Page 15 of Bridles and Bribery

She rose to her tiptoes to touch her lips to his.

He hungrily deepened their kiss, only breaking it off after a horn honked outside. “I’m never gonna get enough of you, Jills,” he muttered huskily.

Then he opened the door and stepped outside.

Jillian watched the evening shadows envelop herhusband as the icy January wind swirled into the room. Only after the tail lights of Gil’s SUV disappeared did she shut the front door.

He’s gone.

Their wedding celebrations were over, their honeymoon was postponed indefinitely, and she was alone. Again. Tears sprang to her eyes.

Knowing it was probably her pregnancy hormones acting up, she leaned back against the door and fought to regain control of her emotions. She lost the battle and wept in silence, hoping her mother-in-law wasn’t paying any attention.

Eloise kept her head lowered over her foot for a minute or two. Then she abruptly stood and stomped out of the great room.

Jillian figured she was returning to the guest room, where she could enjoy some peace and quiet — far from her blubbering, hormonal daughter-in-law.

However, she stomped back into the room with a box of tissues in hand. She carried them to Jillian and held them out to her. “If you need another box, I know where Dave keeps his supply.”

Another box?Jillian wasn’t sure how many tears the woman was expecting her to squeeze out. Any normal human being would surely run dry before reaching the bottom of the box.

“Come on.” Mrs. Phillips reached for Jillian’s shoulders and tugged her farther into the room. Instead of pausing by the sofa, she guided her all the way to the kitchen. “Have a seat.” She pointed at one of the tall padded bar stools. “I’ll brew us some of my favorite tea from Italy. I brought decaf along for you.”

It was an unexpectedly kind offer, one that had takensome forethought while packing for her trip. Jillian nodded gratefully, still not trusting her voice, and sank atop the closest stool. She buried her nose and mouth in a wad of tissues and tried to get a grip. “I l-love him,” she quavered, not that her mother-in-law had asked for an explanation for her meltdown by the front door.

“I gathered that for myself.” Eloise Phillips’ voice was dry. She rattled around the kitchen, growing more irritated by the second. “Oh, for pity’s sake! My son doesn’t own a teapot. A stinking teapot!”

Jillian pointed at the lower cabinet drawers to the left of the stove. “He has a few saucepans down there.” Since her mother-in-law didn’t seem to be aware of that fact, Jillian could only assume that she and Dave had been eating out at restaurants for the entire first week of her visit.

The sight of Dave’s pots and pans elicited another string of complaints from his mother. “This is the most pathetic pile of mismatched cookware I’ve ever laid eyes on. It looks like…” Mrs. Phillips shook her head, looking at a loss for how to adequately describe such a sorry collection.

“Like he’s been batching it?” Jillian supplied, trying to be helpful.

Her mother-in-law snorted. “There’s no excuse for this mess.”

“I have an idea, ma’am.” Jillian summoned her most cheerful voice, which wasn’t easy after crying so hard. She was still snuffly and nasally sounding. “We’ll make a list of everything we need, then hit the stores in the morning.”

Her mother-in-law whirled in her direction. “Let’s get one thing straight right off the bat. My friends call me Eloise. Not Mrs. Not ma’am. Not anything else that makes me feel older than I look.”

“Understood.” Jillian hid a smile. Oddly enough, theborderline scolding had gone a long way to helping her regain control of her emotions.

“Good. I’m glad we got that out of the way.” Eloise rustled noisily around the kitchen some more and came up with a pad of paper and a pen. She sauntered back across the room and took a seat on the stool beside Jillian. “It’s going to be a very lo-o-o-ong list. My son doesn’t know the first thing about interior decorating.”

“I’m not sure I’m any better at it.” Though Jillian had spent her fair share of time oohing and aahing over home remodeling shows, she’d never had the money to splurge on stuff like that.

With a grunt of disdain, Eloise uncapped the pen and held it poised over the pad of paper. “It’s not humanly possible for you to care less about decorating than my son does. Plus, your natural nesting instincts should be kicking in about now, so start talking.”

Her matter-of-fact tone drew a watery smile from Jillian. She gazed around them, trying to picture what it would take to give the sleek, modern lines of the house a more homey feel. “Hand towels.” She rested her elbows on the bar and dropped her chin into her hands. “Red, I think.” They were surrounded by white cabinetry, chrome appliances, and black-and-white granite countertops. It would give the space a much-needed pop of color.

“Good call.” Eloise started writing. “What about rugs? At a minimum, I’m thinking a few runners in the kitchen and an area rug for the great room.”

Jillian waved a hand vaguely. “Sounds good to me.”

“You’re going to have to do better than that.” Eloise scowled at her. “What style floats your boat? Traditional, contemporary, abstract…?”

Jillian gazed around the room again, pondering herwords. “I think we need to tone down the contemporary feel of the place. I’m no expert, but it already has enough straight lines and minimalistic lighting.”We need to add the proverbial curl to the ol’ pig’s tail.

“Traditional it is.” Eloise wrote it down without any further quibbling. “Do you like the look of Persian rugs?”

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