“Amos?” All her instincts were suddenly on the alert. So, despite his protestations the night before, he had seen Amos. She should have known. . . .
“You can forget what you’re thinking.” He threw her a quick glance before his attention was once again claimed by the traffic. “I saw Amos this morning. For the first time since Jay and I left Annapolis. And he was mighty pleased to see me, I must say. Said it was about time I showed up.”
“I bet.” Lisa could just imagine the scene. If Sam had told Amos that he had come back to marry her, Amos must have practically fallen on the younger man’s neck.
“He also told me that you were recently promoted to assistant editor of the magazine you’re working for. What’s it called,
Baltimore Alive
?” Lisa nodded. “And that you got the job entirely on your own, without anyone at the magazine even knowing that you’re related to him. Why?”
Lisa shrugged. “I guess I got tired of hanging on to Amos’s coattails. Always, all my life, I wondered if the things I did—getting good grades in school, getting into Bryn Mawr, even Jeff asking me to marry him—were because I was Amos’s granddaughter. The only job I ever had except this one I got through him. I started to wonder what I could do by myself, without anyone to help me. So I decided to find out. I actually read the want ads in the newspaper like hundreds of other people do every day, typed up a resumé, and went out looking for a job. And I got one. Because they like the way I write. Not because of Amos.”
He looked over at her and smiled suddenly. “Very admirable. So Lisa Bennet Collins, with all her money and social connections a carefully guarded secret, is now an ordinary working girl—beg pardon, woman. How do you like it?”
She met his eyes steadily, unsmiling. There was even a hint of defiance in the green depths. “Very much.” And it was true. For the first time in her life, she felt that she, as a person, had value. It was a good feeling—but she didn’t really want to talk about it. Not even to Sam. Not now, while the feeling was so new. “Where are you headed, anyway?” she asked, changing the subject as she glanced out the window to find that they were in a line of traffic getting ready to pull onto the packed freeway.
Sam momentarily looked surprised, as if he had been driving without thinking much about it. “I don’t really know, to tell you the truth. What do you feel like eating? Amos suggested a seafood restaurant that he said you loved, but I’ve forgotten the name of it.”
“The Blue Crab,” Lisa supplied automatically, not really liking the idea of the two of them plotting against her—and that’s certainly what it sounded like!—behind her back. She lifted her chin. “I feel like pizza.”
“Pizza?” Sam couldn’t have sounded more taken aback if she’d said “marigolds.” He took his eyes from the cars lined up in front of them to glance down at her figure, still slender except for the bulge at her middle, which even the pale blue maternity suit did not quite disguise. “Are you sure that’s good for you—in your condition?”
Lisa returned his look with a trace of irritation. “For goodness’ sake, Sam, I’m in perfect health, and pizza is a perfectly healthy food. But if it makes you feel any better, I’ll drink a glass of milk instead of a Coke. Okay?”
“Okay.”
His smile was meant to be disarming. Lisa knew that, but it worked nonetheless. She had to smile back, hating to admit even to herself that she liked his concern for her. He had already proved that he could be a good father with Jay. It seemed that he was just as ready to be a good father to the coming baby—and a good husband to her. If she could only be sure he loved her enough not to be deterred by the obstacles that stood between them . . .
“This is all new to me, honey, so you’ll have to bear with me,” he added with a trace of a grin as he followed Lisa’s directions to pull out of the line of traffic and head back toward the pizza parlor that was a scant two blocks from her apartment. “It’s been seventeen years since Jay was born, and I was out on maneuvers most of the time Beth was carrying him. But I do remember that she was sick a lot and had to spend a lot of time in bed. Have you been sick?” The overly casual tone of the question did little to mask his concern.
Lisa shook her head. “Only the first three months-—and only a little. Since then I’ve felt fine. I was that way with Jennifer, too.” Lisa could think of her daughter now with more love than pain, and she realized that she owed much of her inner healing to Sam. He had been good for her in lots of ways. . . .
“I should have been with you,” she heard him mutter under his breath. As she looked over at him she saw that a frown darkened his features, etching harsh lines around his mouth and between his eyebrows.
“If you hadn’t been so stupid about the money, you would have been,” Lisa pointed out with more truth than tact.
He winced. “I would have been, wouldn’t I?” he acknowledged slowly; then, turning to look at her, he added in an urgent tone, “Lisa . . .”
But she still wasn’t quite ready for the discussion that tone of voice promised. She had to work out what was best for herself and the baby by herself, without allowing Sam’s undeniable powers of persuasion—and the love she felt for him—to sway her. She was determined to make this decision with her mind, not her heart. For once.
The brightly painted facade of the pizza parlor on the next corner saved her. “Pull in here,” she directed. And the topic was shelved. For the present.
Once inside, they ordered pizza with beer for Sam and milk for Lisa, then played video games as they waited for it. Lisa felt more like a teenager on a date than an unmarried mother-to-be with a divorce and the tragedy of a dead child behind her, and she loved it. As she played Pac Man and Donkey Kong, she giggled like a sixteen-year-old. Sam, who had had the benefit of Jay’s expert tuition, was much better than Lisa, and he demolished her with a single-minded intensity that she secretly found hilarious. Like her, he seemed to have reverted to his teenage years, or younger. Did men ever grow up? she wondered with amusement as he let out a whoop, which caused nearly everyone in the restaurant to look around, after beating her for the third time in a row at computer Ping-Pong.
When the pizza came, they retired to their table, Sam flushed with victory and Lisa flushed with trying to suppress an almost-irresistible tide of giggles. For a while, as they munched, Sam entertained her with tall tales (no way did she believe all that stuff!) about his exploits as a soldier and with stories of his early years as a rebellious teenager in a town that worshipped conformity. Then he listened with unflagging interest as she talked about her job and the interview with a local disc jockey she was trying to arrange.
“So when did you move into the apartment?” he asked, picking up a prized corner piece of the pizza and taking a large bite.
“About two weeks after I found out I was pregnant.” The words were slightly muffled as Lisa fought with strings of cheese that seemed determined not to abandon the bite she had in her mouth.
“Why?”
The genuine puzzlement in the single word made her answer more thoughtful than it would have been. If she and Sam were to have a chance, a real chance, of making a marriage work, then he had to understand her as she was trying to understand him. So far, their relationship had been more fire and passion than simple friendship, but Lisa had a feeling that friendship was the stronger glue when it came to holding two people together for twenty or thirty years.
“I thought it was time I lived on my own,” she answered, meeting his eyes steadily. “It occurred to me that I’d never really been alone. I lived with Amos until I got married, and then I lived with Jeff until I went to Rhodesia. And then I lived with you.”
“But why that particular apartment? In that area of town? It doesn’t strike me as exactly your kind of place.”
“But then you really don’t have any idea what my kind of place is, do you, Sam?” The words were gentle for all their astringency. “You just took it for granted that I couldn’t be happy anywhere that wasn’t the very last word in luxury! After I came home from your ranch, I even began to wonder if you might be right—if perhaps I was so spoiled that I couldn’t do without a big house and servants and expensive clothes and nice cars! So I decided to find out. For the last few months I’ve been totally self-supporting, living on money I earn from a job I work hard at, and I like it! I like knowing that I’m not the useless little social butterfly that you and Jeff and Amos made me feel!”
There was a moment’s silence. Sam met her eyes, and slowly put down the slice of pizza he held in one hand.
“If I made you feel like that, then I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I never thought you were useless, Lisa. Just accustomed to more luxuries than I could give you. I didn’t want you to have to do without anything you wanted, just because you had married me.”
“But what you never understood was that it was you I wanted.” Lisa’s voice was so low Sam had to strain to hear. The single, glass-encased candle in the center of the table lent a rosy glow to her pale skin, and her eyes gleamed brightly with reflected candlelight as they met his. “I’ve never been short of money, or anything that money could buy. And what I learned from that is that money isn’t important. People are, Sam. People, and relationships.”
“If you feel that way, then marry me. I love you—and you love me. With that going for us, we should be able to handle anything.”
Lisa smiled, an almost-sad curve to the sweet line of her lips. “But how long would it be before the thought of all that money in a bank account in my name started to bother you? How long would it be before you started to wonder if I regretted not living the kind of life you seem to think I need? How long would it be before we started fighting over it? How long would it be before you started hating me?”
“Lisa . . .” His voice was hoarse.
Lisa shook her head. “Don’t say anything right now, Sam. Just think about it. And for your sake as well as mine and the baby’s, be honest. Please.”
She stood up abruptly, leaving Sam to pay the bill as she hurried out of the restaurant before the tears that threatened to erupt could disgrace her completely. By the time Sam joined her, steering her to his car, she had them under control, but the look he bent on her was heavy with concern.
“All right?” he asked her when he had put her into the passenger seat and gotten in beside her.
Lisa nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Sam looked at her, parted his lips as if to say something, then apparently thought better of it. Without a word, he drove her back to her apartment.
“My car . . .” were the only words Lisa uttered as she saw where they were.
“I’ll bring it by for you later. Don’t worry about it,” he said brusquely, coming around to open her door for her. Lisa was already on the pavement before he reached her.
“There’s no need . . .”
to walk me up,
she started to say, but the derisive look he shot her made her abandon the words as a waste of time. He walked silently behind her up the steps, and then as they reached her apartment took her key from her hand and opened the door.
“Wait here.” Before she knew what he was about he was inside, turning on the lights, checking quickly through the rooms before returning to where she had moved to stand just inside the door.
“I hardly think that was necessary. I’ve been living here for months without any trouble.”
“Don’t you want me to earn my Boy Scout badge?” He smiled at her, then caught her chin in his hand and tilted her face up to his. “Good night, Lisa,” he murmured. Then he bent his head to press a hard, fast kiss on her soft lips. Before she could respond as her every instinct urged her to, he straightened to look down at her.
“I want
you
to think about
this,
” he said softly. “If you don’t marry me, how long will it be before you hate yourself for not having given us a chance? How long before our child hates you for depriving him or her of a father?”
She stared up at him, shaken. He smiled down at her, pressed another quick kiss to her lips, and released her.
“Lock the door behind me,” he ordered. Then, as she continued to stare after him, he left. And she was alone.
XX
T
HE
roses were delivered while she was at lunch the next day. When she got back to the small cubbyhole that served as her office, there they were, a dozen bloodred blooms in a crystal vase, filling the small space with their heady fragrance. Lisa stopped dead in her doorway when she saw them, nearly causing Emily Pfeiffer, the magazine’s other assistant editor, who had just lunched with her and then followed her to her office to continue their conversation on an upcoming story, to bump into her.
“Wow!” Emily said, peering over Lisa’s shoulder at the blooms. The awed syllable brought Lisa back to her senses. She moved toward the roses, smiling despite herself. Sam! Even before she opened the white embossed card nestled among the green foliage she knew that. The simple message brought a suspicious fog to her eyes. “I love you,” it said. “Marry me.”
“I suppose those are from the hunk who met you after work last night?” Emily’s half-envious voice brought Lisa’s attention back to her. She blinked surreptitiously, hoping the other woman wouldn’t notice the film of moisture. Then she smiled without answering.
“Boy, some people have all the luck,” Emily continued, apparently not needing an answer to draw the correct conclusion. “What I wouldn’t give to have a sexy specimen like that after me.” Then she looked down at her own short, slightly-too-plump body and reached up to touch her wire-rimmed glasses ruefully. “Not much chance, huh? Unless he has a fetish for fat thighs?”
The teasing hopefulness in her voice made Lisa laugh.
“Don’t be silly, Em,” she said in as nearly normal a tone as she could manage. “You know you do very well for yourself, and your thighs are not fat. Now, if you’re quite through fishing for compliments and trying to steal my male friends, why don’t you come in so that we can get to work?”
Emily came in and sat down in the chair opposite Lisa’s desk, while Lisa settled in the chair behind the desk, making a conscious effort not to look at the roses with their flagrant message of love. Emily, however, had no such inhibition.