Suddenly a Bride / A Bride After All: Suddenly a Bride

“All right, if you say so. But what’s an iron pig?”

Will thought about this for a moment. “Well. Iron pigs are what they poured steel into? Or maybe it’s a twist on pig iron? I know the name has something to do with the local Bethlehem Steel Works plant, back when steel was the largest industry around here, instead of the casino that’s operating on part of the old plant grounds now.”

“In other words, Counselor, you don’t know what an iron pig is?”

“I haven’t got a clue,” Will answered truthfully. “Does it matter?”

“To you or me? Maybe not. But do you remember being a seven-year-old boy, Will?”

Will considered this for all of five seconds. “I’ll find out. But I’m betting I’m not going to be able to discover why the mascot is a huge fuzzy brown pig named FeRROUS, and they’ll probably ask me that, too, right?”

“If they don’t, I know I will.”

“Thanks for the warning and, I hope, for accepting my invitation. The game starts at seven, and there’s always a lot of entertainment for the kids between innings. What do you say?”

“I … um …” She looked into the backseat, where the twins were using their new mitts in a sort of duel with each other. “I suppose so. They really don’t seem to have a single idea of what baseball is all about, do they?”

“It doesn’t look like it, no,” Will told her in all honesty. “But that’s not your fault.”

“Because I’m a woman,” Elizabeth said, “or because I don’t have a husband to teach them?”

Will mentally kicked himself. “I’m sorry, Elizabeth. That didn’t come out the way I meant it. Not that I’m sure I know what I meant. I don’t have kids, but if I did, and they were girls? I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be up on all the … girl stuff.”

“So baseball is boys’ stuff? Didn’t you say there are three little girls on the team?”

Will sighed. “You’re doing this on purpose, right? And I’m moving too fast. Do you want me to take back my invitation?”

She bit her bottom lip as she shook her head in the negative, those entrancing thick ribbons of blunt-cut curls moving with her and making his palms itch to run through her hair. “I haven’t been on a date since … but this isn’t a date because Danny and Mikey are going with us, so … so I don’t know why I’m being so obnoxious. We’d love to go see the IronPigs with you.”

“Great,” Will said, belatedly realizing that he really cared about the answer Elizabeth gave him. Him, the guy who saw women as pretty much interchangeable—and always replaceable. But he wouldn’t think about that right now. “Let me get the boys their shirts and caps from the back of my car. They can wear them tonight.”

Chapter Three

Elizabeth left the twins with Elsie, Richard’s housekeeper, in the kitchen, where they were proudly showing her all their purchases, except for the bat their mother had insisted remain outside a house filled with antiques and lamps and other treasures that probably should not come in contact with a seven-year-old and his new toy.

She ducked into the powder room just off the kitchen to wash her hands, splash cold water on her face and make use of the toothbrush she kept there, as she felt fairly certain she had pepperoni breath.

Then she went in search of Richard, who was most likely in his study, killing somebody.

She knocked on the door and poked her head into the large, cherrywood-paneled room that overlooked the swimming pool, the tennis court and a seemingly limitless expanse of well-designed grounds. “Richard? We’re back.”

Her employer, friend and possible fiancé looked up at her blankly for a moment before his busy brain hit on the “Oh, it’s Elizabeth” switch, and then returned his attention to the computer monitor in front of him. “Home from the baseball wars, are you? That’s nice, Elizabeth. Tell me, what’s another word for incomprehensible? As in, she experienced an incomprehensible reaction.”

“Inconceivable? Unfathomable?” She thought about Will Hollingswood—why, she didn’t know. “Inexplicable?”

“Yes, that last one. Definitely containing more of a hint of sexually motivated confusion. That’s perfect,” Richard said, his fingers flying over the keys for a moment before he sat back, smiled at her. “I’d use the thesaurus that comes with this incomprehensible new computer program, but you’re faster and less likely to have me crashing the machine.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Elizabeth said, walking over to the huge U-shaped desk that had been custom-built for Richard, and subsiding into the chair she sat in when he wanted to watch her face as she read his work. “You had to change programs to be compatible with the new operating system.”

“True enough. But in my next book I think I’ll devise an untimely and considerably messy end for some software mogul. Remind me, all right?”

“Wasn’t it enough that you dropped that cheating tax collector off a conveyor belt and into a vat of hot latex meant for condoms?”

“Ah, yes, the Triple-Ripple Extra Sensitive Deluxes, weren’t they? Only barely enough, Elizabeth. Nothing is too undignifying a death for a tax collector.” He pushed his computer glasses up high on his head, where he would soon forget they were, just as Chessie had said.

“I don’t think undignifying is really a word, Richard.”

“No? It should be,” he said, rubbing at his jaw, shadowed a bit in a mix of brown and gray day-old beard. “Didn’t shave this morning, did I? Well, I’ll do that before dinner, I promise. I’ve, well, I’ve been on a roll today. So, tell me. How did the boys enjoy their first day of baseball?”

As she told him about the field, and the boys throwing balls and then chasing them because nobody seemed able to catch them, and recounted their shopping trip and pizza lunch—leaving out mention of Will Hollingswood for reasons she wasn’t about to examine at the moment—Elizabeth looked at Richard, telling herself yet again that he was a very handsome man. A very nice, gentle, sweet and caring man.

His sandy hair was always too long and a bit shaggy, but she couldn’t imagine him any other way. He may be getting just a little thicker around his waist, but he was still a very fit man. He played golf twice a week and had his own fully equipped exercise room he used … well, when he remembered to use it.

His eyes were brown, like hers, but rather deeper-set, the lines around them a sign of too many hours in front of the computer but flattering in the way that wrinkles made a man more interesting while they only made a woman look older.

Yes, he was a handsome man. If he was, again, a woman, he’d be described as a well-preserved forty-five. As a man, it would more probably be said that he was just entering his prime. And she was twenty-eight, not exactly a teenager. That wasn’t so terrible, was it?

Chessie had seemed to think so. Or were her reservations centered more on what she saw as other problems?

“Richard?” she asked when he didn’t smile as she finished telling him about Mikey’s horrified reaction to learn that there would be yucky girls on his baseball team. Girls and seven-year-old boys were like oil and water, it seemed. “Have you been listening to me?”

“Yes, of course. The boys bought mitts and gloves and shoes. And bats! Let me reimburse you for those. God knows you’re grossly underpaid. Your employer should be shot.”

His eyes kept drifting toward the monitor. Elizabeth stood up and walked around the desk, placing a kiss on his cheek. “You will not pay for their equipment, thank you. You’ve already paid for their registration. And now I’ll leave you alone because obviously I’ve interrupted you at some crucial moment in your story. But, first, may I see?”

“I don’t think it’s quite ready for prime time, Elizabeth,” he said, moving the mouse to one of the corners of the monitor, so that the screen went black. “I’m trying something new, you understand.”

“But … but you’re in the middle of a book.”

“That can’t be helped. Sometimes a writer has to take a voyage of discovery, follow his muse where it leads. Or at least that sounds important, doesn’t it? Truthfully, I’m pretty much stuck on how to work the next scene in the current manuscript, so I’m playing with an idea I had the other day.”

“A new character?”

“No,” he said, looking somewhat sheepish. “A new genre. James Patterson does it. Others have done it, are doing it. Why shouldn’t I? I’m writing … trying to write … a love story.”

Elizabeth was dumbfounded. “A love story? You mean a romance?”

“No, my dear. When women write such books, they write romances. When men write them, they’re love stories.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Respect. Men get points for sensitivity and women get slammed for being sentimental and encouraging their readers to believe in fairy tales. Equality may be written about in books, but the publishing industry, or at least the critics and reviewers, are pretty much the last to acknowledge the fact.”

“And that bothers you?”

“Enough that John and I are going round and round about this book, if I do write it, if he can place it,” Richard said, referring to his agent. “What do you think of the pen name Anna Richards? My mother’s maiden name.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “You really plan to publish this book as a woman? Why?”