Season of Sisters (2 page)

Justin was smart, handsome, generous, caring—just about everything a woman could want in a man. His only less-than-desirable quality was a tendency toward stuffiness on occasion. Since stuffiness wouldn't get twenty-one checked off her list, Holly had dressed today for battle by adding take-me pumps, Saturday night makeup, and make-him-suffer perfume to the package.

She looked good. A shade trashy, but good. Justin was about to get the stuffy knocked right out of him. This was war and Holly was a determined woman.

She had developed both her attitude and her list three days before her thirteenth birthday, the very evening she and her dad returned to their empty house following her mom's funeral. As time passed, she focused her determination on refining the list—adding, deleting, and checking off each dream that came true. Her attitude remained unchanged.

Holly revamped her list entirely at the age of nineteen. When a collision on the basketball court during a collegiate intramural game resulted in a badly broken leg and extended bed stay, she developed a TV talk-show habit. Under the influence of the daytime divas, she discarded all but three items on her original list, replacing them with goals more adult in both scope and content.

Four years ago on her twenty-first birthday, Holly celebrated by declaring her list complete and in its final form. She would make no more changes or deletions. Only check-offs.

She bought a special twenty-three-karat gold plate pen to use for check-offs, and she had set her thirty-second birthday as her deadline to get the job done.

Considering her circumstances, she thought it best not to drag it out any longer than that.

Today, she intended to use her check-off pen for the sixth time. She chose which goal to pursue at random and now, bright red checks added a splash of color up and down her page. Not enough color, however. She craved more red. Checking off twenty-one today would help. Then, depending on how it went, she might decide she'd met the requirements for number eighteen, too.

Holly grinned at the thought as she jaywalked across the street in front of the hotel. Pausing to snag a ball cap that the strong March breeze had snatched from a teenager's head and sent skittering her way, she caught it midair, earning a thanks from the young man and an admiring once-over from the parking valets. Feeling pretty, and unusually flirtatious, Holly winked at the teenager as she handed him his hat, then blew a kiss to the cute valet who risked his job by letting loose a wolf whistle as she approached the hotel's revolving door. The attention put an extra bounce in her already springy step.

I will do something deliciously wicked.
Just the thought of it gave her the shivers.

She'd deliberated long and hard about just what constituted wickedness for this purpose. Anything illegal was definitely out. She certainly didn't want to act in a way that might cause harm or heartache to anyone. Holly wanted to do something juicy enough that she would remember it in the years to come. She wanted to do something naughty, not evil.

Eventually, Holly had concluded that her definition of deliciously wicked meant she need not step over to the wild side entirely. She simply had to dip her toes a bit.

She'd painted her toenails Louisiana Hot Sauce red in honor of the occasion.

Stuffy or not, Justin would love it. He was a man, after all. He'd love her nail color and the lingerie that matched and even the little henna tattoo she'd had painted on the inside of her thigh. And he'd love it soon. This very afternoon. Because in order to satisfy the requirements of item number twenty-one on her list, Holly intended to make love with Dr. Justin Skipworth in a totally inappropriate setting.

The very thought of it made her tingle. Wasn't it handy she'd managed to think of something that would satisfy both her list requirements and her hormones?

Justin would positively love it.

As she breezed into the hotel, Holly checked her watch. Three-fifteen. Exactly on time. Pretty darn good, considering she'd stayed to the very end of the softball game, where the Texas Ladies, of whom five players were Holly's seventh-grade pre-algebra students, faced off against the Be-Attitudes, a team containing four of Holly's religious ed students from church.

"Good afternoon, ma'am," a bellhop said when she sailed past him.

"Yes it is, isn't it?" Holly's gaze swept the lobby, searching, then settling on the man in jeans and a blue chambray shirt who straddled the grand piano's bench and idly one-handed a melody. She let out a little lovelorn sigh.

At thirty, Justin Skipworth was classically handsome, with sun-bleached hair, a straight blade of a nose, and light brown eyes framed in unfair-to-women lashes. Tanned, tall, and whipcord lean, he was the kind of man who looked comfortable and confident everywhere he went.

So why,
she wondered, when he walked toward her with a lanky, long-legged stride,
are his eyes shining with a nervous light?

"Hey, beautiful. That is some dress." He bent and gave her a quick kiss. "Mmm... you smell good, too. Who won the game?"

"The Be-Attitudes. Those church girls of mine are mean competitors. What did you do this morning?"

"Slept late. Dreamed about you."

Holly melted. "Oh, Justin. That's so sweet."

"No, not at all." His mouth twisted in a rueful grin. "My dream was a nightmare. I dreamed you jumped out of a plane."

At that, she sighed and made a show of rolling her eyes. Skydiving was number two on her list. While she kept the existence of her Life List private, she had mentioned her interest in a few of the activities, skydiving being one of them. Justin thought she was crazy.

At least she wasn't stuffy.

"Don't start, Skipworth."

"Not today. It'll hold." He gestured toward the lobby sign, which read ANTIQUE FISHING LURE SHOW, BONHAM BALLROOM, and added, "No sense spoiling a lovely afternoon filled with Musky Lipped Wigglers."

Holly chuckled and rose on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, then give his earlobe a quick nibble and lowered her voice to a sexy purr. "It's the Bobbin Bass Bait I can't wait to get my hands on."

Justin winced. "I hope you didn't share that particular bit of news with your dad."

She put a theatric hand to her chest. "Tell Daddy I'm after a Husky Plunker today? Are you crazy? I want it to be a surprise."

"Oh, I imagine he'd be plenty surprised to hear you talking that way about Husky Plunkers. Come on. Let's see what we can find." He grabbed her hand and followed the signs toward the Bonham ballroom and the fishing lure show.

Holly did hope to find a fishing lure or two to include with her father's birthday gift. Jim Weeks was a historian by profession and a fisherman by avocation, so his interest in collecting antique bait suited him well. It also gave his daughter handy gift possibilities, so when Justin saw an ad in the paper and suggested they attend the show as part of their Saturday afternoon date, she had jumped at the chance.

Justin had no idea that Holly wanted to add an extra stop to their itinerary at the Greystone.

She had prepared for the event by exploring the hotel and its nooks and crannies in advance of today's adventure. She'd located two areas that fit her requirements: an out-of-the-way stairwell and a small storage room off the ballroom.

The storeroom was her first choice, and she hoped its door remained unlocked. As much as she liked to imagine herself as bold and free-spirited, she feared that when the moment arrived, the stairwell might be too public for her sensibilities.

Glancing at Justin, she again noted the tension that seemed to hover around him. Had one of his patients run into trouble? One of his partners had told Holly that Justin cared too much, that he was too empathetic and would burn himself out before he ever got started if he didn't build some walls. She worried about that, wondered how he could find a balance that would soothe his mind without destroying his heart. Justin had such a big heart.

Just as she opened her mouth to ask if something was wrong, he yanked her to a stop, grabbed her by the shoulders, and planted a searing kiss right on her lips.

Oh, my.
Her knees all but buckled. Justin seldom indulged in public displays of affection. What had gotten into him? She smiled dreamily and melted against him. What a positive start to today's proceedings.

"I love you, Holly."

She blinked.
He was so handsome, so dear
.
So nervous.
"I love you, too, Justin."

He nodded once. Hard. "Remember that."

Then he was pulling her down the red-carpeted corridor once again. For a moment, she worried over her lover's strange behavior, but that concern was quickly overwhelmed by the sheer force of the excitement thrumming in her veins.

This was going to work. She knew it. She, Holly Weeks, proper and demure seventh-grade math teacher, was about to shed her prim-and-proper skin and take a short stroll on the wild side. They'd shop the fishing bait sale, buy some spinners and plugs. She'd tease him and make suggestive jokes about rods and spin-tail kickers. Then she'd lure her lover into the storeroom and have her deliciously wicked way with him, satisfying both herself and number twenty-one.

The idea of it made her feel wonderfully alive.

Holly was so busy fantasizing that at first she didn't realize they'd gone beyond the Bonham ballroom. It wasn't until they'd turned the corner into the hallway that led to the larger, Austin ballroom that her brain caught up with her feet. "Justin, you passed the show."

"I know. That was just a lure."

"A lure. Cute." She pulled from his grasp and stopped in the middle of the hall. Glancing in the direction of the elevators, she asked, "Did you get a room?"

While it wasn't exactly wicked enough for number twenty-one, Holly nevertheless found the idea intriguing.

"No. Not a room," he said, not meeting her gaze. "I want to show you something."

Vaguely aware of a low hum of feminine voices drifting from the ballroom down the corridor, Holly narrowed her stare and studied the man she loved. Hmm. This wasn't like Justin. Something was definitely up. Something he wasn't certain she was going to like. Her stomach took a roll.

Maybe she wouldn't get to use her special gold checkoff pen today, after all.

Justin sucked in a deep breath, then exhaled in a rush. He closed his eyes, visibly braced himself, then lifted his chin and met her gaze head-on. His nervous look had disappeared, calm determination taking its place. She had the odd sensation that this was how Dr. Skipworth looked when he prepared to deliver a difficult diagnosis.

"This didn't go quite like I had planned, but..." He reached into his back pants pocket and withdrew a folded, tri-fold brochure. Handing it to her, he said, "I thought we could shop for something other than fishing tackle here today."

"O-kay," she replied in a slow, tentative drawl. Paper crackled and Holly's hands trembled as she unfolded the brochure and read:
We invite you to attend the Pink Sisterhood Foundation’s charity wedding gown sale. Proceeds used to help those living with Stage IV breast cancer.

The old, familiar pain struck from out of nowhere and pierced to the marrow. She shook her head and shoved the pamphlet back at Justin. "I don't want this."

Calmly, he turned the brochure over. His voice was soft and gentle as he said, "I thought it would be a nice way to honor your mother. Your dad told me the two of you were very close."

Holly's throat constricted and she blinked repeatedly in order to read through the sudden tears that swelled in her eyes.

Almost against her will, her gaze trailed over the words printed on the leaflet.

A wedding is a wonderful celebration that marks the beginning of a new stage of life for a bride. Now in partnership with the Pink Sisterhood Foundation, a bride has the opportunity to help those walking a more difficult life path. By donating her wedding gown for resale by the foundation or by purchasing her dress at one of the Pink Sisterhood’s charity wedding gown sales, she has the opportunity to make a difference in the lives of those living with the effects of metastatic breast cancer.

Emotion sank razor-sharp talons into the tender muscle of Holly’s heart. The brochure slipped from her fingers and floated to the floor as Justin tugged her slowly, inexorably toward the Austin ballroom.

Upon reaching the doorway, she came to a dead stop.

It was a scene right out of a fairy tale. The glittering ballroom held rack after rack after rack of wedding gowns. Thousands of dresses. So much white, in fact, that Holly felt snow-blinded. Snow-blinded and dizzy and oh, so afraid.

Time seemed to halt. Holly couldn't breathe. Memories from the past swirled with dreams of a future destined never to be, and it hurt. It hurt so desperately.

Then, to make matters even worse, in front of God and meandering bait collectors and a ballroom full of brides, Justin Skipworth, M.D., man of her dreams, dropped to one knee and offered up a black velvet ring box. "Holly Weeks, will you marry me?"

She heard gasps of delight from the crowd amid a rushing, roaring noise in her ears. Justin had just asked her to marry him. He was down on his knee, proposing. Proposing marriage.

There was only one thing for her to do.

Holly dashed toward the ladies' room to throw up.

***

Maggie Prescott addressed the pair of hot pink Keds in the stall next to her and drawled, "Sugar? This one is all out of paper. Do you have any over there you can share?"

"Yes, I do," returned a soft, kindly voice. "One moment, please."

Maggie heard the spin of a roller, then a hand appeared beneath the metal divider that separated the two stalls. Always one to take note of jewelry, she eyed both the simple but lovely diamond wedding band on the woman's third finger and the generous supply of toilet tissue she offered.

"Thanks." Maggie divided her cache into two, used half to blow her nose and the rest to wipe the tears from her cheeks. She may have let herself go the last day or so, but she was back on track now. She was ready to face the world standing tall with her chin up. Hang it if she'd let anyone see her at less than her best.