EXPECTANT BRIDE-TO-BE Page 10

  "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation," he began, taking pleasure in the bright red flush that suffused Edna Howell's usually pale face.

  Good—she should be embarrassed. Constance Beckworth, however, looked more miffed than anything. As if he had some nerve eavesdropping on her conversation, then taking exception to it.

  "Oh, Dr. Randall, we didn't mean any harm," Mrs. Howell said, not quite meeting his gaze.

  "I'm glad to hear that because you were talking about my fiancée—a woman I not only love very much, but also look forward to spending the rest of my life with."

  The words came out of his mouth before he had a chance to even consider the Pandora's box he was opening for Abby as well as himself. She had not agreed to marry him, and if she found out from anyone but him that he was telling people she had, she was going to be furious.

  At that moment, though, all he wanted to do was protect her from the kind of harmful, hurtful, hateful gossip Constance Beckworth seemed determined to spread. And the best way to do that, at least in his opinion, was to draw Abby under the protective mantle the Randall name could provide in small-town Promise, Nevada.

  Even Constance Beckworth would think twice before she slandered the Randall family, of which he had just indicated Abby Summers would very soon be a part.

  "Oh, really?" Mrs. Beckworth eyed him disbelievingly. "Rather sudden, your … engagement, isn't it?"

  "Not at all. We've been making wedding plans for several months, but Abby wasn't able to get back to Promise until now. We'll be making our official announcement next week."

  "Your parents must be … delighted." The woman all but sneered.

  "Of course, they are. Abby's a wonderful woman. They love her as much as I do."

  Jack tried not to think of how deeply he was digging himself in, or of how righteously angry Abby was going to be when he told her what he'd done. He just kept embellishing his original lie while at the same time assuring himself that his intentions were good.

  Surely that would count for something down the line.

  "I'm so happy to hear that," Constance muttered, the malicious look in her rheumy old eyes belying her words.

  "Were you waiting to see a doctor?" Jack asked, turning businesslike to end any further musings on Mrs. Beckworth's part.

  "Dr. Post has seen me already. I was just on my way out, thank you."

  "Well, don't let us keep you any longer. I'm sure you have a full day ahead of you." Jack smiled as he walked to the clinic door and opened it for her with a gallant flourish.

  "Quite full," Mrs. Beckworth assured him as she sailed out the door, her head held regally high.

  Glad to see the back of her, Jack closed the door, then fixed his gaze on Edna Howell.

  "I'm sorry, Dr. Randall. I had no business—" she began, looking away self-consciously.

  "None at all," Jack cut in sternly. "And if I hear of anything similar happening here again, you'll be out the door so fast your head will spin. Understood?"

  "Yes, Doctor."

  "I'll be in my office if anyone needs me."

  Turning on his heel, Jack strode down the hallway and into his office. He shut the door firmly, crossed to his desk and sank into his chair.

  He couldn't quite believe what he'd done. But that didn't make the neat little corner he'd talked himself into any less inescapable.

  He was going to have to tell Abby about their engagement, and he was going to have to do it just as soon as he finished seeing his scheduled patients late that afternoon. Then he might just be able to mollify her enough to go along with him as he hadn't a hope of doing if she heard about it from anyone else.

  He was going to have to convince her that pretending they were engaged would be to her benefit—as it would be. Or, at the very least, to her grandparents' benefit. She wouldn't want them hurt by rude gossip even if she didn't care about it herself.

  And then, he might just be able to make their engagement work to his benefit, as well, he realized, his spirits rising.

  What better way to court Abby than as her fiancé, even pretend fiancé? There were certain rituals they would be expected to follow, and in doing so, they would be forced to spend time together. Time when he would finally have a chance to convince her there was nothing at all pretend about his feelings for her.

  Constance Beckworth would probably have a fit if she ever discovered what a good deed she'd done that morning. Of course, being a doctor, and ever-caring of others' well-being, Jack would never tell her.

  But it gave him great pleasure to know the old woman's unkind intentions just might have another effect altogether on Abby Summers' life, and on his, as well.

  Smiling to himself, Jack reached for the telephone and dialed Abby's telephone number, then warned himself not to start feeling too cocky. Abby would more than likely fight him all the way about embarking on a pretend engagement. But he had sound reasoning on his side, and he wasn't averse to using it on her to get what he wanted.

  To Jack's relief, Abby answered the phone after a couple of rings.

  "Hey, Abby, it's Jack Randall," he began. "I was wondering if I could stop by to see you this evening, say about six o'clock. I'll bring dinner…"

  * * *

  Chapter 15

  « ^ »

  Abby went out of her way to make sure she was wide awake and neatly dressed in a sleeveless, collared, loose-fitting emerald-green knit dress and flat, strappy sandals half an hour before Jack's appointed time of arrival Friday evening.

  When he had called that morning to ask if she would be free around six o'clock, she had wanted to put him off. But he had sounded so eager to see her, and that, in turn, had helped to boost her flagging spirits.

  He had also promised to bring dinner—a fully loaded pizza from the Brick Oven Pizzeria—something she'd been craving since she'd been back in town, but hadn't dared order because she wouldn't have been able to stop herself from eating the whole pie alone.

  And, of course, there was the little matter of how much responsibility for their child he wanted to assume. The sooner they could come to some agreement, the better for all concerned.

  Abby didn't want to cut Jack out of their child's life completely. But neither did she want him to think he could dictate to her in any way regarding what he considered the baby's best interests.

  She was fully prepared to take on the duties of a single, working mother, and she was just as capable as he of providing for the baby financially. She wasn't about to take anything from him that would make her beholden to him. He was more than welcome to be a part of their child's life, but he would have to understand that she wasn't going to let him run her life into the bargain.

  All of which Abby repeated to herself as she set out plates, silverware, glasses and napkins on the kitchen table in preparation for Jack's arrival.

  As good as his word, he rang the doorbell at six o'clock sharp, a huge, steaming Brick Oven box in hand. As Abby opened the door to him, it was all she could do to keep from snatching the box away from him and grabbing a slice of the pizza right there in the entryway.

  "Smells wonderful," she said, choosing not to demur in any way. "I have plates ready in the kitchen."

  "Good thing," Jack replied, following her lead through the living room. "It was hard enough waiting to sample a slice on the drive over here. I don't think I could pretend not to be hungry for even five minutes more."

  While Abby took a beer from the refrigerator for Jack and refilled her glass of raspberry iced tea, he set the box on the table and opened the lid. Abby thought she would swoon in ecstasy as the smoky aroma of hand-tossed crust, spicy sauce, gooey cheeses, Italian sausage and a medley of fresh vegetables intensified to fill the kitchen.

  She was so glad she wasn't sick all the time the way some women were during pregnancy. She had suffered several bouts of morning sickness the first couple of months, but since then, her appetite had been rather hearty—to say the least.

  She would probably be
sorry after the baby was born and she had a lot of weight to lose. Until then, however, she planned to heed her body's cravings as healthfully as she could so her baby would get all the nourishment possible. And the pizza Jack had brought for dinner did include something from most, if not all, the basic food groups.

  They ate in companionable silence for several minutes, murmuring about how the Brick Oven's pizzas were just as good as they had been twelve years ago, and wasn't it great that some things hadn't changed. Once their initial hunger had been somewhat sated, Jack asked Abby how she had been feeling for the past few days and what she'd been up to since he'd last seen her.

  Abby assured him that she was feeling just fine, then went on to tell him about the progress, little as it was, that she had made cleaning out the various nooks and crannies in her mother's house.

  "I haven't gotten nearly as much done as I thought I would," she admitted with a rueful shake of her head. "Either I get sidetracked, looking through old yearbooks or writing names and dates on the backs of photographs, or I just have to take a nap. I'm only going to be here a couple more weeks, and I wanted to finish sorting through everything at least once." Pausing, Abby lifted her third—and last, she silently swore—large slice of pizza from the box, then added, "Jan Nelson stopped by Wednesday morning to take some photographs. She said the house looked like it was in really good shape. I don't have to worry about painting or wallpapering or replacing the carpet to get the asking price.

  "Apparently, the town has become popular among retirees looking for a place close enough to Las Vegas for a day trip without the big city hassle. Some former residents have also been returning because of the quality of life here. Jan mentioned, too, that a small computer software company had recently relocated to Promise because of the comparatively favorable cost of living, and several other companies are considering a similar move."

  "Who would have thought our little town would one day be so desirable?" Jack asked. "We couldn't get out of here fast enough, could we?"

  "I know I couldn't," Abby admitted. "But you've come back, and from the way Jan talked, it sounds like you're planning to stay. She said you made an offer on a house and several acres of land just north of town. In fact, she seemed to think I already knew all about it, probably because of the way you ambushed me at the agency Tuesday afternoon."

  "It's the old Domar place," Jack said by way of explanation, obviously choosing to ignore her last remark as he stood and crossed to the refrigerator. "Mind if I have another beer?"

  "Not at all. I bought them for you."

  "Thanks." Jack helped himself to a beer, then returned to the table where he eyed the two remaining slices of pizza with seeming indecision.

  "Go ahead," Abby urged, pushing the box toward him with a slight smile. Not to be sidetracked, she then prodded gently, "The Domar place?"

  "Yeah, the Domar place. It needs a lot of work, mostly cosmetic, but I've got the time to paint and hang wallpaper. And the location is really nice—I have neighbors just down the road on either side, yet it's still pretty quiet. There's a small orchard behind the house with a little creek cutting through it, too."

  "Sounds lovely," Abby said. "And thanks for enlightening me. I won't feel quite so dumb the next time I see Jan and she mentions it, as I'm sure she will."

  "Listen, Abby, I'm really sorry for coming on to you the way I did Tuesday afternoon." Jack shifted in his chair, not quite meeting her gaze. "I should have known better than to do something like that, especially in front of Jan. Not that she's mean-spirited. She's pretty good at putting two and two together, though, and in her line of work, she's out talking to everybody. And around here, it takes very little to start the rumor mill grinding," he added, nervously running a finger along the side of his glass.

  "Very little, indeed." Abby hesitated a moment, then reached out to touch Jack's arm. "I hope your good name isn't being slandered because we were seen together at the real estate agency," she said, only half-teasingly.

  "I wouldn't care if it was." He took her hand in his and squeezed her fingers gently. "In fact, I'd be proud to have my name linked with yours. Surely you haven't forgotten that I've asked you to marry me."

  "And I've said no," Abby reminded him, trying, unsuccessfully, to free her hand from his hold.

  "I wish you would reconsider—"

  "Oh, Jack, you know I can't," she cut in, hating to have to replay this particular discussion again.

  It had been hard enough to be firm about her refusal to marry him the first time around. Now, sitting here with him so companionably, she'd had a taste of what it would be like to have him in her life on a permanent basis, sharing a meal and good conversation, and her defenses were decidedly down.

  "Because I've had to tell some people that we're engaged," he plowed ahead, ignoring her protest.

  Abby stared at him speechlessly for several seconds as she tried to wrap her mind around what he'd just said.

  "You had to do what?" she demanded at last, sure that she had heard him wrong.

  "I had to tell some people we're engaged," he repeated as calmly as if he were relaying the time of day.

  "And why would you have to do that, Jack Randall? Especially when it is not, and never will be, true." Angrily, she snatched her hand free, pushed away from the table and strode to the sink, then rounded on him, her hands braced on her hips, waiting for him to reply.

  "Your neighbor, Constance Beckworth, was at the clinic this morning. I overheard her talking to Edna Howell, our receptionist. She was saying all sorts of unfair, untrue, totally nasty-minded things about you—Mrs. Beckworth, that is. And, well … I just … lost it.

  "I walked in on the two of them, told them they were talking about my fiancée and I didn't appreciate it. They were both embarrassed, as they should have been. But now, they're going to be spreading another kind of rumor around town. One that's much more complimentary, of course. At least to my way of thinking," he finished, eyeing her apologetically.

  "But not true," Abby repeated, trying to hold on to her anger when she wasn't sure if what she really wanted to do was laugh or cry.

  She knew exactly what Jack had done. He had come to her defense, just as he had twelve years ago, using his good name to shield her. He had been thinking of her, first and foremost, of that Abby had no doubt. And because he'd obviously meant well, she couldn't really be all that upset with him.

  But she no longer needed his protection. She was an intelligent, educated woman to whom a bit of small-town gossip meant nothing.

  Well, all right, it did hurt to know that her mother's neighbor thought poorly of her. But not enough to fabricate a lie as Jack had done—albeit out of his hurt for her.

  "It could be true," he said, an unmistakably hopeful gleam in his eyes as he stood, too. "At least for the rest of the time you're in Promise."

  "Oh, no—" Abby protested, not only afraid of where he was headed, but also of how easily she could be tempted to follow—for his sake rather than her own.

  Because he had been thinking about her, and protecting her in the only way he'd known how.

  "We could just pretend to be engaged for the next couple of weeks," he went on, as if she hadn't spoken. "That way, all the old biddies won't have anything but good to say about us."

  "They've never had anything but good to say about you, Jack Randall, and you know it," Abby retorted. "And I really don't care what anybody says about me. I'm a big girl now. Sticks and stones, and all that…" Shrugging, she crossed her arms over her chest.

  He wasn't going to talk her into such foolishness. He wasn't—

  "But I care. You're the mother of my child, and the woman I want to marry."

  "Don't go there, Jack," she cautioned, shooting him a warning glare.

  "All right, I won't. But you are carrying my child, and I won't have anybody saying anything hurtful about you if I can help it. And the best way to prevent that from happening is to pretend we're engaged," he finished in a maddeningly reason
able tone of voice.

  "What happens when I leave town—and I am leaving—in a couple of weeks?" Abby asked, beginning to weaken and hating herself for it. She couldn't disallow Jack's feelings completely. But a pretend engagement could prove to be more entangling than he was willing to foresee. "What are you going to say to people—people like your parents—then?"

  "I'll say that our breakup was my fault. That I gave you good reason to change your mind about marrying me," Jack assured her without batting an eye.

  "What good reason?"

  "I'll think of something, and I won't put you in a bad light, either. I swear."

  "I'm not going to let my grandparents get their hopes up. I'm going to make sure they know from the start that we're not really getting married."

  "That's fine with me."

  Aware of the faintest edge of triumph lurking in the tenderness of Jack's smile, Abby looked away. Much as she wanted to tell him what he could do with his idea, and it wasn't something pleasant, she couldn't seem to get the words out. She had put up a good fight, but in the end, she couldn't be totally selfish.

  In his own good, kind and decent way, Jack had been thinking of her and their baby. To reject him completely would make a liar out of him in front of the whole town, and he deserved better than that.

  What would it hurt to go along with him for the few remaining weeks she'd be in Promise, especially as long as her grandparents knew the truth? Once she left town, he could make whatever excuses he wanted as long as he didn't cause Hank and Judith any grief. She would be home again in San Francisco, with the weeks she'd spent in Promise, Nevada no more than an unfortunate memory.

  "All right," she agreed at last. "I'll go along with you on this as long as you understand that our engagement is just pretend, and that in two weeks I'm going back to the life I've made for myself in San Francisco."

  "I understand completely," he assured her in a solemn tone of voice, though his eyes twinkled in a way that gave her pause. "I imagine you'll want to talk to your grandparents first thing in the morning. I'll tell my parents tomorrow, too. They'll want to meet you, of course. How about tomorrow night? I'll make all the arrangements. I'd like to meet your grandparents, too. Why don't we take them to brunch at the café on Sunday? And we'll have to put an announcement in the local paper, too…"