The Only Solution(22)

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.