“You’re probably right.”
They picked up next year’s wrapping paper and bows, exchanged Johnny’s sweater for a larger size, Brian’s boots for a smaller size; both bought nightgowns on sale and debated whether to risk looking into the dress sales even though neither of them wanted to spend any more money. Useless friend that Freda was, she talked Lorna into buying a lavender sweater and a lavender and pale blue plaid skirt, then didn’t buy a thing herself.
“That burnt orange would have been perfectly beautiful on you,” Lorna scolded, as they stood in line for a seat in the coffee shop.
“Not my style.” Finally, they were ushered to a booth and piled their packages next to them with mutual weary sighs.
“It was, too. Freda, you have a very nice figure. And the color would have been special on you,” Lorna told her as their waitress brought coffee.
“I need to lose weight.” Freda pushed off her coat and crossed her arms on the table. Lorna grinned at her friend’s navy sweatshirt. There Are Only Two Things Wrong With Men, it said, Everything They Say and Everything They Do.
“Let’s see it again.”
Lorna obligingly put her hand on the table.
“Offhand, I’d certainly say he made up for forgetting to give you a present yesterday,” Freda remarked dryly, and then gave Lorna a basilisk stare. “I don’t know what’s brighter. That stone, or your eyes. You have no idea how annoying it is to sit across from someone in love.”
“Will it help if I pay for the coffee?” Lorna asked.
“A little.” Freda shook her head ruefully as she stirred her brew. “I could see it coming. You were either higher than a kite or moping around like a dead sponge. Washing your floor three times last week…” She leaned back, bringing her coffee cup to her lips. “I could have sworn the last I heard you weren’t even thinking about getting married again.”
“I wasn’t,” Lorna said absently.
“You’re being awfully closemouthed about how he staged the whole romantic scene. When did he ask you to marry him?”
“I adore him, Freda.” Lorna’s tone was grave as she changed the subject and abruptly put an end to Freda’s affectionate teasing.
They talked about clothes, bills, jobs and cats. They were still talking as they drove home, stopping to pick up the boys from a playmate’s house along the way. The roads were a potpourri of slush and traffic; Freda kept chattering, and the boys in the back were bickering at high speed.
Lorna had her hands on the steering wheel at ten and four, a position where the ring could continually wink brilliantly at her. Like a silent beacon, the diamond on her left hand gave her messages only she could hear. Matthew loved her.
Pausing at a red light, Lorna touched the marquise diamond, well aware that in fact there had been no proposal; the candlelight seduction Freda had assumed had never happened. He had simply left the ring on the appropriate finger for her to find, and he had left her in silence to think on it, because Matthew was unforgivably, cruelly, disgustingly fair.
The light turned green, and she put her foot on the accelerator. He had hedged his bet, more than a little, by arousing her until the only thing on her mind when she went to sleep was her greedy, aching soul, avid for the kind of fulfilment only he could give her.
He was very good at setting up all the stakes on his side, she thought ruefully, a small, dreamy smile playing on her mouth. He hadn’t just promised her trust; he’d given it, freely, in teasing her about Stan, in believing in her when she’d needed to be believed. He’d respected her feelings for her son; he had put her feelings ahead of those of his father; Lorna knew well he had told Mr. Whitaker straight-out that she came first in Matthew’s life. He was a man she could trust, a man of compassion and strength and sensitivity. A man of the sort she’d never believed had existed. And when he touched her…
Such love… All that morning she’d been exhilarated, restless, giddy, laughing at nothing, not able to think a single coherent thought. She adored him; she needed him; she wanted him…
So why, she thought idly, did she feel so scared?
The ring winked at her again as she made a left turn. She
It was amazing, what an inanimate ring could say.
“Mom,” Johnny said patiently, “how many times are you going to keep circling the block?”
She glanced at her son in the rearview mirror. “One more time. Anything wrong with that?” She couldn’t afford to believe there was a jinx on a second time around.
Chapter 13
“Flight three-oh-three to Toronto and Montreal now boarding at gate three-oh-seven. All passengers…”
“Misha?”
Lorna’s head jerked up as Matthew touched her arm, her hand nearly knocking over the coffee cup as she hurriedly stood up. Her nervous clumsiness embarrassed her; she flushed as she said brightly, “Finally! I was beginning to think they were going to ground the plane because of snow.”
“They wouldn’t dare.”
Lorna raised teasing eyebrows as she snatched up her purse. “You mean you wouldn’t let them. I know exactly what’s on your mind, Mr. Whitaker.”
“So do I.” He linked a protective arm through hers after dropping a bill on the table, and they worked their way through the crowded airport. “And I would like to tell you in exact detail what else I have on my mind when I have you completely alone.” The low, husky drawl was whispered in her ear, just as if there weren’t a thousand people all around them.
Lorna shivered, a response she could no more have controlled than she could control her breathing. They had waited more than an hour for their flight to Quebec. Metropolitan International Airport was filled with people who had waited hours for flights delayed because of the blizzard outside.
The walk to their boarding gate would have been lengthy on roller skates. As it was, no one seemed inclined to move willingly to get out of their way. Fractious children with hot red faces were tired of wearing heavy coats and holding their belongings and sitting still. Their mothers, once dressed and coiffed and made up for travel, had wilted. Businessmen swung briefcases like lethal weapons, and the confusion of noise was incredible. The airport loudspeaker was paging particular individuals to remove themselves from the list of lost persons, to pick up their tickets, to answer a summons to speak to someone. Trolleys were clattering through the terminal, laden with luggage; adults were chattering at fevered pitches and babies were crying.
Lorna felt like a pincushion with too many pins piercing her all at once, which was undoubtedly why her pulse kept beating in this strange, fluttery rhythm. Her hands were atypically clammy. For a short time, in the quiet of the small coffee shop, she even wondered if she was coming down with a fever. Her stomach was churning; her legs felt shaky…
She knew none of it showed. Matthew’s eyes would have picked it up if she hadn’t looked well, and when she’d looked in the mirror at home before leaving for the airport, it had told her that for some strange reason, she almost looked beautiful. Bone-colored pumps complemented good-looking legs. Her traveling suit was burnt orange, a favorite color, the wool skirt clinging very nicely to her slim hips; she’d eaten cottage-cheese lunches for a week so that she could afford to buy the cream-colored silk blouse that was so flattering. Her chestnut hair had a gloss like sun glow; her eyes had been subtly, alluringly made up… A healthy, lovely woman had stared at her from the mirror that morning. A woman who loved, a woman who looked loved.
