A Season of Angels Page 0,76

you," she whispered, opening the buttons of his neatly pressed dress shirt. He groaned when her hands met his warm skin.

"Dinner," he managed, between slow, deep kisses.

"What about it?" she asked, rotating her hands around to his back. His heart was pounding hard and fast, but then so was her own.

"Can wait," he told her brokenly.

Leah smiled softly to herself. "That's what I thought."

It wasn't until she was dressing for work the following morning that Leah found the pregnancy test kit. How long it had been sitting on the bathroom counter she could only speculate. Probably from the night before.

The night before. A small, satisfied smile lit up her eyes. They might be an old married couple, but the lovemaking couldn't get more incredible or more romantic than beneath a glowing Christmas tree in front of a flickering fire.

She carried the test kit into the kitchen with her and set it down on the kitchen table in front of her husband. "Is this a hint?"

"As broad as I can make it," he said, and finished his glass of orange juice. "For the love of heaven, let's get this agony over with."

It was then that Leah knew.

In the beginning she was afraid he was worried about her building her hopes upon a foundation of sand. But it was more than that. Andrew was suffering the torment of the unknown himself.

For years, Andrew had disguised his feelings, not allowing her to guess how very much he wanted children.

He was studying her now, his features sharp and anxious. "How much longer will you wait?"

She wanted to make some flippant reply, some casual remark that they could both laugh away, but it wouldn't work.

"If it'll ease your mind," she said, disliking even this small compromise, "I'll make an appointment with Dr. Benoit right away." The physician, however dear, produced a flood of unhappy memories. She couldn't think of him and not remember the months of hormone shots, the ultrasound, and everything else they'd attempted over the last seven years.

"All right, call your doctor friend," Andrew said, but he didn't sound especially pleased. He wanted to know. The sooner the better.

Not so with Leah. She'd already received all the confirmation she needed.

Monica had been standing in the cold, sounding the bell for charitable donations, for nearly forty-five minutes. She was cold, her feet hurt, and she was almost convinced Chet wouldn't show.

Not after her father had caught him walking out of their yard in the dead of night. Worse, she'd been left to speculate what had happened. Her father had remained uncharacteristically tight-lipped about the incident. She'd tried once to pry information from him, but to no avail. Any further questions and he'd guess that her interest was more than normal curiosity.

Monica felt Chet's presence several seconds before he came into view. Her body was developing a kind of sonar when it came to locating him. Her spirits lifted immediately and she drew in a deep breath and whispered a soft prayer of thankfulness.

"Hello," she whispered, when he strolled up to the bright red pot and slipped a twenty-dollar bill inside.

"We need to talk," he murmured, not looking at her.

"I know."

"Can you meet me afterwards?"

"Of course." She was in love and a woman in love would do whatever was necessary to be with her man. "Your apartment?" she asked, loving to tease him.

"No." The word was sharp and instant.

Monica couldn't help it, she laughed. "Where?"

"Pier Fifty-six. I'll be waiting for you at the restaurant. There's a table way in the back, closest to the water."

She nodded eagerly. "I shouldn't be much longer."

"I'll see you there," he murmured, and before she could say another word, he was gone. The man was like a magician. He could appear and disappear at the drop of a hat, or so it seemed.

Twenty minutes later, Monica was hurrying downhill, toward the Seattle waterfront. She raced across the street, promising herself she'd stop on her way to the bus stop and look at the Christmas display in Nordstrom's window. She'd heard it was angels this year, perched atop a train set that circled a frothy cloud. Stars shone bright from above. Another window was the traditional Santa's elves at the North Pole and Mrs. Claus baking sugar cookies.

Chet was sitting at the table, waiting for her. Puget Sound showed through the huge plate-glass window behind him. The sky was blue and clear and the ferry had just pulled away from the dock. The scene was lovely and for a moment she