guard.
“And I am sorry about messing up your Mother’s Day.”
“What do you mean, my Mother’s Day?” His voice was guarded.
That had always been the problem with Mac. The insurmountable flaw. He wouldn’t let anyone touch the part of him that felt.
“I chose Mother’s Day because it was symbolic. Even though Mama Freda has never been a biological mother, she has been a mother to so many. She epitomizes what motherhood is.”
That was not the full truth. The full truth was that Lucy found Mother’s Day to be unbearably painful. And she was following Mama Freda’s own recipe for dealing with pain.
“I don’t care what day you chose!”
“Yes, you do.”
“It’s all coming back now,” he said sardonically. “Having a conversation with you is like crossing a minefield.”
“You feel as if Mother’s Day belongs to you and Mama Freda. And I’ve stolen it.”
“That’s an interesting theory,” he said, a chill in his voice warning her to stop, but she wasn’t going to. Lucy was getting to him and part of her liked it, because it had always been hard to get to Mac Hudson. It might seem as if you were, but then that devil-may-care grin materialized, saying Gotcha, because I don’t really care.
“Every Mother’s Day,” she reminded him quietly, “you outdo yourself. A stretch limo picks her up. She flies somewhere to meet you. Last year Engelbert Humperdinck in concert in New York. She wore the corsage until it turned brown. She talked about it for days after. Where you took her. What you ate. Don’t tell me it’s not your day. And that you’re not annoyed that I chose it.”
“Whatever.”
“Oh! I recognize that tone of voice! Even after all this time! Mr. Don’t-Even-Think-You-Know-Me.”
“You don’t. I’ll put a check in the mail for whatever cause she has taken up. I think you’ll find it very generous.”
“I’m sure Mama will be pleased by the check. She probably will hardly even notice your absence, since all the others are coming. Every single one. Mama Freda has fostered twenty-three kids over the years. Ross Chillington is clearing his filming schedule. Michael Boylston works in Thailand and he’s coming. Reed Patterson is leaving football training camp in Florida to be here.”
“All those wayward boys saved by Mama Freda.” His voice was silky and unimpressed.
“She’s made a difference in the world!”
“Lucy—”
She hated it that her name on his lips made her feel more frazzled, hated it that she could remember leaning toward him, quivering with wanting.
“I’m not interested in being part of Lindstrom Beach’s version of a TV reality show. What are you planning after your black-tie dinner? No, wait. Let me guess. Each of Mama’s foster children will stand up and give a testimonial about being redeemed by her love.”
Ouch. That was a little too close to what she did have planned. Did he have to make it sound cheap and smarmy instead of uplifting and inspirational?
“Mac—”
“Nobody calls me Mac anymore,” he said, a little harshly.
“What do they call you?” She couldn’t imagine him being called anything else.
“Mr. Hudson,” he said coolly.
She doubted that very much since, she could still hear a raucous partylike atmosphere unfolding behind him.
It occurred to her she would like to hang up on him. And she was going to, very shortly.
“Okay, then, Mr. Hudson,” she snapped, “I’ve already told you I don’t care if you don’t come. I know it’s way too much to ask of you to take a break from your important and busy schedule to honor the woman who took you in and pulled you back from the brink of disaster. Way too much.”
Silence.
“Still, I know how deeply you care about her. I know it’s you who has been paying some of her bills.”
He sucked in his breath, annoyed that she knew that.
She pushed on. “Aside from your Mother’s Day tradition, I know you took her to Paris for her seventy-fifth
“And I am sorry about messing up your Mother’s Day.”
“What do you mean, my Mother’s Day?” His voice was guarded.
That had always been the problem with Mac. The insurmountable flaw. He wouldn’t let anyone touch the part of him that felt.
“I chose Mother’s Day because it was symbolic. Even though Mama Freda has never been a biological mother, she has been a mother to so many. She epitomizes what motherhood is.”
That was not the full truth. The full truth was that Lucy found Mother’s Day to be unbearably painful. And she was following Mama Freda’s own recipe for dealing with pain.
“I don’t care what day you chose!”
“Yes, you do.”
“It’s all coming back now,” he said sardonically. “Having a conversation with you is like crossing a minefield.”
“You feel as if Mother’s Day belongs to you and Mama Freda. And I’ve stolen it.”
“That’s an interesting theory,” he said, a chill in his voice warning her to stop, but she wasn’t going to. Lucy was getting to him and part of her liked it, because it had always been hard to get to Mac Hudson. It might seem as if you were, but then that devil-may-care grin materialized, saying Gotcha, because I don’t really care.
“Every Mother’s Day,” she reminded him quietly, “you outdo yourself. A stretch limo picks her up. She flies somewhere to meet you. Last year Engelbert Humperdinck in concert in New York. She wore the corsage until it turned brown. She talked about it for days after. Where you took her. What you ate. Don’t tell me it’s not your day. And that you’re not annoyed that I chose it.”
“Whatever.”
“Oh! I recognize that tone of voice! Even after all this time! Mr. Don’t-Even-Think-You-Know-Me.”
“You don’t. I’ll put a check in the mail for whatever cause she has taken up. I think you’ll find it very generous.”
“I’m sure Mama will be pleased by the check. She probably will hardly even notice your absence, since all the others are coming. Every single one. Mama Freda has fostered twenty-three kids over the years. Ross Chillington is clearing his filming schedule. Michael Boylston works in Thailand and he’s coming. Reed Patterson is leaving football training camp in Florida to be here.”
“All those wayward boys saved by Mama Freda.” His voice was silky and unimpressed.
“She’s made a difference in the world!”
“Lucy—”
She hated it that her name on his lips made her feel more frazzled, hated it that she could remember leaning toward him, quivering with wanting.
“I’m not interested in being part of Lindstrom Beach’s version of a TV reality show. What are you planning after your black-tie dinner? No, wait. Let me guess. Each of Mama’s foster children will stand up and give a testimonial about being redeemed by her love.”
Ouch. That was a little too close to what she did have planned. Did he have to make it sound cheap and smarmy instead of uplifting and inspirational?
“Mac—”
“Nobody calls me Mac anymore,” he said, a little harshly.
“What do they call you?” She couldn’t imagine him being called anything else.
“Mr. Hudson,” he said coolly.
She doubted that very much since, she could still hear a raucous partylike atmosphere unfolding behind him.
It occurred to her she would like to hang up on him. And she was going to, very shortly.
“Okay, then, Mr. Hudson,” she snapped, “I’ve already told you I don’t care if you don’t come. I know it’s way too much to ask of you to take a break from your important and busy schedule to honor the woman who took you in and pulled you back from the brink of disaster. Way too much.”
Silence.
“Still, I know how deeply you care about her. I know it’s you who has been paying some of her bills.”
He sucked in his breath, annoyed that she knew that.
She pushed on. “Aside from your Mother’s Day tradition, I know you took her to Paris for her seventy-fifth
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