Send Me No Flowers (16 page)

“Ouch!” He shot out of his chair.

Rachel’s breath caught in her throat. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

“I just cut myself on the knife. It’s nothing.”

Nothing but blood oozing out of his finger. If Drew came in here and saw it, he’d land face first in the linguine.

Rachel grabbed her napkin and hurried over to him. “Here, wrap this around it.”

“I appreciate your concern, but it’s really no big deal, Lovebug.” He brushed off her first-aid attempts. “It’s just a little cut. When I was in Africa, I accidentally got my leg sliced open with a machete. Now
that
was serious.”

“This is serious, too,” she exclaimed. “Drew is a little queasy about blood.”

He placed his uninjured hand on his stomach. “I’m starting to feel a little queasy myself.”

“You don’t understand. The last time he saw blood, he actually passed out.”

Russell rose to his feet, twisting the paper napkin around his index finger. “Gee, that’s awful. I’ll go upstairs and put a bandage on it right away. Maybe I should stay up there for a while... watch a little television.” He glanced at Rachel. “You know, just until the bleeding stops.”

“I think that’s a good idea.”

By the time Drew came back into the dining room, Rachel was alone, trying to hide all the linguine still left on her plate under her napkin.

Drew halted in the doorway. “Where’s Russell?”

“Upstairs,” Rachel replied, putting down her fork. She didn’t know if she could stomach dessert. “He’ll be right back.”

“Oh...good.” Drew cleared his throat. “Well, I cremated the cake, but I came up with an emergency standby.”

She was almost afraid to look. If it was frozen pizza with whipped cream on top, she was definitely passing.

Instead he set down a plate filled with cinnamon toast hearts. “Toast is my specialty.” He picked up a piece and bit into it.

She suddenly couldn’t sit at Drew’s table anymore, pretending she didn’t have feelings for him. Not when he smiled at her that way, and looked so good, and had a trace of cinnamon-sugar topping on his lips that she desperately wanted to lick off.

“Try it,” he said, taking another bite. “It’s delicious.”

She moistened her lips with her tongue, knowing the only thing she craved was him. She took a deep breath, drawing on all her willpower. “I can’t.”

He rolled his eyes. “Is it because I cut them into little hearts? I think that’s taking this boycott a little too seriously. Here,” he said, breaking a cinnamon toast heart in two. “Now try it.”

He seemed to be an expert at breaking hearts. She ignored both the fractured heart on her plate and the one in her chest. “I think I’d better go check on Russell. He wasn’t feeling well.”

“Wait,” he said, before she could make her escape. “About Russell...”

“What about him?”

He hesitated for a moment. “I think you two should take your time. Don’t rush into anything. Not that Russ isn’t a...nice guy.”

“He’s the smartest man I’ve ever met.”

Drew scowled. “I don’t know about that...”

“It’s true.” Rachel pushed her dessert plate away. “He’s also kind and caring. A great conversationalist. And he always made me feel special.”

Drew tossed his napkin onto the table. “I still think you should be careful. Russell is a little...”

“A little...what?”

“Shy.”

Shy? Russell Baker? The same man who proposed marriage to her over the loudspeaker at the National Insect Symposium? The man who sang “My Girl” a cappella in front of one hundred people at their engagement party? The man who suggested honeymooning at a nudist beach so they could be at one with nature?

Rachel smiled tightly. “You don’t know Russell very well yet. He’s very outgoing.”

Drew nodded and reached for another cinnamon toast heart. “Right. I just meant he probably feels a little rusty in the romance department. You don’t want to put any pressure on him. I’d go slow if I were you. Very, very slow.”

Two kisses and he thought she was a sex maniac?

“Don’t get me wrong,” Drew continued. “I think he’s a great guy. You two make a cute couple.” He coughed then, choking on a piece of toast.

She shoved her glass of wine at him, and he took a deep swallow before recovering himself. “It comes down to this... You need some romance in your life, Rachel. Now Russell may not be the right man for you, but...”

“But it’s really none of your business.” More than ready to end this charade, she pushed her chair back from the table. Russell might be disappointed, but it sounded like it had all been Drew’s idea anyhow.
Drew’s idea?
She looked up at him as his strategy suddenly became clear. “Or is this about business, Mr. Mayor? Are you hoping I’ll fall in love with Russell and forget about the boycott?”

“Let me explain...”

She shook her head in disbelief. “Do you really think I’m that gullible?” She didn’t wait for his answer. Instead she grabbed her purse and stormed out of the dining room before she did something she might regret.

“Rachel, wait!” he called after her.

She turned on her heel. How stupid she’d been to think he cared about anything other than derailing this boycott. “Forget it, Drew. You’d better just get used to the taste of defeat. And if you want a sample, just eat some of that linguine!”

She stormed out the front door, too angry to even notice the cold. She heard the crunch of snow behind her, but didn’t slow down. Drew finally caught up with her at the curb where she’d parked her car. “You forgot your coat.”

She wrenched it out of his grasp. “And you forgot I’ve got a good arm, so unless you want another snowball sandwich, you’d better get out of my way.”

He moved in front of her, blocking the car door. “Look, tonight didn’t turn out like I’d planned.”

“Me, neither. Now move it.”

“Not until you hear what I have to say.”

“If this is about the boycott...”

“It’s about us.”

Avoiding his gaze, she shrugged into her coat. “There is no us!”

He moved a step closer to her. “Maybe I want there to be.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Right. That’s why you arranged this romantic dinner for me and Russell. And now that Plan A didn’t work, you’re ready to move to Plan B. Is seducing the opposition one of your usual tactics, Mayor, or do you only use it as a last resort?”

“Come inside and let me explain.”

“I’d rather choke down another plate of that lousy linguine.”

. Drew raked his fingers through his hair. “Tonight was a mistake. A big mistake.”

“You’re absolutely right. I never should have agreed to come over here.” She pushed past him to open her car door, anxious to get as far away from him as possible. “But don’t worry, Drew, I never make the same mistake twice.”

THE NEXT DAY, Drew sat in the corner deli with Charlie, staring dismally at the pastrami and rye in front of him. “I really blew it.”

Charlie nodded happily. “Yep, I slaughtered you at racquetball today. My game has really improved these last couple of weeks.”

“No, I mean I blew it with Rachel last night. I doubt she’ll ever speak to me again.”

“Hey, forget about her.” Charlie grabbed a handful of potato chips off Drew’s paper plate. “There’s a great basketball game on tonight. And we’ve got the Miss Valentine pageant coming up in two days. Life is good.”

“I can’t forget about her,” Drew replied, shoving his plate away. “That’s the problem.”

“You’re taking this boycott too seriously. It’s inflicted some damage on the town’s economy, but I think we can recover. The parade entries are slowly trickling in. And all the hotels are booked for the Valentine’s Day weekend, so it hasn’t adversely affected the tourist trade.”

Drew leaned forward in his chair. “You don’t get it, Dennison. I’m not talking about the boycott. I’m talking about Rachel. I can’t stop thinking about her. I can’t stop dreaming about her. And I can’t believe I tried to fix her up with the bug doctor.”

Charlie lowered his sandwich. “What do you mean, tried? I thought you had it all worked out.”

“Me, too. It seems I overestimated my cooking skills and underestimated my feelings for Rachel.”

Charlie shook his head. “Feelings for Rachel? Wait just a minute. You can’t fall for the leader of the boycott. It would be political suicide.”

He sighed. “Don’t worry. After last night, I don’t think she ever wants to see me again.”

Charlie looked relieved. “It’s probably just a case of wanting what you know you can’t have. The forbidden fruit syndrome. And let’s face it, Rachel is a challenge to you. You’ve never had so much trouble with a woman before.”

“Trouble is right,” Drew agreed. “I need to look at this logically. She’s trying to bankrupt the town. She’s given me a concussion. And she’s trying to corrupt my mother.”

Charlie stopped eating. “Kate? What happened?”

Drew rubbed the back of his neck. “She didn’t come home last night. I tried calling her earlier in the evening about her linguine recipe and left a message on her machine. She didn’t get back to me until this morning. She’s spending all her time with her new boycott buddy, Frank Anders.”

“Kate’s got a boyfriend?”

He shrugged. “How should I know? She never comes over to the house anymore. And I’m really getting sick of frozen pizza. My life is a mess. I don’t know what I want anymore.” Only he did know. He wanted Rachel. He couldn’t concentrate on work anymore. It just didn’t energize him the way she did. He’d always thought of love and marriage and family as distractions. But maybe he had it backwards. Maybe committing your entire adulthood to a career was a distraction. Especially if it kept you from focusing on the truly important things in life.

“Just hang in there, buddy,” Charlie said, picking up the pastrami and rye. “Two more days and I predict you’ll forget all about Dr. Rachel Grant.”

“What happens in two days?”

“The Miss Valentine contest. A bevy of Love’s most beautiful women competing for the title and the attention of the head judge. Sounds like the perfect cure for what ails you.”

Drew shook his head. “I don’t know, Dennison. After last night, I’m afraid it might be a permanent condition.”

Charlie bit into a pickle. “Think positive and just concentrate on the pageant. We’ll find you a beautiful girl who can cook and all your troubles will be over.”

“It’s not too late to back out,” Rachel said in a low whisper. “This could get ugly.”

“Let’s hope so,” Kate Lavery said, rubbing her hands together. “I’m ready to rumble.”

“No violence,” Rachel reminded them. “We’re only here to make a statement. Now let’s take our positions.” She checked her list. “Kate, you and Irma are in charge of the picketers outside the front entrance of the building. Frank, you and Lacie take the rest of the group and seat them in strategic places throughout the auditorium. We want to be in view of the judges and the television cameras.”

“What about you, Dr. Grant?” Kate asked, her dark hair tucked under a Detroit Red Wings ball cap.

“Gina and I are going backstage to the contestants waiting area to give them our pitch.” Frowning, Rachel squinted into the darkness. “Just where is Gina?”

Frank shrugged. “She mentioned something about going to the library. She wanted to find a book on automotive repair.”

Rachel groaned. “Is she still having car trouble?”

Frank shook his head. “No, she mentioned something about wanting to learn how to cut the brake lines in a BMW.”

Lacie stepped forward. “Isn’t that the kind of car her husband drives?”

Irma gasped. “Oh, no, she really is going to kill her husband! She’ll end up in the slammer for life.”

“She’s not going to kill him,” Rachel reassured them. “Planning different ways to murder him is just Gina’s way of working through her pain and anger.”

“Well, if you ask me,” Kate said, cinching the tie of her trench coat, “the best revenge for getting dumped is success. Make something of yourself and prove to everybody that you’re better off without him. That really gets ’em right in the old ego.”

Rachel sincerely hoped so. If they were successful in revamping the Miss Valentine pageant, she could watch Drew’s ego drop a few notches. The memory of that disastrous dinner still stung. She’d never been more than a means to an end for him. A tool he needed to dismantle the boycott. And when his Cupid strategy backfired, he’d tried to sacrifice himself on the altar of Love. As if she’d have him now!

“Well, we can’t wait any longer,” Rachel said, checking her watch. “The pageant starts in twenty minutes.”

The group disbanded, each person heading for their designated area. Rachel walked through the backstage door, hoping to find Gina somewhere inside. Technicians and stage hands milled around the wings, barely taking notice of her. She kept one eye out for Drew, the last person she wanted to run into—unless it was with her car.