Susan Mallery Fool's Gold Series Volume One: Chasing Perfect\Almost Perfect\Sister of the Bride\Finding Perfect (95 page)

Marsha continued to study her. “Is everything all right?”

“I'm fine.”

The mayor didn't look convinced.

Pia drew in a breath. “Crystal left me her embryos.”

Marsha's face relaxed into a smile. “Did she? I knew someone would get them. You must be very touched, and equally terrified. That's a lot of responsibility.”

“Tell me about it. It's not about owning the embryos. Crystal expects me to have her babies.”

Marsha nodded. “That's a lot to ask of a friend. Are you going to agree?”

“I…” Pia drew in a breath. “I had them implanted two days ago. There were three embryos. They all survived the thawing, which I guess doesn't always happen. We'll know in two weeks if they were able to embed or implant or whatever it's called.”

Marsha looked stunned for a moment, then hugged her. “Good for you. What an amazing thing to do. I'm so proud.”

The words made Pia feel good. “I'm mostly in shock,” she admitted. “Nothing about this is real to me.”

“That will take time.”

“I have nine months.” A number that she couldn't relate to. Knowing the facts about a pregnancy was very different than it actually happening to her. “I guess even now my body could be changing, but I don't feel any different.”

“You will. Especially if you have triplets.”

Pia winced. “Don't say that. I can't comprehend one baby, let alone three. I'm going to have these babies by myself.”

Marsha squeezed her hand. “We'll all be there for you, Pia. You know that, don't you?”

She nodded. “Everything is surreal. I keep going back to the same question. Why would Crystal pick me?”

“Because she loved you and trusted you.”

“I guess.”

The mayor smiled. “I have a personal request.”

“Sure.”

“Can you please have boys?”

Pia laughed. “That part is already determined. Sorry. You should have had the talk with Crystal.”

“I hate being late to anything.” She turned back to the stage where a couple of guys were dragging on two-dimensional cardboard trees. “Dear God, what now?”

* * *

R
AOUL WALKED THROUGH
the main building of the camp. Less than a month ago, the last of the summer campers had headed home, and the cleaning crew had begun the process of winterizing the structures. Now, several hundred kids filled the various rooms, pinning
flyers to walls and driving away the silence with their laughter.

He still had ideas for a year-round camp, but until he could make that happen, using the facility for the temporary elementary school was the right thing to do.

The preliminary meeting on repairing and rebuilding the burned school had been grim at best. The damage was extensive, the funds limited. Realistically, the new elementary school wouldn't be ready for occupancy for nearly two years. Which put his plans on hold for at least that long. His biggest concern was keeping Dakota Hendrix working for him. She was smart and capable. He had a feeling headhunters called her regularly. All he had to offer her was a good salary, work close to her family, running the summer camp and the promise that when they got the camp back she would be in charge of the new program.

The school had contracted her services for a few hours a week. She provided counseling and acted as the liaison between the school and the camp. So far there hadn't been any problems, and while Raoul didn't anticipate trouble, he'd learned it was always best to be prepared.

He glanced at the big clock on the wall. It was a few minutes before noon. Now the hallway was relatively quiet, but in about two minutes the bell would ring and children would explode out of their classrooms and head for the cafeteria.

He knew because he was here most school days. Somehow he'd gotten roped into playing ball with a group of kids during the lunch hour. He didn't mind too much and he was careful not to spend more time with
any one kid. In a group they were great, but he didn't want any of them getting too attached.

He was willing to get involved—to a point. But some distance was a good thing.

When the bell rang, releasing the kids for lunch, doors opened and slammed into the wall. High-pitched voices broke the silence. In a matter of seconds, he found himself surrounded by a dozen or so boys, all clamoring for him to have lunch with them.

He was about to refuse them all—with the promise that he would meet them on the playground after—when he spotted that skinny redheaded kid. Peter, Pia had said his name was.

“You know my friend Pia,” he told the boy.

Peter grinned. “Yeah. We met in the park. She's really cool, you know, for a girl.”

“I'll pass along the compliment.”

“You gonna have lunch with us?” Drew, Peter's friend, asked. “We'll save you a seat and everything.”

Raoul hesitated, then nodded. “Sure. I can do that.” Maybe he would get a chance to talk to Peter and find out if there was any kind of a problem at home.

They headed for the cafeteria and got in line. Raoul grabbed a tray with the rest of the kids, then smiled at the older woman scooping out mac and cheese.

“I won't take any if there's not enough,” he said.

“Oh, we always make extra. Most of the teachers eat here, too,” she said and dumped a portion of the pasta onto a plate.

Green beans followed, along with fruit. He passed on very green pudding, grabbed two cartons of milk in one hand, then had to hold in a grin as the boys with him tried to do the same.

Their hands were too small to pick up both cartons at once, so they settled for one and followed him to a low table by the window.

He stared for a second, not sure he would fit on the bench, then realized all the tables were scaled down. Kid-size, he thought humorously, wondering if he was heavy enough to tip one. He lowered himself carefully, centering his weight on the bench. Things seemed steady enough.

The kids gathered around him, pushing to sit closer, until he was crammed in on the bench seat. He picked up the first carton of milk, opened it, then drained it in three long swallows. When he set the carton back down, every boy at the table was staring.

He wiped his mouth self-consciously. “So, ah, how are you guys liking the new school?”

“It's great,” one boy said. “When it snows, my mom says we're going to have trouble getting up the mountain. Maybe we'll have snow days.”

“Sweet!” another boy crowed.

“Tell us what it was like when you played football,” a third boy pleaded. “My dad says you were the best ever.”

“Tell your dad thanks,” Raoul said with a grin. “I was good, but I'm not sure about being the best. I always tried to do better. That's what defines success.”

“I'd like to play football,” Peter said. “But I'm small.”

“You're not short,” his friend told him. “Just skinny.”

“Don't worry about being small,” Raoul told him. “You'll grow. Now's the time to work on basics. Run
ning, coordination. You can get that from any sport. You can also start learning about the game.”

“I want to play football, too.”

“Me, too!”

Raoul made a note to talk to the principal about starting a spring football program. Nothing too physical—just some practice with kids split into teams. To give them a taste of the possibilities.

“My sister says she wants to play football,” the dark-haired boy sitting next to Raoul said. “I keep tellin' her, girls don't play football. But she's bigger than me and when she gets mad, she hits me.”

A couple of the guys laughed. “Then maybe you should stop saying it,” Raoul suggested.

“I guess. But you could tell her. She'd have to listen to you.”

He held up both hands. “No, thanks. Your sister can do anything she sets her mind to.”

The boy sighed heavily. “That's what Mom says, too, and Dad just keeps quiet.”

A smart man, Raoul thought.

“My parents are divorced,” the boy on Peter's right announced. “I live with them on different weeks. They have houses right across the street from each other.”

“How's that working?” Raoul asked.

“I dunno. It's kind of stupid. If they can live that close, why can't they live together?”

“Marriage can be tough,” Raoul told him. “The important thing is that your parents love you. Do you have anyone to talk to, like an older brother or an aunt or uncle?”

“My uncle Carl is really nice. He listens.”

“Then keep talking to him. Don't let stuff build up inside. That's never good.”

“My parents are divorced, too,” another boy said.

“I have five sisters,” the kid on the end said. Most of the boys at the table groaned.

“That's a lot of girls,” Raoul told him. “Are you the youngest?”

“No. I'm in the middle. They're everywhere. My dad built me a tree house so I'd have my own man cave.”

“Good for you.”

During the conversation, Raoul had been watching Peter. The boy finished his lunch without saying much. Just when Raoul was about to suggest they head to the playground, Peter spoke.

“My parents are dead,” he said, staring at his plate. “They died in a car crash two years ago.”

“I'm sorry,” Raoul told him.

Peter shrugged. “It was bad, but stuff like that happens.”

Peter's friend Drew leaned toward Raoul. “He was in the car when it happened. He was there when they died.”

Raoul swore silently. What a nightmare for the kid. He had no idea what to say.

Peter looked at him. “You really think I'll get big enough to play football in high school?”

“I really do. In fact, let's go practice some drills right now.”

Peter's sad face slowly transformed into a smile. “Yeah?”

“Come on. It'll be fun.”

The boys all stood and grabbed their trays. After dumping them on the counter by the kitchen, they ran
for the door leading outside. Peter walked more slowly than the rest.

Raoul caught up with him. “I'm sorry about your folks,” he said. “I never knew my dad. I lost my mom when I was a little older than you. It's hard.”

Peter nodded without speaking.

Raoul wanted to give him a hug, but he knew there was a firm “no touching” policy at the school. Not knowing what else to do, he vowed to pay attention to the kid whenever he was around, then asked, “Want to learn how to throw farther than everyone else?”

“You can teach me that?” Peter asked eagerly.

“You bet.”

“All right!” The boy laughed and ran toward his friends.

Maybe, for today, it was enough.

* * *

“Y
OU SHOULD HAVE BEEN
more clear about the food,” Pia said as she scooped kung pao chicken onto her plate, then licked her finger where a little sauce had dribbled.

Raoul sat across from her at the small table in his kitchen. “Because then you would have jumped right on the pregnancy-buddy wagon?”

“Absolutely. I know it's not sophisticated or elegant, but offer me a snack and I'm practically your slave.”

“Good to know.”

Humor danced in his dark eyes. Humor that made her want to smile. Of course looking at his face, or any other part of him, made her want to do other things, too. Like ask him to get naked. Or let her get naked. Or touch her. Although she really appreciated the theory
of “one last fling,” making love with Raoul had left her hungry for more.

Even if he hadn't been very explicit on the temporary nature of their relationship, she couldn't have asked for a replay. Not with the embryos hanging on by a thread…or whatever it was they hung on by. Maybe in a few weeks, when the doctor said everything was normal, she could consider doing the wild thing. But until then, she was only thinking pure and maternal thoughts.

“This may be my last Chinese for the duration,” she said, scooping up a mouthful of fried rice on her fork. “I've been reading one of those pregnancy books and I have to watch my salt intake. I also have to give up alcohol, caffeine, over-the-counter medicines and in six or seven months, my ankles. Babies are really demanding.”

He grinned. “Don't they also say it's worth it?”

“Sure, but that's a whole lot easier to write than live. And that's for later. Right now I'm living in month one of being pregnant. Assuming I am.”

“Any symptoms?”

“Just the voices.”

He grinned.

She picked up an egg roll. “Nothing, really. They say some women can tell the second they conceive, but I guess I'm not that sensitive. Probably a good thing. I have a feeling I'm going to make myself crazy worrying as it is.”

She glanced around at the modest house. The kitchen had been updated with new appliances and countertops, but nothing about the space especially screamed “famous sport celebrity abode.”

“What was your place like in Dallas?” she asked.

“Big.”

“Two bedrooms? Five?”

“Three stories and some rooms I never saw.” He shrugged. “It was more an investment property.”

She tried to remember what else she'd read about him. “Did you move to Los Angeles a while ago?”

He nodded. “About a year after I got married. When we split up, I moved back to Dallas but never settled. Then I retired and here I am.”

She wondered about the ex-Mrs. Moreno but wasn't sure she was comfortable asking questions. From what she could see, Raoul was annoyingly close to perfect. Why would any woman let him go?

Maybe it hadn't been her choice. Maybe he'd dumped her.

“Are you going to buy a house in town?” she asked.

“I've been looking around,” he admitted. “There's no hurry. This place works fine.”

“You're renting from Josh, right?”

Raoul grinned. “He seems to own a lot of the town.”