Belonging to Taylor (4 page)

"Dinner, Taylor?" asked a plaintive voice from the doorway. "Solomon's hidden the kittens again and Dory's lost Jack and I'm hungry."

"Just coming, Daddy," Taylor replied absently, concentrating on transferring the chicken from baking pan to serving dish.

"Your mother didn't ruin it?" her father asked anxiously.

"No, it's fine. Round everybody up, will you, please?"

"Yes, they're all waiting. But Jack? I suppose Trevor can get him out later if Solomon stays with her kittens and doesn't eat him. D'you play poker?" Luke Shannon demanded suddenly of Trevor.

"Yes." Trevor, an afternoon's accumulation of shocks and absurdities belatedly catching up with him, was holding on to control by force.

"Well, there's nothing to laugh about in that," Taylor's father chided reprovingly, shattering the last remnants of Trevor's control. Gazing at his daughter's guest as he leaned against the
refrigerator and laughed himself silly, Luke directed an interested question to his daughter. "Is he staying, Taylor?"

"For dinner, at least," she murmured, crossing to hand her father the serving dish. 'Take this in, Daddy."

"All right. Milk for your mother because of the baby, but I want wine."

Taylor nodded and turned back to quickly and efficiently slice the bread, watching with amusement as Trevor's laughter was cut short and replaced by astonishment.

"Your mother's—"

"Pregnant? Yes."

"But..." He didn't quite know how to frame his question.

Taylor laughed, understanding. "Her age? Mother's only forty-four, Trevor. I was born when she was eighteen. There's a certain risk for her age group, but her history is a good one. Our people tend to have large families and to space them all through the childbearing years. Mother says she was born to have babies because it's the only thing she does really well. But she also says this one's change-of-life and the last."

Removing his apron as she removed hers and automatically helping her gather the rest of the meal for transference to the dining room, Trevor reflected silently for a long moment. Then he began to laugh—silently this time.

"I wasn't ready for this," he muttered despairingly as he followed Taylor from the kitchen. "Nothing in life
prepared
me for this!"

Chapter Three

Looking back on that meal later, Trevor realized that the
hunted feeling he'd been conscious of had been more the result of his own acceptance of the situation than anything Taylor or her family said or did. It bothered him that he felt so comfortable so quickly, no longer startled or amazed, but simply quietly fascinated. The entire family had instantly and in their respectively vague, cheerful, solemn, offhand, or matter-of-fact ways accepted him as a part of them. And he began to enjoy it.

That was why he felt hunted. Absorption into this absurd family, however painless the process, boded ill for his bachelorhood. Not that he'd been clinging to
that
with rabid intensity, but a man liked to have at least
some
say in the selection of his wife, he thought uneasily.

But when Dory, who had taken a chair beside his, slipped her tiny hand confidingly into his, and when he looked across the table to meet Taylor's smiling, vivid blue eyes, he found himself oddly disinclined to fight for his freedom.

Definitely hunted.

Taylor was aware, more by his reactions than anything else, that Trevor was still a bit unnerved. She watched his lean, handsome face across the dinner table, seeing the fascination,
seeing his features soften whenever he looked at Dory, who sat so quietly beside him.

She watched him gradually relax in the company of her family, bemusement reflected in his keen gray eyes. He responded easily to any question or comment addressed to him, catching on quickly to the family's unconscious shorthand and even replying in kind after a fashion. Several times he seemed to swallow a sudden laugh, amusement lightening his rather stern eyes and curving the firm lips.

Lips.

Taylor ruthlessly dragged her mind away from memory and back to inspection. She was gazing at the man she would marry, and she knew that with a certainty that wouldn't be denied. She even could have told him how many children they'd have.

Psychic abilities, she thought ruefully—not for the first time—certainly took away some of life's little mysteries. Still, she didn't doubt that her trip to the altar would be troubled; Trevor, though accepting the clear proof of her abilities, was uncomfortable with them.

And they'd only known each other a matter of hours, after all.

Trevor found his apartment door unlocked and remembered
even as he opened it that Jason had said something about stopping by. He found his brother stretched out on the couch, a bowl of popcorn on his flat stomach and a mug of beer in his hand as he stared at the television.

"Make yourself at home," Trevor invited dryly, tossing his keys onto a table in the foyer before stepping down into the living room.

"Don't mind if I do," Jason responded cheerily. He sat up and placed the bowl on the coffee table, smiling. Then his smile faded, and he came abruptly to his feet, staring at his brother. "What is it?" he asked in an altered voice.

"What?" Trevor responded blankly.

"You look like you've been hit by a train—mentally, that is."

Trevor sank down in a chair and frowned at his brother, irritated to hear that his tangled emotions showed so clearly
on his face. "Well, I haven't," he said, further irritated by the defiance in his own voice.

Jason's eyebrows lifted and a grin began working at his mouth as he slowly sat back down. "Dare I guess the train was female?" he ventured solemnly.

"I wouldn't if I were you," Trevor warned.

Grinning openly now, Jason instantly demanded, "Who is she?"

"She isn't what you think!" Sighing, Trevor knew that Jason wouldn't give up until he heard at least part of the story. So he set his mind to editing certain things, telling the rest as briefly as possible.

"A whole family of psychics?" his brother exclaimed when he'd finished. "No wonder you look stunned. But I want to hear more about Taylor."

Trevor started slightly. He'd deliberately glossed over any details regarding Taylor, and his brother's ability to home in on that surprised him. After an evening with psychics, he hardly needed his own brother reading his mind. He sent Jason a guarded look; his brother was gazing back with innocently lifted brows. "Never mind Taylor."

"Why?"

"Because."

Jason chuckled. "So she's the one. I thought so, considering the way you carefully didn't mention her much."

Stirring restlessly, Trevor glared at the face that was a slightly younger edition of his own. "There's no 'one' and nothing to talk about," he said with great firmness.

Jason made a rude noise.

"Little brother, you've enjoyed my television set, my couch, my popcorn, my beer—don't push your luck!"

His "little" brother, who easily equalled his own six-two, pulled on a ludicrously injured expression, which he could still get away with after twenty-four years of perfecting it.

"Well, if you feel that way about it—"

"I do."

Jason sighed. "All right, all right. But I would like to know if you're planning on seeing Taylor again."

"No," Trevor said definitely. "I don't need the complication of a psychic in my life." And thereby, he realized ruefully,
he'd tacitly admitted that Taylor had indeed been "the one."

His brother quickly mastered the grin and pulled on yet another in his repertoire of devious faces—this one solemn. "You're not going to see any of them again? You have no curiosity to find out what Solomon's kittens look like or if Jack and Jill escape again or what the significance of that blouse for the Reverend is? You don't want to find out if Jessie actually
does
play the piano and really
isn't
as psychic as the rest of them, or if Dory really
does
hide in closets? You don't want to know if Sara actually
could
topple armies with her eyes or if Luke's really a doctor?"

Trevor stared at him for a moment. Then, in a long-suffering tone, he said, "I always knew it was a curse to have a brother with total recall."

"It helped me a lot in college," Jason confided gravely. "I never had to take notes in class. Now, come on, Trevor, you can't tell me you aren't the least bit curious about that nutty family!"

"Not in the least," Trevor responded, spacing his words for emphasis.

Grinning openly now, Jason said oracularly, "I'll remind you of those words one day, dear brother. One day soon, I think."

It would have galled Trevor to admit it to his brother, but
had Jason been present, he would have gleefully presented his "reminder" the following day.

Trevor didn't realize he was restless at first. He played tennis in the morning with a lawyer friend, had lunch with that same friend afterward, then returned to his apartment, planning on a relaxing afternoon by the pool with a good book. But somehow he never quite got into his suit and out to the pool. He did pick out a book he'd been planning to read for months, but he found himself wandering somewhat aimlessly around with no definite urge to do anything else.

It came to him only gradually, insidiously, that each time he passed his telephone, his hand reached absently for it. Halting by the seductive instrument, Trevor glared at it as if it were a thief caught in the act.

"I'm not interested. I'm just
fine;
no need of psychics in my life. I'm
great. ..
and I am talking to a phone!" He swore irritably. Dropping down into the chair beside the phone, he opened his book and began to read. Tried to read. But something nagged at him, a task needing doing, and he finally reached for the notepad by the phone, jotted down a few numbers with a feeling of relief, then went back to his book.

Half a paragraph later, he set aside his book with careful attention, picked up the pad again, and stared at the phone number he'd unconsciously written down. In one sense, it was not a familiar number; in another sense, it was very familiar. He realized then that at some point during their preparation of dinner the evening before he had stared fixedly at the kitchen wall phone long enough to memorize Taylor's phone number.

So much for your indifference!
he sneered inwardly.

"You've bewitched me!" he told the number severely, picturing a face with vivid blue eyes and fascinating mismatched features. Then he sighed and drew the phone toward him. He wasn't going to get involved, of course. No way. No chance. But he was bored halfway through his vacation, and they
were
an intriguing family....

"Hello, Trevor! I knew you'd call and won't you
please
come over because Jack's under the washer again and Daddy's at the office and Solomon's going to show us her kittens I think and Taylor says not to pester you but won't you
please
come? Please?"

It was, of course, the moppet, and Trevor couldn't help but smile. "Hello, Jessie. How'd you know it was me?" He remembered Taylor saying that this sister had the least ability.

"I just knew! Isn't it great?" She sounded happily proud of herself. "I usually can't, you know, but I
did
this time and I think it's 'cause you belong to Taylor or maybe that's not it but anyway I
did.
Can you come, please?"

Trevor bit back a laugh. "Jessie, is Taylor there?"

"Well, she's at the office with Daddy, but I can switch you over."

"Switch me over?"

'To the other phone," Jessie said impatiently.
"This
phone is connected to the one in Daddy's office, which is next door— or something like that. Want me to switch you over?"

"Yes, please," Trevor said meekly.

"Okay—hang on."

There was a short silence filled with a faint buzz, then Taylor's cheerful, efficient voice.

"Doctor Shannon's office."

"Didn't
you
know it was me?" Trevor said severely.

Taylor replied instantly. "Of course, I just wanted to impress you with my businesslike manner."

"Damn."

She giggled. "Sorry, Trevor; it's difficult to surprise a psychic. Did you call the house first?"

"Yes. Jessie switched me over."

"After nattering at you, I'll bet."

"Jack's under the washer again, and Solomon's going to show her kittens," Trevor related automatically. Bemused, he realized that the family had quite definitely infected him with something, and it was spreading rapidly through his bloodstream; he was going to forget how to talk to normal people.

"Well, don't feel obligated. No matter what you think, Trevor, no one's pointing a shotgun at you or readying a matrimonial noose." Her voice was very dry, but amused as well.

Trevor could have argued the point, but wasn't in the mood, for some reason. And he didn't want to think about how utterly comfortable he felt talking to a woman he'd met less than twenty-four hours before. "We'll discuss
that
later," he said, sighing as he heard his own admission that there would be a future for them—of some kind. "You work for your father?" he added somewhat hastily.