Have Bouquet, Need Boyfriend (23 page)

Thomas nodded and watched Wiley head toward the women’s room, wondering

if he should follow. Rebecca had been in there an awfully long time.

He certainly hoped nothing was wrong.

“What’s wrong?” Wiley asked as all the girls exited the bathroom in a

huddle.

Rebecca winced. If he’d taken one look at her and known she was upset,

how would she fool Thomas and everyone else? “Nothing.”

Wiley grabbed Rebecca’s arms. “Are you sure, honey?” His gaze

scrutinized her face and his eyes glazed over with horror. “There is

something wrong. You’ve been crying.”

Mimi gave him the short version.

“I told you not to tell,” Rebecca hissed.

“Sorry,” Mimi said with a shrug. “But Dad is family.”

Hannah and Alison patted Rebecca’s back. “We won’t tell anyone else,

don’t worry.”

Wiley bristled, squaring his shoulders inside his bright-purple coat.

“You mean your daddy was pushing Suzanne toward Thomas when he’s been

dating you? What kind of fool is he?”

“Dad-” Hannah warned.

“I don’t think my father has a clue,” Rebecca said. “It probably never

occurred to him that Thomas would like me.”

“Why the hell not?” Wiley asked, his voice booming. “You’re one of the

prettiest girls in town.”

Rebecca blushed. “Thanks, Uncle Wiley, but Dad doesn’t see me that way.”

“Then he’s not only a fool but a blind old fool.” Wiley started forward,

hands clenched. “And I’ve got a good mind to tell him right now. He

thinks money can buy everything, but doesn’t he know people want love

and time?”

Hannah, Mimi and Alison all grabbed him at once. “Stay out of it, Dad.”

Rebecca kissed her uncle’s cheek. “Thanks, Uncle Wiley, but this is my

problem, not yours. And I don’t want Grammy’s party ruined. She was so

happy you and Dad were both here.”

Wiley shrugged, his red face turning ruddier.

“We’re family, hon, one person’s problem is everybody’s.”

Rebecca felt tears sting her eyes again. “Thanks, and I appreciate it,

honestly I do.” She dabbed at her eyes again. “But Thomas is one problem

I have to take care of myself.”

She gave them all a weak smile. She just had to figure out a way to end

her relationship with him gracefully so he would never know he’d hurt her.

Thomas was just about to start searching for Rebecca when she emerged

from the ladies’ room, her entire family in tow. Having lived alone most

of his life, he envied the way the Hartwells were bonded by blood and

family, sharing a closeness he’d never known.

It didn’t matter, he reminded himself. He had almost everything he’d

ever wanted at his fingertips. A great job in Atlanta, prestige, money,

a bright future.

But would he be sharing it with the woman he wanted? Was Rebecca the

right one to stand by his side and help him climb the ladder of success?

He caught her gaze, and his heart gave an odd leap at the expression in

her eyes. Not the adoration he’d seen earlier, but a darker look.

Wariness. Worry.

He couldn’t quite read her feelings, but noting Wiley’s glare toward

Bert, he assumed her anxious look resulted from the two men and their

ongoing feud, so he brushed off the uneasiness. He rushed toward her

with a smile. The party was breaking up and he wanted to have her to

himself. Alone at the Honeysuckle Inn.

At least for another night.

She met him halfway. “Thomas, I hope you enjoyed

the party and weren’t too bored with all this family stuff.”

“No, it was fun. Your family is charming.” He’d accomplished everything

he’d set out to do, so why did he suddenly have this feeling of

impending doom. “Are you ready to leave?”

She nodded. “Thanks for bringing me here. But I-I’ve decided to go home

with Grammy tonight.”

“What?” He tempered his hurt and leaned over to kiss her. “I thought

we’d spend the night together.”

She turned slightly so his kiss landed against her cheek. “I’m sorry. I

should have said something sooner, but I didn’t realize Grammy was

expecting me.” Her eyes turned pleading. “I just don’t want to

disappoint her on her birthday.”

He swallowed his disappointment. He couldn’t deny a

seventy-five-year-old woman her birthday request, either.

Besides, it was only one night. If he worked things right, he’d have the

rest of his life to spend with Rebecca.

Rebecca barely made it through saying goodbye to Thomas without bursting

into tears again. Though part of her had wanted to confront him for

using her, her pride kept her from creating a scene.

Her father and uncle were a different story. With only a few minutes

left, they forgot pride, and their snipping careened out of control.

“Did you have to wear such a godawful suit?” Bert said. “I’m surprised

you didn’t blind the poor hostess when you came flashing in. All those

whistles and

bells and lights on your car, you’d think you were some rock star.”

“Maybe if you’d strip off your snottiness, you’d realize I’m just trying

to show people a good time, not buy their love.”

“You’re simply jealous that I’m a success and you’re not.”

“My business is doing very well,” Wiley boasted.

“You mean those cheesy ads and corny signs you post draw in suckers for

your jalopies?”

“My cars are not jalopies.”

“At least my daughters can be proud of me,” Bert said, puffing up his chest.

“Proud?” Wiley bellowed. “You ignorant oaf! You dote on one daughter and

ignore the other-“

“I do not.”

“You most certainly do. It’s so obvious it makes me furious. I’d like to

pound some sense into you-“

Mimi and Hannah and Alison grabbed Wiley’s arm before he could throw a

punch. Suzanne caught Bert’s hand just as it formed a fist, and dragged

him toward the door.

Rebecca curled an arm around her grandmother, mortified. “I’m sorry, Gram-“

“Shh, don’t fret.” Grammy Rose laughed. “Boys will be boys.” Rebecca

gave Thomas one last pained look as she walked her grandmother outside.

Once Grammy was settled in with her friend, Rebecca sneaked into her

uncle Wiley’s Suburban.

She couldn’t let Thomas see her riding home with her uncle instead of

leaving with her grandmother. Wiley threw an arm around her and hugged

her, then

shifted the SUV into gear and tore down the mountain, mumbling about how

idiotic Bert could be.

Rebecca huddled her arms around her waist and stared out the window, but

Thomas’s face was etched in her mind. The miles and bumps in the road

accentuated the distance and hurt that separated them.

One weekend shouldn’t have been so long. But it seemed to drag on forever.

Monday afternoon, as Thomas entered the medical center in Atlanta to

meet Bert Hartwell and the other board members, he tried to clear his

head. But his mind kept whirling with worry.

All weekend he’d attempted to concentrate on his medical journals the

way he used to do before he became involved with Rebecca, but that last

odd look in Rebecca’s eyes haunted him.

Something had been wrong.

He just couldn’t put his finger on the problem.

The fact that he hadn’t talked to her for days magnified his anxiety. He

missed her voice, her shy sultry smile, the way she whispered his name

in the throes of passion, the way she lay curled against him in the dark

of night.

He’d tried to convince himself she’d just spent the weekend with her

grandmother. So, why did he feel as if everything in his life had just

changed? As if he’d lost her somehow?

If only she’d stayed with him at the inn that night

and he could have held her in his arms, he would have known everything

was all right.

Since when did you get so dependent on a woman, Emerson ? Or anyone else.

Work had always been all that mattered. It should be all that mattered

now. People’s lives, babies’ lives, depended on him being his sharpest,

most focused, on him knowing every possible thing that could go wrong

and being able to read the situation and data correctly during a

pregnancy and delivery.

Yet he hadn’t been able to read Rebecca’s thoughts at all.

Hannah, on the other hand, had been an open book. She’d told him she was

disappointed he was considering leaving but wished him well. Odd, but

he’d actually expected her to ask him to stay.

Not that she couldn’t find a replacement, but she’d been slightly

distant, a little quieter than usual. Maybe she just didn’t understand

his ambition, his drive.

He stepped up to the receptionist’s desk, excitement warring with worry.

Once he firmed up his plans, he’d drop by the art studio and check on

that painting of Rebecca’s to see if the dealer liked it. Then, after

Bert’s dinner party, he’d drive straight back to Sugar Hill and see

Rebecca. They needed to have a long, serious talk about their future.

Rebecca gathered the children around for story hour, knowing her own

dreams for a future with Thomas had disintegrated this past weekend.

Thank heavens he’d gone to Atlanta today and would be moving soon. At

least she wouldn’t have to face him

every day and be tortured by his handsome face and the fact that he’d

made a fool out of her.

“Okay, kids, I’m going to read you one of my favorite stories.” Rebecca

held up The Ugly Duckling. “My grandmother used to read me this one when

I was little. Listen very carefully…”

When she finished the story, the children clapped. “I wike the duckie,”

one of the four-year-olds said.

“I wanna be a swan,” Tonya, a tiny five-year-old whispered.

“You will be,” Rebecca assured her with a hug. Thomas had made her feel

like the beautiful swan.

At least for a little while.

So she couldn’t be too angry with him, could she?

She sang a few songs with the children, then herded them over to Mimi,

who’d planned to decorate duck cookies with them in the activity corner.

But Rebecca was too melancholy to join in; she simply sat and watched,

her heart heavy. Maybe she’d overreacted….

Gertrude tapped her on the shoulder. “You have a phone call.”

Please not Thomas, “Who is it?”

“A man named Robertson. He’s an art dealer from Atlanta.”

“Hmm, I don’t know him.” Gertrude shrugged and Rebecca rose and went to

the phone. “Rebecca Hart-well speaking.”

“Hi, Ms. Hartwell, I’m delighted to speak to you, and I appreciate you

giving us the opportunity to show your painting.”

“My painting?”

“Oh, sorry, we must have a bad connection?” He chuckled. “The painting

of the tulip garden. It’s fantastic.

I love your use of colors and the lines…you show a lot of depth and

sensitivity in your work.”

Rebecca frowned into the phone, totally confused. “You have my painting

of the tulip garden?”

” Yes… Dr. Emerson brought it in for you.” He hesitated, sounding

confused. “Is there a problem?”

You might say that. “Uh, no. I just didn’t realize he’d given it to you

yet.” The lying, conniving, sneaky…

“Oh, well, yes, he brought it to me last week.”

“Last week?”

“If you have any more you’d like to send, I’d be happy to show them on

commission. I think they’re going to fly out of the gallery.”

Rebecca chewed a thumbnail for a second. “As a matter of fact, I do have

another one for you. Give me your address and I’ll ship it to you ASAP.”

“Great.” He recited the shop name and street. “And let me know whenever

you want to come in. If we could get several of your pieces at once,

we’ll feature you in a special showing.”

Just what she wanted, every art critic in Atlanta coming in to criticize

her work. Her very personal work. She’d told Thomas that, but he

obviously hadn’t been listening.

She hung up, furious. Why had Thomas taken her painting to a gallery

without her permission?

For the money.

Was he so much like her father that he thought money was the key to

everything? That all happiness hinged on financial and career success?