The Great Baby Caper (15 page)

He squeezed her hand. “Not if we
simplify things, and make some sacrifices.”

“But it seems like I’m the one
being asked to make them all,” she pointed out.

His tense expression revealed his
dismay. “I hadn’t realized you saw things in that light.”

Afraid she had spoken too harshly,
she said gently, “Mark, we’re still strangers in so many ways. That doesn’t
mean we won’t be able to work things out in time somehow.”

He was silent.

Earnestly she continued. “The one
thing I know is that I must go back to Denver. Like my friend Vanessa said, I
can’t just run from my life and my responsibilities there. I must try to sort
everything out, make sense of it all—you, me, the baby, my career. Skipping out
on everything isn’t the way to accomplish that.”

“That disappoints me, Courtney.”

“Why?”

He leaned close and spoke very
huskily. “Because I was hoping you
would
run away—with me.”

As he tenderly kissed her again,
Courtney was sorely tempted.

***

That evening Mark suggested they
eat in. Like teenagers, they ordered pizza and soft drinks. Mark brought the
food up to Courtney’s bedroom, poured her a soft drink, and sat the pizza box
on the bed.

He crossed over to the small
entertainment center next to the dresser. Squatting on his haunches, he studied
the flat-screen TV and spoke over his shoulder. “Good, they have a Blu-ray
player, and several DVD movies.
Somewhere in Time
, of course.”

“Oh, I love that one!” Courtney
declared.

“And the lady of the house must be
a Cary Grant fan. Let’s see, we have
That Touch of Mink
,
Charade
,
People Will Talk
. . .”

“
People Will Talk
!”
Courtney exclaimed. “I adore that movie, and I haven’t seen it since I was a
child. My grandmother was a big Cary Grant fan, too.”

“
People Will Talk
it is,
then,” Mark said, picking up the remote.

They snuggled under the quilt,
nibbling pizza, and watching the old black and white movie. Several times Mark
cast meaningful glances Courtney’s way, and she found herself blushing as she
noted the similarities between the movie plot and her and Mark’s situation: a
pregnant woman; a marriage of convenience; a potent sense of attraction between
the main characters. Before long Mark’s hand reached out to grip hers, and when
he raised it to his lips for a lingering kiss, the gesture seemed sexier than
the most passionate caress.

When the film ended, she caught
Mark staring at her, his expression both amused and smug. “What?”

“Now that’s what I call a marriage
of convenience. I hadn’t remembered how romantic that movie is, with the strong
chemistry between Cary Grant and Jeanne Crain.”

She shrugged with bravado. “I’d
say it’s more like a fairy tale.”

“Come on, Courtney. That movie was
very realistic for its time.”

“True.”

He raised an eyebrow meaningfully.
“And Cary Grant certainly fell in love suddenly enough.”

“You mean more than sixty years
ago, he did.”

Mark gave an incredulous laugh.
“Now I can’t fall in love quickly because I’m a millennial?” When she didn’t
respond, he added sternly, “Courtney?”

“Hmmm . . . I’ll consider the
possibility.” Though her lips were twitching, she quickly forged on. “May we
watch
Charade
next? And after that,
Somewhere in Time
?”

Her attempt to sidestep the issue
won her a quick, possessive kiss. “Courtney, I’m going to get you yet,” he
warned fiercely.

No doubt
, she thought
ruefully, as, wagging a finger at her, he went off to change the DVD.

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The next few days passed
idyllically. Courtney enjoyed Mark’s company as the two went biking, hiking,
and riding about the island. They played tennis at the public courts and skated
along the shoreline road near town. They explored all three of the old
cemeteries, as well as natural formations such as Devil’s Kitchen and Skull Cave. They spent long interludes sitting on the side porch of their cottage, sipping
tea and staring out at lush balsam forests.

All the while, the romantic
tension kept building between them. Although Mark made no overt attempts to
seduce Courtney, his desire for her was ever-apparent in the way he touched her
hand, or looked at her, in the protective way he wrapped an arm about her waist
as they walked along, or paused beneath a tree or awning to grace her lips with
a quick, provocative kiss. He bought her little things at antique and curio
stores: a cameo ring; a crystal perfume bottle; a hand-painted cachepot; an
afghan picturing island scenes.

One of their most touching moments
occurred in an antique furniture store. Mark was examining some old picture
frames when Courtney’s eye was caught by a beautiful old oak spindle cradle. No
sooner had she touched the satiny wood than she heard Mark say, “It’s yours.”

She turned to see him eyeing her
with tenderness. “Mark, that’s sweet, but . . .” She eyed the price tag.
“Gracious, it’s five hundred dollars.”

“A bargain to get a smile out of
you.”

“Mark.”

The male clerk stepped up. “Does
the cradle interest you, sir? It’s really an excellent example of early Americana. And such a reasonable price—”

“Can you ship it to Denver?” Mark smoothly interrupted. “My bride fancies it.”

Courtney had no hope of hiding the
warm blush that heated her cheeks then. She was sorely tempted to tell Mark
what else his bride fancied at that moment—her husband!

“Of course, sir,” said the beaming
clerk. “If you’ll just follow me.”

As Mark was starting off, Courtney
caught his arm. “Mark, you’re spoiling me terribly.”

He leaned over and kissed her
cheek. “You’re a bride. You’re entitled.”

She would have argued with him
further, but knew it was hopeless. Besides, she did love the cradle.

Their last day on the island
turned out to be July 4, and a festive atmosphere prevailed all day. With other
tourists and islanders, they picnicked at the park, and afterward watched a
stone-skimming contest at the lake. That evening they had dinner in the dining
room of one of the island’s posh hotels. Seated with Mark in a charming bay
window at the front of the room, Courtney could see the winking lights of the
harbor as she and Mark ate excellent whitefish; along the shoreline, a small crowd
had already gathered to await the fireworks later. Both had dressed up for this
special occasion—Mark in a stylish dark blue suit, Courtney in a jade green
silk dress. Several other couples dined nearby, the room quiet except for the
sounds of a small band setting up in the background.

“You look so lovely,” he murmured.
“That dress is the perfect complement for your rosy skin and bright eyes.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Are
you trying to disarm me with flattery?”

“Definitely,” he replied with a
chuckle.

“Well, as far as that goes, you
look pretty dapper yourself,” she conceded.

He grew pensive a moment. “Are you
sorry it’s our last night here?”

She sighed. “It has to end
sometime, Mark.”

“That sounds grim.”

“You know what I mean. We have to
return home . . . and to reality.”

“
Reality
. I think we could
both do with a bit less of it.”

Quietly she asked, “Do you think
the best way to solve our problems is to avoid the truth?”

“And what’s the truth? That we’re
married, having a child together?”

“That we still have many obstacles
to overcome.”

“Then let’s be about it,” he
replied with returning good humor. He gestured toward a passing waiter. “Ready
for dessert, darling?”

Courtney set down her fork. “Well,
I’m pretty full.”

“You’ll just have to make some
room, then.” As the waiter grew closer and gave Mark a questioning look, Mark
nodded back, and the man hurried off. Noting Mark’s smug expression, Courtney
wondered about what had seemed a private signal between him and the waiter.

Her curiosity was assuaged shortly
afterward when two waiters stepped up, one bearing an exquisite two-tiered cake
with cream-colored icing, the other an ice bucket with champagne. As the first
man proudly set the cake before Courtney, she gasped in surprise and joy. Before
her stood a swirling confection crowned by a small plastic lighthouse, with an
even smaller bride and groom standing next to it.

“Oh, Mark!” she cried, utterly
charmed. “A wedding cake?”

“I hadn’t forgotten that you’ve
been craving it,” he teased back. “And we didn’t get to have one in Detroit.”

Courtney smiled from Mark to the
waiter. “It’s just beautiful.”

“We ordered it specially from
town, ma’am,” the man explained. “Your husband said you had to have pecan fudge
icing.”

“He did, eh?” Courtney glanced at
Mark and melted at the look of tenderness and pride on his handsome face.

 “May I cut you a slice,
ma’am?”

“Oh, it looks too pretty to eat,”
Courtney protested.

Mark winked solemnly. “Shall we
have it bronzed instead?”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “No,
silly.” To the waiter, she added, “By all means, please cut the cake.”

He did so, handing her a plate
with a large slice. “Congratulations, ma’am.”

“Thank you.”

The waiter cut Mark a slice as the
other man poured them both flutes of champagne. After the men withdrew, taking
the cake to be boxed up, Mark lifted his glass. “To us, Courtney.”

Utterly charmed, she lifted her
glass and clicked it against his. “To us.” Taking only a ceremonial sip of the
champagne, she set it aside and tried a bite of the cake. An ecstatic sigh
escaped her. “Mark, this is scrumptious beyond belief.”

“Like my bride,” he teased back.

“I guess I don’t have to tell you
how thoughtful you are.”

He leaned toward her and grinned
shamelessly. “Yes, tell me. I can use evidence that I’m managing to butter you
up.”

She laughed in delight and
continued eating the delicious cake. After a moment, Mark set down his glass
and listened thoughtfully as the small band began playing “Can You Feel the
Love Tonight?” “Care to dance, darling?”

Courtney nodded. “Sure.”

Hand in hand, they went out to the
small dance floor. Then Mark drew Courtney close and led her in a slow fox trot
to the seductive music. As the refrain swelled to a romantic crescendo, he drew
her even closer and kissed her hair.

Courtney realized she was on very
dangerous ground. Mark had been so incredibly sweet to her tonight, really over
the entire honeymoon. She gloried in the strength of his arms surrounding her,
in his warmth, his spicy scent. She knew just what he wanted—what she wanted,
too. She
felt
the love, just as the melody of the song poured it out,
and she wanted nothing more than to make love with Mark tonight.

Then her more cautious nature
urged her to slow down. She’d gotten in trouble before through recklessly
pursuing her attraction for Mark. Of course he couldn’t get her pregnant
again—but he could break her heart. She still doubted his “instant” love for
her, was convinced that he’d wake up one day soon, realizing how impetuous he’d
been, how he’d made a mistake. Plus they had so many practical problems still
to work out, not the least of which was a bi-continental marriage.

She felt so wary of risking her
heart, but she wanted him so much!

Mark was also lost in thought,
glorying in the woman he held in his arms. She was so soft, so warm, so
incredibly beautiful. Never had he felt so close to Courtney as he did tonight.
The look on her face when the waiter had brought the cake had thrilled him
deeply. She’d appeared delighted, yet so vulnerable, so genuinely touched. How
he prayed that before this night was over, they would draw closer still . . .

After a moment he murmured, “I
feel so happy, Courtney. Are you happy, too?”

Her smile was slightly troubled.
“I—suppose I’m as happy as I can be under the circumstances.”

“Said with a note of caution.”

“Guess I’m thinking about our
going back tomorrow, the challenges I’ll face. My life is really going to
change.”

“And mine hasn’t? I have a wife,
and I’ll shortly have a child.”

“Men seem to accept all that with
equanimity. For a woman there’s a lot more to consider—setting priorities,
trying to juggle home, family, and career, deciding what’s most important.”

“You mean you don’t already know?”
he asked sadly. “I think I do.”

“And I think you’re
oversimplifying.”

Mark pulled his bride closer and
glided her into a turn. “Forgive me, darling, but I’d like to keep things very
simple tonight.”

Courtney would have replied, but
Mark captured her open lips in a long, soulful kiss. He tasted of cake and
champagne, passion and need. The low moan escaping her had him pulling her
closer still. But after a moment both drew apart at sudden, popping sounds.

Courtney shook her head as if
coming out of a daze. “Goodness, Mark, am I seeing stars?”

He nodded toward the bay window.
“Fireworks, darling.”

She caught his hand. “Oh, Mark,
let’s go see.”

Along with several other couples,
they emerged on the front porch of the hotel, just as a roman candle exploded
in a fountain of brilliance in the night sky over the lake. Then half a dozen
more rockets burst forth, sending a dizzying, multicolored shower of light
raining down from the heavens. Along the shoreline, cheers could be heard from
the small crowd as the dazzling light show continued.

“Happy Fourth of July, darling,”
Mark murmured, rubbing Courtney’s back to warm her.

“Happy Fourth of July to you as
well,” she declared heartily. “You know I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”

Mark wrapped his arms around his
bride and tenderly kissed her cheek. “I know, darling. I know.”

***

By the time they arrived back at
the cottage, Courtney was reeling from Mark’s sexy kisses. In the upstairs
hallway, he caught her close again and slowly, sensuously claimed her lips,
stroking her with his tongue in a way that made her stomach curl. He pulled
back to study her face with fire in his eyes. When he gently brushed a curl
from her brow, she struggled not to wince.

His voice was rough. “Courtney . .
. darling, it’s our last night.”

Sadly she shook her head. “Mark,
I’m just not ready yet.”

Though his eyes revealed his
disappointment, he braved a smile. “Would you like a cup of warm tea before
retiring?”

“Thanks, but I think I’ll just
have a long soak in the tub.”

“Want your back scrubbed?” he
asked wickedly.

“Mark, you know better.”

“Do I?” He laughed.

Making a scolding sound, she
turned and walked off.

Moments later, as she lay in the
old clawfoot bathtub, having a good soak in the lavender-scented water,
Courtney found she did miss Mark, although she recognized the folly of calling
him in now. Still, she coveted his warmth. The large room was chill, with only
an electric space heater on a stand providing heat.

Truth to tell, the warmth she
yearned for was much more than just physical . . .

She considered her husband’s
earlier words. So they were here to simplify everything. That would be fine
until they returned to Denver, and then, just as she’d argued, the situation
would be a great deal more complicated for her than it was for him.

Each day now, Courtney could feel
more strongly the pull of the life growing inside her. The physical changes of
pregnancy had overtaken her—the fullness of her breasts and the sensitivity of
her nipples, the dull aching she swore she sometimes felt as her womb expanded
to accept the small life growing within it. Part of her wanted to give up all
her dreams for the sake of that precious life. Part of her still resented how
Mark, and his grandfather before him, had taken charge of her, taking her
destiny out of her own hands.

Part of her very much feared being
hurt, when the marriage they’d both rushed into foundered on the rocks of
reality . . .

Getting out of the tub, she was so
preoccupied with her thoughts that she caught her toe on a rag rug and
stumbled, snagging the cord to the electric heater. The next thing she knew,
the heater and its wooden stand toppled to the tile floor with a loud crash.
Startled, Courtney cried out and jumped out of the way just in time.
Fortunately the heater had an automatic shut-off feature that instantly kicked
in.

A split-second later, the bathroom
door burst open and Mark, shirtless but still wearing his dress trousers, came
barreling into the room, eyes filled with frantic worry. “Courtney, are you . .
.” Then he gulped as his eyes became riveted to her naked body.

Courtney blushed to the roots of
her hair. “Mark, get out of here,” she cried, frantically grabbing a towel and
wrapping it around her.

He ignored her, staring
flabbergasted at the overturned heater. “What the hell . . .?” Quickly he
leaned over, unplugged the heater and righted it as well as the stand. “What
are you doing with an electric space heater in this bathroom?”

“Trying to stay warm,” she
retorted, “which is why I presume the owners put it here.”

He thrust his fingers through his
hair. “Don’t you realize you could have been instantly electrocuted had the
device tumbled into the tub?”