Bundle of Joy (13 page)

"Talk to him," said Samantha after she'd reassured Caroline that Donohue didn't collect beer cans or hang fish faces on the walls of his den. "He's a good man, honey. You'd like him if you'd give him a chance."

Caroline couldn't help but laugh. "Strange statement considering the circumstances, wouldn't you say?" She was pregnant with his child and married to him, to boot.

Sam, however, didn't see the humor in the situation. "Trust me on this one. Charlie Donohue is one of the good guys. Give the situation a chance, Caroline. You might be surprised."

You're wrong about that, Sam
, she thought as she put the receiver back in its cradle and lay back down, looking at the ceiling. She doubted if there was much left in life that could surprise her more than the predicament she'd gotten herself into. Pregnant, newly married, and alone in a bed built for two.

Dear Abby
would have a field day with it.

#

Charlie finally dozed off to sleep around three a.m., only to be awakened a few hours later by the blare of an alarm somewhere in the distance.

"What the--?" He reached for his bedside lamp, only to knock a vase of roses onto the pale carpeting. Where was his lamp? Why was his bed pushed up against the wall? What in hell was going on?

Swearing, he got up and stumbled around in the dark, trying to get his bearings. "This is
her
place," he muttered, stubbing his toe against the leg of an end table. Caroline's booby-trap filled apartment. He was sure she had a kitchen but where it was hidden was anybody's guess. He uncovered two walk-in closets, both filled with clothing and shoes, a small office, then finally a large but spartan kitchen that would be right at home in an operating room. He hadn't seen so much white in one place since the last
National Geographic
special about Antarctica in winter.

"Paper towels...paper towels..." He hunted around for the ubiquitous paper towel rack that hung in 99.9% of the kitchens in America. "What's the matter with you?" he mumbled. "Don't you ever spill anything?" Finally, on a built-in shelf beneath the sink, he found a roll of
paper towels and made his way back out to the living room. The water from the flowers had darkened the carpet in a spot the shape of North Dakota. He did his best to sop up as much liquid as he possibly could and was relatively satisfied with reducing the spot to a small version of Rhode Island when a sound caught his attention.

A moan? A strangled yelp?

He dropped the soggy paper towels on the floor and made his way through the narrow hallway that led to the rear of the apartment. A light was on in her bedroom. "You okay?" he called from the doorway.

No answer.

He stepped into the room. The covers on her extremely comfortable-looking bed were folded back neatly. Except for the robe draped across her pillow, he wouldn't have known a real live woman had actually spent the night between the covers. By contrast, the living room sofa looked as if it had been visited by a plague of locusts with a yen for upholstery.

Again that strangled sound issued from somewhere close by. "Bradley? Say something if you're in here."

Her voice, weak but clear, floated out from the master bath. "Go away, Donohue."

"Are you okay in there?"

No answer, only the sound of someone in agony.

He moved farther into the room. "Hey, if something's wrong I can help you. That's why I'm here, isn't it?"

The bathroom door swung open and Caroline, hair hanging into her eyes and her nightgown drifting off one shoulder, staggered into the room, heading straight for her bed. "Say one word, Donohue, and so help me I'll...." Her last words were muffled by the pillow as she fell across the mattress.

The light finally dawned. "Morning sickness?"

She looked up from the pillow. "Give the man a cigar."

"Is it always this bad?"

"No," she said. "Sometimes it's worse." She took a sip of water from the glass on her night stand. "They say it means it's a good pregnancy. Has to be some light at the end of the Tunnel of Nausea."

He chuckled. "Tunnel of Nausea. I like that."

"It isn't an E ride ticket at Disney World, Charles."

He was losing his grip on the conversation with every second that passed. "Why don't I make you a cup of tea or something? Toast? Some eggs?"

"Eggs...oh, God." She leaped from the bed and made a beeline for the bathroom. Donohue turned and bolted for the safety of the kitchen.

Sure he'd heard all about morning sickness. Stand-up comedians joked about it. Women complained about it. Movies and TV made it sound like an almost-romantic part of the pregnancy.

Well, hearing about it and observing it first-hand were two entirely different things. He'd always imagined a gentle queasy stomach that a woman could wipe out with a few soda crackers. This gut-wrenching vomiting was something else entirely. How did she cope with this, morning after morning, then get all dolled up and go off to work as if she hadn't a care in the world?

He
ll, he couldn't even manage shaving on a regular schedule.

#

Caroline felt too dreadful to even worry about how she looked. If Donohue was going to be around for the duration, he might as well see her in all her Technicolor glory right off the bat. Theirs wasn't a storybook romance or marriage. There was no reason to expect a storybook pregnancy.

No illusions. No surprises. That way nobody would be hurt when it came time to say goodbye.

She stepped into the kitchen, wincing at the sharp sting of the overhead light. "Herbal tea," she said with a sigh, as she accepted a mug from Donohue. "I appreciate it."

"Glad I was awake," he said. "I'm usually sacked out until eleven or so."

She nodded. "I'm long gone by that time." Usually she left for work by seven-thirty in the morning and didn't return home until nearly nine at night. "I guess we won't be seeing much of each other."

"Probably not."

She watched as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

"So you figured out the Silex," she said. "Most people are stymied by it."

"Tell you the truth, I had you pegged as the freshly-ground beans type." He grinned and pointed toward the coffee can on the counter. "Good ol' Maxwell House. Could've fooled me."

"Nothing wrong with Maxwell House, is there?" Amazing how the tiniest details could trip you up.

"You don't have to get defensive."

She put her mug down on the table with a thud. "You're not going to analyze everything in my refrigerator, are you?"

"You mean, like those two Tupperware bowls filled with Mystery Meat in the back?" he countered.

"I know everything that's in that refrigerator."

He opened the door and removed two covered plastic dishes. "I'd take the lids off them, but I don't think your stomach is up to it."

Caroline frowned in the general direction of the containers. "I know exactly what's in those bowls," she lied.

"You'd need a psychic to figure out what's in those bowls."

A smile tried to force itself on Caroline but she fought against it. "A past-life regression might help."

His vivid green eyes met hers. Damn him. He was enjoying himself. "Why don't I chuck them?"

"I'd be forever in your debt."

He opened the trash can with his foot and tossed the containers inside. "A hell of a wedding night, wasn't it?"

She picked up her mug and took another sip. "Memorable."

"Having second thoughts?"

She looked at him over the rim. "Are you?"

"Second thoughts to the tenth power."

"This was your idea," she pointed out, smiling at last.

He laughed. "You should've tried to talk me out of it."

"Well, I'm glad I'm not the only one with doubts."

A wicked gleam appeared in his eyes. "Did Sam convince you I'm not a beer-guzzling ax murderer?"

Caroline froze, mug halfway to her mouth. "You eavesdropped?"

"Didn't mean to. I went into the guest room looking for another pillow." He shrugged his broad shoulders. "You were talking kind of loud."

"How much did you hear?"

"Enough to know I'm going to be sleeping alone for a long time."

"Oh, God." She buried her face in her hands. She almost wished for a wave of nausea. Any excuse to escape the intimacy of the kitchen and Donohue's penetrating gaze. "I--I don't know what to say."
Say you're sorry. Say you didn't mean it. Tell him he misunderstood. Don't leave the guy standing there with his ego on his sleeve.

"Forget it," said Donohue, beating her to the punch. "It's not like we'll be seeing that much of each other anyway. We'll be lucky if we cross paths on the weekends."

#

Charlie's prophecy turned out to be accurate.

By the time she was dressed and ready to leave for work that first morning, Donohue was asleep on the couch. She stood in the living room for a long moment, watching him. To her surprise, he slept quietly. She would've bet last week's profits from the store that he was a snorer. Instead, he lay across her couch, long legs hanging over the arm, his body half-covered by one of her flowery peach sheets, and the only sound was his deep and even breathing. The sight should have been humorous; after all, he was too tall for his makeshift bed and the frankly female bed linens were at odds against his decidedly male form.

Caroline, however, neither smiled nor laughed. It occurred to her that she knew his body more intimately, in some ways, than she knew her own. She knew the feel of every inch of muscle and sinew. She knew the faintly soapy smell of his skin, the delicious feel of his moustache against her cheek, the sound of his passion. But his thoughts and dreams and hopes for the future were still uncharted territory and destined to remain so.

My husband,
she thought, her gaze traveling his body from head to foot. Less than twenty-four hours ago they had said the words that made them man and wife. Caroline Bradley was no more; she was now Caroline Donohue.

"Caroline Donohue," she whispered. Donohue had done something her stepfather had never thought enough of Caroline to do: given her his name. Somewhere inside that macho exterior was a man she wanted to understand. He co
uld be very likable. Everyone at O'Rourke's thought the sun rose and set on their favorite short-order cook. She wanted to like him, too, but every time he opened his mouth Caroline found herself annoyed beyond measure.

You know why,
she thought, breath catching as he turned onto his side on the narrow couch with the light shining on his tanned and muscular torso. He was from a place she no longer recognized, a place she no longer wanted to go. She could feel in her bones that his past was too close to her own for comfort. If she let her guard down for even a second, he would know her for the fraud she was and she wasn't about to let that happen.

He lifted his head from the bunched-up pillow, and gave her a sleepy, unfocused look. "Going or coming home?" he mumbled.

"Going," she managed, voice softer than she would have liked. His silky black hair was appealingly tousled and she yearned to push it back from his forehead with a gentle hand. She cleared her throat. "Get some sleep, Charles. It's still early."

He said something that sounded like, "Drive carefully," and was asleep before she could say another word.

Maybe they weren't off to such a bad start after all.

#

One hour later she wasn't so sure about that.

"Married!" squealed Rhonda as she hugged her boss. "You got married and didn't tell us!"

"You know we hate surprises like that," said Denise. "Why didn't you let us know? We would've made a shower for you."

Caroline, embarrassed to the roots of her hair, tried to disengage herself from this unexpected show of affection. "It was somew
hat of a surprise to me, too." Little did her employees know they'd soon have another opportunity to plan a shower for her.

Of course, both Rhonda and Denise went out of their way to make the day special for Caroline. Balloon bouquets appeared in the showroom. Roses popped up in her private office. Champagne showed up on her desk next to her container of yogurt.

"No champagne," she said with a rueful laugh. "That's how I got into this situation in the first place."

Neither of her employees understood the reference, but that was okay.

Mondays were usually one of the busiest days at
Twice Over Lightly
and this one was no exception. A slew of customers, all returning splendid gowns, traipsed through the store and each and every one of them had to tender her congratulations to Caroline personally.

"What! No diamond?" Lena DiSalvo, one of her steadies, made a face at the plain gold band on Caroline's left hand. "Who is this man anyway? An untenured professor? A struggling novelist?"