The Second Time Around. Marie Ferrarella

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СКАЧАТЬ busy with her clubs, but she could set aside a few minutes for her oldest born. And as for Lynda, well, she didn’t do much of anything except go to work and come home these days. She was still reeling from her divorce, something that had come upon her totally out of left field.

      All five at once. She liked the idea, Laurel thought. It would be a lot easier this way. “Maybe you have something there.”

      “Of course I do,” Jeannie answered cheerfully. “Haven’t you noticed? I’m brilliant.” The sound of a small bell was heard ringing. They both looked over toward the front door. A lone man entered. “Speaking of being brilliant, looks like we’ve got ourselves a live one. Why don’t you take him?”

      They each took turns with clients. She’d been up yesterday afternoon before she’d gone in for the exam that changed everything. “Isn’t it your turn for the walk-in?”

      “Yeah, but I’m feeling generous. Consider it your first baby present.” She looked back at the handsome stranger. He was standing near the door, his hands clasped behind his back as he glanced from photograph to photograph. “Besides, I’ve got a feeling he’s just interested in getting the lay of the land, so to speak.” Her lips twitched. “If he were serious, he would have sent his wife ahead first.”

      “Maybe he doesn’t have a wife.”

      Jeannie pretended to reconsider. “Maybe I shouldn’t have given him away so fast.”

      “Too late,” Laurel said, rising to her feet. Sparing her friend one last grin, Laurel walked toward the potential client.

      Tall, tanned, with a beautiful thick head of almost black hair with a few distinguished strands of gray, the man was wearing a pair of crisply ironed navy slacks and a striking blue shirt beneath his sports jacket. The shirt was just vivid enough to bring out his eyes. He was examining the array of properties currently up for sale as displayed on the long bulletin board.

      “Is there something I can help you with?” Laurel asked as she approached him.

      He turned toward her after a beat, pausing just long enough to finish reading the description beneath one of the houses. The smile that came to his lips as he saw her spoke of many things. Houses was not among them.

      Laurel felt something electric shoot through her.

      “I can think of a few.”

      His voice, low and rhythmic, was vaguely familiar. But it was like a fleeting thought that wouldn’t allow itself to be pinned down. The man’s voice probably reminded her of someone else, she decided.

      She put on her most cheerful customer-friendly face. “Are you looking for a house?”

      “That would be why I’m here,” he replied, amusement highlighting his features.

      “To buy or rent?”

      “To buy. I always buy.”

      It was probably her imagination, but she could have sworn he was looking at her as if she were a property he was considering owning.

      CHAPTER 7

      There was nothing going on, Laurel silently insisted the next moment. Just more of her hormones going berserk. The man was merely looking at her, nothing more.

      “Sounds promising,” she heard herself saying. “Just what did you have in mind?”

      The prospective buyer’s eyes swept over her, seemingly taking measure of her from head to foot. “Something nice.”

      Okay, maybe she wasn’t imagining it. The man was obviously kibitzing. Out to kill a few hours for whatever reason. And she wasn’t all that sure she liked what he was thinking—even though a small part of her was flattered and the truth of it was, she was desperate for a compliment.

      Just a sign of things to come, the little voice in her head taunted.

      Laurel could remember the tail end of each of her three pregnancies, when she felt as if she was doomed to be eternally round and distended. Eternally fat. She could remember being desperate for someone to look at her eyes when they spoke to her instead of her stomach. Even more desperate for a kind word about her appearance that didn’t include the phrase “You’re positively glowing” in it. Every pregnant woman knew that wasn’t glow—that was sweat from being forced to carry around so much extra weight.

      “I’m afraid that you’re going to have to be a little more specific, Mr.—” Laurel stopped abruptly, realizing she’d neglected something. Three weeks pregnant and she was getting forgetful already. “I’m sorry, you never told me your name.”

      “Manning,” he told her. “Robert Manning.” He said it using the same cadence that James Bond employed whenever he introduced himself to someone.

      Her eyes narrowed as the name nudged something in the back of her brain. Just as his voice had. What was it she was trying to remember?

      Rather than drive herself crazy, she tucked the thought away and put her hand out. “I’m Laurel Mitchell.”

      Strong tanned fingers enveloped hers. And held her hand a beat longer than was comfortable. He was staring into her eyes as if he was searching for something. Or someone.

      Laurel felt her breath shortening even as it lodged itself in her throat.

      “Laurel,” he repeated slowly. There was warmth in his voice. Warmth that seemed to be spreading out all around her. “I used to know a Laurel. Laurel Taylor.”

      Who was he? “I used to be Laurel Taylor,” she heard herself saying, the words dripping from her lips in slow motion as she frantically searched through her sluggish memory banks.

      He nodded, pleased. “I thought so.” And then his smile grew as if he’d just told himself an amusing private joke. “You don’t remember me.” It wasn’t a question.

      She should have. God knows, she should have, since there was no earthly way she could have possibly forgotten someone who looked like this man. But there was no clear recollection of him in her memory.

      Someone else in her position might have attempted to bluff her way through this, but that would only be buying embarrassment further down the line.

      Laurel shook her head. “No, I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I don’t.”

      He looked pleased that she hadn’t pretended otherwise. “I was Bobby back then. Bobby Manning,” he said in case she’d forgotten his last name. “And about a foot shorter than I am now.” He laughed, recalling. “With the body of a beanpole. Glasses, a haircut that would have made Prince Valiant proud, courtesy of my mother. I was the class geek,” he added, making it sound like an afterthought rather than the painful experience it had once been.

      It came back to her.

      Laurel’s mouth dropped open. The man before her was much too good-looking to have ever been Bobby-not-the-man Manning as the boys in her high school class had always taunted whenever he was around.

      Robert laughed then, the sound of which brought to mind a cup of rich, dark hot coffee on a cold winter morning. “I see you remember.”

      She СКАЧАТЬ