need.”
Eric flashed a wicked grin. “I know the perfect thing, and you’ll make Mother ecstatic. You know how she’s been after you for years to get your portrait done?”
“Yeah…” Nick said cautiously. He’d been on the hot seat about this portrait thing ever since Eric had caved in and had his done—seated in the library, no less, looking a lot like his grandfather had in his prime.
“A local artist donated an oil portrait. She’s supposed to be good. Bid on that. Kill two birds with one stone.”
Sure, why not? Nick thought. It was for charity, after all.
He and Eric caught up on a few business details having to do with the airline, then Nick wandered off. He thought about leaving the ballroom to check on the Van Zandt woman, then realized how misplaced his concern was. If she was ballsy enough to threaten Eric Statler with a paternity suit, she could take care of herself. And she certainly wasn’t anyone he needed to know better.
BRIDGET SAT DOWNSTAIRS in the hotel lobby, her eyes trained on the elevators. Liz would have to come down sooner or later, and when she did, Bridget intended to take a strip off her sister’s hide. Not only would Liz never get a date with Eric Statler, no decent man would come near either of them because they’d be fearful of getting slapped with a paternity suit.
What on earth had Liz said to Eric? Or to Nick, for that matter? They couldn’t have engineered a worse fiasco if they’d tried. No wonder they hadn’t found husbands.
Bridget recognized several of the formally dressed people who exited the elevators. She kept her head ducked, praying they wouldn’t recognize her. She only hoped she didn’t have to move away from Oaksboro after this misadventure. Although the city had grown tremendously and was getting more cosmopolitan every day, it was still a small town. That small-town gossip grapevine was certainly alive and well.
At last Liz appeared, looking worried. “There you are!” she exclaimed, striding over to where Bridget was seated. “I’ve been looking all over for you. What are you doing down here?”
“I was kicked out of the ball,” Bridget said succinctly, glowering at her sister. “Because of something you said to Eric Statler.”
Liz gasped. “Oh, no!”
“Oh, yes. Mrs. Hampton will be scandalized. Mother will go into hiding. What on earth did you say to the man?”
Liz flopped down defeatedly on the sofa across from Bridget. “It was supposed to be funny. You know, just a witticism to get his attention.”
“What…did…you…say?”
“Well, I said something about how grateful you were to him because you were pregnant. You know, because he owns the clinic and all…”
“Oh, Liz! How could you?”
“I had to say something to catch his attention. You saw how swamped he was with people wanting to talk to him.”
“Never mind. I don’t want to hear any more.”
Liz continued relentlessly. “Once I had his attention I was going to explain, and, well, my witticism was about as funny as a nuclear bomb.”
“Yeah, no kidding.”
“How was I to know the man is so sensitive?” She sighed when Bridget didn’t respond. “Wanting Eric Statler to father my child was the stupidest idea I’ve ever had.”
“Amen. Let’s just get out of here. Then we can proceed with the business of moving to Las Vegas and changing our names.”
“Aw, come on, Sis, it’s not that bad,” Liz said as she walked Bridget to her car. “I mean, if you look at it in a certain way, it’s funny. You should have seen Statler’s face. It turned the most interesting shade of—”
“It’s not funny. It’ll never be funny,” Bridget snapped. She paused as she stuck the key into her car door, overcome by a sudden light-headedness. She steadied herself by grabbing Liz’s arm, then took a deep breath. The moment passed.
“Bridge, are you okay?”
Liz’s sudden and very real concern did a lot toward erasing Bridget’s anger. It was hard to stay mad at Liz, who always meant well.
“Just a little dizzy moment,” she said. “Dr. Keller said not to be surprised if I felt light-headed from time to time.”
Pregnant. She was pregnant, and the baby would be born some time around the end of February.
She started to turn the key in the lock when she heard a noise beside her. It was Liz, and she was crying.
“Liz?”
“I w-want to have a dizzy spell,” she said. “I want to be pregnant, too. Now that I’ve blown it with Eric, I’ll have to start all over finding a donor.”
Bridget put her arm around her twin’s shoulders. “It’ll happen, Liz. You’ve got plenty of time to find the right, um, donor.”
“But we’ve always done everything together.”
Bridget realized she’d done her share of fantasizing about her and Liz waddling down the street together, both of them big as houses. Pushing matching strollers to the park. Trading baby clothes.
“I’m just being silly,” Liz finally said. “Being an aunt is cool, too.” She enveloped Bridget in a bear hug, and they both cried.
SIX WEEKS LATER, at about 7:00 a.m., Bridget envied her unpregnant sister. She lay in bed, her eyes closed and reached blindly for the saltines on the nightstand. This was her mother’s surefire cure for morning sickness—nibble a few saltines before opening your eyes.
After making sure her bed was good and full of crumbs, Bridget opened one eye experimentally. So far, so good. She opened the other eye. No nausea.
This was amazing! She really did feel okay. She sat up slowly, then stood and put on her robe. Maybe she could even eat some cereal. She padded to the kitchen to put the kettle on for tea. September sun streamed cheerfully in through the window.
Bridget opened the back door to get a little breeze. She inhaled deeply taking in the fresh morning air, then got a whiff of whatever her neighbors were cooking for breakfast. Bacon, she realized just as her stomach revolted. She made a mad dash for the bathroom, barely making it.
Great. In a short time she had an appointment with the man who’d bought her portrait donation from the Oilman’s Ball charity auction. He’d paid an unheard of fifty-two hundred dollars for the painting. Bridget’s usual price would have been something closer to half that amount.
She’d already rescheduled the appointment once. Since the man had paid so much, she didn’t feel right about canceling again. She would just have to get through it somehow.
Her stomach settled as she headed for the address she’d been given, a few miles south of town. Once she had her bearings, she gave some thought to the portrait she was to paint. Usually her subjects had an idea of what they wanted, but if this man didn’t, she had to be prepared with some suggestions. It would help
