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Authors: MAGGIE SHAYNE
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“We never ate last night…and…man, do you smell that?”
She sniffed. She smelled it, he could tell she did. Consuella must be whipping up
one hell of a Sunday breakfast this morning.
“I’m really not hungry,” Lucy said. Then her stomach growled.
Holden looked down at her belly and crooked a brow. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah,” she said.
“Well, I have plans for the day, and I’m going to bug you until you cooperate with
them, so you may as well eat first.”
“What sort of plans?”
“You’ll just have to wait and see.”
“I’m on call—”
“Liar. I checked, and you’re free.”
“But…I need to check on Claudia.”
“Already on the itinerary.”
Lucy frowned hard at him, falling silent. “Just what do you want from me, Holden Fortune?”
“You really want to know?” he asked.
“Yes, I really want to know. Why all this attention? Why are you making such an effort?”
He pursed his lips, took a breath. “Actually,” he said, “I think I might just want
to marry you.”
Lucy’s jaw dropped open and she stared up at him in abject shock. When she didn’t
speak, it was, he assumed, because she couldn’t. He took advantage of that situation,
taking her by the arm and guiding her back into the house, as she shuffled at his
side, just gaping at him. And by the time she recovered the ability to speak, Holden
was pushing her chair underneathher in the breakfast room, and unfolding her napkin on her lap for her.
“Coffee or tea?” he asked, reaching for her cup.
“What the hell do you mean, you want to marry me?” she replied.
Consuella stood halfway from the kitchen door to the breakfast table, a tray of pastries
in her hand, and said, “¡Dios mío!”
Four
L ucinda was still digesting what he’d just blurted to her. Only now she was sitting
in a charming little breakfast nook, in a sunroom, with glass walls and ceiling in
a curving pattern that drenched her in cheerful yellow sunlight. In front of her was
a heaping plate, a brimming coffee cup, and a juice glass full of liquid sunshine,
apparently, just in case there wasn’t enough of the other kind.
“Good God, I can’t eat all this.”
The maid, or cook or whoever, Consuella, a plump middle-aged woman who seemed to be
practically beaming, swooped in and snatched her plate away, replacing it with a fresh
one. “I get you whatever you wish for, chiquita. You want fruit? Eh? Yogurt? Oh, Consuella’s special omelette, eh? I make—”
“No, no, please.” Lucinda held up a hand. “Don’t go to any trouble. I just meant there
was too much of this wonderful food on my plate, is all…”
“Psssh, it is no trouble at all, Miss Lucinda. No trouble at all for Mister Holden’s
bride-to-be!” She clapped her hands together, grinning ear to ear. “Such a nice girl,
too!” she bubbled as she trotted back through the door into the kitchen.
“But I’m not…” Lucinda drew a breath through gritted teeth and glared at Holden. “What
would possessyou to say such a thing where she could hear?” she asked.
“To be honest, I didn’t realize she was there when I—”
“She thinks you were serious for goodness’ sake!”
“Well I…” Holden licked his lips, buttered a blueberry muffin, and set his knife down
precisely. “I was serious.”
Lucy blinked. “You…you’ve only known me for approximately twenty-four hours.”
“What’re you, kidding? I’ve known you since high school.”
“You don’t even remember me from high school.”
He averted his eyes. “I do so.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Prove it, then. What do you remember?”
He took a deep breath, knitting his brow. “I remember you were always around. I used
to wonder if you were following me, but I kind of thought you were too shy for that.
You never said much. Just seemed to be off in the distance…watching me whenever I
looked up. At football practice, or at lunch or
She sniffed. She smelled it, he could tell she did. Consuella must be whipping up
one hell of a Sunday breakfast this morning.
“I’m really not hungry,” Lucy said. Then her stomach growled.
Holden looked down at her belly and crooked a brow. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah,” she said.
“Well, I have plans for the day, and I’m going to bug you until you cooperate with
them, so you may as well eat first.”
“What sort of plans?”
“You’ll just have to wait and see.”
“I’m on call—”
“Liar. I checked, and you’re free.”
“But…I need to check on Claudia.”
“Already on the itinerary.”
Lucy frowned hard at him, falling silent. “Just what do you want from me, Holden Fortune?”
“You really want to know?” he asked.
“Yes, I really want to know. Why all this attention? Why are you making such an effort?”
He pursed his lips, took a breath. “Actually,” he said, “I think I might just want
to marry you.”
Lucy’s jaw dropped open and she stared up at him in abject shock. When she didn’t
speak, it was, he assumed, because she couldn’t. He took advantage of that situation,
taking her by the arm and guiding her back into the house, as she shuffled at his
side, just gaping at him. And by the time she recovered the ability to speak, Holden
was pushing her chair underneathher in the breakfast room, and unfolding her napkin on her lap for her.
“Coffee or tea?” he asked, reaching for her cup.
“What the hell do you mean, you want to marry me?” she replied.
Consuella stood halfway from the kitchen door to the breakfast table, a tray of pastries
in her hand, and said, “¡Dios mío!”
Four
L ucinda was still digesting what he’d just blurted to her. Only now she was sitting
in a charming little breakfast nook, in a sunroom, with glass walls and ceiling in
a curving pattern that drenched her in cheerful yellow sunlight. In front of her was
a heaping plate, a brimming coffee cup, and a juice glass full of liquid sunshine,
apparently, just in case there wasn’t enough of the other kind.
“Good God, I can’t eat all this.”
The maid, or cook or whoever, Consuella, a plump middle-aged woman who seemed to be
practically beaming, swooped in and snatched her plate away, replacing it with a fresh
one. “I get you whatever you wish for, chiquita. You want fruit? Eh? Yogurt? Oh, Consuella’s special omelette, eh? I make—”
“No, no, please.” Lucinda held up a hand. “Don’t go to any trouble. I just meant there
was too much of this wonderful food on my plate, is all…”
“Psssh, it is no trouble at all, Miss Lucinda. No trouble at all for Mister Holden’s
bride-to-be!” She clapped her hands together, grinning ear to ear. “Such a nice girl,
too!” she bubbled as she trotted back through the door into the kitchen.
“But I’m not…” Lucinda drew a breath through gritted teeth and glared at Holden. “What
would possessyou to say such a thing where she could hear?” she asked.
“To be honest, I didn’t realize she was there when I—”
“She thinks you were serious for goodness’ sake!”
“Well I…” Holden licked his lips, buttered a blueberry muffin, and set his knife down
precisely. “I was serious.”
Lucy blinked. “You…you’ve only known me for approximately twenty-four hours.”
“What’re you, kidding? I’ve known you since high school.”
“You don’t even remember me from high school.”
He averted his eyes. “I do so.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Prove it, then. What do you remember?”
He took a deep breath, knitting his brow. “I remember you were always around. I used
to wonder if you were following me, but I kind of thought you were too shy for that.
You never said much. Just seemed to be off in the distance…watching me whenever I
looked up. At football practice, or at lunch or
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