Wife by Design

Darin jumped off the bed so fast he almost fell and had to catch himself on the nightstand, knocking over the empty beer bottle. “Gee, thanks, Grant. Okay, good night,” he said. And strode from the room.

Presumably to call his intended.

Reminding himself that intentions didn’t mean anything without action, Grant picked up the empty beer bottle, set it back on the nightstand and went to bed.

* * *

OH, GOD, GRANT, where are you?

Walking outside on the grounds, and then on to the public sections of The Lemonade Stand, Lynn looked everywhere for Grant’s truck Saturday morning. He was always there by eight on weekends. To get in a full day’s work so he could be free to work on his paying design projects during the week. Grant was a workaholic. Dependable. A do-what-you-say-you’re-going-to-do type of guy.

And she couldn’t find his truck anywhere.

Let alone find him.

Darin’s therapy was due to start in half an hour. Neither brother would let him skip it.

She just had to remain calm.

Kara was tied up for the morning in a specially designed developmental-play class that a child life specialist was giving to the toddlers in the private day care. There could be thirty or more living at the Stand at any given time. At the moment, there were only six.

Twice as many babies. And more than twenty five-and-overs living at The Lemonade Stand.

Still no Grant.

Five minutes before Darin’s therapy was due to begin, their truck finally pulled into the back parking lot closest to the secure entrance to the complex, and Darin got out, slamming his door and, without saying goodbye to his brother or seeming to notice Lynn, stomped off in the direction of the therapy room.

“What’s up with him?” she asked Grant. Just seeing him and looking into those brown eyes settled her nerves.

“He said he wanted to start diving again. I took him diving.”

“And it didn’t go well? Because of his arm?”

“It went very well, in spite of his arm.”

He locked the truck, the epitome of hot in his tight jeans and black Bishop Landscaping polo shirt.

“He seemed upset.”

He didn’t ask why she was there.

Or seem to notice that she’d put on makeup with her favorite pair of black scrubs. She’d thought about leaving her hair down, too, but it just wasn’t practical.

“I just signed him up for a diving class he used to teach.”

“Does he know the teacher?”

“No. It’s a kid who was probably in grade school the last time Darin did any real diving. He’s mad because the class meets four nights a week. Right after therapy.”

Her confusion cleared.

And so did some more of her tension.

“I’m guessing he talked to you, then.”

Maddie had hit her with the news first thing that morning.

“Oh, he talked to me all right.” Clipping his keys onto his belt loop, Grant started toward the locked garage where the landscaping equipment was stored. She walked beside him.

And wanted him to want her. Even then.

“I told Maddie that they couldn’t possibly marry,” she said, having to walk fast to keep up. “I told her that you’d have to sign paperwork giving Darin permission to marry and that you’d never do that.”

His silence was not encouraging. On any level.

They passed through open common ground and turned a corner before they reached the garage. Pulling his keys from his belt loop, Grant unlocked the door and strode inside. Lynn waited for him outside, wondering what she’d done to piss him off.

His hand shot out, grabbed her wrist, and she was inside the garage and in his arms before she’d had time for another thought.

Grant’s lips seemed to devour hers. His tongue moved with hers as though they belonged together, as though they were meant to be together.

She clung to him. She hated the need that prompted her, but she gripped him hard anyway. Maybe even hurting him in her need to hang on.

Breathing wasn’t easy, but it didn’t seem necessary, either.

When she finally had a chance to gasp some air, her nose and lungs filled with the scent of gasoline, grass particles and machinery.

She kissed him again, her arms locked around his neck, wanting to hold him to her permanently.

The word permeated her fogged brain, and Lynn’s hands fell away.