The Baby Bet: The Royal MacAllister Part 10

"You won't get any argument from me about that statement," a man said, coming through the trees and startling Brent. "You're to be commended for figuring that out all by yourself, Brent. It will save a ha.s.sle when they come to carry you away."

"Not cute, Peter," Brent said to the foreman of the vineyards.

Peter chuckled and the two men fell in step and walked in silence for several minutes.

"Tell me something, Peter," Brent finally said. "How long have you been married?"

"Thirty-seven years this summer," Peter said, smiling, "and I'm alive to say that because I never once forgot Lynn's birthday, or our anniversary. Oh, and Valentine's Day. That's a biggie for women."

"But there's a h.e.l.luva lot more to it than just presents on the appropriate day," Brent said. "Love is...love is like a recipe and all the ingredients have to be there in the proper measure with both people working together to produce the desired result."

"Well," Peter said, running one hand over his chin, "that's a tad flowery for my way of thinking, but I get your drift. All I know is that I love Lynn even more today than when I married her. She's my wife. She's my life. Pure and simple."

"Ah, that's really nice," Brent said, punching Peter on the arm. "She's my wife. She's my life. Man, that is something."

"Yeah," Peter said, eyeing Brent warily. "You sure are in a weird mood this morning, boss. If I didn't know better I'd think that you're... Well, for heaven's sake, that's it, isn't it? You're in love. I'll be d.a.m.ned. Who is she? The island gossip mill says you haven't even dated anyone on Wils.h.i.+re in a couple of years."

Peter paused and his eyes widened. "But you just got back from Ventura, California. But, h.e.l.l's fire, even an old guy like me knows that long-distance relations.h.i.+ps are not the way to work together on your recipe for love."

"I realize that, Peter. But she doesn't have a secret agenda that would make her insist on living in the States. She could be happy here, I just know it. What I don't know is if she's in love with me."

Peter shrugged. "So, ask her."

"I can't. Not yet. It's rather complicated but I sure as h.e.l.l can tell her how I feel about her. And I'm going to."

"That's a start."

"Yeah, well," Brent said wearily, "I have a knot of cold terror in my gut that it might be the finish because it won't be what she wants to hear." He narrowed his eyes. "I think I'll wait a few hours before I telephone her because with the time difference from here to there she'll be asleep when the call comes. If she's sort of foggy I have a better chance of getting to say what's on my mind, in my heart, without her cutting me off. You know what I mean?"

"That's sort of sneaky."

"Desperate men take desperate measures, Peter," Brent said. "And I'm definitely desperate."

Trip was sleeping so close to the edge of the side of the bed where Brent had slept that when the telephone rang she jerked awake, then with a shriek fell off the bed and landed squarely on her bottom with a painful thump.

The telephone shrilled again.

"Ow. Darn it, that hurt," Trip said, crawling back onto the bed, then across it to s.n.a.t.c.h up the receiver of the telephone on the nightstand next to her side of the bed. "What!"

"Uh-oh," a deep voice said. "This isn't starting out so good."

Trip snapped on the small lamp on the nightstand, then flopped onto her back, deciding that the caller obviously had the wrong number but sounded so much like Brent that her heart had done a funny little two-step. This was not fair, not fair at all.

"You have the wrong number," she said, with a sad little sigh.

"I do? No, I don't. That's you. Ah, man, it's so great to hear your voice, Alice."

Trip sat bolt upright on the bed, her eyes widening. "Brent?"

"Yes, it's me. But listen a minute, okay?" he said quickly. "I want to be very clear on this issue. You stated we shouldn't have any contact during this month we're apart, but I didn't agree to that. Believe me, Alice, I remember our last night together and I did not comment one way or the other when you presented that plan."

Trip narrowed her eyes and mentally relived that last night with Brent.

"You're right," she said slowly. "You didn't say anything about-"

"Alice," Brent interrupted, "why are you so wide awake? I mean, it's the middle of the night there and I thought you'd be rather...zoned if I called now."

Trip glanced over at the edge of the bed she'd tumbled off.

"It was a rather...startling awakening," she said. "Brent, you're making it sound as though you planned this call to come when I'd be at a...I don't know...disadvantage, so to speak, s.p.a.cey, or something."

"Yes, that was the idea, which obviously failed miserably." Brent paused. "Alice, I miss you so much. I can't sleep, have to force myself to eat...I'm a complete wreck."

"Me, too."

"You are? You're a wreck? Oh, man, that's great to hear."

"Thanks a bunch," she said, sinking back onto the pillow.

"Alice, I know we're supposed to be using this month to attempt to determine what's happening between us. The thing is, I've already figured it out...for me, at least. I have the answers to the questions. I know exactly how I feel about us."

"You do?" Trip said, a s.h.i.+ver of cold fear coursing through her.

Oh, dear heaven, she thought frantically, had Brent purposely telephoned when he thought she'd be half asleep so he could tell her that what they'd shared had been no big deal? Would he then hang up before she could react and cause a messy, emotional scene?

"Yes, I do," Brent said. "I know without the slightest doubt in my mind."

"Well...that's...interesting," she said, her hold on the receiver tightening. "I guess."

"Okay, here I go. I'm going to tell you now, so just hear me out. Okay?"

Trip nodded, then shook her head slightly in self-disgust as she remembered that Brent couldn't see her.

"Yes," she said, "I'm listening."

"Alice MacAllister," he said, then cleared his throat, "I, Brent Bardow, am totally, completely, irrevocably, forever and ever in love with you."

Trip opened her mouth, closed it, blinked, then tried again. "I beg your pardon?"

"I love you, Alice in Wonderland," Brent said quietly. "I love you with all that I am as a man. I want to marry you, create little miracle babies with you, live out my days with you, here on the Island of Wils.h.i.+re."

"But-"

"No, no, don't say anything," Brent said. "You're still to have your month to get in touch with yourself, find your answers. It's just that you didn't have all the proper data while you were doing that, so I called to tell you that I love you beyond measure.

"I thought if you were sleepy I could just declare my love for you and hang up. But you're wide awake so I'm begging you to please not make a hasty decision or comment, or whatever, about what I just told you."

"But-"

"I'll be waiting here for you, Alice. I'll be waiting for you and for your reply to my proposal of marriage. I'll be waiting for you on the Island of Wils.h.i.+re, the place, I hope, pray, you'll view as your future home...with me. I love you so much. Good night, my darling Alice."

"But..." Trip said, sitting up in bed again. "Brent?" The dial tone buzzed in her ear. "Brent?" She shook the receiver. He'd hung up?

Sudden unexpected tears filled Trip's eyes and she didn't know if they stemmed from wondrous joy or stark terror. She placed the receiver down then had to give a firm directive to her fingers to release her tight grip. She snapped off the lamp, then slid down in the bed, pulling the sheet up and holding it tightly beneath her chin with both hands.

"Brent Bardow is in love with me," she whispered.

Then Alice MacAllister, having no idea that her emotions echoed those of the man halfway around the world, those of Brent Bardow, was filled with the greatest joy and the greatest fear she had ever known.

Chapter Nine.

During the next two weeks, Trip worked diligently on her paintings for the showing. She took time off to go clothes shopping with her mother and sisters and had a lovely time with her family, a fact that suffused her with warmth and happiness. Her smiles had been genuine, her laughter real, during the day they spent together going from store to store, stopping only long enough for a quick lunch.

When Jillian had taken Trip aside that day and told her that her parents would like to purchase the expensive airplane ticket for the trip to Wils.h.i.+re, Trip had been deeply touched. She thanked her mother but said she had enough money in savings to pay for the fare, plus all the clothes she was buying.

"You do?" Jillian said, frowning. "But how... never mind. It's none of my business. I'll simply take credit for having done a fine job of teaching you how to handle your money while you were growing up."

Trip had smiled and nodded, but could not ignore the icy wave of guilt that swept through her. Her savings came from the sale of her pictures.

Soon, Trip had told herself. She'd gather her courage and tell her family everything...soon.

With sheer force of will, Trip did not allow herself to dwell on Brent, on his declaration of love for her, until she was alone at night during the designated time she set aside to work on the self-portrait her grandfather had requested that she paint.

It was then that she wrapped Brent's love around her like a big fuzzy blanket with a warmth that crept within her to gently caress her heart, her mind, her very soul.

She painted by rote, focusing instead on the image of Brent in her mental vision, seeing his smile, the desire in his eyes, his thick black hair that she had sifted her fingers through.

She selected memories from the treasure chest in her heart of time spent with Brent, and she relived the ecstasy of being with him, walking, talking, smiling, laughing and making sweet wondrous love in the darkness of night.

No doubts or fears were allowed entry into the misty, sensual coc.o.o.n that swirled around her as she painted her self-portrait.

She simply savored the nearly unbelievable knowledge that she was loved by the most magnificent man she had ever known. She kept the questions regarding her own feelings at bay, not yet having the courage to examine them, seek the answers as she'd promised Brent she would do.

Three days before the MacAllister family was scheduled to leave, Trip delivered the last of the requested paintings to the gallery and basked in the owner's praise and enthusiasm for her work.

The invitations for the showing were at the printer's, the gallery owner told Trip, and a contract had been signed with a catering service that would serve champagne and canapes on the night of the showing.

The press releases had been written and delivered to the Ventura newspapers. They included the specific date on which her work would be available to the public, the day after the private showing.

Trip's agent, Delores Dano, who was overseeing all the details, even came to Trip's loft that night to help her select what the artist of the moment would wear to the big event.

"This is silly," Trip said, as the woman examined Trip's wardrobe in the closet.

"This is image," Delores said. "Ah, here we go. This is it." She held the hanger at arm's length and nodded in approval. "Floor-length, simple but hinting at s.e.xy with this clingy material, sophisticated, but the rose color will make you approachable, shall we say, not standoffish like basic black can be. Perfect. Trust me. I've done extensive studies on this."

"Whatever," Trip said with a shrug. "I still think it's silly. People aren't buying me, they're, hopefully, purchasing my paintings."

"Wear the dress."

"I'll wear the dress."

After Delores left the loft, Trip decided to have some dinner before putting the finis.h.i.+ng touches on the self-portrait. She started toward the kitchen area, hesitated, then stopped.

It would be better, she decided, to look at the painting objectively, with no thoughts of Brent cluttering her mind, see what she still needed to do to it, then mull over her discoveries as she ate.

"Good plan," she said, walking to the screens she hadn't bothered to replace by the bed.

She moved around the screens, then came to such an abrupt halt that she stumbled slightly, her gaze riveted on the eight-by-ten-inch canvas on the easel a few feet in front of her.

"Dear heaven," she whispered, the rapid beating of her heart echoing in her ears.

Trip moved forward slowly, aware that her legs were trembling and she was having to tell herself to breathe, to inhale, then exhale, producing choppy little puffs of air. She pressed shaking fingertips to her lips as she stopped in front of the easel, staring at the image of herself.

She had put on canvas who she was when she was with Brent Bardow.

And it was there, s.h.i.+ning in her eyes, in the soft smile on her lips, in the glow of her slightly flushed cheeks.

It was there.

Her love for Brent was as clear and real, honest and deep, as if she were speaking the words, declaring her feelings for him.

She was in love with Brent Bardow.

And she was Alice.

She clasped her hands beneath her chin and closed her eyes, causing tears to spill onto her face.

Free, she thought incredulously. She was finally free of the past.

And she had fallen in love. Totally, completely, irrevocably, forever and ever in love with Brent, just as he loved her.

She was Alice in a wonderland so glorious it defied description.

"I love you, Brent," she whispered as fresh tears fell. "I love you so very, very much. I'm Alice. Your Alice. Forever. Wait for me, Brent, there on your island. I'm coming home...to you."

The next morning Alice entered Robert's study and smiled at her grandfather, who was sitting in one of the leather chairs. She sat in the other, brushed back the tissue on the pewter frame, then handed Robert the picture. He held it carefully in both hands and stared at it intently.

"My darling Alice," Robert said, his voice choked with emotion as he met her gaze, "this is a portrait of a woman who is deeply in love and who is secure in the knowledge that she is loved in kind, is complete, has found her soul mate, her partner in life."

"Yes," Alice said, smiling as tears echoed in her voice. "I know. I do love Brent, Grandpa, and he loves me. He telephoned me from the island and told me that he loves me, then he asked me to marry him, but not to give him my answer to his proposal until I arrived on the Island of Wils.h.i.+re.

"It wasn't until I painted the self-portrait that I knew how I felt about him. You are so wise, Grandpa. If it hadn't been for you requesting that I paint that picture, I might have remained too frightened to truly examine my feelings for Brent. The walls I erected around myself are gone. I can't begin to thank you for knowing me better than I knew myself, for... I'm Alice, Grandpa. I'm Alice."