Rachel's Bundle of Joy Read online

  “Yeah. But there is a certain…reward, I guess, in helping make it better for people going through a hard time, as painful as it can be to watch some of them slip away.”

  “You’re brave,” he said quietly.

  “No. My patients. They’re the brave ones.” She shook herself. “And I have got to get going.”

  He just stood there, looking scrumptious. “One more thing…” She knew what it would be. “I wonder…” He looked charmingly hesitant.

  She couldn’t help prompting, “What?”

  “Well, I was thinking, maybe coffee—latte, espresso, your choice. Sometime when you’re not so rushed…”

  She felt warm all over. A good kind of warm. She dared to tease him, “Coffee and pregnant ladies don’t mix. Caffeine’s not good for the baby.”

  He leaned a little closer, bringing with him another faint hint of that tempting aftershave. “Tea, then. Fruit juice. Whatever. I’m flexible when it comes to beverages.”

  She looked down, innate shyness surging to the fore. “Oh…”

  “So…” He waited until she dared to look up at him again. “Will you let me have your number?”

  Oh, what was the harm, really? Not only was he perfect fodder for her fantasies, he was so easy to talk to. And she wanted to see him again. “Tell you what. Why don’t you give me your number?”

  Frowning a little, he studied her face. “I don’t know. I think you have a shy side.”

  She winced. “That obvious, huh?”

  “Not obvious at all. It’s very…charming, to tell you the truth.”

  She laughed, her cheeks warming. “Yeah, right.”

  “No. Seriously. It is. But I’m afraid it just might keep you from picking up the phone and dialing my number. Or maybe you just don’t want to see me again—for whatever reason. If that’s what’s up here, I’d appreciate it if you went ahead and laid it on me right now.”

  “No. No, really. I will call you.”

  He gave her a sideways look, then agreed, “Fair enough.”

  The business card he handed her was on thick gray vellum stock. She ran her thumb over the embossed lettering. Armstrong Industries, it read. “Hmm,” she said. “Bryce Armstrong, CEO. Very impressive.”

  He gave her a look—indulgent, good-humored. “What can I tell you? I’m a spoiled only son and also the boss.”

  Armstrong, she thought as she glanced at the card again. Bryce Armstrong. The name was vaguely familiar….

  She almost asked him where she might have heard his name before. But no. She had promised she’d call him. If they ended up seeing each other again, she’d learn more about him.

  Shifting her purchases to one arm, she stuck the card in a side pocket of her shoulder bag. The purse slid down her arm. She backed away from him, grinning, hands out, dangling her purse and her purchases from either hand. She felt kind of magical, right at that moment—graceful and pretty in spite of her big tummy and scraped-back hair. The world, all of a sudden, seemed chock-full of possibilities.

  Truly, just when she’d given up hope that she’d ever meet a really great, handsome, fun and easy-to-be-with guy…there he was.

  Across the display counter from her at Becky & Huck’s.

  Whatever happened next, he had made her week—heck. He’d made her month.

  “Call me,” he said again.

  “I will,” she promised, still backing away. “I will, I’ll call…” She raised her hand to wave, though her purse was dangling from her arm and it made the gesture awkward and jerky. She didn’t care how awkward she looked. She didn’t feel awkward. She felt like a swan. “You’ll be hearing from me.”

  He gave her a wave in response and turned to go.

  And right then, as her purse dangled free from her arm, someone grabbed it.

  “Wha—?” Somehow, she managed to catch the strap before it slipped past her fingers. “Hey!” She whirled as the snatcher—a skinny guy in baggy jeans—gave it a hard yank. She yanked right back, “Don’t!”

  The guy didn’t listen. He stepped toward her. She shrank away, sudden terror shivering an icy trail down her spine. “No…” It came out a whisper of fear and frustration.

  His bony hand came toward her. He shoved her—square in the chest. The breath flew from her body. She sucked in air, and somehow managed one sharp, helpless cry as her feet flew out from under her and she went down.

  CHAPTER 2

  With a yelp of shock and pain, she landed hard on her tailbone.

  “Omigod!” someone cried.

  “Did you see that?” a man shouted.

  “Somebody get that SOB!”

  Furious, Rachel scrambled to get up. She was going to catch that skinny little rat if it was the last thing she did. She flailed, groaning a little.

  And by then, a ring of people had pressed in close around her. She gaped up at all those concerned faces.

  “Is she okay?”

  “Oh, God. She’s pregnant…”

  “Are you all right?” Two women helped her to her feet, one on either arm.

  Once upright, she tried to bat their clutching hands away. “I’m fine, really. But my purse—”

  “Take it easy,” said one of her rescuers, a big woman with hard red hair and kind brown eyes. She patted Rachel on the back. “Breathe deep…”

  Her breathing wasn’t the problem—it was her aching butt. And her missing purse. “That guy…he took my purse. I have to—”

  “Honey, it’s handled,” said the woman on her other side, a shapely platinum blonde with a lived-in face.

  “No, I have to—”

  “Sweetie, they got him. Look.”

  She looked where the long flame-red fingernail pointed—at Bryce, about twenty feet away, by the entrance to Starbuck’s.

  He had caught the bad guy! He held the skinny little creep in a neck lock and he appeared to be handing him over to a couple of husky biker types. “Hold this guy, will you?” Rachel heard him say.

  “Don’t let the bastard go.”

  “Wow, man. Sure.” One of the bikers—the bigger one, with a bald head, a black T-shirt with the sleeves torn off and an intricate skull-and-barbed-wire tattoo on his beefy right arm—grabbed the purse-snatcher by the scruff of the neck and shook him. Hard. “We ain’t havin’ no difficulties with you, now, are we?”

  The would-be thief hung his head and mumbled something under his breath.

  The biker shook him again. “What’d you say, scumbag?”

  “Ow, man, you’re hurting me!”

  “I’ll hurt you more,” the biker growled. “Unless you plan to behave yourself.”

  “All right, all right,” the snatcher grumbled, “I won’t make any trouble.”

  The helpful redhead suggested, “Somebody better go find Security.”

  “I will.” A tall balding guy in a jogging suit headed off toward the ice rink in search of a mall cop.

  The worried shoppers pressing in on her fell back a little as Bryce approached with her purse in hand. “I believe this is yours.”

  She took it and hooked it in place on her shoulder. Right then, she felt as though she’d known him forever, as though he were a dear old friend who’d shown up just when she needed him most. “Oh, Bryce…” She reached out instinctively.

  He gathered her in. “Okay,” he whispered, bending his head down a little to breathe the word against her temple. “It’s okay…” He stroked her hair, rubbed her back. “Thanks,” she heard him say to the people surrounding them. “I’ll look after her.”

  Oh, didn’t she just wish…

  She pulled away from Bryce’s embrace—but only to tell the redhead and the blonde and the others, too, “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  “It’s okay, sweetie.”

  The redhead held out Rachel’s shopping bags—rescued at some point during the excitement. “You want us to stick with you?”

  She took the bags. “No. I’m all right. Honestly.”

  Another woman handed
Bryce his bag of baby clothes. “I think you dropped this.”

  “Thanks.” He touched Rachel’s chin, a brush of a touch, so that she would look at him. “How badly are you hurt?”

  She didn’t know whether she was going to laugh or cry. “Just my tailbone,” she confessed in a whisper. “And my pride.”

  He looked down between them, at the rounded shape of her stomach. “The baby?”

  She rested her hand on the firm bulge. “We’re fine, really.” He still looked worried. She reassured him, “Bryce. Pregnant women and their babies are tougher than people give them credit for.”

  “Still, just to be on the safe side, I think we should get you to an emergency room.”

  “No, really. I’m fine. And so’s my baby.”

  “You’re shaking.”

  “Just…after-effects of a major adrenaline surge.”

  “Come on.” He guided her to a nearby bench. “Sit down here…”

  She eyed the hard bench. “Ugh. Easier said than done.”

  He frowned. “You are hurt.”

  “Yeah, a little,” she confessed. “But I promise it’s nothing permanent…” She lowered herself carefully to the seat, wincing when she got there. “See? I’m sitting on my injury.” She held out her hands, palms down. “And the shaking is almost gone. Really, since you caught the guy and got my purse back, this is just not that big a deal.”

  He sent a hot glance toward the bony purse snatcher, who was flanked by the two helpful bikers and sulkily studying the off-white tiles of the mall floor. “The guy ought to be shot.”

  She reached up, took his hand and gave a tug. “Sit by me.”

  Obediently, he dropped to her side, turning his hand in her grip so that he could lace his fingers with hers. She started to lower her head to his broad shoulder—and stopped herself just in time.

  She was being altogether too clingy. Gently, she pulled her hand from his. He let go—but with enough reluctance that she found herself wishing she’d gone ahead and held on.

  They waited, with the bikers and the skinny thief. It wasn’t long before the mall security guy appeared. He took brief statements from them and then put a call in to the city police. They waited some more.

  When the police showed up, they gave their statements all over again. Unless her attacker got the bright idea to plead not guilty, the detective told her, she shouldn’t even have to go to court to testify against him—given that she didn’t want to sue.

  She eyed her attacker, who was looking pretty pitiful by then. “As long as he doesn’t try to say he didn’t do it, I’m fine with letting a judge handle this.”

  After they led the purse-snatcher away, Rachel thanked the bikers.

  “S’all right, no problem,” they told her, and moved along.

  That left her and Bryce side-by-side on the bench. She dared, again, to touch him, putting her hand over his. A warm little thrill zipped through her at the contact. “Thank you. For catching that guy. For being here…”

  His other hand closed over hers, capturing it, so tenderly, between both of his. He gave a squeeze. Her face felt warm and her heart beat faster. Honestly, did a guy have a right to look this good? His skin was smooth and golden-tan. And he had just the faintest manly-looking shadow of beard on that square jaw. And what about those eyelashes? Thick and long and sable-brown. Men shouldn’t be allowed to have eyelashes like that. He leaned in closer. She breathed in the tempting scent of him and felt her eyes drifting closed….

  Stop. No. Bad idea. She jerked back and pasted on a bright smile. “Really. I am so grateful.”

  “And why do I get the distinct feeling you’re about to say goodbye again?”

  She glanced down at their joined hands and then up into his waiting eyes. “Well. I do think it’s time that I—”

  “Do me one favor.”

  As if she could refuse him anything now. “Name it.”

  “There’s a halfway decent steakhouse just outside the mall. Have lunch with me.”

  “Oh, Bryce. I don’t think—”

  “Humor me. Please. Just stick around for a while, until I can be one-hundred percent certain you’re really okay.”

  “But I am okay.”

  “Just for a while.” He was looking very determined—as if he wasn’t going to back down easily on this one.

  And in the end, after all he’d done, how could she refuse him? Plus, there was the fact that she didn’t even want to refuse him.

  “I’m buying,” she warned.

  * * *

  Two hours later they were still sitting in a corner booth in the cozy, dim restaurant. Their empty plates had been cleared away. They lingered over coffee—well, in Rachel’s case, a tall glass of ice water in which the ice had melted long ago.

  How had the time gone by so fast? They’d talked and talked—a lot about her work, a little about his. He said he was thirty-five, had a business management degree from Stanford and described his job as, “Mostly amounting to delegating effectively.” She figured there had to be a lot more to it than that, but she didn’t press him. She teased him about spending his workday at the mall. And he tapped the shopping bag on the seat beside him and said he’d just slipped out to pick up something for Ariel. And then he’d met Rachel…

  “And then found yourself stepping in to handle a purse-snatching in progress.”

  “My pleasure. All the way.”

  She teased, “And shouldn’t you be back at work by now?”

  “What’s the point in being the boss if I can’t give myself an afternoon off now and then?”

  “So true,” she agreed and they shared another in the by-then endless chain of long, mutually appreciative looks. She broke the lovely silence. “Ariel. It’s such a pretty name.”

  He nodded. “After The Little Mermaid. Chelsea, my sister, always loved The Little Mermaid…”

  And that led to the subject of favorite movies. They discovered that their tastes were astonishingly similar. They shared a fondness for the edgy and offbeat. They both like anything directed by Quentin Tarantino.

  “And what about There’s Something About Mary?” she suggested.

  “Just about the funniest movie ever made.” He looked at her sideways. “Two Days in the Valley.”

  “Saw it. Loved it.” She challenged, “Suicide Kings.”

  “You’re kidding. You saw that?”

  She nodded, feeling inordinately smug. “I’ll crawl over ground glass to see anything with Christopher Walken in it.” And Brad and Ben, too, of course—at least lately. But she didn’t tell him that. He might just ask why.

  And what about TV shows?

  They both enjoyed Sunday night on HBO.

  From movies and TV, they went on to music, where their preferences went in different directions. Rachel liked a good country song. Bryce preferred either blues or hard rock.

  It was all just surface stuff, just getting-to-know-you casually kind of talk. Rachel thoroughly enjoyed herself. She was ready when the check came and got her hand over it before he could grab it.

  “Mine,” she said. “And don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “All right,” he conceded. “But next time is my turn.”

  Next time. He said it as if he meant it—but did she really believe him?

  Oh, probably not. He was just so smooth…and sexy. And perfect. Too perfect for a harried and hard-working single mom-to-be. He had that look, a look that whispered money. From his brushed-leather shoes to his Rolex watch to his fine cashmere sweater. And then there was the subtle, oh-so-expensive scent of him. And that business card he’d given her…

  CEO of Armstrong Industries.

  She had a sneaking suspicion he was one of the Armstrongs.

  If so, he was most likely very rich indeed. Even Rachel, who didn’t pay a whole lot of attention to the movers and shakers in her community, had heard of the Armstrongs. The family had been around since forever, since the founding fathers flipped a coin and decided to name t
he city Portland instead of Boston. The Armstrongs were in shipping and land development. There was even an Armstrong High School….

  More than once during lunch, she’d started to ask him if he was one of the Armstrongs. But he never volunteered the information. And somehow, she couldn’t quite figure out how to pose the question without sounding just the wrong side of rude. She did say something about Armstrong being an important name in Portland.

  But he only shrugged and they left it at that.

  “This was great,” she said, as they got up to go.

  “Was.” He shook his head. “You say that as if the afternoon’s over.”

  A flush of pleasure crept up her cheeks. He didn’t seem to want to say goodbye any more than she did. “Well, Bryce…”

  “Come on. Let’s go over to the theatre complex and see what’s playing.”

  She laughed. He was really so charmingly insistent about this. “I don’t know. A wild afternoon at the movies may be too much for this particular pregnant lady. I think I should probably go home and…relax, you know? Rest a little, put my feet up…”

  “So how about my place? We can watch a movie there. I offer free popcorn—and a good reclining chair, perfect for propping up a pair of tired feet.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t…”

  “Yeah, you could.”

  “But…” She felt so flustered, suddenly. The thing was, she wanted to go with him. But was it wise? “Bryce. I just…well, I have to keep reminding myself that I hardly know you…”

  “Come to my place. Get to know me better.”

  “Well, I…I mean, it seems a little sudden, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah, it does. But sudden’s okay with me. In fact, sudden is just great.”

  She heard herself asking, “Where do you live?”

  “Portland Heights. Ten minutes away, max.”

  Portland Heights. One of the nicest neighborhoods, in West Hills. She wasn’t surprised.

  But where he lived really wasn’t the question. The question was, should she go there with him? Remember Michael Carson, a warning voice whispered somewhere in the wiser part of her mind.

  The thing with Michael Carson had happened really fast. She’d asked none of the usual questions, hadn’t gotten to know him at all, just thought he was gorgeous and ended up in bed with him. Her one mad indiscretion.