Have Bouquet, Need Boyfriend (2 page)

little nymph.

No, he wanted to meet Bert Hartwell, her father. Dr. Hartwell was a

renowned plastic surgeon and chairman of the board of the new women’s

medical facility in Atlanta. The hospital boasted the latest in

technology, research and cutting-edge medical techniques that Thomas

wanted to be a part of. He had hoped to see Dr. Hartwell with Rebecca,

but apparently he hadn’t shown up at his niece’s wedding.

Rumor had it he was off on a honeymoon of his own, his fourth, to be exact.

Odd. His daughters hadn’t attended his wedding.

And he’d also heard that Bert didn’t exactly get along with Alison’s

father, Wiley. Apparently they’d had some kind of rift way back when.

Hmm, an interesting family. Not that he could be critical; his own

family had disintegrated years ago.

A moment of concern tugged at him as he noticed how forlorn Rebecca

seemed in the midst of the giggling women as she tried to untangle the

ribbon from her glasses, but he brushed it aside.

Nice guys finished last.

He had learned that lesson well.

First, he’d lost the job he’d really wanted after med school to a guy

who claimed to have been his friend. Then he’d lost Alison.

Hell, he’d really never had her.

His pride smarted, but he reminded himself Alison was happy and that was

all that mattered. He certainly wouldn’t have tried to hold on to

someone who didn’t love him.

Was there something about him that was unlovable?

He contemplated the way his mother had acted after she’d lost his baby

brother, the way his father had so easily deserted him when his mother

had thrown him out. Of course, his dad had been hurting as well,

especially when his mom had admitted that she’d only used him to have

another baby… Still, why hadn’t he been enough for them?

Maybe he’d been looking for a way to settle down in this quaint town and

he’d hoped Alison was that key. But he didn’t really want to stay in

Sugar Hill the rest of his life, did he?

He had other goals in mind. To land that job at the new women’s center.

Thomas had an interview scheduled in a few weeks. Getting to know Bert

on a personal level would give him the inside scoop on Hartwell’s

theories and goals, and the interview would go smoother.

Perhaps Rebecca would introduce him to her father. He’d overheard Mimi

and Hannah discussing plans for a surprise birthday party for their

grandmother. Wiley and Bert would both attend. If he could swing an

invitation, it would be the perfect opportunity to meet Bert. He’d

considered asking Hannah to introduce him, but he wasn’t ready to tell

her he intended to leave the practice yet. If he asked Rebecca, he could

keep his intentions quiet for a while. No sense stirring up trouble at

work unless he had the new job in the bag.

A red blush stained Rebecca’s cheeks as she plucked the bouquet from her

head. Hopefully, she wouldn’t run from him the way she had at Brady’s

sister’s Vivi’s wedding when she’d dropped those cream puffs on his head.

She’d acted as if he was the big bad wolf ready to gobble her up.

Though he wasn’t the big bad wolf, he was through being Mr. Nice Guy.

From now on, he would pursue his goals with a vengeance. And landing

that job topped his list.

He would do whatever was necessary in order to secure it.

Rebecca and her grandmother ambled up the wraparound porch, heads bowed,

voices hushed. Thomas hunched his shoulders against the chilly December

air and strode across the lawn to catch Rebecca before she left. Then he

would set his plan in motion.

Rebecca slipped into her Grammy Rose’s parlor, breathing in the essence

of her grandmother in the polished antiques and silver-framed photos of

family and friends. She had always loved this room, loved the

needlepoint pillows and china cups, the smell of Grammy’s rose-scented

sachets filling the air, the scrapbooks full of treasured gifts from

each of her grandchildren.

Someday she wanted a room like this in her own home. Just like she

wanted a house full of kids, and then grandchildren. She would keep

rose-scented potpourri in the house and homemade doilies on the coffee

table, and keep pictures of all her children and grandchildren framed on

the wall.

“It’s time you take your hope chest home,” Grammy said.

Rebecca’s throat tightened at the sight of the ornately carved wooden

chest. Alison and her sisters had talked as if their hope chests earned

some kind of

secret power. Like an omen for the future. Or maybe Grammy Rose did.

Did the hope chest mean a wedding might be in the future for her?

No, Rebecca couldn’t allow herself to believe in such fantasies.

“But, Grammy, I’m not getting married.”

“Nonsense. Of course you are.”

Rebecca stared wide-eyed at the chest. She itched to reach out and touch

it, to open it and discover what treasures lay inside.

But she couldn’t admit those feelings aloud.

“No, I…I don’t want to get married,” she forced herself to say. “I.

..I like my life just the way it is.”

Thomas overheard Rebecca talking to her grandmother and breathed a sigh

of relief. Rebecca didn’t want marriage, so he didn’t have to worry

about her getting the wrong idea if he cozied up to her.

Thank goodness.

He didn’t want to hurt her. But being friendly with her might help his

chances of getting the new job. Then he could move on with his life and

make a name for himself in the medical world. And he’d finally fulfill

that promise he’d made to himself years ago.

Yes, Rebecca would be the key to him leaving Sugar Hill.

The voices behind the door grew hushed, and he strained to hear, then

stepped back, ashamed at himself for eavesdropping. Suddenly the door

swung open, and Grammy Rose’s pointed chin jutted up in surprise, her

eyes sparkling.

“Hey there, young man.” She threaded a strand of

gray hair back inside the pearl clip at her nape. “Dr. Emerson, isn’t it?”

Heat warmed Thomas’s neck. She didn’t know he’d been listening, did she?

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Listen, son, could you do me a favor?”

“I’ll do what I can.” Surely, she wasn’t inventing an illness for him to

treat, like a few of the women patients who swarmed his office. He’d

never seen anything like life in Sugar Hill.

“Good. My granddaughter Rebecca needs help carrying her hope chest to

the car.” She gestured toward the room behind her. “She’s right there in

the parlor.”

Thomas frowned. Didn’t women receive hope chests when they were engaged?

Odd. He’d just heard Rebecca say she wasn’t interested in marriage.

Rebecca slid a finger around the lock of the chest and released it, her

heart pounding when the top sprang open. She should wait until she

arrived home to look inside the hope chest. But curiosity replaced

common sense, and she lifted the lid.

Dark-red velvet lined the chest and a piece of antique lace was folded

over the top of the contents. Her fingers traced the fabrics, reveling

in the richness of texture as she slowly moved the lace aside. A white

bride’s book lay nestled there, its top embossed with silver wedding bells.

Footsteps suddenly sounded against the hardwood floor, the loose board

at the parlor door squeaking. She slammed the lid closed, then swung

around to find Thomas Emerson standing in the doorway.

“Your grandmother asked me to help you take something to the car.”

His deep voice spun a dizzying web around her senses. She opened her

mouth to speak but barely managed to sputter a no.

He inched inside the room anyway, his masculine presence nearly

overpowering the room.

“Thanks, but I…I can get it.” Rebecca fidgeted atop the small wooden

stool, wishing she could shrink the hope chest and keep it out of sight.

He might think she was hinting at something.

Like the fact that she wanted a husband and family of her own.

His green eyes radiated warmth as he gazed down at her. No wonder all

the ladies in town threw themselves at him. “Come on, Rebecca. I don’t

mind.” He moved around her, planting his big hands on his hips as he

studied the box. “Will it fit in your car?”

She nodded, her palms sweaty as she stood. Oh, heck. She couldn’t very

well deny him or she’d look like an idiot. “In…the back.”

He lifted the chest in one fluid motion, then gestured toward the

doorway. Rebecca grabbed her purse and trotted forward, willing herself

not to fall on her face or break her neck before she reached the car.

On the porch she hugged her grandmother and said a hasty goodbye,

faintly aware most of the other guests had left. Hannah and Mimi were

huddled inside the cluster of their father and mother. Her heart

squeezed with envy. Sometimes she felt closer to her uncle Wiley than

her own father. She searched for her sister to say goodbye, but Suzanne

had apparently left to hit some of the after-Christmas sales with the twins.

Seconds later she managed to find her trusted clunker station wagon at

the foot of the long, winding

drive, where she’d parked between two trees. Thomas’s silver Porsche

convertible was parked across the drive, her father’s Suburban several

yards away by some pines. She watched as Thomas slid the hope chest into

the back, her breath catching at the sight of his dark hair falling over

his eyes.

“There you go.” He raked the lock of hair back in a gesture so manly

that she had to swallow.

“Thanks.” She wanted to say more but her tongue caught on her teeth.

A smile curved his mouth, the wind tousling the lock of hair into

disarray again, making him even more sexy. “Are you in a hurry? We could

grab some coffee and talk.”

Talk?

No, talk was impossible. Her tongue was superglued to her teeth now.

She shook her head. “I…have-” she paused and cleared her throat “-have

to hurry home.”

He jammed his hands in his pockets and studied her as she darted past

him and into the car. “Are you sure? Rebecca…”

She ignored the fact that he followed her to the driver’s side and waved

him off. “Thanks again.” Rebecca’s hands shook as she shoved the keys

into the ignition, her mind tumbling with questions. Had Thomas really

asked her out?

And if so, why?

It didn’t matter. She was a flirting failure and a disaster at the sex

talk most women seemed so comfortable with these days. A real dinosaur

at relationships.

She pressed the clutch, turned the key and sighed

as the engine roared to life. Putting it into reverse, she rolled

backward. Then she glanced in her rearview window and saw Thomas jump aside.

Dear God, she’d almost hit him.

He threw up a hand and waved anyway, and she panicked and pressed the

gas again. But she’d forgotten to shift into drive and the car shot

backward again. Gravel spun out sideways, the ground flew by under her,

then her car lurched to a stop, metal crunching and glass shattering.

Her neck jerked back, then sideways, then snapped forward. Her forehead

and chest slammed against the steering wheel. The horn blared. She

squeezed the steering wheel with white-knuckled hands. Breathing in

slowly, she lifted her head and looked over her shoulder to survey the

damage. Her heart clamored to a stop. The top of the hope chest had

fallen over, the contents spilling out. She peeked beyond, cringing.

She had just smashed into Thomas’s brand-new convertible. It looked like

a broken pretzel.

The sound of metal crunching and glass breaking rang in Thomas’s ears as

he ran toward Rebecca’s car. But his heart pounded with worry. What if

Rebecca was hurt?

He wrenched open the door, his pulse hammering at the sight of her

trembling body. Her head was thrown forward, her hands clenching the

steering wheel, her face shadowed by strands of hair that had fallen

forward. Worse, her body was so still it seemed lifeless.

Had she hit her head?

“Rebecca?” He hesitated, knowing he couldn’t move her; she might be

seriously injured. But he had to know if she was conscious. He pressed

two fingers to her neck to feel for a pulse. She trembled beneath his

touch, a shiver rippling through her.

A low cry tore from her throat as she turned tear-stained eyes to him.

“I’m so-o-o sorry.”

Relief surged through him. A red lump protruded on her forehead, and her

glasses hung askew, but, thank God, she was okay.

“Are you hurt?” He waited, his heart pounding when she simply stared at

him with glazed eyes.

“Rebecca, please answer me. Where are you hurt?” He quickly surveyed her

with his eyes to check for blood or protruding bones, but didn’t spot

any major injuries. She hadn’t been wearing her seat belt though. Not a

good sign. “Rebecca-“

“I’m such an idiot.”

He eased her back to rest against the seat, gently removed her glasses,

then, with a finger below her eyes, checked her pupils. “Did you hit

your head hard?”

She shook her head, her wide-eyed gaze full of shock.

“You weren’t wearing your seat belt?”

She glanced down in a daze. “Was…going to.”

“Your ribs? Did you hit the steering wheel?”