Have Bouquet, Need Boyfriend. Rita Herron
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would do whatever was necessary in order to secure it.
Rebecca and her grandmother ambled up the wraparound porch, heads bowed, voices hushed. Thomas hunched his shoulders against the chilly December air and strode across the lawn to catch Rebecca before she left. Then he would set his plan in motion.
REBECCA SLIPPED INTO her Grammy Rose’s parlor, breathing in the essence of her grandmother in the polished antiques and silver-framed photos of family and friends. She had always loved this room, loved the needlepoint pillows and china cups, the smell of Grammy’s rose-scented sachets filling the air, the scrapbooks full of treasured gifts from each of her grandchildren.
Someday she wanted a room like this in her own home. Just like she wanted a house full of kids, and then grandchildren. She would keep rose-scented potpourri in the house and homemade doilies on the coffee table, and keep pictures of all her children and grandchildren framed on the wall.
“It’s time you take your hope chest home,” Grammy said.
Rebecca’s throat tightened at the sight of the ornately carved wooden chest. Alison and her sisters had talked as if their hope chests carried some kind of secret power. Like an omen for the future. Or maybe Grammy Rose did.
Did the hope chest mean a wedding might be in the future for her?
No, Rebecca couldn’t allow herself to believe in such fantasies.
“But, Grammy, I’m not getting married.”
“Nonsense. Of course you are.”
Rebecca stared wide-eyed at the chest. She itched to reach out and touch it, to open it and discover what treasures lay inside.
But she couldn’t admit those feelings aloud.
“No, I…I don’t want to get married,” she forced herself to say. “I…I like my life just the way it is.”
THOMAS OVERHEARD Rebecca talking to her grandmother and breathed a sigh of relief. Rebecca didn’t want marriage, so he didn’t have to worry about her getting the wrong idea if he cozied up to her.
Thank goodness.
He didn’t want to hurt her. But being friendly with her might help his chances of getting the new job. Then he could move on with his life and make a name for himself in the medical world. And he’d finally fulfill that promise he’d made to himself years ago.
Yes, Rebecca would be the key to him leaving Sugar Hill.
The voices behind the door grew hushed, and he strained to hear, then stepped back, ashamed at himself for eavesdropping. Suddenly the door swung open, and Grammy Rose’s pointed chin jutted up in surprise, her eyes sparkling.
“Hey there, young man.” She threaded a strand of gray hair back inside the pearl clip at her nape. “Dr. Emerson, isn’t it?”
Heat warmed Thomas’s neck. She didn’t know he’d been listening, did she? “Yes, ma’am.”
“Listen, son, could you do me a favor?”
“I’ll do what I can.” Surely, she wasn’t inventing an illness for him to treat, like a few of the women patients who swarmed his office. He’d never seen anything like life in Sugar Hill.
“Good. My granddaughter Rebecca needs help carrying her hope chest to the car.” She gestured toward the room behind her. “She’s right there in the parlor.”
Thomas frowned. Didn’t women receive hope chests when they were engaged? Odd. He’d just heard Rebecca say she wasn’t interested in marriage.
REBECCA SLID A FINGER around the lock of the chest and released it, her heart pounding when the top sprang open. She should wait until she arrived home to look inside the hope chest. But curiosity replaced common sense, and she lifted the lid.
Dark-red velvet lined the chest and a piece of antique lace was folded over the top of the contents. Her fingers traced the fabrics, reveling in the richness of texture as she slowly moved the lace aside. A white bride’s book lay nestled there, its top embossed with silver wedding bells.
Footsteps suddenly sounded against the hardwood floor, the loose board at the parlor door squeaking. She slammed the lid closed, then swung around to find Thomas Emerson standing in the doorway.
“Your grandmother asked me to help you take something to the car.”
His deep voice spun a dizzying web around her senses. She opened her mouth to speak but barely managed to sputter a no.
He inched inside the room anyway, his masculine presence nearly overpowering the room.
“Thanks, but I…I can get it.” Rebecca fidgeted atop the small wooden stool, wishing she could shrink the hope chest and keep it out of sight. He might think she was hinting at something.
Like the fact that she wanted a husband and family of her own.
His green eyes radiated warmth as he gazed down at her. No wonder all the ladies in town threw themselves at him. “Come on, Rebecca. I don’t mind.” He moved around her, planting his big hands on his hips as he studied the box. “Will it fit in your car?”
She nodded, her palms sweaty as she stood. Oh, heck. She couldn’t very well deny him or she’d look like an idiot. “In…the back.”
He lifted the chest in one fluid motion, then gestured toward the doorway. Rebecca grabbed her purse and trotted forward, willing herself not to fall on her face or break her neck before she reached the car.
On the porch she hugged her grandmother and said a hasty goodbye, faintly aware most of the other guests had left. Hannah and Mimi were huddled inside the cluster of their father and mother. Her heart squeezed with envy. Sometimes she felt closer to her uncle Wiley than her own father. She searched for her sister to say goodbye, but Suzanne had apparently left to hit some of the after-Christmas sales with the twins.
Seconds later she managed to find her trusted clunker station wagon at the foot of the long, winding drive, where she’d parked between two trees. Thomas’s silver Porsche convertible was parked across the drive, her father’s Suburban several yards away by some pines. She watched as Thomas slid the hope chest into the back, her breath catching at the sight of his dark hair falling over his eyes.
“There you go.” He raked the lock of hair back in a gesture so manly that she had to swallow.
“Thanks.” She wanted to say more but her tongue caught on her teeth.
A smile curved his mouth, the wind tousling the lock of hair into disarray again, making him even more sexy. “Are you in a hurry? We could grab some coffee and talk.”
Talk?
No, talk was impossible. Her tongue was superglued to her teeth now.
She shook her head. “I…have—” she paused and cleared her throat “—have to hurry home.”
He jammed his hands in his pockets and studied her as she darted past him and into the car. “Are you sure? Rebecca…”
She ignored the fact that he followed her to the driver’s side and waved him off. “Thanks again.” Rebecca’s hands shook as she shoved the keys into the ignition, her mind tumbling with questions. Had Thomas really asked her out?
And if so, why?
It didn’t matter. She was a flirting failure and a disaster at the sex talk most women seemed so comfortable with these days. A real dinosaur at relationships.
She pressed the clutch, turned the key and sighed as the engine roared to life. Putting it into reverse, she rolled backward. Then she glanced in her rearview window and saw Thomas jump aside.
Dear God, she’d almost hit him.
He threw up a hand and waved anyway, and she panicked and pressed the gas again. But she’d forgotten to shift into drive and the car shot