Slow Ride. Carrie Alexander
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options open.”
“I’m not so hard up that I can’t find a donor on my own.” Though Rory had her doubts. Her baby daydreams had gone as far as wondering who would be the father, but hadn’t gotten much beyond that even though there were several good male friends she could ask. Too large a part of her still wanted to go the traditional marriage route.
Which was odd, given her upbringing. Her father, one of Emma’s many lovers, had drifted into Rory’s life at infrequent intervals, acting more like a friendly, but distant, uncle than a dad. Larger-than-life Emma had filled in for the lack with supreme confidence. She’d been everything—father, mother, disciplinarian, instigator, best friend.
Rory worried a ragged cuticle. On second thought, perhaps her inclination to experience the one type of family life Emma couldn’t provide was not so odd. She had immense respect for her mother, but not everyone could live up to her example.
“A grandchild would be nice.” Emma rocked, placid and obdurate. Every child who arrived at Garrison Street soon learned that for all of Emma’s go-with-the-flow philosophies, she was also the original immovable object. “You don’t need to approach this like a business decision, sweetie. A baby is Mother Nature at her finest. Plant a seed, it will sprout. The practical details will work out.”
Rory squirmed. She’d change the subject, but the only other one that sprang to mind was sex. Her sisters were comfortable discussing the details of their sex lives with Emma. Rory less so. “I can’t believe you’re trying to talk me into having a baby on my own. Whatever happened to family values?”
“Don’t try to distract me with political posturing. I wouldn’t be going along with the idea if I wasn’t sure it’s something you truly want.” Emma rearranged her tangled skein of yarn. “Lauren and Mikki and I will always be here to help. It takes a village…”
“I know, but that’s not the point.”
“Don’t tell me you want a husband first.”
Rory pressed her knuckles against her smile. “I know it’s a radical idea, but you raised me to be an independent thinker.”
Her mother sniffed. “I have nothing against the concept of life mates.”
“And marriage vows…?”
Brows raised, Emma peered at Rory over the rim of her reading glasses. “If you must.”
“Don’t worry. I have no prospects at the moment, for either a husband or a father.”
“What about the young man you’re going to Mendocino with?”
“I haven’t decided about that.”
“Hmm. I’ve forgotten his name.”
“I didn’t tell you.”
“One of the girls must have mentioned him during brunch.”
There was no hiding. “Tucker Schulz.” Rory’s stomach flipped over. “Don’t get any ideas. His only potential is as a friend.”
Emma’s all-knowing gaze was on Rory’s face; she felt it heating up. “Mikki knows him?”
“He’s Nolan’s best friend.”
“Interesting.”
“No, it’s not. Not for my part.” But her mother had always been able to read her like a book and it was clear she could see past Rory’s avowals even when she continued to deny her interest.
After a moment the knitting needles resumed clicking. “There’s nothing wrong with going as friends.”
Nothing right about it, either, Rory thought. She’d be asking for trouble. So far, Mikki was still talking about researching divorce laws and filing new papers to end her marriage, but they’d been close for too long. Rory knew how much feeling her sister had buried under the hard-hearted act.
Which meant Tucker was right. If they had a weekend fling, and then Nolan and Mikki ended up together after all, they’d be forced to see each other over and over, in the most awkward of social circumstances. Some women were able to keep ex-lovers as friends—namely her mother. Rory doubted she could be as equable. For years after Brad had dumped her, she’d avoided his neighborhood and their mutual friends. When he’d moved away, her relief had been enormous.
But this was Tucker, not Brad. Was she so afraid of the possible consequences that she’d give up the grand prize trip? There was caution, and then there was stupidity.
Rory couldn’t remember the last time a man had taken her to such a high level of attraction so quickly. Judging by Tucker’s actions—and reactions—he shared at least some of her fascination.
Any future awkwardness might be worth it, she told herself. Their explosive chemistry indicated a risk worth taking.
4
ALMOST TWO WEEKS LATER Rory was called to the phone at her Chestnut Street bakery in the Marina, where she spent most of her time. There were rare days when she could sit back and let her store managers do the work while she congratulated herself on the efficiency of her operation. Then there were times when seemingly a million small problems cropped up and she was at the center of most of them.
This was one of those days. She’d been on the phone or on her feet all day.
“Take a message,” she said to the employee who held the kitchen phone in one hand and a big spoon covered with slime in the other.
“I tried, but she said it’s Maureen Baxter.”
Rory inched out from below the mammoth industrial sink. “This is hopelessly clogged. We have to call a plumber. Katya, can you take care of that?” The drain had spewed smelly sludge when she’d managed to get the pipe open. Her first and favorite unclogging method of jabbing a wooden spoon into the works hadn’t worked.
“I’m on it.” Katya, the store manager, tossed the spoon into the trash, then handed Rory a white towel.
She wiped her hands before taking the phone. “Yes, Maureen?”
“Rory, my darling Clementine. I simply had to call to say thank you one more time for your generosity. I just returned from the Baxter House location and the work they’ve accomplished in the time since our fundraiser is incredible.”
“I’m glad to hear it, but you really must stop thanking me, Mo. I was happy to help in my small way.” Not only had Rory donated the bread and bakeries for the event at Clementine’s, but she’d been so inspired by Maureen that she’d mailed off a large check this past week.
“You should stop by the site. It’s quite something. Apparently we were mentioned in the blog of some obscure online magazine, and now the volunteers are crawling out of the woodwork. Everyone from Barry Bonds to the mayor has lent a hand, and you know what a coup it is to get Barry.”
“Wonderful. I guess the blog wasn’t that obscure after all.” Although she was secretly pleased to hear that Lauren’s Inside Out blog had such a faithful following, Rory was only half listening. Despite the exhaust fan, the air in the kitchen was ripe with the stink from the burping sink. She pointed and flapped the towel, motioning for Katya to prop open the back door.
“My current task is to see that the construction proceeds without delay,” said Maureen.
“Good luck.” From what Rory had experienced with the ongoing renovation of her newest store, construction never proceeded without delay.
“I’ve been rounding up daily lunchtime donations from local restaurants,” Maureen went on. “We can’t have our volunteers going hungry.”
Aha. “I’d be happy to help,” Rory said before Maureen had to ask. “My Castro store is closest to your site. I’ll give the manager a call to see what we can set up.”
“Thanks scads, Rory. If I get fixings from one