Wendy wouldn't have liked having him hover around her; that would have caused uncomfortable questions. But she couldn't put him out of her mind, either, and when Tessa began to quiz her about the kind of clothes favored by the professional women of Phoenix, Wendy had the uncomfortable feeling that some of her answers didn't quite make sense. Finally she excused herself and went to her room, to sit in the dark on the window seat which overlooked the front of the house and think about the future.
By midnight, she had concluded that the only sensible answer for Rory's sake was to accept Mack's plan, and she went to bed and fell into the deepest, most dreamless sleep she could remember in months.
But she didn't sleep long, and when she woke in the dim cold darkness of early morning, she was having second thoughts. It was all very well to be logical, but they were dealing with human lives here, and sometimes logic wasn't good enough.
She could accept the end of her own dream of being swept wildly off her feet by the man she loved, of marrying him and living happily ever after. Since she didn't have a real person in mind to fill the role, the whole idea of falling in love was academic anyway.
But what about Mack? There was no shortage of women in his life, so it was easy to conclude that no single one was special. But what if that was wrong? What if one of those women was important to him – meant more to him, perhaps, than even he realized?
Wendy knew so little about him, really. Hunches and intuitions and feelings were no foundation when lifetime choices were involved.
Early on Christmas morning, she slipped into the nursery, before Rory began to stir, and stood beside the crib watching the baby sleep.
She couldn't accept this proposal. And yet, if she turned down Mack's offer, what was she to do? Go back to Phoenix, alone, she supposed. Job-hunt and pick up her life again, and hope to see Rory now and then – if Mack allowed it, and if she could afford the trip.
But just what would that accomplish, besides feeding her own selfishness? A week or two in Rory's life, at intervals of a year or more, would probably do nothing more than confuse the child. She wouldn't be surprised if Mack refused to stand for it at all, especially if he married. And she supposed he soon would; Wendy might be his first choice, but he'd sounded quite firm about creating a two-parent family for Rory.
She suspected, too, that there was no shortage of women who would be interested in a proposal from Mack Burgess, whether it included a ready-made family or not. She only hoped he would be careful to choose one who could love that precious little girl.
But it wouldn't be Wendy's business any more. If she returned to Phoenix, she was turning her back on the possibility of having any meaningful relationship with Rory – ever.
She could stay in Chicago, of course, even without accepting Mack's offer. There was nothing to take her back to Arizona; Mack himself had pointed that out. She could get a job, perhaps more easily in a new location than in the glutted market she had left in Phoenix. Her training and her experience were top-notch. And then she could see Rory regularly – every week, perhaps – even if Mack married. And maybe he wouldn't, if Wendy was nearby to fill in and help out.
But was that good enough? Rory would need an anchor, someone who was steady and always there for her.
Always there.
The baby stirred a little and started making soft smacking sounds as if she was dreaming of a bottle. Then she opened her eyes, wide and blue and eager for a new day. She saw Wendy and gave a little crow of excitement.
"Happy Christmas, darling," Wendy whispered. "Mama's here."
*****
Christmas morning in the Burgess household was surprisingly informal. Mitch lounged on the carpet half-under the tree, still wearing his terry bathrobe and the brightest green pajamas Wendy had ever seen. Tessa came downstairs in a voluminous dressing gown, embroidered and trimmed in eyelet lace. And even though Elinor was dressed in gold satin hostess pajamas, even she was less formal than usual.
Wendy spread Rory's blanket in the middle of the floor and put the baby down with her bottle. Rory twisted around till she could see the tree and stared meditatively at the ever-shifting pattern of lights.
Mack appeared a few minutes later, in corduroy trousers and a ski sweater which emphasized the breadth of his shoulders. Wendy's heart started to beat faster the instant she saw him, knowing that soon she must give him her answer. Not here, of course, in the midst of the family. But soon.
He looked well-rested. Of course he had no reason not to be. He'd done his thinking and made up his mind, so there was nothing remaining to disturb his sleep. He was carrying a coffee cup, and when Wendy looked at it longingly he held it out to her.
"It's black," he warned.
She shook her head.
Mack laughed. "Then you're not as desperate as you'd like me to think, are you? Oh, go and get yourself a cup – there's a fresh pot in the breakfast room. I'll take over the bottle-holding detail." He dropped to the blanket beside Rory, who grinned at him and let milk dribble out of the corners of her mouth.
His hand closed gently over Wendy's on the warm bottle, the brush of his fingers against hers startlingly intimate. The gesture sent a ripple of electricity through Wendy's body, and it took effort not to pull away as if she'd been shocked. Instead, she let her hand slide slowly out from under his.
She stole a look at him and was relieved to see that he was watching Rory, smiling and cooing at her while paying no attention at all to Wendy. That was good; he hadn't noticed her reaction. How perfectly embarrassing it would be if she jumped like that every time he touched her!
She rose, and almost didn't notice the way his gaze followed her. She was watching Elinor, who was sitting very straight in her chair by the fireplace, closely observing the three of them. "There's something about a baby at this season..." the woman mused.
Then a shadow crossed her face; obviously she was remembering the one family member who wasn't there, and she turned her chair a little and reached for Samuel's hand. He held her fingers lightly in his palm and said, "We owe Wendy a great deal, Elinor, for bringing us the most precious gift of Christmas."
Elinor nodded, and in that instant her iron control asserted itself once more. But Wendy had seen the momentary glitter of tears in her eyes, and she could also see the question which lurked in Elinor's mind. She almost made the announcement right then, just to end Elinor's uncertainty – but she couldn't bring herself to blurt it out in public that way, in front of all of them at once. No, she'd have to talk to Mack alone first.
But it seemed there was to be no chance at all for that.
The piles of packages were sorted out and opened, one at a time. A good many of them were for Rory, and the blanket soon disappeared under a layer of clothes and toys. The baby, however, seemed to prefer the glitter of wrapping paper and ribbon; twice Wendy had to push the pile of paper away so Rory couldn't chew it up.
A surprising number of gifts appeared for Wendy herself. Mitch presented her with a gigantic guidebook on the Chicago area. "The guy at the bookstore said it was the best one," he said, with a grin. "But I don't know – seems to me you'll need a big hulking bodyguard just to carry it around."
"If you're volunteering," Mack suggested, "perhaps you should start pumping iron right now."
There was a necklace from Elinor and Samuel – a small but fiery opal on a delicate gold chain, more expensive than any other jewelry Wendy had ever owned – and probably, in Elinor's eyes, a very moderate gift indeed.
The last box she opened was from Mack. She had left it deliberately to the end, though she expected from the appearance of the package that the gift was something ordinary – probably nice, considering Mack's taste, but nothing which would startle the onlookers. After all, one didn't wrap an engagement ring to look like a boot box unless the intention was to tease the recipient, and that wasn't the case here. He probably hadn't considered such a gift anyway; theirs was hardly the sort of arrangement which called for a ring.
Still, Wendy was relieved when she folded back the crisp tissue paper to reveal a supple brown leather handbag. A perfect gift, she thought. Nice, tasteful, thoughtful, and – like the opal necklace – not so intimate or elaborate as to cause questions.