The Wedding Planners

Cooper’s strong fingers clasped her much smaller hand against his chest. She felt the rhythmic beat of his heart, noticed the hard contours of his athletic torso. Though she tried not to think of Cooper as an attractive man, with the number of interested female glances coming his way as a constant reminder, she was failing miserably. She resented the feelings. Resented the reminders that she was a passionate woman alone. Especially she didn’t like the idea of betraying Justin’s memory with his once close competitor.

“Tell me about your new job,” she said, frantic not to notice Cooper’s muscular thighs brushing hers or the tingle of awareness that rushed from her own thighs upward.

He gave her a lazy smile. “I’m boring. Tell me about you.”

Boring? She doubted there was anything boring in Cooper’s life.

She, on the other hand, was quite ordinary and content to be so. A Friday-night poker game with the other Wedding Belles, a little gossip, Sunday afternoons in the park with her kids.

“Working. Taking care of my girls. Not much else.”

“And the cakes?”

“Oh, yes. Lots and lots of cakes.”

“Sweet,” he said and they both laughed.

“How, or perhaps I should ask why, did a diabetic choose to be a cake decorator?”

“Fairy,” she corrected.

“Ah, yes. Cake fairy.” His eyes twinkled. “It suits you.”

“My girls think I should wear a Tinkerbell costume with wings and a tutu.”

A wicked gleam. “Now that I’d like to see.”

“I’ve actually thought about it. For kids’ birthday parties, I mean. They would love it.”

He laughed down at her and something low in her belly reacted. She hadn’t felt this way in more than two years. Feminine, attractive, womanly.

The shock of it caused her to misstep.

“Sorry,” she said as a blush warmed her neck and cheeks. Hopefully, Cooper would blame the stumble for her sudden fluster.

“No problem. You need to rest anyway after that insulin reaction. I shouldn’t have kept you out here so long.”

As if reluctant to break contact, he held on to her hand and led her toward a white linen-clad table. Still stunned at her unexpected reaction to his very male nearness, Natalie followed without resistance.

“Something to drink?” he asked.

As she sank into a chair, she nodded. “Water would be great. I’m hot.”

Cooper inclined his head with a wicked smile. “I’d have to agree.”

Her flushed skin grew redder. How long had it been since she’d even thought of herself as an attractive woman? As a hot babe?

“Go away, Cooper,” she teased, trying to laugh off her sudden discomfiture.

He laughed, too, but did as she said, returning in a very short amount of time with their drinks. “I wanted to try your cake but it’s all gone.”

“Even the groom’s cake?”

“Every crumb. You must be a great cake fairy.”

Before she could think of a witty comeback, Cooper’s cell phone chirped.

“Excuse me,” he said as he reached inside his jacket and drew out the instrument. “Dr. Sullivan.”

An amazing transformation happened before her eyes. She’d seen it with Justin. Cooper’s face, animated, teasing and maybe a tad flirty a moment ago became a study in serious listening. The brilliant mind behind the playboy smile kicked into high gear.

“Call Dr. Francis. Ask him to assist. I’ll meet him there in twenty minutes.”

He snapped the phone shut and slid it inside his jacket.

“A patient?” Natalie asked.

He nodded and pushed back from the table.

“Sorry to break up the party. It’s been great seeing you again, Natalie.”

Natalie experienced a frisson of disappointment. “It was good to see you too, Cooper. I hope all goes well with your patient.”

He tilted his head, whipped around to leave but turned back just as quickly to hand her a business card. “Call me. We’ll get together.”

With that he was gone, straight back and wide shoulders slicing through the crowd with a confident air until she lost sight of him.

She gazed down at the card bearing his address and phone number in a bold confident font.

Call him? Call a man who’d rattled her self-imposed moratorium on male-female relationships?

Not likely.

CHAPTER TWO

“GOOD case, Dr. Sullivan.”

Seated on a narrow chair in the doctors’ lounge, Cooper lifted one foot to remove the protective shoe coverings. The scent of coffee, too long on the burner, filled his nostrils. His stomach growled but the stale doughnuts on the sideboard held no charm.

He peeled off the blue shoe cover and tossed it into the trash before nodding to the dark-haired female. “Yes, it was. Thanks for your help.”

“A pleasure.” Dr. Genevieve Pennington was a member of Children’s Cardiac Surgical and as such one of his associates. She was also a skilled surgeon as cool under pressure as he. Now she tarried in the doorway of the physicians’ lounge, fiddling with the clasp on a green alligator handbag.

“Some of us are headed to the country club for a drink. Care to join us?”

Cooper glanced up at the attractive doctor, wondering if the invitation was business, pleasure or both. Never mind. He was tired and feeling strangely let down though he couldn’t say why. He loved his work and the surgery had gone better than expected. Normally he enjoyed an active social life, as well, and Dr. Pennington was single, attractive and smart. In the weeks since he’d joined the practice, she’d dropped other subtle hints that he couldn’t miss. They had plenty in common, but he wasn’t sure a fling with a colleague would benefit either of them in the long run.

He shook his head. “Rain check?”

Disappointment flickered briefly on the doctor’s face. “Sure.” She backed out of the lounge, one hand on the door handle. “See you tomorrow.”

“Right—6:00 a.m. atrial-septal defect. I’ll pop up and say hello to the patient and his mother before I head home.”

Home. A town house in East Cambridge. Beautiful, well appointed, empty.

Cooper blew out a tired and somewhat depressed sigh. He didn’t really want to go home. Maybe he’d drive out to see his parents. Or maybe not. He wasn’t up to facing Dad’s dissatisfaction today. Oh, the old man never came right out and said anything, but he’d made his feelings clear. Cooper hadn’t followed his father’s lead. He hadn’t gone to Harvard. He’d chosen medicine instead of politics. Everyone knew the blue-blooded Sullivans were shoo-ins for public office, and with Cooper’s charisma he could have risen to the top. Or so his family thought.

He’d never managed to convince his father that he wasn’t cut out to hobnob with people he disliked, and he wasn’t much on kissing babies. He just wanted to save their lives.

Cooper rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, tense from the five-hour surgery, tenser still from the ongoing knowledge that he’d let his parents down. He’d thought coming back to Boston might help ease the constant feeling of discontent, the need to reach higher and higher, but if anything, being near his family had made it worse.

Quiet settled over the usually busy lounge.

For years he’d strived to be here in this place with these physicians doing this work. All afternoon he’d battled death and won, giving a future to a four-year-old with malformed heart valves. In another place or time the boy would never have lived to adolescence. Now he’d be an old man with grandchildren on his knees.

This was what Cooper wanted out of life. This kind of success. Yet it felt empty.

In a few years, if he worked hard and remained focused, he would be chief of cardiac surgery. Perhaps then he’d experience the sense of satisfaction that always remained just out of reach.

Rolling his head to loosen the kinks, he stretched upward and went to his locker. The day’s personal mail, picked up earlier from the office was stuffed inside, unopened. Flipping through the stack, two caught his eye. His pulse accelerated. Could it be?

He took the innocuous-looking envelopes to a chair and sat down again to slide a finger beneath the flap and remove the letter. As he read, the depression of moments before sailed away. He scanned faster, coming to the final conclusion. They wanted him.

“All right!” he exclaimed.

Growing more energized with every minute, he ripped open the other envelope. After another quick scan, he pumped a fist in victory. “Yes. Yes. Yes!”

He was tempted to jump up and do a happy dance around the empty lounge. This little trick could put him on the map as one of the premier neonatal surgeons on the planet.

Several months ago—he’d forgotten how many—he’d submitted his research and findings on a technique he’d perfected that helped protect a newborn’s still developing brain from damage during a cardio-pulmonary bypass. The science was good. The technique precise. The results stunning.

Now, he held not one, but two letters asking to publish his findings. Both the American Journal of Medicine and the British Lancet, two of the most prestigious medical journals in the world, wanted the article. The news would put his name on the lips of every pediatric surgeon and elevate his status among the powers that be here in Boston. He wanted to be one of the youngest chiefs ever, and the goal grew closer with every breath.

This wasn’t his first publication, but it was the most important. The drive to perfect surgical techniques in newborns was like a living thing inside him. The fate of tiny little human beings with all their lives spread out before them rested in his hands and inside his brain.

The more he studied, the more he tweaked medications and methods, the more lives he saved. These acceptances were more motivation to burn the midnight oil. Who needed rest when so much was at stake?

Needing someone to share his excitement, he whipped out his cell phone and punched in his father’s number. The congressman would be proud of this.

“Cooper?” Randall Sullivan’s voice, strong and confident boomed into his earpiece. “Is that you?”

“Yes, sir. How are you and mother doing?” Get the niceties out of the way first.

“Hale and hearty. Busy as the devil himself.”

“I won’t keep you long, but I did have something to tell you.” A zing of adrenaline had him tapping his foot.

“Hold on a minute, son. I’ve got another call. Governor Bryson’s office.” A click and then silence. Cooper stared down at the letter, rereading the good news while he waited.

Another click and then his father’s voice again, robust and oratorical even to family. “Still there?”

“I’m here, Dad.” He leaned forward, elbows on knees, the acceptance letter dangling in front of his eyes.

“Good. I was about to call you with the news. Cameron’s decided to make a run for state office. The party thinks he has a good chance. Youth, looks, charisma.”

“With the Sullivan machine behind him?”

Congressman Sullivan’s laugh boomed. “Absolutely.”

Cooper’s younger brother had followed the rules of the Sullivan household and gone into law with an eye to politics. Cameron was now viewed as the good son. Not that Cooper was complaining. Cameron’s natural propensity for their father’s profession took some of the pressure off Cooper. Some, but not all.

Congressman Randall Sullivan dreamed of creating a political dynasty to rival the Kennedy clan. The trouble was his elder son had not cooperated, and this had caused more than a little tension within the family.

“Cam’s still young, Dad. He needs to be certain this is what he wants.”

“Jack Kennedy was in the Oval Office at forty-three. A man has to make his move when the climate is right. That’s politics. If you had stayed the course, you’d be in the Senate by now.”

The censure was there, subtle, but sharp like a sticker in a sock.

“Dad,” he said simply, not wanting to revisit this old wound.

“This is what you were born for, Cooper, what your mother and I reared you to do with your life. The Sullivans are public servants. It’s our responsibility to care for those less fortunate. There’s still time for you to throw your hat in the ring. I know the party would be interested. Two Sullivan brothers running for office this election year would make great press and garner big voter turnout.”

Cooper bit back his usual argument. Putting broken hearts back together was public service. Sure he was paid well, but so was the congressman.

“I’m a doctor.” He glanced at the letter, wanting to say that he wasn’t just a doctor, he was a good doctor, a surgeon moving up through the ranks at a rapid pace. But the senator was only interested in one game, and it wasn’t medicine.

His fingers tightened on the acceptance letter, euphoria seeping out like a leaking oxygen tank.

“A good strategist can use the doctor angle,” his father was saying. “The surgeon who comes to politics to heal society’s wounds. Something like that. What do you say?”

“I don’t think so, Dad. I’m—”

“Don’t say no yet. Think about it. That’s all I’m asking. Think about it.”

Trying to talk to his father was like spitting into the wind. He was always the one who was sorry.

“Okay, son? You’ll do that for the old man, won’t you? Think about it?”

Cooper swallowed against the tightness in his throat. This was why his father was one of the most influential men in the state. He knew how to get what he wanted. “I’m sorry, Dad.”

Truly, he was sorry. Sorry to be a disappointment. Sorry he couldn’t be what his father needed and wanted him to be.

The silence that extended from his father’s line to his buzzed for several painful seconds before the congressman cleared his throat. When he spoke, his voice was tight with disapproval.

“We’ve got our first fund-raiser for your brother scheduled on the thirtieth. I hope you can find it in your busy schedule to be there.”

Cooper didn’t miss the subtle jab. “I’ll be there. Tell Cam to let me know if I can help in any other way.” Short of running with him.

“Will do. Now, wasn’t there something you wanted to talk to me about?”

Cooper glanced once more at the letter, crumpled in one corner by his ever-tightening fingers. The joy he’d wanted to share with someone close was so far gone he couldn’t even remember what it had felt like. “Nothing important.”

“All right then. You’ll have to excuse me. I have a meeting to attend. Senator Steiner thinks he can sway my vote on that worthless bridge project of his.” He chuckled roughly. “Maybe I’ll let him if he makes all the right noises about helping Cameron. Come for dinner on Sunday. Make your mother happy.”

It was more of a command than an invitation. “I’ll be there. Thank you, sir.”

As deflated as a child’s balloon, he flipped his cell phone closed and stared at the criss-cross pattern in the tile floor. He shouldn’t let his father get to him, but he always did.

It would be different when he made chief. The congressman would see far more advantage in a position of prominence than just being a member of the team. No matter how prestigious the group, according to his father, Sullivans weren’t team members. They were the head man. Anything less was not acceptable.

In a fit of frustration, Cooper wadded the letter into a ball, aimed it toward the trash can and, with a flip of his wrist, arched the paper like a miniature basketball. The white vellum hit its mark. Cooper’s mouth turned up in a self-deprecating grin.

“Two points,” he murmured.

The action reminded him of his old buddy and one-on-one opponent, Justin Thompson. They must have shot a million paper wads during medical school, and they’d bet on every single one. Right now, he’d give a year of his life to see his former friend. Even though Justin would be green with jealousy over the journal acceptances, he would also be happy for Cooper’s success. That was the fuel that drove their friendship—fierce competition coupled with a deep respect and affection. If he couldn’t win, he wanted Justin to take first place. He knew Justin had felt the same.

His foot dropped to the floor with a thud. He stared at the wall. Justin was dead. Unbelievable.

The shock still stung like an injection of xylocaine. One of the brightest guys he’d ever encountered, gone. A good man, a great competitor, a true friend.

A motorcycle wreck. He shuddered at the thought. But that was Justin. A man who pushed the envelope, ready to take chances, to try new and exciting things. It was what had made their friendship so exhilarating at times. He’d never known what Justin would do next.

Regret pulled at him. They hadn’t parted on the best of terms. His fault, he was sure. But he should have kept in touch, should have called, should at least have known a friend had died before his time. A physician of all people knew how frail life could be.

Two young doctors entered the lounge, both yawning with the exhaustion common to overworked residents but bantering with the black humor that kept them awake and alert for thirty-plus hours.

He and Justin had done that, although their jokes had always been competitive, each trying to outdo the other.

Funny how he hadn’t thought about that in a long time, but now the camaraderie came back with the clarity of HDTV.

An ache pulled at his gut. He missed that kind of friendship.

As he skimmed into his street clothes, his mind strayed to the sprite of a woman Justin had left behind. Encountering Natalie at Dr. Craggin’s wedding had been a surprise. A pleasant one. When he’d seen her across the room, he’d done a double take. Ten years ago, she’d been a cute girl, but now she was a woman, all grown-up and looking good. Real good. He felt a little guilty about thinking of her in those terms, but there it was.

When they’d danced and her taut little body had brushed against his, he’d suffered a flash of desire so hot, he’d thought the building was on fire. After finding out about Justin’s death, he’d also had an overwhelming need to take care of her, as if by doing so he could make up for the loss he hadn’t known about.

The knowledge made him itchy, uncomfortable. He didn’t know what was wrong with him to have such crazy thoughts.

Even after he’d finished the emergency surgery that night, she’d been on his mind. Her soft mouth around his fingers as he’d fed her fruit had just about done him in. Later, when his mind had kept replaying the scene without his permission, the moment had taken flight into erotic fantasy. Honey dew. Even the melon was sexy. He should be ashamed of himself.

Wasn’t it wrong to think of his friends’ wife this way, even when that friend was dead? Especially when that friend was dead? Justin wasn’t here to protect what was his.

There was that word again—protect.

Maybe that was it. Maybe Justin would expect him to look after his woman. Like a friend or a brother, not as a lusting fool who only had one thing in mind.

Ten years ago Natalie’s big blue eyes had been guileless and even a little gullible. Now they were wary and wise. Though common sense said the death of a spouse would change anyone, the difference bothered him. Just as he’d been bothered when Justin had won her affections. His hands stilled on his silk tie as the notion caught him up short. That was years ago. A college crush. Both men vying for the blond pom-pom girl with the flashing dimples and sexy legs. Justin had won. Subject closed.

To him she’d been a passing fancy, but Justin had been the family type. He had wanted it all—career, family, adventure, success—and that had been enough reason for Cooper to back off. Justin had thought he could juggle everything. Cooper knew better. Single-minded focus was the only way to reach a lofty goal. Justin’s death only proved how right he’d been. A man couldn’t have it all, at least not for long.

He slipped into a pair of Italian loafers.

Natalie still had those flashing dimples.

She had two little girls, too. Justin’s girls. Far better to focus on them. Were they doing all right? Did they need anything? It wouldn’t hurt to make certain Justin had left them well provided for.

He’d asked Natalie to call. Wonder why she hadn’t?

Once again he pulled his cell phone from his jacket, but then sat down, staring at it. He didn’t know her number.

Then he smiled. He wasn’t Congressman Randall Sullivan’s son for nothing.

* * *

“Lily, get down from there. You’re going to fall.”

At least Natalie thought it was Lily walking tight rope on the back of the couch. With identical twins, even she couldn’t always tell them apart from a distance.

Cradling the phone between her shoulder and ear, she blended confectioner’s sugar and real butter with almond extract using a mixer that had seen better days. “Listen, Regina, I’ve got to go. The timer is going off and Lily has suddenly decided to become a high rope circus act.”

“Call me later. I’m dying to hear more about that dreamy doctor.”

“Regina,” Natalie warned, but a little thrill jitter-bugged up and down her nerve endings. “Cooper is just a former friend who recognized the insulin reaction. End of story. I don’t know why I told you in the first place.”

Thank goodness she hadn’t mentioned the crazy dreams she’d had since then, confusing dreams of being held and loved and cherished by a man with very dark eyes and long, slender hands.

Regina’s warm chuckle was knowing. “Just promise to tell me more later. You tell me something, and I’ll tell you something. A tit for tat, as it were.”

“Okay, whatever.” Natalie laughed and rang off, clapped the phone onto the counter and whirled toward the beeping oven, grabbing a potholder as she moved. The duplex was so small the kitchen, living and dining room were blended together in one big area. Most of the space was taken up with her tables and equipment. Fortunately, she could work and still keep a close eye on her active girls.

As she slid the sheet cake from the oven, she heard her daughter give a tiny sigh of exasperation and then heard the thud of feet as the child hopped onto the wood floor. It was Lily, all right. Rose wouldn’t have given in so easily.

Natalie slid the cake onto a table and turned to look at the bouncy eight-year-old. Love as big and warm as a hot air balloon filled her chest.

“Rose won’t play with me,” Lily said, bottom lip extended, elfin face droopy.

“Yes, she will, punkie. Go ask her.”

Big gray eyes, reminiscent of Justin’s, gazed sadly at Natalie. “She won’t. She says Puppy doesn’t like me today so I can’t come in the room.”

“Rose!” Natalie yelled, trying to be louder than the television cartoons. Rose had an imaginary dog that didn’t like much of anyone except Rose. Whenever she was in a mood, she claimed Puppy would bite anyone who came into her bedroom—a room that also belonged to her sister.

Of her twins, Lily was the quieter, the more docile child, though sometimes when the two girls were together they could both be a handful.

The other twin, wearing a backward baseball cap and lime-green frog slippers appeared in the hallway. “Are we going to get a Christmas tree? Ashley already has one with ten presents under it.”

Natalie ignored the obvious distraction technique. Rose was an expert at distraction. Natalie crossed the room to lower the volume on the TV set. “Play nicely with your sister or Santa might not bring you anything at all this year. No need for a tree in that case.”

Rose perched a hand on one hip. “Mom! There is no Santa Claus.”

Lily piped up at that. “Yes, there is. I saw him. Remember?”

Rose shot her sister a look. She might only be two minutes older, but sometimes she behaved as though Lily was two. “That was Daddy. Santa doesn’t come anymore since Daddy died.”

Natalie’s heart twisted right in half. Justin had dressed up in a Santa suit every year after the twins were born. He got such a kick out of their squealing reactions and out of making out with Mrs. Claus after the girls were fast asleep. But she couldn’t for the life of her imagine how Rose could remember all that.