Their Child?: Lori's Little Secret / Which Child Is Mine? / Having The Best Man's Baby. Christine Rimmer
headed for the half-bath off the kitchen, where she shut and locked the door before punching the mute button again.
“Tucker?”
“I’m still here.” He sounded like he kind of wished he wasn’t. She didn’t blame him in the least.
Get on with it, she thought. “I need an appointment. At your office. I need it for a week from Monday. Do you think you could fit me in then?”
A gaping moment of silence ensued. Then, at last, “Is this about a legal matter?”
“Uh. Yeah. That’s right.” Well, it was. Kind of. “Could you see me then? A week from Monday?”
“Lori, I have to tell you, this is pretty damn strange.”
She couldn’t have agreed with him more. “Will you see me? At your office?”
Another silence and then, finally, “Sure. Call my secretary and make an appointment.”
“Thank you, I…Tucker?” He didn’t answer. “Tucker?” About then, she realized she was talking to air.
Tucker had hung up.
“But you like him,” argued Lena, when Lori returned to the kitchen and told them she wouldn’t be going out with Tucker.
“And, honey,” said her mother. “He’s really settled down. Why, half the single women in town would be thrilled to go out with him.”
“Then he should ask one of them—now, could we just not talk about this anymore? Please?”
“I don’t understand you,” said Lena. “I just never have…”
Tucker didn’t understand it.
He’d thought, judging by Thursday night, that he and Lori were on the same page. That at least she was attracted to him, that she’d be willing to see where things might go between them.
Guess not.
She wouldn’t go out with him—but she wanted to discuss some damn legal issue with him. It made zero sense.
He ought to forget her.
But he didn’t. Somehow, he couldn’t. As Sunday faded into Monday and Monday into Tuesday, he thought about her constantly. More than once he found himself with the phone in his hand, about to dial her parents’ number.
But he never did it.
What was the point? She’d made it painfully clear she didn’t want to see him.
Until next Monday. In his office.
His assistant, Anna, had told him she’d called to set up the appointment, as per his instructions. He had her on his calendar in the 10:00 a.m. slot: Lori Taylor, consultation.
Consultation about what?
He didn’t know. And that was damned unprofessional. He never scheduled appointments unless he had at least a general grasp of the potential client’s problem and thought the case was one he might want to take on.
He ought to call her and tell her he needed to know what the meeting was about or he would have to cancel. But he didn’t call her. He had the sinking feeling that if he called her, she would cancel. He’d never see her again.
Which shouldn’t be such a big damn deal. It wasn’t as if he’d be seeing much of her anyway. Right?
Thursday, he spotted her in the hardware store. She gave him a quick wave and turned away. Brody wasn’t with her, so he didn’t even get a chance to say hi to the kid.
It shouldn’t mean this much, he kept thinking. He shouldn’t care this much. Yeah, he’d had a powerful feeling that she was the woman for him. But clearly, she had no such feeling and it took two to get something going. Even Tucker, with his limited experience in longterm relationships, could figure that much out.
He considered talking to Tate about it. Or even Molly.
But what was there to talk about? Except for throwing him a pity party, what could Tate or Molly do for him now?
The answer was zip.
As Friday came around, he tried to tell himself he was being a complete sucker, an idiot, a hopeless yearning fool—which he was.
But even knowing that he was dragging around like a motherless calf didn’t make him stop. He still wanted Lori, whether she wanted him or not, and that was a plain fact. He wanted Lori and the life he had dared to imagine he might have with her.
And if she wouldn’t go out with him, well, he’d better get to work on finding a way to change her mind.
So she wouldn’t date him. Yet.
Did that mean he had to give up and go away mad?
Hell, no.
He had to be more…understanding. He had to keep in mind that she was a widow, that she’d lost a husband.
And not only that. He had to consider how tough it must have been on her, to have had Brody all on her own at barely eighteen.
He had to accept that her trust must be gained. She’d had a rough time and she’d been hurt—by some rotten fly-by-night bastard who’d left her pregnant to fend for herself, and by the recent death of her husband.
The man who would win her would have to be patient with her.
Yeah. He had to take it slow and easy. Because he was ready. He, Tucker Bravo, was willing at last to put in the time and effort and tender care to get close to the right woman.
So she wouldn’t date him. Well, then, he’d just have to find other ways to get close to her.
For instance, Lena’s wedding.
He had an invitation. Lena, in her ongoing effort to show him she’d let bygones be bygones, had made sure he received one. Since half the town would be there, it was one of those events that an up-and-coming local attorney shouldn’t miss.
And Tucker didn’t plan to miss it.
Uh-uh. He wouldn’t miss it for the world.
Chapter Five
Lena’s wedding day dawned bright and sunny. The weather report called for thunderstorms later in the day. But Lena, blue eyes shining, declared that no icky bad weather would dare come and ruin the most beautiful, important day of her life.
The ceremony took place at the Billingsworth family church—the Church of the Way of Our Lord, to be specific—with Pastor Partridge presiding. The guests oohed and ahhed at the sight of the sanctuary, where lilies and roses, festooned with ivy and white satin ribbon, dripped from every available surface. More flowers stood in tall vases along the aisles and at the altar.
The place was packed. By the time the first familiar chords of the wedding march filled the air, it was standing room only.
Lena’s three flower girls, in green satin dresses, hair braided with ribbons and rosebuds, strolled down the white satin carpet that had been rolled out by two of the groomsmen before the wedding march began. All three little girls wore adorable shy smiles and carried ribbonbedecked baskets full of pink and green silk petals. They cast the petals out along the satin aisle as they went.
Next were Lena’s lifelong girlfriends, her bridesmaids and matrons, all eight of them in shimmering celery-green silk, each with a bouquet of pale pink roses and Peruvian lilies.
Lori, as matron of honor, followed the bridesmaids. Her gown was blush-pink, her flowers white roses tipped with green, threaded with green ribbon and ivy, rimmed in green lace. About five slow steps toward the groomsmen waiting at the altar, she made the mistake of glancing slightly to the right.
And there he was. Tucker. In the sixth row, with Tate and Molly.
Tucker