Happy New Year--Baby!

by Marie Ferrarella

  “Your father sounds a great deal different from mine.” Again, she envied him. Funny, she thought she had worked through emotions like that. Obviously not. “James T. Bailey didn’t suffer embarrassments and qualms of conscience,” she said loftily, mimicking a tone her father had used with her during his numerous lectures. “He delegated them to other people and made them suffer instead.”

  “It doesn’t sound like you and your father get along.” It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that one out. Animosity fairly throbbed in her voice.

  Now there was the understatement of the century. “We didn’t.”

  “Didn’t,” Dennis repeated. “You reconciled with him?”

  Nicole laughed shortly. “No. He died. We never got the chance to reconcile—not that he would have.”

  There was never any thought on her father’s part that he might have been wrong, or insensitive, or lacking in any way. In his own eyes, she was sure her father thought he was perfect.

  “He was a hardworking man who was very good at what he did—advertising. But he should have stuck to his work and never had children.”

  Nicole took a long sip of her drink and let the flavor settle. “I never understood how he could be so good at honing in on what would entice the public to buy something or avail themselves of some service when he didn’t have a clue as to what his own family needed.”

  She supposed that would be chalked up to one of the mysteries of life, a secret that had been lost when her father had suffered a heart attack and died at his desk.

  Gently, he tried to lead her in the direction that was his ultimate goal. Her husband. But he couldn’t do it directly. He didn’t want to raise her suspicions. “There was just you and your sister?”

  She was talking too much. Nicole didn’t know what was the matter with her. She couldn’t blame it on the wine. It wasn’t making her talk. There was no alcohol in it. But once she’d begun, the words just seemed to be pouring out, like water through a hole in the dam.

  “I had an older brother who died when he was twelve. It was a freak accident.” She recited the event as if it had happened to another family. She’d been too young to really be affected by Robby’s death. Not like Marlene. “Robby fell out of a tree.”

  Her eyes shifted toward Dennis. There was nothing but sympathy in his eyes. She shouldn’t be saying this, she thought. She didn’t want sympathy. Sympathy made her feel vulnerable.

  “It was while we were on vacation up in the mountains. Marlene was with him when he died. She was the only one.” Nicole took a deep breath. “I think it haunted her for a long time.” Nicole hadn’t realized that until years later.

  He noticed that she purposely avoided talking about her own feelings. “And you?” he asked.

  Nicole lifted her shoulders and let them fall in a vague motion.

  “I missed him, but I was only six at the time. I didn’t really know him very well.” And it didn’t feel the same as when her mother had left. That had devastated her. And, in time, it had made her very angry.

  Dennis thought of his father’s death and how hard it had been on his mother. She had barely been able to place one foot in front of another for months afterward. How much harder was it to lose a child? “That must have been really hard on your mother.”

  Muscles tightened in her face. She doubted if her mother even knew that Robby had died. Or, if she did, that she’d care.

  “I wouldn’t know,” Nicole said woodenly. “She was gone by that time.”

  There was something ominous in her voice, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Playing his role, he asked the logical question.

  “She died?”

  Nicole shook her head. “No.” She didn’t want to talk about this anymore. It was her own fault for opening her big mouth, she thought.

  She indicated the depleted bowl of chicken cacciatore. He hadn’t taken a second helping, but then, the first had been pretty large.

  “Is it spicy enough for you? I didn’t want to make it too hot, but I noticed that you really seemed to enjoy the spicy chicken last night.”

  Dennis could almost hear the gate slam shut. The conversation regarding her mother was over. “The cacciatore is great. Actually, it’s better than great, it’s terrific.” The meal he’d just eaten hadn’t been slapped together. There had been subtle tastes in the sauce. She knew her way around a kitchen. “Who taught you how to cook?”

  “Sally. Our housekeeper.” Her mouth curved fondly. Sally had been a rock for Marlene and for her. “I think she was a former drill sergeant in the marines, but she’s dynamite in a kitchen.”

  There was a great deal left unsaid. He heard the inference in her voice.

  Nicole took a last sip of her drink, finishing it. “I guess you could say that she was the most constant part of our lives. Even now.” She saw the question in Dennis’s eyes. “Sally stayed on with my sister at the house after my father died.”

  “Do you and your sister get along?”

  What an odd question. “Yes.” Nicole paused to consider her answer. She and Marlene approached life on different paths, but they complemented one another. And there was the past to bond them. There wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do for Marlene. “We have our differences, but, yes, we do.”

  He knew that Marlene Bailey lived in an exclusive neighborhood in Newport Beach in the family home. If she got along with her sister, what was Nicole doing here on her own with a baby coming?

  “Wouldn’t it be easier for you if you moved in with your sister?”

  As if Marlene hadn’t already suggested that a hundred times. It was part of almost every conversation they’d had in the last year, intensifying after Craig died. But she wasn’t looking for someone else’s haven. She wanted to create one of her own.

  “Maybe it would be easier, but it’s not what I’m about to do. I like finding my own way.” Her eyes held his. “I always have.”

  He didn’t doubt it for a minute. Strong willed was a totally inadequate word to describe her, Dennis mused. Time to nudge her along. “When did you meet Craig?”

  When did she meet Craig? The question echoed in her head. God, looking back, it seemed like a hundred years ago. “When I was in college.”

  She stood up rather abruptly. The plastic tabs on the chair legs squeaked in protest. She didn’t want to talk about herself anymore.

  “I think it’s about time for dessert, don’t you? I made a banana cream pie.” Even saying it felt sinfully caloric. “Oh, I know at my size I shouldn’t, but I’ve gained so much weight, what’s another thousand calories or so?”

  He laughed at her flippant remark. He had a feeling that after the baby was born, Nicole would shed her pounds with the same determination she seemed to face everything else.

  Because she seemed bent on serving, he remained seated as Nicole disappeared into the kitchen. He raised his voice so she could hear him. “What would you turn the conversation to if there wasn’t this food?”

  She returned, carrying the plates and forks beneath the pie. He took them from her and set one at each place.

  “If there wasn’t this food, you wouldn’t be here and there’d be no conversation to turn.” Placing the pie between them, she picked up her knife. “Now, are you game for banana cream pie or not?”

  Dessert was a luxury he didn’t often indulge in. There were many luxuries he didn’t indulge in anymore. Like taking time off from his world to be with a woman. “Does the sun set in the West?”

  “Last time I checked.” Nicole cut a wide section for Dennis, then one of equal size for herself. The two slices comprised almost half of the entire pie.

  Maneuvering her spatula beneath the slice, she eased it out of the pie tin and onto his plate. This looked homemade as well. She was going to make her kid a great mother, he thought.

  He raised his eyes to hers. “A quarter of the pie?”

  With space to work with, taking the second piece was a lot easier. She placed it on her pla
te.

  “I could cut delicate pieces and then go through the charade of ‘just a tiny sliver more,’ but why bother?” She sank her fork into the whipped topping. “This is more honest.”

  The last word hovered between them.

  There was just a dab of whipped cream at the corner of her mouth. Dennis had the sudden and intense urge to sample it. He shifted his attention to his own serving. “And you believe in honesty?”

  For the first time since he had met her, Nicole grinned. He’d been right. It was an incredible sight. Like the sun coming out after a storm. “Whenever a lie doesn’t work.”

  He laughed, amused with her answer. “You’re something else, Nicole.”

  “Yes, I am.” She still wasn’t quite sure about him, but she was taking no chances. “And there’s no prize if you guess what. Eat.”

  He didn’t have to be told twice. “Yes, ma’am.” The pie tasted like a little bit of heaven, served with whipped cream.

  The packers at the supermarket called her ma’am. She hated it. “You say that word one more time and you’ll be wearing the rest of the pie.”

  He contemplated the remaining portion. “Not a bad offer.” Dennis looked at her. She sounded pretty adamant. “My drawl bother you?”

  If pressed, she would have had to admit that she rather liked the way words slipped out of his mouth. It reminded her of honey being poured over pancakes.

  “No, the word ma’am does.” She wasn’t the only one. Marlene had mentioned how much the term irritated her. And for the same reason. “It makes me feel like I’m a hundred years old.”

  She barely looked as if she were old enough to vote. “If you were, in your present condition you’d make the national news.” He took another bite. “Besides, ‘ma’am’ is a term of respect.”

  Maybe, but it was hard to accept it as such when it made her feel as if she were old and frumpy looking. “You’re being deliberately cheerful.”

  “Sorry.” His smile took over his eyes as well. “I’m having a good time.”

  It wasn’t a lie. If he didn’t think of this as an assignment, he could honestly say that it was the best time he’d had in a long time. She made it easy to enjoy himself. Too easy.

  She shouldn’t believe him, but she did. Which was probably a huge mistake. “Shouldn’t you be out with someone?”

  His eyes held hers for a moment. “I am.” He didn’t want her on her guard, so he added, “In a manner of speaking. Just because it’s Saturday night and I’m under thirty-five doesn’t mean I should be prowling around, looking to score.”

  That would make him entirely different from the men in the crowd she had hung around with in her late teens. Different, too, from the crowd that had been Craig’s main staple of life.

  She studied Dennis for a moment. “How much under thirty-five?”

  “Two years.”

  He looked younger, she thought. Or was it that she just felt old? “Nine.”

  “Are you contradicting, or actually volunteering a piece of information?” He knew she was twenty-six, but as her neighbor, there was no way he could have had that information.

  “Volunteering.” She supposed it had been another moment of weakness. After all, he hadn’t asked. “And don’t let it go to your head.”

  “Too late. It’s already there.” It was an encouraging sign. He was making headway more quickly than he had anticipated.

  With an exaggerated, contented sigh, he placed his fork on his plate and rose.

  There was nothing left to serve and perhaps nothing left to say. “Leaving?”

  “Clearing. The dishes,” he added when she didn’t seem to understand.

  Craig wouldn’t have lifted a dish unless it was stuck to him with Super Glue. She waved a hand at the table. “I can take care of them later.”

  Dennis was already piling one dish on top of another. “I can take care of them now.” Carrying the plates and bowls, he walked into the kitchen.

  Just who did he think he was, taking over as if she were some helpless dolt? Nicole followed him into the kitchen.

  “You don’t have to wash them.”

  He deposited the pile on the counter beside the sink. “Actually, I was thinking of stacking them in the dishwasher.”

  Maybe she was overreacting. She supposed that there was no harm in letting him do that. Nicole relaxed. “Your mother and sister certainly trained you right.”

  He pulled out the dish rack and began stacking dishes.

  “No, actually, that restaurant where I worked during college trained me well. I started out as a dishwasher, worked my way up through busboy to waiter.” He put in the detergent and closed the door.

  “And then you became a lawyer.” She set the dial and started the machine. Whirling noises began to emit from behind the door.

  “And then I became a lawyer,” he echoed. For about two minutes before he had gone to work for the Justice Department. But that was something she wasn’t going to know until this was all over.

  She was trying very hard not to feel comfortable around him. Being comfortable always clouded her judgment and led to mistakes.

  But it was becoming increasingly more difficult.

  It was time to go, he thought. To push too much would be overplaying his hand. The evening had passed rapidly and pleasantly. After they’d stacked up the dishes, they’d gone to the living room and talked for a little while longer, with the muted sounds of instrumentals playing in the CD player.

  They’d skirted past backgrounds and discovered several things they had in common, and some they did not, including opinions on a recent book that had climbed the bestseller charts. He’d hated it, she’d loved it.

  It was late and she was beginning to look tired. With a trace of reluctance he didn’t have to feign, Dennis got up from the sofa.

  Nicole rose beside him, surprised that he was leaving without being urged to. Surprised that she didn’t want him to leave.

  “I guess I’d better be going. It was a great dinner, Nicole, thanks for having me.”

  She walked him to the door. “Thanks for fixing the disposal. Did this satisfy your damsel in distress fantasy?”

  He laughed. “Not quite, but it came close. We’re missing a dragon, among other things.”

  His laugh was infectious. It was difficult not to join in. “What other things?”

  Her eyes seemed incredibly blue, so blue he could have waded in them from the hips on down.

  “In my fantasy, the damsel, who’s very grateful, always kissed the knight.”

  It was an entirely crazy impulse and she didn’t know what came over her. Nicole rose on her toes and brushed her lips against his cheek. As she did, she felt something tingle within her. The baby must have moved and pressed against a vital organ.

  “Okay?”

  “Almost.”

  Maybe there was something in the air, or maybe it was the look in her eyes. Whatever the explanation for the sensation, the soft touch of her lips ignited a reaction within him.

  Cupping her cheek, Dennis lowered his mouth to hers.

  Chapter 6

  Looking back, Dennis had no idea what had possessed him. When he did look back, he knew that that moment was the beginning of everything.

  He’d only meant to brush his lips against Nicole’s, touching them as lightly as she had glided hers against his cheek.

  How the kiss had evolved, flowering into an entity that was much larger than the sum of its parts, was something that he wasn’t quite sure of, and would remain unsure of no matter how many times he reexamined the moment.

  It seemed that one minute he was bidding her good-night at her door, the next he was threading his fingers through her hair, tilting her head back so that he could deepen the kiss.

  He deepened it so much that he fell in.

  It was his personal theory that a woman with legs that could weaken a man’s knees would know how to kiss the socks off that same man. He wasn’t disappointed. Overwhelmed perhaps, stunn
ed even, but definitely not disappointed.

  This, he realized, was something poets wistfully referred to as chemistry.

  God, what was she doing?

  She could feel every fiber of her being shaking. Wobbly, she was definitely wobbly. Trying to deny it, Nicole grasped the front of Dennis’s shirt to steady herself.

  This wasn’t supposed to be happening. And she had no one to blame for it but herself. If she hadn’t kissed his cheek, he would have gone home, leaving her in peace. She had instigated this in a moment of unprecedented weakness.

  In a moment of need.

  It had sprung out of the fact that it had been so long since she’d felt like a woman, so long since she’d felt that anyone cared. Something had just erupted within her, galvanizing itself to the very real attraction that she felt.

  Nicole couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually felt anything.

  Even the baby hadn’t been conceived in a moment of love. It had been conceived in a hurricane of violence.

  Following the circuit had brought Craig home for a week. He’d returned, roaring drunk, from a party celebrating his latest trophy-winning race. She had vainly attempted to put him to bed. He’d responded by pushing her away, then suddenly yanking her to him by her hair, demanding to have what belonged to him. No amount of reasoning or protest could dissuade him or make him stop and she had been too proud to plead.

  The bruises had remained with her for days. What he had done, the way he had taken her, had remained with her forever.

  From that day forward Nicole had been certain that she had lost the ability to respond to anyone.

  She was responding to Dennis now.

  Melting. She felt as if her body were melting, turning into vapor. She couldn’t allow this to be happening. She was pregnant, for God’s sake, what was she thinking of?

  What was he thinking of?

  But her thoughts kept vanishing, like misty prints on a foggy window. She couldn’t carry out a complete sentence in her mind. Dennis was numbing it with his gentleness. Nicole had to struggle to think. The sensations dancing through her veins were wonderful, but she knew she had to pull free of them, of their drugging effect. All drugs ultimately brought you to destruction, and she had already been to hers.