Нора Робертс - Bed of Roses

“Mama, that’s so . . . You never told me all this before.”

“I never needed to. Your papa, he was careful with me, so careful not to touch my hand too long, hold my gaze too long. Until that day I stood under the cherry blossoms, and I saw him walking to me. I saw him coming to me, and what was in his eyes. My heart.”

Lucia pressed her hand to it. “Ah! It fell, right at his feet. How could he not know? And knowing, his heart fell beside mine.”

“It’s what I want.”

“Of course.”

Emma had to blink tears away. “I don’t think fixing Jack’s tie is going to do it.”

“The little things, Emma. The gestures, the moments. And the big. I let him see my heart. I gave it to him, even when I believed he couldn’t or wouldn’t take it. I gave it anyway—a gift. Even if he broke it. I was very brave. Love is very brave.”

“I’m not as brave as you.”

“I think you’re wrong.” Lucia wrapped her arm around Emma’s shoulders in a hug. “Very wrong. But now it’s new, isn’t it? New and bright and happy. Enjoy it.”

“I am.”

“And bring him to the party.”

“All right.”

“Now, I’m going home to let you get back to work. Do you have a date?”

“Not tonight. We had a long consult today—the Seaman wedding.”

Lucia’s eyes danced. “Ah, the big one.”

“The big one. And I have paperwork, ordering, planning to get to tonight, and a full day tomorrow. He has a business thing tomorrow night, but he’s going to try to come by after and . . .”

“I know what and is,” Lucia said with a laugh. “Get a good night’s sleep tonight then.” She patted Emma’s knee, rose.

“I’m so glad you came by.” Standing, Emma wrapped her mother in a hard hug. “Kiss Papa for me.”

“For you and for me. I think he’ll take me out to dinner tonight, and we’ll share wine and pasta and intimate conversation. To show we haven’t lost our touch.”

“As if ever.”

Emma leaned on the doorjamb, waved her mother off. Then instead of going back into work, left the door open to the spring air and took a walk around the gardens.

Tight buds, fresh blossoms, tender shoots. The beginning of a new cycle, she thought. She wandered back to her greenhouses, gave herself the pleasure of puttering. Seeds she’d planted over the winter were now young plants, and doing nicely. She’d begin to harden them off in the next few days, she decided.

She circled back around, stopped to fill the bird feeders she shared with Mac. The air had already started to cool by the time she went back in. When the sun set, she thought, it would be chilly.

On impulse, she got out a pot. Then minced, chopped, poured, tossed in cubes of herbs she’d frozen the summer before. With a kettle of soup simmering, she went back up to finish her orders.

An hour later, she came down to stir, then glanced toward the window as she heard a car. Surprised, pleased, she hurried to the door to greet Jack.

“Well, hi.”

“I had a meeting, and managed to wrap it up early. I left my jacket here again, so I thought I’d swing by on my way . . . You’re cooking?”

“I took a walk, and it started cooling off, which put me in the mood for kitchen sink soup. There’s plenty, if you’re interested.”

“Actually, I was . . . There’s a ball game on tonight, so—”

“I have a television.” She stepped in, straightened his tie, with a secret smile. “I allow it to broadcast ball games.”

“Really?”

She gave his tie a little tug. “You can taste the soup. If it doesn’t appeal, I’ll get your jacket and you can watch the ball game at home.”

She strolled off, went back to stirring. When he followed, she glanced over her shoulder. “Lean over, open up.”

He did just that so she held the tasting spoon to his lips.

“It’s good.” His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “It’s damn good. How come I never knew you could make soup?”

“You never stopped by to get your jacket after you wrapped up a meeting early. Do you want to stay for dinner?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“It needs about an hour more. Why don’t you open a bottle of cab?”

“Okay.” Now he leaned down, kissed her. Paused, kissed her again, softly, slowly. “I’m glad I swung by.”

“Me, too.”

The mexican and american flags flew their proud colors as Emma’s Mexican mother and Yankee father combined cultures to celebrate Cinco de Mayo.

Every year the expansive grounds offered games, from lawn bowling and badminton to moon bounces and waterslides. Friends, relatives, and neighbors played and competed while others crowded at picnic tables, diving into platters of pork and chicken, warm tortillas, bowls of red beans or chilis, guacamole or salsa hot enough to scorch the throat.

There were gallons of lemonade, Negra Modelo, Corona, tequila, and frosty margaritas to put out the fire.

Whenever he’d managed to drop by on the fifth of May, Jack had always been amazed at the number of people the Grants managed to feed. And the choices of fajitas and burgers, black beans and rice or potato salad. Flan or apple pie.

He supposed the food was just a symbol of how completely Phillip and Lucia blended.

He sipped his beer and watched some of the guests dance to the trio of guitars and marimbas.

Beside him, Del took a pull on his own beer. “Hell of a party.”

“They pull out all the stops.”

“So, is it weird being here this year with the hosts’ baby girl?”

Jack started to deny it as a matter of principle. But hell, it was Del. “Little bit. But so far, nobody’s called for the rope.”

“It’s still early.”

“Brown, you’re a comfort to me. Is it my imagination or are there about twice as many kids as there were last year? Year before,” he remembered. “I couldn’t make it last year.”

“Might be. I don’t think they’re all related. I heard Celia’s pregnant again though.”

“Yeah, Emma mentioned it. You’re here stag?”

“Yeah.” Del smiled slowly. “You never know, do you? Check out the blonde in the blue dress. Those are some nice pins she’s got.”

“Yeah. I always thought Laurel had great legs.”

Del choked on his beer. “That’s not . . . Oh,” he managed when she turned, laughed, and he got a better look. “Not used to seeing her in a dress, I guess.” Very deliberately he turned in the opposite direction. “Anyway, there are a bevy of sultry brunettes, cool blondes, and a sprinkle of hot redheads. Many of whom are unattached. But I guess the days of scoping the field are over for you.”

“I’m dating, not blind or dead.” The idea put an itch between Jack’s shoulder blades.

“Where is Em?”

“She went to help somebody with something food related.

We’re not joined at the hip.”

Del lifted an eyebrow. “Okay.”

“I have friends, she has friends, and some of them happen to be mutual. We don’t have to walk in step at a party.”

“Right.” Del took another contemplative sip of his beer.

“So . . . would the guy she’s currently kissing on the mouth be her friend, your friend, or a mutual?”

Jack swung around, caught the end of the kiss between Emma and some Nordic god type. She laughed, and her hands gestured expressively before she grabbed one of Thor’s and pulled him over to a group of people.

“Looks like he’s not one of yours,” Del commented.

“Why don’t you . . .” He cut off the suggestion he had in mind as Lucia stopped in front of them. “You two should be eating instead of just standing here looking handsome.”

“I’m considering all options,” Del told her. “There are big decisions to be made, all the way down to apple pie or flan.”

“There’s also strawberry shortcake and empanadas.”

“You see? Not to be taken lightly.”

“You should sample each, then decide. Look here!” She beamed smiles and threw out her hands as Mac and Carter walked to them. “Mackensie, you made it.”

“Sorry we’re so late. The shoot ran a little longer than I hoped.” She kissed Lucia’s cheek.

“You’re here, that’s what counts. And you!” Lucia threw her arms around Carter for a hug.

Carter lifted her an inch off the grass in a gesture of long-term affection.

“It’s been years since you came for Cinco de Mayo.”

Carter grinned. “It’s bigger.”

“Because there are more of us. Your mama and papa are here, with Diane’s children. Sherry and Nick are here, too,” she said, speaking of his younger sister. “Diane and Sam should be here soon. Mac, your future mother in-law tells me the wedding plans are going well.”

“They’re clicking along.”

“Let me see your ring again. Ah!” She twinkled a smile at Carter after examining the diamond on Mac’s hand. “Very nicely done. Come, Celia hasn’t seen it yet. Carter,” she called as she pulled Mac away, “get food, get drink.”

Instead, Carter stood where he was. “I haven’t been back for one of these in . . . it must be ten years. I’d forgotten. It’s like a carnival.”

“The best in the county,” Del commented. “The Grants either know or are related to everybody. Including, it seems, our mechanic and poker buddy. Hey, Mal.”

“Hey.” In dark shades, worn jeans, and a black T-shirt, he strolled over. He carried two beers by the neck. “Want one, Maverick?” he said to Carter.

“Sure. I didn’t realize you knew the Grants.”

“They’ve been bringing their cars in for service or repair for the last six, eight months. Before you know it, you’re telling Lucia your life story, eating her corn bread and wishing she’d dump her husband and run off with you to Maui.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Jack said.