cleared his throat and started again. “I can’t stay. I’m on my way to the hospital. I just wanted to drop off some breakfast.” He hefted several grocery bags from the front porch and placed them at her feet. A mischievous look came into his eyes. “About this sultry little number you’re wearing…”
“Mmmm?” she purred.
His voice grew conspiratorially low. “Does it have… I mean, are you wearing…”
She smiled. “That’s privileged information.”
“Remember what you told me about a man’s finding out things for himself?”
“Mmmm.”Another purr.
He took a step toward her, and she retreated. When she spoke her voice was husky and hinting of laughter. “I can’t help feeling cuddly about you, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to allow liberties.”
Pat thought he could go on looking at her forever. He loved seeing her laughing and rumpled from sleep. For two cents he’d tell the taxi to take a hike. Unfortunately, there were babies waiting for him at the hospital. He’d stayed longer than he should. He sighed heavily. “I don’t have time for liberties anyway. Darn.”
Megan deliberately yawned and stretched, lifting her arms above her head and raising the hem of her nightie high enough to elicit a another groan from Pat. “Thanks,” she said. “It was nice of you to think of breakfast.”
Pat staggered into the cold air and firmly closed the door behind him. He leaned against it for a moment to take a deep breath. He was being tortured. He was still paying the price for sending Dave home on a doughnut. Fate was getting even with him.
Megan carted a bag into the kitchen and unpacked it, thinking about how cute Pat had looked standing there in his crisp white shirt and red striped tie under his leather jacket and red scarf. His hair had been falling boyishly across his forehead in unkempt bangs.
He must be a real heart – breaker at the hospital, she thought. All the nurses were probably in love with him. Well, she had some advice for those nurses. Don’t get your hopes up, girls. The man is not the marrying type. The man is strictly the love – ’em – and – leave – ’em type.
She lifted a carton of orange juice from the bag and reconsidered. Not exactly love ’em and leave ’em, she decided. More like love ’em and let ’em dangle. She wanted to be mad at him, but she couldn’t. He couldn’t help the way he felt, and he was being honest with her.
She put a half gallon of milk in the refrigerator and sighed. When she was done unpacking the groceries she was going back to bed. She was suddenly so tired, she could hardly breathe. There was a sadness inside her, so all – encompassing and overwhelming, it left her weak. It was enervating to have been surrounded by so much love and activity and then to have it suddenly stripped away.
Several hours later she once again dragged herself out of bed to stare out her window. Now what? It sounded like more cars in her driveway. She hadn’t had this much company since her neighbor, old Mrs. Wipple, had mistaken the plume of black smoke spewing from Megan’s tail pipe for a barn fire and phoned a false alarm in to the fire department.
A young man saw Megan at the window and waved. “Just delivering your new car, ma’am.”
“I don’t have a new car.”
“You do now,” he said, smiling. “I’ll leave the keys in the glove compartment.”
She pulled on jeans and a sweat shirt, hopped into a pair of boots, and ran downstairs. She threw open the front door and gaped at the shiny red car sitting in her driveway. It was one of those little Japanese cars, brand new, with a big white bow stuck to its door handle. A card had been taped to the window. It said: “Meg, sorry I smashed your car. Pat.”
“Oh, hell.” He was being nice again.
At one – thirty Megan called Pat.
A familiar male voice answered the phone. “Dr. Hunter’s office.Dr. Hunter speaking.”
“Pat? What on earth are you doing answering your own phone?”
“Megan? Did you get the car?”
“Yes. It’s a great car, but-”
“It gets thirty miles to the gallon and has intermittent windshield wipers.”
“I know, but-”
“It has front – wheel drive and radials.”
“But-”
“Is red okay?”
“Pat! I can’t keep this car!”
“Why not?”
“For one thing, how are you paying for it? I know you can’t afford car payments.” A thought flashed through her mind. “Patrick Hunter, where’s your receptionist?”
“Listen, Megan, I’d love to chat, but this is runny – nose season, and I have a waiting room filled with sniffling kids.”
“I don’t want to be obligated to you for this car.”
“You’re not obligated. I was the one obligated. I wrecked your car, and I felt obligated to replace it. Besides, it’s easier for me this way. I’m not constantly worrying about your driving that old maroon piece of junk.”
“You worried about me?”
There was a moment of silence, and when Pat spoke it was in a low, intimate voice. “Of course I worried about you. I care about you.”
She sighed. “In fact, you care about me so much that you’re thinking about thinking about marrying me?”
“Yes.”
“Well, don’t do me any favors,” she said and hung up.
Chapter 11
On a Sunday afternoon Megan was perched on a high stool inside the wigmaker’s shop, and peering out at a quickly darkening Williamsburg. When the weather was cooperative she checked tickets outdoors, standing just to the side of the shop entrance, but today the temperature had plummeted, forcing her to move indoors.
The sky was lead gray, and a few snowflakes drifted past the window. Candles had been lit to dispel the gloom in the shop, but their cozy glow did little to brighten Megan’s mood. She hadn’t seen Pat or spoken to him in six days. It seemed like six years.
Snow swirled against the glass panes and dusted the porch railing, isolating Megan from the rest of the world. Sounds were muffled, and visibility was limited to a few feet. Under other circumstances this would have been a time for her to play, but she didn’t feel playful that day. She was relieved when it was five o’clock, and she could go home before road conditions became dangerous.
She said good – bye to the wigmaker and wrapped her black woolen cape tightly around herself, pulling the hood over her head. She’d parked in the lot on Francis Street, just a short distance away, but she was chilled to the bone by the time she reached her car.
Snow clung to her eyebrows and melted off the tip of her nose. She stamped her shoes and attempted to shake the snow from her cape before sliding behind the wheel.
The little red car purred to life, and for the first time in six days she was truly
