red hair peeked out from under a fluffy pink blanket. She shifted Hannah into the crook of her left arm and lifted a brimming glass coffeepot. “Would you like a cup?”
“I’d love some. But why don’t you sit down and let me pour.”
“Nonsense.” Sam grabbed a mug from a cabinet and expertly maneuvered toward the table with a full load in her arms. “I’m pregnant,” she added, setting the cup on the table and filling it with steaming coffee, “not disabled.”
“Speak for yourself,” Lauren said, feeding a bottle of formula to Tyler, Sam and Jack’s-other twin. The towhead was swathed in blue, and Lauren balanced him gingerly on what remained of her lap. At eight-months pregnant her stomach stretched halfway to her knees, but the lady was a picture of perfection in Pamela Dennis maternity wear, capped by a zillion-dollar haircut, with fat diamond studs in her ears. In spite of her obvious wealth, Lauren Wilde was a bundle of generosity and charm.
“Goodness,” Lauren said, rubbing her belly, “Max Jr.‘s been kicking all night long. I swear this little one’s going to come out riding a Harley bigger than his dad’s, and let me tell you, it can’t happen soon enough. Of course”—she reached across the table with great effort and grabbed a chocolate éclair—“as soon as the doctor gives us the go-ahead, Max and I plan to put every effort into having our second.”
“Did you plan Junior?” Sam asked, lowering her own pregnant body into one of the kitchen chairs.
“Of course we did.” Lauren licked chocolate from her smiling lips. “We planned to have him two years from now.”
Sam laughed as she rubbed her own swollen belly. “Jack and I planned to have this one, too— of course we were planning to wait until the twins were out of diapers. Eleven months apart was a little unexpected. I suppose we should have taken precautions, but where’s the fun in that?”
Charity put an éclair on a napkin and licked the yummy chocolate from her fingers, absorbing every word of this bizarre conversation. In her day-to-day world, women talked about auditions, boyfriends, bounced checks, and love affairs gone sour. Babies were the last thing anyone wanted to talk or think about, and every step imaginable was taken to make sure an accident didn’t happen. Accidents meant you were out of a job because no one wanted to see a long-legged, big breasted, heavily pregnant showgirl prancing across a stage in a sequined thong.
Charity had taken precautions, too. Foolproof precautions—like absolutely no sex—and she didn’t plan to change her routine any time soon.
Of course, watching the way Lauren and Sam smiled and cooed while keeping up a mile-a-minute conversation about Lauren’s avant-garde wedding business, a continuation of yesterday’s chatter about Max’s biker buddies, the ranch, the horses Sam wanted to breed, and the outrageous lives of Lauren and Jack’s mother and father, Charity thought she could get used to the coziness—for a while.
A steady diet of this would surely bore her and in no time at all she’d hightail it back to Vegas. Right now she imagined she could put up with another four or five days of prattle.
“I know this is none of my business,” Sam said, drawing Charity back to the conversation, “but...” She took a sip of coffee and stared at Charity over the brim of her mug. “Well... I couldn’t miss the voices coming from your room last night.”
Had she and Mike really been that loud? Had everyone heard?
Instantly, as if she were a young girl living under her father’s roof again, she felt the need to defend what had gone on. “Mike and I didn’t do anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Worried?” Lauren chimed in. “Goodness, no! We just wanted to make sure you’d brought a box or two of condoms with you. You can’t always count on a man being prepared. And, well, Mike’s not the type to walk around with one in his pocket. I
“I’d love some. But why don’t you sit down and let me pour.”
“Nonsense.” Sam grabbed a mug from a cabinet and expertly maneuvered toward the table with a full load in her arms. “I’m pregnant,” she added, setting the cup on the table and filling it with steaming coffee, “not disabled.”
“Speak for yourself,” Lauren said, feeding a bottle of formula to Tyler, Sam and Jack’s-other twin. The towhead was swathed in blue, and Lauren balanced him gingerly on what remained of her lap. At eight-months pregnant her stomach stretched halfway to her knees, but the lady was a picture of perfection in Pamela Dennis maternity wear, capped by a zillion-dollar haircut, with fat diamond studs in her ears. In spite of her obvious wealth, Lauren Wilde was a bundle of generosity and charm.
“Goodness,” Lauren said, rubbing her belly, “Max Jr.‘s been kicking all night long. I swear this little one’s going to come out riding a Harley bigger than his dad’s, and let me tell you, it can’t happen soon enough. Of course”—she reached across the table with great effort and grabbed a chocolate éclair—“as soon as the doctor gives us the go-ahead, Max and I plan to put every effort into having our second.”
“Did you plan Junior?” Sam asked, lowering her own pregnant body into one of the kitchen chairs.
“Of course we did.” Lauren licked chocolate from her smiling lips. “We planned to have him two years from now.”
Sam laughed as she rubbed her own swollen belly. “Jack and I planned to have this one, too— of course we were planning to wait until the twins were out of diapers. Eleven months apart was a little unexpected. I suppose we should have taken precautions, but where’s the fun in that?”
Charity put an éclair on a napkin and licked the yummy chocolate from her fingers, absorbing every word of this bizarre conversation. In her day-to-day world, women talked about auditions, boyfriends, bounced checks, and love affairs gone sour. Babies were the last thing anyone wanted to talk or think about, and every step imaginable was taken to make sure an accident didn’t happen. Accidents meant you were out of a job because no one wanted to see a long-legged, big breasted, heavily pregnant showgirl prancing across a stage in a sequined thong.
Charity had taken precautions, too. Foolproof precautions—like absolutely no sex—and she didn’t plan to change her routine any time soon.
Of course, watching the way Lauren and Sam smiled and cooed while keeping up a mile-a-minute conversation about Lauren’s avant-garde wedding business, a continuation of yesterday’s chatter about Max’s biker buddies, the ranch, the horses Sam wanted to breed, and the outrageous lives of Lauren and Jack’s mother and father, Charity thought she could get used to the coziness—for a while.
A steady diet of this would surely bore her and in no time at all she’d hightail it back to Vegas. Right now she imagined she could put up with another four or five days of prattle.
“I know this is none of my business,” Sam said, drawing Charity back to the conversation, “but...” She took a sip of coffee and stared at Charity over the brim of her mug. “Well... I couldn’t miss the voices coming from your room last night.”
Had she and Mike really been that loud? Had everyone heard?
Instantly, as if she were a young girl living under her father’s roof again, she felt the need to defend what had gone on. “Mike and I didn’t do anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Worried?” Lauren chimed in. “Goodness, no! We just wanted to make sure you’d brought a box or two of condoms with you. You can’t always count on a man being prepared. And, well, Mike’s not the type to walk around with one in his pocket. I
Similar Books
