Something Unexpected (12 page)

Despite that note to self, she was
not
prepared when Dean started laughing. Laughing.

“What?” she asked, watching him warily.
Was that ha-ha-funny laughter or demonic “I'll be damned if I let you screw with my life, sister,” laughter?
“Um, look, if it's not going to work for you, just say so, because it was Lucy's idea, anyway. She's probably just being extracautious. She's like that. Personally, I think it's a little silly to assume that a few more months—”

Dean sobered abruptly. “It's Lucy's idea?” Looking away, he nodded to himself, wiping a hand down the face that only seconds before was wreathed in laughter. “You, of course, would have preferred not to add six more months to this marriage.” He didn't wait for her to answer. Rising as if he were very tired, he walked around the sofa, grabbed his lab coat and shrugged into it. “Two years suits me fine. Another six months in the same house with my child—can't argue with that, can I?” He smiled, but it failed to reach his eyes. “I'll be happy to sign.”

Rosemary didn't know how to respond, which seemed to be a continual state for her lately.

“You want me to bring the papers to you or send them to your sister?” he asked.

“Whatever you're comfortable with.”

Without telling her what that would be, he crossed to the door, leaving Rosemary still buzzing with lust and confusion.

With empty eyes, Dean gave her a brief nod. “I've got to get back to work. Come down when you're ready. Just pull the door shut on your way out.”

T
hings moved fairly quickly after that. Dean sent the signed prenuptial agreement directly to Lucy, who texted Rosemary, “He signed. 0 changes. Lucky U.”

Rosemary applied herself to her work at the library, but her mind never strayed far from the realization that it wouldn't take long for her pregnancy to show, so if she and Dean planned to go public as a couple, it would behoove them to do it sooner rather than later.

Even though there was a family physician right here in Honeyford, Rosemary had begun seeing an ob-gyn in Bend. Perhaps after she and Dean came out of the closet (or bedroom?), so to speak, she would change doctors and save herself the drive.

Listening to the library's grandfather clock chime noon, Rosemary reached for one of the peppermints she kept in her drawer at the reference desk. Thus far on her list of fun ways
to spend the day, pregnancy and salmonella were running neck and neck.

Nearing the end of her first trimester, she expected her morning sickness to abate. That was what the books she'd purchased from Amazon suggested (Dean still had the library's best pregnancy guides). Unfortunately, Rosemary's nausea had increased in the past few days, and now it seemed to be a loyal companion. Gone were the ravenous nights that allowed her to fill up on the food she couldn't even squint at during the day. She'd lost a pound this week.

No one stopped by the library on his lunch hour to wave a pastrami sandwich under her nose, either. She hadn't seen or heard from Dean for several days, not since she'd dropped off the prenuptial agreement.

Interestingly, just thinking about their romp on the couch ignited inside her an inferno of sexual heat that temporarily burned off the nausea. And made her hiccup.

“Are you hiccuping
again?
” Her clerk, Abby, joined her at the reference desk. Abby's wardrobe changed along with her choice in reading material. Currently she was devouring
The Catcher in the Rye
at Rosemary's suggestion and had replaced the 1940s shoulder pads with a pearl-buttoned sweater set, full skirt and saddle shoes. “You should get those hiccups checked out,” she said. “My boyfriend's brother hiccuped for thirty-five days straight and didn't stop until they took him to the hospital.”

“What did the hospital do for him?”

Abby helped herself to a mint. “They ran a CAT scan and found out he'd swallowed a quarter at his cousin's bar mitzvah.”

A shiver of alarm pattered up Rosemary's back.
Hic.
“That's what was causing him to hiccup?”

Working the mint around her mouth, Abby shrugged. “Doubtful. He'd gone to the bar mitzvah two years earlier. Good to know there was a quarter in there, though. I think they operated. I'll ask. In the meantime, want me to scare you?”

“You just did.”
Hic.
“I'm going to refill my water bottle.”

“Okay. Oh!” Reaching into the folds of her pink skirt, Abby withdrew an envelope. “Here. For you.”

Rosemary accepted the square linen envelope, noting her name—and nothing more—printed neatly on the front. “Where'd you get this?”

“My friend Polly brought it by when she came to drop off books.”

“Polly?” Frowning, Rosemary tried to remember if she'd met a Polly in town.

“She's in high school with my cousin Emily. Polly works at the pharmacy.”

The tips of Rosemary's fingers began to itch with the desire to rip open the envelope. Controlling herself, she shrugged her eyebrows and said, “Hmm.”
Look at me, all indifferent.

Forcing herself to toss—not place carefully, but actually toss—the envelope next to the keyboard on her desk, as if she wasn't the least bit curious, Rosemary feigned a businesslike glance at her watch.

“Why don't you take lunch now,” she suggested. “I'll hold down the fort until story hour.”

“Okay. Cool. I brought leftovers, so I'll be in the back, reading, if you need me.”

Rosemary sat calmly until Abby was out of eyesight and then, because no one else was nearby, she fumbled the envelope open with shaky fingers and pulled out a simple ivory card with an embossed
K
at the top. She hiccuped once before she read the message:

Above the too-rapid beat of her heart, Rosemary reread the inked lines. This was the first time she'd seen Dean's hand-writing—clear, bold letters, not too fancy yet with a distinct style. He'd drawn a small happy face after “Regrets only.”

This was also the first time he had formally invited her on a date.

Rosemary's hand wandered to her tummy. She patted the baby. “Sorry we've done this backward, sweetie pie. Mama has never had a good sense of direction where men are concerned.”

Her breath caught in her throat almost painfully as she realized another first: the first time she referred to herself as Mama. the image of herself holding a baby with hair as soft as kitten fur, teensy fingers with teensy nails and toes that looked like bay shrimp filled her with a flood of emotion that made tears spring to her eyes. Instantly, however, worry chased the love. Her mind began to reel with
What if
and
Oh, no
statements.

What if
she had a daughter, and her wonderful, beautiful, tenderhearted girl had the same rotten luck with men that Rosemary, her mother and sisters had?
Oh, no!

What if
she had a son, and he sensed that his mother was weak, confused and cynical about men?
Oh, no!

What if
she and Dean disagreed about parenting techniques, and their child grew up confused, angry and disillusioned?
Oh, no, no, no!

The nausea returned so strongly Rosemary was sorry she'd told Abby to take her break.

Scrabbling for the peppermints again, she sucked air like
a fish in cloudy water. This settled it: she had to establish a good relationship with Dean. One that was open, mutually respectful and, above all else, sane. The youngest of her sisters, Rosemary didn't remember their father at all, but Lucy had once purchased two Siamese fighting fish, housing them in a small bowl with a clear divider. The fish would puff their fins and glare at each other as if they'd like to bust through the plastic separating them and rip each other's heads off. Lucy had named them Mom and Dad.

“And look what happened to us,” Rosemary muttered, wondering what her patrons would think if she put her head between her knees to calm the dizziness.

Slipping Dean's card into the pocket of her cardigan, she knew they would need to talk, to map out exactly how they planned to parent, how to conduct their relationship, and precisely how to end it when the time came. And they needed to arrive at these understandings quickly, before they could harm their child in any way. Nothing should be left to chance or the whims of the day.

It began to occur to Rosemary that life was handing her an opportunity she had given up on completely—the chance to be someone's mother and to do it well.

A sense of wonder began to rush like an un-dammed river through her veins. She had already resigned herself to reading
The Dr. Seuss Sleep Book
during library story hour, but never with a sleepy, pajama-covered bundle of her own tucked beneath her arm. She'd stopped imagining making animal-cracker zoos and Lego Ferris wheels. Out of a sense of self-preservation, she had changed her goals and told herself it was…okay. Now the dreams she had relegated to the discard pile could be pulled out again.

Where nausea had dominated only moments before, Rosemary now felt like a balloon, so filled with joy she might pop. She covered her belly with both hands.

“It's going to be so good, sweet darling baby. You're going to have the best life. And you don't have to worry about your father and me. We'll find a way to do this so everyone gets along.” Her promise was a solemn whisper. “We'll never, ever, ever hurt you.”

 

The Honeyford Inn occupied a three-story brick building downtown. Hotel rooms comprised the top floor, with a restaurant serving Eastern European cuisine making up the main and lower levels.

Rosemary had heard the food was excellent and was actually looking forward to her evening with Dean. In fact, she hadn't felt as queasy today and was hungry as a bear.

After work yesterday, she'd driven over an hour to Bend, where she'd hit every major store selling anything related to babies, children, pregnant women or parenting. Onesies and adorable knit hats, a doll-size snowsuit in fire-engine red, a Boppy pillow for breast-feeding, Winnie the Pooh bookends and the most current parenting books filled the shopping bags she had lugged to her car.

She hadn't been able to resist the maternity stores, either, and handed the maître d' her coat to reveal her first maternity-related purchase for herself—a silky, V-necked dress in variegated swirls of hot pink and red. The dress had a stretchy tummy panel (so cute!) and a gorgeous drape. The extra folds of material looked fabulous now and would expand as necessary to accommodate her growing belly. Her budget took a hit when she wrote the check to Angel Kisses Maternity for a garment she didn't strictly
need
yet, but it was worth it. Oh, mama, was it worth it! This dress was a celebration.

“Your party is waiting for you in the cellar,” the maître d' informed her formally.

Rosemary followed him down a short staircase to “the cellar,” a wonderful room with brick walls, thick wood pillars and
five linen-cloaked tables, each a comfortable distance from the next, providing an eminently private and cozy setting. There was even a fire snapping in the wood-burning fireplace.

Dean rose as Rosemary approached.

A twinge of anxiety threatened as she wondered if he was still upset about the prenup, but the look in his eyes calmed her.

“You look…stunning.”

His expression reflected every woman's dream response to her dolling-up efforts. His gaze took in her hair, her face, the dress, and his slow-spreading smile made her feel like the only woman in the room even though every table was filled with diners.

“You look nice, too. I like your suit.”

He smoothed his tie. Dean looked, she thought, like an ad for Yves St. Laurent for men. Compliments traded, they sat. Rosemary told herself that all she had to do tonight was enjoy the company of the man she had, on one fateful night, found too delicious to resist. Tonight she would be cordial, engaging, interested, but a whole lot calmer. And, of course, she'd keep her clothes on this time, because they were in public, and she didn't want another episode like the one in his apartment.

It was a good plan, and it didn't even sound that difficult.

All she had to do was keep a clear head.

 

Accepting the wine list, Dean lifted a brow at his dinner companion. No alcoholic beverages for her, though they were the only two people present who knew why. Dean hoped she would let him rectify that tonight. He'd done a lot of thinking since their kiss on his couch, and now he had a goal and a plan. It was time to go public with their relationship.

After they ordered drinks and dinner, he kept the conversation light and upbeat, telling her about Honeyford's illustrious history (founded by a family of Italian beekeepers named
Castigliano, many of whom were terrified of bees), the upcoming spring festival—Honeyford Days—and the fact that his limelight-loathing little brother had been roped into being Grand Marshal.

“Fletcher was in the rodeo. Back then he was meaner than some of the bulls he rode, but he's got a movie-star puss the women loved. He wound up doing clothing ads, a few TV commercials. He'd signed on for a role in a movie, a Western, before he had an accident that laid him up for months and finally brought him back home.”

“Wait a minute.” Rosemary sat back from the bread pudding she'd made a sizable dent in. “Fletcher Kingsley is your brother? Fletcher Kingsley, the Tuff Enuff jeans model?”

Dean winced. “Yeah, let's not refer to him as a ‘model' at family gatherings like Thanksgiving or Christmas, though, okay?” He winked. “Best to keep peace in the family.”

“Okay, but you have to let me get a signed photo for my friend Vi. She set her TiVo for those jeans commercials.”

He laughed then lowered his voice way, way down. “You seem to be feeling better. How's the morning sickness?”

Rosemary didn't seem to mind the topic change. “Better since yesterday.”

“Good. According to the book, it gets better after the first trimester, and you're almost there.”

“You're still reading the book?”

“I like to follow along, imagine where you're at.” Again, he'd spoken softly and was pleased to see that she didn't mind the references to her pregnancy.

“I do feel a hundred percent better,” Rosemary offered, spooning up another taste of the custard sauce beneath the bread pudding. “I went shopping in Bend last night as a matter of fact and ate at The Olive Garden. I'm not even going to think about how many breadsticks I had.” She leaned over the table and smiled in a way that made Dean's heart skip.
“Maternity clothes have this fabulous expandable panel in the front. All pants should be made that way.”

He glanced toward the couple at the table closest to them. The Marsdens had greeted Dean when they'd first arrived twenty minutes earlier. Currently they were occupied with the pierogi appetizer and appeared no more interested in Dean's conversation with Rosemary than Dean and Rosemary were in the pierogis.

Dean knew, however, that he was about to make them much, much more interested. He crossed his fingers that he was doing the right thing.

“More coffee?” The word emerged hoarsely.
Damn.
When was the last time he'd been nervous? Couldn't remember. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “Coffee?”