Fertile Ground Read Online Free PDF

with Barone?”
    “You noticed, huh?” He grimaced. “Chelsea really was sweet. I can’t believe she was murdered.” He shuddered. “Yeah, I was defensive, and nervous. Here I am, trying to find out who’s stealing us blind, about to fire someone I think is responsible for serious garbage at the clinic. The last thing I need is police questioning the staff. Also—” He stopped abruptly.
    “Also what?”
    “Also nothing.” He clicked off the television, tossed the remote onto the coffee table, and settled back against the leather sofa cushion. “How’s the search for the dream wedding gown?” He played with the oval two-carat diamond on her finger.
    “Changing the subject?” she teased.
    “Very astute. Dr. Brockman.” He smiled lightly.
    She knew better than to press. He was always careful to separate their professional and personal lives. That was the difficulty with co-workers becoming involved, he’d told her at the end of what had begun as a dinner meeting to review her first two months at the clinic but had quickly become more intimate. She’d felt attracted to him for some time—he was handsome, bright, dynamic, caring—but she’d said with feigned nonchalance, Well, maybe becoming involved wasn’t a good idea. Partly meaning it. And he’d stared at her and said. Probably not. And then he’d kissed her.
    “So what’s with the dress?” he asked again.
    It was her turn to equivocate. “I haven’t found one I love.”
    She hadn’t tried on a single gown, even though the wedding was set for August, only three months away. From the time they’d become engaged, five months ago, she’d had the feeling—irrational, she knew—that if she bought a dress, something would go wrong, the engagement would be broken, just like last time.
    And now she had doubts about marrying him. She didn’t know whether to tell him or wait. If she told him and resolved her uncertainties, she’d have hurt him unnecessarily.
    But if not… She wondered again, as she did occasionally, what her mother had done with the gown they’d chosen together at Kleinfeld’s eleven years ago. It was a beautiful gown-a beaded lace bodice with a voluminous tulle skirt sprinkled with tiny pearls; trying it on in the store and later at home, she’d felt like Cinderella.
    When the Rossners broke off the engagement, two weeks before the wedding, her mother had secreted the
    gown out of Lisa’s closet. Maybe she’d given it to charity. Lisa had often helped her mother bake for the teas held by a Jewish organization that raised funds to assist needy brides to marry and outfit their homes. (“Our sages tell us,” her mother had explained, “that one of the first questions posed to a person in the next life is, “Did you help the needy brides enter the wedding canopy?” ” Her mother, she knew, would be able to answer that question easily.)
    Or maybe her mother, nurturing hope, had given the dress to be preserved for a future date. Lisa was still a size six and could fit into it. Not that she wanted to wear it.
    Matthew put his arm around her. “Did I mention they delivered the new armoire? Plenty of room for all your sweaters, and my condo is five minutes from the clinic. So how about it? “Come live with me and be my love’?”
    ” “And we will all the pleasures prove.” ” She smiled and said, “After the wedding.” He asked her this every few weeks. Every few weeks she gave the same answer, though now the reasons had subtly changed.
    “Come on. Lisa. This is silly, living apart. I’m sure your parents figure we’re sleeping together.” An edge of irritation had replaced his bantering tone.
    She’d explained her reasoning before and tried not to be annoyed now by his persistence, which she knew was normal. “I’m sure they do. But I don’t want to upset them more than I have.”
    Her parents were devout Orthodox Jews and were grievously disappointed that their only child was marrying a man whose Jewishness