Before You Get To Baby...

Dutifully, Frannie felt his forehead with the back of her hand. Then, just to be mean she brushed a lock of hair back off his brow. His answering little shiver pleased her. “No, you don’t feel overly warm. Must be something else. I’ll check the thermostat, but I know it’s set at seventy.”

Drew didn’t think he could stand watching her hips swing in that excuse for a skirt. “No, that’s all right. I’m okay. Sit down. Let’s talk.”

So Frannie sat. She also deliberately leaned slightly forward and pressed her arms together. Color rose on Andrew’s cheeks as cleavage popped.

He cleared his throat. “So, anyway, I, uh, thought of something.”

Frannie gave up torturing him and dug into her gingerbread. “The waist thing?”

“Right. That. Now, as I recall, waist measurement is supposed to be a certain percentage of the hip measurement in order to attract a guy.”

“What?”

“Yeah, seriously. Sixty percent, I think, but it could have been seventy. Whatever, it was important to a guy who’s looking for someone who can successfully support a pregnancy. On a subconscious level, of course.”

“Of course.” Even on a subconscious level, men made no sense. “So it doesn’t matter how thin or fat you are so long as your waist-to-hip proportion falls into the right category?”

Andrew thought about it. “I guess. I mean, it’s not like I’m a sociologist or anything.”

No, it wasn’t like he was a sociologist or anything. Drew Wiseman was an environmental engineer, and a darn good one at that. Fifteen years ago, when he’d first started coming around, Frannie had been nine and in the third grade. Drew had been fourteen and starting high school a year ahead of schedule. Skinny and small, he’d needed a friend, and her brother had taken the new kid under his wing. In exchange, Drew had seen Rick through four years of math, chemistry and physics. Oh yeah, Drew was bright and he’d been unfailingly tolerant of Rick’s little sister. For Frannie, Drew had just been sort of…there, another male in her life trying to tell her what to do, just like her four brothers.

Drew’s growth spurt had come late, not until seventeen. Girls matured earlier than boys and Frannie had been a bit advanced anyway. Her hormones had kicked in right around that same time. She’d noticed him all right and had harbored secret hopes for twelve long years. Secret hopes she’d never told another soul, certainly not her brothers, who’d have teased her unmercifully.

Well, a dozen years later, she was seriously considering giving up. Drew seemed hopeless, although she thought there’d been a few positive signs tonight. Still, the bottom line was Frannie wanted a family. Time to go to plan B.

Frannie smiled to herself. Putting plan B into motion had the plus of making Drew squirm as she asked personal questions. It also had the added advantage of letting him know she was soon to be off the market. Maybe, just maybe, it would wake him up to the positive gem that had been right under his nose all these years. Oh yes, she intended to enjoy this.

Chapter Two

The following Saturday night, Andrew settled in to try and watch the Final Four with his buddy Rick. The March Madness Collegiate Basketball Tournament, he’d decided, was a guy thing. Imagine kicking somebody out at half time. So he’d yelled a bit. Heck, he’d learned everything he knew about sports from Frannie’s brothers, the prime bit of information being all referees needed glasses. Frannie should be used to it. She was just on edge, Drew surmised. After all, how could you disturb the neighbors when Rick had assured him every household in the country was tuned in? The neighbors were no doubt watching the same game, disparaging the same referees. Frannie, who’d grown up in a house full of males, who could yell and criticize the umps with the best of them, was forgetting her roots. That was all.

“Your sister’s gone wacko,” he informed Rick as they settled onto Rick’s living-room sofa, each with his own steaming bag of microwave popcorn and a beer. Andrew dragged a section of old newspaper over to the beaten-up end table and set his beer on that. Coasters were for girls and the day Evie talked Rick into using them was the day he and Rick stopped being friends.

“I’m serious,” he said when Rick merely grunted at his diagnosis of his sister. Drew had sort of bought into this sports as appropriate male entertainment thing, but Rick needed to understand that some things, his sister’s mental deterioration, for example, took precedence over basketball.

“Shh, I don’t want to miss the tip-off.”

“She came by my place last week. Knowing I’d just come back from being out of town, she brought homemade cookies. The woman’s devious, I tell you. Devious. She knew I’d be weak. She knew I’d do or say just about anything to get my hands on those cookies. They were fresh out of the oven, Rick. They were still warm. You should have smelled them.”

“Hang on just a second.” Rick gestured at the screen with a disgusted hand motion. “Aw, man, did you see that? What was that guy, sleeping standing up?”

“Honest to God, all the woman talked about was this bizarre husband hunt she’s on. She gave me less than a week to do a bunch of research for her. Otherwise she was going to freeze the rest of the cookies all for herself.” Drew was getting incensed all over again just thinking about it.

“Hell,” Rick grunted. “You’re good at research. You no doubt did a great job, so quit your bellyaching.”

Drew slanted a disgusted look at the television. Honest to God, who could care about basketball just then? Another crime he could lay at Frannie’s doorstep. She’d ruined the sport for him. “I don’t think you’re really listening here, Rick. I’m telling you, she’s dead serious about this garbage. I’ve never seen anybody so focused. That general, you know, what’s-his-face Schwartzkopf should have been half as focused during Desert Storm. They’d have pulled the entire war off in a day and a half.”

Rick jumped to his feet, both hands in his hair. He pulled them straight out leaving his hair standing straight out in spikes on either side of his head. “Charging on Gonzaga? I don’t think so! The Wisconsin player wasn’t set. He wasn’t set, ref. Where’s the instant replay? I want to see the instant replay. Do you believe that?”

Andrew’s eyes flicked to the TV screen. “Twenty-four was set.”

“Hey, remember me? I’m the one taught you everything you know about sports. I’m telling you, he wasn’t set.”

“Yeah, he was. Sea foam and apricot, Rick. I’m telling you, she’s already got the damn colors picked out for the wedding. And what kind of colors are those, anyway? Some guy’s going to go into a tux shop and ask for a sea-foam-green cummerbund? Or even worse, ‘I’d like an apricot cummerbund and matching handkerchief, please.”’ Andrew rolled his eyes at both the play on the screen and the painful mental image. “Like it’s not bad enough you have to wear patent leather shoes with a tux. Hell, it’s bad enough you have to wear the tux at all. If you have to get married, what’s wrong with being comfortable? Jeans and sneakers, something that’s not going to literally choke you while you put the proverbial noose around your neck.”

Rick watched the TV intently. He didn’t sit until the end of the replay. “It might have been charging,” he admitted grudgingly. “Maybe.” He flicked a glance at Andrew. “Now would you kindly shut up about Frannie and her fictitious wedding plans? I’m trying to watch a game here. It’s not like anybody’s asking you to wear an apricot cummerbund.” Rick leapt back to his feet. “He stole the ball! Look at that, would you? He’s going all the way. Two points, yes!”

Drew was just pushing himself off the sofa to turn the television off and force Rick to listen to him when the doorbell rang. Rick’s eyes didn’t even flicker. Drew sighed and went to answer it himself.

He smiled and nodded recognition. “Ladies. What an unexpected treat. Come on in.” Somebody had to play host after all. It was obvious Rick wasn’t up to the task. “Uh, Evie, was Rick expecting you?” After his last frustrating half hour trying to get Rick’s attention, Drew wondered if Evie knew what she was up against. In fact, Drew briefly considered telling Evie her fiancé should come with a label—Rabid Sports Nut.

“Hey, Drew,” the vivacious redhead said as she sailed into the entrance hall, Frannie following in her wake. “Is he here?”

Evidently Evie wasn’t expected. This should be interesting. “Yeah.” Drew jabbed a thumb in the direction of the living room. “In there. Follow the noise.”

Evie crinkled her nose and laughed when she heard a whistle blow, the roar of a crowd and the bellowing of her fiancé.

“Put on your glasses, ref.”

“The tournament isn’t over yet?”

“Ah, no. Not yet. They’ll be down to two teams after tonight. Only one more game.”

“Hallelujah.” And Evie planted herself right in front of the television. “Hi, lover.”

Rick leaned to one side, then the other. “Hey, I can’t—oh. Evie. How’s it going, sweetie?” Rick’s eyes shifted from his fiancée to the corner of the screen left unblocked by her body and back to his fiancée. He sighed, picked up the remote and clicked the TV off.

“The wrong guys were winning anyway,” he announced philosophically.

Drew’s eyes goggled as Rick stood and with a strained smile, gave Evie a kiss and asked, “What’s up?” Must be true love, was all he could figure. Scary.

“Frannie and I were out doing wedding stuff. We figured we’d stop by and get your opinion on a few things.”

Rick gazed longingly back at the television. “Just a few things?”

Evie held firm. Start as you mean to go on. “Yes. I’d like your input on the color scheme, floral arrangements, the men’s tuxedoes, why you have this need to always be on top—just a few little things like that.”

Rick was still lovingly stroking the remote control with his thumb. “Uh-huh, uh-huh, sure babe, whatever you want. You know that.”

Drew stifled a laugh and whispered to Frannie, “This could get interesting.”

Frannie flushed. She grasped Drew’s arm and tugged. “Let’s you and I go in the kitchen. Give them a little privacy.”

“Not on your life,” he shot back quietly. “What’s wrong with the man being on top, I’d like to know? I kind of like it myself.” Then more loudly, “Hey, Evie, about the men’s tuxes, basic black, right? I mean, since I’ve got to wear one—”

Frannie stomped on his foot. “Hush, this is none of your business.” She tugged harder, but it reminded her of the last time she’d had to move the refrigerator to clean behind it. Just about impossible. She braced herself and yanked again. Drew barely budged. She was going to need reinforcements, just as she did for the refrigerator. “Come on, Drew.”

“Don’t sweat it, Drew. Black is fine. For the jacket and pants,” Evie said.