Solomon's Decision

B Glad Judith

Description

Seeking to fill a heart left empty by the death of her fiance, Madeline Pierson conceived twins by artificial insemination. She needed something--someone?--to make life worth living. One foolish night with Erik Soloman brought her both healing and guilt, so she did her best to forget him. Eight years later they meet again, to discover that time has not lessened the fiery attraction between them. When Erik encounters Madeline's son, he sees his own face--the twins must be his. Now Madeline is forced to face her feelings about him--how closely is she willing to let him share in her children's lives? Does Erik, who has never really had--or wanted--a home, have the staying power to be the man she needs? And will he?

Informations

• Publié par: Uncial Press
• Date de parution: 17 janvier 2009
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781601740700
• Langue: English

Extrait

Solomon's Decision
 
By
Judith B. Glad
 
 
Uncial Press       Aloha, Oregon 2009
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events described hereinare products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construedas real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or persons, living ordead, is entirely coincidental.
ISBN 13: 978-1-60174-070-0 ISBN 10: 1-60174-070-0
Copyright © 2009 by Judith B. Glad
Cover design Copyright © 2009 by Judith B. Glad
Earlier versions of Solomon's Decision were briefly publishedin 2001 and 2006.
All rights reserved. Except for use in review, the reproduction or utilization of thiswork in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means nowknown or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the author orpublisher.
Published by Uncial Press, an imprint of GCT, Inc.
Visit us at http://www.uncialpress.com
For members of women's social clubs everywhere--women who band together toenrich their communities as well as their own lives. They give their time, energy andenthusiasm and they have fun while doing so. Thank you, ladies. You're making the worlda better place.
For Richard R. Halse, because of the many hours we spent slogging throughwetlands together, with an occasional encounter with slow mud.
And for Neil, one last time.
* * * *
My thanks to Karole E. Scott, Chief of Public Affairs, and Sgt. K.L. Kistner,Flight Engineer, 939th Air Rescue Wing, Air Force Reserve, for information about rescuehelicopters and methods of lifting people out of dense forests.
My brother, Charles E. Bogard, helicopter pilot extraordinary, also contributedwith many tales of his adventures in the air.
Chapter One
She was an emotional basket case when she walked into the conference hall.Perhaps that was why he affected her so strongly.
Madeline didn't know what she'd do if the insemination didn't take this time. She'dbeen so certain she was pregnant following the first one that when her period came she'dfelt like a failure. Having to be at the Wetlands Conference at approximately the same timeas her next fertility period had had her chewing nails until her temperature began to climband she knew she'd be able to do both.
Coming here directly from the clinic wasn't the most intelligent thing she'd everdone. Nor had her doctor approved. He was a firm believer in rest and relaxation. "I can'timagine any self-respecting embryo wanting to imbed itself in a tense uterus," he'd said."Go home. Put your feet up, and pamper yourself for a day or two."
Instead she'd caught the next shuttle flight to Seattle.
The auditorium was almost full. She saw her boss waving at her from a seat in themiddle of a row about halfway back. Stifling her desire to be anywhere else but here, shewove her way through the crowd. At least she could sit down.
"Did I miss anything this morning?" she said, slipping past two jeans-clad youngwomen and gratefully sinking onto the molded plastic chair he had saved for her.
"Not much." He handed her a plastic-covered name badge and a handful ofliterature. "Registration lasted until ten, then they introduced the VIPs and talked about thephilosophy of wetlands preservation." He pushed his attaché case under her feet,grinning as he did so. Around the office it was an acknowledged fact that her feet didn'treach the ground. "Oh, yeah. We had a slide show, with pictures of wetlands."
"What else?" she said, smiling in spite of herself. There was absolutely no reasonshe should feel so fragile. It was as if a single cross word from any perfect stranger wouldmake her dissolve into a puddle of tears.
The first and second speakers of the afternoon were undistinguished, although theinformation they shared was interesting. Madeline didn't think, however, that she'd everhave much need to create urban wetlands, or to work with industrial complex designers toincorporate existing wetlands into site plans. She was really waiting to hear about "TheResponsibility of Local Regulatory Agencies in Wetlands Preservation." Sooner or latershe would have to deal with a wetland threatened with destruction. When she did, shewanted to be prepared.
"I've heard this next fellow is a pretty dramatic speaker," her boss murmured asthe audience rustled programs and whispered before the third speaker was introduced.
Madeline started to reply, to say she'd heard that before, a long time ago, but thewords caught in her throat.
The man who bounded onto the stage was beautiful! Even from forty feet away,she could see the lively sparkle in his eyes, could feel the energy he radiated.
More than that, she sensed his pure virility. Her mouth grew dry, her heartbeataccelerated. A heavy warmth flared in her lower belly, and her breasts were suddenlysensitive and tender.
"Omigawd!" she gasped, but the tiny sound was lost in applause. She was gratefulfor the sudden darkness, because she was certain her instant lust for the man on the stagewas written all over her face.
Under other conditions she would have been thrilled to be finally putting a face tothe name. Ever since Jesse had gone off to Boys' State when he was a Junior in highschool, she'd heard stories of the young man for whom he'd felt immediate liking. ErikSolomon had charisma--a word she doubted Jesse had ever used before in his life. He wascommitted, was directed. His name would be a household word in a few years.
Jesse had never again met Erik, but they'd kept in touch. Madeline had beenimpressed more than once by Erik's inspiring, impassioned letters to Jesse, his espousal ofideas and concepts that might bridge the gap between conservation of natural resources andthe needs of a growing world population. Perhaps Erik's letters had even contributed to herchoice of career.
* * * *
Waiting at the edge of the stage in the last moments before he was introduced,Erik closed his eyes and pulled the tatters of his psyche into a tight sphere at the center ofhis being. He was so tired! It was getting more and more difficult to generate theenthusiasm that put him in such demand as a speaker at these conferences.
After six weeks of back-to-back conferences and workshops, he was drained. Hejust didn't have that much of himself to give, anymore. Each conference, each encounterwith questioning, demanding audiences took a little more away, until sometimes, trying tounwind in his everywhere-the-same hotel room, he felt like an automaton, mouthingplatitudes about a resource loss that didn't matter to nine-tenths of the people in theworld.
"When you're up to your ass in alligators, it's hard to remember that your initialobjective was to drain the swamp," had been a popular quip about overwork when he wasin college. The attitude it reflected was all too prevalent, even today. To the general public,a swamp was for draining. It wasn't a member of a class of highly productive ecosystemsthat were vanishing at an alarming rate.
The rustling of the audience continued, taking on an impatient pitch. With one lastdeep breath, he opened his eyes and bounded onto the stage, ending in front of the lectern.Shoulders back, arms loose at his sides, chin high, he stood in a carefully dynamic stance,a leader, a prophet, a wise man.
Silence. So quiet the proverbial dropping pin would echo and re-echo from thehard, undraped walls. No one challenged his fitness to lead them wherever he chose.
He raised his chin a little higher and narrowed his eyes, so no one would see howhe was searching the audience for those two or three faces to whom he would speakdirectly, convincingly.
Erik Solomon was well known as an intimate, charismatic speaker. He'd nevertold anyone how he faked it by pretending he was talking with his best friends.
There. A middle-aged man with a friendly, open face, a good listener.
And there. That young, pony-tailed, bearded fellow in the brightly colored parka,one of the save-the-world crowd.
One more. His eyes roved over the crowd and were caught, held, by a face soendearing, so yearning, that he almost forgot where he was, what he was doing.
A quick, automatic chop of his left hand called for darkness. After that the swiftlychanging slides kept the audience enthralled while he calmed his breathing and forced histhoughts back to wetlands.
His presentation following the slides must have been competent, for the questionswere the ones he always got. Finally he brought the session to a close with a promise toelaborate on many of the points of confusion in his workshop tomorrow. As he concluded,he allowed himself another quick glance toward the woman whose face had filled his mindthroughout his talk, hoping his extreme physical--sexual--reaction to her had been amomentary aberration.
She was gone. Her wide, yearning eyes, her curly mass of dark hair, her daffodilblouse, were nowhere in sight. And he couldn't even search for her, for the brief recessfollowing his talk brought many of the audience to the side of the stage, full ofquestions.
Would she be at the banquet tonight? And would it matter? He knew fromexperience that his attention would be demanded by half the people there, leaving him littletime for any sort of socializing.
* * * *
Erik saw her, as he'd hoped to, across the banquet room. Everyone else faded intoinsignificance as he watched her, noted the way her lips lingered on the rim of herwineglass, imagined them lingering thus against his mouth.
She was only average in looks, not spectacularly beautiful, not plain. Her mop ofcurly black hair framed a thin face with enormous eyes, a straight nose, and lips thatseemed to quiver on the edge of a smile. She should have a dimple in each cheek, but hehad yet to be close enough to discover it, or to see the color of her eyes. They were light,but whether golden brown or sky blue he could not tell.
Her clothes were ordinary too. A straight skirt, a frilly lavender blouse, replacingthe crisp yellow one she'