Something Unexpected (10 page)

Dean tossed the pliers into Fletcher's tool kit. “Just say it.”

“All right. From what you've told us, Rosemary wouldn't go on a date with you, much less get married, unless she felt she had no choice. So you've got nothing to lose by telling her about Victor's asinine will. Tell her the Kingsleys put the
fun
in
dysfunction
and that you can't inherit the building you live and work in unless you get married by summer and stay married two years. That's only a half year longer than she already wants. No big deal.” He reached into a canvas lunch box and withdrew a thick cookie that looked as if it had been made for a giant. Taking a huge bite of his wife's baking, Fletcher grinned. “She knows what I like.” He chewed contentedly, and Dean wanted to kill him.

“The thing is,” Fletcher continued once he'd swallowed, “you don't want to tell Rosemary the truth even though you had no problem telling Amanda. Seems to me that's because Amanda was the woman you always thought you'd marry—cool, intellectual, didn't give a rat's ass whether you were marrying for love or not. Very safe for you since you don't like to feel anything below the neck.”

“Hey, that's bull—”

Fletcher held up a finger—not the index one. “You asked. I respect you too much to sugarcoat the horrible truth.”

Dean clenched his fists to keep from picking up the pliers and hitting his brother in the head with them. “And the horrible truth is?”

“Loving a woman is the most ass-kicking, out-of-control, cannot-get-your-head-around-it, frightening feeling in the world.” He leveled Dean with a laser-sharp stare. “I'm talking about real love.”

“As opposed to?”

“Everything else. The stuff people fill their time with so they won't be alone or be able to think too much. Being with someone because you want a relationship isn't remotely the same as being with a woman because you can't imagine taking another breath without her in your life.”

Dean shook his head. “I feel as if I'm having an out-of-body experience, listening to
you
give a dissertation on love.”

It was a fact that before he'd met his wife Fletcher had spent his life disdaining affection. He took no offense.

“Thing is,” he said, “people assume love is a soft feeling. It hasn't been for me, and I doubt it will be for you. When you need a woman like you need air and water, you'll be on fire until you know she wants you, too. Then you'll stay on fire, wanting to keep her happy, figuring out how to let her know she's the best thing that ever happened to you. Add kids to the mix, and every muscle in your body will be on alert, ready to kill or die for them. It's damned exhausting.”

“But you love it.”

“Wouldn't have it any other way. Ever. That's what's so freaking terrifying. Once you meet
the
woman, you know damn well that if anything ever happened to her, you'd want to die, too.” His gaze narrowed. “When I met Claire, she made me want things I thought I'd given up half a lifetime ago. So how is it for you? You haven't known Rosemary that long.”

Dean pulled a hand down his face and took a deep breath. Everything his brother said whomped him smack in the gut. He'd started to feel that way about Rosemary the first night. “I've known her long enough.”

Fletcher nodded slowly. “And you don't want to tell her that you need to get married on account of your crazy father's will, because…”

“It'll louse up any chance to make her believe I'm falling in love with her.” Dean's mouth was dry as old hay. He couldn't swallow with guilt choking him. “I'm right not to tell her…right?”

Fletcher tossed his big bro a pitying glance. “No, you're out of your mind. She's going to draw up that prenup, and if the marriage only lasts eighteen months, you're screwed. Six more and at least you'll walk away with your business.”

“Well, what the hell?” Uncharacteristically, Dean burst into anger. “Now you're saying the inheritance is more important than love?”

“No. But according to the will, the building on Main goes to the city if you default. Doug Thorpe sits on the city council. He's been yammering to everyone who'll listen that a new upscale restaurant downtown will draw tourist dollars. I think the pharmacy itself is safe, but he'd love to get his hands on a couple of the storefronts next door, so there goes your clinic. And, you'll have to start paying rent on the drugstore. With a child to raise, that's going to be a burden. You don't want to have to start working longer hours when you've got a baby. You gain nothing by losing the building.”

Frustration turned Dean's limbs stiff yet quivering like plucked strings. “The worst part of this, the absolute worst part, is lying to her. And being terrified that if I tell her the truth I'll lose her and the baby.” He eyed his brother. “There better be a solution on the tip of your tongue. You came out of
this will debacle smelling like a rose. Give me some coaching here.”

Fletcher's features melted into the grateful serenity that the mention of his family never failed to evoke. “Sometimes, Deano, I think that the fact things worked out with Claire was dumb luck.” His voice turned into the kinder rumble Dean was still getting used to. “That or divine pity. But Claire was a widow with one good marriage under her belt already. She was a wife and mother through and through. From what you've told us about Rosemary—and you don't seem to know
that
much about her—marriage was the furthest thing from her mind the night you two hooked up. Seems to me that not telling her about the will is playing with fire.”

Pressing fingers to his forehead, Dean scrubbed at his brow. He was caught in a damned tangled web. He didn't know whether to blame his father for adding the marriage codicil to his will…or himself, for falling in love when he'd least expected to.

“M
ake him sign in front of a notary. Don't let him off the hook for any reason. But, if his lawyer quibbles over anything—
anything
—in that prenup, then I don't want you getting within fifty feet of the thing with a pen.”

Lucy Jeffers's voice sounded like rubber bands snapping as it came through the cell phone. Tucked beneath Rosemary's arm was the prenuptial agreement Lucy had overnighted, and Rosemary held an umbrella over her head to protect the large envelope from the steady rain as she made her way up Main Street to King's Pharmacy.

“Honest to God, Rosemary—” the strain in Lucy's voice was palpable “—I don't know why in heaven you think you need to marry this dude. Women have babies on their own all the time, not that I think
that's
a brilliant idea. But it'd be a helluva lot easier to be stuck with a kid and a nanny instead of a kid and some jerk—”

“Dean's not a jerk. He's not like that,” Rosemary muttered,
acutely aware that a) She and her sister had already had this conversation, b) Lucy was never going to be soothed when it came to a man, marriage and one of her family members, and c) She was walking down a public street and did not want to talk about this. “Dean's actually very reasonable—” she began sotto voce, but Lucy cut her off so loudly Rosemary pulled the phone away from her ear.

“Don't!” The severe admonishment echoed like a tuning fork. “Do not romanticize him. Rosemary, promise me you'll save your…” Lucy searched for the right word. “…fairy-tale fantasies for your journal and
this time
apply your brains to the real world.”

Rosemary winced. By the time she pressed End Call, she felt as if she'd run several miles in sand. All she wanted was a nap. And a good cry.

“She's trying to protect you. She doesn't want to see you get hurt again. No one does,”
their sister Evelyn had said when Rosemary phoned last night to tell her about the baby, the decision she'd made and Lucy's help with the prenuptial agreement.
“This is why she's a top lawyer. I only wish you were better at protecting yourself, honey. Have you told Mom?”

Rosemary hadn't, not yet. She had a one-person-a-day threshold when it came to disappointing family members.

Morning sickness encroached on her previously nausea-free day. She wasn't certain this time whether it was physical or emotional. Loneliness, bone deep and chilling, assailed her.

Clutching the handle of the umbrella in a death grip, she put her free hand over her stomach.
Don't you worry,
she told it telepathically, comforting the tiny, tiny life inside her as if it, too, were concerned about isolation,
we're going to be fine, just fine, the two of us. And you'll have your…
Her breath caught just a little.
Your daddy. I think he's going to be very hands-on.

It was true. She wasn't worried about Dean's involvement with their child. He'd been accepting of and excited about the baby from the start.

She frowned and caught the toe of her pump on an uneven piece of sidewalk. Not once in any of their conversations had Lucy or Evelyn mentioned their future niece or nephew, even though Rosemary's child would be the first baby in the family.

Suddenly, her footsteps, which had been dragging, picked up the pace as she advanced on King's Pharmacy. She would get this over with then phone Daphne for a reassuring pick-me-up. Marriage and babies were always positives for her.

Reminding herself of Lucy's admonition to be businesslike and unemotional when dealing with the prenup, Rosemary closed her umbrella, shook out the water and swung open the pharmacy door. Amid the tinkling of the bells, she walked briskly into the store. At this time of morning, the pharmacy would be open, which meant Dean would be in the back, filling prescriptions and doling out advice.

Heels clicking along the linoleum, she looked neither left nor right, hoping as she always did when she entered the pharmacy that she wouldn't run into anyone she knew.

Gonna have to get over that one,
she thought,
if you're going to be married to the pharmacist…married for a while, anyway.

Immediately when she walked in, the inherent friendliness and charm of the place struck her. The store could be divided into three distinct parts: the dry-goods aisles occupying the center of the shop; an old-fashioned soda fountain, which was past the dry goods to her left; and the pharmacy, tucked all the way in the back. Displays of candy and small gift items greeted her on the way in, but Dean spared his customers the usual commercial assault. Here, the candy was locally made and attractively packaged. Ditto on the gifts. Rosemary got
the feeling Dean was selling Honeyford as much as anything else.
Welcome locals. Welcome tourists,
this store seemed to say.
I hope you like it here as much as I do.

Unexpectedly, Rosemary felt as if she were on the verge of tears. “Hormones,” she muttered under her breath and decided to get this done quickly so she could head to the library and keep herself busy.

“Rosemary!” Her name, sweetly accented with a Southern drawl, drew Rosemary's attention. “The boys and I were just talking about coming to story hour this afternoon.”

After an initial clutch of apprehension, Rosemary glanced left to see a woman who was a frequent patron of the library. The young woman had a daughter still in diapers and two young sons who seemed to love the library as much as their mother did.

“Hello, Claire,” she greeted, pleased that she was remembering the first names of most of the people who came to story hour at the library. “I almost didn't recognize you without Rosalind on your hip.”

Claire rolled her eyes. “I know. My husband says I need to stop wearing her in the sling all the time. She's fifteen months, and she'd still rather ride than walk.” Claire's joyful laugh further relaxed Rosemary. “I love carrying them, though. That time of their lives doesn't last long enough for me.”

A strong yearning assailed Rosemary. How wonderful it would be to sit down with a mother and discuss everything baby—strollers and slings, diapers (cloth or disposable?), first smiles and first foods and the best methods for helping them sleep through the night. When should she and Dean announce that they were going to have a baby? When were they going to get married? There were still so many details to iron out.

Eager suddenly to see Dean, she politely excused herself. “It was good to run into you, Claire.” She tilted her head
in the direction of the pharmacy. “I need to see…the, um, pharmacist, so—”

“Dean's at the soda fountain.” Claire reached for Rosemary's arm—somewhat eagerly, Rosemary thought. “Come on.”

Young voices rang out as they approached that end of the store.

“How'm I doin', Uncle Dean? How'm I doin'?”

“Outstanding, buddy. Good job eating all the malt balls that fall.”

“I don't want to waste 'em.”

Claire's younger son, Orlando, stood behind the soda fountain as he ladled candy atop a dish of ice cream. His older brother, Will, very carefully spooned thick hot fudge over a sundae already gilded with toppings. And supervising it all was the man she had come to see, handsome as sin in his white pharmacist's coat, holding Claire's youngest child, the toddler Rosalind, as she experimented with putting chocolate fingerprints on the cheek of the man cuddling her.

It all looked so…right.

I wonder if this is what an out-of-body experience is like?
Rosemary wondered, feeling as if she were floating.

“Hey!” Laughing, Dean reached up to capture the sticky fingers painting his cheek. Holding the tiny hand, he pretended to be horrified by the chocolate smears, but then stuck out the tip of his tongue and gave one short finger a swipe. The boys
eeewwed,
Rosalind squealed, and, beside Rosemary, Claire laughed softly. “He's great with them.”

Uncle.
Belatedly, Rosemary realized what Orlando had called Dean. Her jaw dropped enough for her open mouth to accommodate a waffle cone. Of course, people used
Uncle
simply as a term of affection all the time, so it could be that—

“I was a widow when I met Fletcher,” Claire confided in
a quiet voice. “I thought my boys would grow up without a man around and that having a mama would have to be enough. Now they've got two wonderful men—their daddy and their Uncle Dean.” She looked at Rosemary, her eyes aglow if a bit tentative, and her voice soft. “He's going to be a terrific father someday.”

She knows.
The realization hit Claire like lightening on a hay bale.

“You and Dean are…” she pointed toward him, her brain moving like sludge through a sewer “…related by marriage?”

“Yep. Dean is my husband's brother. I met him, though, before I met Fletcher, which was a good thing, because Fletcher made me wonder whether Kingsley men were fit to be around little ones.” Once again, her gay laughter put Rosemary at ease…almost. “What's, um,
wrong
with Fletcher?”

“Oh, he just needed a good woman to smooth his rough edges.” After a brief pause, Claire grinned beautifully. “And I needed him to rough up some of my smooth ones.”

She looked at Rosemary, and suddenly seemed unsure of whether she should speak again. Rosemary both dreaded and couldn't wait to hear what Claire was going to say next.

“Dean's the opposite of my husband in so many ways. They're like dark and white chocolate. Fletcher still keeps his distance with everyone except family. But Dean…” Claire smiled with sincere fondness. “He puts everyone at ease. He's got a heart for people that's as big as the sun. Fletcher says Dean's carrying half the town on his ledgers. If someone doesn't have insurance, he finds a way to make sure they get their prescriptions filled no matter what. People aren't afraid to come to him when they need something. He never makes you feel foolish or small for asking.” Appearing slightly apologetic, Claire concluded, “That was probably more than
I should have said, but I think sometimes Honeyford takes Dean for granted because he's always been good.”

Rosemary's gaze strayed from Claire—her future temporary sister-in-law if Dean signed the prenup—to the man who, Rosemary knew, had not “
always
been good.” In fact, the night they'd first met, he'd been quite, quite bad.

A disturbing thought—the kind of thought that sounded exactly like her mother's voice—made her breath catch. Maybe Dean did that kind of thing—seduced women in out-of-the-way bars and motels—more than anyone knew.
May
be he was like a politician, smooth as butter when people were looking, but with a secret life that could curl a horse's mane. Maybe he—

“Hey, give me that spoon, you little monkey.” Rosemary emerged from her blind panic to see Dean laughing as he tried to pry a spoon from the resistant Rosalind's tiny hand. “Soon as you're steady on your feet, Uncle Dean is going to teach you how to play T-ball.” He glanced up and grinned as Claire approached the marble-topped counter. “This one's got quite a grip—” For the first time, he noticed Rosemary, still standing several feet away. His words stopped, and his gaze lingered.

“What did you give her?” Claire asked, nodding to the spoon.

“White Chocolate Peppermint Patty,” he responded, his attention still on Rosemary. “I needed her expert opinion. Hello.”

Rosemary wasn't certain whether he mouthed the greeting to her or murmured it. Either way, the intimacy made her toes curl.

Claire reached across the counter to take the spoon from her daughter and laughed when Rosalind protested. “If that's a new flavor, I'd say it's a winner. Here, let me wipe her mouth.”

Returning his attention to his sister-in-law, Dean came around the counter to transfer his wriggling niece to her mother's arms. Then he turned to Rosemary.

Her body began to tingle. An ocean of sensation rose up from her toes until it roared in her ears.
It's nothing, nothing,
she told herself.
You are not your feelings. You are a sane, intelligent, levelheaded person—

He smiled. Just for her.

Hic.

Her eyes widened as a painful hiccup jerked her body.
You are in charge of how you react to any given situa—

Hic!

“Ow.” She pressed a hand to her sternum.

“Ooh. Are you okay?” Claire looked at her, mild concern tinged with amusement. “Yes, I—”
Hic.
“'Scuse me.”

Dean reached a hand beneath her elbow. She tightened her arm against her side so as not to drop the prenup. His touch was gentle, his expression gorgeously disturbed by her discomfort.
Oh, God, a woman could get lost in that expression—

Hic!

“Can you take a deep breath?” Dean modeled the breath he had in mind, making his chest rise and fall slowly.

“I'm fine. Really.”

“Mom!” Orlando, Claire's younger son, called from behind the counter. “Uncle Deano! Look! I'm finished. Lookit how big it is!” He pointed a spoon dripping with strawberry sauce at a lopsided sundae. He'd covered the ice-cream mountain in candy. A landslide appeared imminent.

“Oh, dear,” his mother said.

But Uncle Dean gave him the thumbs-up. “Good job, buddy. Any day you want to work here after school, you let me know.”

The older boy, Will, whom Rosemary had always found very sweet, looked up from his more circumspect creation. “Me, too, Uncle Dean?”

“Of course. You'll be in charge of the daily audit. I'll rely on you to keep our food costs down.” Will had no idea what his uncle meant, but the job sounded impressive, and he puffed up like a peacock as he smiled at his mother.