Thanksgiving

  “Isn’t there anything we can do?”

  Pat gritted his teeth when he saw the tears clinging to her lower lashes. He was close to tears himself, and he was mad. Tilly Coogan had disappointed him. She was a young unwed mother, but she’d seemed responsible and mature for her years. Timmy was a healthy, happy, well-loved baby. Ten days earlier Tilly and Timmy had left his office as a functioning family unit. And now she’d abandoned him. What had gone wrong? Maybe he should have been more observant. Maybe he could have prevented this.

  He pulled Megan to him and hugged her, burying his face in her hair. “I don’t know, Meg. I’m giving her until Thanksgiving, and then I’ll hire a lawyer and a detective. In the meantime, we’ll take good care of Timmy.”

  Megan blinked back the tears. “It’s his first Thanksgiving. We have to do this right.”

  Pat smiled. “Yeah. He probably can’t wait to sneeze turkey on you.”

  She slipped her arms into her pea coat. “I’ll leave on that happy note.”

  Pat handed her the keys to his car. “How about if we swap cars for tonight? I don’t want you wandering the streets alone.”

  He walked to the car with her and waited while it churned a few times and caught. “I’ll come pick it up tomorrow at six o’clock. Wear something pretty. I’m taking you out to dinner. I think we both need a decent meal.”

  “What about Timmy?”

  “I have a baby-sitter. My receptionist’s daughter.”

  The following day, Saturday, Megan dressed in her colonial costume, skipped down the stairs of her house, locked her front door with a flourish, and whistled all the way to work. She cracked her knuckles throughout the day, glancing at the watch she had hidden in her pocket, sighing heavily when time seemed to drag. At five o’clock she bolted from her ticket-taking post in front of the silversmith’s shop, and at five-thirty she flew into her house and practically jumped out of her big, black shoes. She dropped her long skirt and white apron at the top of the stairs and was stripped down to her long johns by the time she reached the bathroom.

  She had a dinner date with Patrick Hunter, and she only had half an hour to make herself ravishing. She caught a glimpse of her red cheeks and flyaway hair in the vanity mirror. Maybe not ravishing, she thought. Ravishing would take days. In thirty minutes the most she could accomplish would be to look clean and presentable.

  Half an hour later, Megan applied the final swipe of mascara to her lashes and stepped back to appraise herself. She wasn’t sure how she looked, but she felt ravishing. She’d used the blow dryer and brush on her hair until it was a shining cloud of soft waves around her face. She wore a smudge of eye liner, a little peach-toned blush over cheeks that were already flushed, and a pale coral lip gloss.

  “Geez,” she murmured, “is that me? Last time I got dressed up like this was in April…for my wedding.”

  Pat knocked once and let himself into the house. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected. A khaki jumper or a denim skirt. Maybe a pair of dressy corduroy slacks. He was completely unprepared for the woman who appeared at the top of the stairs.

  She could have stepped off the cover of a magazine or hosted an exclusive Washington tea. She wore a pale pink sweater and matching skirt. The outfit was belted at her waist and clung to all her delicious curves and made her hair seem impossibly red. The slim skirt came to just above her knee, baring long, shapely legs in silky tinted stockings. Her dressy heels matched her small black handbag.

  “I can’t believe I made it on time!” she said breathlessly.

  He nodded. He didn’t know what to say. Megan Murphy was so many different people, he couldn’t keep up with them all. He watched her hair swing around her shoulders as she descended the stairs, and wasn’t sure how he would get through the evening. She was breathtaking…and he was just a cute pediatrician.

  “Are you Megan Murphy?” he asked. He wanted to make sure. “You’re beautiful.” He reached out to touch her sleeve. “What’s this soft, fuzzy stuff?”

  “It’s an angora blend. Do you like it?”

  Like it? He wanted to get naked on it. Good thing they had a six-thirty reservation and had to leave the house immediately. He was afraid once he started fondling Megan Murphy in her bunny dress, he’d lose control.

  It wasn’t in the plan for him to lose control. This was their first date. It was supposed to be romantic and civilized. Extreme fondling on a first date wasn’t civilized, he told himself, helping her with her black wool coat.

  He locked the house and held the driver’s door open for her. “The other door is broken,” he explained, and immediately decided he would never get it fixed when he saw her dress ride high on her thigh as she slid across the seat.

  He drove to the historic area and pulled into a parking lot on Francis Street. “I thought we’d eat at the King’s Arms Tavern,” he said. It had been the most romantic, elegant restaurant he could imagine, but suddenly he worried that this exquisite creature sitting next to him might be jaded. Surely she was taken to expensive restaurants every day of the week and had eaten at the King’s Arms hundreds of times.

  Her eyes brightened. “I’ve never eaten here,” she said excitedly. “I could never afford it. I’ve been to Christiana Campbell’s for lunch, but never the King’s Arms.”

  She slipped her hand into his as they crossed the street and walked through the dark garden behind the tavern. “Do you know what they serve here? Colonial game pie and fig ice cream and oyster pie. I have the menu memorized!”

  He couldn’t believe it. She’d never eaten at the King’s Arms. He knew she didn’t want to get married, but didn’t she even date?

  The garden led to an alley that led to Duke of Gloucester Street. The street was nearly empty, with only a few people strolling toward the King’s Arms. Candles flickered in the wavy-glass tavern windows. Megan and Pat read the bill of fare while they waited to be called inside.

  “They have wandering musicians here,” Megan said, “and everything’s lit by candles. And the waiters wear knee breeches. You probably know all that.” She smiled, slightly embarrassed at her enthusiasm.

  “Nope. I’m new in town, and it’s nice to have my very own tour guide.”

  “I guess I’m new too. I moved to Williamsburg in June. I needed to get away from…things. I really love it here. I’ve always been a history buff.”

  They stepped into the tavern and were seated at a small table by a fireplace. A candle flickered in its glass chimney, illuminating the white linen tablecloth and formal place setting.

  “I’m a history buff of sorts,” Pat said. “My ancestors lived in Williamsburg when Lord Botetourt served as governor. I was born and raised in California, but I’ve always been drawn to Williamsburg. Now that I’m here, I feel like I’ve come home.”

  Megan nodded. She knew exactly what he meant. She didn’t have Williamsburg roots, but her heart told her this was where she belonged.

  She gave the costumed waiter her order and her menu and watched Pat. She liked the way he looked in the candlelight. It made his eyes dark and mysterious, and emphasized the few laugh lines around them. He was wearing a navy blazer, navy stripped tie, and a white shirt with a small blue check pattern.

  When their soup arrived, he regarded his bowl with undisguised apprehension. “You ever have peanut soup before?” he asked.

  “It’s supposed to be good.” She delicately stirred the muddy brown concoction in front of her. She sniffed at it, then dipped a small chunk of toast called a sippet into the soup.

  “Well?” he asked.

  She thoughtfully chewed her soup-coated sippet. “I like it. You can try yours now, you coward. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

  He grinned. “I leave adventure up to you. I’m the laid-back, sensible country doctor.”

  Sometimes, she thought. He definitely had an easygoing California style, but there was nothing laid back about his kisses. And he was slightly crazy. Not an out-of-control craziness. Pat had a quiet, tea
sing sense of humor that was often turned inward. Her initial impression of him had been wrong, she admitted. He was responsible, sensitive, mature, and very caring. It was his self-confidence and the fact that he liked himself and the world around him that allowed him to be a little crazy.

  She made several selections from the relish tray offered to her and smiled at Pat. “I’ve been thinking that you’re a little crazy.”

  He seemed surprised at that. “Me? Dull Pat?”

  She tasted the sweet corn. “You’re the only person I know who has a rabbit hopping around in his house. And you have an…um, unusual sense of humor.”

  The waiter returned with warm Sally Lunn bread and tiny Indian corn muffins. Pat made a small mountain of muffins on his bread plate. “My sense of humor has always gotten me in trouble. My first year in med school I got Jimmy Szlagy to help me steal a cadaver and—” He stopped abruptly and grimaced. “You probably don’t want to hear about this while we’re eating.”

  She scraped the final dregs of soup onto the last chunk of toast. “I probably don’t.” She slathered butter on a thick wedge of bread and closed her eyes in epicurean anticipation. “Yum.”

  Pat relaxed back in his chair and watched her. She was a person filled to the brim with a love of life, he thought. Eating wasn’t a bodily function to her. It was a celebration. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever dated who got orgasmic over bread,” he said huskily, then smiled. “Are you as easily pleased in bed as you are at the dinner table?”

  Megan paused with her slice of bread midway to her mouth. A thrill raced through her when she realized she’d been waiting for this. She wanted him to flirt with her. She might even want to be seduced. Her gaze caught and held his as she tested the texture of the bread with the tip of her tongue. She sensually licked a buttery fingertip, enjoying his rapt attention, and lowered her lashes. “There are some things a man should find out for himself.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Is that an invitation?”

  She tipped her head back and laughed softly. It was fun being a temptress in a crowded restaurant, she thought. It was exciting and relatively safe. She paused while the waiter replaced her soup bowl with a salad dish.

  “It’s an opinion,” she said, spearing a tomato with her fork, “and I think I’ve been saved by the salad.”

  Pat wagged a finger at her. “Nothing can save you, Megan Murphy. Destiny has brought us together. It’s been predetermined that your beautiful, silky red hair should be spread across my pillow.”

  “Destiny had nothing to do with it,” she said, suddenly nervous, not sure if she should let the conversation continue in this direction. “It was your adventurous rabbit that brought us together.”

  A minstrel wandered into the candlelit room, playing an eighteenth-century ballad on his guitar. Megan turned to face him, but thoughts of Pat and his pillow were spinning in her head. The minstrel’s tunes, the elegant table, the room filled with people intermingled in a kaleidoscope of sights and sounds that were soft-edged in comparison to the clarity of her desire. She wanted to sleep with Patrick Hunter. She wanted to know him in the most intimate way possible.

  She busied herself with her main course, spreading a bit of currant jelly across the flaky brown crust of the game pie, as her waiter had suggested. She mechanically tasted slivers of duck, rabbit, and venison, and was surprised when her plate was empty. “I ate all that?”

  Pat sipped his wine. “You seemed preoccupied.”

  Preoccupied, she thought. If he only knew. She’d spend the entire meal mentally making love to him.

  They finished the meal with raisin rice pudding and coffee. “I can’t eat another bite,” Megan said. “In fact, I may never eat again.”

  Pat helped her into her coat. “Now for the really exciting part of the evening. I’m going to take you to the movies.” He slung his arm around her shoulders and hurried her through the garden to the parking lot. “My parents have taken pity on their poor, deprived son and sent him a TV and a DVD player.”

  “How nice!”

  “I have great parents. I can’t wait for you to meet them. I’m glad they’re coming here for Thanksgiving.”

  “I have great parents too. Thank goodness they’re in Florida.”

  He started the engine and looked at her sideways. “What’s wrong with them?”

  “Nothing. The problem is, they have this super marriage. And since this marriage has made them so happy, they want me to have a super marriage too.”

  “And you don’t want to get married.”

  She stared straight ahead as they drove along Waller Street. “Right.”

  She wasn’t sure anymore, though. Two weeks ago she’d been comfortably on her way to spinsterhood. Now she was caught in the middle of a ready-made family, and she liked it. At the end of the week, she’d woken up before the alarm rang, eager to see Timmy and Pat. And this morning she’d caught herself brooding because she hadn’t awakened in the cozy pineapple four-poster on Nicholson Street. Awakening in Pat’s bed was a dangerous daydream. Her emotions weren’t listening to reason.

  It was an interesting phenomenon, she mused. She suspected that in other relationships she’d followed reason and tried to fabricate emotions. This time her emotions were running amuck, and at the head of the list was passion.

  She studied Pat’s dark, boyish profile and wondered if she could indulge herself. Her body answered immediately Yes! Her mind worked more slowly. It said maybe.

  Chapter 5

  Megan made a fire while Pat took the baby-sitter home. There weren’t many places to hide a television and a DVD player in the little cottage, she thought. Obviously, they weren’t downstairs. That left the bedroom.

  She tucked a blanket around Timmy and turned toward the stairs. Stiffening her back, she took a few steps forward. So what if the television was in his bedroom? she asked herself. It was the logical place. Outdoor antennas weren’t allowed in the historic area, so it made sense to have the television on the second floor, where it would get better reception. Besides, Timmy was downstairs. The noise might wake him. Yup, it was only logical to put the television in the bedroom. And it was only logical to sit on the big four-poster to watch the movie, she thought as she climbed the stairs.

  Well, there they were. A brand-new TV and a brand-new DVD player. She stood in front of them, chewing on her lower lip and wondering what movie he’d gotten. If it was rated X she was going to jump out the window. She was definitely physically ready to share a bed with Pat, but her mind was still stuck on maybe. And there was this other emotion crowding onto the scene. Panic.

  When Pat walked into the room a few minutes later he speculated on Megan’s mood. She was nervous. She’d enjoyed the flirting at the restaurant, but only to a point. Then she’d tuned him out. She was making up her mind, he decided. She was attracted to him, but she was afraid. His instincts told him to go slowly. He’d waited thirty years for her. He could wait a little longer to make things exactly right.

  He took a plastic bag from the dresser. “I got Winnie the Pooh and the Blustery Day. It’s my favorite. And I got Bridges of Madison County. I missed it when it came out.”

  “Winnie the Pooh?”

  “For Timmy.”

  She noticed a tag taped to the top of the DVD player. “Happy Birthday from Mom and Dad,” she read. “It’s your birthday? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I’d honestly forgotten about it until the DVD player and the TV arrived this morning. This has been a busy week for me. I’m not used to being a daddy.”

  “Happy birthday.”

  “Thanks.” He popped Winnie the Pooh into the recorder slot and zapped it with the remote.

  “I thought Winnie was for Timmy.”

  Pat grinned. “We should check it out. Make sure everythings okay. I wouldn’t want the little nipper to be disappointed.”

  Megan stepped out of her shoes and climbed onto the soft feather quilt. She plumped a pillow at the headboard and curled her
legs under her. “This is cozy. It’s a perfect night for Winnie the Pooh.”

  Pat looked at the woman sitting on his bed and felt his mouth go dry. She was exquisite, and somehow, watching her take off her shoes had been as erotic as if she’d been taking off her panties. Lord, he must have been crazy. How would he ever get through the evening without attacking her?

  Megan felt the tension creeping through her body. She leaned back against the pillow and willed herself to relax. She wanted to act like an adult and let this desire grow naturally. There was a right time for everything…a time to watch a movie, a time for conversation, a time to be kissed. She took a deep breath, carefully folded her hands in her lap, and watched the wind blow Owl’s house down. Then she watched the windy day turn into a rainy night. She thought it must be nice to spend a rainy night in Patrick’s bedroom. Good thing it wasn’t raining. She might be tempted to set up housekeeping.

  “Is this your furniture?” she asked to get her mind off the idea of living with Pat.

  “No. My Aunt Catherine lives here. She’s a historical interpreter, but she’s taken a six-month leave to participate in an archeological dig somewhere. I’ll have to find another house in March.”

  He changed movies and returned to the bed, putting his arm around Megan and snuggling her next to him. “This is a terrific way to spend a birthday,” he murmured, kissing her hair. “Have you seen this movie?”

  She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the stab of pleasure his kiss had brought. “Six times, and I always cry. You’d better have lots of tissues handy.”

  Later, Megan dabbed at her red-rimmed eyes and blew her nose. “It’s so beautiful,” she said, gasping.

  Pat held her close and stroked a stray strand of hair from her tear-streaked face. “Are you okay? I’ve never seen anyone cry like that over a movie. I never would have gotten it if I’d known what it did to you.”

  “No, I love it. It’s my favorite movie.”

  “Honey, you started crying when they played the opening theme, and you absolutely sobbed through the whole last half hour!”