Have Bouquet, Need Boyfriend (5 page)

had been the only stable mother figure in her life ever since she was

nine, when her mother had died.

She brushed her fingers over the soft velvet, the scent of cedar and her

grandmother’s rose potpourri clinging to the inside of the chest as if

to remind her of its origin. She had seen the bride’s book before but

hadn’t noticed the white envelope lying beside it. Her heart pounding

with excitement, she opened the letter and began to read.

My dearest, darling Rebecca, You are a very special granddaughter

because you remind me so much of myself when I was your age. You were

the first of Bert’s daughters, the one who brought a deep love into his

marriage that cemented the bond between him and your mother.

But you were the one who suffered the most when your mother died.

Although your own heart was aching, you pushed your feelings aside to

comfort your father and little sister in their sorrow.

You showed such strength that the rest of us gained courage from you.

But when you retreated to that silent place where you grieved, you never

quite came back.

Always steady and strong, dependable and caring, you are loyal and

trusting to a fault. Believe in yourself now, Rebecca. Take time to nurture

your own dreams and talents, and love yourself the way you love others.

I wish for you happiness, true love and a man who will give you all the

joy a partner can.

Love you always,

Grammy Rose

P.S. Inside you will find something old, something new, something

borrowed and something

blue.

Rebecca wiped a tear from her eye, then picked up the lacy bride’s book

and stroked a hand over the embossed silver bells. With a wistful sigh,

she flipped the pages, imagining the blank white spaces filled with

signatures of guests.

Guests at her own wedding.

Knowing she was being silly, she laid the book down and dug deeper into

the chest. A blue garter lay nestled on top of a larger white envelope.

She placed the garter around her wrist and opened the envelope, her

mouth gaping when she found a blank marriage license inside. What in the

world was Grammy doing putting a marriage license in there? Did she

expect Rebecca to need one in a hurry?

A nervous bubble of laughter escaped her at the thought.

Occasionally Grammy did some wacky things, just as various other members

of the Hartwell clan had been known to do. This obviously was one of them.

Next she thumbed through the book on dream analysis. What on earth would

analyzing your dreams have to do with getting married?

The corner of a small children’s book peeked out. The Ugly Duckling,

Rebecca traced her finger over the picture of the little yellow duck on

the front, then the beautiful white swan, thinking she had always been

the duck, Suzanne the swan. But she smiled as she flipped the pages,

memories of Grammy’s voice reading the story to her night after night

echoing in her mind. She had so loved the awkward little duck and had

cheered the lonely creature on as he battled his way through the story.

Hugging the book to her chest, she imagined reading it to her own child

one day. Was that the reason Grammy had put it in the chest-did she

foresee a baby in Rebecca’s future?

A little boy or girl with dark-black hair and green eyes. A little boy

who had an amazing similarity to Thomas Emerson.

What in heaven’s name was she thinking?

Feeling foolish, she propped the book on the floor beside her and

searched the hope chest, unearthing an antique comb, brush and mirror

set. Grammy Rose’s. She’d seen it on the antique dresser in the guest

bedroom where Rebecca had slept as a child when she’d stayed overnight.

Sentiment squeezed at her chest as she slid the brush through her hair,

remembering the times she’d done so at her grandmother’s. She’d stood in

front of the mirror for hours, brushing her hair, pretending she was

Rapunzel with long, flowing, silky hair.

Pretending she was beautiful. That a handsome prince would rescue her

from being imprisoned in the tower.

She raised the silver mirror and stared at her reflection.

No beauty there.

Oh, she wasn’t bad to look at, she admitted. Even with wire-rimmed

glasses, her eyes were a nice shade of blue, and her skin smooth and

creamy. Her mouth wasn’t bad, although her nose was a little too long,

and the tiny freckles on her nose made her look about twelve years old.

No, she definitely wasn’t ugly. Besides, looks were more about what lay

on the inside than the outside. She cared about others and had a good

heart. But she just wasn’t the beauty queen type. Or the type to attract

and hold on to a man like Thomas.

She wasn’t imprisoned in a lonely tower, either. She had a decent

apartment, a good job, and her cousins lived close by. And Uncle Wiley.

Refusing to batter her self-esteem any longer, she placed the mirror and

brush set back in the chest, her eyes narrowing when she found another

book inside. Not a children’s book, but a book of poetry.

She traced a finger over the worn leather binding, surprised at the

title. “Passions.” Blushing, she opened the book, her mouth dropping

open when she noticed the pages filled with drawings of erotic love

poses. A poem had been written beside each nude sketch.

Oh, my goodness. She flipped back to the title page and gasped at the

sight of her grandmother’s name printed inside.

Not only did the book belong to Grammy, but she had been one of the

contributing artists and poets!

Thomas placed baby girl McGee in her mother’s arms, his heart finally

steadying after the harrowing

delivery. When Nora had arrived, she was already fully dilated, but the

baby hadn’t dropped. It was also breech, and he’d tried to turn it, but

the fetus had gone into distress, and he’d finally resorted to a

C-section. A wise move, since she had had the cord wound around her neck

at birth and hadn’t been breathing.

Terrence had passed out and nearly fallen into Thomas as he’d given the

baby oxygen.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Nora said, tears seeping into her eyes. “She’s

beautiful.”

Terrence shoved a hand through sweat-soaked hair, looking worse than his

wife as she nestled the baby to nurse her.

Terrence curved an arm around his wife. “She looks like you, Norrie.”

Thomas’s throat closed. It never ceased to touch him when parents held

their child for the first time. And it was nice to see the baby with two

loving parents.

Miracles did exist.

Only, there hadn’t been one for his family.

The day he’d lost a brother, his entire family had fallen apart. His

mother had sunk into a deep postpartum depression and told his father

she didn’t want him around anymore. She didn’t need him. His father had

abandoned them both.

Later, when he was sixteen, his mother had died in an accident.

He pushed the painful thoughts aside. Thankfully, today, the technology

at Sugar Hill had been sufficient. “Congratulations, you two.” Thomas

patted Nora’s shoulder. “You did great, Mom.”

She squeezed his hand. “It may be our third, but she’s just as special.”

Thomas chuckled and left to offer them some privacy, his mood lifted by

the closeness of the family. A closeness he’d missed out on when his

father left. Although he admired single women who raised their kids

alone, he intended to be there every minute, if or when he had a child.

Shock surged through Rebecca. Her seventy-four-year-old grandmother had

written erotic poetry and drawn nude sketches of lovers intertwined? She

almost shoved the book back inside the hope chest, but curiosity won

out, and she scanned the first few pages. Grammy had always been a

lively and modern character, but the seductive tone of the poems and the

details of the drawings were more risque than she could have imagined.

Oh, my, my, my…

She read the third poem, the erotic words conjuring visions of her and

Thomas Emerson….

Before and after they’d strolled down the aisle.

A shiver rippled up her spine. There was no way she could try some of

the poses. Could she?

Rattled, she shook off the images and hastily repacked the items in the

hope chest, hoping to pack away the fantasies as well. No sense getting

all starry-eyed just because her grandmother had sent her a few odd gifts.

Still, she carried visions to bed with her and in her dreams, they

resurfaced.

Images of her and Thomas, their naked bodies tangled

together, giving each other delight. Images of the two of them making

love all through the night. Images of the two of them having a child.

When Rebecca woke the next morning, a soul-deep ache stirred within her.

Moving slowly, she sat upright, wincing at the sharp pain in her chest

and the stiffness in her muscles. She adjusted the pillow to prop

herself up, then she lay back and considered her options.

She wanted a baby so badly. She had even before Mimi had gotten

pregnant, but watching Mimi go through the pregnancy had raised all

kinds of fantasies in Rebecca’s mind. And seeing Mimi’s little girl,

Maggie Rose, had only deepened the desire for a child of her own. But

she needed a man to get pregnant, and she didn’t have a boyfriend or

even a possibility of one in sight.

Unfortunately, the only man in the world she wanted to have a baby with

was Thomas Emerson.

But he would never see her as anything but a klutz who’d demolished his

Porsche and nearly killed him on the way home. Plus, he certainly didn’t

owe her a favor; she owed him.

Still, her biological clock was ticking away like a time bomb. And she

had to face the fact that Sugar Hill wasn’t exactly crawling with

single, eligible bachelors.

Take time to nurture your own talents and dreams, Grammy had written.

Her dream was to have a family.

The book on dream analysis beckoned her from the hope chest. She jumped

out of bed, brought it back

and snuggled under the covers, skimming page after page, fascinated by

the information.

Hmm, dreams sometimes relayed subconscious thoughts and desires.

She sat up straighter, feeling rejuvenated and more confident as an idea

formed in her mind. Maybe there was something to this hope chest magic

after all. Grammy had always been modern. Maybe it was time she stepped

into the twenty-first century herself. Women didn’t have to have

husbands to have a child. She could have one by herself. She had a

decent job running the bookstore, she was responsible, healthy, and she

would love the baby unconditionally.

She’d taken care of Suzanne after their mother had died, so she knew she

would make a good mother.

Yes, she was going to believe in herself, just the way Grammy Rose had

suggested.

She’d have a baby on her own.

There was just one little problem-she needed sperm to get pregnant.

A headache pinched at her as she struggled over what to do. She could

visit a sperm clinic and have in vitro fertilization.

Too impersonal. She’d never be able to go through with it. And she

couldn’t possibly tell her baby that she’d bought the sperm from a

stranger, that she knew nothing of his father but what she’d learned

from a computer file.

What about asking someone she knew to be a donor?

Jerry’s enthusiastic face sprang to mind, but a shudder gripped her.

The dark-haired baby from her dreams haunted her mind.

Grammy had said to follow her dreams. Maybe the dream had been an omen.

And in her dream the baby had been Thomas’s baby.

Maybe the dream meant that she was supposed to have Thomas’s baby!

He was smart, intelligent, good-looking. If he donated sperm to father

her child, she would know that the baby would be healthy, and she could

assure her child that he or she had a great father. But how would she

approach Thomas?

Should she, try to seduce him?

Nervous laughter tickled her insides. She could barely talk to Thomas

without making a fool of herself.

And asking him to sleep with her would be wa-a-ay too personal.

Although the mere thought sent a million delicious sensations curling in

her belly.

Maybe…no, she couldn’t.

But she could ask him to make a little personal donation. After all, he

was an OB-GYN. He probably dealt with single women wanting babies all

the time. He’d even commented that he admired single mothers. And the

fact that he was an OB-GYN might prove to be a blessing. He probably

already knew doctors who could perform the procedure, and she wouldn’t

have to seek help from virtual strangers.

She’d keep the arrangement simple, too. Once she was pregnant, he

wouldn’t be obligated or need to have any personal contact with her at all.

She twisted the sheets in her hands, her stomach convulsing in a

thousand knots. Now she just had to summon up enough courage to discuss

the baby plan with him. And she would, she promised herself, right after

she phoned her insurance company to take care of paying for the damages

to his wrecked car.

A wistful sigh escaped her, a twinge of sadness following. She wasn’t