“How old?” her sister persisted.
“Oh, all right, I was seventeen. But things were different then.”
“Is that so? In exactly what way?”
“We didn’t have to worry about dying!”
“Okay. I’ll grant you that one point. Rose, she’s a normal seventeen-year-old girl. Don’t you remember what seventeen was like? We were a raging mass of hormones.”
“Aw, geez.” Rose set down the ice cream and rubbed her temple. “I guess I didn’t handle it very well, did I?”
“You handled it like a normal mother. What do you think Mom would have done if she’d ever caught you with Eddie?”
In spite of her misery, Rose laughed at the vision her sister’s words conjured up of the stalwart Mary MacKenzie, armed to the teeth, hell-bent on vengeance. “Before or after the castration?”
“And so it goes,” Maeve said, “and so it goes.”
Bleakly, she said, “God, Maeve, I’m turning into Mom, aren’t I?”
“Oh, sure. I can just see Mom running around with no bra, marching to save the whales. You’re not turning into her, Rose. You just need to get a life. I know you don’t want to hear this, but what you need is a man.”
Rose sighed. “I guess it’s time to tell you the rest of it. You remember that guy I met at the wedding?”
“The studly blond babe with the bedroom eyes? How could I forget? I wanted to have his babies.”
Rose cleared her throat. “Well, Maeve, hold onto your hat. I’m having his baby.”
Her sister snorted. “In your dreams.”
“Maeve, I’m serious. I’m pregnant.”
A moment of silence reigned before the explosion. “Holy guacamole, Batman! You really are serious! How the hell did this happen?”
Dryly, Rose said, “It wasn’t exactly in vitro fertilization.”
“Sorry. Stupid question.” Maeve’s voice softened. “Oh, Rose. A baby. I’m so damn jealous. Have you told him?”
I’ve told him.” Rose held her spoon at eye level and viewed its contents balefully. “He wants to get married.”
“I hope to God you had the sense to say yes.”
“I told him it was out of the question.”
“You would. Geez, if a guy that gorgeous offered to marry me, I’d have him down at City Hall so fast his head would spin. And then I’d keep him on a leash. A real short one.”
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist. I reconsidered. I told him I’d think about it.”
“If I were you, I’d think real hard.”
“I have. And I’ve made a decision.” She hadn’t realized it until this moment. She slid the spoon into her mouth and let the chocolate melt on her tongue as she looked around the kitchen of the house she’d lived in since Luke was in diapers. She wouldn’t be sorry to say good-bye to this place. “In light of this afternoon’s events,” she said, “I’ve decided to make him a counter offer.”
chapter five
Jesse checked his watch for the fifth time and moved the centerpiece of yellow and purple chrysanthemums an eight of an inch to the left. He would have used the best china, except that he didn’t have any best china, just the everyday dishes his ex-wife had bought at the IGA, one place setting at a time. Frowning, he turned a dinner plate so the chipped rim wouldn’t be so noticeable. The oven timer went off as Mikey thundered down the stairs. Jesse flipped a dish towel over his shoulder and went to check on the roast.
It was cooking nicely, tender and juicy, with an aroma just this side of heaven. He shut the oven door and set the timer for another ten minutes. Mikey stood in the archway, football jacket in hand and a puzzled expression on his face. “Who is this lady, anyway?” he said.
A water spot marred one of the glasses. Jesse put it in the dishwasher and took a new one from the cupboard. He paused to polish it with the dish towel before he set it on the table. “Her name is Rose Kenneally. She’s Rob’s sister. I met her at the wedding.”
Mikey eyed the laden table suspiciously. “You never had flowers and candles on the table when Mrs. Delacroix came over.”
His son had been twelve years old when Jesse had been dating Linda Delacroix, and he hadn’t thought Mikey knew what was going on. Apparently he’d underestimated the kid. “This isn’t a date,” he said. “We have business to discuss.”
“Sure, Dad. Whatever you say.” Mikey held out his hand. “Keys?”
Jesse fished in his pocket and pulled out his keys. “I don’t want to see any scratches on my truck when you bring it back.”
Mikey rolled his eyes. “No scratches.”
“And don’t use up all my gas.”
“Dad!”
He tossed his son the keys just as Rose Kenneally’s ancient blue Honda pulled up beside his pickup. “Do you need any money?” he said.
“Twenty bucks would really make my life complete,” Mikey said as Rose stepped out of the car.
“You want twenty bucks, you’d best be cleaning the garage on Saturday.”
Mikey sighed. “I’ll clean the garage on Saturday.”
Jesse fumbled for his wallet, pulled out a twenty, and handed it over to his son. “Now, scram.” Mikey grinned and pocketed the twenty, and then he was out the door.
Halfway down the walk, the boy came face to face with Rose. She gave him an impish grin, and he nodded and stepped aside to let her pass. Jesse dropped the curtain and tried to remember if he’d forgotten anything. Tablecloth, flowers, candles, food. Music? That was it. A romantic dinner with a beautiful woman called for music. He started for the stereo, then realized he had no idea what kind of music the mother of his unborn child preferred.
When she rapped on the door, he hurried to open it. Rose was wearing jeans and a green silk blouse that fell softly around her curves. She should always wear green, he decided. Except when she wore nothing.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi. Come on in. Dinner’s almost ready.”
When she stepped past him, the heat from her body drove her scent directly into his face. She smelled of Ivory soap and warm woman, a combination that did dangerous things to his libido. Jesse cleared his throat. “Can I get you a drink?”
“I’d love a glass of milk.” She patted her tummy. “It coats my stomach.”
“Milk it is. Make yourself at home.”
He retreated to the safety of the kitchen. Rose dropped her purse on a chair and stretched, slow and languorous, like a cat, before she moved to the table to admire the chrysanthemums. “My mother grows these,” she said as he handed her the milk. “She says they remind her of the strength of woman. No matter how much of a beating they take, they just keep on blooming.”
“That’s poetic,” he said.
“That’s just Mary MacKenzie.” She sipped her milk and eyed him over the rim of the glass. “You’d like her.”
“I think I already do. How have you been feeling?”
“Better. The morning sickness is almost gone.” She crossed her arms. “Your son’s handsome. And very polite. How old did you say he was?”
“Sixteen.”
“He seems older, somehow.”
“He’s just cocky right now. He got his driver’s license yesterday.”
“Ye gods. You have my sympathy. I’d be a basket case if I were you.” She waved the glass of milk in a circle to indicate the flowers, the tablecloth, the candles. “You didn’t have to do all this, you know.”
“It just felt right.” He glanced at his watch. “Excuse me. I have to check the roast.”
It was lean and juicy and pink in the middle, just the way he liked it. Jesse took it from the oven and transferred it to a platter. He was draining the potatoes when her voice floated out to him from the living room. “Hey, you have all of Michael Starbird’s books. Are you a big fan?”
He nearly dropped the potatoes into the sink. Clearing his throat, he said, “I like his work. Do you?”
“Are you kidding? I’m his biggest fan. His stuff is sexy and ter
rifying. It keeps you right on the edge of your seat. He’s always one step ahead of me. Just when I think I have it figured out, he takes the story in a whole different direction.”
She came into the kitchen and watched him arranging the potatoes around the edge of the serving platter. “I thought you stuffy English teacher types only read dead guys,” she said. “Like Shakespeare and Milton and Chaucer.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Those dead guys,” he said, “happen to have written some pretty impressive stuff.”
She walked to the table, plucked an olive from a serving dish, and popped it into her mouth. “I guess it’s a matter of opinion. Give me Zane Grey any day.”
He grinned. “You like cowboy stories?”
She folded her arms across her chest. Instead of concealing her breasts, it brought them into vivid relief. “I like his cowboy stories. I read Wildfire when I was eleven. For a year afterward, I pestered my parents to let me have a horse. Not much space for horses in the city.”
“Kind of racy for an eleven-year-old.”
“I was precocious.”
They kept their dinner conversation impersonal, discussing books they’d read and movies they’d both seen. She remarked on how delicious the meal was. He inquired about her drive up from Boston. They shared brief anecdotes about the difficulties of parenting teenagers. While she talked, his eyes followed the clean line of her collar down that milky-white throat to the dark vee of the green shirt, his memory filling in what the fabric hid from view. She tilted her head, and the dangly earrings rattled like wind chimes. He’d always thought gaudy jewelry looked trashy until he’d seen it on Rose Kenneally On her, it looked exotic, and sexy as hell.
They finished the main course, and she set down her fork. “Jesse,” she said, “I think we should cut to the chase.”
He paused, napkin in hand, not certain how to respond. “Meaning?”
“Look, you really went out of your way to make this a lovely evening, and I appreciate it. But all this dancing around each other is getting us nowhere. I have to work tomorrow, and I have a four-hour drive ahead of me. Can we just get to the issue at hand and get this over with?”
Feeling a little foolish, he set down his napkin. “You’re right,” he said. “I’ll clear away the dishes, and then we can talk.”
“Let’s talk now. I’ll help you with the dishes afterward.” She shoved aside her plate and clasped her hands together on the table so tightly her knuckles went white. “The reason I asked to see you was to discuss your marriage proposal.”
His throat had gone dry, and his glass was empty, but he couldn’t figure out a graceful way to get up and refill it. “That was my assumption.”
“I’ve given this quite a bit of thought. And in light of certain recent events--”
“What events?”
She looked at him, opened her mouth, then closed it hard. “Last Sunday,” she said, “I caught my seventeen-year-old daughter in bed with her boyfriend.”
He’d never had a daughter, but as a parent, he knew how crushed she must have been. Trying to soften the blow, he said, “And she’s still among the living?”
Her green eyes went appreciably warmer. With a wry smile, she said, “All bodies alive and accounted for.”
“I know it hurts, but it’s pretty normal behavior.”
“That’s what my sister told me. She reminded me of how randy we were at that age. But I have to tell you, it threw me. I’ve been thinking hard about what you said, about the city being a crummy place to raise kids. The world isn’t what it was when my folks were raising us. And there were two of them. I’m all by myself, and I’m scared. My kids are growing up too fast. They both need some grounding.” She paused and took a deep breath. “So I’ve decided to make you a counter offer.”
He leaned back in his chair. “I see.”
“I typed this out in a hurry.” She unzipped her purse and took out a piece of paper. Handing it to him, she said, “Of course, this is just a draft. I’d want it drawn up legally. And you may want to add a few items. Which I’d agree to as long as they’re reasonable.”
He took it from her. At the top, neatly typed, were the words Prenuptial Agreement. Below that, ordered and numbered, were her marital expectations. He glanced at her quickly to gauge her seriousness. Her grim expression gave him his answer. Jesse quickly scanned the agreement, then returned to the top and began reading more slowly.
“It’s a simple business arrangement,” she explained. “We agree to stay married for twelve months. At the end of that time, we reassess. If the marriage isn’t working out to our mutual satisfaction, we split, neatly and painlessly.”
“Let me be sure I understand,” he said, still reading. “If you want out, for whatever reason, I won’t be able to stand in your way.”
“I won’t be able to stand in your way, either. The agreement is reciprocal. We simply agree, here and now, that if either of us decides not to continue the marriage, we’ll get a simple, no-fault divorce. And each of us will leave the marriage with the financial assets and obligations we entered it with.”
“What about the baby?”
“It’s all spelled out under number three. If we split up, the baby lives with me. But you’d be allowed liberal visitation rights. And of course, you’d be expected to pay child support.”
“Of course,” he said dryly.
Sounding defensive, she said, “It’s not as cold-blooded as it sounds. It’s not as though we’re a couple of starry-eyed teenagers looking for romance. We’re two adults trying to make a rational adult decision. I’ve already been through one messy divorce, and I don’t intend to go through another one. I figure a year will give us both time to see if we’ve made some monumental mistake.”
He hadn’t expected this. After five years as a bachelor, Jesse Lindstrom was ready for a real marriage. But while he’d been lighting candles and arranging flowers, Rose had been working on an arrangement of her own, one that sounded more like a corporate merger than a marriage. Obviously, they weren’t on the same wavelength. Hell, they weren’t even in the same ballpark.
Jesse rested both elbows on the tabletop and leaned forward. Coolly, he said, “And if we decide the marriage was a mistake? What happens then? You pack up my baby and waltz back to Boston? I get to see my kid at Christmas and for a week during the summer?”
She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. “Not necessarily. There’s a good chance that I’d stay and raise the baby right here in Jackson Falls.”
If she’d intended to mollify him, it wasn’t working. “And if you don’t?”
“Look,” she said quietly, “nobody’s forcing you into anything. If this doesn’t happen, it won’t kill either of us. I can walk out the door right now, and nothing we’ve said here tonight will ever leave this room.”
“And you’ll take my baby with you.”
In the flickering candlelight, she was breathtakingly beautiful. And resolute, the stubborn angle of her jaw declaring more clearly than words could say that she had no intention of backing down. Jesse tossed the prenuptial agreement down on the table and blew out the candles. “Go ahead and have your agreement drawn up,” he said. “I’ll sign it.”
***
“I don’t suppose,” Devon said, “that you’d care to explain to me again exactly why I have to meet these people?”
In black jeans and a black silk shirt, she was the picture of righteous indignation, her slender arms crossed, stereo headphones dangling casually around her neck. “Because,” Rose said as she packed tuna sandwiches in the picnic basket, “Jesse and his son are driving all the way from Jackson Falls, and I expect you to be hospitable the entire time they’re here. Capisce?”
“I don’t believe this,” Devon said. “This is so bogus! You expect me to waste my weekend baby-sitting some sixteen-year-old kid whose idea of a good time is probably wading through cow patties, when I could be with my friends, doing something I want to do. In case you forgot,
I do have a life.”
“That would be hard to forget, wouldn’t it?” Rose said, and her daughter had the grace to blush.
Luke opened the freezer and took out an ice cream bar. “Do you think we’ll be done by two?” he said, tearing at the wrapper. “Because I’m supposed to be at Jason’s house by two for band practice.”
“No,” Rose said in exasperation, “we will not be done by two. We’re going to the museum.”
“Oh, joy,” Devon muttered.
“And we’re having a picnic in the park. Then we’re coming home to watch the videos I rented. Together.” She swiped an errant strand of hair away from her face. “I already went through this with both of you. Why is the concept so difficult to grasp?”
“I don’t understand why you have to drag us along just because you have a date,” Devon said. “You’re both a little old to need a chaperon.”
Rose opened her mouth to respond, but before she could speak, the doorbell rang, and Chauncey set up a racket that the neighbors could probably hear from four blocks away. Through gritted teeth, she said, “Luke, will you please shut him in the bathroom?” Then she leveled a pointed glance at Devon. “Best behavior! Is that understood?”
Still sullen, but too curious to miss out on whatever was about to happen, Devon rolled her eyes and leaned against the refrigerator as Rose went to open the door.
Jesse was wearing mirrored sunglasses that concealed his eyes and gave him a slightly dangerous look. His hair was windblown, and there was a ruddiness to his cheeks, as though he’d spent time outdoors on a windy day. The imperfections only served to make him more appealing. “Hey,” she said.
Jesse took off the glasses. “Hi there.”
“Come on in. Hi, Mikey.”
Rose performed quick introductions, and the kids eyed each other warily. Casting about for an ice-breaker, she said, “Mikey plays sports.”
“How nice,” Devon said, her expression deadpan. “I just adore jocks.”
Rose shot her a warning glance, as Jesse said, “What about you, Luke? Do you play football?”
Sleeping With the Enemy Page 6
