The Hostage Bride (16 page)

“Don’t worry. I’ll find her,” Bick promised
without knowing whether he could fulfill it or not. “We’ll come as soon as we can.”

Hanging up the phone, he began swearing. She had to be delivering some of that damned typing, he reasoned. And he had absolutely no idea who she typed for or where she might be. The only certainty was that she would return to the house. So that’s where he would go.

When he arrived, Tamara hadn’t returned. He called Sadie in case Tamara showed up there and left word where he was. He made a half dozen futile calls and began pacing the floor. Freyda hadn’t been able to offer anything beyond the fact that she thought Tamara had gone to her mother’s.

It was the longest half hour he had ever spent before he heard the front door open. Bick was in the foyer before it closed. The waiting, not knowing where Tamara was, had worn his temper thin.

“Where have you been?” he barked out the demand, startling the smile from her face. “I have been trying to find you for an hour! The next time you are going to let people know where you are going. And you are doing no more typing! That’s it. This finishes it!”

“I will do what I please,” she murmured stiffly, and started to walk past him.

It hit Bick that he had to break the news to her about her mother. “Tamara, wait.” His voice was quieter, gentler. There was wary confusion in her look, an inability to adjust to his abrupt change in attitude. “Sadie called me at the office. She wants us to come.”

Tamara made no sound, but she went white as a sheet. Bick thought she was going to faint and was instantly at her side, putting an arm around her hunched shoulders, murmuring over and over again that he was sorry. But she gathered herself together, although she accepted the support of his arm as he walked her to the car.

When they arrived at the house, Tamara went immediately to her mother’s bedside. The woman was conscious but not very lucid. Sadie was trying to keep a professional front, but there were tears in her eyes. The doctor came over to confer with Bick.

“Is there nothing that can be done?” He guessed the doctor’s answer even before he asked the question, his gaze riveted on Tamara.

“Nothing that would reverse the course of her condition. And Mrs. James left written instructions that her life not be artificially maintained.” On that, the doctor lifted his shoulders in an expressive shrug. “I understand there is coffee in the kitchen. I’m going to have a cup. Would you care to join me?”

“No.” Bick shook his head. He wanted to be here with Tamara.

It was a somber scene. The minutes ticked by slowly, every second lingering. When Tamara glanced at him over her shoulder, he automatically took a step toward her. He felt her stress, the unbearable pain and tension, as keenly as if it were his own.

“Mother … wants to speak to you,” she told him, and moved away from the bed so he could take her place.

After casting an anxious eye over Tamara, Bick walked to the bed. “I’m here, Mother James.”

She said something, but her voice was so weak, it was barely a whisper. He had to bend close to hear her. Even then he only caught snatches of sentences.

“… no insurance. I cashed in the policy … worried so much. I wanted her … the money when she needed it … didn’t tell … inheritance. Maybe … needs more … after I’m gone. Thought I was … right. Explain to her.”

Bick could fill in the parts he missed, enough to understand that Mrs. James was confirming Tamara’s story. Frustration seized him that he hadn’t asked her before, but he knew why he hadn’t. They could have collaborated.

“Did Tamara ask you to tell me this?” His question was very low and very sharp. “Was this her idea?” He hated himself for asking, but he had to know.

Between her slurring voice and the weakness of its volume, he lost the first part of her words. Her eyes were closed and Bick couldn’t tell if she had actually heard his question. He caught a word—
babies
—or had she said “my baby,” referring to Tamara.

“She said you didn’t …” Bick didn’t hear the rest of the sentence. He could only surmise that the last of it might have been “believe her—she said you didn’t believe her.” He glanced up as Sadie moved to the other side of the bed.

“Sh … She’s unconscious now,” the nurse murmured.

The statement brought a gasp from Tamara. She hurried to the bed and Bick stepped aside. His mouth was tight and grim as Tamara grasped her mother’s hand tightly, as if holding on.

“Mama, can you hear me?” Her voice wavered, but it was otherwise calm. “Mama?” There was no response. “Mama, I’m going to have a baby. The doctor told me today. Mama?”

Stunned, Bick couldn’t immediately register her words. Part of him wasn’t even sure he had understood her correctly. It solved the mystery of where Tamara had been that day.

“I think she heard you,” Sadie murmured. “She … tried to smile.”

Then the doctor was in the room, nodding silently to Bick in a signal to escort Tamara away from the bed. She resisted the touch of his hands for only a second, then walked with him to the foot of the bed. Standing behind her, he kept a hand on her waist. He could feel she was stiff, braced for these next moments to come. Gently, he eased her back until her shoulders were resting against his chest. His hand slid to the front of her stomach to hold her there. A tingling awe splintered through him at the life that was beneath his hand. There was a slight exploring of his fingers as if he expected to feel movement or a heartbeat—some confirmation of their baby.

“Is it true? What you said about the baby?” Bick murmured near her ear.

Her hand moved to cover his hand pressed
gently to her flat stomach. “Yes,” she nodded. He felt her relax slightly in his arms.

Unable to draw the waistband closed on the pair of slacks, Tamara took them off and looked for a pair with an elastic waistband. She found a blue pair and pulled them on. They were a little tight but at least they went around her, which was more than the majority of her clothes did.

Turning sideways, she studied her silhouette in the mirror. There was a bulging roundness to her stomach that went with her thickening waist. Her breasts were becoming fuller. She was definitely beginning to show that she was with child.

What with the funeral and sorting through her mother’s personal possessions and making decisions about the rest and a little natural grieving, Tamara hadn’t had much time this past month to adjust to this change within her. Nor was she altogether sure how Bick felt about it.

Naturally she had discussed it with him to some degree—assured him that the doctor said she was perfectly healthy, the baby was due in February—things like that. But whether he wanted it as much as she did was something Tamara didn’t know. He seemed happy about it, concerned about her, sometimes treating her like a piece of delicate porcelain.

If he wasn’t overly jubilant, Tamara preferred to think it was out of respect for her mourning. He had been her rock through it all. His arms had consoled her grief and his kisses had given her back the joy in living. When she didn’t cry,
Bick hadn’t suggested she should. When she did cry, he didn’t tell her to stop.

A smile touched her mouth as she remembered what a gentle but very passionate lover he could be. Turning from the mirror, Tamara stopped when she saw Bick had come in from the bathroom. There was every indication that he had been watching her for some time.

“I’m putting on weight,” she said to explain why she was looking at herself in the mirror.

“Yes, you are.” He moved forward and she reached to put on her blouse. One arm was in the sleeve when his hands circled her from behind to cross and hold a breast. “And in all the right places for a pregnant lady,” he murmured against her hair.

“I should hope so,” she laughed, and pushed out of his arms to finish putting on her blouse.

“Why did you get pregnant? I never have asked.”

“What kind of a question is that?” She laughed again, sending him an amused glance as she buttoned her blouse. Despite the half-smile on his mouth, she could see he was serious. And she no longer felt amused. “Why am I the one who did it? What about you and your virility? You had a part in this, too.” She walked to her dresser and picked up the hairbrush.

“I am aware of that,” he said dryly.

“If you are aware of it, then why didn’t you do something to prevent it?” she challenged. “Why was it my responsibility?”

“I never said it was yours,” Bick corrected, coming to stand behind her. “I was merely wondering what made you decide you wanted to have a baby.” He let a handful of her hair slide through his fingers and watched the rippling, silver-gold affect the light made on it. “Did you hope a child would tie you to me forever? Or were you making sure I would have reason to provide for you the rest of your life in the event of a divorce?”

Stung by his questions, Tamara whirled around to challenge him with a defiant look. “Pick whichever one you want. Either reason will do! Naturally it would never occur to you that I might want the baby for the same reason that any other woman wants to have one. That would be much too simple!” She was fighting tears by the time she had finished and attempted to turn away.

Bick caught her shoulders. “I shouldn’t have asked those questions. I don’t know why I did.” He gathered her close and she could almost feel the violent war raging within him.

“No, you shouldn’t have,” she agreed, and relaxed slightly, because she knew that part of him meant it.

“I’ll tell you what we will do. Today is Saturday. Why don’t we go shopping for some baby things, furnish the nursery? Would you like that?”

Tamara agreed because she knew it was an attempt to make up for the hurt he’d caused. She forgave him, but she knew she would never be
able to forget what he’d said. After all this time, he still didn’t believe in her. For a hopeless moment she wondered if he ever would.

The chair was sitting sideways to the library desk. It was the only way Tamara could sit in it and write on the desktop. She crossed off another name on the Christmas card list and reached for the next envelope to address. She tossed a quick glance to the window, but it was dark outside, turning the windowpanes into mirrors.

A shadow fell into the room from the hallway an instant before Bick said, “So this is where you are hiding.”

“I was just about to decide you were going to be late.” She set the stack of cards aside for a later time.

“I had a stop to make on the way home. Come on.” He held out his hand to her. “I have a surprise for you.”

Taking her by the hand, he led her to the master bedroom, where a gift-wrapped package sat on the bed. “What is it?” she asked.

“Open it and find out.”

After untying the bow, she stripped away the foil paper to reveal a box. When she lifted the lid, she saw a cranberry-colored maternity dress resting in folds of tissue.

“It’s beautiful,” Tamara declared as she lifted it out of the box.

“With all the holiday entertaining we will be obligated to do, I thought you might need it,” Bick explained. “Try it on.”

Tamara needed no second urging. Bick had to fasten the hook at the back of the neckline. Then she stepped in front of the mirror. A network of hand-sewn cranberry beads formed the empire waistline and scrolled a border for the jewel neckline. It was softly draping and elegantly simple.

“How does it fit?” Bick asked.

“Like it was made for me. How did you manage it?” she murmured.

“I walked into a shop and told the saleslady I wanted a dress so wide”—he held his hands apart to indicate narrow shoulders—“and so big.” He stretched his arms much farther apart to indicate the size of her stomach.

“Thanks a lot, but I’m not that big,” she insisted in self-defense. Lifting her hair aside, she offered her back to him. “Unfasten the hook. I’d better take it off before I mess it up.”

“No. Leave it on. I’m taking you out to dinner tonight,” he stated, and lightly kissed the curve of her neck.

“You are?” Tamara turned in surprise.

“Yes. I thought we’d go to the Plaza, see the Christmas lights, and have dinner at a restaurant there. How does that sound?” Bick smiled lazily.

“Wonderful,” she agreed. “Let me change shoes.”

The Plaza was unique—the first shopping center in the United States, built in the early 1900s in the ornate Spanish style and heavily influenced by Moorish style. During the holiday season it became a fairyland, with its towers
and domes and scalloped cornices outlined with bright lights. Strings of lights followed the streets and wound around the fountains. The store windows of the many shops glittered with lights and Christmas decorations. Tamara had a clear view of it all from a window seat in a restaurant atop one of the Plaza hotels. It was breathtaking.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Bick offered his opinion.

“Very.” She turned from the view to look across the table at her husband of eight months, a man who still hadn’t told her those three simple words—“I love you.” “You never did explain what I owe all this to. This dress … dinner …”

“I have to fly to Palm Springs on Monday,” he admitted.

“For how long?” She twirled her water glass and took a sip, pretending she didn’t mind.

“I should be back Thursday, maybe Wednesday. It’s a business meeting.” Bick sipped from a glass of wine.

“Of course.” And she did believe him.

“It was scheduled for January, but I had it changed,” he added. “That’s too close to when the baby’s due.”

“The doctor said everything’s going perfectly.”

She changed the subject to rid her mind of its vision of Bick strolling by a California pool with beautiful bikini-clad girls parading for him. It made her too self-conscious about her own swollen figure.

The conversation between them was vaguely stilted, as if each were trying to guard what was
said. They tried to keep to safe, noncontroversial topics.

Halfway through the meal, Bick murmured very softly, “Well, well.” Tamara glanced up to see he was rising to greet someone. “Hello, Frank. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I could say the same for you, Bick.” A polished, crisp young man shook hands with Bick. He seemed to have stepped out of an advertisement for the ideal, rising young executive with his gold-rimmed glasses and three-piece suit. “I must not have seen you when you came in or I would have asked you to join us. My wife and I are with another couple sitting at a table across the way.”