Once Upon a Honeymoon (Harlequin American Romance) Page 7

  Magic charms in his underwear? “Excuse me?” he choked.

  She blushed again, a more scarlet shade this time. “Okay, so maybe that wasn’t the best way to put it. But what are you doing to cause this kind of a fuss? Why would all these women go so crazy trying to catch you?”

  “My mother.”

  “What about her?”

  “It’s what she’s telling them.” He sighed. He didn’t know which was worse, his mother’s perfidy, or the fact that all these women seemed to buy it, hook, line and sinker. “It’s so stupid, and yet they all believe the same story. Each one thinks I’ve been secretly in love with her, from afar. And they also think—courtesy of my mother—that I’ll be a millionaire as soon as I get married.”

  “But...” She gave him a very funny look. “I thought you were, well, poor.”

  Trust Bridgie to cut right to the chase. “Not exactly poor,” he said fiercely. “But let’s just say there hasn’t been any major money in the Ashby family since about 1935.”

  “So why did Kitty Belle...? Oh, I see.” Bridget nodded. “She wanted to up the ante, to really make you an attractive target. A millionaire who looks like you would be quite the prize.”

  That was a surprise. He knew he was reasonably attractive, but coming from Bridgie, that idea was pretty shocking. “Looks like me? What do you mean? You’ve never said anything about my looks before.”

  “Well, I—” she started to say, but she was interrupted by the sound of the front door being forcefully pushed open.

  “Not another one,” Tripp grumbled, already on his way to catch the next entry in the bride-wannabe sweepstakes before she could get into the cabin.

  But this time, when the door swung open, it didn’t reveal any nubile young heiress.

  No, this time, it was Kitty Belle Ashby. His irascible, infuriating mother.

  “Oh, good heavens!” she cried, carrying her perfect pale pink suit and her perfect ash-blonde coiffure into the small cabin. She fixed accusing eyes on Bridget. “What is she doing here? And dressed like that? Tripp, have you no shame?”

  Bridgie’s face went pale.

  “Sorry,” he muttered into her ear. “Relax, okay?” But her arm felt stiff and tense under his hand.

  Since he was fully aware of the effect Kitty Belle always had on Bridgie, and since he didn’t want warfare to break out in the living room, he decided to hustle his old pal out of the line of fire as quickly as he could. “Bridgie needs to change her clothes. Don’t you, Bridgie?” he tried.

  “Oh, yes, of course.”

  Kitty Belle arched a narrow, golden eyebrow. “Of course she needs to change. No lady would appear in public in that disgraceful outfit.”

  Tripp flashed his mother a severe look, but she didn’t take the hint.

  “Disgraceful,” she said again. Lifting a hand to her brow, she crumpled gracefully into a chair, showing every sign of sticking around awhile. Good. That would give him plenty of time to have a serious, meaningful discussion with her. If he didn’t kill her first.

  “This is hardly public,” Bridgie said, bristling. “And I only wore it to get Tripp off the hook and out of the clutches of that dim-bulb ski bunny you sent up here.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “It’s just my robe,” Tripp protested.

  “I’m fully aware of what it is. But what’s she doing in it?”

  “I borrowed it, okay? I know it doesn’t look good, but don’t worry, there’s no hanky-panky going on.”

  “Of course not,” Mrs. Ashby scoffed. “I hardly think my son would consort with the likes of you.”

  “That’s enough.” Tripp glared at his mother. “Although it’s none of your business, I would be honored to consort with Bridgie. The question is whether she would be willing to lower her standards enough to consort with the likes of me.”

  “Oh, my heavens. This is outrageous. To speak to your own mother like this. Where are your manners, Tripp?”

  “You’re a fine one to talk about manners, the way you’ve behaved,” Bridgie shot back.

  “Ladies, ladies,” Tripp interceded, turning his back on his mother, pushing Bridgie ahead of him out of the room.

  She was stubborn, but he managed to propel her all the way down the hall and into his room. But as he closed the door, he got a good look at the chaos in his room.

  “What’s all this?” he demanded. He picked up a lacy black nightgown slung over the foot of his bed. His eyes went wide as he held it up, mentally matching its skimpy outline to Bridgie’s body. “Is this stuff yours? Bridgie...” He cleared a throat that had suddenly gone dry. “I find it difficult to picture you in something like that.”

  But that was the problem. It wasn’t difficult at all. God. He was losing his mind.

  Bridgie snatched it out of his hand. “You think nice girls don’t wear black lingerie?”

  “Of course they do. I mean, who knows? I never thought about it. But not you, anyway.”

  “Tripp, sometimes you are the most infuriating person.” She stuffed the nightgown down into her briefcase.

  “Infuriating? What did I do?”

  “You’re making such a big deal of this. What’s the problem? It’s not like you, Mr. Stud, haven’t seen women’s underwear before. But if it’s mine, it’s suddenly too risqué for words.” Steam was practically coming out her ears as she smashed things back into her luggage. “I was just trying to put on a good show for your bimbo.”

  “And you did that, didn’t you?” What did she think he was, a eunuch? “Throwing your lingerie all over my bedroom, waltzing out into the living room wearing a robe slashed open down to your navel—”

  “My navel?” she cried. “It was not!”

  “It still is,” he said grimly.

  She followed the path of his eyes, flushed crimson as far down as he could see, which answered one question about where she was capable of blushing, and then muttered some nasty oath as she grabbed the lapels of the robe together up to her chin.

  “You kissed me,” she reminded him, “which was totally uncalled for.”

  “What do you think I am, a eunuch?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Hell, he had no idea. “Whether it was uncalled for or not, you didn’t seem to mind at the time.” Mind? She’d practically torched him with the heat of her response. He still had sparks left over.

  “Oh, yes, I did mind!” she insisted, but the hot light in her eyes belied her words. “I just...went along, for the sake of the story, to get rid of that thing in the ski pants. And then, after I hauled myself all the way to cannibal country—”

  “Cannibal country?” he interrupted, utterly mystified.

  “I read in the guidebook about the Donner Party... Oh, never mind!” she broke off. “What’s important is that I bailed you out one more time, and for what? So you and your mother could both insult me!”

  He hated arguing with Bridgie. She always won. And no matter what had gone on before, no matter who kissed whom, she was right that his mother was the real menace in the story. “Look, I’m sorry she was on her high horse again.” And then he told her what he should’ve said a long time ago. “Thanks, Bridgie. I really mean it. I appreciate you coming to my rescue.”

  He took her chin in his hands, and dropped a quick kiss on the tip of her pretty little nose. It was weird how his hands kept reaching out for her. Now that he’d held her, he kept wanting to do it again, to prove to her, and to himself, exactly who was most affected, exactly who was trembling with this outrageous, unexpected attraction. But that would only make things more complicated, and far, far stickier. He backed away instantly. “So, listen, I owe you,” he said unsteadily.

  “I know you do,” she returned tartly. “Big-time. Now go back there and read your mother the riot act. This is your chance.”

  But he wasn’t thinking about his mother as he went back to face her. No, he was still trying to deal with the image of Bridgie lounging in his robe, wit
h just enough bare skin to make his mouth water, the feel of Bridgie’s soft, eager mouth under his while her small hands clutched his back, the idea of Bridgie decked out in that tiny lace nightgown.

  Was he sick? Was he running a fever? Or was this sudden heat due to the startling discovery that Bridgie was a woman?

  It was too bizarre. Turned on by Bridgie, of all people. Serious, studious, reliable Bridgie. How could he have never noticed what was underneath that sedate, somber shell?

  One touch, one kiss, and Miss Priss had turned into a living, breathing, hot-blooded femme fatale. Watch out, he told himself. He had plenty of women skirting around the edges of his life, but only one friend like Bridgie. And if she vaulted over into the “woman” category, he was in deep trouble.

  A moment’s aberration, he told himself. A sudden, inexplicable impulse that would never come again.

  As long as she was dressed.

  Striding back into the living room, he found his mother still there, although she had moved to the couch, where she was sort of lounging, with her eyes closed. That was odd.

  Usually, Kitty Belle was too nervous, too high-strung to sit down, let alone recline like that. She preferred to flit around, lighting here and there for a second or two, sort of like a hummingbird. In fact, with her sharp little face and plump body, she sort of resembled a hummingbird.

  And now, awaiting a confrontation, normally she’d be up on her feet, bursting with energy, battle plans ready, raring to go. But she was dozing. Yes, this was very odd.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Now, why do you ask that?” She sat up quickly, giving him her most imperious stare. “Well, son? What was that Emerick girl doing here? And what do you have to say for yourself?”

  She must have been resting only to store up energy for the fight. “Me?” he demanded. “Mother, you’re the one with explaining to do. What you’ve done is unforgivable.”

  “Oh, pish posh. It was for your own good,” she argued, waving a heavily ringed hand. “I did what I had to do to find you the right sort of wife. The Ashby name must go on! And now you’ve run off all my best hopes. Oh, Tripp, how could you? But perhaps you can still go after one of them and make things right.”

  “I don’t think you’re listening.” With increasing heat, he faced her down where she reclined on her sofa. “How could I? How could you? How could you lie to all those people? How could you put your own son in this terrible position?”

  Kitty Belle regarded him with a stunned expression. “Tripp, darling, you’re shouting at me!”

  “Not yet, I’m not,” he returned, tight-lipped. “But I’m going to start very soon.”

  “Oh, Tripp,” she cried, crumpling, bursting into tears. “You mustn’t be angry with me.”

  “Give me one good reason why.” He found a box of tissues and awkwardly offered her one.

  “Darling, what choice did I have?” she sniffed.

  “You had lots of choices.” Pacing on the bearskin rug, he told her, “You could’ve talked to me. You could’ve waited patiently when I told you I wasn’t ready to get married. Couldn’t you wait until I found the right woman on my own, without your interference?”

  “Well, no. It simply wasn’t going to happen,” Kitty Belle persisted, dabbing at her mascara. “I gave you lots of wonderful opportunities, and what did you do? You ran right to that odious Emerick girl. No wonder you’re not married yet. Playing games with the likes of her.”

  “Leave Bridget out of this,” he growled. Now he was really mad. “You were wrong, Mother, very wrong to make up these stories and throw women at me. And your attitude toward Bridgie is terrible. Unless you apologize to her right now, and promise to clean up your act where she’s concerned, you’ll force me to choose between you. And I’m telling you right now—I’m choosing her.”

  “You can’t choose her—I’m your mother!” she cried.

  “She’s a lot more useful and a lot less destructive than you are.”

  “Oh, no, no, no. I’m going to have to tell you everything. I see that now,” she whispered. She gave him a moist, emotional gaze. “Tripp, darling, it’s my health. I’m afraid it’s...it’s very bad news.”

  “Bad news? What kind of bad news?”

  “Darling, I didn’t want to tell you. But...”

  Silence hung in the room.

  “Tripp, dear, you have to understand. I’m dying.”

  Tripp just stood there, too stunned to react. “What did you say?”

  She took a few seconds to compose herself, and then she repeated, “I’m dying.”

  “Dying? You mean you’re really...”

  She nodded.

  “But you look fine, the same as always. When did this happen? What happened?”

  Carefully removing another tissue from the box, she blotted her brow with a trembling hand.

  She was pale, perspiring, shaky. Kitty Belle never showed signs of weakness. Never. For the first time, he began to really look at his mother. Was she ill? Was it possible?

  “Mother, tell me what it is.”

  “I... Well, it’s difficult to speak of. It’s really been nothing major so far, and that’s the confusing part. A few dizzy spells, a few migraines, but nothing more.”

  “Then when did you find out? How?”

  “Well, I went to see Dr. Garland about the dizziness, and he thought I needed new glasses.” She smiled weakly. Tripp knew her longtime physician, and he also knew that Kitty Belle bullied him like she did everyone else.

  “So what happened?”

  “It wasn’t my eyes.” She shrugged. “He ran a lot of tests, and he began to suspect that it was bad. It was so very shocking, because he said I should’ve had more symptoms than I’ve had. Every person is different, you see, but most people have much worse headaches or even fainting spells. But I had none of that. Just to be sure, to see, you know, how long, he sent me...” She paused, took a deep breath, and added, “To the Mayo Clinic.”

  “The Mayo Clinic.” But wasn’t that for...no, it couldn’t be.

  “In Minnesota,” she went on. “I was there just before I came here.”

  Minnesota. He’d thought she was taking a vacation to elude him, and she’d been undergoing tests at the Mayo Clinic.

  “Once I knew for sure what the prognosis was, well, it made me even more positive that what I was doing was right. If I have only a few months to live, I really do want to find you a wife before I go.”

  He kneeled at her side, not sure how to comfort her. Kitty Belle, dying? It wasn’t possible. “What about treatment, Mother? Surely there must be something they can do.”

  She became very, very quiet. Finally she said, “It’s inoperable, dear. I’m so sorry. I know how you are, always wanting action, but there’s nothing that can be done. They said they could try drugs and radiation and horrible things like that, but it would only prolong things a few months at best. And this way, if I just go gracefully, I can feel well up to the very end. Please.” She patted his cheek gently. “It’s what I want. No chemicals, no machines, no hospitals.”

  “This is all such a shock,” he whispered.

  “I know, dear. I really don’t want to discuss it any further, if it’s all right with you. Maybe later, when I’m feeling stronger. Or you can call and talk to Dr. Garland. He can give you all the details, all the medical mumbo jumbo, and the chances of one versus the other. You’ll see that I’ve made the right choice. This way, I have two or three months of feeling just fine, and the other way it’s maybe six months of feeling just awful.”

  “All right,” he said softly. “I’ll talk to Dr. Garland later.”

  “Yes, later. That would be good. But you see now why I wanted so desperately to see you married, Tripp, before I go. Won’t you please reconsider, for my sake? Won’t you give me this last wish?”

  This was more than he had bargained for. He didn’t know what to think.

  Kitty Belle, dying. Kitty Belle, desperate to see him marr
ied, settled, before she left him forever.

  “Oh, God,” he whispered. No wonder she’d behaved so irrationally. She was dying. He felt shamed, that he had considered the discomfort of a few days more important than his mother, when she was carrying the burden of this terrible secret all by herself.

  “Tripp, darling, please...” She reached out for him. “Tell me you’ll get married before I—”

  “Let’s not talk about that. First we need to talk about you and what you need to get through this. Better doctors, better care. Surely there’s something we can do.”

  “I’ve tried, Tripp,” she said gently. “It’s no good. We must learn to accept the inevitable.”

  “But—”

  “All I want is this one small thing. Will you do it, Tripp? For me? Will you pick one of those lovely girls, and get married?” She fastened him with a hopeful, trusting expression.

  “I don’t know. How can I?”

  “Please?”

  “I don’t know.”

  But it didn’t take long to make up his mind.

  There was a huge roaring sound in his ears, and he felt as if he were standing in the deadly calm eye of a tornado. Without saying another word to his mother, without giving himself a chance to think about the enormity of what he was about to do, Tripp strode to the bedroom and threw open the door.

  He caught Bridgie in middress, wearing only a long T-shirt and her underpants. And then her head snapped up, and her expression was astonished, confused.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to barge in like that.” He wavered in the doorway. “I need to talk to you.”

  Quickly she grabbed a pair of jeans and hopped into them. “Okay. Talk.”

  He struggled to find the words to begin.

  “Tripp, what is it?” she asked. “Are you all right?”

  But he didn’t answer. He almost turned and left right then.

  Instead, he came into the bedroom, slowly, deliberately. He opened his mouth, he considered what he wanted to say...and said nothing.