Working on a Full House (14 page)

"I'm waiting to see what comes up on the flop." Roy shrugged. "Then I'll decide whether to check or to raise."

"Huh. Well, that's typically cryptic. Anyway, here we are." Kenny came to a stop at the foot of an imposing set of stairs leading up to an equally imposing front door. "How do we get in?"

"The realtor gave me a key." When you had enough money to pay cash on any place you saw, it engendered a lot of trust and cooperation in real estate agents.

Roy led the way up the stairs and opened the front door. He motioned Kenny to go through first.

"Mm. Big," was Kenny's comment.

It was, indeed, big, as if someone had taken a typical suburban ranch house and simply added ten feet in every direction. "Too big," Roy decided.

"You said it, not me." Kenny took another look around the over-capacious front hall and turned back to Roy. "You think you're going to convince your wife to move to Las Vegas?"

Roy snorted. He wasn't sure he'd be able to convince her to see him face-to-face again. But he was working on it. For three weeks now, since the wedding, he'd been calling her on the telephone. She'd been confused by the attention at first, even wary, but now — Ah, those telephone calls...

"No, I doubt Valerie will want to move here," Roy admitted to Kenny. "But there'll be times the family might want to stay in Las Vegas. I want a home available for us when we do."

Kenny tilted his head. "'We,' hm?"

Roy rolled his shoulders. "That's right. 'We.'" Somehow or other, it was going to be 'we.' Those phone conversations with Valerie had been good.
Really
good.

They made Roy realize he wanted more. That is, the family needed more.

"So exactly what's the deal here?" Kenny eyed Roy. "Does she know you're in love with her?"

Roy gaped at him.

"Well, does she?"

"Don't be absurd." Though he'd already decided he hated the house, Roy stalked forward down the hall. "I'm not in love with anybody."

Love
. The word reminded him of that horrible morning when he'd woken up alone at the Paris Hotel. Just thinking about it made acid etch his stomach. He was determined not to repeat that morning, in any way, shape, or form.

"No?" Kenny followed Roy down the hall and into an enormous kitchen. "You married her. Insisted on it, in fact. Now you say you want to live with her. It sounds like you're in love with her."

Roy scowled and opened a cabinet door. "I'm not."

"How about her?" Kenny followed Roy as he walked out of the kitchen and into a dining room of such awkward proportions it would not comfortably seat any number of people.

"What about her?" Roy glanced around, and then stalked toward a door on the other side of the room.

Kenny gave a long-suffering sigh and scrambled after him. "Does
she
love
you
?"

Roy came to an abrupt halt inside the next, big room. What a question. Of course she didn't love him. She'd kind of proved that in February when she'd left him at the Paris Hotel.

But — that didn't mean he didn't enjoy their phone conversations. He'd lie on his bed at Mandalay Bay, gazing at the ceiling while he simply enjoyed talking to a practical, funny, intelligent woman.

"Love is irrelevant," he now pronounced. "She likes me and..." He lifted a shoulder. "I like her."

Yes, he liked her. He'd admit it. She'd tell a story about a patient she'd seen that day. He'd relate an anecdote about whatever game he'd been at the night before. They'd comment and laugh. Talk.

It was...relaxing. Deliciously relaxing. He had to use the strictest discipline to keep it down to only one phone call per day.

Roy lowered his brows. "Talking about love is — silly. We ought to live together because it's the right thing to do. For the baby."

"For the baby," Kenny repeated, and gave Roy an odd look.

"That's right." Roy took one more gander at the big room, although he'd been sure from the front door that he hated the place. He was going to have to set the realtor straight about his goals here.

"This is all about the baby," Roy said, turning back to Kenny. "That boy is going to have a home. A real one."

Kenny's odd expression did not change. "Boy?"

"Or girl. Come on. Let's get out of here." Roy felt restless suddenly. Maybe looking for a house wasn't the most urgent thing on his list, after all. Maybe one or two other details had to get taken care of first.

Still wearing the odd expression, Kenny shook his head. "A real home," he muttered. "Whatever that means."

Roy led the way out, wishing like hell he knew exactly what it meant, himself. All he knew was that he was determined to have such a thing. With Valerie.

For the baby.

~~~

"Oh, I can't. Not tonight," Valerie apologized.

Cherise gave her a penetrating regard as they stood in the hallway by the nurse's chart rack. "You can't go out to dinner with me tonight. You couldn't go out for drinks last night. You don't seem to have any evenings available these days."

Valerie's heart began to beat heavily — and guiltily — in her chest. "Well..."

"Is there something you're not telling me?" Cherise lifted her elegant eyebrows.

Valerie's mouth opened. Was there anything she wasn't telling Cherise? Well, let's see... She was nine weeks along in a pregnancy, and oh yeah, she'd gotten married to a Las Vegas gambler. And tonight, and last night, and for many nights before that she'd been engaging in a very strange, but definitely pleasurable, long-distance telephone relationship.

"No," Valerie finally told Cherise, and brought forth a bright smile. "Not a thing."
Or at least, not a thing I'm ready to talk about
. Still smiling, she took a step back. She really had to leave if she wanted to be home in time for Roy's phone call. It came every night at 6:30. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yes," Cherise agreed, but her expression said she was determined to get to the bottom of it.

Valerie wished her luck. As she waved goodbye and clutched her light jacket against the cool April evening outside, she had to wonder, herself, what was at the bottom of it all.

She'd married Roy as a purely legal formality. They were supposed to be leading separate lives. And they were...mostly. But then there were these phone calls — these warm, pleasant phone calls.

Never had Valerie expected to have so much to say to Roy Beaujovais. She was actually getting to know him. They were kind of turning into friends.

Valerie reached her car in the parking lot adjacent to the medical building and slipped inside. As she turned the key in the ignition, she assured herself that friendship was all she was seeing here. Of course it was. For one thing, 'friend' was pretty much how every man in her life ended up describing her. Even Peter had asked to retain that status when he'd dumped her. And for another, Roy was there, Valerie was here. It was physically impossible for this relationship to go further than friends.

So Valerie was safe, safe from her tendency to delude herself a man might be in love with her when he wasn't. Perfectly so.

~~~

He was there, she was here. The physical distance between them was the first obstacle that had to be crushed. Hence, on the first Tuesday in April, three-and-a-half weeks after his wedding, Roy sat in the gleaming five-year-old Cadillac he'd just bought, parked across the street from Valley Pediatric.

Chewing his lower lip, he wondered if showing up at Valerie's place of business was, after all, what ought to happen next in this crazy relationship.

"So that's where she works?" Kenny, sitting in the passenger seat, leaned forward to peer past Roy and across the street at the tan brick building.

Roy's uncertainty about the wisdom of showing up in Palmwood had spurred him to invite Kenny along. Kenny ought to keep him from doing something stupid.

"It's the address on the business card she gave me." Roy chewed his lip harder. The urge to get out of the car and go into the building was strong.

Kenny remained leaned forward, studying the building. "Why don't you go in and see her?"

Roy snarled. "I thought you were here to help me put on the brakes."

"Did you?" Kenny shifted to grin at him. "But I thought you wanted to 'move this forward.' Don't see any hope of doing that unless you step on the gas."

Was he right? Roy gazed out the window again. Undoubtedly
something
had to happen. But just walking into her office, surprising her, without having asked her in advance if she'd like to see him...?

It would be a wild gamble. Terrible odds.

Roy ground his teeth. Admittedly, the odds of her agreeing to see him if he asked ahead of time were just as dreadful.

What to do? What to do?

At that moment Valerie, herself, walked out the heavy glass door of the building. Dressed in black slacks and a gray raincoat, she wore a preoccupied expression and was moving fast.

Roy's heart took a flying leap. His muscles bunched.
Now, now. Go after her now!
It was the primitive call of a predator on spotting his prey. But a call almost as primitive kept Roy in his seat, terrified. What if she didn't want to see him?

Thankfully, Kenny didn't say a word. They both watched in silence as Valerie disappeared among the parked cars in the lot to one side of the building.

"She's in one hell of a hurry," Kenny finally remarked.

Roy glanced down at his watch. The hands on his Rolex pointed to 6:15, a fact which gave him a warm glow inside. "I usually call her at 6:30," he explained.

"Hmm." Kenny hefted a foot onto the dashboard. "Maybe you ought to ring her doorbell tonight, instead of calling."

Roy made a rude sound, but felt the urge to do just as Kenny suggested. "You are no help at all."

Kenny chuckled. "I think I'm helping a lot. Whoa." His gaze fixed on something outside the window. "Will you take a look at that?"

"What?" Automatically, Roy looked toward the tan brick building again. A tall African-American woman strode with regal leisure down the same walkway where Valerie had rushed a few moments before.

"Holy Jack of Diamonds," Kenny whispered. "I'm in love."

"Oh, don't be hasty or anything."

Kenny shot a glance toward Roy. "Do you have any idea who she is?"

Should
he ring Valerie's doorbell? Roy's gut twisted in ten different directions. Absently, he watched the tall woman continue past the parked cars down the sidewalk. "I'm guessing that's Valerie's best friend, Cherise. She's a nurse practitioner at the clinic."

"A nurse practitioner, huh?" Kenny smiled wolfishly. "Sounds sexy."

Roy grunted. "From what I've heard, she's a real ball-buster."

"Really?" Kenny sounded more enamored than ever. He was practically drooling on Roy's redone seats.

"It's 6:17," Roy muttered.
Should
he go ring Valerie's doorbell?

"I'm outta here."

"What?" Roy blinked in alarm as Kenny clicked open his car door. "Where are you going?"

"To meet that female." Kenny was out of the car now, grinning broadly and staring like a golden retriever in the direction the tall woman had headed.

"What? No way. You're supposed to be my brakes." Roy leaned toward the open car door. Dammit. With the urge to do something stupid riding higher than ever, Roy needed Kenny to stick close.

"Be your own brakes." Kenny was unrepentant. "Better yet, be your own gas pedal." The next instant he was gone, the car door slammed behind him.

Damn it!
Roy should have known. Kenny was about as reliable as a Bellagio slot machine. He watched his friend saunter across the busy street, miraculously avoiding collision with rush-hour automobiles.

Be your own gas pedal
. Sitting in the car, Roy chewed his lip again. Would that ruin everything? Or was Kenny right, and putting on the gas was the only way to move this thing forward?

CHAPTER TWELVE

In a private snit, Cherise walked down Brand Avenue. A light breeze ruffled the leaves of the street trees, and was just cool enough to make Cherise tie the belt of her knee-length sweater. Inwardly, she grumbled. Valerie was wimping out on her...again. Cherise couldn't fathom how the girl could be stepping out with Mr. Yummy when she was here and he was there, but maybe they were IM-ing each other or something.

In any case, Cherise was on her own for dinner, again.

Determined not to let the fact depress her, Cherise decided against driving straight home. She needed a tube of cadmium yellow and another of vermilion, both of which she could get at the art supply store down the street from Valley Pediatric. Maybe she'd do some painting tonight. She had to admit she was in that kind of a mood.

A dangerous one.

"Wait! Hey, wait up there." The voice was male, hearty, and unfamiliar. It was also laughing.

Frowning, Cherise turned around. A tall man with a thatch of shaggy blond hair was hurrying down the sidewalk toward her. Wearing a sweater vest, plaid pants, and saddle shoes, he was smiling as if he knew her, which he most certainly did not.

She was so surprised, Cherise actually waited for him to catch up. Was he selling home loans? Fuller brushes? He had a salesman look about him: unflappable amiability.

"Oh, thank goodness," he said as he came up to her. "You move like a cheetah. I wasn't sure I could catch up."

"And you needed to catch up...why?" Cherise made her smile cool.

He grinned, quite warmly, back. "I couldn't let my future wife get away from me, now, could I?"

She raised her eyebrows. So, not a salesman, strictly speaking. It had been a long time — a very long time — since a man had dared to hit on her, but she hadn't forgotten any of the moves.

"I don't think I caught the name?" Icicles dripped off her voice.

He continued grinning, warm, unfazed — to all appearances delighted. "Kenny," he answered. "Kenny Doubletree."

"If you will excuse me, Mr. Doubletree, I am about to walk out of your life." With a cool, cutting smile, Cherise turned around and continued down the sidewalk. This...creature was not going to stop her from going to the art supply store.