Angels And Elves (The Baby Bet #1)

by Joan Elliott Pickart

  A soft sob escaped from Jillian’s lips, then she fell forward to be caught tightly against Forrest’s chest by his waiting arms. She shifted her legs to the tops of his, and buried her face in the crook of his neck.

  Neither spoke. The haze slowly dissipated as their heated bodies cooled and heartbeats quieted.

  “Jillian,” Forrest finally said, his voice still gritty with passion.

  “Hmm?” she said, not moving.

  “I love you.”

  As he felt Jillian stiffen in his arms, Forrest silently cursed, calling himself seven kinds of fool for allowing his emotions to override his good sense.

  But in the next moment, he was aware and surprised as his anger shifted in another direction.

  Damn it, he thought, he was the other half of this pair, of Jillian Jones-Jenkins and Forrest MacAllister, together. He had wants, needs, emotions. He had dreams and goals. Not everything could, or should, be geared solely to Jillian’s mind-set, her emotional timetable.

  Yes, there were dragons from Jillian’s past to slay, but they could fight them together, united as one unbeatable force. There was a time to keep silent, but the moment had come to speak, to declare his love, to be open and honest about the depth of his feelings. Or...or was he making a terrible mistake?

  “Jillian?”

  “No,” she whispered.

  Forrest lifted her off him and nestled her close to his side. He placed one finger beneath her chin and lifted her face, forcing her to meet his gaze.

  “Listen to me,” he said gently.

  “Forrest, no, I—”

  “Shh,” he interrupted. “Please, just hear me out.” He paused and moved his hand to her cheek. “I do love you, Jillian. I know without hearing you say the words that my declaration of love frightens you because of what happened to you in the past. I’m not expecting you to say you love me in return. I do believe that you care deeply for me, might even love me. But, to admit that your feelings match mine would form a bond, a commitment, take a step toward a future that you’re not prepared to make yet.

  “Jillian, do something for me tonight, all right? Don’t say anything. Just think about what I’ve told you, knowing it’s the truth, that it’s honest and real. Think about the fact that from the very beginning, we did not have sex, we made love. Made love, Jillian. Far more beautiful and intimate, special and rare, than anything I, and hopefully you, have ever experienced before. Think about what you felt as you saw the miracles, the babies that were born tonight, knowing that our miracle—the child we would create—is within our reality. Just think and feel.”

  He kissed her on the forehead. “Good night, Lady Jillian.”

  Forrest left the bed, dressed quickly and walked out of the room, not looking at her again.

  Through the mist of tears filling her eyes, Jillian watched him go, then she buried her face in the pillow and wept, the sobs nearly choking her as tears streamed down her face.

  Having no idea how much time had passed, she finally rolled onto her back and pressed the heels of her hands to her now throbbing temples. She drew a shuddering breath, then sighed—a very sad-sounding sigh.

  All that she’d accomplished with her wailing, she thought dismally, was to produce a roaring headache. She had to think, sort, sift, deal with all that had happened.

  I do love you, Jillian.

  “Oh-h-h,” she moaned, feeling fresh tears threatening to spill over.

  Forrest MacAllister loved her, was in love with her. He had, in a roundabout way, said he wanted to marry her, make her his wife, his partner in life, and create the miracle that would be their baby.

  Forrest MacAllister loved her, and she loved him in kind.

  It was glorious.

  No, no, no! It was terrible, a disaster, a frightening scenario in which she could not, would not, take part.

  She would not tell Forrest that she loved him.

  She would not place her heart in his hands for safekeeping, thus rendering herself totally vulnerable.

  She would not give up the career she’d worked so hard for, and that was a part of who she was.

  The price tag for loving Forrest MacAllister was far too high, and more than she was prepared to pay.

  Jillian flopped back over onto her stomach, and gave the pillow a solid whack.

  “Perdition, Forrest,” she said aloud, “why didn’t you just stay being The Project, like you were supposed to? You gummed up the whole program.”

  And so had she, because she’d fallen deeply in love with him.

  But he would never know the truth, never know that when he was gone, her heart was going to shatter into a million pieces.

  * * *

  Andrea sat propped up in the hospital bed, a smile of delight on her face as she looked at the two huge teddy bears sitting at the foot of the bed. One was pink, the other blue, and they were grinning to beat the band.

  “The bears are wonderful, Forrest,” she said. “They’re as big as two-year-old children, so they’ll have to be decorations in the nursery until the twins are older.”

  “At least they won’t eat you out of house and home,” Forrest said, settling onto the chair next to the bed.

  “Since you’re here at three in the afternoon,” Andrea said, “I assume you’re still on vacation from the ever-famous MacAllister Architects, Incorporated.”

  Forrest nodded.

  “Speaking of famous,” she went on, “John told me that Jillian was here at the hospital with you last night.”

  “She was here,” he said quietly.

  “You still haven’t given me any details of your social life with Jillian, you rotten rat.”

  Forrest shrugged. “You had other things on your mind. Two little other things, as a matter of fact.”

  Andrea folded her hands in her lap and studied her brother. Forrest met her gaze for a moment, then directed his attention to the smiling teddy bears.

  “Okay, big brother, what’s wrong?” she said.

  “Wrong?” he echoed, raising his eyebrows as he looked at her again. “Nothing is wrong. What could be wrong? I mean, jeez, I’m the uncle of two new fantastic kids. Miracles. That’s great. You’re great. You and John are great. Everything is great. I’ve got such a long list of great, that—”

  “Cut,” she said, slicing one hand through the air. “This is me, Andrea, remember? I know you very well, sweetheart, and something is most definitely wrong.” She paused, narrowed her eyes and nodded. “Jillian Jones-Jenkins.”

  “You’re dreaming.”

  “I’m right on the money. Talk to me.”

  “Speaking of money, I’m going to split the bundle I won on The Baby Bet with you. That seems only fair, since you delivered the twins in my predicted order. I’m still The Baby Bet champion, madam.”

  “Would you cut it out? What’s going on between you and Jillian that is causing you to look as dreary as yesterday’s oatmeal? It’s worse than that. You’re as grim as today’s lunch they served me in this place. Forrest?”

  “Hey, Andrea, I didn’t come here to dump on you. You just had two babies, for crying out loud. Take off your sister hat and put on your new-mother hat. Just forget about me.”

  “Not a chance. Talk to me, or I’ll sign you up for diaper duty so John and I can go out to dinner when I’ve escaped from here.”

  Forrest opened his mouth, closed it again, and shook his head. He sighed, looked at the ceiling for a long moment, then met Andrea’s now troubled gaze.

  “I’m in love with Jillian, Andrea,” he said, his voice low and not quite steady.

  “That should be wonderful. You’ve waited a long time to love, to be in love, fall in love. I know how much you want to have a wife and babies. The fact that you’re not turning cartwheels means there’s a major glitch in your relationship with Jillian.

  “Is it her career, Forrest? She has to be very devoted, able to exercise extremely strict self-discipline. But, as you know because you accepted the Angels and Elves assign
ment, she works much too hard.”

  “No, it’s not her writing. There’s no problem there at all. I highly respect her talent and what she has accomplished. I’ve enjoyed reading her books, too. It’s a demanding career, but she seems to have a healthy balance in her life of work and leisure. She’s on vacation right now, because she decided she needed a break. You and Deedee overreacted to Jillian’s schedule.”

  “Well, shame on us. That area is apparently in apple-pie order. So? What’s wrong?”

  “I wouldn’t talk about Jillian’s private life because it’s just that—private—but you don’t count.”

  “Oh, thanks,” Andrea said, laughing.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Of course, I do,” she said, her expression serious again.

  “Jillian was badly hurt years ago by a crummy marriage to a real jerk. She’s closed herself off, built protective walls around herself. I knew that, damn it. I knew she was wary and skittish, that I mustn’t rush her or do anything to cause her to build those walls higher and stronger.”

  Forrest leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and making a steeple of his fingers.

  “Jillian cares for me, Andrea, I’m certain of that. She might— Well, she might even be in love with me, but is too frightened to tell me, or maybe too scared to even admit it to herself. Hell, I don’t know. What I do know is that I blew it. Big time. Major league.”

  “How?”

  “I told her that I loved her. I opened my big, stupid mouth and said that I loved her, wanted to create a miracle, a baby, with her. I didn’t come right out and ask her to marry me, but I’m sure my intentions were clear.”

  “You were being honest and open,” Andrea said, nodding decisively. “That’s important in a relationship. I think your telling her how you felt was excellent.”

  “I think it was the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.”

  “Oh. Well, what did she say?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing? You declared your love to a woman and she said nothing?“

  “I wouldn’t let her,” he said, sinking back in the chair. He dragged a restless hand through his hair. “I blathered on like the idiot of the year, and realized an instant later that I’d made a terrible mistake. Jillian isn’t ready to hear that stuff yet. She needs more time, and I should have been patient. I told her not to say anything, but to think about it—everything I’d said. Then I hightailed it out of there, coward that I am. I repeat, I blew it. In spades.”

  “Oh, dear,” Andrea said. “A woman left alone to brood can be a dangerous creature. We have very active minds, you know. It’s much better to start the communication process immediately when dealing with a major issue.”

  “I figured I’d stay out of her way for a few days.”

  “Wrong. You should see her as soon as possible, then sit her down, and gently—gently—say it’s time to talk things through.”

  “Bad plan. I’d rather take on diaper duty for the twins.”

  “Forrest MacAllister, you really are a coward.”

  “You’ve got that straight. I’m scared to death, Andrea. I love Jillian and want to spend the rest of my life with her. The thought of losing her just rips me up.”

  “Go to her, Forrest.”

  He got to his feet. “You’re a tough cookie. John sure does have his hands full being married to you.”

  “The lucky son of a gun,” she said, smiling.

  “Yes, he is.” He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead.

  “Will you do it? Will you go talk to Jillian?”

  Forrest nodded. “I have to settle down a bit first, but I’ll call her and see if I can set it up for tomorrow night. I’ll probably have a complete mental collapse before then, though.”

  “Talk...to...her.”

  “Yeah, yeah, okay, I will.” Forrest walked to the end of the bed and stopped, staring at the huge teddy bears. “I’m big, strong, healthy, and prepared to slay the dragons for my Lady Jillian, but my physical strength means nothing. Love sure is an equalizer, a powerful force that has the capability of stripping a man bare.”

  “And of bringing him the greatest joy he’s ever known,” Andrea said softly.

  Forrest nodded slowly, then turned and left the room.

  * * *

  “Deedee?” Andrea said into the telephone receiver. “Are you sitting down?”

  Ten

  The following evening, Jillian stood in the kitchen looking at the clock on the wall. The hands seemed to be moving at a snail’s pace, inching closer to seven o’clock and Forrest’s scheduled arrival.

  She’d dressed in jeans, a magenta-colored sweater and matching socks, with the hope that the bright, cheerful attire would improve her dark, gloomy mood.

  It hadn’t helped one iota.

  With a cluck of self-disgust, she stomped out of the kitchen, smacking the light switch to Off as she passed. In the living room, she sank onto the sofa in front of the fireplace and stared at the leaping flames.

  She was a wreck. Forrest had called late yesterday afternoon, said they needed to talk, and was seven o’clock the next evening convenient?

  He’d sounded stiff, stilted, like someone making an appointment to sell her life insurance. She’d agreed to the plan, and had been a bundle of nerves ever since.

  She couldn’t pretend that she didn’t know what Forrest wanted to discuss. The man had told her that he was in love with her, for Pete’s sake. He’d then proceeded to tell her to think, think, think, about the list of items he’d clicked off. Now the jig was up. This was it. Forrest was coming for answers, responses to what he’d said.

  “Oh-h-h, perdition,” Jillian said, leaning her head against the back of the sofa.

  Snatches of Forrest’s words had echoed in her mind through the entire day and on into the evening.

  I do love you, Jillian. It’s the truth. It’s honest and real. When we made love it was far more beautiful, intimate, special and rare, than anything I, and hopefully you, have ever experienced before. Think about the babies, the miracles, knowing our child is within our reality. I do love you, Jillian. I do love you, Jillian. Just think and feel. Think, think, think.

  “Oh-h-h,” she moaned again, pressing her palms to her aching temples.

  She was so muddled, so confused, so incredibly unhappy. It was as though an exhausting tug-of-war was taking place in her mind, yanking her back and forth between fantasy and reality.

  The make-believe was glorious. She had no ghosts from the past haunting her, holding her in a fist of fear. She was free to follow the missive from her heart, to tell Forrest that she loved him, wanted to be his wife, and the mother of his children.

  In that fantasyland, she didn’t have a demanding career that required her full devotion, both emotionally and physically. She wrote books as a hobby. Yes, that was good—a hobby, where she dashed off a paragraph or two when the mood struck.

  But reality? Oh, dear heaven, it was totally opposite from that sugarcoated fairy tale. And reality was synonymous with the truth, and the truth was what she would have to convey to Forrest in a very few minutes.

  But not the whole truth, she thought glumly. She would not tell Forrest MacAllister that she was in love with him. It would serve no purpose, because the bottom-line fact that they had no future together could not be changed.

  The doorbell rang, and Jillian sighed as she got slowly to her feet and started across the living room.

  She wished she was anywhere other than on her way to opening the front door. Siberia held appeal, or Afghanistan, or—

  “Jillian, shut up,” she muttered.

  She stopped in the entry hall, took a deep, steadying breath, then opened the door, hoping to heaven that her smile didn’t appear as phony as it felt.

  “Hello, Forrest,” she said, stepping back. “Please come in.”

  “Jillian,” he said, nodding slightly. There was no trace of a smile on his face.

  She closed the do
or and turned to look at him, allowing herself to savor a quick scrutiny of his magnificent physique presented to perfection in jeans and a black turtleneck sweater.

  Forrest looked directly into her eyes, placed one hand on her cheek and brushed his lips over hers.

  “It’s good to see you,” he said, dropping his hand to his side.

  “Yes, well, it’s nice to see you, too. Shall we go in by the fire?”

  She hurried past him without waiting for his reply, and Forrest followed slowly behind. Jillian sat down on the sofa and folded her hands in her lap, suddenly wishing she’d mastered knitting so she could busy herself with something other than the tension-filled moment.

  Gently, Forrest ordered himself. Andrea had emphasized that he was to discuss the issues at hand gently, talk things through gently. That was going to be a good trick, considering the fact that he was so stressed he felt like a tightly coiled spring that was apt to go rocketing into orbit at the slightest provocation.

  He considered settling onto the sofa next to Jillian, then rejected the idea as futile, knowing he was too wired to sit still. Instead, he planted one forearm on the mantel.

  Damn, he thought. Jillian looked like a scared kid who had been summoned to the principal’s office. Her beautiful gray eyes were wide and wary, her hands clutched tightly in her lap, her magenta-socked feet planted soldier-square on the floor.

  The tension in the room was a nearly palpable entity, and for the life of him he didn’t know how to defuse it before it exploded into a disaster.

  “Hell,” he said.

  Jillian blinked in surprise. “Hell?”

  He shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans for lack of a better thing to do with them, and his frown deepened.

  “This is really ridiculous,” he said. “This is supposed to be a momentous moment, a special occasion in both of our lives, and I feel as though I came to announce that your dog died.”

  “Well, I—”

  “Damn it, Jillian,” he said, his volume now on high, “I love you. I want to marry you. Have you got that? Is it loud and clear enough for you?”

  He rolled his eyes heavenward.

  “That cooked it,” he said, shaking his head.