Mom In Waiting. Maureen Child

heard people talking about going back to their old schools and lying like crazy about their grand achievements in life. And it wasn’t as though she was going home pretending to be the president of the United States or something.

      She flipped off the light switch and walked into the bedroom. Sunlight filtered through the sky-blue blinds and lay in golden slats across her quilt-covered bed. Almost like sunshine sliding through prison bars. Except that they were lying horizontally instead of vertically and prisons probably didn’t have such homey touches as quilts and feather pillows. And besides, they didn’t put you in jail for lying, did they?

      A guilty conscience nudged her again.

      “Oh, perfect,” she mumbled, striding toward the bed to pick up her bags. “It’s a good thing you didn’t become a criminal,” she said aloud. “Or a spy. You just don’t have the stomach for it.”

      Who was she trying to kid? It wasn’t the thought of living a lie for the reunion that had her so tied up in knots. It was seeing Rick again. It was feeling those old feelings again. It was realizing that some things, no matter how many years had passed, didn’t change.

      Slinging her garment bag over one shoulder, she staggered under its weight, groaned, then lifted the metal bar on her suitcase and set its tiny back wheels on the pine floor. Grabbing up her cosmetic case, she headed for the doorway with slow, plodding steps.

      Like a man headed up the stairs of a gallows. “Oh, get a grip, Tracy,” she told herself. Honestly, if she was going to spend the next week or two sweating over every tiny white lie—excuse me, exaggeration—she’d never make it.

      And for heaven’s sake, she’d better get over the flutter of nerves that attacked whenever she was within an arm’s reach of Rick. He was doing a favor for her sister. Just being friendly. He wasn’t there as her date. Or her lover.

      Ooohh. That thought sent a tingling sensation to every part of her body. Slowly, deliberately, she pulled in a long, deep breath, hoping to stabilize her nervous system.

      When she was in control again, she lifted her chin and said aloud, “You can do this, y’know. It’s just a few days alone with him. Then you won’t see him for another ten years or so. How hard can it be?”

      Something told her that last sentence would go down in her private journal as the equivalent of “famous last words.”

      Two

      Freeway miles flew past.

      In just a few hours, they were out of the Los Angeles area’s crush of cars and speeding along a highway edged on either side by acres of farm country. Orange and apple groves blended into small, tidy vineyards and those into pistachio orchards. The sky seemed bluer, the sun warmer and the wind cleaner.

      Tracy stared out the window at the passing scenery, noting the ancient California oaks—now protected by the state—dotting the rolling hillsides. Occasional farm houses added touches of color to the rainfreshened greenery. The farther they traveled from home and the work that awaited her return, the more Tracy relaxed into the plush seat cushion.

      This wasn’t so bad, she told herself. Actually, it had been a pretty nice trip so far. She hadn’t stumbled over a conversation once, and she was almost used to Rick being in such close proximity to her.

      Of course, she’d be in way better shape if he weren’t.

      She slid a sidelong glance in his direction. Both hands on the wheel, he kept his gaze locked on the road in front of him. But, even in profile, his good looks were enough to fuel a dozen or more very interesting fantasies in far less susceptible women than she.

      His light brown hair was cut militarily short, yet retained just enough length to let her see traces of what used to be soft waves. He wore a pair of silverframed aviator-style sunglasses that hid his deep emerald-green eyes. At six foot one, he was much taller than she, even sitting down, and his dark blue polo shirt, open at the collar, stretched across a broad chest that proved he had more than a passing acquaintance with weight lifting.

      Her gaze slid down briefly, noting his faded blue jeans and the slip-on deck shoes he wore. Yep. Gorgeous. She bit back a groan and deliberately turned her gaze back to the road ahead of them.

      “Inspection over?” he inquired politely.

      “Excuse me?” she glanced at him, feigning confusion.

      “Did I pass?” He spared her a quick, amused look.

      Obviously, he wasn’t going to buy her innocent act.

      “Saw that, huh?” No point in denying what he’d clearly noticed.

      “Subtlety was never your strong suit, Tracy,” he said and one corner of his mouth quirked into a half smile.

      “Still not,” she admitted. Shifting in her seat, she gave him her full attention. “Though I rarely hide behind trees these days.”

      His smile deepened.

      “Anyway, I was just noticing that you really haven’t changed much over the years.” An understatement somewhere along the lines of “Gee, the Empire State Building’s a little tall.”

      “You sure have,” he countered and shot another half glance her way. “You look great.”

      “Thanks,” she said. “I think.”

      He laughed shortly. “Okay, that didn’t quite sound the way I meant it to.”

      “It’s all right. I know what you meant.” A gust of air rushed through her open window, pushing her hair into her eyes. She swept it back with an impatient gesture.

      She should be pleased, she thought. Wasn’t he seeing her exactly the way she wanted all of the people back home to see her? Changed? Grown up? Beautiful? So why did it irritate her that Rick Bennet was noticing the very image she’d worked so hard to portray?

      Maybe because there was a part of her that wanted a man to be attracted to the real Tracy? She couldn’t help wondering what it might have felt like to have Rick look at her as she usually was, in jeans and T-shirt, and still think she was beautiful.

      “So,” he asked, turning down the volume on the car radio, “how come you’re making the trip home?”

      “Probably for the same reasons as you,” she said. “To see the family. Visit. Stroll through the school and see if it’s as hideous as I remember it.”

      “Hideous?” he repeated. “I always thought you liked school.”

      “Why?” she asked. “Because I studied all the time, got good grades?”

      “Well,” he said with a shrug. “Yeah.”

      A natural assumption, she supposed. It would never have occurred to him that she’d spent all of her time studying because she was too shy to make friends and too awkward to attract boys. School was the one and only place where Tracy shone, which had pleased her proud parents no end, but had also contributed to her nerd reputation. Of course, her doom was sealed when she skipped a grade. Not only was she younger than everyone else, but a geek, as well. Every time some teacher had held her up to the class as an example of what could be accomplished through actual study, the resentment level at Juneport High had escalated.

      Her one real friend had been her sister, Meg, which had only made Tracy’s lusting after Rick even more awful.

      “Talked to my mom last week,” he was saying, and Tracy steered her attention back to the here and now. “She tells me Meg’s pregnant again.”

      “Yep.” Swiftly, stirrings of both excitement and envy rippled through Tracy. Deliberately, she pushed the latter into a dark corner of her heart, hoping it would stay there.

      But oh, how she would have loved to be somebody’s mother.

      “How many does that make?”

      “This is her fifth,”