The Baby Bet: The Royal MacAllister Part 8

A baby, Brent's mind echoed. His and Alice's child. That image was settling in right next to his heartfelt desire to be a father. Whew. He was on emotional overload.

What did they mean, these new and foreign thoughts and feelings? Did his caring for Alice run much deeper than he'd realized? Or was he just caught up in the moment of seeing Joseph Devon within minutes of his arrival?

d.a.m.n, he didn't know what was happening to him, but he knew that somehow, somehow, he had to find out what all this meant.

Brent hardly remembered the farewells exchanged in the hospital, nor the drive to Alice's apartment building. She had chattered on about the new baby, about how special it had been to be a part of the family as they all saw him for the first time. He a.s.sumed that he had commented in all the right places as Alice hadn't asked if something was wrong, or remarked that he was acting strangely.

As the couple entered the loft, Brent pulled himself from his tangled and unsettling thoughts, then realized that Alice had spoken to him and was now looking at him questioningly.

"Pardon me?"

"I asked if you wanted something to eat or drink?"

"Oh. No. No, thank you," he said, then glanced around. "It still smells like paint in here, doesn't it? The little table you mentioned that you painted is sure taking a long time to dry, I guess."

"Yes, it is," Trip said quickly. "That's because I used oil-based paint. Smelly stuff. I wasn't aware of the odor because I'm so used to it. I'll open a window."

Trip hurried across the area and fiddled with the locks on one of the windows on the far wall.

Tell him, her mind shouted. Tell Brent about your paintings. Take him behind the screens and... no. No, not yet. Not yet. But soon. I'll share it all with him very soon. But, oh, G.o.d, I don't have the courage...not yet.

Brent sank onto the sofa. "Joseph Devon. That was really a fantastic thing that Bobby and Diane did...naming their baby after my cousin. What an incredible honor. What a gift, a touching and important way to make it clear that we're all part of a big and unique family."

Trip opened the window, then walked slowly back and settled next to Brent on the sofa.

"Yes, it was an extremely nice thing to do," she said. "Maggie was on her third tissue the last time I looked at her, and Devon was a tad misty himself."

"Mmm," Brent said, nodding. "Just think, Alice. Tomorrow, or the next day, whenever, Bobby and Diane will take the baby home and lay him in the crib they've surely gotten ready for him. They've waited all those months and he's finally here. If it was me, I think I'd probably just stand there and watch him sleep, not want to move, not leave the nursery, or... Man, a baby. A son. They're really a family now."

"Yes," Trip said softly, "they are." She swept her gaze over the loft. "I can't envision a baby in here. It's not cozy enough."

"What about in your heart, your mind?" Brent s.h.i.+fted on the sofa so he could look directly at her. "Can you envision a baby there?"

"That's not a fair question at the moment, Brent," Trip said, clutching her hands in her lap and staring at them. "We just came from seeing a newborn baby, Bobby and Diane's miracle. Something like what we experienced tonight might create emotions, yearnings, that will disappear in the dawn's light of the next day."

"Might is the important word, Alice. But it doesn't stop there. The emotions, the yearnings, when examined in the morning light might not have disappeared at all. They could very well be here to stay."

Trip frowned as she met Brent's gaze. "Why are you doing this? Pus.h.i.+ng about emotions, yearnings, regarding a baby, being a family... What are you doing?"

Brent stared up at the ceiling for a long moment, then looked at Alice again.

"I don't know," he said, sounding suddenly weary. "I saw that baby and I...I thought I'd buried those kind of dreams deep enough that they'd never be able to surface again, but...

"Alice, whenever I think about leaving you in a couple of days I feel as though I've been punched in the gut. You mean so much to me, so d.a.m.n much.

"Then when I saw Joseph Devon I...I wondered what a baby you and I would create, together, would look like..." He dragged both hands down his face. "I'm a mental mess. I don't know what's happening here, what it all means, but I really can't bear the idea of walking out of your life and never... Ah, h.e.l.l, I don't know."

"I don't want you to leave, either," Trip said. "We'll see each other at the wedding, but it just won't be the same. These days...and nights...with you have been so... When you go I'll miss you..." She drew a wobbly breath that held the hint of tears. "I think I just joined your mental-mess club."

"Do you...do you think we're falling in love with each other, Alice?"

"No. No, absolutely not. We'd know it if we were." She paused. "Wouldn't we? Well, yes, darn it, of course we would, and we're not. I'm just now making progress with opening my heart to my own family. I'm not even capable of the intensity of man-and-woman love, for heaven's sake. Brent, please, let's change the subject. You are leaving. There's no purpose to be served by having this insane conversation."

"Isn't there? Don't you want to know what's really happening between us? Don't you?"

"No," Trip said, getting to her feet. "I'm going to have a gla.s.s of orange juice. Would you like some?"

"No, thank you." Brent rose and gripped Alice's shoulders. "I do want to know what this is we're sharing. So, okay, I do, you don't. It calls for a compromise, I think."

"No, I don't want to think about-"

"Compromise," Brent interrupted. "Just listen, all right? I won't bring up the subject again while I'm here in Ventura, if you promise to think about it, us, during the month we're apart before you come to the Island of Wils.h.i.+re for Maggie and Devon's wedding.

"The old cliche will apply, per se. The distance, the separation, will either make our hearts grow fonder, or we'll look at each other when you arrive on the island and realize what we had here was special, but...well, temporary, and that it's over. The month apart will, hopefully, supply us with the answers we don't have."

"But-"

"Alice, please promise me you'll think about us, what might be happening here. G.o.d, what if we're soul mates, meant to be together, and we let it slip through our fingers because it's so d.a.m.n terrifying, and we're still held in the grips of our past pain, our ghosts, or-"

"I...I don't know what to say, Brent," Trip said, unwelcome tears filling her eyes.

"Just say yes. Agree to this compromise. Say you'll think about it, us, relive the memories we've made, get in touch with your hopes, dreams, yearnings, look into the future. Please."

No, Trip thought, feeling a rush of panic consume and chill her. She couldn't handle this. Couldn't do what Brent was asking of her. She wasn't strong enough, brave enough. She was too fragile and vulnerable.

"Please, Alice," Brent said, a catch in his voice. "Say you'll do it. Say yes."

Trip stared at Brent and saw the s.h.i.+mmer of tears in his beautiful blue eyes, heard the edge of desperation in his voice, felt the trembling in his hands where they were splayed on her shoulders, and knew she was defeated.

"Yes," she whispered.

Chapter Seven.

"I'm not even going to attempt to chat with you for a while, Alice," Robert said, smiling at his granddaughter the next morning. "The meetings I've already had with my grandchildren to present them with my specially selected gift have shown me that the recipient is eager to get down to business."

Trip laughed. "Guilty. I've been awake since dawn, and it seemed as though the clock was refusing to move forward so I could come over here, Grandpa."

Robert chuckled, then got to his feet and crossed the room to a closet on the far wall. He returned, sat down, then handed Trip a framed picture facedown that was about fourteen inches square. She took it, turned it over, then the color drained from her face as she stared at it.

"Yes," Robert said quietly, "it's one of your paintings. I've had it for about two years now, although no one has seen it but me, not even your grandmother."

"But how..." Trip started, then leaned the picture against the fireplace and met Robert's gaze. "I don't understand this. I mean..."

Robert raised one hand for silence. "Alice, I couldn't bear not knowing where you were beyond the postcard you would send. I didn't know what you were doing, if you were safe, happy. It was very difficult for all of us to cope with that."

"And I'm so sorry," Trip said. "It was so selfish and self-centered of me. I'm trying to make amends to the family for the way I behaved all those years but..." She shook her head.

"But you were pursuing your dream of becoming an accomplished artist."

"Yes, but how did you-"

"I hired a detective," Robert said. "Now, before you get angry that your privacy was invaded in that manner, please understand that I did it out of love and concern for you. Once I knew you were safe, knew what you were doing, I simply waited for you to come home, having told no one what I discovered.

"That was a hard decision to make because at times I felt your parents had the right to know that you were fine, but I kept silent. If there had been any hint that you were in trouble, needed help, I would have told Forrest and Jillian. The detective bought this picture from a group you were showing on the beach up the coast and brought it to me. You're very talented, Alice, and I'm extremely proud of you."

"Thank you," Trip said softly. "I'm...I'm going to have a private, invitation-only showing of my work at a gallery here in Ventura in a couple of months, but no one in the family knows that."

"Don't you think it's time you told those who love you what you've been doing all these years? Why the secrecy, Alice?"

"Oh, Grandpa," she said with a sigh, "it's all so complicated. Mom and Dad were aware that I liked to draw and paint when I was a child, and they always put my pictures on the refrigerator. But when I started high school, they told me that even though I obviously had artistic talent it would be best to have a marketable skill. They insisted I take computer cla.s.ses, things like that."

"And?"

"They did that out of love and the worry that I might become a starving artist or whatever if I concentrated only on my painting. I realized that years later, but at the time, in my rebellious teenage mind, I viewed it as a put-down, a rejection of my talent, as a statement that I wasn't talented enough."

"Oh, my dear child," Robert said, frowning and shaking his head.

"I was wrong. I know that now. But that was my mind-set for so many years. So many, Grandpa, and I built such high, strong walls around myself, keeping everyone at bay. I want to really come home, be a part of this family, tell everyone about my painting, the showing I'm going to have and...but I'm terrified. Grandpa, I'm so scared. If I do that I'll be stripping myself bare, will have no more walls to hide behind.

"I'll be Alice. What if I fail, don't reach the level of success I dream about? What if I tell the family about the showing and it's a flop, none of my pictures sell, people take one look and turn around and walk out of the gallery and..."

"Alice-"

"No, Grandpa, I'm Trip." Tears filled her eyes. "It's safer being Trip, don't you see? I know how to protect myself when I'm Trip."

"And Trip is lonely," Robert said.

"Oh, G.o.d," Trip said, then pressed trembling fingertips to her lips to stifle a sob, "yes."

"It is time to come home," Robert said gently. "It's time to be Alice, my darling." He paused. "I'm going to give you your special gift now."

Robert reached down along the side of the chair, retrieved a tissue-wrapped square object and handed it to Trip. She sniffled, accepted the gift, then placed it on her knees and removed the paper.

"Oh, it's beautiful. A pewter picture frame and it's exquisite."

"It's also empty," Robert said. "It's waiting for an eight-by-ten-inch picture to be placed in it. I want you to do a self-portrait."

"What?" Trip said.

"I want you to paint a picture of yourself to be placed in that frame," her grandfather said. "But with one stipulation. It must be a portrait of Alice. Not of Trip. Alice. It will reveal who Alice really is by the expression on your face, the emotions in your eyes. Our Alice. Understand?"

"I can't do that!" Trip said, shaking her head. "No, I..."

"Shh, shh," he said. "Take the frame with you. When the time is right, you'll paint the portrait."

"But..."

Robert got to his feet, then bent over and kissed her on the forehead. "I love you, my darling. Your entire family loves you unconditionally. Remember that."

Robert left the study and closed the door behind him. Trip wrapped her arms around the lovely pewter frame, hugging it close. She drew a shuddering breath, then gave way to her tears and wept.

The next night Trip stood in front of the mirror over the bathroom sink in the loft and practiced smiling, finally sighing and leaving the small room in defeat. She sank onto the sofa with another sigh.

She didn't feel like smiling, she thought miserably. This was the last night she was to have with Brent. The airplane flight the royal family was booked on was scheduled to leave very early tomorrow morning.

Then Brent would be gone.

Dear heaven, it was so stark, so harsh, the reality of that thought.

Trip got quickly to her feet as she felt the sting of threatening tears in her eyes. She wandered around the loft, then went behind the screens and stared at the empty pewter frame she'd hung on the wall.

A self-portrait, she thought. That's what she was supposed to paint and place in the lovely frame. But it had to be a picture of Alice, not Trip. Oh, why was her grandfather doing this to her? Didn't he understand that she just wasn't ready for this? She couldn't do it, she just couldn't, because...

A knock on the door caused Trip to jerk, then she spun around and hurried to answer the summons.

Brent, her mind hummed. He was taking her out to dinner at a fancy restaurant. She would have to reach deep within herself for the fort.i.tude to be cheerful and pleasant, not put a damper on this special evening.

Get it together, Trip, she told herself, then opened the door.

"Hi," Brent said quietly, no hint of a smile on his face as he stepped into the room.

"Hi," Trip said, closing the door behind him. "I was going to go shopping for a new dress for tonight, but I just didn't have time. So I'm wearing the one I had on the night we met, and I'm sure that's breaking some sort of rule in the dating book for you to see me in the same dress so soon...oh, Brent, I don't want you to leave Ventura."

"Ah, Alice," he said, wrapping his arms around her, "I don't want to leave Ventura."

Trip encircled Brent's waist with her arms and leaned her head on his chest. They just stood there, savoring the feel and aroma of each other, holding fast, not wis.h.i.+ng to let go.

"We're a fine pair, aren't we?" Brent said finally. "We're supposed to be going out for a night on the town, and we're acting as though we're headed to dentist appointments. For root ca.n.a.ls."

Trip laughed, a rather wobbly, tear-filled laugh. "I know. I'm trying very hard to be bubbly, shall we say, but I'm failing miserably."

"We won't think about the fact that I'm leaving tomorrow," Brent said firmly. "As of right now it's erased from our minds. What did your grandfather give you yesterday morning for your gift?"

Trip stepped back and out of Brent's embrace and met his gaze.

"Oh, you're sneaky," she said, actually producing a genuine smile. "You just slid that in there so smoothly, hoping I'd answer without thinking first. I told you last night that it was a private, sort of secret thing that is just between me and Grandpa."

"I know, I know," he said, matching her smile, "and I respect that, I really do. But a part of me is so curious I can't stand it. Mature, huh?" He glanced at his watch. "We'd better go. I made reservations."

Trip picked up her purse and shawl from the sofa and they left the loft.

Don't think about tomorrow, Trip told herself.