Mrs. DeCarlo had spoken of Elinor Burgess as if she had been the architect of the whole scheme. It was clever of Elinor to pretend that Rory was Marissa's baby, she'd said.
The woman had been wrong, of course – but was it possible there was a nugget of truth at the bottom of the accusation? Elinor had approved of Mack's plan to marry Wendy and adopt the baby. Or was she even more involved than that? Elinor had overheard no more than a few words of conversation on Christmas Eve, but without an instant's hesitation she had understood what was happening and rushed to offer her approval.
Wendy had been too stunned at the time to wonder about Elinor's reactions. But now it seemed obvious that she had known beforehand what was coming. Otherwise, wouldn't she have taken a moment before plunging in with congratulations? Elinor wasn't the impulsive sort.
And did that mean the whole thing been Elinor's plan – not really Mack's idea at all?
It couldn't be, Wendy assured herself. Nobody could force Mack to do anything.
But perhaps force had nothing to do with it. She knew herself how very difficult it was to refuse Elinor's requests. She looked at the diamond ring on her left hand and remembered how hard she had tried to turn it down. But the woman was so incredibly reasonable that it was impossible to argue with her.
And she would have been arguing from a position of strength. The combination of Mack and Wendy was the only one which made sense. Mitchell was too young and unstable to be a good parent; John and Tessa were too involved in their own lives. Besides, Wendy was the center of the child's world. It would have been stupid to uproot that relationship, as long as there was a way to preserve the family's rights, as well. And such an easy way, too.
If Mack's mother had put it to him in that form, what could he have said? It would have been such a rational request.
And then there was Rory herself. One had only to look at the child – helpless, appealing, completely dependent – to know how important it was that someone take care of her. The baby's innocence, added to Elinor's logic, would be nearly irresistible.
It doesn't matter, Wendy told herself firmly. No matter whose idea it was, Mack had made his decision of his own free will, just as Wendy had. They would simply make the best of it – for Rory's sake.
And for her own peace of mind, Wendy would be very careful that he never suspected she wanted more than that. For if Mack ever guessed that she had fallen in love with him, the humiliation would be nothing short of disastrous.
*****
Mack was drinking coffee and thumbing through the morning newspaper when Wendy appeared from her end of the two-bedroom suite in Phoenix's Kendrick Hotel, dressed in jeans. "It looks as if you're ready to pitch in and work," he said as he poured her a cup of coffee.
She took it gratefully and sank into one of the deep chairs. There was something to be said for hotels and room service, she reflected. She'd almost suggested, before they left Chicago, that they could simply stay at the apartment. Then she'd remembered there was really only one bedroom – the second one was still full of nursery furniture – and she'd been thankful that for once her tongue hadn't run away with her.
Mack finished his coffee and pushed the cup aside. "I have to be going. I'll see you here tonight."
"You're having dinner with your clients?"
He nodded. "Do you mind?"
"Of course not," Wendy said brightly. "I'll probably just fix myself a sandwich and keep working till late. There's such a lot to do."
Mack checked his cuff links and reached for the silvery-gray jacket he'd draped over the back of a chair. "You could let the movers take care of it."
"Movers don't do everything, you know. I didn't even take the Christmas tree down before we left. Besides, most of my stuff isn't important enough to move halfway across the country, so I'll have to sort through it before the movers can start work at all."
She wasn't looking at him, so she didn't realize he'd come around behind her chair till he braced both hands on her shoulders. "If something matters to you, Wendy, it's important enough to move."
She looked up at him, startled by the dark intensity of his eyes. She couldn't quite identify the expression; was it doubt? concern? Or – perhaps – a dawning realization?
Slowly, he bent over her, took the cup out of her hand and set it aside, and then his lips came to rest on hers.
Wendy closed her eyes and warned herself to be careful. He hadn't kissed her since that day in the kitchen, when she had lost control of the coffeepot and Mrs. Morgan had interrupted them.
This time she must be more restrained. She couldn't take a chance on letting Mack guess how deep her feelings were. Even if her hopes were correct and he was beginning to feel something more than mere attraction for her, that awareness was so new and tender that it could be easily overwhelmed.
It would take time to develop and solidify, and in the meantime, any hint of pursuit or expectation could drive those half-formed sensations back into hiding – even from Mack himself.
And yet, even if Wendy had wanted to, she could not completely deny the longing she felt. The simple act of kissing him …
What a misleading description that was! There was nothing simple about a caress that set her nerves alight and turned her insides the consistency of hot fudge sauce. His touch robbed her of physical strength, but at the same time, in some unexplainable way, it soothed her soul and gave her hope that someday things would be different.
"I have to go," Mack said. His voice was husky – or did it sound that way because Wendy's hearing was blurred? His fingers squeezed her shoulders for a moment, and then he gathered up his briefcase and was gone.
She sat for a quarter of an hour with one fingertip resting softly against her lips – as if she were holding his kiss there, unwilling to let it escape.
*****
Wendy waded through the pile of mail which had accumulated under the slot in the front door. It was obviously mostly junk, so the first thing she did was gather it all up and shove it into a brown grocery bag. She could start to look through it over lunch; she'd need a break by then.
She stood in the little entry for a moment, contemplating the work ahead. Perhaps she'd better start with her bedroom. Sorting out her clothes would take the most time, unless she just had everything shipped. The kitchen would be easy in comparison. She'd pick out the few things she wanted and call a charity organization to pick up the rest. As for the leftover food – perhaps there was a nearby food bank which could put it to use.
The thought of making those calls reminded her that she'd have to arrange for the utilities to be disconnected, too. Then there was her car – what on earth was she going to do with it?
"One thing at a time," she told herself firmly. "Don't get overwhelmed or you'll be too paralyzed to do anything at all."
The sight of her bed, still heaped with the clothes she'd considered packing, made her want to swear. She put on a lightweight sweatshirt and began ruthlessly weeding her wardrobe.
She went out at noon to run errands and pick up a sandwich, and when she came back the phone was ringing. She considered not even answering it, because the last thing she needed was to spend precious time fending off a salesman or a pollster. But it might be a friend, of course. She hadn't sent announcements to all of them yet. So she picked up the call.
"I was starting to worry," Mack said.
Wendy felt a little glow of contentment deep inside. "Oh, hi! I needed tissue paper so I can pack the Christmas ornaments as I take them off the tree."
"That sounds very domestic."
"Well, of all the things I own, those are about the most precious. Some of them belonged to my grandmother."
"In that case, we'll carry them home."
Wendy laughed. "I thought you were the one who told me to turn everything over to the movers."
"Did I say that?"
"Don't worry, I didn't take you seriously. You'd be amazed at the piles I'm getting rid of." She shifted the telephone and glanced at her wristwatch. "Did your meetings go so smoothly that you're finished, or what?" It would be wonderful if he were free. It wouldn't take her more than fifteen minutes to get rid of her dust, and the whole afternoon stretched ahead. He'd like the botanical gardens, with the magnificent cactus displays. And after being shut up in an office building all morning, the fresh air would be welcome too. Or they could drive up toward Sedona, to the red sandstone cliffs.