As a doctor, Barry knew that some happily married men had the same eccentricity. Still, he could understand Chelsea’s shock.
“The thing was, I wondered if he didn’t want us to live together because he liked having access to Starshine’s clothes,” she said. “Then I worried that he liked me mostly because I gave him an excuse to buy sexy lingerie.”
“You don’t have to justify breaking up with him,” Barry said. “His hobby isn’t even the issue, it’s the fact that he was secretive about it. I would never hide anything like that from you. I mean, if there was anything to hide, which there isn’t. High heels hurt my feet. As for sequins, they don’t work with my complexion.”
“It’s not funny! Oh, all right, maybe it is,” Chelsea said, with a small smile. “It doesn’t change the fact that, like I said, I have terrible judgment about men.”
Barry folded his arms. “Thanks for the compliment. You really know how to make a fellow feel terrific.”
Chelsea’s eyes flew wide. “I didn’t mean you! It’s me. I was looking to Gene for the kind of support I never got from my parents. That made me give him too much power over my life.”
“And I’m a take-charge kind of guy, so you don’t trust your attraction to me?” Barry guessed.
“Something like that.” She cleared her throat. “Maybe we should put away the leftovers.”
“There aren’t any.”
She scanned the table. “We ate all that?”
“Leave the dishes. We’ll get them later.” Barry couldn’t understand why a man would want to put on a woman’s clothes when all he, personally, could think about was taking them off.
“You’re grinning at me,” she said.
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“Because I’m…” she sighed “…a terrible cook, and a complete failure at relationships. Meanwhile, you’ve got women for miles around lining up with tuna-noodle casseroles.”
“You’re feeling insecure because of an exploding chicken?” Barry asked.
Chelsea blinked back a sheen of moisture. “Sometimes I get a bad case of the Norman Rockwells. You know those Saturday Evening Post covers with the perfect family sitting down to Thanksgiving dinner? Well, when I get this way, I wish that were me wearing an apron and holding a platter with the perfect turkey on it.”
Barry could scarcely breathe. There really was a sweet, sentimental side to Chelsea. Maybe the woman he wanted would turn out to be the woman he needed after all. “Let me show you something.”
“What?”
He caught her hand and pulled her to her feet. “Come on.”
With only a whimper of protest at being rousted after a full meal, Chelsea accompanied him through the living room and up the stairs. On the second floor, three doors opened off a central court. She saw at a glance that two of the bedrooms weren’t in use yet, but someday they would be. Maybe soon.
“In here.” Barry led her into his room. High-ceilinged with a picture window, it overlooked the canal and, beyond it, a maze of older homes, apartments and shops. “Over there.”
Chelsea followed his gaze to a two-story painting on the side of a building a block away. It showed a Hispanic family eating dinner, with the mother serving tortillas on a platter.
“A billboard?” she said.
“A mural,” Barry corrected.
“Oh, yeah.” She studied it. “It’s nice. It has the same feeling as the Rockwell painting I was thinking of.”
“That’s right.” He looped one arm around her waist. “You don’t have to fix a turkey to have a wonderful family experience.”
“Even I can heat up tortillas.” She rested her cheek on his shoulder. “If I ever get my microwave clean.”
“Mine works just fine,” Barry said. “You could move in here. It would save a lot of elbow grease.”
“I think you’re going a little too fast for me,” Chelsea said.
“Let me put it this way.” Shifting her in his grasp, Barry brought her close so he could kiss her slowly and deeply. This was one of those times when actions spoke a lot louder than words, and he planned to use his entire vocabulary.
10
CHELSEA DIDN’T UNDERSTAND her eagerness to yield to this man. It must have had something to do with pregnancy hormones.
Or maybe with finally unloading the story about Gene. She hadn’t told the whole truth to anyone before, not even Starshine. Especially Starshine, whose clothing had been violated. Chelsea had quietly dry-cleaned the sequined dress after claiming to have borrowed it herself.
Tonight at dinner, she’d been so torn by conflicting feelings that she hadn’t been able to concentrate on Barry. Now, suddenly, she could think of nothing but him.
How firm and steady he felt, pressed against her. How relaxed and open and infinitely masculine.
She wanted to get next to him. Very next to him. And here he was, getting very next to her. She tightened her grip around Barry’s neck and resumed kissing him thoroughly.
When he lifted his head, she said, “More.”
“Coming right up.”
He seemed to think the best position for kissing was lying on the bed, she discovered. Chelsea had to agree with him. Moreover, kissing felt even better when they took their clothes off.
His shirt. Her dress. His slacks. Her…whatever.
Maybe, she decided, as his lips grazed her bare breasts, he really didn’t care if she couldn’t cook.
WHEN HE WAS with Chelsea, Barry became someone else. Or, perhaps, he became a fresh version of himself.
He simply enjoyed her. The freedom of her. The laughter. The sudden intensity of her response to him. Making love to her was like flying.
Their bodies joined as easily and naturally as two rivers flowing together. Why had he bothered dating other women these past few months? Why had he wasted so much time when they could have been sharing this joyous abandon?
Barry felt Chelsea’s thrilled response and quickened his movements, losing control as exhilaration filled him. The climax came urgently, overwhelmingly, for them both.
The fire faded to a warm glow. Holding her close, he allowed himself to visualize the future. And, in a burst of enthusiasm, to verbalize what he saw.
“You can move in here any time you like,” he said. “Decorate the spare bedrooms for the babies. Settle your rodents in the utility room. Blow up chickens in the microwave oven.”
“Move in?” she asked sleepily.
“I promise not to run your life. I’ll just watch over you.” Barry pictured himself coming home from work and tussling with each baby in turn. “You and the kids.”
THE SCARY THING was that she longed for what he was offering. Not so much for a nesting place, or even to have him share the responsibility of raising the twins, but for Barry himself.
Chelsea could easily fall in love with this endearing man, with his straight, emphatic eyebrows and the boyish grin that tickled her in unexpected places. Every day at the office, she felt a quiver of excitement each time she saw him. The infatuation was ridiculous, even embarrassing, but harmless.
Until now.
She had opened up to Barry. She’d told him her darkest secret, and he’d dispelled the pain.
If she gave herself permission, she would tumble out of herself and into him. Chelsea never did things by half-measures. Maybe she just wasn’t grown-up enough yet, cynical enough, experienced enough. She hadn’t learned to play it safe by fixing an ordinary meal and she wasn’t going to love a man in an ordinary way, either.
What she’d felt for Gene was nothing compared to this cliff-edge teetering she experienced when she was with Barry. One tiny little concession to her susceptibility and she would fall headfirst, with no going back.
The possibility terrified her.
Who would she be if she fell in love with Barry? One frown from him and Chelsea would dye her hair some boring shade of brown. Find new homes for her rodents. Learn to follow a recipe.
She wouldn’t be herself anymor
e. She didn’t know who she would be. A shadow, a mirror. A boring woman whom, after a while, even Barry wouldn’t be able to love.
“I can’t.” She sat up.
“Can’t what?” He stroked the nearest part of her anatomy, which was her hip.
“I can’t move in with you,” Chelsea said. “I can’t be that close to you. Tonight was a mistake. Well, no, not entirely.” As she spoke, she stood and began collecting her clothes. “It was great. You’re the best—” Boss? Lover? Pal? None of them worked. “Simply the best. Really.”
He propped himself against the headboard and ran one hand through his delightfully mussed hair. “I thought what we just did meant something to you.”
Not at all, except for the fact that I’m falling in love with you. “It did. It does. We’re going to be parents and it’s important that we get along.”
“Let’s not get along,” Barry growled. “Let’s fight.”
“Over what?”
“Not over what. For what. For our life together, for what we mean to each other. You’re scared and you’re running away. Well, I won’t have it.”
Chelsea bristled. “This isn’t your decision to make.”
Barry threw back the covers and got out of bed. He was magnificent, broad-shouldered, narrow-waisted, rigid with fury. Maybe they could forget all this arguing and jump back under the covers. No, no, no.
“I hate conflict,” he said. “I’ve always wanted a perfectly compatible woman so we’d never fight, but I’m willing to fight now. You’re an idiot, Chelsea.”
“Thank you so much.” Where on earth had her bra disappeared to? Or had she forgotten to wear one?
“You and the twins belong with me. Quit arguing and accept it,” he said.
She found the bra and put it on. “I admit I’m scared. I don’t want to be a doctor’s wife, Barry.”
“Pretend I’m a plumber.”
“That isn’t the problem!” Chelsea shot back. “It’s me. I let Gene take over, and I’d let you do the same thing or worse.”
“I’m not like him.”
“I know that! The trouble is, I’m still the same me that I was two years ago. It would be hopeless. I’d hate you and I’d hate myself. I like you too much to live with you. Or marry you. No! Don’t even breathe that word!”
Barry stared at her. Apparently he’d forgotten about putting on his clothes, for which she was grateful, because she really enjoyed the sight of him. “Did I understand you correctly? You won’t marry me because you like me too much?”
“That’s about right.” Chelsea wriggled into her sweater dress. “I hope I don’t have to change jobs to get away from you. I don’t want to get away from you. I just need to be free.”
“I’m not an ogre,” Barry said. “I won’t penalize you at work. Chelsea, I can’t believe you’d even think such a thing. Because the way I feel…”
“It wouldn’t last,” she said. “We’d only hurt each other.” And there she’d be, the free spirit, roped and tied like a wild horse she’d seen once on a nature program. Its eyes had been dull and its coat matted as it stood inside a corral, head lowered, quivering and lost.
“Maybe.” Barry’s breathing seemed constricted. “After all, we’re hurting each other now. And that’s not good for either of us.” A shuttered expression dimmed the eagerness on his face.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Excuse me?”
“You just got this turtle look on your face. Like you’re withdrawing.”
“Maybe I have to,” Barry said. “I’ve never gone this far out on a limb before. This is terra incognita for me.”
“Terra what?”
“Unknown land,” he said. “A man could fall off the edge of the earth, trying to figure out where he stands with you.”
He was protecting himself against her hardheartedness, Chelsea thought. It hurt to realize she was driving him away when maybe, just maybe, he was on the point of falling in love with her, too.
“I can’t change my mind,” she said. “I’d make us both miserable.”
They stood on opposite sides of the bed. Miles apart. “Are you sure?” Barry asked.
Chelsea’s lungs ached. “Yes. We need to work out some kind of relationship, though, for the children’s sake.”
Barry regarded her tensely. “I suppose so. But I don’t see how we can go on the way we have been, dating other people, pretending to be mere coworkers at the office.”
“We could skip the dating-other-people business.” She didn’t want any of those women to get their hands on Barry, that was for sure. “We can be…friends.”
“Great.” He didn’t sound like he meant it.
“Oh, come on,” Chelsea said. “I’m your worst nightmare. You were projecting your dreams, imagining that I could be the person you want. But I’m not.”
“My worst nightmare?” Barry sighed. “No, Chelsea, you’re far from that. But I suppose I was jumping the gun by asking you to move in.”
“Don’t tell me you think I’ll change, and that you’re willing to bide your time!” She couldn’t stand that kind of manipulative attitude.
“No, that would be patronizing.” Barry glanced down at himself. “Good Lord. I’m naked.”
“Can I take a picture to remember you by?”
“Go get started on the dishes,” he said. “I’ll come help you in a minute.”
Chelsea went downstairs, glad that he hadn’t blown up at her. Saying no to Barry had been the hardest thing she’d ever done.
Not nearly as hard, she had a feeling, as the next few months were going to be.
BARRY COULDN’T figure out what he’d done wrong. One minute they’d been lying happily in each other’s arms, and the next minute Chelsea had gone flying out of bed.
Oh, yes. He’d mentioned moving in together. That had been his crime.
Barry yanked on his clothes, taking out his anger on hapless buttons and zippers. He didn’t see anything wrong with what he’d suggested. Chelsea herself had admitted she cared about him.
Okay, she was frightened. Life was scary. So what?
Barry had been intimidated about joining the Peace Corps. Yet he’d wanted to perform a service to mankind, and he’d known that once he got caught up in raising a family and earning a living, he might not find the time.
The experience had been well worth it. The mastodonsize mosquitoes, the monkeys stealing his underwear, the goats appearing at his clinic in the guise of beloved children had all been part of the adventure.
In the process, he’d vaccinated kids against deadly diseases, cured infections, performed minor operations to correct birth defects and helped who-knew-how-many future babies by educating their parents.
Now it was Chelsea’s turn to take a risk. He would march downstairs and shout some sense into her, if that’s what it took.
She was going to be a mother, for heaven’s sake, Barry lectured to an image of her as he went into the bathroom and ran a brush through his hair. It was time to grow up and act like…
Like someone she isn’t. He stopped, brush in midair, and stared at himself in the mirror.
Chelsea was right. He was trying to transform her to fit his own ideas. In the process, he was likely to drive her screaming out of his life.
If he didn’t back off, she’d leave the office, as she’d threatened. She might shut him out entirely.
Stunned, Barry set down the brush and reached for a notepad he always kept handy. On it, he wrote, “You are Chelsea’s friend. You have no right to change her.” He tore off the sheet and taped it to the edge of the mirror.
The paper loomed before him like an Eleventh Commandment. It would be as hard to obey as the other ten put together.
Tonight he could finally acknowledge that, on the entire planet, Chelsea was the one woman meant for him. And he, Barry felt certain, was the one man meant for her. Yet, like his parents, they might not be able to get along.
He could only keep her close,
ironically, by respecting her space. That was what he intended to do.
However much it cost him.
11
Seven months later
AFTER HALTING her car, Chelsea sat for a few minutes listening to the song “Feliz Navidad” on the radio. Its upbeat tempo cheered her and, besides, she had to gather the strength to climb the hill to her apartment.
Only a few weeks short of her delivery date, she was so big that Barry had had to build up the pedals on her car to help her reach them. Dr. Keller had advised her to restrict her activity, but, as usual, Chelsea did what felt right to her.
Today, Saturday, she’d been seized by the impulse to buy baby furniture. It was a task she’d kept putting off, even though Barry had provided plenty of funds for baby-related purchases.
Alarmed at the realization that she was due within three weeks, Chelsea had gone wild at the store. Delivery would be made that very afternoon, the clerk had promised.
Once, she would have saved the delivery charge by hauling the stuff herself, with a little help from some friends. These days, she could hardly even carry groceries up the steep hill to her apartment.
Barry had made it clear, without pressuring, that she was still welcome to move in with him. Chelsea, however, had clung to her independence even as she grew ever-larger and the twins adopted the habit of playing soccer in her abdomen at night.
Barry had been amazingly supportive these past months—escorting her to checkups, putting up with her cranky moods at the office. He even attended natural childbirth classes with her, which Chelsea had wanted to experience even though she’d probably have a cesarean section.
He’d also made it clear to the other women that he was off-limits. Chelsea wouldn’t have insisted, since she was the one who’d called it quits, but she’d been grateful when he quietly informed Louise and Belinda and the law ladies that his attentions belonged exclusively to the mother of his children.
She would never forget the first time Barry had felt the babies move. Oddly, she remembered it even more clearly than the first time, which had been considerably earlier, that she herself had felt a telltale wiggle inside.
The Doc's Double Delivery & Down-Home Diva Page 11
