Page 48 of Not the Bodyguard's Widow
“I’m working on one. The baby needs to be secure, and—”Alex needs something.
“And what?”
“Nothing.”
Candace inspected Kimberly’s drawing. “Does this big friendly bear have a name? He looks very kind and protective.”
If only she’d maintained her habit of having two paintings so she could have hidden the bear the second Candace came in the room. “Not yet. He’s a concept I’ve been working on.”
“Hmmm. I think Zander would work very well for him. Those blue eyes remind me of the first bodyguard I ever met, Jethro Hastings. All his sons have them.”
“Is it that obvious?”
“To anyone else? Probably not. But I’ve been listening to you say his name on the phone for almost a month. And seeing you say his name today and this drawing confirms it. He isn’t just a bodyguard. What happened?”
Kimberly looked at the house. Somewhere, Elle sat observing. Kimberly put her fingers to her lips.
“I told Elle to take a walk. She isn’t in there. And it’s not likely anyone will get past Abbie’s bodyguards. They even checked the trunk of my car before they let me in today. I’ve never seen them on such high alert.”
“It’s the triplets. Abbie is close to delivery, and every paparazzi on the planet is determined to scoop Preston’s own magazines for the story. They even checked Elle’s car.” Kimberly moved inside to the more comfortable couches.
Candace moved a blue throw pillow and sat down. “See, she isn’t here. Spill.”
“He stayed with me last night.”
Candace’s penciled eyebrow rose.
“Oh, not like that. Get your head out of wherever. I mean after I got the call from the hospital. I must have called him. Or said his name and the phone did. Anyway, he came to my room, and I cried and cried. I was almost asleep when he started to leave. I begged him not to. I didn’t want to be alone. I’ve been lonely for so long. And when Alex is near, I don’t feel that emptiness. It was selfish, I know. This morning I woke up, and he was still there.” Kimberly blinked back the tears. “I didn’t want him to go, but he was already trying to leave. Then the baby kicked. Hard. It was as if she didn’t want Alex to leave either, and we had this moment, the three of us. This was the moment I’d wished for the first time I was expecting, but I lost the baby, and Jeremy and I never got a chance. If Jeremy was alive, we probably wouldn’t have had the chance to share this moment either. He was always working. I was only important when he needed me on his arm. Alexseesme. I don’t think Jeremy ever did. I knew he didn’t when we married, and I thought that was what I wanted.”
“You’re in love.” There was no question in Candace’s tone.
“Maybe. I don’t know. What is love? I married Jeremy for his money. Mom always told me to marry for money since it lasts longer than love. And spare me the lecture. You were right. I figured our friendship would grow, but something happened when I lost our first baby and we moved to California. I never got our friendship back. I had thought we were starting to last fall”—Kimberly covered her belly—“or else I wouldn’t have let this happen.”
Candace rubbed Kimberly’s shoulder. “To me, love is a guy who sees me without my hair or my prosthetics and thinks I’m beautiful and the adoring look in his eyes doesn’t change, even when he sees the scars. It’s messing with his computer system to lock him out of his inventions lab so we can talk for another hour and knowing he knew I changed the codes all along. It’s watching him have a new idea and not minding I’ll go to bed alone because when I wake up, he’ll talk my head off about something that will save the world. It’s wanting to be a better person because he exists.”
“Is that all?”
“No. Love is the most amazing kisses I’ve ever known because I know he’ll be there in the morning to kiss me again. It’s finding a way to bring a two-centuries-old tradition back, even though I’m bald.” The last words grew faint. Tears streamed down Candace’s face.
Kimberly handed her the box of tissues and waited for the tears to subside. “What do you mean?”
“Colin found this journal by Emma Coons Wilson in a little museum in Massachusetts. She’s my sixth great-grandmother. Every night, from her wedding night to the night he died, her husband Thomas brushed her hair one hundred strokes. She passed the tradition on to her daughters and her sons. There are some lines in the family that claim to still have the tradition. Obviously not a tradition I can use.” Candace tugged at her black wig. “Brushing even my best wigs that much would ruin them. But every night, I lotion my scalp and, well, everything else. Colin’s taken over the job, and since he can’t do one hundred brush strokes, he calls it one hundred drops of lotion.” The sappiness in Candace’s grin could not be measured. “He even will come out of his invention room to do it. And you’ll never believe what has been happening.” She held her left arm at eye level.
Kimberly squinted. “Is that hair?”
“Yes! I told Colin if hair grows on my legs, I am not shaving for ten years, and he laughed.”
“Love brought your hair back?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter to him if I have hair or not. That is what is important.”
Kimberly gave Candace a hug. “I am so happy for you. Colin sounds perfect.”
“He is, but marriage is hard work. Even with all the money in the world, we must work at it. So, what are you going to do to get things to work out with Alex?”
“I’m not.”
“What?”
