by E C Sheedy
"Rosie." It was Kent.
She stopped mid-doorway and nearly choked on her own breath. The last time she'd seen Kent, about five hours ago, he was naked as sin, and so was she. They were in her shower and she'd dropped the shampoo bottle on his toe. When she got on her knees to retrieve it, she'd... well, she'd got kind of carried away, and done something she'd never done before. Not that Kent had complained...
Praying for a potent shot of post-coital sophistication, she turned. Obviously God was busy giving some football player another touchdown, because her face immediately heated to a full boil. Her tote caught on the door handle, and the strap broke, spilling pens, combs, brushes, Juicy Fruit gum, and miscellaneous feminine hygiene products onto the lushly carpeted hall.
Kent's polished shoe crushed a tampon.
He bent down, picked it up, and handed it to her as if it were a buck and she a street urchin.
She knew her face couldn't get any redder, so she just mumbled, "Thanks" and stuffed it in her one-strap bag. She wanted to stuff her head in there too, but she forced her chin up and looked at him.
"You came," he said, looking entirely too pleased with himself. He reached out a hand.
Certain he was going to touch her hair, she stepped back. "Gardenia, remember? Today's the day. I thought I'd start in accounting because that's where I spent the most time when I was here last."
He dropped his hand. "Good idea. But you must be hungry. How about lunch first? It's a beautiful day. We can eat on the patio. You can do some listening and eat at the same time."
"I don't feel like eating." Unless it's you. Oh, lord, Hormone was back. Rosie was in trouble.
"Well, I do, and I have something I want you to see." He offered his hand again. When she ignored it, he stepped up beside her and leaned to talk quietly in her ear. "Last night, you were nervous. Today, you're embarrassed." He kissed her ear so lightly she thought she imagined it. "Believe me, Red, you have nothing to be embarrassed about. You were magnificent." He tugged on her elbow.
Rosie went along. A girl had to eat.
Chapter 10
The no-good, low-down sneak.
Rosie stopped in her tracks and took a good look around to be absolutely sure. She felt his hand on the small of her back, but refused to be prodded forward.
The patio, warmed by sunshine and shaded by forest green canvas, overflowed with people and everybody was talking to somebody. Above the conversation, laughter poked the air like careless punctuation.
"This is your family barbecue," she announced, as if the arrogant so-and-so didn't know it. Then it hit her. She scanned the happy crowd. So many people.
"This is your family barbecue?" she repeated, slightly awed. "There must be over a hundred people here."
"Yes, it is, and yes, there are." His lips curved, but he had the grace—or brains—not to look too sure of himself.
"I think I'm mad. Or should be. Didn't I tell you I wouldn't come?"
"You did, but I wanted you to meet them."
"All of them?" She swallowed. So much family. Nobody had this much family. She couldn't take her eyes off them.
"As many as you can take." He dipped his chin, lifted hers. "Are you really mad?"
"Yes. No. I don't know. You never told me you had a family big enough to fund their own dental plan."
"You never asked."
He was right. She hadn't. She'd assumed he'd been seeded in a test tube and raised in the nearest faculty of business. She had a way of assuming things. She took another look around and spotted a small dark-haired boy sticking his fingers into a large bowl of red gelatin. Kent's gaze followed hers.
"That's Zach," Kent said. "One of my sister's kids."
"How many do you have? Brothers and sisters, I mean?" She was openmouthed with curiosity.
"Four brothers; Mike, Paul, Joe, and Ben, and five sisters; Marianne, Willa, Jayne, Tina, and Anne Marie."
"Wow." She was stunned and awed. There had always only been her mom and herself. She couldn't imagine growing up in a family like Kent's. But, oh, how she'd have loved it. Her soul glowed at the thought.
"Yeah. Wow." Ken said, his expression bland. "And now they all have kids of their own. Lots and lots of kids."
At that moment, Kent was ambushed by two identical little girls who bounded up and wrapped their arms around his legs. From this vantage point, they both smiled impishly at Rosie. Kent swung one of them up and into his arms. "This is... Emma?" he guessed, tilting hits head theatrically as if to get a good look "No, Unken Ken." She giggled and punched his shoulder. "Mine Jane."
"I knew that."
"No!" She punched him again.
"Up, too. Lift me," the other girl, who Rosie assumed must be Emma, begged. "Peese."
Rosie squatted down and smiled at the girl. "Uncle Kent's got his hands full right now. How about if I lift you?"
Emma tightened her grip on Kent's leg and assessed the new person who'd just entered her fledgling universe. Rosie wondered what judgments she was making.
"I'll take you over there—" she bribed shamelessly, pointing to the red gelatin "—and you can stick your finger in the Jell-O."
"Zach do?" Emma's eyes saucered.
"Uh—huh, except we'll get our very own bowl for our very own fingers." She offered her hand, and when Emma grasped it in her small one, the warm balloon in Rosie's heart came near to bursting. She looked up to see Kent smiling at her, Jane's arms so tight around his neck she wondered how he drew breath.
He ruffled Jane's wispy hair, and offered Rosie his hand. As the four of them made their way to the red Jell-O, Rosie let hope take root. Kent had snookered her into being here today, so he had to have had his reasons. Maybe there was a chance for them, and maybe this was his way of telling her that. Or maybe, as usual, she was putting wishes where her priorities should be.
* * *
Nine o'clock. Kent took up a position at the entrance. The family was in the process of leaving. The path to the parking lot looked like an evacuation march, and the Beachline staff had the wan smiles and lethargic gestures of hurricane survivors. As for the forty-odd kids, a quarter of them were taking the over-tired whine to new heights on the sound meter, a quarter of them were sleeping in the arms of their weary parents, while the last half was equally divided between the demanding "can-we-go-nows?" and the protesting "don't-want-to-gos!" With everyone saying good-bye at once, there was nothing to do but hug, smile and shake hands.
Kent was tired to the bone. Not to mention frustrated and disappointed.
He'd lost connection with Rosie within fifteen minutes of the Jell-O bowl adventure, and hadn't managed to get within fifteen feet of her since. The day hadn't gone as he'd planned.
The idea was to make sure Rosie had a clear picture of the trials and difficulties of raising a big family. He'd planned to steer her toward the day's hot spots. Like Zach's collision with the punch table. That was a beaut. Kent grinned in spite of himself. One good yank on the linen tablecloth and that punch was airborne. Zach had swiftly consigned cut glass bowl, cups, and about a hundred or so dessert plates to plastic-bag ignominy and the kitchen glassware budget to a pond of red ink.
Rosie was nowhere to be found at the time.
She'd also missed Corey spewing chocolate milk onto the front of Jane and Emma's "very best" dresses in his attempt to make brown bubbles.
They'd been changed and had stopped wailing by the time Rosie got back from the putting green with Paul's three teenagers.
If he were a suspicious man he'd be thinking conspiracy, any of the fates, or his mother. Every time he got within talking distance of Rosie, she—or Jayne—had spirited her away, as if on cue.
He felt the warm pressure of a kiss on his cheek. His mother. "I've got to hurry, dear, your father's already in the car. I just wanted to say thank you. The day was wonderful." She hugged him hard. "And just think, considering the size of the family, it will be forever before it's your turn to host again."
"It was f
un," he said.
She lifted a brow that said, "Don't kid a kidder, kid."
"I mean it." And he did, which surprised him, because he'd been dreading the damn barbecue for weeks.
"I'm glad. We'll see you tomorrow, then, around eleven?"
"Uh-huh. If the weather holds, we'll eat on the east terrace." While most of the extended family headed home after the barbecue, it was traditional for Kent's immediate family to meet for a quiet brunch the following morning. If you could call any meal taken with Zach and Corey quiet.
His mother turned away, then turned back, a gleam in her maternal eye. "And Kent, I want to be the first to know about your and Rosie's marriage plans. You can't start too soon for these things."
He opened his mouth to protest, then stopped and grinned. "Mom, you're astounding."
"I know." She pecked him on the check again. "So is Rosie, Kent. Don't you let that woman get away."
* * *
Kent found "that woman" sitting alone on the far edge of the now deserted patio. She had her arms crossed on the table and was resting her head on them.
She was crying.
Alarmed, he knelt beside her chair. He knew the day would be strenuous for her, but he hadn't expected this. "What's wrong, sweetheart?" He caressed her tangle of hair, and, as always, was entranced by the vibrancy and life in it, the way it crinkled around his fingers, bright and springy.
Rosie lifted her head and sniffed. Her eyes were smudged brown from running mascara, and her nose was pink. "Oh, Kent, I've never had such a day. The kids. All the kids. They were great, but... but—"
"It's okay. I know. It was probably too much for your first time out." He caressed her neck. "You must be exhausted. I'll take you home. You can get some rest, and we'll discuss the Summerton clan later." He shoved her hair back from her forehead and kissed it softly. She smelled like fresh lime.
She sat up. "I am tired, but Kent your family is wonderful. Your mom, Mike, Jayne... All of them. They made me feel so welcome. It was as if I belong—"
She stopped so abruptly he almost heard the words collide with the back of her teeth. When it looked as though she might cry again, he decided not to press.
"Come on, Red. Let's go home."
On the way to the car, Rosie was unusually quiet. Either weary to her core, or totally shell-shocked by her exposure to the Summerton regiments, Kent figured. He hoped it was the latter.
* * *
Rosie was so busy thinking about the wonders of her day, it took her a while before she realized that Kent was heading in the opposite direction from her farmhouse.
"Hey, what's the plan here? I thought you were taking me home?"
"I am. My home."
"Oh." Rosie didn't know whether to bop him for assuming she'd go to his place, or give in to her curiosity about what kind of place the perfect Summerton lived in. It didn't take long for curiosity to win out. "Okay," she said. "But absolutely no sex." Might as well get the rules right up front. Until some facts fed that small hope lingering in her chest, she wasn't going to risk another mind-numbing sexual encounter. Her heart couldn't take the risk.
Kent laughed. "Coffee and conversation, then."
"Okay, but no passes. Not even one," she stated firmly.
"Cross my heart," he said, but she noticed he didn't actually make the cross. No sense talking to the man. None at all. She gave him a stern glare and looked out her window. They were heading downtown. Please, please, don't let him live in a penthouse with plastic plants, she prayed. That would be the end, the absolute end. And spoil one of the most perfect days of her life.
Her mind went back to the Summerton barbecue, flicking through the day's images as though they were Polaroids. Zach's solemn handshake when they were introduced. Emma's exuberant good-bye kiss. Corey's bright blue eyes when he showed her the ladybug he'd found. Kent was so lucky to have them in his life. Couldn't he see that? See the immense importance of it? She thought of Jayne. She'd told Rosie, that she was pregnant again, and when Rosie had asked if Kent knew he was going to be an uncle once more, Jayne had laughed. She'd said she wouldn't tell Kent until she was prepared to hear his usual lecture on family planning and financial responsibility. Rosie frowned. Kent was such a Grinch.
She glanced up when they passed through a gate that led to a cluster of low-rise, luxury condos about a block from the waterfront. Posh. Just what she'd expected—but at least there was no elevator.
"This is it," Kent said, pushing a button on the remote control clipped to the car's sun visor. He pulled into the two-car garage and turned off the car. It was carpeted. The damn garage was carpeted. Rosie straightened. It could only get worse from here on.
He was putting his key in the lock when she remembered. She slapped her forehead, and the clip holding her hair up on one side fell out.
"Kent, I forgot to tell you! I found Gardenia. And I was right. She was in my dream. Not exactly the same, of course, but near enough."
Kent bent to pick up the fallen clip and handed it to her. She stuffed it back in her hair.
"Does that mean what I think it means?" he asked, turning the key and opening the door for her. She stepped in and he took her elbow, leading her the few steps to the kitchen, then flicked on some soft, indirect lighting.
"I don't know. What do you think it means?"
"That she works for Beachline."
Rosie smiled. "She does."
"And?"
"And what?"
"And, as in who is it?" he asked.
Rosie pursed her lips. She'd known he was going to ask, and she'd already decided not to tell him. The matter was resolved. She reached into her tote bag and pulled out the remaining letters. They were wrapped in green silk with a darker green ribbon. The color of Kent's eyes, Gardenia had said. She was right.
"Here." She handed him the letters.
"What's this?" He turned the silk-wrapped package over in his hand.
"The rest of the letters. Gardenia and I had a long talk. She was pretty scared at being found out and promised you won't be hearing from her again. And just to put your mind at rest, she's no threat. Kind of nice, really. She just let her, uh, admiration for you get a bit out of hand, is all." Rosie looked into his intense eyes and empathized completely.
He eyed her with male wariness. "You're not going to tell me, are you?"
"Nope." She crossed her arms and leaned against a counter clad in a coat of shining stainless steel. "I'm going to leave you with the mystery, the possibility that every woman currently working at Beachline is in love with you. It'll do wonders for that malnourished ego of yours," she quipped. And I'll be keeping my word to Gardenia, she added mentally.
He seemed to consider this, then tossed the letters casually onto the smooth laminated table occupying the middle of the room. Briefly, he rubbed at his chin, but he didn't smile.
Finally, he gazed down at her. "I don't want every woman at Beachline to be in love with me. I only want you." He cradled her neck in his strong hand and pulled her to his chest. "I want you to love me, Rosie."
She gaped at him, wondering what had happened to all the air in the room. There'd been plenty moments ago. "Don't say that," she instructed him lamely.
He wanted her to love him, the foolish man. Didn't he know she already did? Okay, maybe she hadn't admitted it, even to herself, but after last night—and today—what else could it be except love? She was flaming-nuts about him. But she needed to understand why he'd gone to so much trouble to get her to the barbecue and meet his family. She'd wanted to believe it was a change of heart, a softening to the idea of a big family. But she couldn't be sure. And until she was, love was out of the question.
His hand heated her neck. His face was far too close to hers. Kissing distance. His lips seemed to soften as she looked at them, subtly prepared to meet hers.
No.
If she kissed him she was road-kill! She jerked back and the comb fell out of her hair again. This time they both bent to pick it up and
they bumped heads.
Kent let out a breath, massaged the crash site, then shook his head. "Okay, Rosie. How about that coffee? We'll save the hard stuff for later."
"I don't drink liquor."
"I meant conversation. After what happened last night, you and I need to talk."
She amazed herself. Her face didn't heat. Finally, the pilot light on her blush furnace had burned itself out. About time. She'd been hot-faced since this man had walked into her messy life.
"Okay," she said. "I'm up for some coffee—and talk." She searched out the coffeepot, wanting to make herself useful and to get out from under Kent's speculative gaze. No use pushing her luck on the blush business.
She glanced around his spotless kitchen, its steel, laminate, and chrome surfaces all gleaming coolly under the indirect lighting. Not a basket, a spice, or a mismatched mug in the place. Or a dog hair. "Where's Lacy?" she asked. "I thought you had an Irish wolfhound." She spotted a black coffeepot tucked away in a corner and headed for it.
Kent took the coffeepot from her hands. "I'll do that," he said. "And Lacy's at kennel care."
"Kennel care? Is that like daycare for dogs?"
"Uh-huh." He filled the coffeepot's well with water and measured coffee into the filter. "I drop her off every morning before I go to work and pick her up on my way home. She needs the exercise. I never leave her cooped up here all day. I made special arrangements for them to keep her tonight, because of the barbecue."
"Why do you have her if she can't be with you?"
He stroked his cheek with an index finger, then shrugged. "She's good company."
And you can't face this ice palace without her, Rosie finished for him. Her heart smiled. Anyone who needed a dog wasn't completely irredeemable.
Kent finished with the coffee-making and reached for her hand. "Let's go into the living room."
Leather, of course, the color of wet sand. She didn't like leather much; it always made her bottom cold. She sat down and wriggled deep into the sofa to get some warmth. "Nice," she fibbed, running her hand over the smooth, luxurious leather. It felt surprisingly sensuous, like healthy skin over relaxed muscle. Kent after lovemaking. Sex. All she could think about was sex. Maybe she should enter a treatment program.
