“Merry Christmas, ma’am,” the driver said cheerfully as he guided the precariously balanced stack into the gallery’s warmth. “It’s a cold one out there. I’m thinking we’ll have snow on the ground by morning.”
“Seems that way to me, too,” Kathleen said, eyeing the bounty warily. “Is this from Mr. Carlton?”
“Yes, ma’am. Picked it up from him first thing this morning. He was real anxious for you to get it, but traffic’s a bear out there, so it took me a while to get over here.” He eyed the stack with a frown. “You need me to help you open these?”
“No, thanks. I’m used to opening crates like this,” she said, offering him a large tip. “Merry Christmas.”
Once he had gone, she stood and stared at the overwhelming number of paintings Ben had sent. The temptation to rip into them and get her first glimpse of the art he’d been denying her was overwhelming, but she resisted.
So, she thought, running her fingers over one of the crates, this was it. He’d thrown down the gauntlet. She was filled with a sudden, gut-deep fear that this was either a test or, far worse, a farewell gift. Whichever he’d meant it to be, she knew she couldn’t accept. If she did, it would destroy all hope. It would be the end of the most important thing that had ever happened to her, perhaps to either of them.
She looked at her copy of the receipt the driver had given her and immediately called the delivery service. “Do you have the ability to get in touch with one of your drivers?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am, but most of them are coming in for the day. It’s Christmas Eve and they’re getting off early.”
She explained who she was. “Your driver just left here not five minutes ago. I need him to come back. I know it’s an inconvenience, but please tell him I’ll make it worth his while. It’s very important.”
Apparently the dispatcher caught the urgency in her voice, because he said, “Sit tight, ma’am. I’ll do what I can.”
Ten minutes later the truck pulled up outside and the driver came in.
“Is there something wrong, Ms. Dugan? Was there a problem with the shipment?”
“Yes, you could say that,” she said. “I need you to take all of this back to Mr. Carlton, please.”
“Now?” he asked incredulously, then took a good, long look at her face and nodded slowly. “No problem. I’ll be happy to do it.”
She dragged out her checkbook. “Name your price.”
He shook his head. “It’s on me, ma’am. Headquarters is out that way, anyway.” He grinned at her. “Besides, I read that stuff that was in the paper about the two of you. I figured this might have something to do with that. I want to see the look on Mr. Carlton’s face when all of this lands right back on his doorstep.”
Filled with a sudden burst of expectancy, Kathleen found herself returning his smile. “Yes. I’m rather anxious to see that myself. In fact, I’ll be right behind you.”
Ben Carlton was not going to toss potentially thousands of dollars in paintings at her and convince her she’d won. Until they were together—truly, happily-ever-after together—neither one of them would have won a blasted thing.
Chapter Fifteen
Mack and Richard converged on the farm twenty minutes after Ben had sent the shipment of paintings off to Kathleen.
“Why didn’t you ever call me back yesterday?” Mack demanded.
“We’d have been here sooner, but I didn’t want to leave Melanie alone at the house,” Richard said. “Beth’s there now, watching her like a hawk, I hope. Melanie keeps trying to slip out to finish her Christmas shopping. I swear that baby is going to be born in an aisle at some boutique.”
Ben chuckled. “Bro, I think you’re fighting a losing battle. If Melanie wants to shop, you should know by now that you’re not going to stop her.”
Richard raked a hand through his hair, then stopped himself. “Yeah, I’m beginning to get that,” he admitted with evident frustration. “I swear to God, though, I’m going to be bald by the time this kid gets here.”
“It’s not going to be much longer,” Mack soothed. “Beth predicts a Christmas baby.”
Richard’s eyes immediately filled with panic. “Christmas is tomorrow. That means Melanie could be going into labor right now. First babies always take a long time, right?”
Mack looked at Ben and rolled his eyes. “Do you have your cell phone?”
“Of course,” Richard snapped impatiently.
“It’s on?”