Kitabı oku: «Promises, Promises»
“Would you like to go for a ride?”
Marco knew Gretchen meant the car, but he couldn’t help but think of the far different, exceedingly intimate kind of ride he would like to take with her. “I don’t know how to drive a stick shift,” he said.
She maneuvered her long legs into the driver’s seat. Looking at him expectantly, she replied, “That’s okay. I do.”
When he hesitated, she patted the leather of the passenger seat with bright red fingernails. “Don’t worry, Dr. Garibaldi. I promise I won’t bite.”
She might not, but he was afraid if he was cooped up in close quarters with her for too long, he might.
“Marco,” he said. “The name’s Marco.”
“Call me Gretchen.”
“Very well, Gretchen.” Swinging the passenger door open, he sank with a sigh onto the soft leather seat. Inhaling a heady breath of new-car aroma, he said, “Take me away from all my troubles.”
“My pleasure.”
Dear Reader,
Once again, Silhouette Intimate Moments brings you six exciting romances, a perfect excuse to take a break and read to your heart’s content. Start off with Heart of a Hero, the latest in award-winning Marie Ferrarella’s CHILDFINDERS, INC. miniseries. You’ll be on the edge of your seat as you root for the heroine to find her missing son—and discover true love along the way. Then check out the newest of our FIRSTBORN SONS, Born Brave, by Ruth Wind, another of the award winners who make Intimate Moments so great every month. In Officer Hawk Stone you’ll discover a hero any woman—and that includes our heroine!—would fall in love with.
Cassidy and the Princess, the latest from Patricia Potter, is a gripping story of a true princess of the ice and the hero who lures her in from the cold. With Hard To Handle, mistress of sensuality Kylie Brant begins CHARMED AND DANGEROUS, a trilogy about three irresistible heroes and the heroines lucky enough to land them. Be sure to look for her again next month, when she takes a different tack and contributes our FIRSTBORN SONS title. Round out the month with new titles from up-and-comers Shelley Cooper, whose Promises, Promises offers a new twist on the pregnant-heroine plot, and Wendy Rosnau, who tells a terrific amnesia story in The Right Side of the Law.
And, of course, come back again next month, when the romantic roller-coaster ride continues with six more of the most exciting romances around.
Enjoy!
Leslie J. Wainger
Executive Senior Editor
Promises, Promises
Shelley Cooper
MILLS & BOON
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SHELLEY COOPER
first experienced the power of words when she was in the eighth grade and wrote a paragraph about the circus for a class assignment. Her teacher returned it with an “A” and seven pluses scrawled across the top of the paper, along with a note thanking her for rekindling so vividly some cherished childhood memories. Since Shelley had never been to the circus, and had relied solely on her imagination to compose the paragraph, the teacher’s remarks were a revelation. Since then, Shelley has relied on her imagination to help her sell dozens of short stories and to write her first novel, Major Dad, a 1997 Romance Writers of America Golden Heart finalist in Best Long Contemporary, and all those that have come after. She hopes her books will be as moving to her readers as her circus paragraph was to that long-ago English teacher.
To Charles and Joan Cooper
for raising an incredible son, and for treating me, a daughter by law, like one of their original eight.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Prologue
Eyes stinging and heart pounding, Gretchen Montgomery sat motionless at her desk, staring at the items scattered across the blotter. An empty padded manila envelope. A letter from an attorney named Martin Sanders. A portable tape player. A cassette.
The cassette was what had her thoughts in turmoil. It was labeled “Jill Barnes—Tape for Gretchen Montgomery” and dated eight days prior to Jill’s death three months earlier. The letter, stating that the tape was an addendum to her best friend’s bequest to her, was from the executor of Jill’s estate.
Gretchen reached for the tape with trembling fingers. A minute, then two, passed before she found the resolve to insert it into the tape recorder. After drawing a deep breath and letting it out slowly, she pushed the play button.
“Surprise!” Jill’s voice trilled, weak but full of the humor and vivacity that had been Jill all over. “I bet you weren’t expecting to hear from me again.”
Though Gretchen had steeled herself for it, the sound of her best friend’s voice had emotion swelling her throat.
“I was going to videotape this,” Jill’s voice echoed in the silent room, “but let’s face it, I look like death.”
Gretchen choked out a laugh. Even at the end, when Jill’s pain had been great, she hadn’t lost her sense of humor.
“Are you smiling, Gretch?” the tape continued. “You’d better be, ’cause if you’re sitting there boo-hooing over me, I’m going to be highly pissed.”
“I’m smiling,” Gretchen said softly, her lips turning up as she brushed away a tear.
“Good. Now, where was I? Oh, yeah, videotaping. Since that was out, and since I’ve never been much of a letter writer, I chose this method of communicating with you. I hope you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind.”
Gretchen knew she was talking to the air, that Jill couldn’t actually hear her, and that anyone chancing upon her would think she’d lost it. She didn’t care. She’d been so lonely these past months with Jill gone. It was wonderful to hear her friend’s voice again, even if it was just a recording and not the real thing.
“We’ve been through a lot together,” Jill said. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
An understatement, if ever there was one. Best friends since kindergarten, and the only family each had had after the deaths of their parents, it had taken the marauding power of cancer to part them.
“More than the average bear,” Gretchen murmured.
“Matter of fact,” Jill stated, “I can’t think of a single area of our lives we haven’t shared. Training bras and braces. Pimples and periods. The hard times your family went through. Unrequited crushes and failed romances. The struggle to build a successful career. Regrets and unfulfilled dreams.”
There was a pause. “It’s the regrets and unfulfilled dreams I want to talk about today. I can’t tell you how many regrets I have for some of the things I’ve done during my life. But they pale in comparison with the regrets I have for the things I didn’t do. The things I won’t get to do now.
“I have a question for you, Gretch. What is the best thing a person can say about you? And I don’t mean your appearance. I mean you—Gretchen Montgomery the person.”
The tape whirred silently while Gretchen pondered the question. What was the best thing a person could say about her? That she was neat, clean and dependable. That she was loyal to those who had gained her trust. That she showed up at work on time every day and did a thorough job. That she had the respect and admiration of her colleagues.
She felt her lips twist. Just how boring could you get?
The sudden sound of Jill’s voice made her start. “Do you have the answer yet? Well, here it is. Other than that you are the most wonderful friend a woman could ever hope to have, for which I thank you from the bottom of my heart, the best thing a person can say about you is that you never break a promise. Ever. You’ve made quite a few promises over the past twenty-nine years, haven’t you?”
Yes, Gretchen acknowledged, she supposed she had. Her family, particularly her mother, had been great on the making and keeping of promises. But for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out what any promise she’d made had to do with Jill’s unfulfilled dreams, with Jill’s regrets.
As if reading her mind, Jill said, “I suppose you’re wondering why I’m bringing up those promises of yours. Because there’s something I want you to do, and I want you to do it for both of us. In the name of our friendship, Gretch, I’m going to ask you to make a few of those promises you’re so good at keeping.
“First, I want you to celebrate every day by living in the moment. That means you have to let go of the past and stop waiting for the future. Now is the only time that counts. Now is the time to tell the people who are important to you how much they mean to you. Now is the time to not put off, hold back or save anything that will add laughter to your life. Now is the time to tell yourself that the day is special, that each minute, each second, each breath is a gift that must not be squandered. Can you promise me that?”
“I think so.”
“Good. Now for the hard part. I want you to take the money I left you out of the nice, safe money-market account I’m sure you’ve invested it in. You have enough put away for the future, you don’t need any more. This is your mad money, Gretch, and you are to spend every penny of it. You are not to give it to charity. You are not to spend it on anyone else. Every cent must be spent on you, and you are to buy things that you never in your wildest dreams imagined you would find yourself buying. Some necessities, yes, but mostly wild, crazy, impractical things. Fun things. Promise?”
“But why?” Gretchen asked, appalled at the thought of throwing away good money on items she neither wanted or needed. It went against everything she’d been taught, against the philosophy of her chosen career. She was a CPA, for heaven’s sake. Frugality was her middle name, alongside practicality.
Again, as if anticipating her question, she heard Jill say, “It’s important, Gretch. Because, if you keep going on the way you are, your nose to the grindstone, always doing the safe thing, when your time comes you’re going to have as many regrets as I do. You still have a choice. God willing, you have many years ahead of you, a lot of life to live. That’s why I had my lawyer wait three months before sending this tape to you. Surely by now you’ve started questioning the meaning of your life.”
She had. Mostly at night, in the stillness between wakefulness and sleep, when she could no longer escape the discomfiting thoughts with activity.
“Promise me, Gretch,” Jill insisted. “If you promise, I know you’ll follow through.”
“I promise,” Gretchen whispered.
“Good. Remember how, when we were kids, you used to dream of being a concert pianist? Well, I want you to promise to enter a piano competition. ASAP. I want you to find out, once and for all, whether you have true ability. After that you can choose what you do with the knowledge.”
Gretchen’s head whirled. “You have my word. Anything else?”
“One last thing, and I’ll let you go. I gotta warn you, though, it’s a biggie, so prepare yourself. Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.” Gretchen wondered what, after everything she’d already heard, could be left to surprise her.
“Okay, here goes. I want you to promise to have a wild, crazy affair. No more Ms. Practical for you, when it comes to men. No siree, Bob. You are now going to be Wild Woman.”
For a second or two, Gretchen stared at the tape recorder, her mouth slack with shock. Then, giving a small shake of her head, she smiled ruefully. She should have known better than to wonder what Jill could have had left to surprise her.
“I told you it was a biggie.” Jill’s voice sounded amused, but determined. “There are also a few stipulations with this one. The man can’t be anything like the men you’ve dated in the past. He can’t be steady and unimaginative when it comes to both work and play. Especially play. He can’t be more focused on his career than he is on your figure. And he can’t be more comfortable in a suit than he is in a pair of jeans. In a word—and no offense, Gretch, ’cause I’m also describing every man I’ve ever dated—he can’t be dull. Dull, dull, dull.”
“No offense taken,” Gretchen murmured.
“You’ll know you’ve met the right guy, when just a mere look is enough to curl your toes, when your heart all but stops when he smiles at you and when you think you’re going to incinerate on the spot when his fingers chance to brush against yours. And if he sports a tattoo, wears a leather jacket and rides a Harley, all the better. That’s a guy you can let your hair down with. That’s a guy you can have a wild, crazy affair with.”
Of all the promises Gretchen had been asked to make, this one gave her the most pause. In the simplest terms, she was not the wild, crazy affair type. Even if she had been, she didn’t know any men like the one Jill had just described.
Or did she? Her thoughts flew to her tenant, the man who rented the other half of the duplex she’d grown up in, and which had been left to her when her parents died. Dr. Marco Garibaldi. She rarely saw him, but whenever she did she experienced all the reactions Jill had just described, and then some.
“Yeah, right,” Gretchen muttered wryly. She had about as much chance of having a wild, crazy affair with Marco Garibaldi as she did with a movie star. Still, the thought filled her with a restless yearning she couldn’t deny.
“Promise me, Gretchen.” Jill’s voice filled the room with a determined strength. “For the first time in your life, I want you to be totally selfish, to for once do things for you and only you, and to hell with what anyone else thinks or says. I want you to live the life we always talked about living but were too scared or busy with our careers to actually get out and live. I want, when you lie on your deathbed, for you to have no regrets.
“Remember that line from Auntie Mame? ‘Life is a banquet, and most poor suckers are starving to death.’ I want you to feast, Gretch. Feast like no one has feasted before. Promise me you’ll do everything I asked.”
Despite her conviction that Jill’s request was beyond crazy, Gretchen felt a growing excitement in the pit of her stomach. Sitting in her office, listening to the voice of a dead woman and making outrageously impractical promises, she felt more alive than she had in months, maybe even years.
“I promise.” The words slipped out before she was consciously aware she intended to utter them.
Could she really do it? Could she do all the things Jill had asked? Could she actually have an affair with Marco Garibaldi, or any other man like him?
One thing was certain: she had to try. After all, she had made a promise, and promises were to keep.
Chapter 1
Something was up with his landlady.
Marco Garibaldi didn’t know precisely what that something was, only that she was behaving totally out of character. Even worse, her out-of-character behavior was making it impossible for him to sleep.
Gritting his teeth against the swell of music echoing off his bedroom walls, Marco rolled onto his back and stared wide-eyed at the shadows flickering across the ceiling. A wave of frustration consumed him. The sheets were a tangled mess around his waist from all his tossing and turning. Air-conditioning, set on high, did little to cool a body that refused to stay in one position long enough to benefit from the chilled air pumping into the room.
The music ended and silence fell. A blessed silence, during which Marco closed his eyes and prayed for sleep to finally claim him. Just when he thought his prayers might be answered, once again the lilting notes of a piano sonatina filtered through the wall separating his half of the duplex from his landlady’s.
Marco groaned. Would it never cease?
It wasn’t that the music wasn’t nice. On the contrary, it was beautiful. Chopin, if he wasn’t mistaken. Or maybe Beethoven. He was too tired to try and figure out which.
Which was the entire point. Having just come off a sixteen-hour shift in the E.R., he was exhausted. Not only that, he was expected back there, bright and early tomorrow morning at six. And tonight, of all nights, his landlady had decided that midnight was the perfect time to play a CD at top volume, an unprecedented action on her part.
But what really had him stewing in aggravation was that she had programmed her CD player to play the same blasted sonatina over and over again. Thirty minutes listening to the same piece, no matter how beautiful, was about twenty-five minutes too long by his reckoning.
For two years he’d lived next door to her. Two years, during which they’d waved hello and goodbye to each other whenever their paths happened to cross, which wasn’t often since she seemed to work as many hours as he did. Two years, during which he’d dutifully placed his rent check in her mailbox on the first of each month. Two years, during which she hadn’t thrown so much as a tea party, let alone a wild, anything-goes free-for-all. Two years, during which she’d kept her stereo and television volume muted, and during which he’d never heard a peep from her after eleven o’clock at night.
Until tonight.
The sonatina swelled to its now-familiar finale, making Marco’s head throb. He winced. Oh, yes, something was definitely up with his landlady. And he didn’t like it one bit.
The music wasn’t the entire problem, he acknowledged with a sigh as he wrapped the pillow around his ears and turned on his side. Yes, he couldn’t sleep, but the music coming from his landlady’s apartment was only part of the reason why.
During his years as an intern, and then later as a resident when he’d worked practically around the clock for days on end, Marco had perfected the art of sleeping on his feet. Normally he could sleep anywhere, at any time and through anything. But tonight his brain wouldn’t shut off, no matter how hard he willed it.
He’d had a hell of a day. A record breaker, just like the heat wave that was smashing records that had stood unchallenged for decades. Heat always tended to bring out the worst in human nature. Add alcohol, drugs and handguns to the mix, and you got a violent combination that would inevitably, at some point, find its way into the E.R.
Today had been no exception. Since it was only July sixth, and the mercury had already soared past one hundred for three days running, Marco hated to think what the rest of the summer held in store.
His shift had started at 6:00 a.m. By noon, he’d already seen three shootings, a husband and wife who had knifed each other in a domestic altercation, a child that had been shaken mercilessly by his mother’s boyfriend and who might have permanent brain damage, and two drug overdoses.
Things had gone rapidly downhill from there. A bus accident had flooded the E.R. with victims at one-thirty. At three, a heat-provoked quarrel over whose turn it was to walk the dog had sent five members of the same family through the E.R.’s pneumatic doors. Then, at four, just as he was preparing to leave, three of his fellow physicians, who had all eaten a late lunch at the same fast-food restaurant, had come down with a virulent case of food poisoning, and Marco had known he’d be working a second shift.
The icing on the cake, though, had been the appearance of his current steady at six o’clock, demanding a commitment she’d assured him she didn’t want at the start of their relationship. When he’d asked if she could wait until he had time to speak in private, she’d refused, insisting he answer her questions there and then. She didn’t care who was listening. She’d left him no choice but to tell her that he had no intention of ever entering into a commitment with her, at which time she’d told him they were history. He hadn’t wanted things to end that way; he had in fact hoped to enjoy her company for a long time yet to come, but she had given him no choice.
Afterward, the patients who had witnessed the scene regarded him as if he’d suddenly sprouted a tail and horns. At least the nurses, who were even more overworked than the doctors, had gotten some entertainment out of the episode. He knew he’d be the object of a fair amount of ribbing for days to come.
Still, the breakup with Pamela, unpleasant and unexpected as it had been, wasn’t what was keeping him awake. The memory of the shaken baby was what tormented him. Despite his best efforts, he hadn’t been able to keep the eight-month-old from slipping into a coma. Given the probable prognosis, he didn’t know whether to pray that the child would succumb or survive.
Most of his fellow physicians did their best to distance themselves from their patients. Distancing helped to numb the pain and grief they encountered on a daily basis. Despite being advised to do the same himself, when he’d graduated from medical school Marco had vowed never to lose touch with the human side of his job. He never wanted to forget that the families, as well as the patient, were in pain. He didn’t want to become immune to that pain, no matter what the personal cost to himself.
Sometimes, though, it all seemed so hopeless. He patched up drug users and battered women who refused to press charges against their abusers and sent them on their way, only to treat them all over again days, weeks or months later. He’d lost count of the number of homeless people who relied on the E.R. to give them some basic human dignity and to help them with medical conditions that were solely a result of their homelessness, and thus totally preventable.
Then there were days like today, when an innocent child was entrusted to his care and he could do little to help. A day like today made Marco question whether what he did made any difference at all. A day like today left him wide-eyed and staring at the ceiling while he prayed for silence and the forgetfulness of sleep.
Five minutes, he thought in desperation. Like the woman married to a chronic snorer, five minutes of uninterrupted silence was all he would need to drift off into lullaby land. After that, his landlady could play that blasted sonatina a thousand times, and he wouldn’t hear.
When the song repeated yet again, Marco knew the only way he was going to get those five minutes was to demand them.
Wearily he climbed out of bed. For the sake of propriety, he shrugged a seldom-worn bathrobe over his naked body, then trudged in his bare feet to the front door.
The night air felt like a hot breath on his skin. Raising his right hand, he loudly rapped his knuckles against the aluminum screen door marking his landlady’s side of the duplex.
He had to repeat the motion three more times before the music stopped. A few seconds later he heard the soft patter of feet across hardwood. The pattering was followed by a pause while his landlady peered out at him through the peephole.
Then she was opening the door and regarding him through wire-rimmed glasses. It had been months since they’d actually spoken face-to-face, and he’d forgotten how tall she was, just an inch shy of his own six feet.
“Dr. Garibaldi,” she said, clearly surprised to see him. “Is there a problem?”
Something was different about her tonight, he realized. He was used to seeing her in suits, so the sleeveless, calf-length sundress was a surprise. But her attire wasn’t what had caught his attention. Maybe it was just a trick of the light that silhouetted her figure in the doorway, but he could swear her face was flushed with excitement and that her eyes actually sparkled behind the thick lenses of her glasses.
Was she entertaining? Had his unscheduled visit interrupted a languid seduction scene? Was that what was up with his landlady?
He’d never seen her like this before, so animated, so alive. Prior to that moment, if anyone had asked him to describe her, he would have said she was a woman who took life seriously and who dressed the part. She wasn’t plain, nor was she pretty. Sensible looking would be an apt enough description. He’d always thought of her as quiet and self-contained, a woman content to fade into the background with her books and ledgers, while other, more vibrant personalities hogged the limelight.
Since when had he turned so poetic?
Since he’d realized that his landlady had gorgeous, thick, waist-length hair. Normally, or at least whenever he’d seen her, she wore it in a French braid or in a bun fastened at the nape of her neck.
Suddenly, Marco was looking at her in a whole new light.
“Dr. Garibaldi?” she repeated, seemingly puzzled at his nonresponse.
He gave himself a mental shake. Given the acrimony with which his most recent relationship had ended, he was in no hurry to jump into another one. Even if he had been, Gretchen Montgomery would be the last woman he’d choose. For one thing, Marco was fairly certain she was a marriage-minded woman, and he was definitely not a marriage-minded man. What was more important, she was his landlady. Never mix business with pleasure, that was his motto.
“I’m sorry to disturb you so late, Ms. Montgomery, but I was wondering if you could turn your CD player down.”
She looked more puzzled than ever. “My CD player?”
He felt a surge of impatience. “The piano music. It’s keeping me awake.”
“You think—” She broke off. A quick glance at her wristwatch, and her eyes filled with contrition. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize it was this late. Of course I’ll turn the music down. I apologize for disturbing you, Dr. Garibaldi. I won’t be so thoughtless again.”
“Thank you.”
“Can I do anything else for you?”
You can let me run my fingers through your hair.
The unexpected thought shot a tingle of awareness through him. Before he could control the impulse, he actually felt his arm reach out as if to do just that. He definitely needed to get some sleep.
“No,” he said, quickly backing away. Snatching back his outstretched arm, he thrust his fingers through his own hair. “Nothing else.”
“Have a good night, Dr. Garibaldi.”
“You too, Ms. Montgomery.”
“Dr. Garibaldi?”
Hand on the door to his own apartment, Marco slowly turned. “Yes?”
“Before I forget, I should probably warn you that I’m having some cosmetic work done on the outside of the house over the next few weeks. Most of it should be carried out between nine and five, but if it causes a problem, please let me know. I realize your hours can be erratic, and I don’t want to disturb your sleep again.”
“Thank you. I’ll notify you if there’s a problem.”
She seemed to hesitate. “Well, good night.”
“Good night.”
He’d just settled back into bed and closed his eyes, the blessed silence cocooning him like a soft, cotton blanket, when the phone rang. Marco swore. He wasn’t on call. Unless there was a huge disaster in the making, or a member of his family needed him, his phone had no business ringing at this hour.
“What?” he barked into the receiver.
“It’s me,” Brian, his best friend, said.
“Do you know what time it is?”
“Sorry, buddy. It’s just… Well, it’s Val.” A long sigh traveled the phone lines. “We had another fight. A big one. She’s threatening to file for divorce. Can I come over? I really need someone to talk to.”
Marco swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Sure,” he said, running his hand over the stubble on his cheeks. “I’ll put the coffee on.” What had ever made him think he was going to get some sleep?
As he stumbled into the bathroom to toss cold water on his face, Marco’s thoughts turned to Brian and Val. Married just four years, they had already separated and reunited twice.
The problem was that, like him, Brian was a physician. A pediatrician who’d just started a practice of his own, he often worked more than eighty hours a week. And that didn’t take into consideration the hours in the middle of the night that he was on call. With a new baby to care for, it was no wonder Val often felt overwhelmed and neglected as far as attention from her husband was concerned. For his part, Brian justifiably felt torn between the pressures of the practice he’d built to assure his family’s financial security and the emotional demands of that family.
Marco was thankful for one thing. The day he’d promised to never forget the human side of medicine, he’d also promised that he would never marry. The marriages of too many physicians ended as a result of the very issues with which Val and Brian were now struggling. Issues they would continue to struggle with in the future. If, that is, they stayed married.
During those rare times when the thought of a wife and family to come home to became too tempting, all Marco had to do was think of Brian and Val, and his weakness would vanish. The one thing he never questioned were the promises he had made. His determination to keep them remained steadfast.
So why, even though he knew it was inappropriate, couldn’t he stop thinking about the light in his landlady’s unexpectedly bewitching eyes? And why couldn’t he stop hoping that she wasn’t entertaining a gentleman caller, that some other man wasn’t this very minute running his fingers through her beautiful, long hair?
Gretchen stood with her back pressed to her closed front door. Her heart thudded and her cheeks felt hot.
“‘Well, good night,’” she muttered in disgust. “Is that all you could think to say to him? What about, ‘You make my toes curl and my heart pound, and I was wondering if there was any chance I could do the same to you?’ Or, ‘I made a promise to my best friend that I’d have a wild, crazy affair. You game?’”
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