Have Bouquet, Need Boyfriend

Now he just had to devise a plan to see Rebecca again and swing an invitation to her grandmother’s surprise birthday party so he could meet Bert Hartwell.

REBECCA HURRIEDLY PLACED the bride’s book and a book on dream analysis back into the chest and shut it, not wanting any of her neighbors to see the contents of her hope chest. Ignoring the growing chill in the air, she tugged and pulled at the hope chest, trying desperately to remove it from the back of the station wagon, but the bumps she’d taken had wedged the corner of the chest into the side by the spare tire, and it was completely stuck. The effort made her already sore chest ache even more. She felt a sharp pain in it each time she took a deep breath, too. She must have bruised her ribs. They couldn’t be broken or she would be in much worse pain. Right?

She shoved again, and mashed her finger. Why hadn’t she had the courage to accept Thomas’s offer of help?

She couldn’t ask him to assist her when she’d already inconvenienced him. No telling how long it would take to repair his car. Granted he could borrow something from Uncle Wiley’s lot to drive in the interim, but she had no idea what kind of vehicle he’d get for a loaner.

Uncle Wiley did not have any brand-new silver Porches on his used-car lot.

“Yo, Becky.” Jerry Ruthers, Rebecca’s neighbor who’d dogged her for a date ever since she’d moved into the small duplex next to his, loped toward her, pulling baggy jeans up beneath his sagging belly. “Need a hand?” He flexed his muscles, the bulge shoving the short sleeve of his white T-shirt up, revealing arms layered in thick, dark hair and a cigarette pack.

Rebecca cringed. “Thanks, but I can—”

He pushed her aside, yanked out the hope chest much the same as Thomas had done, except Jerry added a melodramatic grunt, and sweat poured down his unshaven face. He thundered toward the front door, his jeans slipping down his backside.

She hurried after him, deciding to buy him a belt to hold up his pants in exchange for his good deed.

“Where do you want it, Becky?”

She hated being called Becky, but she unlocked the door and ignored the nickname, not wanting to prolong their conversation. “The den is fine.” She gestured toward the blue ruffled sofa and watched him heave as he lowered the chest to the faded beige carpet.

He whistled, wiped at his forehead with his arm, then grinned. “What you got in there, sugar cakes?”

“Some things from my grandmother.” She inched back toward the door, hoping he would follow. She didn’t intend to discuss the hope chest with him any more than she had with Thomas.

“Dang it, you look pretty today.” His gaze traveled over her dark green bridesmaid’s dress, lingering at her cleavage before dropping in appreciation to her silver spiked heels. “Where you been? You look like a Christmas tree, all lit up and sparkling.”

“My cousin’s wedding.” Rebecca ignored his come-hither grin. “She got married at my grandmother’s house.” Jerry was the only man who’d shown an interest in her recently, Rebecca thought morosely. She should try to see him in a romantic light. After all, she never stuttered or had klutzy attacks when he was around, but she couldn’t muster up an ounce of attraction toward him. She yawned, her chest pinching again, and hoped he’d take the hint.

He didn’t. He stood with one leg cocked sideways as if waiting on an invitation to stay. “Wanna get some dinner? They got chili burgers on the special at Pokey Slims tonight.”

Pokey Slims was a biker bar on the other side of town. Lots of beer drinking, tattooed men and cigarette smoke. “No, thanks. I’m exhausted.” She yawned again, making a ceremony out of the movement. She really was tired, she realized. Wrecking cars and holding conversation with Thomas had completely drained her. “But thanks for bringing in the chest. I’d really like to just kick back and go to bed.”

A lazy grin curled his mouth. “Sounds good to me. I could rub your back.”

Rebecca silently chided herself for stepping into that one. Why did the one man she didn’t want fawn all over her, and the one she did barely notice her?

Oh, he noticed you tonight, Bec. How could he miss when you smashed his eighty-five-thousand-dollar car? Or before that, when you almost ran over him? Or when you almost ran off the road into the hollow and killed him?

“Not tonight, Jerry. I don’t want to keep you from your dinner plans.”

“Uh, yeah.” He rubbed his protruding belly. “I am kind of hungry. A man can’t go without his food. And Pokey makes the best onion rings this side of the Chattahoochee.” He slapped his chest. “Gives me gas, but all good things come with a price, right?”

“Right.” She smiled sweetly, pushing images of him and chili and greasy onion rings out of her mind.

He dragged his feet toward the door. “Just let me know when you want to take a spin on my Hog, baby.”

“I’m not really a Harley girl.” Not that he actually had a Harley, anyway, although he told everyone he did; he had an imitation Harley.

He whistled through his teeth. “Just call me if you need anything.”

Rebecca nodded and locked the door behind him, then changed into flannel pajamas. She did have several bruises on her chest, the skin was already turning an ugly purple. With a cup of hot chocolate in hand, she headed toward her bed when the hope chest drew her eye, beckoning her as if it had some kind of hypnotic spell on her.

Her heart fluttered with a tiny seed of hope. Hope that marriage and babies might be in her future. Curiosity gnawed at her, too, drawing her closer until she knelt beside the wooden chest.

Hannah and Mimi and Alison claimed their hope chests had held magical secrets regarding their futures. That the items Grammy Rose placed inside had something to do with the men they would marry.

Was there something inside her chest that hinted about a new man coming into her life? Something that would convince her that love would find its way into her future?

THOMAS HAD BARELY FALLEN asleep when the phone rang.

“This is Terrence McGee, Dr. Emerson.” The man’s breath sounded shaky. “I think Nora’s in labor.”

Thomas ran a hand through his hair and sat up. Nora was two weeks overdue, so her husband was most likely right. “She’s having contractions?”

“Yeah, but they’re not regular. Says her back’s hurting.”

“Back labor,” Thomas said. And this was her third child so it would probably come quickly. “Get her to the hospital, Terrence. I’ll meet you there.”

“Her feet’re swollen twice the normal size, Doc, and she says she’s dizzy. I’m worried.”

“She’ll be fine.” Thomas forced a calm to his voice that he didn’t feel. “Just get her to the hospital and we’ll take care of her and the baby. Everything will be all right.”

He hung up, swung his legs over the side of the bed and grabbed his clothes. No time for a shower, so he jerked on khakis and socks, then hurried to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. He didn’t want the McGee baby making its entrance without him. According to her file, Nora had had complications with the other two births. He sure as hell hoped this one went smoother.

Sugar Hill General was modern, but it still didn’t have the advanced equipment that the big Atlanta hospitals did.

Buttoning his shirt as he went, he remembered the night his baby brother had died. His mother hadn’t had the advantages of a big modern facility, either; maybe if she had, the doctors could have saved the baby. Thomas had been twelve, but the helplessness he’d felt had been mindboggling. A frisson of unease rippled through him as he drove to the hospital. He phoned the hospital to warn them to be prepared for an emergency. Better to prepare for the worst.

Someday maybe he would have a son of his own. A family to replace the one he’d lost long ago.

But not until he settled permanently into his career, moved to the city and achieved his goals. When he had a child, he wanted it to have all the advantages he and his brother hadn’t. The latest in medical technology for starters.

And he would never have that in a small town like Sugar Hill.

REBECCA’S FINGERS TREMBLED as she opened the hope chest. Knowing that her grandmother had chosen the items inside especially for her brought tears to her eyes. Grammy Rose had been the only stable mother figure in her life ever since she was nine, when her mother had died.

She brushed her fingers over the soft velvet, the scent of cedar and her grandmother’s rose potpourri clinging to the inside of the chest as if to remind her of its origin. She had seen the bride’s book before but hadn’t noticed the white envelope lying beside it. Her heart pounding with excitement, she opened the letter and began to read.

My dearest, darling Rebecca,

You are a very special granddaughter because you remind me so much of myself when I was your age. You were the first of Bert’s daughters, the one who brought a deep love into his marriage that cemented the bond between him and your mother.

But you were the one who suffered the most when your mother died. Although your own heart was aching, you pushed your feelings aside to comfort your father and little sister in their sorrow.

You showed such strength that the rest of us gained courage from you. But when you retreated to that silent place where you grieved, you never quite came back.

Always steady and strong, dependable and caring, you are loyal and trusting to a fault. Believe in yourself now, Rebecca. Take time to nurture your own dreams and talents, and love yourself the way you love others.