Wedding Series Boxed Set (3 Books in 1) (The Wedding Series) (19 page)

Paul sighed gustily enough that Bette thought she could feel his breath stir her hair. She glared at him, but he ignored it, telling his sister with some disgust, "All right, you can stay here and use the computer. I guess we're going to be leaving soon."

Judi's face lit with the smile that was so like Paul's. "Thanks. That's great. It's a killer paper, so this will really help." She widened her eyes in a soulful look. "In fact, I'll probably be here well into the night, so -"

"Don't you have a date tonight?" Paul interrupted sternly.

"Nope. This paper's really important, so I decided to work all weekend on it. I won't even go back to the dorm for dinner, so -"

"No. Absolutely not." Paul was adamant.

"No, what?" Bette asked, confused.

"This human vacuum cleaner in the guise of my sister intends to sit around my apartment eating all day, and then she was going to try to wheedle us into bringing back some dinner tonight," he explained, all the while frowning at Judi, who appeared not a bit abashed.

Even if his comments to Michael and Grady hadn't forewarned Bette, she would have known that this fencing between brother and sister was some sort of sibling routine. She and Ronald had had enough of their own verbal tugs-of-war for her to spot the similarity.

"How many meals did you get out of Michael while he was in the area this week?"

"Two. But I just thought tonight maybe a pizza or some Chinese, if you had a chance -"

"No."

"That doesn't seem so unreasonable, Paul," objected Bette. "Remember how it was when you were in school and you had to eat the horrible cafeteria stuff and there was never enough money to buy real food? It hasn't been so long ago that you've forgotten, has it?"

The sound she heard might have been him grinding his teeth, but Judi's look was radiant. Feeling like a successful conspirator, she flashed the young woman a grin before turning an innocent face to Paul. He wasn't fooled.

"All right, you two. All right. You make it sound as if I'm a hundred-and-seventy-year-old miser," he said with mock grouchiness. Bette had to admire his performance, though his eyes gave him away. "I know I can't win when the two of you gang up on me. Women!"

He lounged back into the bedroom, grumbling about women and being eaten out of house and home.

"C'mon," Judi invited Bette. "Let's see what he's got to eat."

Bette wasn't hungry after the elaborate room service breakfast Paul had ordered, but she couldn't resist Judi's grin. Soon Judi was perched on the counter eating graham crackers and Bette was leaning against the refrigerator with a soft drink, listening to the younger woman's account of her recent dating travails.

Despite the somber note of the tale, Bette found herself wanting to smile.

She'd missed this, the exchanging of confidences between women. She'd lost touch with so many of her friends because of the demands of school and then her business. Even with Darla, most of the conversation and confidences centered around business.

It was refreshing to talk about something else. For a moment she even had the uncharacteristic urge to start exchanging opinions on clothes or hair.

"This is nice," Judi said with a satisfied sigh, as if her mind had been running along the same lines. "It's hard to talk to most of my friends because we all hang out in the same group and you never know when one of them is going to turn around and start dating some guy you've been talking about. I've always wished I had a sister."

"Me, too," Bette admitted with a smile. "Although I've got a pretty good brother."

"Oh, I do, too," said Judi, leaving no doubt she meant it. "He puts on a big front, but he's a marshmallow underneath. He and his friends - Have you met Michael and Grady? Yes? They were great to me growing up. It was like having three older brothers. But sometimes you just don't want to be 'one of the guys.' It might have been different if Tris had been around more, even though she's seven years older. But her family moved away when I was about seven, and when she came back for college the three guys were always around, too, so that meant no girl talk. Sometimes I thought I'd go nuts if I heard one more word about sports." She sighed gustily. "You're lucky you met Paul in October."

"Am I?"

"Yeah, the baseball season's over - at least for the Cubs - otherwise he'd have you out at Wrigley Field every day. You do know that about him, don't you? He's a baseball fanatic."

"He seems to come by it honestly, since your father loves the game so much."

Judi looked at her a little strangely. "Yeah, Dad likes baseball, too, but . . ." Bette saw the moment Judi decided to trust her. "But I think Walter Mulholland hating it might have more to do with Paul's feelings."

"Walter Mulholland? Your grandfather?"

How strange, and how cold-sounding to refer to your grandfather that way. Paul had done the same thing that night at Mama Artemis's.

"Yeah. Mom's father. Hard to believe they were related. He didn't pay much attention to me, since I was just a kid - I was only ten when he died - and a girl on top of it. But he and Paul . . ." She grimaced. "I can remember them going round and round. Walter Mulholland storming and laying down the law, and Paul standing there, not saying much except an occasional
no
."

She shifted position as though the counter had grown harder.

"I remember sitting on the steps, listening to Walter shouting at Paul that he would do what he was supposed to or he would no longer be a member of the family. I must have been about six, and I thought he really could make it so Paul wasn't my brother. I was sitting there crying when Paul found me. He took me up and tucked me into bed, and he told me that nothing could make him not be my brother anymore - unless I broke another of his clipper ship models."

Judi's chuckle sounded as if it had slipped past a lump in her throat. "He said Walter wanted to plot out his life, and he wasn't going to let that happen. He said he'd be damned if he'd go to Walter Mulholland's Ivy League alma mater. And if the old man wanted to disinherit him for that, fine."

"But your parents . . ." The sentence trailed off because Bette didn't know how to finish it. She ached for the young Paul, yet her relationship with her own grandfather had been so warm and loving, how could she understand this?

"They pretty much stayed out of it. They stood their ground sometimes - like refusing to send Paul to military school - but Dad especially never understood why Paul said no to all those things. Ivy League schools and law school, joining the firm, making lots of money and buying a big house. He still doesn't understand. He was awfully poor growing up, and I guess that's the life he'd dreamed of, so he thought for sure Paul would want it, too. Does that make sense?"

Bette wasn't sure.

"Hey, are you ready?" Paul's voice, a bit muffled, came from the living room.

When they came out of the kitchen, they saw the cause: a stack of clothing that loaded his arms down to below waist level and reached as high as his nose.

Bette met Judi's sparkling eyes and they both broke up, perhaps partly as a release from the serious turn of their conversation. If they'd started to form a bond during the talk in the kitchen, the shared laughter now strengthened it.

"All right, you two, quit giggling and somebody open the door. Before I drop this stuff." He raised his eyebrows over the top of the stack in a way that brought on renewed laughter from the two women. "You know, Judi, the sooner we leave, the sooner we can come back with some dinner."

Judi promptly opened the door with exaggerated solicitude, declaring solemnly, "Never let it be said I was immune to bribery."

All the way down the stairs, they could hear the echo of her chuckles. When a small sound escaped Bette, Paul muttered, "Traitor" and glared over the top of the pile. But she wasn't fooled, and the clothing didn't muffle all of his laughter.

"HEY, I LIKE
this one," Paul said as he pulled up to the curb in front of a Dutch Colonial. The front lawn sported an open-house sign decorated with yellow balloons. "Looks like we saved the best for last."

"Mmm."

He grinned to himself at the small sound Bette made as they headed up the front walk.

Earlier, when she'd talked about having a house-searching schedule, he'd persuaded her to spend the afternoon looking in suburbs strung north along the lake.

Thoughts of why it was important for her to consider living nearer him were pushed away, just as he'd done with last night's questions about what he'd gotten himself into. Instead, he focused on overcoming her arguments about this not being her target area. When he finally resorted to asking what harm it could do and she gave in, he'd wondered if he'd gone crazy to actually instigate spending his Saturday looking at houses.

The surprise came when he enjoyed himself.

With no intentions of ever buying, he'd never considered what he would want in a house. But this afternoon he discovered opinions he'd had no idea he harbored.

Also, he found pleasure in watching Bette at each house, analyzing and weighing. It wasn't his way. But on her it looked good.

As they wandered through the Dutch Colonial's rooms, he felt something expanding in his chest until, standing in the otherwise deserted basement watching Bette frown at the monster-shaped furnace, he pulled her into his arms.

"Paul!" Her small squawk of protest sounded breathless enough to be encouraging.

He lowered his mouth to hers and felt a sunburst of pleasure when she immediately parted her lips in welcome. Backing her up, a slow, kissing step at a time, he pressed her against the smooth surface of the washing machine. She was gripping him, letting him know she wanted more closeness, too. God, how could anything feel so good? Rubbing against her, he marveled how her softness hardened him.

"Paul!" This gasp held enough true urgency that he lifted his head from where he'd been following the open collar of her shirt. "Somebody's coming!"

At her words, the world beyond the two of them returned, and he heard footsteps on the basement stairs. Together they shifted their clothes into order before the people coming down the stairs reached the bottom. Another matter, however, required more time to adjust.

The newcomers nodded a greeting, casting them doubtful looks as they started their survey of the basement. Keeping his back to the room, Paul pretended great interest in the washer and dryer. Hoping it would help, he changed position as if to see behind the appliances.

"I don't know about this venting system," he told Bette, trying to sound knowledgeable.

"Maybe," she started, with a chuckle underlying her words, "it's the coupling that's causing the problem."

He tried to glare, but couldn't hold in the laughter. The other house hunters stayed strictly on the opposite side of the basement before leaving hurriedly.

"C'mon, you troublemaker, let's go upstairs before you get me in real trouble," Paul ordered.

They accomplished the rest of the tour in companionable silence, thanking the real estate agent as they headed out.

"The hardwood floors are great, aren't they?" he said as they reached the car.

"They need refinishing."

"It has a terrific yard."

"The taxes are high and they're scheduled to go up next year in this neighborhood."

"Look at all the big old trees."

"The furnace is awfully old."

"And that screened porch is wonderful. You could put up a hammock in the corner and -"

"I think the roof would need replacing in a couple years."

"You could practically live out there all summer."

"The kitchen is crying out for updating, and the second bathroom shows sign of moisture damage."

"So you didn't like it?" He felt oddly deflated. It wasn't as if he had a stake in this. It wasn't as if it affected him what kind of house she bought. He turned the engine on and pulled away.

"Of course I liked it. It's a charming, warm home. But it's much bigger than I'd need living alone. And looking ahead, there would be a lot of expenses keeping that kind of place up, Paul. Besides, I can't afford a house like that. I couldn't even afford a garage in these neighborhoods. Nobody can."

"Well, somebody's buying in these neighborhoods, because the houses are getting sold."

"Yes, but to two-income families. I'm buying on my own. And with one income, I need to look farther out, and in very specific neighborhoods."

Why did she keep emphasizing that she was buying the house on her own, going to be living in it alone? Wasn't he supposed to show any interest? Was she trying to remind him it was none of his business?

He accelerated from a stop sign with more force than necessary. He just wasn't wild about her moving farther out. It was a long enough trip as it was from his place to hers.

Not that he had any expectation one way or the other about still seeing each other by the time she found a place and moved. But she'd certainly be farther from her work, and chances were she'd be farther from whomever she might be dating by then.

He ignored the gnaw of acid in his stomach that came with that thought. Hungry, that was all. He was hungry.

"So what do you want to get my ravenous sister for dinner?"

"What?" Bette blinked at him as if her mind had been very far away. "Oh, dinner. I don't know. What does Judi like?"

"Everything," he said with feeling.

She laughed, and he felt his mood lightening.

"Surely she demonstrated that while the two of you were in the kitchen."

"Well, she did nibble on a thing or two."

He snorted in disbelief. "Nibble? She eats with as much abandon as she talks - which reminds me, what were you two talking about so earnestly in the kitchen?"

"Oh, girl stuff."

"Like?" he pursued.

"Dating. Clothes. Uh, men. Baseball. Families."

"An interesting collection."

Suddenly serious, she turned to face him. "She told me about your arguing with your grandfather about where you were going to school."

He slanted a look at her, surprised at her intensity. "Does that bother you?"