Holding the Dream Page 0,108

a small bundle with a golden sprinkle of hair topped with a bright blue bow.

"It's a boy." Thomas's voice broke as he pressed a hand to the glass. "Look at our grandson, Susie."

"Five pounds," Josh mouthed, gingerly tilting his son for his family to view. "Five full pounds. Ten fingers. Ten toes. Five full pounds." He lowered his head to touch his lips to the baby's cheek.

"He's so tiny." With her eyes swimming, Kate wrapped her arms around Laura. "He's so beautiful."

"John Thomas Templeton." Laura let her own tears fall. "Welcome home."

They cooed at him, objecting noisily when a nurse came to take him away. When Josh came through the door they fell on him as villagers might fall on a conquering hero.

"Five pounds," he said again, burrowing his face in his mother's hair. "Did you hear that? He's five pounds even. They said that was really good. He has all the right working parts. They're going to check him out some more because he didn't cook enough, but - "

"He looked done to me," Byron put in. "Have a cigar, Daddy."

"Jesus." Josh stared at the cigar Byron handed him. "Daddy. Oh. I'm supposed to be passing out the cigars."

"Handling details is part of my job description. Grandma."

Byron handed one to Ann, who delighted everyone by popping it into her mouth.

"Margo, Josh." Laura took his hand. "How is she?"

"Amazing. She's the most amazing woman. He came out wailing. Did I tell you?" Laughing, he lifted Laura off her feet, kissed her. He couldn't seem to get the words out fast enough. "Just howling. And the minute he did, Margo started to laugh. She was exhausted, and we were both scared bloodless. Then he just slid out."

Baffled, he clasped his hands together and stared at them. "It's the most incredible thing. You can't imagine. Well, you can, but you had to be there. He's crying and Margo's laughing, and the doctors says, 'Well, it looks like there's nothing wrong with his pipes.' Nothing wrong with his pipes," Josh repeated, his voice hitching. "Nothing wrong with him."

"Of course not." Thomas closed Josh in a bear hug. "He's a Templeton."

"Not that we're not glad to see you." Kate brushed the hair back from Josh's face. "But when are they going to let us in to see Margo?"

"I don't know. In a minute, I guess. She had the nurse get her purse." His grin broke out fresh. "She wanted to fix her makeup."

"Typical." Kate turned and threw her arms around Byron. "That's just typical."

Chapter Eighteen

The week following the appearance of J. T. Templeton was hectic and complicated. Laura's schedule didn't allow for more than a few hours at the shop. With Margo involved with her new son, Kate was left to deal with the results of a successful reception. Early delivery had thrown their vague plans for interviewing and hiring a part-time clerk out the window.

Kate was on her own.

She opened the shop every day, learned to control her impulses to hurry browsers along. Though she would never understand the appeal of dawdling in a store, she told herself to appreciate that others enjoyed it.

She studied the inventory lists and tried to recognize the more esoteric items in Pretenses' stock. But why anyone would feel the need to own a designer pillbox with pearl inlay remained beyond her.

Simple honesty was sometimes taken for a credit, sometimes an insult. For every woman who appreciated being told an outfit didn't suit her, there were two who bristled at the information.

She persevered by remembering that for at least one hour every day she could close herself in the back office and be alone, blissfully alone, with her ledgers.

They didn't talk back.

"The customer is always right," Kate muttered to herself. "The customer is always right - even when the customer is an asshole." She marched out of the wardrobe room where one particular customer had just informed her that the Donna Karan was mislabeled. It couldn't possibly be a size ten, as it was too snug at the hips.

"Too snug at the hips, my butt. The old bat couldn't get one thigh in a size ten if she greased it with motor oil."

"Miss, oh, miss." Another customer snapped her fingers, like a diner signaling a particularly slow waitress to bring more wine. Kate gritted her teeth into a smile.

"Yes, ma'am. Can I help you?"

"I want to see this bracelet. The Victorian slide. No, no. I said the Victorian slide, not the gold cuff."

"Sorry." Kate tried again, following