Escape for New Year: Amnesiac Ex, Unforgettable Vows / One Night with Prince Charming / Midnight Kiss, New Year Wish. Shirley Jump
else. Or being with, and loving, anyone else. Although …
Laura stole a curious look at the driver.
Bishop looked somehow different this afternoon. Tired from a busy week at the office most likely. Worried about her, of course. But she hadn’t noticed those fine lines branching from his eyes before. And he’d seemed so distant all the drive here. She didn’t need to be Einstein to know he was avoiding the subject she’d brought up in the hospital. He didn’t want to discuss the possibility of renegotiating what they’d decided upon before taking their vows.
That night four months ago, when he’d suggested adoption as their safest bet, a rush of emotion had stung her eyes and hurt-filled tears had brimmed. But he’d assured her that he was only being practical. Sensible. Yes, he understood that her own condition was easily managed, but there was no guarantee that a child might not inherit a more severe form of cardio impairment. Surely the most important thing, he’d said, was to be together and raise a healthy baby. An adopted child.
She’d respected his concerns—still did—but she’d come to realize that he needed to respect her feelings, too. Feelings that weren’t about to go away. From as far back as she could recall, she’d wanted her own family, particularly in her late teens after her parents had passed away. She had her Arts History and Literature degree—her parents had been big on education—but her dream was to be a homemaker, a good wife and great mother. She wasn’t career-minded in the twenty-first century sense, and she didn’t care who knew it. She wanted to bestow upon her children the same kind of love and support she’d known and valued growing up. Never had she considered the possibility of raising another woman’s child.
But she did want a healthy baby, and she most certainly wanted to marry Bishop, so she’d agreed to his suggestion. Over these past months, however, the weight of that decision had pressed on her heart like a stone. More and more she’d begun to believe there must be a thing as being too cautious. It was far from certain that any child they conceived would inherit her disorder. And there was always medication and a simple operation to implant a defibrillator to regulate the heartbeat if need be. Of course, if a child were severely affected, more involved surgery might be needed. A pacemaker. Even a transplant.
But in this age of high technology and information, parents-to-be were aware of so many frightening things that could go wrong in vitro. Then there were the concerns surrounding keeping a child safe later on, from disease and accidents and predators. But most people didn’t let those fears beat them. A husband and wife hoped for the best, knowing they’d be there for one another, no matter what.
As long as she was fertile—and there was no reason to believe that she wasn’t—she wanted to try. The reward would be well worth the risk. Was she wrong to want what so many women longed for?
A child of her blood. A child of her own.
Deep in thought, Laura absently ran a hand over the car’s armrest, and then something odd struck her. She’d been so caught up in memories and today’s events, she hadn’t noticed until now.
“You didn’t mention you were getting a new car.”
Bishop’s eyes, beneath their aviator sunglasses, didn’t leave the road. “Willis negotiated a good lease on the Land Rover.”
Her mind wound back but didn’t hook onto anything. She shrugged. “Willis who? I don’t remember you mentioning that name before.”
“Haven’t I? He’s my assistant. New assistant.”
“What happened to Cecil Clark? I thought you said he did a good job. He seemed nice enough at that charity dinner we went to last month.”
“He … got another offer.”
“You should have matched it.”
His voice dropped. “Sometimes you just have to let people go.”
Four-wheel drive tires crunched as he braked at the top of their lengthy gravel drive. Rather than one of the four garages, he’d parked in front of the house, a sprawling ranch-style dwelling cut into the hillside. Both inside and out, the house combined tasteful luxury with a homey rural feel—enormous individually crafted open fireplaces, large yet cozy bedrooms, two massive home offices, a fully equipped gym with sauna and indoor pool for laps.
On Sundays, Laura served eggs Benedict on the eastern porch and together they would watch the southern hemisphere sun climb higher toward the far-stretching haze of mountains to the west. Even more she loved what came after coffee … returning to bed to savor her delectable, insatiable husband.
Touching the small bandage above her temple, Laura frowned and thought back. Had they enjoyed their ritual this Sunday past? She couldn’t remember.
Bishop swung out of the driver’s side and performed his usual courtesy of opening her door. Together they moved up the slate-paved steps that led to the lofty teak and glass paneled entry door. Halfway up, he paused to clear his throat and rattle the keys awkwardly in his palm.
“My, uh, house key must be on my other set.”
“I have mine.” She didn’t recall grabbing her bag before leaving for the hospital—silly, but she couldn’t even remember this bag. Still she dug in, rummaged around, fished out a set of keys … but then her eyes rounded and she froze.
Horror slow-dripping through her veins, she rotated her left hand one way, then the other as panic fisted tight and fierce inside of her.
“My rings,” she got out. “The nurse must have taken them off before the scan.”
Common sense said her diamond-studded wedding band and magnificent princess-cut engagement ring must be filed away at the hospital somewhere safe. Clearly it was an oversight that they hadn’t been returned before they’d left. But the staff would have records. There was no reason to believe she wouldn’t get them back. Still she couldn’t loosen the suffocating knot in her chest. She felt naked without them. Somehow so vulnerable.
Standing on the expansive veranda, with the sun arcing toward the towering eucalypt trees behind, Bishop took a step closer. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it. You need to rest.”
He’d said it kindly enough but it was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that she’d been resting all day. Still, the truth was that suddenly she did feel tired, and a few degrees off balance. Maybe she should swallow her pride and do as he asked. Lie down.
But not alone.
She twined their fingers and tugged until the back of his hand pressed against her heart. She hoped her teasing grin was persuasive.
“You look like you could use a rest, too.”
Emotion flared in his eyes, hot and cold at the same time. “I didn’t have a fall today,” he reminded her. “You did.”
Her heart dropped. He sounded so … detached. But unlike earlier in hospital, this time she knew why. Of course he wanted to be with her. Of course he wanted to caress and kiss her. But safety-first Bishop was determined not to go against professional advice. During the drive home, he’d made a point of repeating the doctor’s instructions that she ought to take things easy for a day or two. Still …
“You know something?” She moved closer until their hands lay flat between them like pressed flowers. “I can’t think of a better way to relax than making love with my husband.”
As if infused by a sudden rush of blood, a cord rose and pulsed down one side of his throat. His chest expanded on a giant breath and that odd emotion in his eyes flared again.
“We’ll go inside.” His free hand opened the door. “I’ll fix you something to drink.”
“Champagne?” she asked, trying hard not to sound hurt by his flat tone as he herded her in. “It’s our anniversary, after all.”
“Tea, iced or hot.” He shut the door and walked past. “In a couple of days we’ll see if you still want champagne.”