Wrangling the Redhead - By Sherryl Woods Page 0,59
would risk protesting Lauren’s command.
“Is he dying?” Lauren asked.
“No.”
“About to be charged with murder?”
“No, but—”
“Then he can wait. Be here. And pick up some balloons on the way. And some chocolate ice cream, a gallon of it. The good kind with lots of fat and calories.” She hung up before Emma could argue with her.
Satisfied that she was going to pull off the impromptu celebration, Lauren set the dining-room table with the fancy china and silver, then went onto the porch to wait for the party to come to her.
It didn’t surprise her in the slightest that despite her protests Emma was the first to arrive. She exited the car with a handful of bobbing, multicolored balloons, a grocery bag filled with gourmet ice cream and a determined expression.
“What is this all about?” she demanded as Lauren led the way inside and put the ice cream into the freezer.
“You’ll see.”
“Tell me now or die,” Emma ordered.
Lauren regarded her with an exaggerated frown. “Is that any way for an attorney to talk?”
“It is when one of her best friends is keeping secrets,” Emma declared.
“Oh, hush, and help me spread these balloons around so it will look festive.”
“Who’s coming?” Emma asked.
“I’ve rounded up the usual suspects.”
“You got Cassie and Gina to take off in the middle of the day? I’m impressed. How did you accomplish it? Blackmail?”
“Like I’d tell you if that’s what I’d done. Besides, have you ever known one of us to be able to resist a party?” Lauren asked.
“Now that you mention it, no. Is the party for Karen?”
“Maybe.”
“What are we celebrating?” Suddenly her eyes widened. “A baby? That’s it, isn’t it? Karen’s going to have a baby?”
“My lips are sealed,” Lauren insisted.
Emma’s gaze turned diabolical. “Will they still be sealed if I start to tickle you?” she asked, advancing on Lauren. “It used to work like a charm at our slumber parties back in high school.”
“I am no longer ticklish,” Lauren insisted, hoping to discourage her, but backing away in case it didn’t work.
“Then you won’t mind if I try,” Emma said.
Lauren yelped as Emma reached for her. She darted out of the dining room and was racing through the house when Gina came in and skidded to a stop just in time to prevent having her lasagna upended on the living-room rug.
“Help me,” Lauren pleaded, laughing as she hid behind Gina. “There’s a maniac after me.”
Gina chuckled. “Why is Emma after you?”
“Because she won’t tell me what we’re all doing here,” Emma said.
Gina’s grin spread. “That is a good incentive. I think I’ll put this dish right over here and join the chase.”
“Hey,” Karen shouted over the commotion. “Stop it right this second before you knock over all my furniture. I’ll tell.”
“Not till Cassie gets here,” Lauren said sternly. “It’s not fair to leave her out.”
“Leave me out of what?” Cassie asked, coming in with a huge cake box.
“Can I tell?” Lauren pleaded, then stopped herself. “No, of course not. It’s your news. You should tell.”
“As if there’s likely to be any surprise left to it after all this,” Karen grumbled good-naturedly. “Okay, drumroll, please.” She paused dramatically, then announced, “I’m going to have a baby.”
Whoops of delight greeted the announcement, but even before the others could surround her, she gave Lauren a wicked look and added, “And Lauren’s in love.”
After that, there were so many questions, so many hugs, that Lauren’s head was spinning. She grabbed Karen and pulled her from the fray. “This can’t be good for the baby. Sit. I’ll get lunch on the table.” She leaned in closer to whisper, “And I’ll get even with you for this.”
Karen laughed. “Yes, I was sure you would.”
Wade spent the entire day mulling over his conversation with Grady. That night, when he and Lauren met at his place for a quiet dinner alone, it was still on his mind.
Maybe because she was evidently in such a mellow mood—slightly tipsy, in fact—he concluded it was a perfect time to broach the subject of the future, at least in abstract terms.
When the dishes were done and they’d retreated to the porch, he studied her. In the fading sunlight, her skin was radiant. Unlike a lot of redheads, her fair skin hadn’t freckled with all the exposure to the sun. It was still pale as cream, no doubt thanks to the sunscreen he saw her applying every ten seconds when she was outdoors. She’d drawn her hair up into a haphazard ponytail, from which curls escaped to tease her