and headed for the door-and then remembered that he wasn’t alone. Swearing, he grabbed his pants as a knock sounded on the door and it started to open.
He yelped and dived for the bedcovers.
Whether he’d made it in time or not, he couldn’t tell. When he turned to face his visitor, his sheet decorously up to his neck, she was in the room. A twitching muscle at the corner of her mouth and a twinkle lurking at the back of her eyes made him suspect that he hadn’t.
“I’m sorry,” she said apologetically, the twinkle growing. “I shouldn’t have disturbed you, but I’ve made you breakfast. It’ll spoil if it stays in the oven.”
But Michael was no longer focusing on breakfast-or on his modesty. What on earth was she wearing? He blinked, and blinked again. He was accustomed to Jenny in the plain navy or black shapeless dresses she wore to work. They looked like something out of the welfare bin from thirty years back, he thought grimly. He’d grown accustomed to the idea that his secretary spent no money and no time on her clothing.
But what was she wearing now? There’d been a pile of clothes in the bottom of her suitcase. This must have been among them. Traces of a previous life, he thought.
And the traces were stunning! She was dressed in bright crimson leggings, an oversize T-shirt that practically reached her knees, with crimson, purple, yellow and white stripes, and brilliant yellow trainers on her feet. With black laces!
Her shoulder-length curls, usually held demurely back, bounced happily in a ponytail, tied up with a huge crimson ribbon.
“What the…” She still looked pregnant-very pregnant-but she seemed about ten years younger. She looked amazing.
She looked gorgeous!
“You don’t wear clothes like that,” he said, and she grinned, bouncing over to put his pancakes on his bedside table. Her ponytail bounced in unison.
“I do. Well, mostly I do. In my past life I did. When I’m doing office work, when I’m eight months pregnant and when I don’t have any money to spend on clothes, then I don’t. I wear sacks that I make myself. But these leggings are Lycra. See?” She held up her T-shirt so Michael could see where the Lycra stretched to dangerous limits. He blinked again. “This is what I wore for jogging before I was pregnant. It’s the only outfit that still fits me, though whether or not it will after my baby’s born…” She looked thoughtful. “Maybe I’ve ruined my leggings, but I guess I can always wear suspenders.” She smiled happily at him, supremely unconcerned. “Anyway, I’m off. Here’s your breakfast.”
“You’re off?”
“For a jog.” She grinned. “Well, a joggle, more like. I’m not very fast and I’m not very elegant.”
“Are you supposed to be doing that?”
“Yep. Abby says so. There’s more pancakes in the oven if you want them. I’ve eaten six.”
“Six?” He was starting to sound inane, and Jenny was aware of it. She couldn’t know he was just plain dumb- founded.
“You don’t sound very bright this morning,” she said, peering at him anxiously. “Maybe I shouldn’t have woken you.” She looked at him with maternal concern. “You just eat your pancakes-there’s a nice cup of tea here, too-and then snuggle under the covers. I’ll come in very quietly when I return, so I don’t wake you.”
“Jenny.” Goaded, he started to throw the covers off, then thought better of it. Jenny chuckled.
“Very wise.”
“Wait and I’ll come with you.”
“Why on earth would you want to do that?” she asked in amazement. “It’s Sunday morning.”
“Why on earth would
“That’s easy. It’s a gorgeous morning. The river’s calling. I’ve been so worried for the last few weeks that I’ve been making myself ill, but suddenly, thanks to you-” her smile softened so much it made his gut kick in “-I’m no longer worried. All’s right with my world and I’m off to feel the sun on my face.” She stooped, and before he knew what she was planning to do, she kissed him lightly on the forehead. Then she whisked herself over to the doorway, smiling at his baffled expression.
“Jenny,” he began.
“Yes?”
He stared. He stared at her some more. Then he stared at the beautifully prepared tray-the stack of pancakes, the maple syrup and whipped butter, the little teapot he hadn’t even known he had.
Then he stared at her, this stunning, laughing woman he hadn’t known existed under his staid, plain secretary.
“I’m-I’m sorry I didn’t get up when you started to cook,” he said at last, sounding pathetic even to himself. “I’m not much into domesticity.”
“Then that’s a pity, Michael,” she said softly, the twinkle still in her eye. He had an overwhelming impression he was being laughed at. “Because, like it or not, you’ve married into all the domesticity I can muster.”
FOR ABOUT fifteen minutes after she left, he stayed in bed. He ate his pancakes-well, he ate four and couldn’t figure out how she’d managed six-and then lay back and stared at the ceiling.
Sunday morning he usually joined up with a couple of buddies who were into basketball. Like him, they were cops or ex-cops. They shot a few baskets, had a couple of beers and shared some laughs, and generally reassured themselves that the bachelor life they led was exactly what they wanted.
Once upon a time there were a dozen or so guys who showed up. Lately he’d been thinking they were becoming an endangered species.
If he didn’t go, he told himself, they’d be even more endangered.
So why shouldn’t he go? He’d given Jenny a key last night. There was no need for him to stay here and wait for her to return. He could head off to the courts, and she could let herself in. There was no need to wait.
She shouldn’t be long.
He rose and showered-slowly-and dressed, and she wasn’t back yet.
He took his breakfast dishes into his pristine kitchen and loaded the dishwasher. He collected the newspaper and read a few headlines.
She still wasn’t back.
The guys would be waiting. They’d be on the court. He paced and swore.
She wasn’t back even then.
Okay, he’d just wander down the road, take the path by the river. Heck, it was as good for him to take a river walk as it was to shoot baskets, and the guys wouldn’t miss him this once.
He started walking. But since he was wearing runners, it wasn’t long before his feet started a jogging rhythm.
What if Gloria’s thugs had been waiting for her?
Logic told him he was being unreasonable. There was no way Gloria’s hired men would be lying in wait for her down by the river so early on a Sunday morning. There was no chance they could have guessed she’d go there.
But if they’d been driving by…
“You’re getting paranoid,” Michael said crossly, but his feet hastened their pace all the same, his jog turning to a run. Finally he could see the wide riverbank and…
She was there.
If there was one thing that could be said for yellow, crimson, purple and white stripes on a very pregnant lady, it was that they could be seen from a long way off. Jenny stood out like a striped beacon. She appeared to be…
Playing hopscotch?
She couldn’t be, Michael thought. But that was exactly what she was doing. “Home,” she yelled triumphantly. She was surrounded by a sea of little girls-half a dozen six-or seven-year-olds-and they had a hopscotch court marked with stones. They’d been egging her on. She held up her stick, triumphant, and waved. “You bet I couldn’t make it. How’s that for a pregnant lady?”
The girls fell into a fit of giggles, and an elderly lady rose from the park bench and clapped her hands. “That’s wonderful, my dear. But should you be jumping? I mean, the baby…”
