A Whole Lot of Love

Odd, she thought, she hadn’t even noticed who had made the final bid. The amount limited who it could be, she supposed; there were only a few people in that bracket. She would have to ask. It was part of her job, after all, to be aware of such things, she told herself. She would have to do a press release on the results of the auction, and of course the highest bid would be included, and who made it. So she would have to know who had paid such a high price for an evening with Ethan Winslow.

It had nothing to do with her beyond that, she assured herself.

And realized she was doing a lot of that, telling herself things meant nothing, really.

She was so deep in her thoughts that she almost missed her cue to come back out to wrap things up. She always reserved the last minutes of the evening to personally thank everyone; she owed them that, even if she would rather walk on hot coals than go out there again. But there was nothing more important to her than this cause, so go she would, and do the best she could.

“—the reason this evening is what it is, the power behind the scenes, the dynamo who organized it all, got you all here and kept things running tonight…”

She was starting to get embarrassed; Ruttles apparently did everything to excess, including introductions. At last he said her name. She steeled herself, then stepped out onto the stage. The applause was gratifying, she supposed, but she still wanted this over with.

She headed for the emcee, her hand already rising to take the portable microphone, but she paused in puzzlement a foot away when Ruttles didn’t move—in fact, held the microphone away from her.

The man looked at her with that too wide smile that had so irritated her when she’d first met him. He lifted the microphone. Began to speak.

And stunned Layla breathless.

Shock filled her as his words penetrated. She stood motionless, as if rooted to the stage she’d never wanted to take. She stared at him, sure her face was registering her horror, but unable to help it.

Every old, self-conscious feeling she’d ever had about herself came roaring back, magnified into dread. This couldn’t be happening, it couldn’t….

But it was.

Ruttles was trying to auction her off.

Three

Ethan had never been so glad an evening was nearly over. Even the date that had been sold along with him couldn’t be as awkward and uncomfortable as this had been.

He’d been engrossed in reading the program, which described the accomplishments of the sponsoring Alzheimer’s center, when he heard Layla introduced. He had looked up as she crossed the stage. She walked like a queen, he thought rather inanely, head up, shoulders back. She didn’t slump, didn’t mince, didn’t try to hide her size. And it wasn’t that she was obese by any standard, she was just…big. A big, solid woman. With a definitely female shape. Her curves were generous but well-proportioned, her waist, well-defined, and what he could see of her legs, nicely shaped.

Layla Laraway was simply a lot of woman, and he had a feeling that was true in more ways than one.

He was honest enough to admit he’d been surprised at his first sight of her. And had immediately felt guilty for it; it wasn’t her fault he’d pictured a petite, sultry brunette on the other end of the line. But what had disturbed him most was what he’d seen in her eyes, in her face.

She knew.

He’d thought about it as he let Cheryl, a woman who was almost exactly what he’d imagined the sexy-voiced Ms. Laraway would be, lead him to his seat. He hadn’t paid the woman much attention, he feared, despite her stream of friendly chatter.

Of course she knew, he realized as he’d taken his seat. How could she not? She must have been faced with this before, the reaction from someone who’d only heard her and had done as he had, built some sort of image in his mind. It had shown in her face, in the sudden tension in her stance, and he didn’t like thinking about what it must be like for her to go through that time and again.

She didn’t move the way some of the larger women he’d known did. In fact, she moved like an athlete, in balance and graceful. And when she stopped, she simply stopped. She didn’t strike a pose as many of the women this evening did. She simply stood, again in balance.

His gaze went back to her face.

He saw nothing short of mortification there.

Ethan abruptly tuned back in to what was happening. And once he realized that the long, painful silence he’d just tuned into was the result of the idiot emcee trying to auction off their hostess, he understood her look perfectly.

“She may be a great organizer, but I couldn’t afford to feed her.”

Ethan’s head snapped around, and he stared at the man at the table behind him who had made the comment. The man had the grace to look abashed, then lowered his head and stared at his plate. A bid that was quite obviously a token, far below most of the rest of the evening, was called out.

Ethan’s gaze shot back to Layla. She was still staring at the emcee in shock. But then she seemed to pull herself up and regain some of her poise. She reached for the microphone, and he could sense she was going to try to pass it off as a joke.

The emcee, apparently oblivious, laughingly held the microphone out of her reach.

Anger shot through Ethan. She’d put this whole thing together, she’d worked long and hard, she was utterly dedicated to this cause, and she deserved a hell of a lot better than to be treated this way.

And the next thing he knew, he was on his feet.

“I know it’s too low for the woman who brought us all here tonight with her tireless efforts,” he said, loudly enough to be heard across the room, “but I’ll match the highest bid of the night.”

Layla’s head came around sharply. She stared at him, and he had the oddest feeling she wasn’t particularly grateful for what he’d done.

“Well, well,” said Ruttles. “A man who doesn’t even care that she doesn’t have a date prepared!”

“She organized this, didn’t she?” Ethan said with a wide gesture toward the room. “I’m not worried.” You jerk, he added silently.

A round of applause that seemed as much relieved as anything met his words, and he sat down.

Layla, brooking no further denial, finally wrested the microphone away from the suddenly wary emcee. But if she was angry, it didn’t show in her voice as she thanked everyone for coming and promised that their contributions would be put to good use in the fight.

The lights went out. In the shadows, Ethan saw her set the microphone down on the podium and walk away. He stood, but waited until most of the crowd had filtered out, watching the stage door.

“Thank you, Mr. Winslow.” Ethan turned to see the man who had greeted him at the door. Harry, he thought. “That could have been an awkward moment.”

Ethan shrugged, not knowing what to say.

“I should have listened to Layla. She said she didn’t like the guy.”

Good judgment, Ethan thought.

Harry thanked him again, then bustled away. Ethan waited. And waited. The lights went down in the room, and the hotel staff, who were already cleaning up, cast glances at him.

He finally left without ever seeing Layla again.

“I’ve been more humiliated in my life, but not in the last ten years.” Layla stabbed at her salad rather viciously.

“Sounds to me like the proverbial prince on a white horse rode in and rescued you.”

Layla slanted a look across the table at Stephanie Parker.

“Hey,” her best friend said, “who cares how it happened. Just enjoy.”

Layla grimaced. “You only say that because you haven’t seen him.”

Stephanie set down her own fork, then looked at Layla intently. Her friend, Layla thought, was exactly the kind of woman you would expect to see Ethan Winslow with. Normal height, with thick, glossy dark hair cut in a short, chic bob, a slim, shapely figure and a glamorous look that could have graced any magazine cover. And on top of that, she had brains; she was a vice president at one of the biggest ad agencies in the county.

But beneath all the glamour was the most steadfast, loyal friend Layla had ever had. They had connected in the third grade—before Layla had begun the spurt of growth that had left Stephanie far behind—and been the closest of friends ever since.

“So,” Stephanie said now, “how gorgeous is he?”

“The kind that’s usually spoken in conjunction with the words ‘drop dead,”’ she said wryly.

Stephanie grinned. “Good girl!”

Of course, Stephanie didn’t understand. How could she?

She’d never in her life been anything less than beautiful. She doubted if Ethan Winslow had ever been, either.

“I’ll have to look up his name,” Stephanie said.

It was a hobby of Stephanie’s; she loved to analyze how people matched or contradicted the meaning of their name. Layla, Stephanie had told her years ago, was a variation on the Middle English Leala, which meant loyal.

“So where are you going to take him?”

Layla sighed. “I’m not.”

“But he bid—”

“It was charity, Steph.”

“Well, of course. The whole thing was for charity.”

“I mean what he did was charity. Out of pity.”

“He told you that?”

“Well, no.”

“What did he tell you?”

Layla shifted in her seat. “Nothing. I…haven’t talked to him.”

Stephanie’s dark, perfectly arched brows rose. “You haven’t talked to him since Saturday night?”

“I took yesterday off. I always take the Monday after the auction off, you know that. And I haven’t been into the office yet today.”

“And you…what, forgot his phone number?”

“It’s on my desk. At work,” Layla clarified. Sometimes Stephanie was like a bulldog, never letting go. And now she was studying Layla as if she were one of her proposed ad layouts.

“So tell me, girlfriend,” Stephanie drawled, “who are you hiding from? Him, or yourself?”

“Both,” Layla admitted. “But with reason. It would be…silly to expect him to keep that promise, when it was made essentially under duress.”

Stephanie sighed aloud. “So, you think he’s one of those? Like Wayne?”

Layla grimaced. This was the problem with friends who had known you forever, they knew too much. She’d tried her best to forget Wayne Doucet, who had been the architect of both the highest and lowest days of her life. The highest had been when, at her thinnest, he’d proposed to her. The lowest had come after her hospital stay, when she had regained some of the weight she’d forced herself to lose, and gotten back to what her doctor had told her was a healthy weight for her. Wayne had dropped hints about her “porking up,” as he’d called it, and when she finally told him that this was her natural weight and she couldn’t fight it anymore, he had walked out. But not before saying he thought she’d better give him back the ring he’d bought her—if she could get it off.

“I don’t think there’s anybody like Wayne,” she muttered.

“Oh, I’m sure they’re out there,” Stephanie said. “But it usually takes longer than two minutes face-to-face to ferret them out.”

Layla flushed. “I don’t really think he’s…like that.”

“Then why are you running?”

“I’m not,” she said. “I’m just…giving him time, so he knows it’s not important, that I don’t really expect him to do it.”

“So you do think he’d hold your size against you?”

Layla sighed; Stephanie was clearly in full bulldog mode. “I was watching his face when he first saw me. He was better and quicker at hiding it than most, but it was there.”

She knew she didn’t have to explain. Stephanie had been through enough with her over the years. And one of the things Layla loved most about her was her honest outrage at the way Layla was sometimes treated. She could almost feel it bubbling up in her old friend right now.

On the thought, Stephanie spoke and proved her right. “You’re a smart, dynamic, intelligent woman! And whether you believe it or not, you’re beautiful. It’s the men who can’t see that who have the problem.”

Impulsively, Layla reached across the table and clasped her friend’s hand. “And you’re the best friend anybody could ever have.”

“Humph. You didn’t say that when I broke your bike,” Stephanie said.

Layla grinned, glad Stephanie was at least smiling. “Nor you when I broke your brand-new Walkman before you’d even had a chance to listen to it.”

They both laughed then. It was an old joke with them, had been for a long time, so long that it had become a signal of sorts. On the rare occasions when they did argue, if either of them felt things were getting out of hand, too close to permanent damage being done, those were the code words. Layla had only to say “Bike breaker,” or Stephanie to say “Walkman wrecker,” and the fight was over.

Stephanie had always told her that someday she would meet the man who would love her for herself. Layla had always laughed it off, but somewhere deep inside she had hoped her friend was right. That someday that man might happen along. But there was no doubt in her mind that, no matter how appealing the thought might be, a man like Ethan Winslow wasn’t him.

“You’re a hard woman to track down.”

Layla whirled, almost knocking over her desk chair. Ethan Winslow was standing in her office doorway, lounging against the doorjamb rather nonchalantly.

“I…hello. I just got here.”

He nodded toward her desk. “A couple of those messages are from me.”

“Sorry,” she said. “I usually take some time off after…the auction.”

“I can understand that. It’s…quite a production. And things like that don’t go as smoothly as that one did without a heck of a lot of work.”

“Thank you,” she said; most people didn’t think that much about what went on behind the scenes. But she didn’t think he’d come here just to acknowledge that; no doubt he was here to make sure there was no misunderstanding, that she didn’t expect him to really follow through on that bid.

“Come in,” she said, belatedly remembering her manners.

He did, grabbed the single chair opposite her desk and sat. He waited until she also took her seat before speaking.

“So,” he said with a crooked grin that made her pulse speed up a bit, “where are you taking me?”

So many answers to that raced through her mind that she clamped her jaw to be sure her mouth stayed shut. She had a moment to be grateful she was already seated. After a moment’s desperate thinking, she came up with the perfect diversion.

“I forgot to check and see…who was your winning bidder?”

She realized, as he lifted a brow, that she’d betrayed her interest by her words, but he answered easily enough. “Gloria Van Alden. I gather she’s quite the mover and shaker in town.”

Layla’s nervousness vanished. “Gloria? Lucky you! She’s been everywhere, has the most marvelous stories, and she’s a delightful person, to boot. You’ll have a wonderful time.”

He smiled at her, so warmly it almost made her blush. “That’s the impression I got when I spoke to her.”

“You don’t mind that she’s…a mature woman?”

His smile faded. “Why would I? I’m not looking to marry her, not that it would matter if I was. Besides, she’s younger in the ways that count than a lot of women my age.”

He sounded insulted, Layla thought. She liked the fact that that was his first reaction. She wasn’t quite sure why, but assumed it was for Gloria’s sake.

“So, where are you taking me? And when?”

Layla sighed. “Look, Mr. Winslow—”

“Ethan, please. If we’re going out on a date, we should at least be on a first-name basis, don’t you think, Ms. Laraway?”

No, Layla thought, sometimes I don’t think at all….

“Ethan, then. And Layla, please. I want you to know how much I…appreciate what you did.”

“Do you?” He leaned back in the chair and steepled his hands in front of him. “I got the impression that night that you wished I’d kept my mouth shut.”

Startled by his perception, Layla admitted, “I was hoping to just make it go away, treat it like the joke it should have been.”

“I don’t think he would have let you.”

Something in the way he said the “he” made her feel absurdly warmed. And gave her the nerve to go on. “That aside, I do appreciate it. But please understand, I never expected you to actually go through with it.”

And she didn’t. She knew perfectly well that he’d done it out of pity, or sympathy, or some equally repellent emotion. But he seemed a kind enough man, and she truly appreciated that he could be moved to act in such a situation.

“I never lie, and I always keep my word, Ms. Laraway.”

“I’m sure you do, but this is…different.”

“Why?”

“Because it never should have happened in the first place.”

“Granted.” He looked at her steadily. “If you can’t stand even a single evening with me, just say so.”

Layla gaped at him. How could he imagine any woman would think such a thing? “I…of course not.”

“Okay. Then where are we going?”

She looked at him this time with genuine curiosity. “Why? You didn’t even want to do the auction in the first place.”

“That was different, and it doesn’t mean I don’t support the cause. It’s important to me. Very important. And I made a bid in good faith.”

He seemed determined. To finish his good deed, she supposed. Perhaps she should just let him. She became aware she was tapping a pen she didn’t even remember picking up from her desk calendar. She set the pen down.

“I…don’t have a plan. I never thought you were serious.”

He didn’t argue with her again. “You’ve been doing this for years, right? You must have thought about what your idea of the ideal auction package would be.”

“What appeals to me wouldn’t necessarily appeal to some of the high rollers we pull in.”

“That’s their problem,” he said, obviously not including himself in the high-roller class, although Layla knew he qualified financially. “What would you choose?”

“Oh, something silly.” Her own words about high rollers triggered the only thing she could think of at the moment. “Like a trip to the highest, fastest roller coaster in the state.”

He grinned suddenly. “I love roller coasters.”

That grin should be registered as a weapon, Layla thought ruefully. With a conscious effort, she pulled herself together. It wasn’t like her to be this flustered by anyone, let alone a man, and she wasn’t going to start now. She looked at him thoughtfully.

“Or,” she said, “a sailboat trip to Catalina Island for lunch.”

“Great, let’s do it.” The grin widened. “I learned to sail in the Boy Scouts.”

Layla rolled her eyes and groaned theatrically. “A Boy Scout? You were a Boy Scout?”

“Guilty, I’m afraid.”

“Merit badges?”

“Several.”

“Camp-outs?”

“Those, too.”

Layla shook her head in feigned shock. “Oh, dear. I just don’t know, that sounds far too…normal.”

“Would you feel better if I said I quit when I was sixteen?”

“Maybe. Being kicked out would be better.”

Ethan laughed, a deep, hearty laugh that made Layla laugh, too. And suddenly she realized that she would enjoy spending time with him, even knowing it would be merely a one-time obligation on his part.

I’m not looking to marry her….

He knew it was only an auction date. How often had she reassured participants it was nothing more than a few hours spent on an enjoyable activity with someone who cared about a cause just as you did? Maybe she should take her own advice.

Who cares how it happens? Just enjoy.

Stephanie’s words echoed in her mind. True, Stephanie didn’t truly understand the problem, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t good advice, too.

And for once, she was going to take it.

“I have a friend whose family has a sailboat,” she said. “I’ve sailed with them enough times that I think they’d trust me with it.”

“It’s a date,” Ethan said, still grinning. “When?”

“Your choice. A weekend day would be best, I presume?”

She couldn’t believe she was going ahead with it. But now that she’d said it, now that she’d committed to it out loud, she felt an odd, unfamiliar sense of excitement and anticipation.

They agreed on next Sunday, and once it was done, Layla found herself mentally calculating how much time she had to drive herself crazy over the idea. She wouldn’t back out, not now that she’d agreed to it, but she knew there would be times over the next few days when she would wish she could.

“Layla?”

She looked up toward her doorway, where the young college student who helped around the office stood, clutching a manila envelope to her chest. Ethan stood, so smoothly and naturally that Layla knew it was automatic, and the girl’s eyes widened. Her gaze flicked from him to Layla.

“Yes, Missy?” Layla asked, smiling; the girl was very shy, so she was always careful to be welcoming and encouraging. The girl smiled back, taking the encouragement and stepping into the office.

“I—I’m glad I caught you before you left. Mr. Chandler wanted to know if you could take this with you. It’s the memo on the funding for adult day-care at The Oaks.”

“Of course.” She took the envelope the girl held out. “Thank you.”

The girl nodded and scuttled out of the room. Ethan watched her go curiously. “Is she always that nervous, or was it me?”

Layla gave him points for noticing—and for good manners—even as she warned herself to remember this man’s perceptiveness. “She’s just very shy. Especially around men.”

“Oh.” He turned back to her. “You have an appointment?”

“Of sorts. At The Oaks, the Alzheimer’s board-and-care home. I go a couple of times a week.” She added the folder to the small stack of papers she had ready to go. And then, impulsively, she asked, “Would you like to go? See where a lot of the money you earned for us goes?”

“No.”

It was short, almost rudely sharp, and she looked up at him in surprise. He seemed to realize what he’d sounded like, because when he spoke again, his voice was more normal.

“Sorry.”

But his jaw was still clenched, his lips tight. There had been a time when she would have assumed his reaction was to her temerity in even asking him, but she’d grown up since then. Besides, he didn’t seem to be the type; he would hardly have forced the issue of their auction date and then take offense at this.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing.” It was sharp again, and she heard him take a deep breath before he went on. “I just don’t go to that place.”

His vehemence startled her. She’d run into it before, she even understood it, but she hadn’t expected it here. In most cases, she knew it was a natural dislike of facing the reality of Alzheimer’s. But she had been at this long enough to sense that this was different. She recognized the feeling, the attitude, the anger, the guilt.

This was personal.

She wondered who was at The Oaks that Ethan Winslow didn’t want to see.

Four

Ethan had given up trying to figure out all the reasons why he had made that bid. He supposed it was all tangled up with his feelings about being up on that stage himself, and how alone it had felt, an empathy drilled into him by his two sisters—both of whom had fought their own battles with weight over the years—and the vision of the lively, amusing woman he’d come to know over the phone placed in a humiliating position.

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