Penelope (12 page)

He laughed when he thought about it. How could she possibly think that being pregnant made her disgusting? Nothing was further from the truth.

~*~

Penelope figured she’d eaten too many candy bars at work. Her stomach was unsettled and she just wasn’t hungry. Brock, on the other hand, was scraping the spaghetti off his plate with a piece of bread.

She watched him enjoy his dinner. She’d never been much of a cook. Oh, she could throw a few decent things together. The fact that she’d never starved spoke volumes. Her mother wasn’t much of a cook either. When would she have had time to cook? Frozen dinners shoved in the microwave, or drive though meals were the dinners Penelope could remember.

She decided right then and there she was going to learn to cook. From what Brock had told her it looked like he’d be sticking around for a few months to help them get the daycare together. Sam had secured him a place to live.

He deserved a good meal once in awhile for helping. She’d see that he got one.

“Is your mother a good cook? My mother never had time to cook.”

He looked up at her with his mouth full of spaghetti and smiled with noodles hanging out of his mouth. Brock slurped them up, wiped his mouth, and took a sip from his beer.

“Are you asking me that because I’m devouring this?”

She shook her head. “No. I just wondered.”

He smiled and the dimple in his cheek deepened—which had to be the most fantastic part of his smile.

“Don’t ever tell her I told you this, but no. My mother can’t cook to save her soul, but she tries. She loves to cook. She loves to feed people, but it never turns out well.”

“And you’ve never told her this?”

“And break her heart? No way.” He smiled again and this time there was a sparkle in his eyes, which could only have been there because he loved his mother that much.

“If it’s bad, do you eat it?”

“Every bite. She gets such pleasure out of us eating her food. We just take very little portions.”

“You do all of that just to make your mother happy?”

His eyes narrowed. “Of course. Wouldn’t you?”

No. No she wouldn’t. Her mother wouldn’t have noticed if she’d eaten or not. As they sat at the table for dinner her mother would have had her laptop right next to her checking on the progress of this project or another. Penelope would either watch TV, which her mother would allow as long as the volume was low, or she’d have had her nose in a book.

They’d coexisted, but they hadn’t shared their life together. In fact her mother must have been so busy that she hadn’t even checked in on her daughter or her grandbaby. Penelope could only assume they were out of her hair and that was okay.

“Are you going to eat your meatball?” Brock asked with his mouth still full.

Penelope shook her head. “Please, go ahead.” She pushed her plate toward him and he stabbed the ball and set it on his plate.

“Aren’t you hungry?”

“No. I’m sorry. I have a lot on my mind I guess.”

Brock gave her a small shrug. “They’ll box it up for you. There’s nothing better than cold spaghetti in the middle of the night.”

Once Brock had finished the basket of bread, his meal, four bites of hers, and drank down his beer, he sat back in his chair and rested his hands on his stomach.

“I’m going to have to go for a run in the morning. I’m going to gain thirty pounds if I’m not careful. But I’ve really missed good food.”

“Amelia runs at six o’clock every morning. Then she’d head to the rec center to work out, but now she can do that in the basement.”

“She has a gym in the basement?”

Penelope smiled and nodded. “We built it for her. She made sure that Vivian and I were taken care of and our children were too. Adam left everything to her. She could have walked away with everything, but she didn’t. She uprooted her life and stayed here—with us.”

“And her and Sam?”

“Oh, they fell in love fast. It was a little risky on his part,” she considered. “He could have gotten in a lot of trouble, being Adam’s lawyer and all.”

“He’s a decent guy.”

“Oh, he’s more than decent. He’s—well—he’s extraordinary.” She rested her hands on her stomach as the baby moved. “They’re going to be very happy together.”

Brock leaned in over the table. “What about you? Are you and your baby okay? I mean, it’s just you and them in the house and they are together. Does it bother you?”

“Should it?” She tried to keep her voice steady. Yes, it bothered her that she wouldn’t have what Amelia had. But Vivian didn’t have it either. She had just figured it was a trade for not having children.

“No. It shouldn’t. You’re a beautiful woman and you won’t be alone for long.”

That caused her to snort out a laugh. “I’m six months pregnant. It’ll be a while before I start turning the heads of men.”

Brock pursed his lips and leaned in even further. He reached out his hand as if in invitation to hold hers. After a moment, she slid her hand into his.

“Not all men are put off by a pregnant woman. I think it’s becoming on you.”

She sucked in a breath and tried to keep calm. “Yes, but this doesn’t go away. When I’m not pregnant then I’ll be a mother. I’ll have a baby attached to me always. I’ll be nursing and sleep deprived.”

“And just as beautiful and wonderful as you are now.”

She didn’t want to hear this. She couldn’t hear it. Brock Romero was passing through. He might be staying for a while, but it wouldn’t last.

He was fulfilling a promise and he was doing a fine job. But he was just homesick for the normal. In time, she figured, he’d tire of her body—her needs—and he’d decide to move on.

The waitress set the check and a carryout box on the table. Brock pulled his hand back to reach into his pocket for his wallet. He set a number of dollars with the bill and then tucked his wallet back into his pocket.

“C’mon, let’s pack up that dinner and head back. You look tired.”

Because she didn’t want to discuss how beautiful he thought she was and how ugly she felt, she simply nodded and began to pack up her dinner.

But wouldn’t it be wonderful, she thought as she slid the noodles from the plate to the box. For a moment she could imagine Brock Romero being sincere and wanting her. And wouldn’t it be a dream come true to be part of a family like his?

She squeezed her eyes shut. She was setting herself up for disappointment. It would be better to not think about it at all. She’d done that once. She’d bought into Adam’s words and promises. There was no reason to assume Brock Romero was any different.

Why did hotel rooms always have to be either so damn hot or so damn cold? There was no comfortable middle ground, Brock thought as he kicked back the sheets again, in an attempt to cool himself.

Admittedly, he knew it might not be the room at all. It was probably just his mind still going a million miles a minute. It used to do that when he’d lie there in his tent with his gun strapped to his chest.

When he’d returned home from dinner with Penelope, he’d called his mother. He stifled the laugh when she’d told him she’d made the best meatloaf ever. Okay, her meatloaf was probably one of her better dishes, but still, he could only imagine his father’s heartburn.

He’d told her he planned on staying longer in Oklahoma than he’d planned and she’d grown quiet.

“Brock, are you seeing someone?”

A smile had formed on his lips. “I’m just helping out Sergeant Monroe’s family, Ma. But I won’t lie. There is a girl here, but she’s not very interested in me right now. But I was thinking,” he bit down on the side of his cheek. “I think she could do with a dose of family—real family—for a weekend. Would you be okay if I brought her home with me for a visit?”

“Oh, Brock, you know you’re welcome to do that anytime. But, doesn’t she have any family?”

“Not like ours,” he said and thought not many people did. “She has some very close friends here,” or so they appeared to be close. Hadn’t he assumed both Vivian and Amelia would have taken him down had he done her wrong? “She needs a little of your fussing, dad’s jokes, and some sibling banter.”

“I’ll make up the spare room and you just tell me when you’re coming.”

He could hear the sincerity in her voice and he’d expected nothing less. “Thanks, Ma. I’ll come up in a few weeks and I’ll send you pictures of this old house they’re fixing up. You would love it. It reminds me of Great-Grandma’s house.”

“That was a shame to have to sell. I’m glad they’re not having to sell that one.” He heard what he assumed was a stifled sob. “I miss you, Brocky. I only got a few hours with you. And I’m not trying to make you feel bad, I just want you to know.”

“I know, Ma. I miss you too. Give Dad a hug for me.”

When the sun peeked through the dingy curtains he knew it was too early to head to the house. If he was lucky he’d slept until six o’clock. Thinking of all the food he’d eaten in the past few days he considered that he’d better put on some running shoes and hit the pavement—and so he did.

A mile into his run he realized he was running toward the house on Main and Pine. Another mile in, he was running up Main and he could see Amelia running down Main.

He gave her a wave as she stopped in front of the house.

“You’re up early,” she said, stretching from side to side.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

She scanned a look over him and narrowed her eyes on him. “You up for some sparring?”

As interesting as that sounded, he wasn’t sure he was. It was too early to think about sparring—especially a woman.

Amelia had fisted her hands on her hips and waited for him to answer. “If you’re scared…”

“I’m not scared. I just don’t want to hurt you. I’m not one to spar with women.”

A crooked grin formed on her lips and her eyes sparkled. “Don’t worry about me. If I thought I’d get in trouble with it I wouldn’t have offered. But you can take it easy on me if you want to. It’s just one hell of a workout.”

That it was. “Okay, let’s go.”

She gave him a full on grin now and started toward the house. He couldn’t help but wonder if Penelope was up and in the kitchen. After all, he couldn’t have accidently run that way if she hadn’t crept into his subconscious, right?

Amelia led him into the house and back to the kitchen. The house was quiet and to his dismay, Penelope wasn’t there waiting for him.

The thought made him laugh to himself as he followed Amelia down the stairs to the basement. When she flicked on the lights, he actually gasped.

“You do have a whole gym down here.”

She nodded. “Can you believe they did this for me?”

“Well, from what I understand you’ve done a lot for them.”

She shrugged and fixed her ponytail by separating it and giving it a yank. “What he did wasn’t right. I’d never be able to live with myself if those kids suffered. I know what it’s like to lose a parent in combat. They don’t deserve that.”

Amelia threw him a pair of sparring gloves and a helmet.

Brock secured the gloves and wondered if his head would fit in the helmet. “Your father died in combat?”

“Oh, such small minded people always assume that.” She put on her helmet, and then secured her gloves. “My mother died in Desert Storm. My father raised us.”

He’d known enough strong women whom he’d served with, and he knew he’d been wrong to assume such a thing. “I’m sorry. I’ll bet she was a fine soldier.”

“Of course she was.” Amelia gave him a nod. “Ready?”

“Sure, but really I don’t want to hurt…” The words hadn’t even come out of his mouth when he realized he was flat on his back looking up at the basement ceiling.

She was standing over him looking down at him. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

Brock let out a groan and she laughed.

“I take that as you’re okay?” she asked and he nodded. “Another round?”

Brock rolled to his side and then to his knees. “Another round?” he asked as he got to his feet. “I don’t think that counted.”

“One point for me. Stay on your feet.”

“Easy for you to say.”

She was grinning. “I don’t do well with men who won’t fight me,” she said as she danced around him. “I invited you to the match, I’ll fight you evenly.”

He still wasn’t sure about this, but then he ducked her punch.

“Good. You do know how to do this,” she said as he blocked a roundhouse kick aimed for his ribs.

“Oh, I know how to do it. I’ve just never done it with a woman.”

“I won’t tell Penelope,” she laughed as she struck out with a back-fist aimed at his head followed by a left punch, which landed right in his chest.

Brock staggered back and pressed his gloved hand to where she’d hit him.

“Amelia, what are you doing?” Penelope’s voice shrieked through the basement.

Brock looked up to see her standing there in a nightshirt that clung to the very feminine curves of her body.