To See The Daises ... First (16 page)

"Seven has always been my lucky number," she said demurely, then, "Ben, about those engagements —"

"That's not important," he interrupted. "I know you. You're good and true. Whatever, happened in your past is not Important."

She stared at him for a moment, then began to run her fingers through the curls on the back of his neck, avoiding his eyes. "It's very broad-minded of you not to hold against me the fact that I've slept with six men besides you," she said with admiring Innocence.

"Do we have to talk about it?" Suddenly he didn't sound broad-minded; he sounded thoroughly grumpy. "There's no need for you to show me a scorecard."

Laughing delightedly, she pulled his head down to kiss his slightly stiff lips. "You idiot, I didn't sleep with them. After one regrettable experiment when I was seventeen, I decided sex wasn't for me." She grinned up at him. "I thought I was frigid."

He gave a shout of laughter at her pronouncement, unable to hide the relief that flavored the rich sound. "You were just waiting for me. Everything you've ever done has been leading you to me." Suddenly his face grew solemn. "I mean it, Sunny. That's the way I feel. As though everything in our lives was preparing us for the day we met. We were meant to love. I know that."

She stared at him, concentrating on his words. "It has to be that way. I woke up in that little hotel room, not knowing who I was or where I was. I could have gone anywhere, but I didn't. I just started walking in one direction, wondering what was in store for me and then—"

He captured her lips in a searing kiss that told her what he remembered about the next part of her memory. "Then," he whispered against her bruised lips, "then God, in his infinite wisdom, decided to let a poor, blind fool get a glimpse of the daisies."

Eleven

Sunny stepped through the door and eyed her adversary warily. There was no way out of it. She had put it off as long as she dared. Already Ben was beginning to regard her with suspicion when she pulled out one of her lame excuses. With her past record it was only a matter of time before he put two and two together.

She stepped slowly into the kitchen, wiping her hands nervously on her shorts, and said a quick prayer before stopping in front of the gleaming ivory monster.

"I'm not afraid of you," she muttered. "Millions of women all over the world are using dishwashers." She reached out and bravely pulled back the concealed lever the way she had seen Ben do soon after he had bought the baffling machine.

A surprise, he had said. Surprise was hardly the word for it. Although she had been thrilled with the gift that was supposed to make things easier for her, she had panicked at the thought of facing yet another example of her incompetence in dealing with the ordinary things in life.

Even though she—with the passage of half a year—still awoke each day in a kind of euphoric wonder, the mundane details of life had to be faced with alarming regularity. Mary Louise had been a godsend in helping her deal with these things. And Sunny was not too proud to ask for her help with even the smallest task. Of course, it meant she had to listen to her caustic comments when the girl found out Sunny didn't know what happened to clothes once they were thrown into a hamper. Or that she didn't know which cleaning tool was used for what.

Sunny had made enormous progress in learning how people other than the Barrons lived. But as far as the dishwasher was concerned, she seemed to be facing-some kind of cultural lag. Mary Louise had never used a dishwasher either, leaving Sunny very much on her own.

She knew she could have gone to Ben for instruction, but two things held her back. The first was the desire to show him that, besides fitting into his world emotionally, she could cope in the practical sense. The second was less worthy. Ben had a tendency to go into gales of laughter when he learned of the small mistakes she made.

She grinned suddenly as she thought of some of the "small" mistakes. No, she would not give him a chance to tease her about this, too.

Opening the door, she regarded the interior suspiciously, running her hand over the covered wire racks, then leaning in close for a better look as she completed her inventory.

"Uh-huh," she murmured, nodding her head knowingly. "Just as I thought"—leaning against the cabinet, she closed her eyes—"I'm sunk."

After considering alternate ideas—like hiring a hit man to get rid of the cunning machine—she thought again of Ben, helpless with laughter. Minutes later she was pulling clean dishes from the cabinet to stack them in the sliding shelves.

"The water comes from there," she murmured, eyeing the rotating arm at the bottom. "So the glasses have to go in upside down."

That bit of deductive reasoning boosted her spirits to such a degree that she began to whistle as she continued loading. Except for a minor altercation between the forks and the silverware basket, she managed to finish with what she considered remarkable panache.

Bending over the open door, she ran through the list of instructions printed there. "Number one: Fill both cups with detergent and close door of right hand cup." She smiled confidently. "Simple."

She had it licked now. Ben wouldn't get the chance to tease her about this. Reaching beneath the cabinet, she began to pull out the large box of laundry detergent, then stopped.

"Oh, no," she chuckled. "You won't hang me up on a technicality. Not laundry detergent—dishwashing detergent."

Mentally patting herself on the back, she reached behind the box and pulled out the plastic squeeze bottle of green liquid.

***

Ben walked mechanically up the last flight of stairs. He still couldn't believe it. As he gained the landing, he reached inside his pocket and pulled out the letter. It was real. He hadn't dreamed it.

Unlocking the door, he walked inside, his mind filled with boomeranging thoughts. Then everything receded into the background when he saw Sunny standing, in front of the closed kitchen door. Would he ever stop feeling that wild burst of joy at the sight of her? Had it really been over six months since they had found each other?

Leaning against the front door he eyed her curiously, feeling the sensual jolt that always accompanied the emotional one. "Well," he said slowly. "Is the honeymoon finally over? Why are you over there when I'm over here?"

The words were barely out of his mouth before she was in his arms. Her lips were as eager as always, her arms as possessively hungry. But there was a minute difference that had him pulling away to examine her face.

"What's up?"

The smile she showed him was a little forced, her eyes just a bit wary. "Nothing," she denied guilelessly. "What makes you ask that?"

He chuckled. "You had the same look on your face when you glued your hand to the kitchen cabinet, and when you tried to hide my bright pink Fruit of the Looms, and when—"

Her muttered "All right, all right" caused his chuckle to grow into full-fledged laughter. He knew he shouldn't tease her but the strange gaps in her education were a delight to him. She was remarkably intelligent and didn't hesitate to tackle any job, no matter how large or complicated, but the small, everyday things that most people took for granted absolutely mystified her.

Muffling his laughter against her neck, he pulled her closer for a moment, then released her after lovingly fondling her derriere. She would tell him what was bothering her in her own time. Probably after he had made a mistake she could tease him about.

"Where are you going?" she said as he walked across the living room, her voice showing faint signs of panic.

"To get something to eat. I'm starving." He threw the words over his shoulder as he walked. "Then I have a surprise for—"

"You're going into the kitchen?" she interrupted, rushing after him.

"Isn't that where we keep the food?" He hesitated for a moment, then shook his head, placing his hand against the door.

"No, Ben, don't!"

But it was too late. As the strangled words left her lips, already suds were oozing over the tops of his shoes and beginning to cling to his faded jeans while he watched in stunned silence.

At first, watching him leaning against the door, doubled over with laughter, Sunny's thoughts ran to revenge—like putting slivers of bamboo under his fingernails. Then her lip began to twitch, and soon a very unladylike snort escaped her as she tried to stifle her amusement.

It was some time before they had overcome the gales of laughter that accompanied the cleaning-up process, bursting out anew each time small clouds of suds landed on various fixtures in the kitchen, including, at times, Sunny and Ben.

It was only when the last snowy drift had been scooped away that she remembered the surprise he had mentioned. As she pulled the makings for a salad out of the refrigerator, she glanced back over her shoulder.

"Where's my surprise? Have you decided I don't deserve it?"

"Surprise?" His brow wrinkled in thought, then his eyes opened wide in astonishment. "Good Lord, I forgot!" He gave her a warm look. "You see what you do to me?"

"The surprise?" she repeated impatiently.

"I'll get there," he teased. "Just give me time." Stealing a carrot from the chopping board, he slid onto the cabinet beside her. "You remember I wrote to Jim about my idea for a novel."

She nodded. Jim Banning was the senior editor at "Family of Man" and, although they had never met, he and Ben had hit it off from their first telephone conversation, corresponding in a somewhat haphazard manner ever since.

"Well," he drawled, flipping his carrot casually in the air as he drew out the suspense. "With all the good intentions of an inveterate busybody, he took my proposal and copies of my work to a luncheon he was attending."

Catching the carrot on the descent, she shoved it forcefully to his throat. "If you value your life, you'll get on with it. And I warn you, death by carrot is not a pretty thing."

He laughed and pulled her between his thighs, fitting her snugly against him. "You're so sexy when you get vicious," he said, nuzzling her neck.

"Ben, tell me!"

"Yes, ma'am." He locked his arms around her waist, allowing her to lean back without their lower bodies losing contact. "Attending the aforementioned luncheon were several other editors. Editors from major. . .publishing. . .companies." He drew the words out, emphasizing each one.

She drew in her breath sharply, digging her nails into his shoulders. "Ben?" she whispered.

Pulling an envelope from his pocket, he handed it to her, grinning broadly. Her hands trembled with excitement as she withdrew the single sheet of paper from the envelope and shook it out.

Seconds later she raised her head slowly, then glanced back at the letter. "Do they really pay that much for a book that hasn't even been written?" she murmured in disbelief.

"Don't you think I'm worth it?" he laughed, obviously pleased by her surprise.

"More," she said emphatically. "Much, much more. But I still can't believe it. I didn't know it could happen so fast." She closed her eyes, then opened them to stare at him with loving warmth. "I'm so proud of you. I thought I would have your genius all to myself for a while yet." She paused as she was struck by a sudden thought. "Ben! We can recover the furniture and—and get a mattress with no lumps." She glanced at him in amazement. "And new" seats for the car!"

"Now, that's the problem with people who are not used to having money," he chided. "You think small. Forget recovering and redoing. We can buy our own house." He leaned thoughtfully back against the cabinet door. "We could get out of the city. There's a nice area to the east of here that would be just right for raising a family." He grinned and leaned closer. "And as for a car, we can junk that heap and buy a new one."

For a moment she enjoyed his pleasure in planning their future. Then, as what he was saying sank in, she started to chuckle. She leaned her head against his chest as the laughter spilled out of her spontaneously.

"Sunny?"

The confusion in his voice threatened to set her off again and she pressed her hand to her mouth as she looked up at him. "Will it be a Cadillac?" she gasped, then as he continued to stare in bafflement, "This new car—will it be a Cadillac?"

"What are you—" he began before pulling himself up abruptly to mutter, "Oh my God. A Cadillac. A house in the suburbs, no less." He gave a shout of laughter. "Put a little money in my hands and I'm right back where I started." He leaned his head on hers and sighed. "Should I chuck it out the window?"

"Don't you dare! No, a house is a good idea, but why not this house? You said yourself the owner wanted to sell it." Her eyes sparkled as the idea took hold. "Ben, it could be a beautiful place."

"Yes," he murmured, running his hands down her back to cup her buttocks and press her closer. "But with you there, so would the house in the suburbs. As long as we're together, babe,"—he drew an exultant breath—"as long as we're together, the rest of our lives will be a beautiful place."

And, as he had predicted, it was.