Have Bouquet, Need Boyfriend
Автор
Rita Herron
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Chapter One
“Who’s getting married next?” Alison Hartwell Broussard waved her bridal bouquet of roses in the air in open invitation, looking pointedly at her cousin Rebecca.
A few shrieks answered in reply. “Me!”
“No, me!”
A quiver of longing rippled through Rebecca, but she remained silent, hugging her arms around herself in a protective embrace as she stood beneath the sprawling branches of a live oak. She was the least likely of all the single and female bridesmaids at her cousin Alison’s wedding to tie the knot.
Her model-gorgeous sister, Suzanne, would probably be next. That is, if she ever decided to settle down with one man. Right now, marriage and monogamy were two words missing from Suzanne’s vocabulary.
Rebecca was the very opposite.
She ached for marriage. For one man to love her and hold her and make her feel special. To give her a child.
Unfortunately, the man she yearned for happened to be Thomas Emerson, a man who had once been engaged to Alison.
A man who had his pick of women in town. A man who might still be in love with Alison. A man who’d barely noticed Rebecca.
Well, except for the time she’d dropped an entire platter of pastries on his head at Vivi Broussard’s wedding. He had gazed at her through the whipped cream dripping from his hair as if she might possibly be the biggest klutz in the world. Which she was.
Especially when she got nervous. And being around Thomas Emerson made her extremely nervous.
“Come on, ladies, line up.” Alison stepped beneath the trellis of roses, an early-winter breeze carrying the spicy scent of flowers through the air. “Brady and I are ready to leave. He’s finally promised me a honeymoon.” She slid her arm around Brady’s waist. “I only had to marry him twice to get it.”
Laughter and cheers erupted. Alison’s sisters’ husbands, Jake Tippins and Seth Broadhurst, grinned wickedly, obviously remembering highlights of their own honeymoons.
Brady slung an arm around his new wife. “Honey, it’ll be worth the wait.”
More laughter followed, envy mushrooming inside Rebecca. Her three cousins had all married this past year in the gazebo on top of Pine Mountain at Grammy Rose’s, and their husbands obviously doted on them. She wanted that kind of love, that mind-altering, earth-shattering bond with a man.
But every time she got physically close to a man, she lost her cool. Rational conversation fled, and she stumbled all over her size-seven feet. And sometimes, God help her, sometimes she even stuttered.
“Becca, come on.” Suzanne jerked her toward the small crowd of women gathering on the lawn, their long dresses fluttering in the wind. “Angie and Caitlin are about to attack Alison for those flowers.”
Rebecca laughed at her twenty-three-year-old twin cousins—daughters of her aunt Shelby who giggled and squealed—vying for the place in front of Alison. Although the twins shared a sibling rivalry born of being identical, they also shared a loving sisterhood, as did Hannah, Mimi and Alison. For some reason, she and Suzanne had never quite had that connection.
Probably because they were so different.
Another stab of envy assaulted Rebecca as Mimi nestled her three-month old baby to her chest. Rebecca’s own biological clock beat inside her like a drum. She desperately wanted a baby.
But a husband had to come first.
“Back to earth, Becca.” Suzanne waved her hand in front of Rebecca’s eyes, but Thomas gazed their way, and Rebecca froze. A frown marred his lips, his charcoal-black hair gleaming in the early evening light. The immediate pull of attraction that engulfed her slid through her nerve endings, sending a frenzy of delicious sensations spiraling through her. Sensations that paralyzed her.
His six-foot-plus muscular frame filled out his dark suit. His broad shoulders almost seemed massive in the crisp white dress shirt. The sparkle of laughter normally present in his light-green eyes was replaced by a dark, faraway look, arousing her curiosity. Was he wishing Alison had married him instead of Brady?
Contemplating going to him and offering a comforting hand, Rebecca started across the lawn. But her heel caught on a twig. She took a step forward and nearly plunged to the ground. Yelping, she reached for something to steady her, or at least break her fall, but found nothing to hold on to, not a chair or a tree or a table in sight. Thomas pitched forward as if to break her fall, although he wasn’t near enough to reach her, but Suzanne, ever the graceful one, slid a long manicured hand beneath her elbow, catching Rebecca first. Mortification stung Rebecca’s cheeks.
A fraction of a second later, Thomas raised his gaze, the dark intensity disappearing as a slow smile spread across his face.
Rebecca’s heart fluttered.
Suzanne poked her. “Wow, who is that hottie eating the groom’s cake?”
Her heart sank.
If Suzanne wanted him, even though she lived miles away in Atlanta, she would have him. Suzanne always got what she wanted.
“Thom-Thomas Em-erson, the OB-GYN—” She took a deep breath to steady her voice. “He works with Hannah.”
Suzanne whistled beneath her breath. “Whew, a girl might be tempted to tear up her little black book for him.”
Rebecca gulped. Thomas continued to stare, his gaze almost unnerving this time.
He had to be looking at Suzanne. Everyone stared at her dark-haired, incredibly exotic-looking sibling. Not that she could blame them. Suzanne was beautiful. Dazzling. Mesmerizing. And, darn it, she was even nice, so Rebecca couldn’t hate her. Suzanne didn’t try to get all the attention. People were just drawn to her.
But Rebecca was the mousy blonde who hid behind books and art and wire-rimmed glasses. The impossibly shy one who couldn’t talk or walk without tripping over her own tongue or feet.
“Let’s hurry, she’s getting ready to throw the roses!” Suzanne gently pushed Rebecca forward just as Alison released the flowers. The bouquet soared through the air, bouncing first from Caitlin’s hands to Angie’s, then finally landing with a thump on Rebecca’s head. She reached for the arrangement, but the ribbon caught on the stem of her glasses, dangling over her eyes, blinding her, and a thorn from the rose stabbed her finger.
THOMAS EMERSON FOUGHT a laugh as he watched Rebecca Hartwell struggle with the bridal bouquet. She was such a sweet, fragile-looking woman that his battered heart lurched every time he saw her.
But he refused to get involved with another woman right now. Even kind-hearted blondes with big blue eyes and curves that might be sinful. That is, if she didn’t hide them beneath those baggy dresses.
He pulled at his collar, a bead of sweat trickling down his neck. This rash of weddings lately had definitely affected him, probably the reason he’d proposed to Alison a few months ago. But in retrospect he realized he wasn’t ready for marriage.
Instead he intended to focus on his career. Although he currently shared a practice with Hannah Hartwell, he had bigger goals. The very reason he’d been watching Rebecca in the first place. Not because he was attracted to the shy little nymph.
No, he wanted to meet Bert Hartwell, her father. Dr. Hartwell was a renowned plastic surgeon and chairman of the board of the new women’s medical facility in Atlanta. The hospital boasted the latest in technology, research and cutting-edge medical techniques that Thomas wanted to be a part of. He had hoped to see Dr. Hartwell with Rebecca, but apparently he hadn’t shown up at his niece’s wedding.
Rumor had it he was off on a honeymoon of his own, his fourth, to be exact.
Odd. His daughters hadn’t attended his wedding.
And he’d also heard that Bert didn’t exactly get along with Alison’s father, Wiley. Apparently they’d had some kind of rift way back when.
Hmm, an interesting family. Not that he could be critical; his own family had disintegrated years ago.
A moment of concern tugged at him as he noticed how forlorn Rebecca seemed in the midst of the giggling women as she tried to untangle the ribbon from her glasses, but he brushed it aside.
Nice guys finished last.
He had learned that lesson well.
First, he’d lost the job he’d really wanted after med school to a guy who claimed to have been his friend. Then he’d lost Alison.
Hell, he’d really never had her.
His pride smarted, but he reminded himself Alison was happy and that was all that mattered. He certainly wouldn’t have tried to hold on to someone who didn’t love him.
Was there something about him that was unlovable? He contemplated the way his mother had acted after she’d lost his baby brother, the way his father had so easily deserted him when his mother had thrown him out. Of course, his dad had been hurting as well, especially when his mom had admitted that she’d only used him to have another baby… Still, why hadn’t he been enough for them?
Maybe he’d been looking for a way to settle down in this quaint town and he’d hoped Alison was that key. But he didn’t really want to stay in Sugar Hill the rest of his life, did he?
He had other goals in mind. To land that job at the new women’s center. Thomas had an interview scheduled in a few weeks. Getting to know Bert on a personal level would give him the inside scoop on Hartwell’s theories and goals, and the interview would go smoother.
Perhaps Rebecca would introduce him to her father. He’d overheard Mimi and Hannah discussing plans for a surprise birthday party for their grandmother. Wiley and Bert would both attend. If he could swing an invitation, it would be the perfect opportunity to meet Bert. He’d considered asking Hannah to introduce him, but he wasn’t ready to tell her he intended to leave the practice yet. If he asked Rebecca, he could keep his intentions quiet for a while. No sense stirring up trouble at work unless he had the new job in the bag.
A red blush stained Rebecca’s cheeks as she plucked the bouquet from her head. Hopefully, she wouldn’t run from him the way she had at Brady’s sister’s Vivi’s wedding when she’d dropped those cream puffs on his head.
She’d acted as if he was the big bad wolf ready to gobble her up.
Though he wasn’t the big bad wolf, he was through being Mr. Nice Guy. From now on, he would pursue his goals with a vengeance. And landing that job topped his list.
He would do whatever was necessary in order to secure it.
Rebecca and her grandmother ambled up the wraparound porch, heads bowed, voices hushed. Thomas hunched his shoulders against the chilly December air and strode across the lawn to catch Rebecca before she left. Then he would set his plan in motion.
REBECCA SLIPPED INTO her Grammy Rose’s parlor, breathing in the essence of her grandmother in the polished antiques and silver-framed photos of family and friends. She had always loved this room, loved the needlepoint pillows and china cups, the smell of Grammy’s rose-scented sachets filling the air, the scrapbooks full of treasured gifts from each of her grandchildren.
Someday she wanted a room like this in her own home. Just like she wanted a house full of kids, and then grandchildren. She would keep rose-scented potpourri in the house and homemade doilies on the coffee table, and keep pictures of all her children and grandchildren framed on the wall.
“It’s time you take your hope chest home,” Grammy said.
Rebecca’s throat tightened at the sight of the ornately carved wooden chest. Alison and her sisters had talked as if their hope chests carried some kind of secret power. Like an omen for the future. Or maybe Grammy Rose did.
Did the hope chest mean a wedding might be in the future for her?
No, Rebecca couldn’t allow herself to believe in such fantasies.
“But, Grammy, I’m not getting married.”
“Nonsense. Of course you are.”
Rebecca stared wide-eyed at the chest. She itched to reach out and touch it, to open it and discover what treasures lay inside.
But she couldn’t admit those feelings aloud.
“No, I…I don’t want to get married,” she forced herself to say. “I…I like my life just the way it is.”
THOMAS OVERHEARD Rebecca talking to her grandmother and breathed a sigh of relief. Rebecca didn’t want marriage, so he didn’t have to worry about her getting the wrong idea if he cozied up to her.
Thank goodness.
He didn’t want to hurt her. But being friendly with her might help his chances of getting the new job. Then he could move on with his life and make a name for himself in the medical world. And he’d finally fulfill that promise he’d made to himself years ago.
Yes, Rebecca would be the key to him leaving Sugar Hill.
The voices behind the door grew hushed, and he strained to hear, then stepped back, ashamed at himself for eavesdropping. Suddenly the door swung open, and Grammy Rose’s pointed chin jutted up in surprise, her eyes sparkling.
“Hey there, young man.” She threaded a strand of gray hair back inside the pearl clip at her nape. “Dr. Emerson, isn’t it?”
Heat warmed Thomas’s neck. She didn’t know he’d been listening, did she? “Yes, ma’am.”
“Listen, son, could you do me a favor?”
“I’ll do what I can.” Surely, she wasn’t inventing an illness for him to treat, like a few of the women patients who swarmed his office. He’d never seen anything like life in Sugar Hill.
“Good. My granddaughter Rebecca needs help carrying her hope chest to the car.” She gestured toward the room behind her. “She’s right there in the parlor.”
Thomas frowned. Didn’t women receive hope chests when they were engaged? Odd. He’d just heard Rebecca say she wasn’t interested in marriage.
REBECCA SLID A FINGER around the lock of the chest and released it, her heart pounding when the top sprang open. She should wait until she arrived home to look inside the hope chest. But curiosity replaced common sense, and she lifted the lid.
Dark-red velvet lined the chest and a piece of antique lace was folded over the top of the contents. Her fingers traced the fabrics, reveling in the richness of texture as she slowly moved the lace aside. A white bride’s book lay nestled there, its top embossed with silver wedding bells.
Footsteps suddenly sounded against the hardwood floor, the loose board at the parlor door squeaking. She slammed the lid closed, then swung around to find Thomas Emerson standing in the doorway.
“Your grandmother asked me to help you take something to the car.”
His deep voice spun a dizzying web around her senses. She opened her mouth to speak but barely managed to sputter a no.
He inched inside the room anyway, his masculine presence nearly overpowering the room.
“Thanks, but I…I can get it.” Rebecca fidgeted atop the small wooden stool, wishing she could shrink the hope chest and keep it out of sight. He might think she was hinting at something.
Like the fact that she wanted a husband and family of her own.
His green eyes radiated warmth as he gazed down at her. No wonder all the ladies in town threw themselves at him. “Come on, Rebecca. I don’t mind.” He moved around her, planting his big hands on his hips as he studied the box. “Will it fit in your car?”
She nodded, her palms sweaty as she stood. Oh, heck. She couldn’t very well deny him or she’d look like an idiot. “In…the back.”
He lifted the chest in one fluid motion, then gestured toward the doorway. Rebecca grabbed her purse and trotted forward, willing herself not to fall on her face or break her neck before she reached the car.
On the porch she hugged her grandmother and said a hasty goodbye, faintly aware most of the other guests had left. Hannah and Mimi were huddled inside the cluster of their father and mother. Her heart squeezed with envy. Sometimes she felt closer to her uncle Wiley than her own father. She searched for her sister to say goodbye, but Suzanne had apparently left to hit some of the after-Christmas sales with the twins.
Seconds later she managed to find her trusted clunker station wagon at the foot of the long, winding drive, where she’d parked between two trees. Thomas’s silver Porsche convertible was parked across the drive, her father’s Suburban several yards away by some pines. She watched as Thomas slid the hope chest into the back, her breath catching at the sight of his dark hair falling over his eyes.
“There you go.” He raked the lock of hair back in a gesture so manly that she had to swallow.
“Thanks.” She wanted to say more but her tongue caught on her teeth.
A smile curved his mouth, the wind tousling the lock of hair into disarray again, making him even more sexy. “Are you in a hurry? We could grab some coffee and talk.”
Talk?
No, talk was impossible. Her tongue was superglued to her teeth now.
She shook her head. “I…have—” she paused and cleared her throat “—have to hurry home.”
He jammed his hands in his pockets and studied her as she darted past him and into the car. “Are you sure? Rebecca…”
She ignored the fact that he followed her to the driver’s side and waved him off. “Thanks again.” Rebecca’s hands shook as she shoved the keys into the ignition, her mind tumbling with questions. Had Thomas really asked her out?
And if so, why?
It didn’t matter. She was a flirting failure and a disaster at the sex talk most women seemed so comfortable with these days. A real dinosaur at relationships.
She pressed the clutch, turned the key and sighed as the engine roared to life. Putting it into reverse, she rolled backward. Then she glanced in her rearview window and saw Thomas jump aside.
Dear God, she’d almost hit him.
He threw up a hand and waved anyway, and she panicked and pressed the gas again. But she’d forgotten to shift into drive and the car shot backward again. Gravel spun out sideways, the ground flew by under her, then her car lurched to a stop, metal crunching and glass shattering. Her neck jerked back, then sideways, then snapped forward. Her forehead and chest slammed against the steering wheel. The horn blared. She squeezed the steering wheel with white-knuckled hands. Breathing in slowly, she lifted her head and looked over her shoulder to survey the damage. Her heart clamored to a stop. The top of the hope chest had fallen over, the contents spilling out. She peeked beyond, cringing.
She had just smashed into Thomas’s brand-new convertible. It looked like a broken pretzel.
