“YOU’LL HAVE TO PUT ME down to open the door,” Devon said with a giggle.
Colin tightened his grip beneath her knees. “A bride should be carried across the threshold—”
“I know, for luck. But since you’re holding me in both your arms, how can you unlock the suite?”
His face assumed stern lines as she shifted her weight in his embrace. “One of the first lessons you should learn, Mrs. O’Reilly, is that marriage is a cooperative venture.”
“Of course.” She mimicked his solemn expression and reached into his breast pocket for the room card. “I never can figure out which way these things should be inserted.”
He nibbled at her ear. “Just be quick about it, okay?”
She drew back and gazed at the heated look in his smoky eyes. “Am I too heavy for you?”
“I assure you, dear wife, that my haste arises from another source.”
“Arises, does it?” She laughed again as the door swung open. He swept her down the narrow entrance hall and into the living room of the suite. Curtains billowed around sliding glass doors that opened to the gulf, framing the setting sun. She stepped onto the balcony, where the sea breeze lifted her hair and cooled her skin. Colin stood behind her, drawing her against him.
“Shall we order dinner?” she kidded, vibrantly aware of her growing need and his hard arousal pressed against her.
“Whatever you wish,” he murmured in her ear. “I want to spend the rest of my life pleasing you.”
She turned in the circle of his arms and lifted her face to his. “What you did for me—for us—today pleases me enough for a lifetime.”
“I love you, Devon.” His kiss drove away all other thoughts and she was aware only of the heat of his flesh against hers, the taste of him, the desire that consumed her like a white flame. “Let’s have dinner later.” The passion in his face reflected her own.
“Why postpone dinner?” she teased again. “We’ve already had our wedding night.”
He scooped her into his arms again and carried her through the living room toward the bedroom. “That was just a trial run. Tonight, my love, is the real thing.”
Epilogue
One year later
Leona gazed out her office window at snowflakes billowing down the canyon formed by the tall buildings of Forty-second Street. The city was in for a white Christmas.
“Here’s your coffee.” Gwen, her secretary for the past fifteen years, placed a Meissen cup and saucer filled with the steaming brew in the center of the desk blotter and bustled across the room to fold back the bookcase doors, revealing a television set.
Leona swiveled her chair from the window, glanced at the small gold clock on her desk and threw Gwen a grateful smile. “Right on time, as always.”
Gwen handed her the remote control. “I’ll hold all your calls for the next hour.”
As soon as the door closed behind her secretary, Leona unzipped her knee-high boots of red Italian leather, kicked them off, propped her stockinged feet on a pulled-out bottom drawer and switched on the TV.
The sound of feel-good orchestral music with a catchy beat filled the room as the picture brightened. Leona reached for her coffee cup with a smile of satisfaction. That sound was money in the bank.
The program’s opening scene panned the front of Devon’s old Victorian home, gleaming now with authentic turn-of-the-century colors on its shingles and trim, then the camera moved up the walk, taking in the landscape plantings and perfectly trimmed lawn. As if by magic, the double doors of leaded, beveled glass swung open, and the film began documenting the attractive, comfortable-looking living room and the dining room set with the best china and silver, as if for company.
In the kitchen, the shot tightened on yellow geraniums on the windowsill, racks of copper cookware and an artistic display of fruit, spices and utensils on the counter. Finally, the camera swung to the family room, where Colin and Devon stood before the fireplace with an almost-two-year-old Amanda in her father’s arms.
“Welcome back to the O’Reillys’,” Devon greeted the viewers, “where Colin, Amanda and I are always happy to have you visit.”
The theme music swelled again before the program cut for its first commercial. Leona muted the sound and sipped her coffee, silently adding up her commission on the newly syndicated show. It had been a close call with Devon. They’d almost lost the column when the story of Devon’s true identity broke.
“We owe everything to Jake Blalock,” Devon had insisted when the media frenzy died down. “If he hadn’t assigned his best reporter to write a sympathetic story of Amanda’s adoption and our marriage for the wire services, things might have turned out differently.”
Good old Jake. The response to that story had sent the Nielsen ratings for the Sara Davis interview over the top, and Colin and Devon’s own weekly show, “No Place Like Home,” had gone into production almost immediately. Not to mention the twenty percent rise in the number of newspapers that carried Bringing Up Baby.
Leona turned up the volume as the program returned, and Colin’s handsome face filled the screen.
“Today,” he said, “I’m putting the finishing touches on the in-law apartment I began in September.”
Leona watched Colin fasten crown moldings and hang doors. All over the country, women without a smidgen of interest in carpentry were glued to their sets for a glimpse of the man who had ridden into the courtroom like a knight on a white horse, rescuing Amanda from the clutches of the unscrupulous Ernest Potts and sweeping Devon off her feet into marriage and a respectability that redeemed her career.
After Colin made the final adjustments to the door hardware, the camera panned the bare room. “Next week, you’ll see what my wife’s decorating skills can do with this empty space.” His voice softened on wife, just enough to make every female viewer swoon with envy. “And then the room will be ready for occupancy.”
Occupancy. Leona chuckled. As a frequent visitor to the O’Reilly household, she’d be the only occupant. Colin and Devon had planned the addition as a surprise, an in-law apartment for Mike. Mike had countered with a surprise of his own. He’d married Mrs. Kaplan, and now the two were honeymooning in Bermuda.
During the next commercial, Gwen slipped in and took a seat. She always watched part of the program on her morning coffee break.
“Devon’s putting on a little weight, don’t you think?” Gwen asked, as they observed the cooking segment in which Devon, assisted by Amanda in a red-checked pinafore, baked and decorated Christmas cookies.
Leona nodded. “Contentment does that to a woman.”
When the program ended and the shot tightened on the family threesome again, the O’Reillys previewed next week’s program.
“Join us,” Colin said, with his arm around Devon’s shoulder and his other hand caressing Amanda’s curls, “when I demonstrate how to construct a cradle—”
“And I model the latest in maternity fashions,” Devon added. The camera pulled in for a final closeup of the couple. Their faces glowed with Joy. “You see, we’ll be bringing up another baby come June.”
“And always remember,” Colin said, “that there’s ‘No Place Like Home.’” He pulled Devon into his arms and kissed her as the credits rolled.
With a satisfied sigh, Leona leaned back in her chair and savored the happiness of the family on the screen. She’d always been a sucker for happy endings.
eISBN 978-14592-7482-2
BRINGING UP BABY
Copyright© 1996 by Charlotte H. Douglas.
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