by Fran Baker
Darlene sat up and gave the matter careful consideration. “Yes, I do have a question.” She scrambled to her feet and brushed off the faded seat of her jeans. “What’s for dinner?”
Relieved beyond words, Bonnie stood and aimed a fond smile in her sister’s direction. “Now that you’ve mentioned it, I’m starved.”
They left the heavily shaded cove and a vermilion dusk flooded the newly shorn meadow. Halfway home they broke into a run, racing each other and shouting “Snork!” at the top of their lungs.
* * * *
“What did you do with the extra fudge?” Luke asked later between lazy kisses on her bare, moonlit breasts.
“I poured it into a plate, cut it into squares and gave it to the kids for a midnight snack.” Bonnie twined her fingers in his sable-thick hair as his mouth left deliciously sweet kisses around each rosy crest. “I still can’t believe that I stirred up a batch-and-a-half.”
He laughed. “Did you see the look on Darlene’s face when she peeked into the pan? Too much!”
She kneaded his shoulder muscles as he slid lower between her shapely ivory thighs. “She said ‘What a waste of sugar,’ and started licking the spoon.”
“Mmm...” He cupped her slender hips in his hands and stole her breath away with his plundering tongue.
Bonnie spiraled wildly with every warm, seductive stroke. She peaked with a sob, and still she yearned for the physical union that would sweep them both away. Luke moved lithely, taking possession as their bodies melded and their spirits fused.
He rocked her slowly, prolonging the tempest that raged inside her. She watched his eyes glaze with pleasure when her hips arched against him, heard her name expelled hoarsely from his lips as breath mingled with breath. His mouth claimed hers, his tongue matching the passionate rhythm of their bodies. Her arms and legs held him tightly, receiving the whole of him and giving all of herself in return.
Time lost its meaning as their storm reached its breaking point. And when at last they were spent, mindless with the wonder of fulfillment, it seemed that the world had surely come to the same shattering end.
* * * *
The stars winked through the window when Bonnie eased out of bed. She tiptoed across the room, casting a moonshadow over Luke’s soundly sleeping frame, then belted her lacy wrapper around her slim waist Glancing back over her shoulder, she opened the door and slipped into the hall. Her bare feet instinctively avoided the floorboards that creaked and the steps that squeaked as she padded stealthily downstairs.
How could she leave him? She picked up her purse and carried it into the kitchen. Removing her leather appointment book, Bonnie studied it carefully in the moonlight spilling across the formica table. A total of four free days in the next two months, she noted with a dismal sigh. It wasn’t going to work out the way he’d planned it. She didn’t want to spend her life making up for any more time than they’d already lost
Her return ticket envelope stuck out of the side pocket, where she’d placed it for safekeeping during her stay. When she reached absently to tuck it deeper, her fingers found the handkerchief that Luke had loaned her the other day. Something borrowed. Someone blue. The idle pun brought a poignant smile to her lips, and she impulsively folded the mascara-stained linen back into her purse. He wouldn’t miss it.
Just how many other times had Luke been there when she’d needed a helping hand? She closed her eyes, recalling a thousand different ways he’d taught her the meaning of trust
And what had he ever asked of her in return? Bonnie’s eyes flew open wide with disbelief, and she felt the monstrous hand of guilt crushing the breath from her body. When Luke had needed her most, she’d failed him. Wrapped her heart in a selfish shroud of sorrow and refused to share his pain. Rather than help him, she’d hurt him worse.
She stood abruptly and the kitchen clock cuckooed three times when she pushed purposefully through the swinging doors. How was it that Mrs. Painter had defined a successful relationship? Each of the partners giving something of themselves in the bargain? Close enough. The stairs had never seemed steeper nor the halls darker. Yet Bonnie’s footsteps quickened with confidence as she neared the bedroom. She gripped the glass doorknob and smiled, coming to terms with her love for Luke.
Chapter 10
Darlene’s wedding day dawned with a beautiful, maidenly blush.
Although Bonnie hadn’t slept a wink after returning to bed, she was the first one up. Wearing a general’s air of authority and a navy terry-cloth jumpsuit that hugged her figure, she began rousing the others. She also came dangerously close to inciting total rebellion.
“Five more minutes in that bathroom, Dave, and you can register it as your new voting address.”
“If you’ve really outgrown your wedding gown, Darlene, fifty sit-ups this morning won’t do your waistline a damn bit of good.”
“Don’t push your luck, Luke. Another pinch like that last one and—ouch! I’m warning you, Luke…”
When her sleep-tousled and slightly hostile crew finally gathered in the hallway she herded them downstairs, issuing orders every step of the way. “Coffee and toast for breakfast, then it’s everybody into the act.” She synchronized her watch with the kitchen clock. “Our guests should start arriving in four hours flat”
“Four hours!” Darlene gasped, her eyes widening with alarm. She stirred an extra spoonful of sugar into her coffee cup. “How on earth will we get it all done, plus make ourselves presentable in four hours?”
“I’ll bet our favorite drill sergeant already has the schedule figured out down to the second,” Luke teased. He stretched, leisurely defying the brisk pace she was attempting to set. “In fact, I’d stake my skyscraper on it.”
Bonnie’s heart somersaulted and her glance skipped nervously around the sunlit kitchen, avoiding contact with his good-natured gaze. If he thought she sounded organized right now, just wait until he heard the details of that other timetable she’d devised!
“Can somebody press this shirt collar so it lies flat?” Dave set the iron aside and heaved a frustrated sigh.
“I just showed you how to do that last month,” Darlene reminded him, crunching off a corner of her generously buttered toast.
“I forgot,” he admitted with a sheepish grin, holding up the scorched and mangled material. “Maybe I’d better start over. I’ll run downstairs and throw it into the washing machine.”
“Low suds,” Darlene instructed between bites, “and a little bleach.”
“Far be it from me to interrupt domestic democracy in the making,” Luke said, “but why don’t you just borrow one of my shirts?”
Judging from the expression on Dave’s face, it was the best idea that he’d heard in a month of Sundays.
“They’re in the hall closet,” Luke directed. “Take your pick.”
“We’ll drop it by the laundry when he’s done with it,” Darlene promised as she stood and followed her soon-to-be husband through the swinging doors.
Bonnie dusted her hands with flour and began shaping her yeast-rich dough into rolls. “I think I’ll buy Dave a dozen permanent press shirts and tell Darlene that they’re her wedding present, too.”
Luke stood behind her and fit his lean male length against her softly rounded bottom and sleek legs. His arms easily circled her slender waist, and he interfered with her breathing ability when he nuzzled the sensitive spot behind her earlobe. “All I want for a wedding present is—”
“We’ve got a problem, folks,” Darlene announced dramatically.
Dave trailed along behind her, the sleeves of Luke’s shirt dangling a good two inches below his hands. “I tried it on for size and—”
“What’s burning?” Bonnie demanded, an acrid smell suddenly searing her nostrils.
“My shirt!” Dave yelped. He dashed across the kitchen and snatched the smoking wad off the board, where he’d dropped it too close to the hot iron. “My best shirt,” he groaned. “It’s ruined.”
“No wedding
is complete without at least one catastrophe,” Bonnie consoled. She pointed a doughy finger at Darlene. “Run upstairs and find a needle and a spool of white thread. When it’s time to dress, we’ll tack up the sleeves of the borrowed shirt, and nobody will ever know the difference.”
She arched an eyebrow at Dave, who was still mourning his charred shirt. “Go hang the one you’re wearing in the closet before something happens to it, and toss the one you’re holding into the rag bag.”
They both scampered off to do exactly as she’d directed, no questions asked. Bonnie turned, flush with success, and started to give Luke an assignment.
“A cool head and a warm body,” he murmured, drawing her into his arms again. “What a combination.”
She tipped her head back and met his admiring gaze. “It’s called the art of survival, actually. Any caterer worth her salt learns quickly that—” Bonnie felt her zipper sliding open and looked down in surprise at the front of her jumpsuit. “What in the name of blue blazes are you doing?”
“Well, you got out of bed and into your clothes so fast this morning, I didn’t have a chance to...” His words were muffled softly then in the lush spill of her breasts as he freed them from the terry cloth.
It was totally insane, standing there unzipped in broad daylight, but she reveled in every crazy second. Bonnie curled her toes as wildfire swooped through her veins, and arched closer still to his hard body as spears of pleasure pierced her nerve endings. Needing him nearer yet, she cradled his head between her hands and… her hands!
She quickly pulled them away, laughing at the sticky palm prints she’d left. “Don’t look now but you just went cauliflower ears one better.”
He raised his head, his smile as warm as his tongue had been against her skin. “Let’s set a date,” he suggested in a husky voice. “We’ll announce it this afternoon while our families and friends are here.”
Bonnie’s thoughts scattered like dandelion seeds in a sudden puff of wind. This was neither the time nor the place to spring her surprise on him. She’d wanted to wait until they were alone tonight, knowing it would take a while to convince him that her idea made more sense than his....
Regret shadowed Luke’s chiseled features as the silence spun out. “You’ve changed your mind.”
“Darn it, I didn’t even make up my mind until three o’clock this morning!” She stamped her foot, frustrated by the unexpected turn of events.
“What?” He drew back as if she’d slapped him.
Bonnie spun away and rezipped the front of her jumpsuit, piqued that they’d taken such a foolish, adolescent risk. “I love you, Luke, and I do want to marry you. But I don’t want to be a part-time wife.”
“Because you don’t trust me,” he concluded dully.
“Because I don’t trust myself,” she corrected in a soft voice.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” His tone echoed his confusion. “I thought we’d already settled—”
Bonnie shook her head, silencing him. She gripped the edge of the flour-coated countertop, groping for the words that would best clarify her concerns. Her thoughts didn’t gel, however, until her hands were washed and busy again creating cloverleaf rolls from the shapeless lump of dough.
“For reasons I can’t even explain, I never doubted myself professionally.” Her lips curved in a self-mocking smile. “It may sound brash, but it’s true. When I climbed off that bus in New York City seven years ago, I just knew that with a lot of hard work and a little bit of luck, I’d eventually have half of New York eating out of my hand.”
“We fixed the sleeves of Luke’s shirt,” Darlene interrupted, pushing through the swinging doors. “I pinned them and Dave sewed them.”
“Good for you,” Bonnie said. “Now you can rearrange the living room furniture so that there’s an aisle from the bottom of the stairs to the front of the fireplace.”
“But if we rearrange the furniture, we’ll have to run the sweeper again,” Darlene objected. When she saw the adamant expression on Bonnie’s face, she turned on her heel and marched out of the kitchen in an indignant huff.
“Maybe I’m being too hard on her,” Bonnie worried aloud as she spread clean towels over her roll pans and left the dough to rise. “After all, it is her wedding day.”
“You warned her that a ceremony at home meant a lot of last-minute preparations and everybody pitching in.” Luke rolled up his shirt sleeves, ran water in the sink and began washing the breakfast dishes. “I just hope that Dave hasn’t forgotten how to run the vacuum cleaner.”
Bonnie laughed, then reached into the cupboard and removed both a maple cutting board and a china meat platter. Ducking into the pantry, she grabbed the square teakwood case that she’d carried on the plane from New York. Luke whistled appreciatively when he saw the carving knives, custom made with blades of high carbon steel and handles of carved ivory.
“These are my good-luck charms,” she explained, returning to their earlier topic of conversation. “I ordered them the same day that I signed the lease agreement for my shop.” She shook her head, amazed now by her audacity then. “By the time I’d paid for city licenses, three months’ rent and fees for plumbers and electricians, I could barely afford to stock the shelves.”
“You must have done something right,” Luke commented as he scraped and scrubbed the countertop where she’d shaped her rolls. “To hear Darlene tell it, you were practically an overnight success.”
“I did all the work, but Lady Luck deserves a lot of the credit.” Bonnie took the briskets from the refrigerator where she’d put them to cool after cooking. “Despite the fact that every day was a sellout, I knew so little about costs and even less about pricing that I was operating at a loss.” She picked up a carving knife and poised it over a slab of beef. “One of my regular customers was a reporter for New York magazine. She told me I should raise my prices, which I did. And then she wrote an article, actually more of a filler, commending my ‘silver spoons’—”
“Isn’t that the name of your catering service?” he asked.
She nodded and began slicing the brisket cross-grain. “I adopted it in her honor, and it caught on almost immediately. After the article ran, my phone started ringing and never stopped.” Bonnie grinned. “The first month that I turned a profit, I hired a bookkeeper—a frugal soul who squeezes a nickel so tight, the buffalo bellows as loud as my suppliers when she negotiates with them.”
“The living room is ready!” Darlene shouted to be heard over the roar of the carpet sweeper that Dave was running. “I arranged the furniture so everyone can watch us coming down the stairs and still see us exchanging our vows in front of the fireplace. I even fixed up a corner where Uncle Ike can stand while he plays his fiddle.”
“I certainly hope your Uncle Ike remembers that this is a wedding and not a square dance,” Bonnie teased Luke, brandishing her knife for emphasis. “The last time I heard him play, every other song sounded just like ‘Turkey in the Straw.’”
“If he forgets where he is, we’ll just do-si-do down the stairs and allamande left at the aisle.” Darlene grabbed a piece of beef and danced a silly jig, her face flushed with excitement.
“We’ll put out the flowers last thing so they’ll be fresh when the guests arrive.” Bonnie slapped Darlene’s hand when she reached for another slice of the tender meat. “You go on upstairs and take your shower. As soon as we’re through in here, I’ll come up and help you get dressed.”
Dave and Darlene met each other coming and going through the swinging doors. After a quick kiss and a few affectionate words, they parted company until the ceremony. Watching them, Bonnie was struck by their innocence, their confidence, and she silently wished them smoother sailing than she and Luke had experienced.
“Can I use the Corvette to go get a couple of sacks of ice?” Dave’s freckled face wore the same high color that Darlene’s had. He caught the keys his brother tossed, then hurried out of the house to run his errand.
&nbs
p; When they were alone again, Luke took the carving knife and expertly sliced the second slab of beef. Bonnie arranged the meat on the platter, garnishing it with parsley sprigs and cherry tomatoes. While she worked, she summoned her courage. Where did a woman begin baring her soul to the man she loved?
“Some of my insecurity now stems from the fact that I was so young and uninformed when I miscarried, so confused when we divorced.” She bit her lower lip and met his steady brown gaze, imploring his understanding. “I was a girl with a woman’s problems. And having been weaned on fairy tales where everyone lives happily ever after, I was also terribly ignorant of realistic solutions.”
Finished arranging the platter, she sealed it with clear plastic wrap and set it in the refrigerator with the salads and fresh vegetables that she’d already prepared. Luke washed the knife and the cutting board, then wiped the counter clean. Except for the rolls, which would be baked immediately before serving, the reception was ready ahead of schedule.
“What I’m trying to say is that my business was the child I’d failed to deliver.” Bonnie accepted the cup of coffee that Luke had poured for her and sat down at the table. “No new mother ever took more pride in her baby’s first tooth or first step than I took in the growth of my catering service. As ridiculous as it sounds, I even slept on a cot in the back of the shop for a while so I’d be available in case of an emergency.”
“You never were one to do things half way.” Luke stood behind her chair, slowly massaging her stiffly held shoulders.
“Well, Mr. Win-Or-Die-Trying,” she teased, “aren’t you a fine one to talk?”
“With our attitudes, it’s no wonder we wound up divorced.” His voice was husky with emotion. “We were more like Kamikaze pilots than husband and wife.”
“It’s a miracle we lived to talk about it.” Bonnie sighed, recalling the marital battles which could have ended in compromise or with an apology if they each hadn’t been so bent on being right.
“Remember the year that your peach cobbler won second place in the 4-H cooking contest?” His strong, sure hands slid to her nape.
