mother, but she’d always adored him, and what he’d lacked in hugs and snuggles, she’d made up for by being there for him every time he turned to her for help. When Julie died, Lulu had left a friend in charge of the B-and-B and come to stay with him for a month to help the girls and do all the paperwork chores, such as death certificates and insurance notifications, that he simply hadn’t had the heart for.
She’d cooked, too, though even Roxie had noticed that they ate a lot of egg dishes and fancy pancakes.
“Well, she has a bed-and-breakfast,” Vanessa had pointed out with surprising insight. “Breakfast is all she gets to cook.”
Lulu did seem worried as she hooked her arm in his now and led him into the dining room. Several guests occupied the living room and were in cheerful conversation about their respective vacations.
“I want to do this with a minimum of fuss,” she said quietly, smiling as one of the guests waved at her. “Miss Browning didn’t come down to breakfast and she was really under the weather yesterday.”
Ben nodded. “I understand that, Mom. I just don’t know why you think I’m the one to handle this.”
“Because you’re my troubleshooter. You fix everything around here.”
“But this is a person. Not a pipe or an electrical connection.”
“You were very good with Julie, and she was a complex, sometimes volatile woman.”
“I was married to Julie.”
“You’re good with everyone.” Lulu physically turned him toward the hallway and the stairs. “Just please make sure she’s okay, then explain that she has to leave. She’s in the Woodsy Cabin Room on the third floor. All the other guests on that floor are out. Her name’s Natalie!” she whispered after him.
Right. The Woodsy Cabin Room was the one with pine tree motif paper at the top, brown bears gamboling over the paper on the bottom, and the whole of it brought together by green border paper patterned with moose.
He had to be insane, Ben thought as he climbed two flights of stairs, to let his mom bully him into this. What did a man say to a strange woman clearly on a lost weekend?
He drew a breath, prayed that he would create as small a scene as possible, and knocked on the door.
He was surprised when it opened immediately. And he was quite literally rendered speechless by the woman who stood there. She wore only a red-and-black flannel shirt and red-toed boot socks. She was fairly tall, five-foot-nine or -ten, and her legs from the tail of her shirt to her ankles were something to behold—shapely, milky white and very, very long.
He dragged his eyes away abruptly, concentrating on his mission. But gazing into her face wasn’t easy on him, either. She had wide gray eyes that appeared a little vague, but were filled with an expression that mingled pain and sadness—two things with which he was very familiar. Her nose was small and came to a delicate—if red—point, her lips were nicely shaped but pale, her chin was gently rounded and her face was a perfect oval.
A short, unruly mop of golden-blond hair stood up in disarray. She peered at him with unfocused eyes. In the hand that held the door open was a small, flat box.
She looked like a cross between Michelle Pfeiffer and Jenna Elfman. Ben found himself touched by the look in her eyes. He couldn’t even think about her legs.
He forced himself to remember why he was here, and opened his mouth to speak.
But she asked abruptly, “Are you…the one?” She weaved a little as she peered at him more closely.
“Uh…the one?”
“The one,” she repeated, making a wide gesture with the box. It was apparently empty. “The one who’s going to finally get me pregnant.”
He completely lost his train of thought. He stared at her.
“’Cause Dori told me…” She leaned against the door and winced, rubbing her head. “But I thought it was a dream.” She spoke slowly, her voice slurred. “I just woke up. But I feel so…” She dropped the box and seemed to sink, about to fall.
He reached for the box instinctively and caught it, then grabbed for her and pushed her gently back toward the bed. Her hands clasped his arms and held on.
Her eyes looked into his, their gray depths almost lucid. He felt her tension in the grip of her fingers.
“You are him,” she whispered.
She looked so grave. What was she talking about? “Who?” he asked, lowering his voice unconsciously.
“The father of my baby,” she replied.
“I’m…Lulu’s son,” he said, pulling the edge of the coverlet over her knees.
“Lulu?”
“She owns this place.”
The woman looked around the room. “The…clinic?”
“No, this isn’t a clinic. You’re staying at a bed-and-breakfast.”
She frowned, apparently trying to absorb that. “Why?”
“I don’t know,” he replied. “You’ve been sick.” He held up the box and saw that it contained extra-strength cold medication. “I think you’ve had a cold.” He tossed the box at the bedside table and noted the empty toddy mug there. The brandy bottle stood beside it.
She fell back onto the mattress, then put a finger to her lips. “Sick. But…shh! Or they’ll report that I’m dying!”
He didn’t even try to understand what that meant. He reached for the bottle and held it up to the light. It was still mostly full, though he guessed even a small amount of brandy with strong cold medication could reduce someone to such a state.
“How many pills have you had?” he asked.
She put a hand to her head. “Um…five…eight. Not sure.”
“You should eat something,” he suggested. “Maybe drink some coffee.” He pulled the coverlet all the way over her. “I’ll go get—”
She caught his shirtsleeve with surprising strength, preventing him from straightening up. “I just want the baby,” she said. “Now. Before I…”
He guessed she’d been about to say, “Before I pass out,” because then she did just that.
“Oh boy,” Ben grumbled to himself as he placed a pillow under her head. She was crackers, but he probably was, too. After a year and a half of celibacy, making a baby with a gorgeous blonde didn’t sound half-bad.
But he preferred his women conscious.
His women, he thought with dry amusement. As though he’d had any. It had been him and Julie since high school. He’d never had another lover. And he didn’t want another one now. He fully intended to live out his life in quiet frustration, because there couldn’t be another woman with whom he fit so perfectly in every way. Like the damned wallpaper.
