Mixed Blessings (13 page)

“That's some imagination you have.”

“Another quality mothers develop.” She looked about the room and said, “Really, Peter, this place is awesome.”

“I'm glad you like it. Did you want to unpack anything before we take the boys on that walk?”

“Not particularly. I expected one of those sleepy seaside cottage-type places—not this upscale resort. I'm afraid I just threw everyday clothes in the suitcase.”

“You'll practically live in your swimsuit, Marie. Other than that, all you need is one dress. I'm sure you managed
that.” When she didn't reply at once, his features twisted into a scowl. “Didn't you?”

“Just about.” Marie coasted over to the sink and busied herself by scrubbing off that smudge. The task seemed amazingly interesting and complex, for all the effort she put into it.

“Marie,” Peter growled, “tell me you brought a bathing suit.”

A quick glance in the mirror let her know guilty color filled her cheeks. She tried to play word games. “Okay. You brought a bathing suit.”

“Woman! What were you thinking? We're by the ocean. What person in their right mind wouldn't bring a swimsuit?”

“I never pretended to be in my right mind. In fact, there are plenty of days when I think I'm probably certifiably nuts. Sandy would undoubtedly second the opinion.”

Peter strode over to her and rested his palms on her shoulders. The weight of his hands made it clear he wasn't going to brook any further nonsense. He spoke in a deceptively soft tone. “If you don't own a swimsuit or you're self-conscious around me and don't want me to see you in a swimsuit—”

Marie sucked in a sharp breath and tried to twist away. His hands eased, but he slid them down her arms and clasped her hands. “Marie, we have to be honest with one another. We're going to spend lots of weekends here. You can't plan to—”

“You're wrong, Peter. You can't plan. I agreed to one weekend here. You're making assumptions. I—oh, Ricky!” Ricky turned and gave his mother a guilty smile. He'd climbed onto the bed. So had Luke. Between the two of them, they'd managed to open her suitcase and get
into her makeup. They were merrily drawing on each other with her lipstick.

Peter swiped Luke from the bed. To his credit, he kept from laughing outright. He strode toward the door and tossed Luke over his shoulder. “You clean up your clown, and I'll clean up mine. Luke and I will meet you by the elevator in five minutes for a walk on the beach.”

 

The evening breeze felt brisk and invigorating. “You little rascals stay out of the water,” Peter said with mock sternness.

The boys wistfully looked toward the waves and protested.

“Tomorrow, after breakfast, I'll take you in the water,” Peter promised. “It's too cold tonight.”

As if to punctuate his declaration, Marie zipped Luke's fleecy jacket clear up to his throat and pulled the hood over his ears. She glanced at Peter and murmured, “I worry about him getting another ear infection.”

“Yeah, me, too. They're miserable. He runs a nasty fever and whimpers all night long with them.”

“None of that, young man,” Marie admonished Luke as she tapped his nose gently with her fingertip. Luke giggled back.

Ricky grabbed Peter's hand and tugged insistently. “C'mon! C'mon, Daddy!”

He'd never stop being delighted and a touch astonished that this little redheaded boy called him “Daddy.” The wonderment was every bit as great as when Luke had done the same. The feel of a little hand in each of his big hands felt so right. Peter grinned at Ricky and said, “Okay. What do you see?”

Luke and Ricky dragged him toward a heap of kelp. Marie knelt in the sand by him and oohed appreciatively
at the smelly pile. Her enthusiasm over the commonplace never ceased to amaze Peter. Over the weeks they'd known each other, he'd seen her admire bugs, draw pictures in the mud with her toes and accept a bouquet of weeds with pure appreciation. She didn't act like the kelp was a castoff from the sea; she acted like it was a gift from God.

Feeling impish, Peter lifted a strand of kelp, grabbed a pod and squeezed. It popped, releasing a loud, snapping sound. Marie fell backward and laughed. The boys tried to copy his trick, but their hands were too small and weak. Peter helped each of them, and Marie continued to laugh.

Charmed by her reaction, he asked, “Why is it so funny?”

“Sandy always loved the beach, and she'd probably know all about popping kelp—but I had my nose in a book so much, I missed out on that!”

“Here. You do it.”

Marie curled her hand around a pod. She squeezed, but nothing happened. She pursed her lips and tried once again.

Peter felt a strong temptation to take advantage of her pursed lips. He'd gladly plant a kiss on them.
No, I wouldn't. She wants nothing to do with me. It's not just the thought of a platonic marriage, either. She avoids even casual touch, like I'm a leper. I already lived through that once before.
Her hands shook as she squeezed the pod. He teased, “Are you a weakling?”

“I
'll do it. Just give me a minute.”

She flashed him a smile, and he knew she hadn't picked up on the bitterness that swelled for that moment. Peter shook off the old memories. Marie wasn't anything like Darlene. He nudged Luke, and playfully whispered all too loudly, “Mommy thinks she's as strong as Daddy.”

Luke nudged Ricky and passed along the supposition. He giggled the whole while.

Marie changed her hold and tried once more. Her hand shook with the effort, then suddenly, the kelp pod popped. It held a bit of water, and it squirted out and hit Peter on the chin. Marie waved the pod in the air and teased, “Gotcha!”

He looked at her and said very quietly, “I'm yours anytime you say the word.”

Quick as a whip, Marie jumped to her feet. She tugged down the hem of her jacket and declared all too brightly, “I thought we were going to go for a walk!”

Peter allowed her to change the subject. He'd promised himself he wouldn't push her. They walked along the
dark, damp sand where tide was going out. The boys tripped along, admiring their footprints, picking up bits of shells and poking their fingers into sand crabs' bubbling holes. Marie accepted each bit of shell with a word of praise and slipped it into her pockets.

“Your pockets are going to get awfully gritty,” Peter warned.

She shrugged. “Clothes wash. Childhood isn't forever. They deserve to gather treasures.”

“I like the way you think.”

“I think we're getting pretty far away from the hotel,” she countered.

“Hey, sports, this lady here says we're going too far.”

The boys looked longingly a bit farther down the sand and begged to continue on. Peter brushed a strand of Marie's windswept hair behind her ear. “If we were voting, you'd be outnumbered, three to one.”

“Now wait just a minute. You didn't like getting outvoted when it was about dancing!”

Peter smoothly turned her to face him. He loosely placed a hand on her waist and took up her other hand in a ballroom-dance pose.

She went stiff. “What are you up to?”

“My sisters all told me every little girl dreams of being Cinderella at the ball, just once in her life. We're staying at a castle, so the stage is set.” He winked. “Just for a minute, pretend I'm charming, even if I'm not a prince.”

There, by the early light of a full moon, he traced the steps of a waltz on the shore with her. She hesitantly followed, but soon her natural grace shone through. Her moves were supple, and he drew her a bit closer. He smiled down at her. “I didn't know how much I'd appreciate being outvoted someday.”

Marie took a step away, but he twirled her back into
his arms. “Don't,” he whispered into her hair, speaking to himself every bit as much as he was speaking to her. “Don't forgo the simple pleasures of life or cheat us out of innocent joys, Marie. Sometimes, you take life a moment at a time. This moment, this time, just let the wind blow, the children laugh and our feet sketch the sand. Let this instant be the once-upon-a-time in the little girl dreams you had.”

She sighed her acquiescence. He tucked her closer still then continued to take a few more steps. He caught himself before he kissed her hair. She was a soft armful of woman and it seemed so very natural to kiss her. The pull of attraction grew each time they were together, yet Peter knew she didn't return the feelings. Especially now, after he'd practically scared her into a full panic with his ill-timed proposal, he'd have to monitor himself carefully.

Marie giggled. She whispered, “Look at the boys.”

Peter started to chuckle at the sight. Luke and Ricky were in a clench and attempting to imitate the dance—but just then they tripped over each other and fell into a sand drift. Marie's arms tightened around his waist as she threw back her head and laughed.

He chortled along with her, then gave her a quick hug before letting go. They both dusted the sand off the boys, and Peter decided, “It's a good thing you're not a prissy woman. These two boys are grubby as can be, and they're that way more often than not.”

“It's biblical.”

He shot her a quizzical look. “Oh?”

“God made Adam from dirt. The boys are just getting back to basics.”

The boys were exhausted by the time they got back to the hotel. “They're too sandy to put to bed,” Marie declared.

“So, let's sluice them off.” Peter headed toward the bathroom. He sat Ricky down on the counter, then took Luke from Marie and put him beside Ricky. As Marie started the water, he peeled off gritty little shirts and shucked off Luke's shoes. Marie knelt on the closed seat of the commode, and their shoulders brushed as she finished undressing Ricky.

“Great teamwork,” Peter murmured later as he helped her rise after they said bedtime prayers with the boys.

“We don't do half-bad.”

“I arranged for a late snack to arrive at eight-thirty.” Peter glanced at his bare wrist and frowned.

“You took your watch off to bathe the boys. It's on the counter.”

He went and got it. As he reappeared in the small sitting room, she tried to excuse him. “I'm not all that hungry.”

He grinned as he slipped his watch in place. “I didn't play fair. I know how much you love chocolate.”

A knock sounded at the door. Peter grinned. “Chocolate torte, Marie. I know it's your weakness.”

She groaned.

 

The next morning, Marie groaned again when Peter handed her a box and announced, “I got you a swimsuit.”

“You expect me to fit into this after you stuffed me with chocolate torte and half a box of truffles last night?”

Peter glanced down at the swimsuit she'd dropped back into the gift box. She'd acted like it was a viper. “I called Brianna. She advised me. Mrs. Reccaut opened the gift shop early just for this, and she promises it'll fit. There's even a cover-up in the next box, if you're worried about getting a sunburn.”

“I'm comfortable in what I have on.” She perched her hands on her hips and gave him a disgruntled look.

“Shorts?” He eyed her denim cutoffs and sunny yellow T-shirt as if he were really trying to give the outfit a second chance, then scowled, “Oh, come on, Marie. We're taking the boys into the water! You'll get soaked, and those shorts won't dry off. A picnic is ready for us to pick up, and the Reccauts made sure to reserve a cabana in our names, so I'd like to spend the whole day down there.”

“What about naps? The boys get impossibly crabby when they skip their naps.”

“They can sleep on towels in the cabana. The swimsuit is even a one-piece—you can't get any more modest than that. Hurry and go change. Anne and I will take the boys down to the lobby and pick up the picnic.”

“Pick up picnic!” Luke echoed the words gleefully.

“I have sunblock, so don't worry. Oh—why don't you give me your keys now, so we won't forget to get the sand buckets out of your trunk?”

“Now who's being manipulative?” she muttered under her breath as she put the keys in his palm.

“I'm not being manipulative.” He caught her look of disagreement and hastened to add with maddening playfulness, “I'm orchestrating fun.”

“You're incorrigible!”

“And you, dear lady, are stalling.” Peter pocketed the keys and looked to Miss Anne. “Let's get these boys downstairs. We have some serious beachcombing to do!”

If she'd gone shopping herself, Marie would have selected a suit like the one Peter got for her. The black looked sleek and would slenderize. The legs weren't cut high on her thighs, and the neckline came to a modest vee. She slipped into it with marked reticence, but a critical look in the mirror told her she wouldn't make a complete spectacle of herself. She pressed her hand on her
not-quite-flat tummy and scolded herself, “No more chocolates!”

She hastily grabbed the cover-up from the other box and slipped into it. Peter had chosen a lightweight green dress with a hem that ended modestly above her knees. A pair of deep pockets for the boys' shells proved Peter had made a good choice. Marie glanced in the mirror again, critically assessed herself and told her image, “I'll just leave this on all day. He can't complain.”

 

“There's Mommy!” Ricky announced as she got off the elevator.

Peter studied her from unruly curls to pale pink toenails and nodded. A smile tinted his voice. “Yes, that's Mommy, all right.”

Miss Anne walked to the cabana with them, then Peter said, “Why don't you go enjoy yourself? Marie and I will play with the boys.” She went off. Peter and Marie romped with the kids, and Luke tugged on her cover-up. “We's going in the water.”

Ricky wiggled as she slathered more sunscreen on him. “Mommy, you don't lose my shells.”

“I won't.”

“My shells,” Luke reminded her. “Don't lose my shells.”

“Of course I won't.” She stood.

Peter tugged her back inside the cabana. His eyes twinkled. “You need to leave your cover-up in here. The boys' shells are in your pockets.”

“I'm going to have to teach our boys to start laying up their treasures in heaven.” She took off the cover-up.

Peter winked at her, then growled, “I'm going to get the boys little bags so they can carry their treasures. I refuse to give you an excuse to wear that thing anymore.”

“You and your money,” she hissed.

He gave her a purely masculine smile. “You and your treasures.”

She groaned. “Let's go swimming.”

They played in the shallow waves, enjoyed a delightful lunch basket and tucked the boys down inside the cabana for a nap. When Miss Anne returned, she watched over their sons while Peter invited Marie to go for a stroll.

Clearly, Marie didn't want to be alone with him. He sensed her fear, saw the wariness in her eyes.
She thinks I'm going to urge her to reconsider the proposal.
“It's beautiful here, Marie. Let's take a break. Just saunter along and soak in the atmosphere. Relax.” Peter picked up the cover-up and held it out so she could slide her arms into it. He knew she was too mannerly to refuse his gentlemanly gesture in front of an audience, and he was making a definite concession, letting her wear the cover-up.

As they walked along the sand, they kept a discreet distance between themselves. He asked about Sandy, and when it became obvious he wasn't going to coerce her, Marie slowly relaxed. As they turned back, he looked at the footprints they'd been leaving behind. They matched, stride for stride. If only everything else would fall into cadence….

After the boys' naptime, they built sand castles with the their sons, rinsed off in the water to the shrill screeches of excitement and finally headed back to the hotel. “I'll return the picnic gear to the kitchen if you drop off the towels over at the gym,” Marie suggested.

“Anne, we'll meet you and the boys in the lobby,” Peter finished off the plan. They all separated. Five slim minutes later, Peter and Marie met in the hallway and
headed for the lobby. When they got there, Anne was smiling and chatting with a tanned hunk.

Marie looked around. Peter frowned and did likewise. Their steps picked up pace. Panic welled up as they asked Anne in unison, “Where are the boys?”

“Oh, over on the step—” her voice died out as she turned and pointed toward the staircase.

The steps were empty. The boys were nowhere in sight.