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Pregnant, unmarried, unemployed, oh my!
Not that she didn’t want to be a mother. On the contrary, she wanted to be a mother more than anything in the world—someday. But right now there was this one small detail. She wasn’t married. It wasn’t the stigma that bothered her; she was terrified at the prospect of raising a child alone. She couldn’t even support herself, never mind a baby.
I do have some skills, she’d told her mother. Unfortunately, she just hadn’t discovered what they were. She’d studied Greek mythology in college, but these days there wasn’t much of a need for Greek mythologists, especially in a small town like Middlewood. After graduation she’d flitted from job to job, trying to make ends meet. I’m just not cut out for office work, she’d told herself. Was it her fault she didn’t have the filing gene? Or the answer-the-phone-without-alienating-the-customer gene?
Anger filled her as she pushed on, fighting the wind. Nothing had gone according to plan. She was supposed to help put Jordan through medical school, and once he was on his feet, it would be her turn. Maybe she’d go to graduate school. Maybe she’d start her own business. Or maybe she’d be a stay-at-home mom. But all those dreams had ended. During his first year of internship—after four years, eight months and three weeks of marriage, not that she was counting—Jordan had up and left.
How did one fall out of love, precisely? The salon-bought redhead with the surgical bosom had nothing to do with it, her husband had insisted while packing his new Louis Vuitton suitcase. Becky had even helped him pack, making sure everything was folded just right. Was that new underwear? she’d wondered absurdly. Not only had the redhead bought him new luggage, she’d bought him new shorts. Designer underwear with the labels sewn on the outside so they wouldn’t chafe.
“Fold your own underwear,” Becky had said defiantly. There. That would teach him.
At this time, however, concerns other than her ex-husband’s preference for designer shorts and big-breasted redheads demanded her attention, and she forced her anger aside.
How would she raise this baby alone?
She didn’t want Carter in her life as the father of her child. What kind of parent would he make, spending most of his time gallivanting away from home? She didn’t want him in her life under any circumstance. He’d already walked out on one wife, and Becky had already been there, thank you very much. Not that she expected him to propose once he learned the truth. He was a man who relished his freedom. He went through women the way she went through jobs.
She plodded along aimlessly, snow swirling in front of her eyes as thoughts of Carter swirled in her head. What had she been thinking that night? She knew exactly what she’d been thinking, all right, as they’d faced each other under the wedding canopy. She’d been thinking of his smoky-gray eyes, his lean, sexy body, the way her insides would turn to matzo meal whenever his gaze met hers. But the whole insanity—the whole mishegoss, as Bubbe would say—had started before the family had even left for the synagogue:
Becky had been getting ready for her brother’s wedding, thinking that for the first time in a long while she wasn’t miserable. Here it was already September and she’d been working at the same job for more than a month. She’d even started thinking about getting her own apartment. She couldn’t sponge off her parents forever, not that her mother believed the situation was permanent. “Jordan has lost his senses,” Gertie had kept insisting, “but he’ll come around.” But it had been six months since Jordan had misplaced his senses and he still hadn’t found them. At first Becky thought she’d disintegrate, but a half year later, to her surprise, she discovered she was still in one piece, getting on with her life.
And then her bubble had burst, the day of David’s wedding. She’d stepped outside the house to pick up the mail, expecting letters and cards from the out-of-town relatives who wouldn’t be attending the wedding. Recognizing the court insignia, she’d ripped open the envelope, and the pain she’d felt upon Jordan’s departure immediately resurfaced.
After nearly five years of marriage Mr. and Mrs. Jordan Steinberg had become a statistic. Their marriage was over. Finally, officially and irrevocably over.
Tucking the letter in the pocket of her bathrobe, she’d returned to the house. “You look as wrung out as a shmatte,” Gertie said. “It’s that horrible diner that’s turned you into a rag. I don’t know why you insist on working there—it’s not even kosher. Jordan will soon be a bona fide doctor. How does it look, a doctor’s wife working in a place like that?”
“You know I don’t keep kosher,” Becky reminded her, “and Jordan’s not coming back.”
“If it’s a hobby you need, what’s wrong with canasta? All those germs in that dirty place, no wonder you look the way you do. Stay away from Hannah. A bride doesn’t need to catch something just before her wedding. Is there any mail?”
“Just bills,” Becky replied.
How could she play the role of matron of honor? she’d thought miserably, the idea of matrimony leaving a bitter taste on her tongue. After receiving her final divorce papers, no woman should have to march down the aisle.
Yet in spite of her mood, four hours later she’d found herself smiling as she waited for her cue to walk to the altar. She was filled with happiness for her brother and Hannah. They were a perfect match, even though it had almost taken a bulldozer to get him to the altar. Hannah, his longtime girlfriend, normally quiet and shy, had decided that her biological clock was ticking away and had given him an ultimatum, and David, self-proclaimed bachelor at the ripe old age of thirty-two, after being nagged ad nauseam by Gertie, had finally given in. Mrs. Gertie Roth wanted a grandchild, and since Becky didn’t seem to be in a hurry to provide one, the spotlight had fallen on Hannah.
But everyone knew that David and Hannah belonged together; he’d just needed a little push. David loved her, everyone could see that. Becky could see it in his eyes every time he looked at her. She had no doubt they would have a long, strong marriage, once he got used to the idea.
Why was it that the men who balked most made the best husbands?
Becky walked down the aisle, following her parents and David, and took her place under the chuppah. Carter, David’s best man, was waiting at the other side of the canopy. Becky had almost forgotten how good-looking he was, and now, seeing him standing there, tall and striking in a tuxedo, a red boutonniere on his lapel, she felt a familiar pang.
And then her mood sobered. He was a statistic, just like her. Another marriage gone under. Another example of love gone sour. Maybe it had been better in Bubbe’s day, she thought. A friend or matchmaker introduced you to a suitable partner, and the marriage was based on respect. “We learned to love each other,” Bubbe always said. “Chaim was a good man, may he rest in peace. What was not to love?”
“Hey, stranger,” Carter said quietly. “It’s been a while. I can’t remember the last time I saw you. You’re looking good, princess.”
Aware of his eyes sweeping over her in appreciation, she felt herself blushing. “You’re looking snazzy yourself,” she answered back, and for an instant she was a teenager again, flirting with him, yearning for his attention.
Then came Hannah’s parents, and after that the organist began to play the wedding march. All heads turned toward the double doors. Hannah appeared, exquisite in a gown of satin and tulle, her skirt made up of several layers of the flowing material. As she walked down the aisle, the crystal beads of her bodice glistened in the soft lighting. Bubbe had wanted the bride to walk with her parents, as in a more orthodox ceremony, but David had insisted that his bride share her moment of glory with no one. “We’re Reformed now, Bubbe,” he tried to explain. “We choose the laws and traditions we want to follow.”
Tears welled in Becky’s eyes as she watched Hannah walk down the aisle, tears of happiness for Hannah, tears of sadness for herself. She thought about her own wedding, remembering the promises that were made and then later broken.
At the chuppah David met his bride and put his arm through hers. Becky barely heard the ceremony. Afraid she would break down entirely, she held her head low, looking up only when it was time for her to perform her duty as matron of honor and lift Hannah’s veil.
After the bride and groom each took a sip from the cup of wine, the rabbi wrapped the glass in a cloth and placed it on the floor. “Mazel tov!” the guests cheered after David had stomped on the glass, smashing it to pieces. The tradition of the breaking glass was supposed to be a solemn reminder of the fragility of life, but now that the ceremony was over, all somberness was to be banished.
“On with the festivities!” Aaron called jovially, then led the way to the reception hall.
After the meal, the hall was cleared for dancing. The guests formed a circle around the bride and groom, who were seated on chairs, holding opposite ends of a handkerchief as the custom dictated. “To the king and queen of the night!” someone called out, and when Hannah and David were lifted in their chairs into the air, Becky quietly sneaked away.
She was in no mood for a party, but she could hardly leave her brother’s wedding. She hid out in the bride’s lounge, drinking glass after glass of champagne, emerging every now and then to make a brief appearance, resolving, for Hannah’s sake, not to reveal her misery. All she wanted was to be left alone, and when the reception was finally over, she told her parents she planned on walking home.
“You want to walk in those heels?” Gertie chided.
“We live just down the block,” Becky reminded her mother. “Besides, there won’t be any room for me in the car after you’ve packed it up with leftovers.”
Outside, the September air was cool and crisp, a preview to the coming fall. Her head ached from too much champagne, and she wanted to be alone. A walk will do me good, she thought, even though it’ll be a short one.
“Bailing out?”
Becky jumped. “Carter! You shouldn’t sneak up on a person that way.”
“Is there any other way to sneak up on a person?” He tilted her chin with his fingers. “Hey…what’s the matter, princess? Those aren’t tears of happiness.”
His soft caress was enough to break the last of her resolve, and before she could stop herself, she began to sob against his shoulder.
He wrapped his arms around her. “It can’t be that bad. Just think of that old saying, ‘You’re not losing a brother, you’re gaining a sister.”’
“You have that all wrong,” she managed through her sobs. “The saying is, ‘You’re not losing a daughter, you’re gaining a son.’ But that’s not why I’m crying.” Suddenly embarrassed, she pulled away from his embrace. Not meeting his eyes, she wiped at the moisture on his jacket. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me.”
“Don’t apologize. The tux can be cleaned.” A fresh stream of tears rolled down her cheeks, and he said, “Aw, I’m sorry, princess. I shouldn’t have been so flippant. David told me what happened between you and Jordan. If it means anything, I understand what you’re going through.”
She stopped sniffling and looked at him warily. Of all the people in the world who could offer consolation, she had to get stuck with Carter Prescott, III, deadbeat husband and playboy of the Western Waspy World. “I don’t think so! You left your wife—it wasn’t the other way around. Why am I even talking to you? You’re the last person who could understand what I’m going through.”
“You seem to forget there are at least two sides to any story,” he said softly. “Did you ever consider that there might be two sides to mine? Maybe I’m not the big bad wolf you make me out to be. Personally I think Jordan is a complete idiot, leaving you. Someone with such poor judgment isn’t even fit to shine your shoes.”
Then again, maybe a dose of Carter’s sugarcoated words was just the medicine she needed. She managed a small smile. “Go on. I’m listening. I’ll take all the flattery I can get. My divorce papers came in the mail today, and I’m feeling pretty low.”
“Hell, if it’s a husband you want, I’ll marry you. According to some ancient law, isn’t it my duty? Something about the best man and the matron of honor?”
“You’re thinking about the story of Ruth. Except you’d have to be Jordan’s brother, and he’d have to die. But even if Jordan’s parents adopted you and then you went out and hired a hit man, you should know that I’m never getting married again. And you can’t fool me with your talk about marriage. You feel the same way I do.”
“In that case,” he said, winding a lock of her hair around his finger, “since marriage is out, how about we go back to my place and check out my etchings?”
She laughed. “Carter Prescott, I wouldn’t go to bed with you if you were the last man on earth, not with your track record.”
“Hey, I never said anything about sleeping arrangements.” His face sobered. “Kidding aside, come over for a while. I make a mean cup of coffee, and you sure could use one. Truth is, I’m feeling pretty low myself. I was out of town for seven months and no one even knew I was gone.”
“You don’t give up,” she said, shaking her head. “And I don’t buy what you’re selling for a minute. What about your mother? She must have missed you. And David. And your co-workers.” And your long string of women.
“It’s my duty as best man to take care of the matron of honor. Just one cup of coffee, I promise. I’ll take you home whenever you’re ready. I have to hit the sack early, anyway. I’m going back to Phoenix in the morning.”
She hesitated, then smiled. “Misery loves company, right? All right, just one cup. But I should tell my parents I’m going to be late.”
“As always, the dutiful daughter. You can always depend on Becky to do the right thing.”
She was back at his side momentarily, after informing her parents—and offering no other information, to Gertie’s obvious curiosity—that she was going out with a friend.
Arm in arm she and Carter walked to the parking lot. He opened the passenger door of his car, and then, with a straight face, turned to her and asked, “So what about those etchings?”
She swatted him playfully on the shoulder. When they were kids, Carter had made a career of ignoring her or teasing her, but whenever she was hurt, he’d always made her laugh. After she’d fallen, or come home crying because of something someone had said, he’d say something outrageous to take her mind off her troubles.
Now he had her laughing again, and it felt good—even if the joking was risqué. But that was okay. They weren’t kids anymore. And she could handle it.
“Here’s the scoop,” she said, as she climbed into the car. “The only way I’ll ever sleep with you is if we’re out on the highway and there’s this terrible storm…”
Something about her drove him to the brink. It had always been there, and it had been there earlier today when he’d seen her fall. Slim and delicate in a petite frame, she made him feel larger than life. Important. Made him want to be her hero. When he was near her, he felt like protecting her, coddling her. But it wasn’t just her compact size that made him want to pull a Tarzan; she had a way of looking at him that turned his resolve to mush.
But coddling wasn’t what he’d felt like doing as he’d watched her standing across from him, under the wedding canopy.
The memory of that night burned in his mind as he drove back to his apartment from his mother’s. At the ceremony Becky had worn a long-sleeved jacket that matched her rose-colored gown. Her quiet elegance and regal beauty had taken his breath away. He couldn’t pull his gaze from her, even when Hannah had walked down the aisle.
After the ceremony Becky had discarded the jacket, and he felt as though he’d been hit with a freight train. This was David’s kid sister? The jacket, outlined in sparkly beads, must have been buttoned up right to her chin, because he sure as hell would never have missed the plunging neckline on that dress. Narrow rhinestone straps barely held up the satiny folds that caressed her full breasts, and more sparkles curved at her waist, the fabric falling into soft pleats across her hips. When she turned away to shake some other lucky guy’s hand, Carter almost moaned. Her dark hair cascaded in ringlets down toward her tiny waist, curling against the rhinestone strands that crisscrossed her naked back.
He’d been entranced, no use denying it.
Not that he’d planned to do anything about it. Becky might be single again, but she was still David’s sister. And she wasn’t someone whose name belonged in a little black book. He knew he’d have to keep his distance.
As it turned out, he saw her only for brief moments during the reception. He wasn’t disappointed, he told himself. Nope, not in the least. He was feeling sorry for himself because he felt so out of place. The guest list had been enormous, but the only people he knew were Becky’s immediate family and a few of David’s friends. He wanted to leave, but as best man he knew he was expected to stay. So he chatted, danced and shook hands with strangers—with an eye out for Becky. When the musicians finally stopped playing and packed up their instruments, he sighed with relief. Now he could go.
He saw her at the doors in the foyer. He hadn’t meant to startle her, but she’d been so preoccupied, she obviously hadn’t seen him coming. “You shouldn’t sneak up on someone that way,” she reproached him.
“Is there any other way to sneak up on a person?” he returned, trying to disguise his discomfort with humor. She wasn’t the only one who’d been caught by surprise. Feelings he’d suppressed for years had suddenly resurfaced—and he didn’t like it. Didn’t like it one bit. He pushed his unease aside. “So why the glum face?”
“I’m not glum. I’m gaining a sister, aren’t I? Add one sister, subtract one husband. It’s an even trade. Me, glum? I’m having a wonderful time, can’t you tell?” She twirled around, layers of skirt swirling at her feet. Losing her balance, she fell against him.
“Whoa, I think the lady needs a shot of caffeine. What do you say? There must be someplace open at this hour.”
“This is Middlewood, remember? Not even Merlin’s Diner stays open, not that I’d suggest we go there. I’m not that cruel.” She leaned her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. “But I’m not ready to go home,” she said, her voice suddenly quiet. “I can’t…I just can’t…”
“Rumor has it that I make a mean cup of coffee,” he offered. “How about my place?”
She drew back and smoothed the wrinkles on the shoulder of his jacket. “I’m sorry, Carter. I’m making a mess of your tux—and I’m making a spectacle of myself.” She looked up at him with large, dark eyes. “Maybe I will take you up on that coffee.”
Snuggling close to him on the drive to his apartment, she murmured, “Have I mentioned that I think you’re sweet?”
Sweet? He’d been called a lot of things by a lot of women, but he couldn’t remember sweet being one of them. And at that moment sweet wasn’t how he was feeling. With Becky nestled beside him, the alluring aroma of her perfume was scrambling all his senses. He had to struggle to keep from slamming on the brakes and taking her in his arms.
In the elevator going up from the parking garage to his fourth-floor apartment, she wrapped her arms around his neck and said, “Maybe there’ll be a power failure. Maybe the doors won’t open and we’ll be stuck in here for hours. This way you won’t be able to leave—I hate when people leave. This way I’ll have you under my control.”
Gently he disengaged her arms. With all the willpower he could muster, he said, “This isn’t what you want, Becky. You’re feeling low and you’ve had too much to drink.”
“Why, Carter Prescott,” she said, looking up at him with innocent eyes. “What could you be thinking? I should tell you that the only way I’ll ever consider going to bed with you is if there’s this terrible snowstorm—”
“I guess I’m out of luck,” he said as the doors to the elevator opened. “It doesn’t look like it’s going to snow anytime soon.”
She turned to him, her eyes shining with sudden lucidity. “I’m not drunk,” she said softly. “I admit I’ve had a little too much champagne, but I know exactly what I’m doing. My whole life has just gone down the drain, and at the moment I don’t want to think about tomorrow. Right now is all I have. And right now,” she said, running her fingers along his arm, “I’m pretending that it’s the middle of winter….”
Now, three months later, he was the one pretending. Pretending that what had happened between them had meant nothing at all. It was ironic, he thought as he plowed his way back to his apartment. He was the one who usually gave that speech about not wanting to think about tomorrow.
I hope you don’t think this means anything.
He turned onto Elm and his heart stopped beating. Becky. There she was, on the corner. He tried to follow her, but visibility was poor. By the time he reached the place where he had seen her, she had vanished.
He must have been mistaken. What would Becky be doing out on a night like this? But then again, where she was concerned, he’d learned to expect the unexpected.
A car turned onto the street, and for a moment she thought it was Carter’s. But in the blowing snow she couldn’t be sure. She rounded the corner and found herself outside the bed and breakfast where she’d stopped earlier that day. The ad for an assistant cook was still in the window.
She walked up the pathway, past the Douglas fir with the twinkling lights and silver streamers. Once again she hesitated, but this time she didn’t turn back. Not my world, she thought, but a job is a job. She picked up the brass knocker and banged on the door, then waited for her life to change.
Chapter Three
“I knew you were coming,” Starr said, clapping her hands together like an excited child. “I dreamed you came with the wind and appeared on my doorstep. You told me that you had brought the winter and that you were seeking shelter. And here you are, just like in my dream.”
“I’m afraid I’m not much of a believer in dreams.” This could be a mistake, Becky thought warily. She noted the disappointment on Starr’s face and quickly added, “But I have an open mind.”
“Of course you do.” Starr scooted from the kitchen’s floor-to-ceiling cabinets to the industrial-size refrigerator and then back to the cabinets, pulling out cups and saucers, honey and milk, spoons and napkins. Her long flowered skirt whooshed with each abrupt movement, her flowing sleeves flapping like wings. She sat down next to Becky at the table. “You might be logical and analytical, but you’re also adaptable and versatile. An interesting combination, I must say. Gemini is the sign of the Twins for good reason.”
Becky’s mouth dropped open. “How did you know I was a Gemini?”
Starr’s eyes shone with amusement. “Relax. I can read cards and tea leaves, and I can see auras, but I can’t read minds. I saw your birth date on your driver’s license. I’m sorry I had to ask you for identification, but a person can’t be too careful, even a seer like me. When someone materializes like Mary Poppins at your front door, you have to wonder. Not that I was worried, just cautious.” She smiled warmly. “Did you know that Gemini is an air sign? It’s as if I conjured you up, right out of the air. I wanted a cook, and here you are.”
Though not a follower of astrology, Becky was familiar with the traits of her sign, and one of those traits was flightiness. Her family called her scatterbrained, and she had to admit, at times it aptly described her. When she used to help out at home and her mind would be somewhere else, Gertie would say, “Don’t go off fartootst.” When Becky left home to get married, it was the same thing. She’d darted from interest to interest, from one job to another, like a butterfly fluttering from flower to flower.
Was it her fault she had a curious nature and couldn’t stay focused on any one thing? Starr must know this, Becky surmised, glancing at a framed chart of the zodiac on the kitchen wall. Apparently, though, her new employer wasn’t concerned. In fact, she’d hardly asked any questions about Becky’s previous experience. “I base all my decisions on intuition,” she’d explained. When Becky told her that she was a vegetarian, Starr had hired her on the spot, convinced that destiny was at work.