If Only (16 page)

Bree had accidentally discovered that her father had been engaged to another woman while he was still legally married to her mother. Before their divorce had even been finalized, her former best friend had been seen traveling the globe with Karen’s own husband, flashing the extravagant diamond ring he had presented to her while he was still married to Karen.

Not only had she lost her husband, but she had lost her only child as well. For the last two years of her marriage to Vince, her husband had insisted she stay at home with their daughter, claiming Bree needed a more stable life, with her mother at home raising her instead of the parade of nannies that had taken both Karen’s and her husband’s place raising her practically from infancy while the two of them traveled around the world. Now she knew why he had been so persistent.

She had felt like such a fool, as though everyone in the world had known about her husband’s infidelity. Everyone that is, except for her. Now she was nobody’s fool. Once the divorce had been finalized, and her ex-husband had immediately gotten remarried, she had reevaluated her life and had come to the conclusion changes needed to be made.

Before Bree was born, Karen had spent almost every spare minute of her life writing poetry. She had started writing when she was a little girl, short stories and poetry her own parents wouldn’t take the time to listen to. She could remember back when she and Vincent had just started dating, sitting with him at their booth in the town’s local diner. When inspiration would strike and she would find herself thinking up an idea for a poem, she would grab one of the paper napkins out of the dispenser and just start writing.

Vince had never encouraged her writing. He had claimed it was nothing but a pipe dream, and nothing would ever come of it. But three years after their divorce, she had proved him wrong. Although even now, he was still condescending. He had actually had the gall to tell her he was glad “her little books” had worked out, and he was surprised people even read poetry anymore.

Her first book had been published soon after Bree turned eighteen. Karen had simply wished her daughter well and walked out the door. She had never returned and had lived out of a suitcase ever since. Even to this very day, she barely bothered to speak to her daughter.

She couldn’t see any reason to. As far as her daughter was concerned, she had nothing to say. Bree had her own life, and Karen had hers. Truth be told, she was somewhat ashamed of her daughter.

Bree had gotten married at a young age, and she had very little to show for her life. She might be happily married, but she was a children’s author, for heaven’s sake. Her daughter had no drive, no ambition. Instead of reaching for the stars, she was settling for something mediocre. In Karen’s opinion, writing children’s books was not a real career. But then again, her daughter had never given a damn what her own mother had ever thought of her.

Her daughter enjoyed playing the victim. Bree always claimed she had had a rotten childhood, with parents who were cold and unloving. Hugs and kisses were not freely given, nor were any words of love or encouragement ever spoken. Karen did have to admit, that part was true. But to hear Bree talk, you would think she had been terribly neglected. Although she had been raised by experienced nannies and caregivers and had lived in a two-story house where there had always been plenty of food on the table, she had always wanted more.

She hadn’t been beaten by her parents, and she had always been given a generous allowance to do with whatever she wished. She had been allowed to have her friends spend the night almost whenever she wanted, including on school nights, and she had been well-liked and popular with the girls and boys at school because she had wealthy parents, popular evangelists who were well-known worldwide.

But nothing had ever been good enough for Bree. She had always wanted love and stability, the only two things her parents had been unable to give her. None of the other things had mattered. She had gone to an exclusive private school; she had been allowed to take both ballet and piano lessons. When she became older, it had been cheerleading and color guard. Tutors had been hired whenever she had struggled with her classes, from Calculus to French, Trig to Chemistry. She had travelled to foreign countries as a foreign-exchange student for three years in a row when she reached high school.

She had been given opportunities other girls her age could only dream of. Opportunities Karen herself as a teenage girl had dreamed of, but those same opportunities had been wasted on Bree.

But now that her daughter had nothing, Bree insisted she was at her happiest, and she was loved. Claiming that if she had been given the chance between marrying her husband and love of her life or marrying a wealthy man, she would have chosen Scott each and every time. This, as far as Karen was concerned, showed just how stupid her daughter really was.

The only person Karen cared about now was herself. It was her turn to shine; it was her turn to live the life she had always wanted. No self-absorbed husband to cater to; no spoiled child to raise. For the first time in her life, Karen Rhoades was being completely and totally selfish. She was finally looking out for number one. The only person she was going to make happy was herself. She had no more family responsibilities and obligations to deal with. Her father was deceased, and her mother was in the best nursing home her hard-earned money could buy. Her ex-husband was now someone else’s problem, and she didn’t care to have any correspondence with her only child. Scott Weston could deal with her daughter because Karen refused to.

Once in a while, Bree would call, and Karen only bothered to take her calls because she was concerned with her reputation. She didn’t want her loyal fans to know she practically loathed the sight of her own daughter. How would that look to her adoring public? A poet who spent her life writing poems about love and devotion not able to forgive the sins of her only child? Her fans would view her as a hypocrite, even though it wasn’t really true.

Her fans couldn’t possibly understand. Her own daughter had conspired against her, betrayed her to the point where Karen could no longer trust her. Their relationship had been severely severed, and she honestly couldn’t see any way it could ever be made right.

She observed herself in the full-length mirror and ran her fingers through her shoulder-length red hair, frowning when she discovered a smattering of gray near her temples. She made a mental note to herself to make an appointment at the salon she often went to, where she could quietly get her hair dyed back to its original color.

She took excellent care of herself. Nothing was too good for Karen Rhoades. She went to an exclusive hairdresser, pampered herself on a weekly basis at a celebrity spa, lunched at all the local hot spots, and as required, spent a small fortune on keeping her face, figure, and body maintained. She had discovered the gem of plastic surgery, and she saw her plastic surgeon almost as often as she saw her personal assistant.

What was wrong with keeping herself beautiful and youthful? If she had the resources to do so, she couldn’t see the harm in treating herself, rewarding herself. After all, she had a certain image to uphold. When it was all said and done, she did what she needed to do to make both herself and her fans happy.

Picking an imaginary piece of lint off her thousand-dollar red business suit, she poked a diamond stud into her earlobe, admiring the twinkling gem in the mirror as she twirled around to inspect her reflection with a critical eye. She must admit, she did have expensive tastes. But if she could afford them, then what was the harm? It was one thing to have champagne tastes on a beer budget, but if you could afford the champagne, then what did it hurt?

She sighed with annoyance as a knock sounded on the door. Without waiting for a reply from Karen, Janet Watson walked right in, carrying a tower of papers that nearly covered her face.

Karen sighed loudly, annoyed at the unwelcome intrusion. Her personal assistant had an irritating way of just barging right through the door, whether she wanted her to come in or not. Each and every day she was tempted to fire Janet, but she didn’t, knowing no one else would bother to put up with her attitude and temperament.

“Nice of you to join me, Janet. Without permission, of course,” she stated, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

“Your daughter is on the phone, Ms. Rhoades.”

“Tell her I’m in the bathroom.”

Janet responded, “You used that excuse ten minutes ago when she called. The tabloids will be saying you’re pregnant.”

Groaning, she shook her head in refusal. “What excuse have I not used in a while?”

As always, Janet was the voice of reason. “Bree knew you would be back in town today, and she has called for you three times already. Obviously, she isn’t going to give up. Why don’t you just talk to her and get it over with? Although, why you wouldn’t want to speak to your own daughter is beyond me.”

Practically sticking her nose up in the air, Karen replied, “My reasons are none of your concern.”

Janet shook her head and refused to say another word. She would never understand her employer. Even though she was only slightly younger than her boss, she was also divorced. But she had never been blessed with children. On her great list of regrets, that was the one that could never be changed. She just couldn’t understand why a mother would simply refuse to have any contact with her only child.

With an exaggerated sigh, Karen rolled her emerald eyes and picked up the receiver. Clicking on the flashing extension, she spoke without any friendliness. “Yes, Bree?”

At first she could hear nothing but silence on the other end of the line. Irritated that her daughter was simply wasting her time, she responded, “Either open your mouth and speak, or I am hanging up.”

After a few more seconds, there was still no response. She was just about to hang up the phone when she heard her daughter’s hesitant voice. “Hello, Mother.”

“I am a very busy woman. What do you want?”

*

What did she want? She was calling her mother with the most important news of her life, and her mother wanted to know what she wanted? Maybe a mother who was supportive, a mother who would actually be excited with her news might be a welcome change. A mother who would actually want to talk to her instead of simply tolerating her. She wanted her to be the kind of mother Bree herself wanted to be. She swore to herself then and there that to her child, she would be absolutely nothing like her own mother. She would love her child unconditionally. She would be loving, nurturing, and supportive. She would actually listen when her child spoke to her. She would be the kind of parent a child would be proud to have and not one her child would be ashamed of.

Bree took a deep breath before she answered, “I know you are busy, Mother, but what I have to say is important.”

Silence met her statement. She could almost imagine her mother at this very moment. Knowing Karen as well as she did, she would either be rolling her eyes or tapping her fingernails with impatience, ready to get Bree off the phone as soon as she possibly could.

“I just thought you might want to know you are going to be a grandmother.”

“And why on earth would I want to know that?” Her mother responded in a bored tone. “If I am not a mother, then how can I be a grandmother?”

Bree heard an unmistakable click followed by the dial tone buzzing into her ear, not believing her mother’s gall.

She released a strangled sound and tightened her hold around the white cordless telephone, which was still clenched in a death grip in her hand. Without thinking, she threw the offending plastic against the wall, her voice shaking as she shrieked, “That frozen, unfeeling bitch!”

Watching in astonishment as the plastic shattered upon impact and realizing what she had done, she brought one hand up to cover her mouth.

“I can’t believe I just did that,” she confessed as she looked over at Scott, shock etched on her pretty features.

“Want to throw something else?” he suggested.

Chapter 13

Bree laughed as her husband threw a kernel of popcorn in her direction. She was sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, threading cranberries with fishing wire while Scott was chaining together threads of popcorn. Or that was what he was supposed to be doing, anyway. It seemed like more popcorn was being thrown in her direction than being threaded. Her fingers were stained with cranberries, and popcorn was scattered all over the floor, but she was so happy she didn’t care.

She ducked her head as a gentle shower of popcorn rained down around her. She dropped her mouth open in astonishment as he dumped the entire contents of his bowl over her head. Bree rolled onto her stomach and covered her face with her hands in an attempt to avoid the falling kernels.

“No fair,” she sputtered as she spit out a piece of popcorn.

Scott flashed her a boyish grin as he grabbed her and flipped her over onto her back. He gently straddled her, keeping his body slightly elevated with due concern for her condition. His hot breath fanned against the side of her face as he murmured, “What are you going to do about it, Mrs. Weston?”

A flash of inspiration struck Bree and she grinned. Without a single word, she wrapped her legs around his muscled waist. Her arms encircled his neck, pressing her body against his. Her tongue snaked into the hidden depths of his ear, her wicked mouth gently suckling him.

“Now look who’s not playing fair!” he complained.

She laughed again as she reached for the now-empty bowl of popcorn. Handing it silently to Scott, she gave him a pointed look as she rolled over and reached for her bowl of cranberries.

“Slave driver,” he muttered as he began picking up popcorn off the floor.

“You made the mess, you clean it up,” she said cheerfully, a little too cheerfully. She was enjoying making him squirm, the little minx. He would let her have this one, he grinned to himself. But paybacks were hell.

For the past two nights after work, they had come home, eaten a light dinner and then spent the remainder of their evening putting the finishing touches on their Christmas tree. What had started out as a simple job, however, had turned out to be not so simple. Of course, the first step had been to string the lights. And Bree loved lights. Scott had strung strand after strand of the colorful bulbs, grumbling good-naturedly the entire time.