Married in Seattle

by Debbie Macomber

  Meg walked in ten minutes after him. At least Steve thought it was Meg. The woman carried a tennis racket and wore one of those cute little pleated-skirt outfits. He hadn’t realized Meg played tennis. He knew she didn’t run and disliked exercise, but…

  Steve squinted and stared, unsure. After all, he’d only seen her the one time, and in the slinky black dress she’d looked a whole lot different.

  Meg solved his problem when she apparently recognized him. She walked across the room, and he noticed that she was limping. She slid into the chair beside him, then set the tennis racket on the table.

  “Lindsey knows,” she announced.

  Steve’s head went back to study her. “I beg your pardon?”

  “My daughter figured it out.”

  “Figured what out?”

  “That I was meeting you,” she said in exasperated tones. “First, I called you from the back room at the store, so our conversation could be private.”

  “So?”

  She glared at him. “Then I made up this ridiculous story about a tennis game I’d forgotten. I haven’t played tennis in years and Lindsey knows that. She immediately had all these questions. She saw straight through me.” She pulled the sweatband from her hair and stuffed it in her purse. “She’s probably home right now laughing her head off. I can’t do this…. I could never lie convincingly.”

  “Why didn’t you just tell your daughter the truth?” He was puzzled by the need to lie at all.

  Meg’s look of consternation said that would’ve been impossible. “Well…because Lindsey would think the two of us meeting meant something.”

  “Why? You told her I didn’t write those letters and e-mails, didn’t you?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  Meg played with the worn strings of the tennis racket as her eyes avoided his. “I should have…. I mean, this is crazy.”

  “You can say that again.” He tried to sound nonchalant and wondered if he’d managed it. He didn’t think so. He was actually rather amused by the whole setup. Her daughter and his sister. The girls were close in age and obviously spoke the same language.

  “Lindsey’s still got romantic ideas when it comes to men and marriage, but…” Meg paused and chanced a look at him. “She really stepped over the line with this stunt.”

  “What did you say about our date?”

  Meg’s hands returned to the tennis racket. “Not much.”

  Steve hadn’t been willing to discuss the details of their evening together with Nancy, either. Nothing had surprised him more than discovering how attractive he’d found Meg Remington. It wasn’t solely a sexual attraction, although she certainly appealed to him.

  Whenever he’d thought about her in the past three days, he’d remember how they’d talked nonstop over wine and dessert. He remembered how absorbed she’d been in what he was saying; at one point she’d leaned forward and then realized her dress revealed a fair bit of cleavage. Red-faced, she’d pulled back and attempted to adjust her bodice.

  Steve liked the way her eyes brightened when she spoke about her bookstore and her daughter, and the way she had of holding her breath when she was excited about something, as if she’d forgotten to breathe.

  “Your sister—the one who wrote the letters—is the same one who sent the flowers?” Meg asked, breaking into his thoughts.

  Steve nodded. “I’d bet on it.”

  Meg fiddled with the clasp of her purse and brought out a small card, which she handed him.

  Steve raised his arm to attract the cocktail waitress’s attention and indicate he wanted another beer for Meg.

  “I shouldn’t,” she said, reaching for a pretzel. “If I come home with beer on my breath, Lindsey will know for sure I wasn’t playing tennis.”

  “According to you, she’s already figured it out.”

  She slid the bowl of pretzels closer and grabbed another handful. “That’s true.”

  Steve opened the card that had come with the flowers and rolled his eyes. “This is from Nancy, all right,” he muttered. “I’d never write anything this hokey.”

  The waitress came with another mug of beer and Steve paid for it. “Do you want more pretzels?” he asked Meg.

  “Please.” Then in a lower voice, she added, “This type of situation always makes me hungry.”

  She licked the salt from her fingertips. “Has my daughter, Lindsey, been in contact with you?”

  “No, but then I wouldn’t know, would I?”

  Meg was holding the pretzel in front of her mouth. “Why wouldn’t you?”

  “Because Lindsey would be writing to Nancy.”

  Meg’s head dropped in a gesture of defeat. “You’re right. Much more of this craziness and heaven only knows what they could do to our lives.”

  “We need to take control,” Steve said.

  “I totally agree with you,” was her response. She took a sip of her beer and set the mug down. “I shouldn’t be drinking this on an empty stomach—it’ll go straight to my head.”

  “The bar’s got great sandwiches.”

  “Pretzels are fine.” Apparently she’d realized that she was holding the bowl, and she shoved it back to the center of the table. “Sorry,” she muttered.

  “No problem.”

  He saw her wince and recalled that she’d been limping earlier. “Is there something wrong with your foot?”

  “The shoes I wore to work were too tight,” she said, speaking so quietly he had to strain to hear.

  “Here,” he said, reaching under the table for her feet and setting them on his lap.

  “What are you doing?” she asked in a shocked voice.

  “I thought I’d rub them for you.”

  “You’d do that?”

  “Yes.” It didn’t seem so odd to him. The fact was, he hated to see her in pain. “Besides, we need to talk over how we’re going to handle this situation. I have a feeling that we’ll have to be in top mental form to deal with these kids.”

  “You’re right.” She closed her eyes and purred like a well-fed kitten when he removed her tennis shoes and kneaded her aching feet.

  “Feel better?” he asked after a couple of minutes.

  She nodded, her eyes still closed. “I think you should stop,” she said, sounding completely unconvincing.

  “Why?” He asked the question, but he stopped and bent down to pick up her shoes, which he’d placed on the floor.

  “Thank you,” Meg said. She looked around a little self-consciously as she slipped her shoes back on and tied the laces.

  Feeling somewhat embarrassed by his uncharacteristic response to her, Steve cleared his throat and picked up his beer. “Do you have any ideas?” he asked.

  She stared at him as if she didn’t know what he was talking about, then straightened abruptly. “Oh, you mean for dealing with the kids. No, not really. What about you? Any suggestions?”

  “Well, we’re agreed that we’ve got to stop letting them run our lives.”

  “Exactly. We can’t allow them to force us into a relationship.”

  He nodded. But if that was the case, he wondered, why did he experience the almost overwhelming desire to kiss her? All of a sudden, it bothered him that they were discussing strategies that would ensure the end of any contact between them.

  He imagined leaning toward her, touching his lips to hers….

  There’s something wrong with this picture, Conlan, he said to himself, but he couldn’t keep from studying her—and picturing their kiss.

  He’d been wrong about her face, he decided. She was beautiful, with classic features, large eyes, a full mouth. He’d trailed his finger down the curve of her cheek the first time they’d met, and now he did so a second time, mentally.

  She knew what he was thinking. Steve swore she did. The pulse in her throat hammered wildly and she looked away.

  Steve did, too. He didn’t know what was happening, didn’t want to know. He reached for his beer and gulped down two deep
swallows.

  What on earth was he doing? Rubbing her feet, thinking about kissing her. He didn’t need a woman messing up his life!

  Especially a woman like Meg Remington.

  “So you met Steve again,” Laura said. They sat on a bench in Lincoln Park enjoying huge ice-cream cones. A ferry eased toward the dock at Fauntleroy.

  “Who told you that?” Meg answered, deciding to play dumb.

  “Lindsey, who else? You really didn’t think you fooled her, did you?”

  “No.” Clearly she had no talent for subterfuge.

  “So tell me how your meeting went.”

  Meg didn’t answer. She couldn’t. She wasn’t sure what, if anything, she and Steve had accomplished during their meeting at the bar. They’d come up with a plan to dissuade his sister and her daughter, but the more hours that passed, the more ridiculous it seemed. And Meg’s willingness, indeed her eagerness, to see Steve again was disturbing.

  In retrospect she saw that it’d been a mistake for them to get together. All she could think about was how he’d lifted her legs onto his lap and rubbed the tired achiness away. There’d been a sudden explosion of awareness between them. A living, breathing, throbbing awareness.

  Rarely had Meg wanted a man to kiss her more. Right in the middle of a sports bar, for heaven’s sake! It was the craziest thing to happen to her in years. That of itself was distressing, but what happened afterward baffled her even more.

  Melting ice cream dripped onto her hand and Meg hurriedly licked it away.

  “Meg?” Laura said, studying her. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she said, laughing off her friend’s concern. “What could possibly be wrong?”

  “You haven’t been yourself the last couple of days.”

  “Sure I have,” she said, then deciding it was pointless to go on lying, she blurted out the truth. “I’m afraid I could really fall for this guy.”

  Laura laughed. “What’s so awful about that?”

  “For one thing, he isn’t interested in me.”

  This time Laura eyed her suspiciously. “What makes you think that?”

  “Several things.”

  Laura bit into her waffle cone. “Name one.”

  “Well, he wanted to meet so we could figure out a way to keep the kids from manipulating our lives.”

  “That sounds suspiciously like an excuse to see you again,” Laura murmured.

  “Trust me, it wasn’t. Steve did everything but come right out and say he’s not interested in me.”

  “You’re sure about this?”

  “Of course I am! There was ample opportunity for him to suggest we get to know each other better, and he didn’t.” She’d assumed Steve had experienced the same physical attraction she had, but maybe she’d been wrong.

  Lindsey and Brenda had insisted she still had it. All Meg could say was that recent experience had proven otherwise. Whatever it was had long since deserted her.

  “Did it occur to you that he might’ve been waiting for you to suggest something?” Laura asked.

  “No,” Meg told her frankly. Steve wasn’t a man who took his cues from a woman. If he wanted something or someone, he’d make it known. If he wanted to continue to see her, he would’ve said so.

  “There’s got to be more than that.”

  “There is.” Meg took a deep breath. “I was just getting ready to tell you. Steve came up with the idea originally, but I agreed.”

  “To what?”

  Meg stood and found the closest garbage receptacle to dump what remained of her ice cream. “Before I tell you, remember I’d been drinking beer on an empty stomach.” Okay, she’d had the pretzels.

  “This doesn’t sound promising,” Laura said.

  “It isn’t.” Drawing in another deep breath, she sat down on the park bench again. “We realized that the louder we protested and the more often we said we weren’t attracted to each other, the less likely either Lindsey or Nancy will believe us.”

  “There’s a problem with this scenario,” Laura muttered.

  “There is?”

  “Yes. You are interested in Steve. Very interested.” Laura gave her a look that said Meg hadn’t fooled her.

  Meg glanced away. “I don’t want to confuse the issue with that.”

  “All right, go on,” Laura said with a wave of her hand.

  “Steve thinks the only possible way we have of convincing Lindsey that he’s not the right person for me is if he starts dating me and—”

  “See?” Laura said triumphantly. “He’s interested. Don’t you get it? This idea of his is just an excuse.”

  “I doubt it.” Meg could see no reason for him to play games if he truly wanted a relationship with her. “You can come over this evening if you want and see for yourself.”

  “See what?”

  “Steve’s coming to meet Lindsey.”

  “To your house?”

  “Yes.”

  Laura grinned widely. “R-e-a-l-l-y,” she said, dragging out the word.

  “Really. But it isn’t what you think.” Because if Laura did believe Steve wanted to pursue something with Meg, her friend was in for a major disappointment.

  Meg got home an hour later. Lindsey had taken Steve’s visit seriously. She’d cleaned the house, baked cookies and wore her best jeans. A dress would’ve been asking too much.

  “Hello, sweetheart.”

  “Mom,” Lindsey said, frowning at her watch. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Don’t you think you should shower and change clothes? Steve will be here in an hour and a half.”

  “I know.” She supposed she should reveal more enthusiasm, if only for show, but she couldn’t make herself do it. This had been Steve’s idea and she’d agreed, but she still wasn’t convinced.

  “I was thinking you should wear that sundress we bought last year with the pretty red-rose print,” Lindsey suggested. “That and your white sandals.” She studied her mother critically. “I wish you had one of those broad-brimmed sun hats. A pretty white one would be perfect. Very romantic.”

  “We’ll just have to make do with the sombrero Grandpa bought you in Mexico,” Meg teased.

  “Mother,” Lindsey cried, appalled. “That would look stupid!”

  Meg sighed dramatically, for effect. “I don’t know how I managed to dress myself all these years without you.”

  She thought—or hoped—that her daughter would laugh. Lindsey didn’t. “That might be the reason you’re still single. Have you considered that?”

  This kid was no help when it came to boosting her confidence.

  “You’re a great mother,” Lindsey said, redeeming herself somewhat, “but promise me you’ll never go clothes-shopping without me again.”

  Rather than make rash pledges she had no intention of keeping, Meg hurried up the stairs and got into the shower. The hot water pulsating against her skin refreshed her and renewed her sense of humor. She could hardly wait to see Lindsey’s face when she met Steve.

  With a towel tucked around her, Meg wandered into her bedroom and examined the contents of her closet. In this case, Lindsey was right; the sundress was her best choice. She wore it, Meg told herself, because it looked good on her and not because Lindsey had suggested it.

  Her daughter was waiting for her in the living room. The floral arrangement Steve, or rather Nancy, had sent was displayed in the middle of the coffee table.

  Lindsey had polished the silver tea set until it gleamed. The previous time Meg had used it was when Pastor Delany came for a visit shortly after Meg’s father died.

  The doorbell chimed. Lindsey turned to her mother with a grin. “We’re ready,” she said, and gave her a thumbs-up sign.

  Meg had assumed she knew what to expect, but when she opened the front door her mouth sagged open.

  “Steve?” she whispered to the man dressed in a black leather jacket, tight blue jeans and a white T-shirt. “Is that you?” />
  He winked at her. “You expecting someone else?”

  “N-no,” she stammered.

  “Invite me in,” he said in a low voice. As she stepped aside, he walked past her and placed his index finger under her chin, closing her mouth.

  He stood in the archway between the entry and her living room, feet braced apart. “You must be Lindsey,” he said gruffly. “I’m Steve.”

  “You’re Steve?” Lindsey sounded uncharacteristically meek.

  “Lindsey, this is Steve Conlan,” Meg said, standing next to him.

  Steve slid his arm around Meg’s waist and planted a noisy kiss on her cheek. He glanced at Lindsey. “I understand you’re the one who got us together. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” Lindsey’s eyes didn’t so much as flicker. She certainly wasn’t about to let them read her thoughts. “You, uh, don’t look anything like your picture.”

  Steve refused to take his eyes off Meg. He squeezed her waist again. “The one I sent was taken a while back,” he said. “Before I went to prison.”

  Lindsey gasped. “Prison?”

  “Don’t worry, sweetheart. It wasn’t a violent crime.”

  “What…were you in for?” Lindsey asked, her voice shaking.

  Steve rubbed the side of his jaw, shadowed by a dark growth of beard. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather not say.”

  “Sit down, Steve,” Meg said from between gritted teeth. Talk about overkill. Any more of this and everything would be ruined.

  “Would you care for coffee?” Lindsey asked. Her young voice continued to tremble.

  “You got a beer?”

  “It’s not a good idea to be drinking this early in the afternoon, is it?” Meg asked sweetly.

  Steve sat down on the sofa, balancing his ankle on the opposite knee. He looked around as if he were casing the joint.

  Meg moved to the silver service. “Coffee or tea?”

  “Coffee, but add a little something that’ll give it some kick.”

  Meg poured coffee for him and added a generous dollop of half-and-half. He frowned at the delicate bone china cup as though he wasn’t sure how to hold it.