Prescription: Marry Her Immediately (13 page)

His lips tingled with the need to kiss her. All of her. It didn’t matter how much experience Amy had, he was going to arouse sensations she’d never dreamed of, the same kind she inspired in him.

On the verge of reaching out, he hesitated as anxiety, like a miasma from an unseen swamp, swirled up without warning. It was overwhelming, this sense of an unnamed danger lurking in the shadows. Where had it come from?

There must be a reason why his subconscious was throwing up this alert, Quent thought. Maybe it was protecting him and Amy from his impulsive nature. He certainly didn’t want to make a premature move that would annoy her.

He’d always believed that, if you let it, life fell into place. In the long run, everything would sort itself out. Frustrated but resigned, he refrained from touching her.

“Is everything okay?” he asked instead.

“I heard Greg
get up.” Amy’s voice came out thick. She swallowed. “He’s fine.”

“Good night, then.”

“Good night.”

She slipped by. He felt her warmth linger in the cool air long after the bedroom door closed behind her.

O
N
S
ATURDAY
, they went Christmas shopping, encouraging the children to identify toys for Santa to give them later. Amy found the vast selection almost overwhelming, and was grateful that the kids seemed to have a clear idea of what they wanted. Or at least in Tara’s case, she knew how to point and say, “Mine!”

She knew what she wanted for Christmas, but she wasn’t likely to get it. These past two nights, her longing for Quent had tantalized every waking moment. Each time he came near, her pulse quickened and her skin registered the air currents as if they were caresses.

He wanted her, too, she was almost certain of it. Surely her instincts couldn’t be entirely wrong. She respected his decision to hold back, however, or perhaps she was simply afraid to give up the safety of the known for a plunge into uncharted seas.

She returned her attention to the toy store. Quent was vetoing Greg’s choice of a large box of Lego.

“Tara might swallow one of the pieces,” he said. “After all, you’re sharing a room.”

“I’m tired of baby stuff!” Greg retorted.

“He can store them in my room,” Amy said. “Tara’s going to be a toddler for a couple more years. You can’t expect Greg to play with blocks forever.”

“Good point,” Quent conceded. “We’ll have to be careful about when and where they can be played with, though. Okay?”

“Sure,” Greg said.

After the kids were in bed, Quent went
back to purchase the selections, along with plenty of colorful paper. They wrapped the toys at the dining-room table and hid them in a closet.

He was so polite, Amy wanted to slap him. What had happened to her frisky playmate from the afternoon before the palm tree fell?

He’d grown up and become a father, she supposed. But why did his newfound maturity have to breed caution in every aspect of his life?

Well, not every aspect, she found to her relief. On Sunday afternoon, they spent hours at a playground, whooping and laughing. Greg tried to imitate the way his uncle walked and gestured. Tara enjoyed having “conversations” with Amy, even though many of her words remained unintelligible at this age.

Already, Amy could feel the bonds strengthening between her, Quent and the children. Bit by bit, they were becoming a family.

She and Quent were learning how to compromise, she realized. At the park, they couldn’t find anywhere to wash hands. After a brief discussion, they decided to allow the children to wipe off the dirt on their clothing before eating the snack they’d brought. Quent promised to buy a pocket-size bottle of hand sanitizer, which Amy had never heard of before.

When it was time to go, Greg refused to leave. Although she would have preferred that he learn to obey the rules without quarreling, Amy smoothed matters over by reminding him of a TV show he wanted to watch.

“We can’t expect them to be perfect,” she said once they were home, with Tara napping and Greg, having tired of the TV program, throwing darts at the board.

“As a physician,
I’d rather they lived in a sterile environment, ate only health food and never watched TV,” Quent admitted over a cup of hot chocolate. “That’s not realistic, I can see.”

“They’d be miserable and so would we,” she agreed.

“Let’s be honest. I’m the original junk-food junkie, and there’s nothing like a kung-fu movie on late-night television.” He helped himself to a cookie. “Being responsible for a child’s well-being sure changes my perspective.”

“I’ve got a lot to learn, too,” Amy said. “It didn’t occur to me to keep Greg’s toys stored where Tara can’t reach them. I’m glad you brought it up.”

“We make a good team.” He offered her the cookies, and she took one.

“Yes, we do.” She tried not to dwell on how much she wanted them to be a real team.

Several times over the weekend, Amy had noticed Quent watching her with a warm expression. He’d rushed to steady her when she’d nearly fallen off the monkey bars at the playground, and she’d leaned against him, relishing his strength and protection. He hadn’t been in any hurry to separate from her, either.

There was hope yet, she supposed.

N
ATALIE,
her face tanned from her cruise, gave a thumbs-up after tasting her salad at the Birthing Center cafeteria. “The menu has improved by leaps and bounds. Sun-dried tomatoes and feta cheese at Doctors Circle! Who could have imagined?”

“With an ambience like this, I’d be tempted to eat here every day, except that I’d gain weight.” Heather took another bite of her fettuccine with pesto sauce.

Amy’s gaze swept the
redecorated room. As part of the center’s remodeling, the drab cafeteria had been repainted, the linoleum replaced and French-style glass doors installed at the entrance to the patio. There was a new menu, too.

“They could have done more with the holiday decorations.” She made a face at the scattering of cranberry-red bows that were the only sign of the season. “I realize that Christmas colors clash with the new palette, but what’s wrong with excess?”

“I must be dining with the wrong Amy Ravenna,” Natalie said. “Didn’t you tell me last year that you hated all the fuss and that ornaments should be banned unless they’re edible?”

Amy squirmed, wishing she could take back that Scrooge-like sentiment. “I was on an environmental kick. Besides, that was before…”

“Before you had kids,” Heather finished for her. “Along with a live-in boyfriend who likes to party.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Amy said. “And now that he’s a father, he’s only interested in the kind of party that comes with balloons and birthday cakes.”

“When are you going to stop pretending this is strictly platonic?” Natalie teased. “We weren’t born yesterday, you know.”

“Don’t start!” She cringed at how far her friends were from the truth. True to his word, Quent hadn’t given her so much as a good-night kiss all weekend. “You just got back today and already you’re on my case.”

“I ran into Mrs. McLanahan this morning while I was making rounds,” Heather said. “She was delivering a gift-shop bouquet. The moment she saw me, she started humming a wedding march.”

“Obviously she
thinks you’re getting married,” Amy said. “Although I can’t imagine why.”

“As she passed me, she said, ‘Tell your friend those kids need a permanent mom.’ I think she was referring to you,” Heather said.

Amy sighed. Obviously the grapevine had reached Noreen big-time.

“It’ll turn into a romance,” Natalie said sympathetically. “You want it to, don’t you?”

More than she could possibly express. More than she even dared think about. “He’s a lost cause,” she said. “Quent sees me as his best buddy, nothing more.”

“You think not?” A small pucker formed between Heather’s eyebrows. “I’ve watched you two together. Take it from a grandma, there’s lava bubbling beneath the still waters.”

“Speaking of water!” Natalie smacked her palms on the table. “You and your families are invited to a party on Patrick’s yacht Christmas Eve. I mean, Patrick’s and my yacht.”

“You’re entertaining on the boat?” The prospect pleased Amy. Every Christmas, residents of the mansions lining the harbor set up lighting arrays. The moored boats were usually decorated, too. Judging from photographs she’d seen in the newspaper, it made a splendid sight, all that brilliance reflecting on the water. “May we bring our kids?”

“Of course!” Her friend grinned, enjoying her new role as hostess. She was staying on as Patrick’s secretary, too, until the baby was born. “I have to admit, it’s not entirely social.”

“Another fund-raiser?” Heather asked.

“More like a reward
for our supporters,” Nat said. “Loretta suggested it.”

The public relations director was always seeking ways to encourage the patrons of Doctors Circle. She’d regained her old energy and verve in the weeks since her last counseling session, Amy was glad to note. She was especially grateful for this latest idea.

The cruise was sure to be the icing on the cake. This year, she already knew the holidays would be extra-special because of the children.

On Christmas, which was only ten days off, she and Quent had talked about inviting Lucy and the grandparents to dinner. That would be fun, and Quent could try out his new cooking skills. Last night, after consulting with Aunt Mary on child-friendly menus, he’d broiled hamburgers and made mashed potatoes, the instant kind.

Her chin resting on her palm, she began planning the menu. Ham or turkey? Sweet potatoes and cranberry sauce, of course, and two or three kinds of pie. Knowing Quent, she figured he’d prefer three.

From the corner of her eye, she caught Natalie and Heather exchanging a knowing smile. Her friends obviously figured she was dreaming about Quent. Well, in a way, she was.

That evening, Amy stayed late to meet with a new mother suffering from postpartum depression. Talking about her feelings of being overwhelmed clearly helped. Also, the young mom agreed to keep a diary about her emotions and to hire a cleaning service to come in once a month and do the heavy work.

Amy arrived home eager to tell Quent and the kids about the yacht party. When she opened the door, she saw that they weren’t the only ones waiting for her. Lucy, looking unusually
formal in a tailored suit, perched on the edge of an armchair.

“This is a nice surprise!” Amy said. Then she spotted Quent standing to one side with arms folded and storm clouds gathering in his eyes.

“It’s not so nice, I’m afraid,” Lucy said. “I’m being transferred to our Kansas City office. I’ve thought it over, and I’ve decided to take the children with me.”

In the stunned silence,
through Amy’s mind flashed images of the children at breakfast, of yesterday’s outing to the park, of the tree she and Quent planned to decorate for Christmas. In such a short time, Greg and Tara had become a major part of her life.

Her hearing, keenly attuned to the youngsters, picked up happy noises coming from their bedroom. Thank goodness neither had any idea that their fate was being decided out here in the living room.

She could see from Quent’s expression that he meant to fight, but Lucy was their legal guardian. Surely they could find a better solution than battling this out in court.

Carefully, Amy said, “I’m sorry you’re leaving. But won’t it be even more difficult to relocate with two small children?”

“Believe me, I’m not looking forward to it.” Lucy avoided Quent’s glare.

“Please tell me why you’ve changed your mind.” She eased onto the couch.

Lucy shifted uneasily in her chair. “My company just opened an office in Kansas City. Another employee was supposed to be transferred, but he quit to take a different job, so I got picked,” she said. “It’s a step up for me and I can’t afford to turn it down.”

“I can understand
that, but…” Quent paused when Lucy’s back stiffened. Obviously, the two of them had already crossed swords, and he was wise enough not to make a bad situation worse.

“When do you have to leave?” Amy forced herself to maintain a neutral tone.

“Right after the first of the year.” Lucy finger-combed her short, dark-blond hair, leaving it rumpled. “They told me on Friday. After thinking about it all weekend, I decided I’m still responsible to my sister for making sure the children are okay. As long as I was close enough to visit, I could do that, but now I’ll be too far away.”

“This works both ways,” Quent pointed out. “If they’re in Kansas City, I won’t be able to visit them regularly, either.”

“We could get one of those video-conferencing programs for the computer,” Amy told Lucy. “You could see them and talk to them as often as you like.”

“I appreciate that, but it’s not the same thing.” Obviously torn, she gestured around her. “You’ve got a nice place, and it seems as if everything’s working out. Still, my conscience won’t let me run off and leave them. Who knows what will happen? I don’t mean to be negative, but people can easily break off engagements. With Quent’s hours at the clinic, he couldn’t take care of them by himself.”

“We aren’t going to break up,” he said.

Although Amy’s instincts urged her to agree, she didn’t want to be any more dishonest than they’d already been. She waited silently for the response.

“You can’t be sure. I know you two met after Quent moved here, and that was only a few months ago. You’ve known each other such a short time, you might decide not to get married.” Lucy stood up. “I’m sorry this is so disruptive for the kids. It’s better to get it over with quickly, so I’ll pick them up Saturday.”

“I’ve got
an idea,” Quent said.

Both women regarded him questioningly. “What is it?” Lucy said.

“I’d like to discuss it with Amy.” He took a deep breath. “Can I call you tomorrow?”

“Sure.” Although Lucy sounded puzzled, she didn’t press him. “Believe me, I wish there were some other way. The kids seem happy here and it’s going to be tough in a new place. I have an obligation to my sister’s memory, though.”

“Of course you do,” Amy said.

“I’ll call you,” Quent told their guest. “Please understand that I appreciate how much you care about the kids. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been there a year ago.”

“That’s why I took them.” Lucy went to say goodbye to Tara and Greg, with hugs all around. When she returned, she collected her pocketbook. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Count on it,” Quent said.

Amy could hardly wait for the door to close behind her before bursting out, “What’s your idea?” She hoped it was a good one. How could either of them bear to lose Tara and Greg?

“Let’s eat supper first.” He started for the kitchen. “The kids must be starving. Besides, I’ve got a few details to think about before we discuss it.”

She couldn’t imagine what he had in mind that would persuade Lucy to alter her plans. He’d have to be some kind of magician. Well, she’d find out soon enough.

Dinner proved a pleasant
distraction. Quent made spaghetti and sauce. Served with garlic bread and salad, it won Greg’s approval, and Tara downed almost as much spaghetti as she smeared on her face. Instead of salad, she ate mashed peas, which added to the mess.

“Wearing makeup already?” Quent joked afterwards as he mopped his niece with a washcloth. “I have to say, you did a thorough job of applying it.”

Greg carried his plastic plate to the sink for Amy. “See? I’m a big boy. I can help.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” She meant it.

As they finished cleaning, she remembered about Natalie and Patrick’s yacht party. Unless Quent’s idea worked, the children wouldn’t be there. She wanted so much for them all to be together at Christmas.

They bathed the children and read to them. After Greg said his prayers, he and Tara fell asleep quickly.

“Follow me,” Quent whispered, and led the way into Amy’s office, where he was staying. From the closet, he removed one of his white coats.

“What’s this for?”

“I want to check something.” With a deft motion, he draped the coat over her hair and shoulders, then stepped back to admire his handiwork. “Hmm, very nice.”

Amy felt ridiculous. At the same time, she was tempted to dart across the hall and examine herself in her new full-length mirror to find out what he found so fascinating. “What’s very nice?”

“You look good in white.” Amusement colored Quent’s face. “That’s the important thing.”

“For what?”

“A bride,” he said.

Amy’s cheeks got
hot, then cold. She hoped she wasn’t changing colors like a chameleon. “I am not going through a mock wedding to fool Lucy!”

“Who said anything about a mock wedding?” Quent pressed one hand to his chest as if she’d wounded him. “I would never pull something like that.”

“Oh? What about our mock engagement?” she asked.

“That was different.”

“How?”

“An engagement is in the mind of the beholder,” Quent said. “A marriage is a matter of legal record.”

“That’s a twisted way of thinking. In any case, I hope you’re joking.” After removing the coat, Amy handed it back.

He hung it away. “Not at all. Seriously, we ought to get married.”

She’d dreamed about Quent proposing to her, but not under these circumstances. He didn’t love her, he simply wanted a marriage of convenience. Amy’s lungs squeezed so tight they hurt.

When she spoke, she forced herself to keep her tone light. “How romantic. Usually when men propose to me, they get down on their knees and beg.”

He frowned. “How many men have asked you to marry them?”

“I lost count.” Amy hadn’t expected him to take her remark at face value. “Oh, come on, you can’t mean it. We’re not even dating!”

“Think about it. It makes perfect sense.” He glanced around the office. “Wait. There’s nowhere comfortable to sit in here while we talk.”

“We could go in
the kitchen.” On second thought, that wasn’t such a good idea. He might decide to pelt her with rice to see if he liked that effect.

“The dining room,” he said. “My parents always had their serious discussions over the big table.”

“Then let’s do it.” Amy certainly didn’t want to stay here, where the only places to sit were a desk chair and his bed.

At the dining table, they took chairs at right angles, around a corner from each other. Quent had such a businesslike air that, for one wild moment, Amy half-expected him to whip out a notebook and begin listing reasons why getting married was a sensible idea. If he did, she was going to slap him.

“Before we start,” she said, “are you talking about a temporary marriage? Because I’d never agree to that.” She stopped, unwilling to admit aloud what a mockery it would make of her dreams.

Quent folded his strong hands on the table. A thin white scar stood out where, he’d explained once, he’d cut himself with a scalpel while in medical school.

“It’s such a new idea, I haven’t thought it through,” he conceded. “I wasn’t figuring we’d run out afterwards and get a divorce, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Although Amy knew that many marriages broke up, including that of her parents, she could never be cynical about a sacred union. Especially not her own. “You still make it sound awfully casual. For me, marriage is forever.”

Once she claimed Quent in bed, or he claimed her, or they lost control and ravished each other, she could never go back to being friends. There was a level of intimacy that, once achieved, had to be honored and cherished.

“Forever? That’s a tall
order.” Quent regarded her through a rebellious lock of blond hair that had fallen across his forehead. “There are no guarantees. Still, we have so much in common, the odds would be on our side.”

“You have a bizarre attitude,” Amy said. “One minute you’re fooling around draping a coat over my head. The next thing I know, you’re dissecting our chances of living happily ever after as if marriage were some kind of lab experiment.”

“I don’t have a grand theory of matrimony. I admit it.” Half in jest, he added, “Why don’t you explain it to me?”

“People who get married are supposed to fall in love.” Amy gestured helplessly with her hands. “They don’t plan it, they get carried away by their feelings.”

“That might happen to us someday, but we can’t afford to wait,” Quent said. “If we do, we’ll lose the kids.”

“I know, but…”

He pressed on. “The way I see it, most of my friends who’ve gotten married did it more or less the way you described, yielding to their impulses instead of their intellects. Sometimes things worked and sometimes they didn’t.”

“That’s the risk you have to take,” Amy said.

“I’m more analytical than that.” This was the doctor side of him speaking, she could see; not her usual fun-loving companion but the man who’d patiently advised a roomful of teenagers about child development. “What we have are solid underpinnings, and I don’t think we need to wait and hope our emotions will knock us off our feet before January.”

Amy gathered her
patience. “Like what solid underpinnings?”

“First of all, you’re a natural mom.” His expression warmed. “You’ve really taken to the kids and they adore you. We could make a happy home for them.”

Birthday parties and balloons. Summer outings to the beach. The first day of school, soccer and scouts, senior proms. Amy ached to share all of those with Greg and Tara. And, most of all, with Quent.

“I know we’re buddies,” he went on, “but isn’t that the key? We’re attracted to each other. At least, I’m definitely attracted to you, and I think it’s mutual, although I may not be as suave as some of the studs you’ve dated.”

She nearly burst out laughing, turning it into a cough at the last minute. “Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

“We have a good time and we can talk to each other.” Quent seemed to be trying to persuade himself more than her. “Amy, I’ve been happier this past week than I’ve ever been. I know I’m younger than you, but I’m turning thirty next month. I’m sure I can live up to your standards.”

He looked so earnest and sweet, Amy couldn’t resist him. She yearned to be his wife more than anything in the world, and she’d always believed in her father’s advice to go after what she wanted. Maybe this whole business would blow up in her face, but she had to take the chance, for Quent, for the children and for herself.

“Sure,” she said. “Why not?”

It took a few blinks for him to absorb her response. “Yes? You’ll marry me?” He let out a whoop.

“The kids!” Amy protested.

“Sorry.” He calmed down. “I forgot they were sleeping.”

They paused to listen,
but no one called from the bedroom. “Solid sleepers,” Amy said.

“Lucky for us. Now let’s seal our bargain, shall we?” Without waiting for an answer, Quent pulled her toward him across the edge of the table. Their mouths met for a brief, tantalizing kiss.

In another minute, Amy knew she’d be tugging him down the hall to her bedroom, as she’d dreamed of doing all week. There were too many plans to make. Besides, since she’d waited this long, she might as well be a virgin when she walked down the aisle.

Okay, she admitted silently, maybe she was a little apprehensive, too. What was Quent going to say when he found out she’d invented all that worldly experience? She had no idea. Apparently, she was going to find out—on her wedding night.

“We haven’t finished talking,” she said, pulling back.

Reluctantly, he released her. “I’m listening.”

“Since Lucy already thinks we’re engaged, I doubt she’ll change her mind about taking the kids simply because we announce we’re getting married.”

“That’s right. We need to set a date.” Quent glanced at his watch, the digital kind with a built-in calendar. “She’s leaving right after the first of the year. How about the weekend before New Year’s?”

“I want to make sure the children can spend Christmas with us,” Amy said. “What if Lucy insists on taking them until we prove we’re going through with it?”

“Agreed.” Quent gave her a conspiratorial grin. “I guess we should say our vows right away. What are you doing on Saturday?”

Saturday? That was so soon! “We were going to spend the day buying a tree,” Amy blurted, then shook her head at her own reaction. “I didn’t mean to raise objections. But it’s so sudden.”

“I’m afraid
the calendar isn’t very forgiving,” said the man who, unless she’d hallucinated this entire conversation, had just promised to become her husband.

“Okay.” Amy decided to go with the flow and let her psyche handle the repercussions in due course. “I used to think I wanted to elope, but after Natalie’s wedding, I changed my mind.”

“We won’t have time to arrange anything big.” Quent touched her hand, sending a soft glow through Amy. “That doesn’t mean we can’t do something special. Tell me what you want.”