Working on a Full House (36 page)

But the thought of spending the rest of the evening in his company made Cherise stifle a yawn.

As he turned around and came back toward her, he wore a rueful smile. "The wait is forty-five minutes. If only they had a bar..."

"It's all right." But Cherise remembered Kenny, who'd garnered a table with a few secret, smiling words. "I don't mind waiting."

"We can talk," Roderick said.

Cherise stifled another yawn. "That would be nice."

It was frightening to admit that no man had been able to hold her attention since Kenny. Sometimes she wondered if she
had
been in love with him, as Valerie insisted. Certainly there'd been an infatuation. Cherise had put this down to temporary insanity.

But as she stood waiting in the foyer of La Cucina chatting about Roderick's latest court hearings, Cherise wondered if it had been insanity, after all. Or temporary.

Certainly she'd wondered — often — if Kenny's indictment of her had any truth to it.
Did
she try to play it too safe?
Did
she insist on keeping control?

She'd never told her parents why she hadn't wanted to go to medical school or a PhD program. Instead of being honest, she'd gotten mediocre grades so it would never be an issue. So she could control the outcome.

She found herself asking why she'd never shown her paintings to anybody. The truth was she'd been afraid of getting any feedback, afraid of getting an opinion she couldn't control.

Just like Kenny said, she hadn't wanted to take any risks. The result was she'd never shared her life's work.

"And after I brought the Motion to Compel," Roderick told Cherise, his handsome features animated, "my opposing counsel crumpled in defeat. Sent me a letter practically begging to give in." He laughed with a rich, intelligent sound.

Cherise shook her head and smiled dryly, hoping that would suffice as a response. Idly, she wondered if she could ever show her paintings to Roderick. It was a stupid question.

So why was she going out with him? Where did she expect this relationship to lead, if she couldn't even bring this man into all the rooms of her home and let him know the deepest part of her?

Meanwhile Roderick's triumphant smile dimmed. Cherise fervently hoped he hadn't guessed her mind had been wandering.

"I've been going to some open houses," he told her. "Thinking about trading up."

"Oh, is that so?" Cherise did her best to look interested. "Are you unhappy with where you're living now?"

"No-o." Roderick drew the word out, looking at her. "But...sometimes a man has to look to the future, if you know what I mean."

"The future." Cherise nodded. "Yes, they say real estate is always a good investment, in the long run."

"An investment," Roderick said, sounding disappointed for some reason. "Yes."

Cherise glanced toward the maitre d', wishing there were some way to speed up the evening. It occurred to her that she'd never hoped to rush through an evening with Kenny. She'd never looked at her watch, a habit she indulged in on dates with all other men. Thinking about it now, she realized her watch-observing came from dating men who didn't challenge her. Safe men.

Men with whom she could stay in control.

Looking back toward Roderick, forcing herself to smile, Cherise felt the unwelcome questions come rushing at her. Did she limit her life? Stifle herself?

Would it have been so awful to quit her job and go to Europe? She couldn't pretend she hadn't dreamed of travelling through France and Italy, visiting the famous museums, and even doing some painting of her own. She'd often thought how exciting it would be to see the Alps, and the Mediterranean.

But she hadn't been willing to entertain the idea, not even for an instant. She hadn't been willing to let go of one iota of her security in order to make a change that might lead to something better, bigger, or more fulfilling.

"Did I tell you about the hearing I had before Judge Netherdorf?" Roderick asked Cherise.

Cherise smiled. "No, you didn't. What happened?"

As Roderick proceeded to relate the details of what must surely have been an amusing anecdote, Cherise looked at his handsome, well-educated, and gainfully employed face and wondered how much fun it would have been to traipse around Europe like a gypsy.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

"No, no. Not like that. You gotta put your fingers up first, then down. Right. Now you got it."

"So glad I finally mastered that handshake." Valerie gratefully disengaged her hand from Nicky's. In the examination room on a Monday in July, she took a step back to look at him. "Unbelievable," she said, and shook her head.

"I know." In the Mom chair, Mrs. Gordon heard Valerie's comment and agreed. "He looks like himself again."

"Indeed he does." Nicky had skin the color of a healthy child, no bruises, eyes bright and alert.

Now he rolled his eyes at the two women and jumped down from the examination table. "So, whaddaya say, doc? Do I get to go back to baseball now? My team has been
dying
without me."

"Dying, huh?" Valerie couldn't resist shaking her head one more time. It was no less than a miracle, how the bone marrow transplant had changed him from a pale shadow of himself back into the boy he'd been before his illness. "Regardless of your baseball team's dire need for you, I want you to take it slow. Play only a quarter of a game the first time out. We'll see how it goes."

Nicky heaved a dramatic sigh, but said, "Okay."

Valerie smiled and tried to ruffle his hair, the hair that called to be ruffled, but Nicky ducked out from under her hand. She laughed. Oh, it was good to have something to celebrate, for a change.

She blinked at the thought, startled. For heaven's sake, there was plenty to celebrate already. Her own health was good, she'd switched to maternity clothes, and the baby was coming along fine, according to Dr. Janis.

But as Valerie stood there, she knew she wasn't as happy and excited about that as she should have been. She couldn't help feeling like something was missing.

Something like Roy.

Valerie's smile abruptly dropped. Damn, she was doing it again. Thinking about Roy. How could he be missing from her life? He'd never been
in
her life.

And yet every day that went by without him chipped away at her. Instead of time repairing her broken heart, it was wearing it away.

The worst part was the feeling of responsibility Valerie had about it all, as if she could have arranged a different outcome, as if she'd had any control over it whatsoever.

"So I was telling Richard," Mrs. Gordon spoke, interrupting Valerie's preoccupation. "I was telling him this was a prime example of a lost soul trying to wash clean his ill-gotten gains."

"Pardon me?" Valerie had completely lost the train of the conversation.

"The fellow who started this foundation, you know, the one who paid for Nicky's operation?" Mrs. Gordon shook her head self-righteously as she got up from her seat. "We discovered he's some kind of big-time Vegas fellow, a gambler. Guess he's trying to make up for his sins, not that I'm complaining, mind you." Mrs. Gordon set a hand to her chest and laughed. "If it makes him feel better to give money to children who need operations, more power to him!"

Valerie stared at Mrs. Gordon. "What did you say?"

"Excuse me?"

Valerie went very still. "About who started the foundation, the one who paid for Nicky's transplant. Who did you say it was?"

"Oh." Mrs. Gordon laughed. "Truth is, I wasn't supposed to know his name. But Richard did some sneaky research on the Internet... I think it was something French."

An odd feeling tickled up Valerie's neck. "Beaujovais?" she asked.

Mrs. Gordon pointed at her. "That's it!"

The odd, tickling feeling turned into a million insects, buzzing all around Valerie. Roy.
Roy
had paid for Nicky's operation?

"So you've heard of this Beaujovais fellow?" Mrs. Gordon asked.

The insects were buzzing all over Valerie, sweeping up to the crown of her head. She was dimly aware of Mrs. Gordon, of the both of them, mother and son, staring at her quizzically. "I — I've heard the name." Valerie's professional persona managed a polite, farewell smile. "Take it easy for now, Nicky. I'll see you in a month."

"Right, Dr. K." Nicky, apparently satisfied with Valerie's answer, and permission to get back to his life, started for the door. His mother gave Valerie one last glance before following after.

Valerie remained in the examination room by herself, her head still spinning. Roy had set up that foundation.
Roy
had. He'd paid for Nicky's bone marrow transplant.

Why
?

Valerie frowned and drew in a deep breath as she tried to puzzle it out. But a voice in her head wasn't waiting to think it through. A voice in her head was singing, joyfully, foolishly.
He did it for you. You, you, you. He did it for you, to make you happy
.

No! Valerie shook her head briskly. She strode with swift, strong strides for the door. Roy hadn't plunked down a cool half million for
her
. Ridiculous. The man did own a heart, and he'd felt bad about Nicky's predicament, that was all. Not to mention he had enough money to throw it in any direction he damn well pleased.

Valerie went out the door and into the hall. Clutching Nicky's chart in fingers of steel, she stalked toward her office. She was not — repeat not — going to imagine Roy had set up that foundation for her. Come on. That would be — why, it would be femme fatale business.

Valerie was no femme fatale, but her ever-present guilt mixed with a smidgen of uncertainty to produce a trembly anxiety. Maybe she should call Roy. She knew she wasn't going to, but the anxiety wondered if...maybe she
should
.

~~~

Sitting at the bar of the Paris Hotel in Las Vegas and sipping a dry white, Cherise felt decadent and out of place. She decided both sensations were good. It was time for some changes in her life.

As she set down her glass and glanced at the watch on her wrist, however, Cherise's stomach took yet another one of the turns it had been indulging in since she'd left Palmwood three hours before. Was she ready for quite this much change?

Looking up from her watch, she saw Kenny across the lobby, threading his way down the quaint, fake Parisian street toward the bar. Ready or not, change was on his way.

Her stomach not only turned, but began rolling downhill. Oh, God. She hadn't guessed how...big it would feel to see him again.

She'd told him to meet her here, but he hadn't yet spotted her. There was a strange expression on his face as he maneuvered athletically around milling tourists. It took a minute for Cherise to figure out why his expression looked strange to her.

Kenny looked serious.

They he saw her, and she nearly collapsed in her wrought iron seat. The power of his eyes across the room, the amazing promise of his body — everything — squeezed her chest.

But she managed to stand as he came up to her table. He was wearing tan chinos, a silk shirt, and a smile of visible concern.

Cherise did her best to smile back, and watched as Kenny's gaze dropped to her flat stomach before he took her proffered hand.

"I'm not pregnant," she announced.

"Oh." Kenny's gaze flew up again. He didn't bother trying to hide his disappointment. Cherise gauged the depth of this disappointment by the length of time it took him to figure out the only possible implication of her declaration. If she weren't pregnant, then she'd driven all this way simply to see him. His face traveled slowly from slack to a wide, beaming grin. "Oh," he said again. "
Oh
."

"Sit down," Cherise snapped. "Before the smug police come to arrest you."

Still beaming, very obnoxiously, Kenny sat. Cherise followed suit. She had a feeling they were going to make enough of a scene as it was, even sitting.

"Uh, uh, uh," she warned, when Kenny reached across the table for her hand. "Not yet. You have to listen to me first — and this may not turn into anything. I haven't decided."

Kenny's smug smile dimmed. "I'm listening."

Cherise chewed the inside of her cheek. This was much more difficult than she'd imagined. The reality of him was so powerful: his appearance, his warmth, his scent.

But as much as she was willing to accept some change, she was determined to hold onto a few reins.

"I'm not going to marry you," she made known.

He didn't give her the satisfaction of looking surprised. Of course not. This was Kenny. Instead, he surprised her. "Good," he retorted, wearing a big smile.

Cherise pressed her lips together.
Good
?

Kenny tapped the tabletop with an index finger. His smile faded into his earlier serious expression. "Because my financial advisor says I'm not ready to take on a spouse. He told me I'd need another nine months, minimum, before I'd built up that kind of equity."

Cherise stared at him. "Your financial advisor?"

Despite his serious expression, there was a suspicious glint in Kenny's eyes. "I hired him a couple months ago, about a week after you told me what for." Kenny lifted a shoulder. "Decided it was time to get real about a few things, take myself seriously..." He looked up at her, blue gaze steady. "So people I thought were important might take me seriously, too."

Cherise knew she was still staring. The emotion she'd been experiencing since setting eyes on him a few minutes ago, the one she'd been trying so hard to hold with some reins, burst free. "Your financial advisor," she repeated, her voice a wispy thread.

"Yep. I've still got my house, believe it or not, and a sensible car, not to mention twenty thousand dollars in the bank. For me, that's amazing."

"It is," Cherise agreed. Love was splashing through her in torrential waves. He'd hired a financial advisor. He'd kept his house. He had money in the bank. Because of
her
.

Kenny shifted in his seat. "I, uh, wasn't sure how much it was going to take to impress you."