I was bawling my head off and then all of a sudden I was laughing and crying at the same time.”
“You liked The Mary Tyler Moore Show?” Megan asked, her eyes wide. “My mother and I used to watch it at the care facility. I know exactly which episode you’re talking about. That was Mom’s very favorite show.”
Then, as if she’d suddenly remembered why she was at the fabric store, Megan reached inside her purse and brought out her knitting. “I came here hoping I could find someone to help me with this.” She set her yarn and needles on the table.
Faith saw immediately that Megan had stopped knitting in the middle of a row, never a good idea.
“I’m afraid I dropped a stitch and I didn’t know what to do next.”
“I can help you with that,” Faith murmured, looking at the half-completed baby blanket.
Retrieving a crochet hook from her own knitting bag, Faith captured the renegade stitch and wove it into place. Then she slipped it back on the needle. “There,” she said calmly. “Now you can finish the row. You saw how I did that, didn’t you?”
Megan nodded. “I should probably buy a crochet hook, shouldn’t I?”
“It’s an excellent tool to have.”
“Okay, I’ll do it today. Thank you so much.”
“My pleasure.” Faith glanced down at the pattern book and tried not to think about Troy and how much she missed him.
“Would you…I mean…” Megan looked uncertain. “I realize you’re working at the clinic and you don’t really know me…”
“Yes?” Faith prompted.
“Would it be all right if I came to see you sometime? Not as a patient, though.”
“You mean as a friend?” Faith asked.
Megan nodded eagerly. “Like on your coffee break or maybe even for lunch.”
Faith was in a quandary. If Troy learned about their friendship, he’d assume she’d somehow arranged this because of him. He’d assume she was trying to reconnect with him through his daughter and nothing could be further from the truth.
“Would it be improper?” Megan asked, frowning.
“Not…improper,” Faith said.
“Perhaps we could meet outside the clinic,” Megan suggested, as if she’d stumbled upon the perfect solution.
“We could meet here at the store, I suppose,” Faith said. “I’d be happy to help you with your knitting. This blanket’s an excellent project but I could also show you how to knit booties and a hat for the baby to wear home from the hospital.”
“You could?”
“I…could,” Faith told her. “I have a pattern I use whenever there’s a new baby in the family. We could meet right here at the table they have for classes.”
“That’s great! Thank you, Faith.” Megan paused, a look of concern in her eyes. “Is it okay if I call you Faith?”
“Of course. Faith is just fine.”
They set a date for the following week and Faith wondered—fearing for her own peace of mind—if this was such a smart idea. She hadn’t meant to get involved with Troy’s daughter. Yet, at the same time, Megan was emotionally needy, especially with this second pregnancy so soon after losing the first.
Still, Troy might think—
No. She would not allow Troy Davis into her mind. It was over. If she became friends with Megan, it would have nothing to do with Troy. Megan was her own woman. So was Faith.
When she returned home from the fabric store, Faith made a pot of tea, then sat down in her living room. She’d found a lovely natural-fiber yarn in earth tones and had decided to knit a sample afghan. Eager to start the project, she picked up her needles and the new yarn and was about to cast on stitches when the doorbell rang.
Although it was only a little past four in the afternoon, the day had already grown dark. Faith turned on her porch light and checked the peephole in the door.
And then she saw him.
Troy Davis.
No doubt he’d heard about Megan and Faith meeting and felt he needed to wade right in, making unwarranted assumptions and judgments. If that was the case, and it probably was, Faith didn’t intend to listen. She didn’t require his permission to see Megan.
With reluctance she unlocked the door and opened it. She’d hung an evergreen wreath on the outside, and the scent, with its memories of childhood Christmases, wafted into the room.
Still in uniform, Troy stood there, his hat in hand. “Hello, Faith.”
“Troy.” She nodded, keeping her voice level and cool.
“Can we talk for a few minutes?” he asked when she didn’t immediately open the door.
Without smiling, she unlatched the screen door and he came inside.
She noticed that he’d lost a few pounds since she’d last seen him almost two weeks ago and wondered briefly if he’d been ill. Worried despite her own resolve, she watched
him closely—as if she were starved for the very sight of him, she thought with disgust.
She didn’t want to care about Troy Davis. Didn’t want to feel even a flicker of emotion. Letting him back into her life would only bring more pain. He’d proved that.
Troy entered the living room. “Would it be all right if I sat down?” he asked.
Faith nodded. Her lack of welcome and warmth went against the grain, but she was protecting herself. She had no choice.
She sat down again in the overstuffed chair that was her favorite and Troy took the one across from her. He sat on the edge of the cushion, hat still in his hand.
He didn’t speak for an interminable moment. “You’re looking well,” he finally said.
“Thank you,” she returned stiffly. She had to bite her tongue to keep from bragging how well she really was and how nicely she’d gotten along without him.
He nodded. “I was thinking…”
Faith reached for her knitting needles, needing something to occupy her hands.
“I was thinking, actually I was hoping, you might be free for dinner tonight.”
Faith set the needles in her lap and raised her eyebrows. “I beg your pardon? Did you just ask me to dinner?”
“Yes. Cedar Cove has several good restaurants and—”
“How dare you, Troy Davis.”
He blanched.
“Did I hear you wrong two months ago, not to mention last week? Did I somehow misconstrue your words or intentions?”
Troy frowned uncertainly.
“As I recall, you said it would be best if we no longer saw each other. That’s the way I remember it, so correct me if I misunderstood.”
“I did say that,” he agreed. “But at the time I didn’t have any idea how difficult that would be. I love you, Faith.”
“No, you don’t,” she said flatly, unwilling to fall under his spell yet again.
His head snapped back as if she’d struck him.
“If you loved me,” she continued in a cold voice, “you wouldn’t have been so quick to break my heart. You have a habit of doing that, Troy, and I’m through. This was the last time.” She picked up her knitting again, avoiding his eyes. “As for your dinner invitation—”
Debbie Macomber's Cedar Cove Series, Volume 2 Page 43
