Think About Love (15 page)

No, thanks,
she replied and phoned the newspaper's circulation department herself after looking the phone number up on the Internet. Then she phoned her next-door neighbor but got no answer, so had to e-mail Cal back and say that yes, she did need her plants watered and thank you.

She was saying thank you far too often. If this marriage was to work at all, their contributions must be equal. She'd accomplished maybe ten hours work for Tremaine's in the last five days, while Cal had been flying back and forth to Gabriola, visiting her grandmother in the hospital, traipsing around after wedding details, checking her apartment, and planning another trip tomorrow to back her up with the social worker. Meanwhile, he'd been managing conferences with the project leaders while the new developers went through their six-day orientation.

Wednesday he needed to fly to New York to meet with Lloyd again, and he wouldn't be back in Seattle until Friday night. It seemed to her that while she was doing half a job, he was working double-time and doing personal favors for her besides.

Saturday they'd be married. A business deal and she'd better attend to business.

She spent Monday evening alternating between walking Kippy, who began crying again five minutes after Samantha laid her in bed, and making notes on Tremaine's rights and obligations under the Lloyd contract.

Monday night she walked Kippy until four in the morning before the baby fell into a deep sleep and Samantha fell into bed. Tuesday morning she had telephone conferences, business, while Kippy managed to migrate five feet across the living room floor without doing anything that could be described as crawling.

Samantha checked her e-mail after the phone conferences, found a message from Marcy about day-care regulations, a list of the new employees, and a draft of the questionnaire about day care. She scanned the employee list, approved the questionnaire with two minor changes, then opened an e-mail from Tremaine's lawyer.

The first draft of the prenuptial agreement.

Irritation drove her as she noted several items that needed to be changed. When did a lawyer ever write up a contract that didn't need changes, adjustments?

Eighteen years. She'd been the one to insist that the time be written into the contract—eighteen years, because she wasn't going to subject Kippy to a here-today-gone-tomorrow father. Better to have none at all.

She and Cal would live under the same roof for eighteen years, providing a home for Kippy. She'd be Tremaine's vice president, overseeing administrative, human resources and financial functions. She sent her notes back to the lawyer, with a copy to Cal who was probably already in the helicopter, on his way to Gabriola.

Eighteen years.
 

By rights, she should be terrified.

At eleven, the sun came out from behind a cloud to throw the trees into brilliant green lushness. Samantha finished her last telephone call and lugged her computer outside, then carried Kippy and a blanket out to the veranda. Kippy played contentedly, making grabbing motions at the trees, which were far out of reach.

Watching her, Samantha felt a wave of unexpected tenderness. Such a small life, so precious. She put the computer aside and leaned back in the big old wicker chair Dorothy had sat in so often while she watched Samantha and Sarah playing on the grass.

What had it been like for Dorothy, she wondered, finally saddled permanently with Samantha and Sarah at the ages of 13 and 11? She couldn't have been anticipating being thrown into a motherhood role again. She'd been busy with her pottery, seemingly content in her solitary life.

If Dorothy resented the sudden responsibility, she'd never complained.

Samantha wasn't going to complain either, and she wouldn't let herself resent the way her life had been turned upside down. She had an exciting career, a position of control in a fast-growing high-tech company, working with a man she admired and liked. As husband and wife, they would find a way to carve out their territories, to work together, just as they had at Tremaine's.

Kippy twisted, arching her back. Then she seemed to hesitate, almost off balance. As Samantha started to stand and reach for her, Kippy suddenly rolled over, ending on her belly with fists on the veranda and her head lifted high. As Samantha watched, the baby rose onto her knees, then seemed to dive forward, her face landing on Sam's bare foot.

When Samantha scooped her up, Kippy grinned and gurgled.

"Aren't you a smart one. When did you learn to do that?"

Kippy gurgled again, then began to chatter incomprehensibly.

Samantha laughed and hugged her close, then buried her face in the baby's tummy and hummed, making Kippy laugh gleefully and pump her legs.

"We're going to try to talk Dorothy into coming with us," she decided, sharing her thoughts with the baby. "We'll use Cal's money for a nurse, and we'll get her the best doctors. That way you'll have Dorothy back, but you're saddled with me too, now. You OK with that, Kippers?"

The baby pushed her feet into Samantha's thighs, as if launching herself from the floor in one of those baby jumpers.

"Would you like a jumper?"

Kippy twisted and tried to dive off Samantha's lap. Samantha caught her close, gasping, laughing. When their laughter faded, she could hear gravel crunching.
 

Car coming.

A red sports car. Cal.

She wrapped her arms more closely around Kippy and took a steadying breath. She was perfectly sane today, rational. When Cal stopped the car and stepped out, she saw he still had a cell phone in his hand, and she smiled.

"Lousy cell phone reception up here."

"Yeah," agreed Cal, frowning. "I lost him when I turned off Peterson." He put the cell phone on the table beside her.

"Hello," she said.

His hand caught in her hair and she held her breath as he brushed the flyaway strands back from her face.

"I like your hair down like this." He caught a handful of it and lifted it in his hand. "It's incredibly soft. You should see the way the sunlight shines through it."

It wasn't blood pressure or brain chemicals. Maybe hormones, but not the PMS sort. She needed to look away from him, to break the spell locking her gaze in his, bringing his lips closer.

She eased away. "I thought you'd come by helicopter."

"I wanted to bring your car, but your keys weren't on the ring you gave me, so I brought mine. You can use it, turn in the rental car."

Like everything else he did, it seemed so reasonable, but she felt uneasy. "I doubt I can get the baby seat in the back of that thing."

"Thing?" His breath heated her cheek as he chuckled. "That's a Porsche. Treat it with respect."

"Right." She had her breath back now, almost.

The baby stretched out arms to Cal and readily abandoned Samantha.

Sex, she thought. It was raw sex, and she was off balance because she hadn't realized she was this susceptible.

"I think we can manage the car seat," said Cal, "though it will be awkward for you to lift her in and out with no back doors." He smiled at her, and she saw in his eyes that the kiss he'd been about to give her wasn't evaded, only delayed. "I thought I'd take your rental back to Seattle tonight, turn it in at the airport when I fly to New York tomorrow. When I'm not here, you can put the car seat in the front. I'll bring your car next time."

"We can't put Kippy in the front seat. Air bags."

"Damn... you're right, I remember seeing that on the news."

"I didn't think of it either. The social worker told me when she caught me trying to belt the carrier into the front seat."

"I guess we've got some catching up to do. It's been a while since I baby-sat my cousins. Not many people had air bags in those days." He turned to the sound of another car on the drive. "The social worker? Isn't she early?"

"Probably hoping to catch me off guard." Samantha wished she had Kippy to hold as a buffer. "Don't tell her it's a business deal between us."

Cal bent to give her a swift kiss. "There," he said softly when he moved away from her. "You don't look at all like a businesswoman. What the hell is her name?"

"Brenda Simonson."

"It's going to be fine," he promised; then he turned, holding Kippy in his arms, walking toward the woman who climbed out of the government-issue midsize car.

"Ms. Simonson. Hello." He held the baby in one arm, his other hand out for a formal handshake, his voice warm and confident. "I'm Cal Tremaine, Samantha's fiancé."

"Hello, Ms. Simonson." Samantha stood to greet the social worker. "Would you like coffee or lemonade?"

"Lemonade," said Brenda stiffly, not looking at Samantha. "You're Samantha's
fiancé?
Nobody mentioned this in court."

"Sam came up here in a hurry when she discovered her grandmother was in the hospital, Kippy in foster care. We didn't have time to talk it over before she left, but when she realized Dorothy wouldn't be able to carry on as Kippy's primary caregiver, we decided it was time to marry—now, rather than later." His smile was natural, open. "Sam and I have been seeing each other for a long time."

Samantha escaped into the house, afraid of what might show on her face if she stood listening to Cal persuade Brenda that they were a match made in heaven, without ever telling a lie.

Would they have to do this in court, before the judge?

If a pastor married them, they would have had to do it in the ceremony, before God. Thank heavens she'd talked Cal out of that.

Samantha managed to maneuver her way through the rest of the week without dropping any balls. By phone, e-mail, and video conferencing, she handled a developer who suddenly realized he'd made a major mistake in his estimate on the leasehold improvements for Tremaine's; the lawyer, who'd sent the now-revised prenuptial; and Marcy, who'd misplaced the specifications Cal had given her for the new computer server installations.

"Ask Dee to run a new copy," said Samantha.

"You're marrying the boss!" Marcy shouted Wednesday afternoon when they spoke. "You didn't tell me!"

Cal must have had made an announcement at Tremaine's, and she didn't know whether to be annoyed that he'd taken the decision out of her hands or relieved she didn't have to figure out how to tell everyone.

"I knew it," said Marcy. "I always knew you two were meant for each other."

Obviously, he hadn't told his staff that it was a business deal. She felt relieved, then disturbed. Of course they weren't going to go around announcing that this was strictly business, but who got the true version and who didn't?

Cal had led Brenda Simonson to believe they were a loving couple, but they'd told Dorothy the truth. What had he told his parents? She'd better find out before she met them. And what was she going to tell Wayne, who phoned from Birch Bay to say he and Nora would arrive Friday evening by car?

"Come to the house," Samantha said. "You can sleep in Dorothy's room." She said it before she realized that Cal would then be left with nowhere to sleep, because she'd planned to put him in Dorothy's room.

Brenda Simonson made two more visits. Samantha had spent the last two evenings reading child-care books, so was able to give intelligent answers to the questions she assumed were designed to test her competence to care for a small child.

As far as Samantha could tell, Brenda had come to accept Samantha as Kippy's caregiver. Because of Cal and the marriage, or because Samantha had proven her worth?

Thursday night, Cal phoned from New York. "I'll be back tomorrow night. I'm meeting Adrienne and my parents at SeaTac; they're arriving from San Francisco just after my flight gets in. I'll fly them up in the chopper. Can you get the four of us rooms on the island Friday night?"

"I'll book you into a bed-and-breakfast."

So Cal wouldn't be sleeping at the house Friday, and she wouldn't have to worry about how to allocate bedrooms. He'd stay with his own family. He'd wanted tradition, which seemed so odd in a man as modern as Cal. Tradition said the bride shouldn't see the groom before the wedding on the wedding day.

"I'm picking Dorothy up Saturday morning," said Samantha. "She's got a day pass out of the hospital to come to the wedding, on condition that she spends the day resting, sitting."

"Actually, Sam...." She heard the sound of voices in the background over the phone; then Cal said, "Just a minute."

She held the receiver and watched Kippy, who had managed to twist her way from the middle of the living room carpet to the kitchen entrance. From the tone in Cal's voice, she knew he'd done something without consulting her, and she told herself to be very calm. By nature, Cal tended to take over anything in his line of sight, but she knew how to hold her own with him. She'd had enough practice this last year and a half.

She could hear his voice through the telephone, talking to someone else, words not quite decipherable. It would be like this in Cal's house, she thought. Kippy playing on the floor, Cal on the phone telling her when he'd be home, calling from business meetings in New York and Miami. She'd taken these calls in the office, but here, with the baby gurgling and chattering gibberish a few feet away, herself in jeans and bare feet, the telephone suddenly seemed intimate, a family connection.