A headshake. In a low tone: “They heard about Lauren from friends of Janine’s. Word could reach her.” Louder: “Lauren! Daddy needs to talk.”
Reluctantly the girl emerged. Despite the occasional rebellion, she truly was a well-behaved child, Rachel observed. As for blurting the news about the engagement, the grown-ups had only themselves to blame for keeping secrets.
“Let’s brush the kernels out of your teeth!” She hustled Lauren down the hall to the bathroom. “Was that fun, talking to your new grandparents?”
The child babbled happily about the conversation, claiming far more promises than could possibly have been made. Finally Rachel left her alone to use the potty and seized the chance to eavesdrop from the hall.
Overhearing Russ’s words didn’t require much effort, since he was fast losing patience and his voice was raised. “That’s right, I met her in the month since I moved to Villazon. Sudden? Well, in thirty-four years, she’s the first woman I—” Rachel would have loved to hear the rest of that sentence, but apparently a question interrupted the flow. “She’s a police officer.”
A pause. The prospect of a daughter-in-law in uniform had apparently stunned the socialite and the noted physician into silence. Not for long, though.
“What do you mean, what kind of…?” Russ uttered a snort. “Not a policy official, Mom. A police officer.”
Lauren emerged and requested a story, forcing Rachel to abandon her post. When Russ joined them a few minutes later, he took over reading while his daughter snuggled against him on the bed. Rachel slipped out her cell phone for a picture.
Two startled faces fixed on her. “I want to update Lauren’s scrapbook,” she said.
“She has a scrapbook?” Russ asked.
“It arrived with the furniture.” Rachel had tucked the be-ribboned volume into a bureau drawer. “Her grandparents did a beautiful job.”
“We’ll have to leaf through. But not tonight.” He planted a kiss atop his daughter’s head. “By the way, I agreed to take you both to my parents’ house Sunday afternoon if that suits your schedule, Rache.”
“No problem.” Although less than thrilled, she saw no graceful escape.
“You’ll love their house,” he informed Lauren. “It overlooks a canyon.”
“What’s a canyon?”
“A big ditch,” Rachel teased. “With trees.”
“You’re dissing some of the most expensive real estate in Southern California,” Russ retorted lightly. To Lauren: “Please don’t repeat that remark to your grandparents. They wouldn’t find it amusing.”
The little girl regarded him with interest. “Is that where you grew up, Daddy?”
“Yes. I’ll tell you my whole life story another night.” As he kissed his daughter again, Rachel withdrew.
She had to remember that her role here was only temporary. Much as she longed to remain part of the scene, she had to separate herself, for Lauren’s sake. And for her own.
Russ joined her in the rear-facing den, where he stood by the window staring out at the stars. “Did I hear correctly? Did she actually call me Daddy?”
“She did,” Rachel confirmed.
He threw back his head. “Amazing. I needed a lift after my parents put me through the meat grinder.”
Rachel stretched out her legs from the divan. “The engagement came as quite a shock, huh?”
“About a nine-point-five on the Richter scale.” Silhouetted against the moonlight, his body went rigid. “Starting with the fact that I waited this long to tell them about Lauren. Apparently they’ve been stewing all week.”
“They should have called you,” she said.
“I hadn’t considered that. My perspective suffers in matters concerning my relatives.” He relaxed slightly. “Then there’s the matter of my abrupt venture into matrimonial waters, with a woman they’d never heard of.”
“And a gun-toting one.” Might as well mention her employment. “I’ll bet that threw them.”
“My parents would gladly stage a benefit dinner for the family of a fallen officer, and I’m sure my mom could deliver a brilliant speech about how much we owe the men and women in blue.” He didn’t continue, because he didn’t need to.
People raised money to save whales, but they wouldn’t marry one. Rachel deduced that the McKenzies felt the same way about cops. Still, even if they were snobs, their feelings mattered to Russ.
“Can’t you trust them with the truth about our engagement?” That seemed the simplest course. “Surely they’d keep quiet.”
“I’m never sure how they’ll react. To anything.” He swung toward her, his face partly in shadow. “They’ve always been extremely concerned about what their peers think, so their opinions change with the tide. Maybe someday they’ll respect me enough to accept my opinions as important, but so far that hasn’t happened. My friend Mike calls it crazy-making behavior.”
Rachel approved of this friend already. She’d definitely go crazy around people like that. “How’m I supposed to pull this off on Sunday? I haven’t a clue how a proper fiancée should act.”
“Act like you love me.” He gave her a wry smile.
That wouldn’t be hard, she thought. Except that she doubted he meant draping herself over him or kissing him in public. “Can you be more specific?”
He paced along the louvered windows. “If we were engaged, how would you behave?”
“I’d make love to you until we both wandered around with silly grins on our faces,” Rachel responded.
Laughter rumbled through the room. “Touché.”
Feeling a cramp in one leg, she stood and stretched. “Maybe I’d better polish the old image. They’ll love the split-level hair, right?”
Appreciation filled his gaze. “You’ll be the freshest thing that ever happened to them.”
The way his eyes shone gave Rachel a wisp of hope. “So my best bet is to bowl them over with my personality?”
“The way you bowled me over.” He sounded so genuine she almost believed him. But he was teasing, of course.
“Keep going and you might get to first base. I’m a sucker for smooth talk,” she joked.
He stopped laughing. Moved closer, eyes trained on her, seeking…what? They paused a few feet apart, heads tilting. Any second he’d retreat, Rachel expected, but instead he stepped forward and reached for her.
Their mouths met, and his powerful hands gripped her waist. Remembering the speed with which he’d withdrawn the last time they embraced, Rachel merely traced her palms along his silken shirtsleeves. An awareness of him as a complete person, both physically and emotionally, infused her at every level. If only she aroused even half this much longing in him!
When at last Russ lifted his head, he wore a glazed expression. Breathing rapidly, he drew her hard against him, his chest crushing her breasts. Inside Rachel, heat flared.
But then he dropped a kiss between her brows and eased back. He was unmistakably logging off.
“Oh, fudge,” she blurted.
“Sorry,” he murmured. “That business about making love…Definitely appealing.”
“But that’s as far as it goes?” she finished for him. “Well, shoot. Maybe if I’m a good little girl, in my next incarnation I’ll come back as Connie.”
He ceased retreating and gripped her shoulders. Forcing a confrontation. Possibly about to shake sense into her, except that any guy who tried to shake Rachel would find himself launched into space. “You believe my taste runs to buxom blondes?”
“Whose doesn’t?” She’d lived in the real world long enough to nail down that fact. “Alternate choice is an exotic brunette with hair down to her butt.”
He released his grip. “Here’s a news flash—you’re my type. I may not have been aware of what my type was when we met, but…Anyway, that isn’t the issue.”
She folded her arms. “Please enlighten me.”
“Let me tell you a story about my parents. Since you’ll meet them, this might provide insi
ght.” He perched on the arm of the divan.
A story involving his parents? Talk about Freudian! “I thought we were discussing sex.”
“Sex leads to involvement.” Russ spread his hands. “Which is sort of the topic.”
Rachel plopped into an armchair. Might as well get comfortable. This had to be a first. Instead of hustling her into the bedroom, the guy preferred to talk. But he was so darn cute, she didn’t mind.
“Years ago, when I was nine, my parents helped sponsor a camp for underprivileged kids.” His gaze grew distant. “They decided I ought to attend, not because I might enjoy camping but as an egalitarian gesture.”
“You’re sure that was their motive?”
“When I protested, they told me to stop acting elitist. They were still lecturing when they dropped me off, a naive, studious boy who was small for his age among a bunch of streetwise youngsters.” He quickly added, “They were no tougher on me than the kids at my regular school. That isn’t my complaint.”
“What, then?” She hoped he wasn’t about to reveal a snooty attitude toward the lower classes, among whom she belonged. Still, she related to the pain of being torn away from familiar surroundings.
“One of the counselors called my parents to report that I’d brought a set of hand-painted wooden soldiers, which were my favorite toys. None of my bunkmates had anything half as nice. I let them play with them, and as far as I know none of the kids objected, but the counselor obviously did.”
“Major crisis,” Rachel summarized. “After all, they sent you there to prove how egalitarian they were.”
“Exactly.” Strong emotions roughened his voice. “My parents told him to distribute the soldiers among the other campers.”
“You mean permanently?” Rachel would have fought like a tiger had anyone tried to confiscate Dinah. “It might make sense to send the toys home, but that was just mean!”
He stared past her. “I’m sure they figured that would teach me a lesson. Well, it did. I learned that people in authority can jerk others around. Also that it doesn’t pay to get attached to stuff. That year, I gave all my Christmas presents to charity.”
“Didn’t your parents find that odd?”
“I donated them to the poor. They probably ground their teeth about how expensive the stuff was, but they could hardly object.”
“Revenge, of a sort,” she noted. “Hey, here’s a fun fact. I was one of those poor kids they presumably felt sorry for.” If not for donated toys, Rachel wasn’t sure what she’d have received most years, considering how tightly the Byerses stretched their budget. “Guess they ought to love me, huh?”
“In theory.” He didn’t appear to consider that likely, however.
Well, they didn’t have to love her. Rachel had joined this venture for Lauren’s sake.
No, you didn’t. You volunteered because you really like this guy. And was growing fonder of him by the day. Which explained why the forthcoming encounter with his judgmental parents made her uneasy.
“Did they replace the soldiers after you got home from camp?” Rachel asked.
“Impossible. My grandfather gave me those soldiers. He’d had them since childhood.” Russ cleared his throat. “When he found out, he was furious. My parents weren’t thrilled to discover they’d disposed of an heirloom, but they refused to admit they’d been wrong…. Something just occurred to me.”
“What?”
Ironic amusement colored his voice. “My grandfather died about a year and a half ago. Although I was the only grandchild, everyone was surprised that his will named me sole heir.”
“Who else should have inherited?” These matters seemed foreign to Rachel, since she never expected to collect a bequest from anyone.
“My dad expected a sizable sum. He and mom had been talking about investing in a vacation home.” Russ grew contemplative. “Grandpa had Alzheimer’s and, while I visited his nursing home, we hadn’t really connected for years, so I was as puzzled as anyone.”
“Surely he didn’t harbor a grudge about some toy soldiers!”
“Who can tell? Whatever the reason, he did me a tremendous favor. I paid off my med school debts and bought this house.”
“Your parents didn’t pay for med school?” If they could cosponsor a camp, they weren’t short on bucks.
“I prefer to be independent, because where they’re concerned, there are usually strings attached.” Hastily he added, “I’m afraid I haven’t painted a very flattering picture of my family. They’re good people, basically.”
Rachel didn’t doubt that, since they’d raised such a wonderful son. “Just one question. How does this relate to having sex?”
A blank look. Then: “Oh. Right. Sex and involvement. As you might have noticed, I’m very cautious about letting anyone close.”
This from the man who’d insisted on claiming his daughter hours after learning about her grandparents’ deaths? “That doesn’t appear to apply to Lauren.”
He smiled ruefully. “She sneaked right past my defenses. I’m more than attached. I’m head over heels. We have to persuade my parents we’re engaged.”
After hearing the account, Rachel understood why he considered them unpredictable. A couple that insensitive to their son couldn’t be trusted to honor his confidence.
“I’ll do my best,” she promised. “Hey, here’s a major concession. I’ll swing by the mall tomorrow afternoon and buy an outfit.” Russ deserved no less.
“Don’t go overboard,” he cautioned. “Be yourself.”
“And I might throw some dye on the hair.” She envisioned the society matron peering down her nose at this messy thatch.
“Uh, Rache?” he ventured.
“Yeah?”
“You might ask Connie to pick the color.” He braced as if for fireworks.
Sounded like a good idea to her. “She’ll be thrilled.” As an afterthought she said, “And she can help me choose the new outfit, too.”
“Simple and classic will be fine.” Reaching out, Russ squeezed her hand. “You’re the best.”
The best what? Rachel decided not to push her luck by asking.
They repaired to the living room to catch an action movie on TV. As the hero and his buddies mowed down their enemies with rapid fire, she found herself identifying with the bad guys for a change. Because, come Sunday, she suspected she, too, would face a firing squad.
Chapter Eleven
Russ’s snapshots, from Sunday:
Lauren. Sitting on her bed, pouting and hugging as many stuffed animals as she can squeeze into her arms. Suffering last-minute remorse about this visit-the-new-grandparents idea. Still in pajamas, twenty minutes before departure time.
Rachel. Crouching by the bed, sternly addressing the toys and, indirectly, Lauren. She wears brown slacks and a tan knit tunic with a matching beret atop hair that is now a warm shade of brown.
Lauren and Rachel. Hand in hand on the front porch, Lauren dressed, finally, in a red crushed-velvet party dress left over from the holidays. Not exactly casual wear, but it beats pj’s. She’s holding Officer Bud and one bear, the negotiated minimum.
Lauren’s snapshots—she insisted on trying the camera:
Various scenes through the car window, blurred by raindrops hitting the glass. Passing cars. Distant mist-shrouded mountains with a hint of snowcaps. Freeway signs. Upward-curving road edged by bushes.
Rachel’s:
The McKenzie house. Set down from the street, view of a shake-shingle roof amid a screen of trees. Wraparound wooden deck fronting split-level modern structure that blends into the wooded canyon.
Lois and Max McKenzie, wearing tentative smiles of welcome, stood on the covered porch. Lois’s short blond hair was sprayed to perfection and her slender figure sported a green, Chinese-style pantsuit. Max stood with a slight stoop, his once-dark hair turned nearly all silver. Russ didn’t consider his parents old in their midsixties.
“Guess you should put this away.” Rachel handed him the c
amera as he killed the motor.
“Thanks,” he said. “I figured we should put these in a scrapbook for Lauren.” Photo albums helped children integrate their experiences. Adults, too.
Lauren stared across the gravel driveway at her grandparents. “Why does she get to wear her pajamas?”
“Those aren’t pajamas.” Rachel peered through the light rain. “At least, I don’t think so.”
Russ recalled a conversation with his mother on Christmas. “Some of her friends are supporting a village somewhere in Asia. They operate shops that sell clothing and toys the villagers make, plus a bakery that hires immigrants from that region.”
“Nice of them.” Rachel lifted her purse. “Ready?”
Not entirely. But he nodded.
In a flurry of umbrellas, they unloaded Lauren from the car and managed to reach the porch without getting soaked. Quick introductions accompanied them into the house.
In case Lauren failed to notice, Russ pointed out the small steps between rooms that might trip her. Despite its open layout, the house comprised a maze of odd angles and sunken rooms to fit the hillside and, he suspected, the designer’s notion of aesthetics.
Trying to see the interior through Rachel’s eyes, he wondered why he’d never noticed the somber effect of the decor, including the light-gray walls and dark wood furnishings. In fairness, the Southern California sunshine normally contributed plenty of cheer that was lacking today.
Rachel indicated an abstract glass sculpture atop the coffee table. “Might be wise to put that in a safe place,” she told Lois. “While we’re here, I mean.”
“I don’t believe my granddaughter will find that a problem.” His mother bristled as if defending Lauren against slander.
This being the first and possibly only grandchild in the family, Russ found it unsurprising that his Mom felt possessive. But Rachel’s remark had been practical, not an attack.
Fortunately his mother’s sharpness didn’t faze her. “Hey, Lauren’s really graceful. It’s me—massively clumsy. My friend Connie owns a gift shop and she won’t even let me through the front door.”
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