Chapter One

Barbara Jean Milliston, Beejay to her friends, stepped off the elevator into the foyer of Caroline's Tea Room confident that by this time next year she would be happily married and expecting a child. All she needed was a good plan. Child's play for a dedicated planner such as herself.

"Ah, Miss Milliston, how nice to see you." The maitre d' offered a cheerful smile as he stepped forward, menu tucked under his arm.

"There will be two of us."

"Your usual seat?"

"Please."

He led the way across deep teal carpeting, threading between tables covered by white linen and decorated with crystal vases filled with fresh flowers. Added to the delicate perfume of flowers were subtle whiffs of expertly prepared cuisine. Caroline's Tea Room was absolute elegance; the atmosphere refined, and the cuisine four star. Patrons spoke in modulated voices, laughed with restraint, and instinctively obeyed a multitude of unwritten rules regarding proper behavior.

Granted, it was a bit of a walk from her offices in the FederalBuilding, but the ambiance made the trip worthwhile and surely even IRS auditors were entitled to a touch of elegance now and then. Today elegance and ambiance were vital because today she planned to ask her best friend, Karen, for a huge favor. Hopefully, the setting would inspire Karen's cooperation and dampen her normal exuberance. It wasn't often that Beejay felt the need for assistance with one of her plans. Normally she created and executed them on her own. But not this time. This particular plan, perhaps the most important of her life, required outside help. Hopefully, Karen would provide that help.

Friends since college, she and Karen often met at the tea room keeping their friendship fresh even though their lives had gone in opposite directions. Karen's life centered on her husband and children while Beejay's remained fixed on her career.

Beejay glanced at her watch and sighed. Karen was already ten minutes late. No surprise there. Punctuality was foreign territory to Karen. Beejay usually forgave her, but today, her own nerves strung tight, she was not in a forgiving mood. How difficult could it be to organize a few domestic tasks to allow for outside activities? It wasn't as if housework was real work. Not in the same sense that a career was work. Beejay had deadlines to meet, people to report to, and challenges around every corner. Karen could do what she wanted when she wanted. The simplest plan would allow her to be punctual. Not that she ever had been. In college, she'd been the student streaking down the hallway, breathless and flushed, with a flyaway stack of books and papers cradled precariously in her arms, as she dashed through the closing doors of the lecture hall.

Beejay loathed being late or unprepared. Hence her plans. They kept her life sane and predictable, eliminating disappointment and failure. Her mind came to a jittery halt. Today's plan was truly epic. One that would, if successful, change the course of her life. One that had butterflies the size of condors zooming around in her stomach.

"Your tea." The waiter poured her a fresh cup before setting the ceramic teapot covered with dainty flowers over a votive candle to keep warm. She refused to disturb the elegance of the blend with condiments and waved off his offer of cream, lemon and sugar. After he left, she picked up the cup, sipped and swallowed. Pure ambrosia. The best possible antidote for the gloom of a rainy day.

Instead of the sun she had hoped for, a pearl gray sky capped the city with moisture so thick it beaded on every surface, slowing the pace of both pedestrians and traffic. She had hoped for sunshine to enliven spirits and lend a touch of gaiety to the luncheon, but the weather had refused to heed her wishes. She prayed that wasn't an omen of things to come.

She took another sip of tea in an effort to quell her butterflies. How irritating to be nervous. Her plan was sound. As always, every part based on quality research and calm rational thinking. There was absolutely no reason to be nervous. Well, perhaps one or two. What if Karen refused to help her?

She glanced at her watch; 12.05. Karen would have an endless list of reasons for being late, all of which could be attributed to the fact that the Fanning household existed in a constant state of chaos, catastrophes daily events.

Beejay go mad if she lived that way. She needed structure and stability; predictable routine. Karen said she was anal retentive. An obsessive planner. Her defense was always the same. Planning prepared one for the unexpected and made life easier. She did not obsess. She prepared.

She signaled the waiter. When he arrived she ordered two European salad plates with lemon dressing." And a fresh pot of tea. "If she waited any longer, she would be late getting back to the office.

The waiter, fresh pot of tea in hand, headed back toward the table just as Karen bolted off the elevator, strawberry curls flying. She bypassed the people waiting for tables, scanned the dining room, a frown puckering her narrow brows. Spying Beejay, she bounced into the air and waved. The maitre d’ cringed and Beejay shuddered. Karen, unaware, careened between the tables on winged feet.

The horrified maitre d' attempted to waylay her, but she out-maneuvered him with the agility of a gazelle, oblivious to the censoring frowns and muttered reproaches cast her way. Beejay got to her feet in time to be enveloped in a crushing hug.

"Beej, darling!" Karen bubbled. "It is sooo good to see you. I know! I’m late! I got hung up in traffic. You're looking absolutely gorgeous. Of course, you always do. But how can you look anything but gorgeous with those bones? That face? Those eyes? That hair?" People paused with forks halfway to their mouths, captured by the ringing clarity of Karen's voice ricocheting around the room.

"Karen, please," Beejay pleaded, embarrassed by the flattering assessment of her personal appearance. She had long recognized her flawless beauty a gift of good genetics which she'd had nothing to do with.

Karen paid no attention to either her caution or discomfort. "It’s your fault I'm so excited," she babbled on. "If I saw you more often I wouldn’t be so overcome with joy at the sight of you. You could come by the house, of course, but you won't, will you? Oh, well, there's no cure for that. So, it's been ages, three months at least."

The warmth of Karen's smile and the firmness of her hug, banished both Beejay's irritation and embarrassment. She'd never been able to stay upset with Karen. Their friendship was rock solid and Karen's joy irresistible. She stepped back and took in Karen's attire; white slacks and a candy stripped maternity smock. Oh, no!

"You're pregnant!"

"Fifth time’s a charm." Karen patted her modestly protruding abdomen. "It's a girl. I refuse to contemplate any other possibility. I've painted all the baby furniture pink and am wearing nothing but pink. God has to notice."

"From your lips to God's ears," Beejay murmured with faint hope. "So, what will you do if it is a boy?"

"Perish the thought." Karen rolled her eyes and laughed. "We'll just have to try again."

"I do not understand how you can continue to do this," Beejay said, thoroughly disapproving of the ever increasing Fanning family.

Karen grinned. "It's not rocket science. First you get a husband, and then you…"

"Oh, for heavens sake," Beejay interrupted. "I'm not stupid. I just don't understand how you can keep adding children to your family when your finances…well, never mind. It's really none of my business. Come, sit down. Here comes our lunch."

Karen got seated in time to have a plate heaped with salad greens set before her. She grimaced. "Twigs and sprouts? I had my heart set on something sinfully sweet or wickedly greasy, not horse fodder drenched in fat-free, flavor-free dressing."

"Get here on time and you may order whatever you wish." Beejay spread her napkin over her lap, enjoying the smoothness of the ironed linen slipping between her fingers. "Eat," she urged, picking up her own fork. "You know I’m on my lunch hour and my time is limited."

"Will madam require anything else?" the maitre d’ asked having followed the server to the table. He gave Karen a baleful glance. She smiled sweetly.

"Not unless you can trade these weeds for a good thick hunk of beefsteak, medium rare."

He gave an inarticulate sputter; turned on his heel and marched away, back ramrod straight.

"Patton’s posture should be so good," Karen snickered.

Beejay smothered a smile. "You are terrible."

"You love me for it."

"I do," Beejay admitted. She treasured Karen's ability to provide her with glimpses of a warmer, funnier world than she saw on her own. She treasured their friendship and hoped that today wouldn't damage it beyond repair. She rarely needed help executing her plans, but this time she not only needed Karen's help but also that of her husband, Jordan, which increased the element of uncertainty ten fold.

She and Jordan Fanning were not the best of friends. In fact, he tolerated her only for Karen's sake. When Karen had announced her pending departure from her position at Stefran's Gallery of Fine Arts in order to marry a man she'd know for barely a month, Beejay hadn't just voiced her disapproval she'd screamed it. Karen had brushed her objections aside with a wave of her hand. Jordan, however, had been deeply offended.

"I do love this place," Karen said. She poured a cup of tea, sniffed the rich aroma, took a sip, and sighed in blissful appreciation. "Delicious. No one, but no one, makes tea that tastes like this."

"You can buy these teas at any decent tea shop," Beejay said.

"And reduce it to the ordinary and mundane? Never!" Karen took another swallow before setting her cup down. Turning, she gazed out the window at the foam tipped waves in the bay. "When I'm struggling through the traffic to get here in weather like this I’m sure we need to find another place to meet. Then I get here and I’m so glad you insist. It’s so elegant and the view so spectacular even on rainy days."

A freighter flying a foreign flag headed east with ponderous dignity through the white caps. It would leave Puget Sound and head east across the Pacific.

The maitre d' stalked by, customers in tow. Karen giggled. "Wouldn’t you hate to be married to a stuffed shirt like that?" She thrust her fork into the pile of greenery before her.

Beejay pinned a bright smile on her face and plunged. "Speaking of marriage, I’m planning to."

Karen choked on a lettuce leaf.