Thanksgiving

  “Now, Megan…”

  She tickled his earlobe with her tongue and inched her hand higher on his thigh. She was a woman with a cause, a woman driven by her biological and maternal instincts, and certain rules of the road were suspended in situations like this. She had to be bold.

  She took a deep breath and firmly moved her hand over the fast-growing bulge in Pat’s trousers. She kissed him hard and lay back on the seat, pulling him down on top of her. “Take me, you animal,” she cried, struggling to keep him prone.

  “Megan, for Pete’s sake, we’re in a parking lot!”

  “No one will notice.”

  “Everyone will notice. Especially those three kids looking in the window at us.”

  She turned her eyes to the window and saw three grinning faces peering in at her.

  “Once we get the windows good and fogged, they won’t be able to see a thing.”

  “Megan!”

  “Geez, I thought you wanted a sexfest.”

  “I’ve never thought of myself as being a stuffy person, but I draw the line at an audience. Why don’t we go home and do this?”

  “No. Now I feel like a chili dog.”

  Pat shook his head and sighed. Women could be very strange.

  Chapter 9

  Megan flounced into the booth with as much dignity as she could muster, the smoochy kissing sounds of three teenage boys still burning in her ears. “You’d think they’d never seen anyone kissing in a car before,” she said, whipping her hair over her shoulders. She buried her face in the menu, trying to hide her embarrassment.

  This was going to be one of those days. She’d probably get food poisoning next, break her leg leaving the restaurant, and be run over by a truck on the way to the hospital.

  “Pat, this entire menu consists of hot dogs.”

  “It’s their specialty.”

  “Okay,” she said, “I think I’ll have a hot dog. I’ll have number seven.”

  “Kamikaze Dog? It says here it’s topped with everything but Astroturf.”

  “Sounds great.”

  He glanced skeptically at her. “If you say so,” he murmured, then gave their order to a waitress.

  Megan looked around. “The hot dogs must be either good or cheap,” she said. “This place is packed.”

  People stood three deep around the oval bar, chomping on hot dogs, drinking beer, shouting to friends. Two walls were lined with wooden booths, and a small area had been set aside in the rear where a serious dart game was taking place. The room was brightly lit and decorated with college pennants riddled with dart holes, save the William and Mary pennant. Not exactly the atmosphere she’d anticipated for a proposal, but what the heck, she decided. You had to be flexible about these things.

  The waitress brought their beers.

  Megan folded her hands and leaned forward. “Let’s talk.”

  Pat took a long draft of beer, searching his mind for a safe topic. “I circumcised Roger Bruno today. And Cynthia Kramer fainted when she got her DPT booster.”

  “I don’t want to talk about that.”

  “Oh.”

  She lowered her lashes coyly. “Can you think of something else to talk about?”

  “The weather hasn’t been very good lately.”

  “Deep-six the weather talk.”

  Pat wrapped his fingers around his beer glass and concentrated on the specks of foam still clinging to the sides. He suspected Megan wanted to talk about either sex or babies. Not subjects he was eager to approach just then, since he was feeling desperate about both. If she made any more suggestions like the ones in the car, he’d have to cover his lap with his jacket. And babies. He was up to his armpits in babies. He was getting new patients so fast, he couldn’t remember their names. He’d never wanted to be that kind of doctor. He wanted to be an old-fashioned family doctor. The kind who recognized his patients on the street and got invited to baptisms and weddings.

  Megan looked at Pat with annoyance. He didn’t have a clue, she thought. Obviously, she was going to have to take charge of this. It was no big deal, she told herself. People got engaged every day. She herself had been engaged three times. In fact, it would be a refreshing change if she were the one to do the proposing this time. Yes, indeed, this was the century of empowerment, and women were allowed to take the initiative. She wouldn’t make a big production out of it. It should be simple, yet romantic. Sincere, but not maudlin.

  She took a deep breath. Okay, she was ready. Piece of cake. Simple. She cleared her throat.

  “Um…”

  He gazed at her over the rim of his beer glass.

  She took his hand in hers. “Pat, sweetheart—”

  “’Scuse me, folks,” the waitress said. “Who was dumb enough to order the Kamikaze Dog?” She plunked plates of hot dogs and potato curls on the table.

  Megan raised her hand. “Me.”

  The waitress dropped an Alka-Seltzer packet on the table. “It comes with the Kamikaze Dog. It’s free.”

  Pat grimaced at Megan’s plate. “Is your life insurance paid up?”

  Megan ignored the food and retrieved Pat’s hand. “Pat, darling, there’s something I want to ask you.”

  “Shoot. Ask for anything. The world is your oyster. You want a kraut dog? A taco dog? A chocolate dog?”

  She blinked. “What? No. I want—”

  “Meg…” Her silk scarf was dangling in a glob of catsup. “Your scarf.”

  She ripped the scarf off and stuffed it into her handbag. “I’m trying to ask you something!”

  “What? What is it? You want my chili dog, right?”

  She narrowed her eyes. That did it, she thought. Phooey on the romantic approach.

  “Not even close, Hunter,” she shouted. “I want your baby. You want to marry me, or what?”

  Pat felt his mouth drop open. He closed it with a snap and hunched over the table. “Megan—”

  “Louder,” the bartender yelled. “We can’t hear.”

  Megan glanced over at the bar. The crowd of people there was eagerly waiting for an answer. Great, she thought. Another audience.

  “Give me a break,” she called to the bartender. “A little privacy here, please. This is a tender moment.”

  She turned her attention back to Pat. “Well, how about it? You want to get married? We could make our own baby. It would be even better than adopting Timmy. And the good part is, no one will take him away from us. We don’t have to hire a lawyer or go to court or anything. All we have to do is go to bed!”

  “Good Lord, Megan, you’re serious. Are you serious?”

  “Of course I’m serious,” she said in a stage whisper. “You think I go around proposing to people every day?”

  You have to handle this delicately, Pat warned himself. She’s overwrought about Timmy. She’s facing death by hot dog. “Honey, you know I care about you, but—”

  “But what?”

  “But I…this isn’t…” He ran his hand through his hair. “No.”

  “No?”

  Lord, Hunter, he thought, that was so eloquent. Couldn’t you have come up with something better than just “no”? What about all the good reasons why you can’t get married right now? What about how you’re nuts over her and living alone is agony? What about the fact that she’s having hormone hysteria and that’s not a sound basis for motherhood? Geez, Hunter, what a time to get tongue-tied.

  Megan felt her stomach flip. He didn’t want to marry her. It was happening again. And she was so dumb, she hadn’t even seen it coming. Just as always.

  “Are you feeling okay?” he asked. “You’re white as a sheet.”

  “I was a little faint there for a minute, but I’m fine now. I think it was the hot dog fumes that got to me.”

  “Megan, I should explain—”

  “What’s to explain? You don’t want to marry me. Hey, you’re not the first man who didn’t want to marry me. I bet if I tried, I could set a world record for getting unengaged. I’m only sorry I
didn’t have a ring for you to remove. The other men always took their rings back. I hate to break tradition.”

  “It’s not like that this time. Someday we’ll get engaged, and it will be for real, for always.”

  “Don’t patronize me when I’m pouting,” she snapped. “The least you can do is let me enjoy being miserable.”

  A linebacker type waved at them from across the room.

  “You know that guy on the other side of the bar?” Pat asked. “He was waving to us, and now I think he’s coming over.”

  Megan swiveled in her seat and squinted through the crowd. Her eyes widened, and she clamped her hand over her mouth. “Holy Kamikaze Hot Dogs. It’s Dave.”

  “Dave who?”

  “Dave, the guy who left me at the altar.”

  “You mean the moron who just walked out of the church? That Dave?”

  “That Dave.”

  Pat watched him walk toward their booth. The guy was about six feet seven, had a shoulder span of approximately four feet, and was missing a neck. Pat wanted to punch him in the nose, but he was afraid he’d have to stand on a chair to do it. “What’s he doing here?”

  Megan tilted her chin up. “Obviously, he wants to see me. Maybe he’s heartbroken and still in love and decided he can’t live without me.”

  Pat made a disgusted face. He couldn’t imagine Megan with Dave No-Neck. The man looked like the yuppie version of Bigfoot. A cross between Gentle Ben and Magilla Gorilla stuffed into an oversize cable-knit cotton sweater. If he leaned forward just a bit more he’d step on his hands when he walked. The thought brought a smile to Pat’s lips.

  Megan clenched her fists under the table. Patrick Hunter was grinning like the Cheshire Cat. He thought this whole thing was pretty funny. Well, she’d show him funny. He didn’t want to marry her? Fine! She’d marry someone else. She’d marry anyone else. She’d even marry Dave, if she had to.

  Dave pushed his way through the crowd and smiled down at Megan.

  “Meggy, it’s good to see you again.” He plucked her from the booth, lifted her a foot off the floor, and kissed her on the forehead. “I hope you’re not mad at me.”

  “Mad at you? Me?” She would have liked to set his toenails on fire someday. “Don’t be silly, I’m not mad. Everyone has the right to change his mind. After all, this is a free country, isn’t it?”

  She slid back into the booth and patted the seat next to her. “Want a hot dog? This is the house specialty.” She pushed her Kamikaze Dog over to him. “I ordered it, but I’m not hungry.”

  “Hate to see it go to waste,” Dave said, and stuffed the thing into his mouth.

  Pat closed his eyes and tried not to laugh. Lizzie Borden had nothing on Megan Murphy.

  Dave finished the hot dog and slung his arm around Megan. “I guess this little guy is Patrick Hunter. When your mom called his house she got his answering service, and they told us you were here. Lucky for me you got an answering service, Pat.”

  “Mmmm. Lucky.”

  Megan made a face at Pat and inched closer to Dave. “Goodness, it certainly is nice to see you again. What brings you to Williamsburg?”

  “You, sugar plum. I’ve missed you, pudding pie.”

  From the corner of her eye, Megan could see Pat making a gagging gesture. She glared at him and wrapped her arms around Dave’s massive biceps. “Looks like you’ve been staying in shape,” she said, squeezing the muscle.

  “Hey, you know me. My body is sacred.”

  Now Megan almost gagged. How could she have forgotten about his sacred body? All those perfect muscles that continually needed to be exercised, analyzed, oiled, and massaged. The bones and blood that demanded red meat, whole grains, vitamins, and minerals, not to mention her mother’s famous New York cheesecake. How could she have forgotten about his sacred body? Yuk.

  Dave smiled affably at Pat. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything. There isn’t anything going on between you two, is there?”

  He was big, but he was probably slow, Pat thought. He could probably smash Dave’s nose halfway into his head and make it out to the car before Dave caught up with him. No, that wasn’t any good. That would leave Megan stranded with the hulk, here.

  “Nope. Nothing going on,” Megan answered.

  “I asked him to marry me, but he didn’t want to. Déjà vu. Guess I’m up for grabs.”

  “He didn’t want to marry you?” Dave asked. “What a jerk.” He grinned at Pat. “No offense, Pat.”

  “Up for grabs?” Pat said to Megan, his voice dangerously quiet.

  Megan felt a chill run down her spine, but she pulled herself up straight in her seat. She refused to be intimidated by this…this pediatric Casanova, she thought, angrily flinging her hair over her shoulder.

  Pat leaned back against the booth. He’d brought Megan there to have fun and forget about Timmy, but somehow he’d managed to make her feel rejected and angry. And as if things weren’t going badly enough, now this humanoid sitting across from him was making sounds like a suitor. He couldn’t believe Megan had once been engaged to Mr. Muscle. The man called her pudding pie!

  Was pudding pie the same Megan he knew and loved? Was pudding pie the fuming redhead who’d stormed into his kitchen with his rabbit wrapped in her cape? Pat suspected if he ever called Megan pudding pie she’d kick him in the knee.

  “Hey, I’d like to do some grabbing,” Dave said. “I’m even prepared to pay for my grabs.” He reached into his pocket and extracted a small blue velvet case. “Look, sugar, do you know what this is?”

  Megan stared at the case dully. It was like reliving a nightmare in broad daylight. Not nearly so scary, but it squeezed her heart and turned it cold.

  “Let me guess. Is it a Jeep?”

  Dave chuckled. “Nope.” He popped the lid open, and the two-carat diamond glittered malevolently at Megan. “It’s your old engagement ring. I don’t know why I kept it. I guess maybe I always knew someday it’d go back on your finger.”

  Megan managed a weak smile. She’d have her finger amputated before she put that ring back on it.

  “Gee, Dave, I hardly know what to say. Is this a proposal? Hear that, Pat? Dave just proposed to me.”

  Pat signaled to the waitress. “We’re celebrating a proposal here. This gentleman would like two more ‘K’ Dogs. My treat.”

  “You’re okay,” Dave said, grinning. “He’s a nice guy,” he told Megan.

  “Hmmm,” Megan said.

  Dave leaned across the table. “Just between you and me, why didn’t you want to marry her?”

  Pat looked at him very calmly. “She’s pregnant. She just asked me to marry her so the baby would have a father.”

  “No kidding. Is it your cake in her oven?”

  Pat shook his head. “No way.”

  Megan was speechless. She felt her jaw go slack, her eyes pop out, and her adrenal glands take a brief pause before declaring code red. “That is…I…you…” she sputtered, jumping to her feet.

  “It’s common for pregnant women to stutter and get overly emotional,” Pat said to Dave. “I know about these things. I’m a doctor.”

  “A doctor? No joke? Boy, that’s great.”

  “I’m not pregnant,” Megan shouted.

  “Denial,” Pat whispered to Dave. “That’s stage one when you have an unwed mother.”

  Dave shook his head. “This is sad. I never expected it.”

  Pat punched him lightly on the biceps. “Don’t worry about it. You’re going to make a terrific father.”

  “I don’t know. I wasn’t counting on marrying somebody who’s already pregnant with someone else’s kid.”

  “Dave,” Pat said, his voice soft and pleading, “someone’s got to marry her. Be a sport.”

  “Hell, why don’t you marry her, if you’re such a bleeding heart?”

  “It would be easier for you. You’ve already got a ring.” Pat stood up and turned his pockets inside out. “You see? No ring.”

  “I’ll sell y
ou this one.”

  He shook his head. “I couldn’t afford a ring that size.”

  “I’ll give you a good price. It has a flaw in it.”

  “What?” Megan shrieked. “You gave me a ring with a flaw in it? You told me it was perfect. ‘Perfect like me,’ you said.”

  “That’s how she got pregnant,” Pat confided in Dave. “Believes everything she’s told. Right off the pumpkin truck.”

  “Sad,” Dave said.

  “So who’s gonna marry her?” the waitress asked.

  “Yeah,” the bartender called. “Which one of you guys is gonna marry her?”

  Megan folded her arms across her chest and tapped her foot. Count to ten, she told herself. This wasn’t really happening.

  “Tell you what,” Dave said. “We’ll settle this man to man. I’ll arm-wrestle you for her. Loser has to marry her.”

  “Oh, no. That’s not a fair contest. You’ve eaten more spinach than I have. How about a game of chess?”

  “I don’t play chess. Chess is a wimpy game.”

  “We got a dart board in the back,” the waitress suggested. “How about darts?”

  “I guess darts would be okay,” Pat said.

  Dave laughed. “Man, I’m going to whip your butt at darts.”

  “Don’t worry, pudding pie,” Pat whispered to Megan, “I’ll try to lose.”

  Megan reached for his neck, but he was whisked away by the bar crowd.

  “Best two out of three games,” the bartender pronounced, filling everyone’s mug with beer.

  Pat took careful aim, let sail, and hit a bull’s eye. His second dart hit number seven on the inside ring. The third dart sliced into the bull’s eye again.

  A roar went up from the crowd.

  “You’re a dart hustler!” Dave yelled, red-faced. “You’re a lousy dart shark.”

  Megan wrung her hands. “I thought you said you’d lose,” she hissed to Pat.

  Dave stepped up to the mark, wiped his hands on his shirt, and completely missed the dart board on his first throw. “This doesn’t count, right? This is just a practice game?” He slugged down a beer and hit the bull’s eye with his second and third dart.

  The second round was a tie.

  Pat retrieved the darts, took a sip of beer, and stood poised to throw.