Dear Cupid Read online

  “Sawdust?” He gave her a wary frown.

  “And nails,” Linda said, eyes blazing. “With wood-glue sauce.”

  “Uh, baby”—Jim backed up a step—“are you sure you’re feeling all right?”

  “No, I’m not feeling all right.” To Kate’s surprise, her friend blinked rapidly against a sudden swell of tears. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dylan climb onto the stool next to her, looking sleepy and equally confused.

  Jim glanced at Kate, then back at his wife. “Maybe I should leave you two women alone. Dylan, what do you say? You want to go sand some wood?”

  “Don’t you dare move, Dylan,” Linda said, and Dylan froze. “I refuse to let you be corrupted by Neanderthal testosterone. You on the other hand”—she pointed to her husband—“can sleep out in the workshop for all I care.”

  “What?” His voice rose with alarm.

  “I mean it, Jim, I want you out of my house, and I don’t want you back until you’re ready to act like my husband.”

  “I do act like your husband!” He flattened his hands against his chest, the picture of wounded innocence.

  “No, you don’t!” she railed at him, sniffing back tears. “You act like all those other husbands I hear about, not the one I married.”

  “Sweetie,” he pleaded, awkwardly moving toward her. “What’s this about?”

  “Don’t you touch me!” She fended him off with her spoon. “I mean it, Jim. You haven’t touched me in weeks, so don’t you dare touch me now. Not unless you mean it.”

  “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about the way you’ve been hiding out in your workshop for weeks rather than face me and the baby. Well, if you enjoy avoiding us so much, you can just move out there. Permanently!”

  “Well, if this is the gratitude I get for working so hard, maybe I will!” He grabbed up his tool belt.

  “Fine! Just don’t try sneaking back in here tonight.”

  “Don’t worry,” he declared as he stomped toward the door. “The last thing I want is to get my head chewed off by someone who doesn’t make a lick of sense.”

  “I do, too, make sense!” she shouted as he slammed the door behind him. Then quieter, to herself she added, “It’s men who don’t make sense.”

  “Mom?” Dylan said softly. “Since I’m a guy, do I have to leave too?”

  “Oh, no, honey.” She hugged him, as startled as he was by Linda’s outburst. “We wouldn’t think of banishing you.”

  “Certainly not.” Linda sniffed. “It’s our duty as women to save at least one young male from the evil influence of men.”

  “Oh.” Dylan said, and Kate wasn’t sure if he looked relieved or disappointed at the prospect of being saved.

  Chapter 22

  WHEN Mike heard the doorbell, he let out a curse. The last thing he wanted was an interruption—not from his work, which wasn’t going anywhere, but from the thoughts racing through his head. Except, maybe it was Kate coming back to apologize. He hit the save command on the computer, and took the stairs two at a time, debating whether to forgive her, or give her a good-sized chunk of his mind. How dare she doubt what he felt for her, just because he was smart enough to recognize an honest emotion when it slapped him in the face!

  Instead of Kate, he found Jim standing on the doorstep, looking fit to chew nails. “What are you doing here?”

  “I decided to get started prepping the living room walls for paint,” Jim growled back.

  “On a Sunday?”

  “What does that matter? I can’t go to my own house anymore, so I might as well just keep working round the clock.”

  “Another fight with the pregnant wife, I take it?” Mike asked, feeling slightly better now that he wasn’t the only miserable sot in the world.

  “Something like that,” Jim mumbled at his boots.

  “Well, come on in, but forget work.” Mike headed toward the kitchen. “After the day I’ve had, the only thing I’m in the mood to do is get drunk.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Jim took a seat on one of the new bar stools, making it creak beneath his bulk. “So why are you getting drunk?”

  “Because women are the most exasperating, stubborn, illogical creatures on the planet.”

  “I’ll drink to that.”

  Mike perused the cabinets to see what he had left over from the last time he’d thrown a party. “You want vodka, bourbon, or gin?”

  “Bourbon.”

  “Good. That leaves more gin for me.” He managed to find two highball glasses that didn’t have chips and went to the freezer for ice. As he poured the drinks, he noticed the glasses didn’t match, since Kate hadn’t picked up the set she’d selected yet. He guessed he could kiss that purchase good-bye. Not that he minded drinking out of glasses that didn’t match, but he would have enjoyed owning a set that did.

  He handed Jim a drink and clicked the rims together in a toast. “To women. May they all fall off the edge of the earth.”

  Jim grunted and tossed back a healthy swallow. Lowering the glass, he studied the amber liquid that remained. “So, how long you figure it takes a woman to cool off once she’s good and riled?”

  “Depends on the woman.” Mile savored the sharp taste of gin and tonic on his tongue. “Is she as stubborn as Kate?”

  Jim laughed. “No woman is as stubborn as Kate, but purt near.”

  “Then I’d say you may be here a while.”

  “No.” Jim heaved a sigh. “I can’t crash in on your evening. If I’m not going to do any work, I’ll just finish this, then head over to my sister’s. With any luck, she’ll put me up for the night.”

  “Forget that. You think I want to sit here and drink alone?” Mike glanced around in search of a way to spend the evening. His eye landed on the big-screen TV and the cabinet of movies beside it. He had everything from old black-and-whites to the latest blockbusters. “How about we order a pizza and have a Star Trek marathon?”

  Jim narrowed his eyes. “The old Star Trek, or the new one?”

  “The old one, of course. I have the entire series.”

  “Really?” Jim brightened. “I’d have pegged you as a guy who went in for all those fancy new special effects.”

  “Hey, I can enjoy the classics as much as the next guy.” He picked up the phone and dialed the number for the nearest pizza delivery from memory. “Extra large meat-lovers okay with you?”

  “With jalapenos,” Jim added. “And one of those Dutch apple dessert things.”

  “You got it.”

  Hours later, they’d made their way through the pizza, a considerable amount of liquor, and several Star Trek episodes.

  “You know,” Jim said from his end of the sofa, where he’d slouched down deep into the cushions. “I sure as hell don’t get it. A man busts his butt all day to give his wife a good home, and what does he get for his efforts? Nothing but grief.”

  “Exactly.” Mike propped his feet on the coffee table and let his head rest against the back cushion. He hadn’t bothered to turn on any lights as night descended, so the only light in the room came from the TV and the blue glow from the swimming pool beyond the balcony. Only half listening to the sound of Mr. Spock’s Vulcan fiancée explaining why she didn’t want to marry Spock, Mike watched the squiggly blue lines play across the ceiling.

  “Too bad we weren’t born on Vulcan,” Jim said.

  “Hmm?” Mike turned his head and forced his eyes to focus on Jim.

  The burly contractor gestured toward the screen with his highball glass. “At least there the women are logical.”

  “Yeah,” Mike snorted, “and a man only gets laid what, every seven years? At least here a guy gets some compensation for his grief.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Jim mumbled.

  “What was that?”

  “I said, speak for yourself.” Jim glared at him, as if daring him to laugh.

  Mike frowned. “Wait a second. Are you telling me your wife’s already hold
ing out on you?”

  “I’m not saying anything.”

  “But—” Mike shook his head in an effort to clear away the alcohol haze. “I thought Kate said Linda was only in her sixth month.”

  Jim shrugged one shoulder, not meeting his eye.

  “She is holding out, isn’t she?”

  “It’s not that.” Jim started to take a drink and found his glass empty. “It’s just that ...” He raised his gaze to meet Mike’s. “You’ve seen my wife. She’s so ... tiny.”

  Mike laughed. “Last time I saw her, she was huge!” Leaning forward, he grabbed the bottle of bourbon and refilled Jim’s glass.

  “Now maybe. Since I got her pregnant.” Jim wagged his head slowly. “Before that, though, she was skinny as a toothpick.” He held up one of his thick, callused hands. “Do you know how easily I could snap a toothpick?”

  Mike hesitated before setting the bottle back on the coffee table. Maybe he should change the subject to something safe, like sports. Looking at Jim, though, he saw a man who had problems weighing heavily on his mind. With a sigh, he pushed his discomfort aside. “You want to talk about it?”

  “Hell, no.” Jim took another drink and settled his shoulders deeper into the cushions. Several minutes passed in which neither of them spoke. “It’s just ... weird, that’s all,” Jim said at last. “I mean, I had a hard enough time getting over the size thing when we first met. But I got over it, and everything was fine. Then, all of a sudden, she’s pregnant, and she starts blowing up like a balloon. And I look at her and think, holy shit, I did that to her. What if something happens? What if the baby’s too big, or she’s too small? What if it tears her up inside? Or ...” He looked away, his voice dropping. “What if it kills her?”

  “Hey, man.” Mike shifted. “She’ll be all right. I mean, that’s what doctors are for, right?”

  Jim snorted, and took another drink. “Things still happen. I should know. My sister’s a labor and delivery nurse. The stories she tells would make Stephen King read like Mother Goose.”

  “Yeah, but that’s not with every delivery,” Mike said.

  “It’s enough, believe me—enough to keep me up at night.”

  Mike tried to think of something reassuring to say, but what did he know about having babies other than sitting in a room down the hall, waiting to celebrate the arrival of his newest niece or nephew? “Have you tried talking to Linda about this?”

  “Are you crazy?” Jim glared at him. “You think I want to fill her head with all this? I figure I’m losing enough sleep for the both of us.”

  “I take it she’s not scared about it, then?”

  “Who, Linda?” Jim snorted. “The pint-sized Wonder Woman? Not hardly. Besides, she’s too busy being pissed off at me for not touching her for us to have a civil conversation about why.”

  “Then maybe you should, you know, touch her.”

  “Yeah.” Jim scrubbed a hand over his face. “But that’s the problem. I can’t. It’s not that I don’t want to. Trust me, I want to so bad, I can’t even look at her without wanting to. And God help me whenever she touches me, which she seems to do all the time now. I mean, where the hell were all these offers to give me back rubs before she got pregnant?”

  Mike gave his head another shake. “I’m not sure I get the problem here.”

  “I’m telling you, I can’t. No matter how badly I want her, the minute we start to do anything ... well, never mind.”

  Mike considered the problem as objectively as possible. Since there didn’t seem to be anything wrong with Jim physically, the problem had to be mental. “You know,” he said, “not touching her isn’t going to make her not pregnant. Whatever’s going to happen is going to happen. The question is, are you going to waste the next few months worrying about something you can’t change, or enjoying what should be one of the best times in your life? I mean, shit, a baby! That’s got to be cool.”

  Jim frowned as he mulled that over. After a moment, the crease between his brows cleared, and his eyes widened. “You know, you’re right.” Laughter rumbled from his chest. “I mean, it’s not like I can make her any more pregnant than she already is, right?”

  “There, see, problem solved.” Mike toasted him. “Now you can go home and make love to your wife.”

  The smile dropped from Jim’s face. “Not hardly.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She didn’t just kick me out because I wouldn’t make love to her. She kicked me out because of all the time I spend out in the workshop. She’s convinced I’m avoiding her—which I guess I was some—but she thinks it’s because I don’t want the baby.”

  “Which is another thing I don’t understand.” Mike refilled his own drink. “If you’re spending all that time making a crib for the kid, why does she think you don’t want it?”

  Jim gave a shrug, his voice barely above a grumble. “Maybe because she doesn’t know about the crib ... yet.”

  “Excuse me?” Mike leaned forward. “Come again with that.”

  Jim flashed him a defiant look. “I said, she doesn’t know about the crib.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “Because ...” Jim exhaled in a rush. “It’s a surprise, all right? I can’t show it to her till it’s finished.”

  Mike sat back to gape at him. “Are you nuts?”

  Jim didn’t answer.

  “Here you could solve half your problems just by showing her the crib, and you won’t do it?” Mike asked.

  “I told you, it’s not finished yet.”

  “So?”

  Jim hesitated. “You really think I should?”

  “I think you better, unless you want to be sleeping in the thing instead of your own bed for the rest of your life.”

  A thoughtful expression creased Jim’s face. “You’re right.” He set his glass down with a thud. “I will. I’ll go home and do it right now.” He hefted himself up, and teetered sideways.

  “Wait.” Mike climbed to his own thankfully steadier feet, since Jim had been out drinking him two to one. “I’ll go with you.”

  “What for?”

  “To be sure you do it right.” Plus, no way would he let Jim drive. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned from the movies, it’s that women like the make-up scene to be a big production.”

  “Yeah.” Jim nodded. “Kate’s always saying stuff like that in her columns. She says women are suckers for romantic gestures, so even when it makes a guy feel stupid, that’s what you got to give ‘em. Especially when they’re mad at you.” Jim scratched his head, causing his hair to stand up at an odd angle. “So, what sort of stupid gesture do you think would work?”

  Mike forced his brain to work, then snapped his fingers. “I’ve got just the thing.”

  ~ ~ ~

  “You don’t think he took me seriously, do you?” Linda asked.

  “About what?” Kate squinted in concentration as she applied a layer of Primrose Pink nail polish to Linda’s toes. Only another woman who’d had a baby could fully understand the frustration of not being able to paint one’s own toenails.

  “About not coming home.”

  Kate blinked at her. “Well, you certainly sounded serious. Which is why I agreed to stay the night, in spite of the fact that it’s a school night, and Dylan should be curled up in his own bed, not sacked out in your guest room.”

  “I know. And I’m glad you stayed.” Linda reached toward her, but couldn’t make contact, since she sat sideways on the sofa with her feet resting in Kate’s lap. “I’d be going crazy here by myself.”

  Kate refrained from pointing out that Linda wouldn’t be faced with this problem if she hadn’t succumbed to a fit of hormone-driven emotions earlier. And surely that was all the attack had been, Kate assured herself. Although a guilty voice in the back of her mind wondered if she was partially responsible. Too many times in the last two years she’d done just what Linda had done: lumped all men into one group and blasted away at the whole lot of them. Well
, if this was the sort of damage her male-bashing wreaked, she vowed never again to blame the entire sex for the sins of a few.

  But isn’t that exactly what you did to Mike? that same little voice asked. Didn’t you condemn him for Edward’s sins?

  Pushing aside the uncomfortable thought, she wiped off her hand and reached for a strawberry to dip into the chocolate fondue.

  “Here.” She held the strawberry out to Linda. “Have some more chocolate. And remember that the whole point of this particular girls’ night is to not talk about men.”

  “You’re right.” Linda nodded, then sank her teeth into the chocolate-covered fruit. “Mmm. God, that’s good. Do you think a person can actually die from chocolate overdose?”

  “Never,” Kate said as she dredged another strawberry though the warm mixture, then savored the taste as it melted in her mouth. “But what a way to go.”

  Linda sighed as she dropped the leafy stem on a plate where it joined at least a dozen more. “You know, Jim really is sweet most of the time.”

  “I know.” Kate smiled at her friend’s wistful expression.

  “It’s just that other times, he makes me so mad.”

  “I know that too.” Kate smiled as she thought about how Mike could make her laugh even when she wanted to strangle him.

  “I wonder where he is.” Linda’s gaze drifted toward the window.

  “Linda,” Kate said patiently. “He’s a big boy, he can take care of himself.”

  “Maybe I should call his sister again. He could have shown up there.”

  “In the last five minutes?” Kate studied her friend, debating the wisdom of interfering. In the end, though, she never could keep an opinion to herself. “All right, you want my advice?”

  “Of course I want your advice.” Linda reached for her again, and this time managed to snag her hand.

  “If you’re sure.” Kate hesitated. “Because I know you probably get tired of me playing Dear Cupid.”

  “Ka-ate!” Linda gave her an exasperated look. “Don’t be ridiculous, I need your help. This isn’t like Jim and me. You know we never fight. Well, not much since he got over that nonsense while we were dating.”