Good Guy Heroes Boxed Set
Page 119
“You want to get married right now?”
“No. I want to make love to you right now. We can get married tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Next week?”
“That doesn’t give us much time to plan a wedding.”
“I vote the wedding take place soon since starting next month you’ll be too busy with your new catering enterprise to take time any time off. We need some time for a honeymoon.”
“Hmmm. Yes. The honeymoon.”
“So how much time do we need?” he asked. All you need for a wedding is a bride, a groom, and a minister. We have two out of three. How long can it take to find a minister?”
“I wouldn’t think very long. And since I’ve already planned a huge wedding, I don’t have any desire to do it again. Frankly, it was a pain in the butt.”
“How does two weeks from now sound? That’s two weeks to plan then two weeks for a honeymoon.”
“That sounds perfect.”
“Great. Are we done talking now?”
“Yes.”
“Thank God.” He urged her mouth down to his. “Finally I can kiss my cook and seal the deal.”
EPILOGUE
*
IT POURED ON their wedding day.
The rain fell in a blinding sheet, but Melanie didn’t care. The simple ceremony, attended by their family and close friends, followed by a champagne and dessert reception in the church’s lower level had been elegant, intimate, and perfect. Now, holding Chris’s hand, they squeezed together under a huge umbrella and made a mad dash down the church steps while their guests waved and tossed the traditional rice. Seconds later they were ensconced in the white stretch limo waiting to whisk them off to the airport.
“Nothing like keeping with our tradition of getting wet,” Melanie said, shaking raindrops from the full skirt of her simple ankle-length wedding dress. “I’ve never seen such rain. Maybe we should build an ark.”
“Don’t worry,” Chris said, settling himself next to her. “In a few hours our plane will land in sunny Florida. Then we’ll board the cruise ship and spend the next week frolicking around the Caribbean.” He kissed her nose. “I trust that meets with your approval, Mrs. Bishop.”
Mrs. Bishop. Boy, did that sound nice. Mrs. Bishop smiled at her husband. “I can’t wait. I’ve never been on a cruise before— except for our canoeing excursion. Hopefully this boat is a little bigger.”
“Not to worry. I’ll keep you safe.”
“Oh? And who’s going to protect me from you?”
“No one. You’re stuck with me. Didn’t you hear what that minister said?”
She snapped her fingers. “Darn, I’d already forgotten.”
He dragged her onto his lap and laid one of those toe-curling kisses on her. When he raised his head he said, “Good thing you’re stuck with me to remind you.”
“Yeah, good thing,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck. “So, a week-long honeymoon, then as soon as we get home, there’s another wedding to attend.”
Chris smiled. “Nana and Bernie. Are they great together or what?”
“Perfect,” Melanie agreed. “Although I think Nana scandalized the minister when she announced that she and Bernie had to get married. The poor man needed to sit down.”
“He did look sort of pale,” Chris said with a chuckle.
“At least I don’t need to worry about the Pampered Palate while I’m away,” Melanie said. “My dad is so excited about watching the place. I hope you won’t mind if your new in-laws move to Atlanta.”
“I won’t mind at all. Having your folks around to pitch in at the Pampered Palate means more free time for you, and that sounds great to me.” He slipped a handkerchief from his tuxedo jacket pocket and when he gently dabbed a few stray raindrops from her cheeks, her heart skidded to a halt.
He was her husband.
Hers to have and to hold. From this day forward.
How incredibly lovely was that?
She blew out a deep breath of utter contentment. Her gaze traveled over him from head to foot. Holy smokes. He looked so outrageously handsome in his black tux, she couldn’t decide if she wanted him to keep it on forever, or if she wanted to tear it off him with her teeth.
“You okay?” he asked, halting his ministrations and giving her a searching look. “You look flushed.”
Was she okay? She’d just married the most wonderful, gorgeous, incredible man on earth. Okay was a pretty lukewarm word to describe how she felt.
“I’m fine. I’m incredibly happy.” She touched his face with trembling fingers. “I can’t believe we’re married.”
“You’re legally stuck with me forever,” he said, taking her hand and placing a warm kiss on her palm. “You don’t mind that you’re not Mel Gibson anymore, do you?”
Melanie heaved another blissful sigh and wrapped her arms around him. “Do I look like I mind?”
“No. You look beautiful. Stunning. The most perfect bride I’ve ever seen.” He kissed her, tenderly at first, then with increasing ardor. Melanie’s hormones sighed, oooohhhhh baby!
Several seconds later, however, she pulled back. “What was that noise?”
“What noise? I didn’t hear anything.”
Grrrrrrr. Grrrrrr.
Chris frowned. “That’s sounds strangely familiar.”
Grrrrrr.
Silence.
“Uh-oh,” Melanie said. “That didn’t sound good. And have you noticed we’re not moving?”
The limo driver lowered the smoke-glass partition separating them from the front seat and looked at them through the rearview mirror.
“Excuse me, Mr. and Mrs. Bishop, but there appears to be a, er, problem with the car.”
“What sort of problem?” Chris asked.
“It won’t start. Sounds to me like the battery’s dead.”
Melanie and Chris stared at each other.
Chris pinched the bridge of his nose. “I thought I recognized that growling noise.”
A knock sounded on the rear window. Smothering a laugh at Chris’s expression, Melanie touched a button and lowered the window.
Nana and Bernie stood outside, huddled under the protection of a red-and-blue-striped umbrella.
“What’s up?” asked Nana, sticking her head in the open window.
“The battery’s dead,” Melanie answered.
Nana shook her head. “Jiminy Cricket. You two are always soaking wet or stranded.” Pulling open the limo door, she said, “Come on. Everybody’s gone except me and Bernie. We’ll drive you to the airport.” She marched off with Bernie, heading toward the lime-green Dodge.
Chris groaned. “Please tell me we’re not going in the Dodge. Please.”
Melanie laughed and kissed him. “Don’t worry. With the way Nana drives, we’ll definitely get to the airport on time. Besides, we started off in the Dodge, so it’s only fitting that we finish there.”
“That’s just what I’m worried about— finishing there. Didn’t you tell me Nana drove like a Mario Andretti/Mr. Magoo combination?”
Melanie framed his face between her hands. “Relax. This isn’t the finish of anything. This is just the start. And lead-foot Nana sees much better since she got her new glasses.” She gave him a wink-wink, nudge-nudge. “Besides, we can neck in the backseat. C’mon. Let’s go before they leave without us.”
Hand in hand, they dashed to the Dodge and settled themselves in the backseat. Melanie choked back a laugh at the look of utter relief on Chris’s face when he saw that Bernie was driving.
Bernie turned around and grinned at them. “Where to, kids?” he asked in a chauffeur-like voice.
“To the airport, my good man,” Melanie answered. “How long will it take?”
Bernie stepped on the gas and pulled out of the parking lot at whiplash-warp speed. Grinning over his shoulder, he said, “Don’t worry. We’ll be there before you can say ‘Kiss the cook’!”
-The End—
If you l
ike romantic comedies like KISS THE COOK, try Jacquie D’Alessandro’s novella MINE AT MIDNIGHT.
PRELUDE TO A WEDDING
*
By Patricia McLinn
~
To Ginni,
Who believed,
even when there were no endings,
and who gave the best advice of all:
Just Get It Done
Chapter One
*
“PAUL, I’M HAVING the baby.”
Paul Monroe stared in disbelief at the woman standing at the far side of his old-fashioned desk. A ripple of panic swept through him, but he swallowed and tried a chuckle. It sounded feeble. “You gotta be kidding, right?”
“No. I’m not kidding.”
He saw the strain in Jan’s young face, backing up her words, but still he hoped for a reprieve.
“I mean, you told me all along this would happen sometime -”
“I told you it would happen today.”
He’d heard that exasperated tone enough to ignore it.
“I’ve seen it coming for a while, so I knew you’d have the baby someday -”
“Not someday. Today. And not sometime. Now.”
Paul stared at Jan and wished he’d had an urge to make calls outside the office this morning, or an impulse to play hooky. The day had sure been tempting enough, with Indian summer casting sparkling October light across Chicago. Surely he could have found something he had to do outside the office. Maybe an appraisal in the country, down winding lanes between half-bare trees revealing bites of blue sky.
Not that he minded coming to his office most days. Building and office alike held an ambience Sam Spade would have recognized immediately. Paul liked that.
But some days he just didn’t feel like being confined by four walls, and he was lucky enough and good enough in his field so that on those days he could find something else to do.
He wished he had today, because then he wouldn’t be here facing his very pregnant and soon-to-be-beyond-pregnant assistant, wondering what in the hell he was supposed to do next.
Hospital.
That’s what he was supposed to do. Get her to the hospital. Damn, this should be Ed’s job. Fathers-to-be had a moral responsibility to make this panicked drive to the hospital - not bosses.
“Are you -?”
“I’m sure. I’ve been timing the contractions, and they’re getting close. Plus my water broke.”
He might not know much about women having babies, but anybody who’d ever watched TV knew that phrase meant business. “Have you called -?”
“I’ve called the hospital,” Jan informed him, still efficient even when her skin went pale and her breath came hard with a contraction. Contraction - that seemed a mighty polite word for what appeared to be just plain agony. “They’re expecting us.”
With a smile that shone even through the pain, she patted her protruding stomach and added, “I’ve called Ed’s office. They’re trying to track him down and he’ll meet us there.”
Paul should have known she’d have everything taken care of.
On the other hand, she scheduled everything so darn efficiently, why couldn’t she have scheduled this moment for about three hours earlier or six hours later so she’d be at home? Then he wouldn’t have to be the one saying, “Okay, I’ll dri -”
“I appreciate your driving to the hospital.” He also should have known her ability to anticipate his sentences wouldn’t abate even in the throes of childbirth.
Jan Robson might be only twenty-five, but sometimes she awed him. What awed him most was how she ran his office to her own exacting standards without impinging on his freedom. She was amazing. And she never let up on him.
Nearly before the thought finished forming in his mind, she spoke. “But before we leave for the hospital, you have a phone call to make.”
“Aw, Jan.”
“You’ve been putting it off. Now there’s no more putting it off. It’s exactly the way you’re dealing with the proposal from the Smithsonian. Eventually you won’t be able to ignore that, either.”
He ignored her second statement. “This wasn’t supposed to happen until Halloween.”
“No. I’ve told you all along that the due date was October 7. I’m right on time -”
Of course she was, Paul thought.
” -but you chose to pretend it wouldn’t happen until Halloween because you were hoping to be out of town then. So, you wouldn’t make the call before. You have to make it now.”
“But Jan -”
“You promised, Paul.”
“I know, but this isn’t the time -”
“This is the time.”
“After I get you to the hospital -”
“No. Now, while I can make sure you do it.”
“I’ll talk Centurian into giving me somebody on loan like they did when you had flu and for your honeymoon and -”
“Disasters, every time. Besides, no assistant from Centurian will work for you now that they know better and -”
“What do you mean? They all like me,” he protested with some satisfaction at, for once, getting to interrupt her.
Even as an independent contractor, he did enough work for Centurian Insurance that they’d rented him this cubbyhole office. A Centurian assistant would have some understanding of what he did, besides knowing where to find the copying machine.
“Of course they like you. Everybody likes you, but they all know what you’re like to work for and they won’t do it. You’d run wild with a regular temporary, and I won’t have you - Ah!”
The way she broke off and clutched her hand to her stomach propelled him out of his chair and to her side. Then there was nothing to do but give her the support of an arm around her shoulders until he felt the tension ease out of her.
“Jan, we need to get you to the hospital.”
She looked up at him through eyes glazed with pain, joy and determination. “You promised.”
Hell! Hell and damnation! He pivoted and reached the phone in one stride. “You don’t play fair, woman.”
“That’s the only way to win with you.”
“What’s the number?” he grumbled, a grin fighting against the churning in his stomach. She did know him well.
She gave it to him. “And the person you want to talk to is Bette Wharton.” She pronounced the first name as one syllable.
He repeated the name when the voice on the other end of the line identified herself as Top-Line Temporaries and asked how she could help him.
He heard the click of the phone as he was transferred, then a new voice answered, “Bette Wharton.”
This voice sounded crisp and cool on the surface with the hint of something smooth and hot inside, and it made him think inexplicably of a spicy cheese concoction his mother used to stuff celery. Despite his concern for Jan, he almost grinned.
How might this unknown woman on the other end of the telephone line react to being compared to stuffed celery?
“This is Paul Monroe. I’m calling because -”
“Ah, yes, Mr. Monroe. I’ve been expecting your call.”
“You have?” He looked up, prepared to skewer his assistant with a look. She would have him call somebody with the same trick as hers of not needing him to finish sentences. And why in the world did he have to make this call if Jan had lined things up?
“Yes. I have a list of candidates.”
But Paul wasn’t listening. His dirty look had changed to one of worry.
“Tell her,” Jan ordered. She exhaled with a breath he supposed she’d learned at that birthing class she and Ed had attended.
“I need an assistant,” he blurted out.
“I know. As I said, I have several candidates. But I think you should make the final choice. If you’d like to stop by our office, or I could come by your office -”
“I’ll come there … sometime. Maybe today or - I don’t know. We have to get to the hospital. Now! We’re having a baby!”
*
Only when the dial tone pierced her fog did she hang up.
So Jan Robson was having her baby. And Paul Monroe needed a temporary assistant. Which meant she’d finally meet him.
She’d been intrigued ever since the brisk young assistant came to her office five months ago and explained she would need a very special temporary assistant for her very special boss when she went on maternity leave.
For two years, Bette had been steadfastly guiding Top-Line toward just that niche in the marketplace - matching special needs with special service. Providing a replacement for Jan Robson could be the perfect gauge of how well she and Top-Line were doing.
Bette had wondered at first if there was more between assistant and boss than dictation, but Jan Robson saw Paul Monroe’s faults far too clearly to be romantically involved with him. Bette had observed that women in love lost the ability to reason when it came to the man in question.
No, Jan simply had a high regard for her boss of six years, even though the man she described didn’t sound very businesslike. But Bette couldn’t doubt the assistant’s feelings.
In deference to those feelings and with an eye to her company’s future, she had conducted the search for Paul Monroe’s temporary assistant personally. The results pleased her. All the employees at Top-Line were just that, but the ones she had selected for Mr. Monroe’s approval were the top of the top.
Now all she had to do was wait for the enigmatic Paul Monroe to make his appearance so he could make his selection.
*
DARLA CLARENCE CLOSED Bette’s office door behind her.
“There’s a Paul Monroe out front asking for you. I can tell him you’ve left for the day.”
Bette recognized the offer as part of a long-running campaign to get her to work less. And that meant it must be nearing six, since that was when Darla usually started encouraging her to go home; most nights Bette didn’t follow the advice until two or three hours later.
“That’s all right, Darla. I’ll see him now. He could turn out to be a very important client for us.”