Always on My Mind (3 page)

Oh, boy. They wanted
her
advice? Did no one notice the fact that their wedding coordinator sported a pregnant belly under her not-so-little black dress? Not that anyone could guess that the father had ditched her long before he even knew about her condition. Still, she hardly felt able to dispense wisdom.

Maybe, however, no one noticed her swollen ankles or the way she bumped around the room like a tank. Probably today’s activities
 
—the decorating crew, the cake delivery, the flowers
 
—simply distracted everyone from her cumbersome girth.

Even her boss, Grace Christiansen, had refrained from ordering her to sit, put her swollen feet up, breathe through the occasional Braxton-Hicks contractions.

But given that the elite bash counted as Grace’s first major wedding-catering gig, perhaps Grace didn’t have time to spare a thought for her assistant’s grand mistakes in life.

Raina and the bride had to figure out their futures on their own.

Gina blinked, fast, hard, staring at her bouquet of blue hydrangeas and white roses. “It seems right, but it’s the rest of my life. And . . .” She glanced through the half-parted double oak doors to her groom, Kalen Boomer, tall, blond, and swarthy, a hockey goalie for the St. Paul Blue Ox. He stood next to the green-tiled fireplace, beside his best man and the pastor he’d imported from his hometown. Kalen clasped his hands in front of him and stared at the floor.

Gina turned back to Raina. “How do I know I want this? I mean, yes, I love Kalen
 
—so much it hurts sometimes
 
—but how do I know that we’ll be happy ten years from now? That he’ll still love me?”

Raina opened her mouth, glancing past the petite bride toward the massive dining room, holding the delicious reception
Grace had created. Garlands of white pine boughs wrapped with twinkle lights hung from the windows, the chandelier, the wainscoting. The collection of round tables glittered with gold chargers crowned with red glass plates over an ivory tablecloth, the room fragrant with the scent of cinnamon-stick favors wrapped at the head of each plate.

Raina held her breath, willing Grace to appear with some pithy words of wisdom. Her roommate always seemed to have something profound for Raina over the past six months as she struggled to figure out the rest of her life.

“What I wouldn’t give to just . . .
know
. To see the future and know I’m making the right decision. Some sort of lighted path,” Gina was saying. “I mean, look at you. You’re happy and married and have a baby on the way . . .”

Oh. So someone did notice. And probably thought Raina had removed her wedding ring to accommodate swollen fingers. It wasn’t like she’d had a deep and personal conversation about her marital status with Gina over the past three months, and Grace had handled all but the most recent in-person planning sessions.

Gina’s eyes grew glossy. She drew in a breath.

If Raina didn’t conjure up something, this entire thing could trek south in a heartbeat. A sudden image of the bride escaping through the kitchen, upsetting a tray of champagne shrimp, flashed through her mind.

But frankly
 
—good question. How did anyone make a lifelong decision like marriage? Or whether to be a single mother or give up her child for adoption?

Likely any advice Raina gave the bride would only turn out to haunt the poor girl. Besides, sweet Gina seemed to have done everything right, her future nothing but sunny.

As far as Raina peered ahead, she saw only darkness.

She tried a reassuring smile but clearly managed to scare the bride because Gina’s eyes filled.

Then
 
—“Shh, honey.”

Raina turned to see the bride’s mother slipping through the doors. Tall, elegant, blonde, and not a hint of the Asian descent evident in her daughter, she appeared to be in her early fifties and still wore her wedding ring, despite her recent widowhood.

“Mom
 
—sorry. I’m just having a second of . . . Well, how do I know this is the right decision?” Gina turned to her, and Raina stepped back, watching the moment she’d always longed for herself.

A mother’s advice.

Michele took her daughter’s hands. “We don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but you can’t live your life fearing the what-ifs. Kalen is a wonderful man, and he becomes the right decision the minute you say, ‘I do.’ The bigger question is, are you ready to make that decision?”

No.
Raina wanted to scream it out for Gina
 
—or maybe herself. With only six weeks left . . .

Her hand slid up to press against the baby’s foot, lodged just below her ribs.

“Yes.” The shadows cleared from Gina’s expression. She peeked through the doors, a soft smile lifting. “Yes.”

Her mother held out her arm. “How about if I walk you to meet your groom? Your father would have preferred to do it, but I know he’s watching.”

Now a tear ran off Raina’s chin. She forced a smile and held open the doors as Gina and her mother headed down the aisle.

Gina met her groom, and Raina slid off her shoes, watching
them exchange vows. As the ceremony progressed, she picked them up and headed to the kitchen.

The holiday dinner aroma could knock her over
 
—roasted beef au jus, garlic mashed potatoes, freshly baked wheat dinner rolls. In her last trimester her appetite had returned with the ferocity of a wildebeest.

Grace managed the kitchen
 
—and her small staff
 
—with the skills of a general. Raina watched her and for a moment wished she could be assembling the spring salad rather than manning the front lines.

But she simply couldn’t move with the same speed as before. Maybe after . . . when . . . what?

She hadn’t a clue what her life might look like by spring.

Grace glanced up from where she stood plating baked Brie and crackers
 
—appetizers for the guests. “Is the ceremony almost over?”

“Ten minutes or so. How are we doing in here?”

“Perfect.” Grace glanced at Ty Teague, down for the weekend from Deep Haven, helping out as a server. He looked debonair and festive, wearing a tux and white gloves, his curly dark hair freshly groomed. “We might actually pull this off.”

“Of course we will,” Raina said. “I wasn’t sure for a moment, though.”

Grace met her eyes, stricken. “Why? Oh no, did she have cold feet again?”

“You knew about this?” Raina barely stopped herself from reaching for one of the plump shrimp curled around a champagne glass filled with spicy cocktail sauce. “She nearly didn’t walk down the aisle. Started asking me if I thought she should get married. As if I know.”

She moved aside for Ty and Nash
 
—one of Grace’s culinary
school recruits
 
—to deliver the appetizers to the parlor, where the reception festivities would begin.

Grace finished plating the next Brie appetizer, then picked up oven mitts. She opened the oven. “She’s just hurting over her father’s death. It’s hard
 
—losing him so close to the wedding.”

“Yeah. Sad. I get it.” Sort of. After all, Raina had lost her father too. But he’d been in jail. And she hadn’t exactly kept in touch.

“And she’s their only child. They really thought he’d beat the cancer this time
 
—hence why they hurried the wedding. Kalen only met her this summer.” She checked the lasagna, then returned it to the oven. “Nearly ready.”

Grace pulled off the hot pads. “I met her dad once, about three weeks before he passed. He was so proud of her
 
—and really liked Kalen, which is saying something. He was so . . . I don’t know.
Possessive
is not the right word, but . . . doting? Maybe because they had to fight so hard to adopt Gina
 
—I think they went to China three times before they finally brought her home. Gina said she was four, and by that time, she needed six operations to fix her leg. They spared no expense on her. I think she even graduated from Princeton.”

Grace directed Aliya, one of her favorite assistants, to start bringing the salads to the dining room.

Raina picked up two plates. “She never mentioned her leg.”

Grace held open the door. “Yeah, she was born with a deformity or maybe was injured in birth. Anyway, she’s fine now.”

Raina set the salad plates on the chargers. Glanced toward the wedding. “Beautiful, in fact.”

Grace touched Raina’s hand, gave it a quick squeeze before she went back to the kitchen.

Raina slipped her shoes on and headed to the double doors just as she heard the pastor announce the couple.

No hint of regret creased Gina’s face as she held hands with her groom and walked back up the aisle. They disappeared for a moment into the parlor while the rest of the party exited, then returned to dismiss the guests. Raina directed the crowd toward the parlor for appetizers.

“You look pretty tonight, Raina.”

The voice startled her, and for a split second, in that place where she parked her dreams, she heard the deep tenor of Casper Christiansen complimenting her.

When she turned, the man talking to her could be mistaken for him, with dark-brown hair, long behind his ears, and kind eyes.

Except, no
 
—this man had a beard and brown eyes and, well, belonged to Grace. “Thanks, Max,” Raina said.

Maxwell Sharpe slicked up well in a black suit and silver tie. “My girl in the kitchen?”

“Yes.” She reached out to touch his arm, stopping him. “But you are assigned to the parlor. You’re a guest, not staff.”

He made a face at her, and for a second she thought he might disobey
 
—after all, hockey players didn’t exactly mind their manners.

But he surrendered to her words and disappeared to celebrate with the guests.

And Raina surrendered, just for a second, to sinking down on the arching dark oak staircase. The piano and cello from the ceremony continued to play, and “A Thousand Years” lilted out.

She ran her hands over her stomach, listening to the laughter from the parlor, the sweet music echoing into the hall, and drew in a long breath. Her throat ached. See, a girl with this many hormones flooding her body had no business at a wedding. It only
conjured up too-tangible images of the man she’d driven away. The man she could never have. Not after the wounds she’d raked into his heart.

And now just the flash of memory could stir up Casper’s smile, the feel of his summer-toned arms around her, and if she didn’t get herself under control, she just might end up in a puddle.

She pressed her fingers under her eyes, shook him from her mind. He’d left
 
—and who blamed him, anyway? She had to move on.

Ty came out, carrying glasses of champagne. He glanced at her, frowning, his sweet brown eyes suddenly concerned. She shook her head, smiled, waved him into the parlor.

“Raina, dear, thank you for your help in keeping Gina calm.” Michele emerged from the room, and Raina made to push up from the stairs. “Oh no
 
—you sit. You have to keep that little bundle safe.” Michele slid onto the stairs next to her. “If my Steven were here, he’d be offering to rub your feet. He did that for all three of my pregnancies.”

Raina glanced at her.

“Oh yes, I was pregnant. Lost the last one at six months. I was never able to carry to term. But God had other wonderful plans.” She stared into her champagne, golden and glistening against the hall chandelier. Outside, the wind blew snow against the windowpane, rattling it. “Steven tried so hard to hang on until this day. Would have, if not for the staph infection. He went so fast.”

Michele forced a smile. “Such a beautiful wedding, despite the storm. I think we might have a few overnight guests.”

“It’s still early, and Grace has dinner ready
 
—”

“And it smells delicious.” She touched Raina’s hand. “So have you and your husband picked out any names?”

Raina shook her head. Didn’t correct her. After all, what could she say?
I have no husban
d
?
This baby is the result of a one-night stan
d
? The enormity of her stupidity could take her breath away.

“Nothing?”

“I . . . can’t settle on anything.” Starting with whether she’d be the one naming her baby.

“You never know when that baby might want to show up.”

“As long as it’s not tonight,” Raina said, her hand running over her bulk as the baby decided to shift.

Michele laughed. “Yes. That might add too much excitement to the evening. Happy New Year, Raina. I predict next year is going to be wonderful.”

Raina managed a nod as the bride’s mother joined the party. No, the baby wasn’t coming tonight.

Which meant she could figure out the rest of her life tomorrow.

“S
ERIOUSLY, DUDE,
the chest was empty?” Doug slid up to the bamboo bar where Casper perched, nursing a tepid Coke, his calamari appetizer soggy and cold. Behind him a local band plunked out a Bruno Mars cover
 
—“Just the Way You Are”
 
—the rendition slow and sloppy and drawing a slew of couples wrapped in love pretzels onto the dance floor.

Tiki torches lit a path to the beach, where the velvety-black surf rolled onto shore, perfect and romantic and heartbreaking.

“That’s just about the most pitiful thing I’ve ever heard. You find a bona fide treasure chest and it’s nothing but mud.”

“It’s not funny
 
—”

“It’s hilarious, bro.” Doug gestured to the bartender, who slid a foamy beer in front of him. He lifted it to honor Casper. “To finding the treasure of the century
 
—not!”

“I’m leaving.”

“I hope you’re going back there with a torch and your detector, because by tomorrow morning, the place will be crawling with treasure hunters.”

“It’s gone, Doug. I scoured the area until I could barely see my hand in front of my face. I’m telling you, if there was any gold left, it’s been washed out to sea or maybe stolen before
 
—I don’t know. But it’s not there.” He slid off the stool. “Happy New Year.”

“You’re really leaving? The night is young.” Doug glanced past Casper and grinned, raising his beer. Casper followed his gaze, and it landed on a couple of tourists in bikinis holding drinks in hollowed-out coconuts garnished with umbrellas. The brunette winked, her hair loose in the wind, and for a moment Raina appeared, smiling at him.

Casper turned away, back to Doug. “No, dude, the night has come and gone. According to my watch, it’s after midnight.”

Not that the partygoers had any intention of winding down soon. On the beach, a bonfire blazed, locals dancing in the undulating light, the sparks like fireworks as they snapped, crackled, and popped. From other beach bars and decks, a cacophony of sounds
 
—blues, reggae, pop
 
—serenaded the New Year.

Casper had no taste for the celebration. In fact, he should be home playing Monopoly with his family, eating his sister’s homemade pizza.

He dug a fistful of lempiras from his pocket, left the bills on the bar. “Thanks.”

The barkeep nodded.

Doug stopped Casper with a hand to his arm. “Fitz was looking for you today. Said he needed to know if you were going to stick around after the new recruits join us in a couple weeks.”

Six months ago
 
—maybe even six weeks ago
 
—a quick yes would have shot to Casper’s lips, his hurt fresh and volatile. But a man didn’t spend Christmas away from his family without feeling the wounds reopen, without taking a good look at them.

Without realizing that perhaps a few of them had been self-inflicted. And today’s debacle only told him the truth.

He couldn’t find a treasure if it washed up onshore in front of him.

Maybe answers
 
—healing
 
—could be found not in running but in returning home. Diving into a different life. “I dunno.”

“Well, if not, he needs you to train someone else,” Doug was saying, glancing now and again at the girls by the bar.

“How hard can it be to slop out the boat?”

“Hey, you got to work on the last cannon lift
 
—”

“I got to hold the line and shout, ‘Ready, bring it up!’”

“No one said archaeology was glamorous work, Casper.”

“I don’t need glamorous. But I do need to be . . . I don’t know . . . actually needed.” He shook himself out of Doug’s grip and headed out of the bar, into the night.

“Casper, are you leaving so soon?”

He turned at the voice and knew Doug had sicced pretty Martha Queen on him. Half-Trinidadian, half-Asian, the petite diver could steal a man’s breath away with her amazingly smooth coffee-brown skin, those chocolate eyes. If he didn’t already have Raina occupying too much of his brain, he would have let sweet, smart, beautiful Martha get a foothold inside.

“Hey, Martha.”

She’d caught her curly black hair back in a tie-dye hair band, but it flowed out in thick, tantalizing corkscrews. She wore a pair of Army fatigues and a pink T-shirt, the smell of coconut
oil lifting off her skin. “Stay,” she said, her voice light. “It’ll be fun.”

Maybe. Yeah. Right now, he could appreciate a little distraction. Even just a walk down the beach with a pretty girl.

Or . . .

Casper blew out a breath. No. He wasn’t Owen, and the memory of his brother’s indiscretions and the destruction he left in his wake sent a chill into his smile. Besides, until he got Raina out of his head, any late-night romantic stroll would only be wasted on him. “Nah, I’m headed home.”

Martha caught up with him, tugged on his shirtsleeve. “Then I’ll walk with you.”

He glanced at Doug, who lifted his glass to him. Oh, brother. But short of being rude
 
—

Besides, she lived only two doors down from him, in the grouping of tiny houses Fitz rented for the staff, and on a night like this, maybe she could use some protection. “Okay.”

He headed out to the beach, kicking his toes through the cool sand. Stars littered the sky, fell into the black ocean. He could make out the
Mayan
, Fitz’s ship, docked at the wharf, the lights in the portholes like eyes.

Martha walked beside him. “Doug says you found a treasure chest.”

“Nice. By morning, the entire village will know.”

“I think they already do.” She had taken off her sandals; they dangled from her fingers. “I heard it was empty.”

“Yeah. Of course it was.” He watched as a couple ran into the surf, laughing, hands entwined. They fell into each other’s arms.

“Are you going home after the New Year?”

He didn’t answer. The scent of the bonfire seasoned the air, the
beat of drums and Bob Marley on the breeze. Waves whispered against the sand.

“I think you should stay.” She touched his hand then and stopped him, stepped in front of him. The wind caught her fragrance and twined it around him. She pointed to the necklace he wore. “That’s a good idea
 
—to put one of the copper coins Fitz gave us on a lanyard.”

He’d really made the necklace for Grace. Or . . . okay, yes, Raina. But she’d probably think the trinket silly.

Now Martha touched his cheek, smiled. “Casper, I don’t know why, but there are shadows around you, darkness. You’re in the most beautiful place in the world, on the night of new beginnings. Isn’t it time to cast them off and start over?”

He stared at her, his chest a little hollow.

Then she rose up on her toes and kissed him. Sweetly, softly. He closed his eyes, letting her, tasting pineapple juice on her lips, a hint of her lure in the air. He slid his hand to her shoulder, and the urge to surrender, to lose himself in her affection, even for a moment, stirred inside him.

Yes. Maybe he should let it go, move on
 
—

His cell phone vibrated in his shirt pocket and he jerked away.

Martha startled.

“Sorry. Uh
 
—” Casper fished out the phone, looked at the screen. “It’s my sister. She wants to video-call me.”

“Answer it,” she said, smiling as if undeterred by the distraction.

Oh, boy. He tucked his heart back into place, then answered the call.

Grace’s face appeared on the screen. “Casper! Happy New Year.” She wore a Deep Haven sweatshirt, her hair pulled back,
her face scrubbed clean, her blue eyes warm, and homesickness nearly knocked him over.

“Sis.” He glanced at Martha, but she seemed content to stand there and grin at him. “I expected you to be out with Max tonight.”

“Actually, I catered a wedding for another one of the Blue Ox players. And I wanted to call and tell you because . . . well, okay, I miss you.”

He swallowed the crazy boulder lodged in his throat. Aside from a few e-mails to his mother back in Deep Haven, he hadn’t done more than text his sisters since his escape to Central America last fall.

His voice nearly cut out, but he dragged it up, tried to right himself into something casual, easy. “Me too.”

“I’m so jealous. You’re standing on a beach in paradise, and I’m here, dressed in my sweatpants and wool socks.”

“Where, exactly, are you?”

“It’s my new apartment. Wait; I’ll show you around.” She got up, held her phone away, and gave him a tour of the apartment. He made out a small kitchen, the quilt that used to cover her bed folded over a chair, a flat-screen TV on a flea-market table.

Grace appeared back on the screen. “I know
 
—humble digs. But I have my own catering company, with three more gigs coming up in the next three months, and I’m working at a bar and grill in St. Paul. I’m doing it, Casp. I’m really catering for a living.”

“That’s awesome, Grace.”

“So. How do you like Roatán?”

“It’s . . .”

“It’s gorgeous and he nearly found a treasure today!” Martha leaned into the conversation, Skype-bombing. She looked at him and winked.

He managed a return smile.

“Who’s that?” Grace asked, almost too brightly.

“Uh . . . my friend Martha.”

“We’re celebrating the New Year!” Martha said, and he wondered just how many pineapple drinks she had consumed. In fact, he should walk her straight home.

“Yes, you are,” Grace said, laughing. “What’s this about a treasure? I always knew you’d strike it rich someday.”

“No
 
—I didn’t
 
—”

A cry on the other end made him stop. Grace turned away. “Raina, are you okay?”

Raina?

Casper’s heart skipped and stopped in his chest.

Grace was living with Raina? And then, as if he needed a reminder of exactly how much he missed her, Grace moved out of the camera’s view.

And from the shadows, across the room, he saw her. Or part of her
 
—most of her was covered by the sofa back. But the lamplight illuminated her enough for him to see her beautiful, long, silky black hair.

He longed for a glimpse at her amber-brown eyes, but he got instead a very inspiring view of the ceiling as Grace set the phone down.

Raina’s voice came again, high and panicked.

His own panic sparked, right behind it. “What’s going on? Grace?”

“Don’t worry, Raina. Everything will be fine
 
—just stay calm.” This from Grace before she picked up the phone. “Sorry, Casp; I gotta run. Uh
 
—Happy New Year. Love ya.”

Then Raina’s voice filled the background, calling Grace’s name as she clicked off.

Raina?

“Is she all right?” Martha made a face. “That didn’t sound good. Maybe she had a little too much fun tonight.”

“She’s fine. I’m sure she’s fine.” Casper pocketed the phone.
Just stay calm.

It wasn’t Grace’s words so much as her tone.

No one up there in snowy Minnesota was staying calm.

Martha laced her fingers into his, stepped up to him. “Now, where were we?”

“We were going home,” he said.

Apparently, denial had her number and decided that tonight Raina had to face the truth.

She was having a baby.

Not this moment, thankfully, but soon
 
—very soon if the terbutaline didn’t work its magic, calm her uterine muscles, and stop her body from laboring.

She lay in a quiet semiprivate room, the predawn silver grays streaming through the window of the birthing ward at Methodist Hospital. An IV dripped fluids into her body
 
—as if she didn’t feel bloated enough. And exposed. And cold. And . . . alone.

Grace, it seemed, had left her sometime in the last hour. Raina had awoken from her catnap to find the orange vinyl recliner empty.

Not that she blamed her best friend/roommate/labor coach for wanting some real shut-eye. Grace had stepped in like she’d promised, bundled Raina into the car, and hustled her to the medical center. She’d filled out the forms, updated the staff on Raina’s
medical history, held Raina’s hand, and kept Raina’s emotions in a tight, coiled ball instead of exploding into a messy, ugly debris field of panic.