Love Letters, Inc. (15 page)

Kent's gaze followed Mike's hand just in time to see his sister Jayne's boy, Zach, stumble, break a glass, knock over a plant, rip his pants, and smear vanilla ice cream on his Uncle Joe's black slacks in one non-stop motion.

"Not a clue." He grinned at the Zach debacle. "But she will before the day's over."

* * *

Rosie pulled her Geo into the last parking spot in the lot. She glanced around. Whatever was going on at Beachline must be big. The place was jammed. She grabbed her tote and eased herself out of the car. She was the tiniest bit sore, enough to remind her of the night before and the early morning hours she'd spent with Kent. She guessed that's what happened when you'd been out of the mating game as long as she had. Well, she'd come back with a vengeance last night. She tried not to grin, and wondered if her satisfaction would show on her face like a trowel load of too much makeup. She swung her bag over her shoulder and headed across the parking lot for Beachline's glass and brass front doors.

Mating game.

The words made her spirits droop like week-old tulips. The singles dance thing was tonight. She didn't want to attend. She wanted to go back to bed with Kent. But that wasn't going to happen. She and Lady Brain had agreed on that this morning. One hot night did not a family man make. Kent Summerton was no more marriage material this morning—or less work obsessed—than he had been yesterday. Less, in her mind.

She hadn't missed that his whispered allusions to "a chance for them," and his lust-filled offer to "make her dream his," were conspicuously absent after lovemaking. She'd forgotten. She called it lovemaking. He simply called it sex.

Okay, she wasn't surprised, but it did hurt. Which was, as usual, her own darn fault.

Rosie O'Hanlon had always been too quick to believe, to trust, to go with the flow. Until now. She knew what she wanted, and she intended to get it. An old-fashioned guy who'd put family time before overtime. And she would not waste her ovaries' productive years converting a man from scheduler worship to baby love. If he refused to see it was more worthwhile to produce good kids than a balanced budget, so be it.

Rosie swung open the doors of Beachline with gusto and headed straight for accounting. She was on a mission. She would make sure she heard every voice in the place today, identify Gardenia, and head back to Borneo.

What was wrong with the world anyway? she groused to herself, striding down the hall. What was so crazy about wanting to have more than the statistically-correct number of kids and be a dedicated, full-time mom? Maybe she was out of step with the times, but she couldn't be the only one. There must be a man out there somewhere who wanted what she wanted. Believed what she believed, that nothing—absolutely nothing—came before family. Kids mattered, damn it. They mattered more than anything! Why couldn't Summerton see that? She'd pegged him right from the get-go. Nothing but a suit in hunk's clothing. Sheesh! She gave the door to accounting a major thwack and marched in. Or was about to.

"Rosie." It was Kent.

She stopped mid-doorway and nearly choked on her own breath. The last time she'd seen Kent, about five hours ago, he was naked as sin, and so was she. They were in her shower and she'd dropped the shampoo bottle on his toe. When she got on her knees to retrieve it, she'd... well, she'd got kind of carried away, and done something she'd never done before. Not that Kent had complained...

Praying for a potent shot of post-coital sophistication, she turned. Obviously God was busy giving some football player another touchdown, because her face immediately heated to a full boil. Her tote caught on the door handle, and the strap broke, spilling pens, combs, brushes, Juicy Fruit gum, and miscellaneous feminine hygiene products onto the lushly carpeted hall.

Kent's polished shoe crushed a tampon.

He bent down, picked it up, and handed it to her as if it were a buck and she a street urchin.

She knew her face couldn't get any redder, so she just mumbled, "Thanks" and stuffed it in her one-strap bag. She wanted to stuff her head in there too, but she forced her chin up and looked at him.

"You came," he said, looking entirely too pleased with himself. He reached out a hand.

Certain he was going to touch her hair, she stepped back. "Gardenia, remember? Today's the day. I thought I'd start in accounting because that's where I spent the most time when I was here last."

He dropped his hand. "Good idea. But you must be hungry. How about lunch first? It's a beautiful day. We can eat on the patio. You can do some listening and eat at the same time."

"I don't feel like eating."
Unless it's you.
Oh, lord, Hormone was back. Rosie was in trouble.

"Well, I do, and I have something I want you to see." He offered his hand again. When she ignored it, he stepped up beside her and leaned to talk quietly in her ear. "Last night, you were nervous. Today, you're embarrassed." He kissed her ear so lightly she thought she imagined it. "Believe me, Red, you have nothing to be embarrassed about. You were magnificent." He tugged on her elbow.

Rosie went along. A girl had to eat.

Chapter 10

The no-good, low-down sneak.

Rosie stopped in her tracks and took a good look around to be absolutely sure. She felt his hand on the small of her back, but refused to be prodded forward.

The patio, warmed by sunshine and shaded by forest green canvas, overflowed with people and everybody was talking to somebody. Above the conversation, laughter poked the air like careless punctuation.

"This is your family barbecue," she announced, as if the arrogant so-and-so didn't know it. Then it hit her. She scanned the happy crowd. So many people.

"This is your family barbecue?" she repeated, slightly awed. "There must be over a hundred people here."

"Yes, it is, and yes, there are." His lips curved, but he had the grace—or brains—not to look too sure of himself.

"I think I'm mad. Or should be. Didn't I tell you I wouldn't come?"

"You did, but I wanted you to meet them."

"All of them?" She swallowed. So much family. Nobody had this much family. She couldn't take her eyes off them.

"As many as you can take." He dipped his chin, lifted hers. "Are you really mad?"

"Yes. No. I don't know. You never told me you had a family big enough to fund their own dental plan."

"You never asked."

He was right. She hadn't. She'd assumed he'd been seeded in a test tube and raised in the nearest faculty of business. She had a way of assuming things. She took another look around and spotted a small dark-haired boy sticking his fingers into a large bowl of red gelatin. Kent's gaze followed hers.

"That's Zach," Kent said. "One of my sister's kids."

"How many do you have? Brothers and sisters, I mean?" She was openmouthed with curiosity.

"Four brothers; Mike, Paul, Joe, and Ben, and five sisters; Marianne, Willa, Jayne, Tina, and Anne Marie."

"Wow." She was stunned and awed. There had always only been her mom and herself. She couldn't imagine growing up in a family like Kent's. But, oh, how she'd have loved it. Her soul glowed at the thought.

"Yeah. Wow." Ken said, his expression bland. "And now they all have kids of their own. Lots and lots of kids."

At that moment, Kent was ambushed by two identical little girls who bounded up and wrapped their arms around his legs. From this vantage point, they both smiled impishly at Rosie. Kent swung one of them up and into his arms. "This is... Emma?" he guessed, tilting hits head theatrically as if to get a good look "No, Unken Ken." She giggled and punched his shoulder. "Mine Jane."

"I knew that."

"No!" She punched him again.

"Up, too. Lift me," the other girl, who Rosie assumed must be Emma, begged. "Peese."

Rosie squatted down and smiled at the girl. "Uncle Kent's got his hands full right now. How about if I lift you?"

Emma tightened her grip on Kent's leg and assessed the new person who'd just entered her fledgling universe. Rosie wondered what judgments she was making.

"I'll take you over there—" she bribed shamelessly, pointing to the red gelatin "—and you can stick your finger in the Jell-O."

"Zach do?" Emma's eyes saucered.

"Uh—huh, except we'll get our very own bowl for our very own fingers." She offered her hand, and when Emma grasped it in her small one, the warm balloon in Rosie's heart came near to bursting. She looked up to see Kent smiling at her, Jane's arms so tight around his neck she wondered how he drew breath.

He ruffled Jane's wispy hair, and offered Rosie his hand. As the four of them made their way to the red Jell-O, Rosie let hope take root. Kent had snookered her into being here today, so he had to have had his reasons. Maybe there was a chance for them, and maybe this was his way of telling her that. Or maybe, as usual, she was putting wishes where her priorities should be.

* * *

Nine o'clock. Kent took up a position at the entrance. The family was in the process of leaving. The path to the parking lot looked like an evacuation march, and the Beachline staff had the wan smiles and lethargic gestures of hurricane survivors. As for the forty-odd kids, a quarter of them were taking the over-tired whine to new heights on the sound meter, a quarter of them were sleeping in the arms of their weary parents, while the last half was equally divided between the demanding "can-we-go-nows?" and the protesting "don't-want-to-gos!" With everyone saying good-bye at once, there was nothing to do but hug, smile and shake hands.

Kent was tired to the bone. Not to mention frustrated and disappointed.

He'd lost connection with Rosie within fifteen minutes of the Jell-O bowl adventure, and hadn't managed to get within fifteen feet of her since. The day hadn't gone as he'd planned.

The idea was to make sure Rosie had a clear picture of the trials and difficulties of raising a big family. He'd planned to steer her toward the day's hot spots. Like Zach's collision with the punch table. That was a beaut. Kent grinned in spite of himself. One good yank on the linen tablecloth and that punch was airborne. Zach had swiftly consigned cut glass bowl, cups, and about a hundred or so dessert plates to plastic-bag ignominy and the kitchen glassware budget to a pond of red ink.

Rosie was nowhere to be found at the time.

She'd also missed Corey spewing chocolate milk onto the front of Jane and Emma's "very best" dresses in his attempt to make brown bubbles.

They'd been changed and had stopped wailing by the time Rosie got back from the putting green with Paul's three teenagers.

If he were a suspicious man he'd be thinking conspiracy, any of the fates, or his mother. Every time he got within talking distance of Rosie, she—or Jayne—had spirited her away, as if on cue.

He felt the warm pressure of a kiss on his cheek. His mother. "I've got to hurry, dear, your father's already in the car. I just wanted to say thank you. The day was wonderful." She hugged him hard. "And just think, considering the size of the family, it will be
forever
before it's your turn to host again."

"It was fun," he said.

She lifted a brow that said,
"Don't kid a kidder, kid."

"I mean it." And he did, which surprised him, because he'd been dreading the damn barbecue for weeks.

"I'm glad. We'll see you tomorrow, then, around eleven?"

"Uh-huh. If the weather holds, we'll eat on the east terrace." While most of the extended family headed home after the barbecue, it was traditional for Kent's immediate family to meet for a quiet brunch the following morning. If you could call any meal taken with Zach and Corey quiet.

His mother turned away, then turned back, a gleam in her maternal eye. "And Kent, I want to be the first to know about your and Rosie's marriage plans. You can't start too soon for these things."

He opened his mouth to protest, then stopped and grinned. "Mom, you're astounding."

"I know." She pecked him on the check again. "So is Rosie, Kent. Don't you let that woman get away."

* * *

Kent found "that woman" sitting alone on the far edge of the now deserted patio. She had her arms crossed on the table and was resting her head on them.

She was crying.

Alarmed, he knelt beside her chair. He knew the day would be strenuous for her, but he hadn't expected this. "What's wrong, sweetheart?" He caressed her tangle of hair, and, as always, was entranced by the vibrancy and life in it, the way it crinkled around his fingers, bright and springy.

Rosie lifted her head and sniffed. Her eyes were smudged brown from running mascara, and her
nose
was pink. "Oh, Kent, I've never had such a day. The kids. All the kids. They were great, but... but—"

"It's okay. I know. It was probably too much for your first time out." He caressed her neck. "You must be exhausted. I'll take you home. You can get some rest, and we'll discuss the Summerton clan later." He shoved her hair back from her forehead and kissed it softly. She smelled like fresh lime.

She sat up. "I am tired, but Kent your family is wonderful. Your mom, Mike, Jayne... All of them. They made me feel so welcome. It was as if I belong—"