The Fiancée Fiasco (13 page)

"I couldn't agree more," he muttered under his breath. With a steel hand at her back, he guided her hastily from the room.

CHAPTER EIGHT

"Would you
mind
telling me what the
hell
you were thinking?"

Back in the car and on the road, Winthrop had one hand on the wheel, keeping perfect control there. With his other elbow resting on the windowsill, he reached up with that hand to rub his forehead. "I can't believe what a mess you just made."

"Mess?" Roseanne queried with all the hauteur of a woman who was afraid she had, after all, done the wrong thing. "I'll have you know I just took care of convincing your parents, once and for all, that you are not getting back together with Sylvia."

"Oh, they're convinced all right." Winthrop groaned. "I've never seen my father look so close to being pleased with me."

"I must say," Roseanne remarked, desperately trying to change the subject, "when it comes to in-laws, Win, you've got the better end of the deal. My mom and sisters have warm blood running in their veins, not ice water. Besides which, they would fawn all over you—not make you feel like enemy number one."

"You can't say I didn't warn you, Roseanne...which is more than you did for me." He slid an accusatory glance at her.

"It was a spur of the moment decision." Roseanne sniffed defensively. "I get paid good money for that sort of clever thinking on my feet."

"Oh yeah? Well, think about this—quickly—why don't you? How am I supposed to explain to my family when you fail to have your baby?" Winthrop shook his head in defeat. "We're setting them up for another disappointment."

Roseanne shrugged and stared out the window. "I'll go home and have a miscarriage. Happens all the time. You could even use that as a reason why the engagement breaks up."

"Gee, thanks." Winthrop's voice was flat. "You get to fly back to Seattle and I get to stay here and pick up all the pieces."

"Stop your griping. Everyone will probably feel sorry for you."

"Just what I always wanted. Pity."

Roseanne flinched at his bitter tone. "All right, all right. I'll admit it. Maybe I took the story a bit too far—"

"Maybe!"

"If you don't keep quiet, I'm going to have a hard time apologizing."

Winthrop turned his head and surprised Roseanne with a brief flash of a smile. "Pardon me. I sure don't want to stop you."

"Well, that's all. I'll admit I might have been wrong. And I'll do whatever you think will help to...to fix it."

"Hmph." Whatever thoughts he might have on the issue of how Roseanne might fix the situation he held at bay.

Roseanne crossed her arms over her chest. "Did you hear your mother assume I'd want an abortion?"

Winthrop turned the car onto the freeway on-ramp. "You've gotta admit you have 'career woman' written all over you. She probably figured you wouldn't have time for a child."

Roseanne glared at him. "Plenty of career women have children."

"In a manner of speaking," Win replied dryly. "How'd you plan to take care of the baby, once it was born?"

"Good grief, Win. There are any number of options. For example, I could get an au pair. My sister Victoria did that and it worked out just fine. She's on her second kid now."

Winthrop handled the car easily through heavy traffic. "And then what? A series of housekeepers and day care until it's time for school? Latchkey afternoons?"

"You make it sound like federal prison, not what's become normal in these days of two-income families. And anyway, where is your responsibility in all of this? Maybe
you
should be staying home and taking care of the little monsters." Roseanne lifted her chin and harumphed.

Winthrop turned to give her an odd look. "You got me there. So...maybe I would."

"Oh, come on." Roseanne gave a short laugh. "You expect me to believe that? Mr. who-comes-home-at-two-thirty-in-the-morning?"

"I can modify my schedule. And I do know how to delegate authority at the office. By now Boyd is probably just as capable at running the show down there as I am."

"You seriously expect me to believe you'd stay home and let me go to work?"

Win's hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel. "Why not? I happen to like kids."

Roseanne gave him a startled glance. "You do?"

"That surprises you?"

No, she wasn't surprised, truth to tell. Win's calm and generous nature would easily lean towards children. "But you don't have any."

A telltale muscle clenched in his jaw. "No, I don't."

"Well." Roseanne was acutely aware she was overstepping the bounds. "Why not?"

He pressed his lips together and hunched a little over the steering wheel. To her surprise, he answered. "That's probably the one thing Sylvia was right about: we weren't ready to start a family." He shot a brief glance at Roseanne. "To be more specific, I wasn't ready to say to her what I just said to you. Getting Carruthers Engineering off the ground was my number one priority back then."

Roseanne turned to set her elbow on the back of the seat. "Number one," she repeated carefully, then stepped over the line again. "Ahead of Sylvia?"

His jaw muscle clenched again. "She couldn't take care of herself the way that you can. She'd get bored, need to be entertained, have a fuss made over her." Win shrugged. "I didn't see that. Or, maybe I did see it, but I reasoned she ought to grow up." Win's mouth set in a bitter line. "She didn't grow up."

Roseanne's brows drew down. "But you're the one who divorced Sylvia, not the other way around. And if she felt you were neglecting her, then why does she want to get back together?"

In the dim and changing lights from the passing traffic, his expression looked stark. "I didn't say my neglect was why we got divorced."

"Oh."

He flexed his fingers on the steering wheel. "Let's just say it was probably a contributing factor. And that's the very limit of what I care to discuss about the subject."

Judging by Win's grim face, he'd already disclosed more than he would have liked. Roseanne couldn't help wondering about all he hadn't said.

According to his parents, he'd been deeply in love with his wife—right up until the time he'd decided to divorce her. Roseanne would have believed Win loving Sylvia an impossibility, considering he
had
divorced her. In fact, he'd tossed her away. And yet he hadn't dated another woman in the four years since leaving his wife. Add to that, whenever Sylvia's name came up, Roseanne sensed a busload of emotion in Win. There was something there, something she didn't understand.

But okay, so what? None of her business. Turning to face front, Roseanne squelched her inappropriate interest in the topic of Win's feelings toward his ex-wife. After all, the man was nothing to her—except a job. "May I say something on an unrelated topic?" she inquired.

He relaxed, sensing a shift in tone. "What's that?"

"I'm starving."

Disbelief showed in his quick glance to the side. "We just finished dinner."

"You may have finished dinner, but I couldn't eat a thing."

Win let out a breathy laugh. "What, the mighty Roseanne Archer finally got nervous in all this business?"

"No," Roseanne countered evenly. "I hate to say this, Win, but your mother is a terrible cook!"

Win gave an explosive bark of laughter. "You're reaching. Why don't you admit it? You had butterflies in your stomach."

"I am not reaching." Roseanne brushed her skirt. "It is doubtful I am the only woman in Texas who does not like her steak still half alive when she attempts to cut into it."

She could see the gleam of his grin in the dark. His smile made her feel pleasure inside. Damn, but it was fun to make him laugh.

"All right, then, for whatever reason, you're starving," Win conceded. "What do you want to do about it?"

"Well." A small smile curved Roseanne's lips. "Seeing as how I've recently gotten myself in the family way, ice cream might be in order."

"Ice cream! You didn't eat your meal and now I'm supposed to buy you dessert?"

"But I do have this craving all of a sudden," Roseanne insisted. "It must be the hormones."

After some further token resistance, Win pulled off the freeway a few exits before the usual and brought Roseanne to an old-fashioned ice cream parlor. While the place boasted a Formica counter, where a group of teenagers sat hunched over high stools, Win installed Roseanne in one of the high-backed booths against the wall. She sank gratefully into the deep red-and-white striped cushions.

"All right, princess. What do you want?"

"A banana split."

Win's stare was incredulous. "Come again?"

"You heard me, with all the trimmings: nuts, that little ultra sweet syrupy cherry—the whole kit and caboodle. Er, something wrong, Win?"

Standing over her beside the booth, he shook his head. "In my experience, women don't eat that many calories in one sitting."

Roseanne grinned widely. "I happen to be one of the lucky devils who can eat all she wants and never pay for it. Gaining weight isn't the problem, it's keeping it on."

"I see." Win's eyes ran over her, making Roseanne suddenly aware, for the second time in his company, of her small breasts and narrow hips. She knew she wasn't Win's physical type; she'd seen pictures of his curvy ex-wife. All the same, there was something briefly flickering in his gaze that gave her pause.

He cleared his throat. "I'll go get that sundae."

Roseanne watched him as he walked toward the counter to order. He wasn't exactly her physical type, either. Too lean, with fair hair and eyes where she preferred dark. But he did have an easy, unconsciously dignified way of walking, as though he were a man who knew just who he was. Somehow, his physical presence shouted, "strength." Often, to her consternation, Roseanne found herself attracted to that male strength.

Win came back holding a sundae. "Here you are. Two extra maraschino cherries, chopped walnuts, and I don't know what this stuff is."

Roseanne eyed the brown syrupy goo in the separate paper cup. "Looks like caramel. I'll pass." She glanced up as Win dropped into the booth seat across from her. "Didn't you get anything?"

He held up a silver spoon. "I was kind of hoping you'd have a heart."

Laughing, Roseanne pushed the oblong boat to a position halfway between the two of them. "You remind me of a puppy dog I once knew. Come on, then. Be my guest."

"Are you sure all this sugar is good for you?" Win asked after a while, licking his spoon and eyeing Roseanne against the last few bites of ice cream. "Isn't there something about pregnancy and diabetes?"

"Oh, you can have the last bite, Win. Wait, you've got something on your chin." Roseanne picked up a napkin and leaned over the table to dab a smear of vanilla ice cream from the spikes of Win's five o'clock beard.

For one brief moment, her fingers against his jaw, their eyes met and held. Roseanne was aware of the hard bone of his jaw beneath her fingertips and the virile scratchiness of his beard stubble. She felt the oddest, lightheaded dizziness.

Win drew in a long, slow breath. Then he caught Roseanne's wrist in a sudden, vise-like grip.

"Hey!" she exclaimed, but when her eyes flicked up, all thought of complaint died away.

His eyes were blazing. But even as she sat there, mesmerized, she saw him douse the flames.

"That," Win bit out crisply, "isn't fair." Slowly he released her wrist and Roseanne was able to sink back against the cushions. He went on, his tone deliberately cool, "If you're going to play this game, then kindly follow your own rules."

Under the table, Roseanne rubbed the wrist he'd grabbed. She could still feel his fingers on her, both their strength and their heat. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, yes you do." Win eyed her cuttingly. "The rule that I'm not allowed to touch you."

"Oh."

"Oh," He repeated, mockingly. "I don't see any reason why it should work in only one direction. Do you?"

Roseanne was torn between launching into some legalistic arguments to rationalize her behavior and the safer path of simply agreeing that Win was right. She kept silent.

He slid out from the booth seat. "Are you ready to leave?"

They didn't speak again the rest of the way home. Chin in her hand, Roseanne sat in the silent car and wondered just what was happening to her. What had prompted her to lean across the table that way, performing such an extraordinarily domestic duty?

Something about Win brought out a hitherto latent maternal instinct in her. Maternal. That's what it had to be. Roseanne turned her head to stare into the darkness.

Unfortunately, her wrist could still feel the imprint of Win's fingers. There was nothing at all maternal about the heady rush of feminine energy his sudden and possessive strength had aroused.

Primitive stuff. Not at all subject to the rules of common sense and social correctness. Almost...irresistible.

Good Lord. Roseanne sucked in a breath in dismay. Was she getting
involved
with Win? Did she want an honest-to-goodness relationship with him?

Please, no. Oh, of
course
no. He was a
wife-leaver
, just like her dad. Okay, maybe he wasn't quite that bad. Whatever the reason Win had left his wife, it probably hadn't been completely craven. Certainly it hadn't been over another woman. But all the same, it wasn't a point in his favor.

No. She and Win were friends only. Just friends.

Roseanne frowned and bit her lower lip. Yes, somewhere along the way, it seemed they had become friends.

How, she wondered, had that happened?

~~~

The note left on the dining room table on Monday morning was terse and to the point. Win had left for the office. He expected Roseanne would know how to take care of herself.

Roseanne brushed her sleep-mussed hair from her face and wondered why she felt so bereft. After last night, some physical distance from Win was probably a good idea.

Wasn't it?

Win called around four. As soon as she picked up the phone and heard his slight drawl, Roseanne knew she'd been waiting for his call. Yes, she'd been finding one excuse or another to do nothing but hang around the house until he did.