Have Baby, Need Beau. Rita Herron
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tissue paper lay a pale pink envelope, but she heard Seth’s car coming, so she stuffed the letter in her purse, deciding to read it as they drove.
Seth parked the Lexus and climbed out, snow dotting his thick hair and glistening on his bronzed skin. He’d buttoned his suit coat to hide the tear in his pants. Mimi stifled a giggle.
“What’s inside?” Seth asked.
“I’m afraid to look.”
“Don’t be silly. Nothing in there could possibly affect your future.”
Mimi bit down on her lip. Seth lifted the tissue paper and her stomach flip-flopped. A beautiful bouquet lay in the center of the hope chest.
Two wedding bouquets in one day—not a good sign.
“Grammy Rose carried this bouquet when she married Gramps. I saw a picture of it in her photo album.”
“See, nothing so strange about that.”
Right. Nothing earth-shattering happened. No knight in shining armor appeared. Just dull Seth Broadhurst in a gray Lexus.
Mimi pushed aside the remaining tissue, her gaze resting on a blue-and-white baby quilt, a rocking-horse design appliquéed on the front. An antique silver baby rattle lay beside it.
“Now I know Grammy’s confused,” Mimi said with a nervous giggle. “I’m certainly not mommy material.”
“Anyone can see that.”
Mimi narrowed her eyes. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing.” Seth shifted onto his other foot. “Just that I can’t see you having kids.”
“Well, I can’t see you having them, either.”
Seth arched a brow. “And why is that?”
“You’d probably psychoanalyze them to death.”
“I would not.”
“So you want children?” Mimi asked.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
“Forget it.” Seth glanced up at the dark clouds. “Hurry up and see what else is in there so we can get going.”
Mimi nodded, still stinging from his comment about her and motherhood. “Look, Grammy included her recipe book.”
“I guess she thought you could use it at the coffee shop.”
“I’m not going to work there forever,” Mimi said, slightly defensive. “I’m trying out for a part in that soap opera that’s going to be filmed in Atlanta called Scandalous. They need a belly dancer.” Mimi turned around and shook her body, snowflakes splashing her cheeks.
THE IMAGE OF Mimi Hartwell in a harem costume was sexy and titillating. Not at all an appropriate way for Seth to be thinking about Hannah’s sister.
He quickly squelched it. Mimi was a bona fide wannabe actress who probably changed boyfriends more often than he changed socks. Besides, the storm was getting worse and they needed to move.
Mimi slammed the chest shut. “Let’s put it in the car and get going.”
Grateful to be pulled back into reality, Seth helped her lift the hope chest and situate it in his trunk. Mimi rushed to the passenger side and climbed in, shivering and damp. He jumped in and turned on the heater, wishing he’d invested in snow tires.
Mimi adjusted the radio to a soft-rock station and began to hum softly, her voice melodious and rich, her hands fidgeting with an envelope in her hand. He turned his attention to his driving, the wind swirling snow through the wooded area around them, the road already growing slick. Tree limbs bowed with the weight of the snow, and a bitter wind wheezed through the trees, occasionally cracking thin branches and flinging them into the road. He dodged the branches and braked, shifting to low gear as he wound down the mountain.
“This weather’s making me nervous,” Mimi finally said. “I can hardly see the road.”
Seth was uneasy, too. “Now that it’s dark, it’s only going to get worse.”
“You think we’ll make it back to Sugar Hill?”
Seth shrugged, his shoulders tight as he gripped the steering wheel. “I’ll do my best to get us there.”
The envelope rustled in Mimi’s hands as she twisted them together. “Good, I have plans later on tonight.”
A date? Had Mimi already recovered from Joey and moved on to someone else? Or was she planning to visit Joey in prison?
The thought irked him, although he didn’t know why.
The car was growing warm, and he saw that she’d relaxed, so he adjusted the heat, faintly aware of the exotic scent of her perfume. With the windshield fogged, the blizzard whirling around them and some mellow oldie playing on the radio, the interior of the car suddenly seemed way too intimate.
He yanked at his tie, loosening the knot at his neck. “What is that perfume you’re wearing?”
Mimi smiled, obviously thinking he liked the strong scent. “Passion Point. You’re supposed to dab it on your…”
He arched a brow.
“Well, you know. All your erogenous zones.”
Which must have been her whole body.
Seth swung his gaze back to the road, the blur of imagined fantasies nearly blinding him to the white haze in front of him.
The radio announcer bleeped in. “Folks, we’re in the midst of a full-fledged winter storm alert. Already some major expressways have been closed for safety reasons. We’re advising you to stay off them. If you’re a traveler, seek shelter in a hotel until morning when snowplows can clear the roads.” He finished by listing areas suffering from downed power lines and trees.
“I guess we’d better try to find a hotel,” he said.
Mimi narrowed her eyes as if spending the night at the same hotel with him was a horrendous imposition.
Well, he wasn’t too happy about it, either, but he was too much of a gentlemen to say so. After all, he had an important date tonight, too.
Of course, his date was a copy of Strategies for Coping with Divorce in the Single-Family Home, but he didn’t have to tell her that.
Mimi avoided looking at Seth, uneasy about the hazardous conditions, but Hannah had always claimed Seth was completely reliable. Not mind-boggling in the love department, but dependable. Come to think of it, Hannah had never mentioned that she’d slept with Seth, but Mimi had assumed they had. She’d also assumed Hannah hadn’t talked about their love life because it had been lacking in umph. Seth probably had to consult his pocket calendar to schedule sex. Seth never did anything impetuous, could be depended on to keep a cool head—exactly what she needed when surrounded by a raging blizzard. Someone who wasn’t driven by hormones, as Joey had been.
Feeling calmer, she opened the letter and smiled at her Grammy’s loopy handwriting. She could almost hear her grandmother’s Southern drawl…
My spunky little Mimi,
You have always been special to me because you were the middle child, the one who tagged along to her older sister’s recitals, the one who wore hand-me-downs and rolled with the punches whenever there were problems. You never ran from a fight, never fussed when your dad was too busy working to come home at night, never complained that you never got anything first. You have a heart of gold, an infectious smile, and you’re a sucker for strays. You made us laugh when we thought there might never be laughter in the house again.
You’re feisty and witty, creative and determined, but independent to a fault. You know how to have fun in life and laugh at your problems. You are a survivor. I hope you learn to trust in others,