And Then Forever (17 page)

She wanted to say something stupid like,
I love you
. Because in that second, every ounce of her heart was screaming,
I love you, I never stopped loving you
, and she could swear she saw the same in his eyes, in his touch. Then he looked away, and the moment passed. Kincaid sped up his strokes again. Her back curved, and he deepened his entry, and then she was coming again, her brain a muddled mix of fireworks and desire. He groaned against her ear, drawing out her name in one long syllable, then he came, too, and the world slowed one degree at a time.

Kincaid lay on top of her for a moment, their hearts beating at twin rapid paces. She released his hands, and ran her palms over his shoulders, his back, re-memorizing every inch of the man she’d never really forgotten.

A little while later, he climbed into the bed beside her. She curved into his chest. She didn’t meet his gaze, because she was afraid in that vulnerable after-glow, he would see the truth. That he still had her heart, and always would.

Kincaid pressed a kiss to her hair, and tightened his grip on her. “I definitely think that was better than the cake,” he said. “I wonder which peer-reviewed journal we should alert first.”

That made her laugh, which broke the tension of the moment, and brought her back into her comfort zone of pretending this was all fun and games. Darcy swung into a sitting position and crossed her legs beneath her. “I think our research isn’t done yet. Why don’t I go grab the cake and we can finish it here?”

“Great idea, professor.”

Darcy grinned, then got out of the bed, tugged on a robe, and headed out to the porch. She picked up the cake and wine, then stood a moment in the living room, seeing the long line of Kincaid’s leg in her bed, and thinking she couldn’t imagine life getting any more perfect than this.

K
incaid snuck out of
Darcy’s house a little after three in the morning, feeling more like a teenager than he had in years. He tiptoed back into his own cottage, careful not to wake his sister, then lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, and decided it was about damned time.

About damned time he lived the life he wanted instead of the one dictated to him.

In the morning, he was going to call his father and tell him he was done at the law firm. He was going to send out the novel on his computer, and keep working on the next one. Then he was going to look for a house on the island, hopefully one very close to Darcy’s, so he could begin to make up for the lost years with his daughter, and see where things led.

He knew he should be mad at her for keeping Emma a secret all these years. At first, he had been angry and hurt. But he remembered who he had been that summer, how afraid he was of stepping off the Foster rollercoaster, and knew that Darcy had made the right choice. If she had told him about Emma back then, he probably would have run from the responsibility. Thrown some money at her, and gone off to Harvard after all.

Because for all his bluster and plans to marry her, in the end, he’d accepted her note without argument and boarded the first ferry back to his real life. If he’d truly wanted to buck his father’s plans, he wouldn’t have let Darcy go without a fight.

But now he was older and wiser, and he knew what he wanted. The life that resided in that little cottage just down the road. He wanted it so badly that the need for her, to be with her and his daughter, ached in his chest. Somehow, he would make this happen.

He got up a little after six, and had breakfast already cooked by the time Abby came into the kitchen. Mooch lay at his feet, snapping her jaws every time he tossed her a bit of food. She definitely had earned her moniker, but he loved the dog all the same.

“Bacon, eggs over easy, toast, and a cup of tea.” He put a plate and a mug before his little sister. “Ta da.”

“Wow. You cooked. Two days in a row. Real food, too. Maybe you’re the one getting the nesting urge.” Abby laughed, then dipped a corner of her toast into her egg yolk.

He slid into the seat opposite her, and forked up a big bite of eggs. All the thinking and planning had given him a hell of an appetite. “I’m just making some changes, starting today. I’m quitting the firm and moving here. Full-time.”

“You are?” Abby’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Really. That little guy there is going to need an uncle to spoil him, my daughter needs a father and Darcy…” Kincaid grinned. “Well, we will see where things go with Darcy.” Though he was already thinking about making sure he found a house big enough for the three of them. Yesterday, hell, the whole week, had gone so well, and he couldn’t imagine spending another day going forward without Darcy or his daughter. He had no illusions that it would all be sunshine and rainbows going forward, but he was damned sure Darcy and Emma were worth whatever it took to get from here to forever.

“I think that’s great, Kincaid,” Abby said. She reached for the salt and pepper. “It’s exactly what—”

“Exactly what?” He prompted when his sister stopped talking. Then he noticed her wide eyes, the way she’d withdrawn and, now, had a protective hand on her stomach. His gut tensed. Foreboding crept up his neck. “Abby, are you okay? What’s the…”

Abby was staring out the window, her mouth agape. Kincaid’s gaze followed hers. To a black Mercedes pulling in front of the house. The tires crunched on the seashells, then the car came to an almost silent stop. Two men emerged, one from each side of the rear seats of the car. And neither looked happy to be here.

Well. That hadn’t taken very long. Not that Kincaid was surprised. His father was like a bulldog. When he wanted something, he went after it, full-barrel. It was what had made him so successful in the courtroom, and now, had brought him to Fortune’s Island to retrieve a wayward son and a missing daughter.

Abby’s face paled. “He found me, Kincaid.”

“You and I both knew he would eventually.” Kincaid covered her hand with his own. She trembled a little, but he held on until she calmed. Kincaid cursed her husband a hundred times over, and resisted the urge to shoot a cannon into Gordon’s gut and blast him out of their lives forever. What kind of man made his wife feel this way? “I’m here. Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

But her eyes were panicked, and her posture steely cold. “But…”

“You stay here. I’ll handle it. Don’t worry, Abby. Just go on growing that human there.” That coaxed a weak smile out of his sister. Kincaid got to his feet, crossed the kitchen and pulled open the door. He remained in the doorway, with Mooch standing beside him. He squinted into the sun and stepped out onto the porch. Edgar and Gordon remained in the driveway. “What are you two doing here?”

No preamble, no small talk. No big emotional greeting. Edgar had never been one for any of the three, and Kincaid already knew this was no social call.

His father was the first to speak. Edgar took a step forward, his face stony. “I could ask the same of you. I don’t expect to find one of my partners frittering away his days in a lounge chair on the beach.”

“I’m not frittering away my days, Father.” Kincaid felt the old frustration and anger return, stiffening his spine, icing his words. His father, ever critical, pushed him to be what he didn’t want to be. “And I have no intentions of returning to the firm.”

“I am not here to listen to some hangover induced nonsense.” Edgar waved off Kincaid’s words. He was a tall man, an older, grayer version of Kincaid, wearing a custom tailored suit and handmade shoes. He had on sunglasses, which hid his eyes, but Kincaid didn’t need to see them to know his father was furious at his son’s choices. “I’m here to collect my daughter.”

Gordon stepped forward. “My wife.”

Kincaid nearly laughed at skinny Gordon trying to make a statement. Maybe that was how Gordon had slipped under everyone’s radar. No one would believe a scrawny guy who looked more like a computer tech than a wife beater could ever do anything so horrible. Kincaid didn’t give a shit about the psychology of why Gordon did what he did—he just wanted the weasel gone forever.

“Your wife,” Kincaid said, biting off the words, “wants nothing to do with you. And if you come within ten feet of her or every lay a hand on her again, I will break your neck. Just get back in the car, Gordon, go back to the mainland and give Abby the divorce she wants.”

Gordon’s green eyes lit with rage. He took two steps forward, his fists clenched at his sides. “You don’t get to tell me—”

Edgar put up a hand and stopped him. “Careful, Gordon.”

“She’s not going anywhere with you,” Kincaid said. He came down the stairs and got within three feet of Gordon. He wanted to snap the man in half every time he thought of the bruises on Abby’s skin. “Not now, not ever.”

“That’s my child she’s carrying.”

“And you’ll be lucky if you ever get to see that child, given what you have done to her.” Kincaid ignored the warning in his father’s face and strode up to Gordon until they were chin to chin. “So if you don’t want the entire world to know that you beat the hell out of a pregnant woman, then I suggest you go trot on down to your courthouse and give Abby a divorce. With a generous settlement.”

Gordon glared at Kincaid. He started to speak, the words forming like spittle on his lips, but Edgar put a hand on his son-in-law’s shoulder, then took a step forward, effectively shuttling Gordon to the back. “Is this true, Kincaid?” Edgar asked.

“Ask Abby yourself.” Kincaid had heard the slap of the screen door behind him, and turned to gesture toward his sister.

Edgar watched his youngest child come down the stairs of the porch, then cross the crushed seashell walkway. Kincaid saw in his father’s face the instant he saw the bruises on her arms. The marks had faded, but they were still an ugly greenish-purple. Abby just stood there, looking beautiful and strong, that protective hand on her baby. Her face was set in a determined line. “It’s true, Father.”  

The truth sank into Edgar an inch at a time, washing over his face in degrees. “Abby? Why…why wouldn’t you tell me?”

Abby’s eyes filled with tears. When she spoke again, her voice trembled. “Because I wasn’t sure you’d believe me. The firm…it’s always been everything.”

“Not when it comes to something like this. To your safety. And the baby’s.” Edgar’s features edged from shock to anger. “He…he did that to you?”

Abby just nodded.

Edgar spun on his heel toward Gordon. Now the anger flashed like a brush fire in his eyes. “
You
. I trusted you. Made you rich.” He shook his head in disbelief. “How could you do that to my daughter?”

“I didn’t do anything. She…fell.” Gordon leaned around the two other men, and stared at Abby. “Tell them, baby. Tell them what happened.”

No one said anything for a moment. A breeze rustled through the trees, and a bird called out. The faint sounds of distant traffic carried in the air.

Abby put one hand on her brother’s back, as if drawing strength from his presence. “I’m done lying for you, Gordon. Done pretending everything is okay. I want a divorce, Gordon, and I never, ever want to see you again.” She drew in a breath, let it go, and Kincaid thought he’d never been prouder of his little sister than he was at this exact moment. “It’s enough. More than enough.”

“You can’t—”

“Get in the car, Gordon. Get in the car and leave this island. And if you ever set foot in the office again, I will have you arrested.” Edgar advanced on his son-in-law, once the favorite in the firm. Now the subject of Edgar’s wrath. Kincaid could see Abby’s surprise and happiness that her father had taken her side in the end, and chosen family over the practice.

Gordon tried again. “Edgar—”

“I might just have you arrested anyway,” Edgar said. “You get out of my daughter’s life, and if you ever come near her or the child, I will make sure you regret it.”

Gordon’s face crunched. He seemed smaller and more weasel-y, if that was possible. Kincaid realized he didn’t have to pummel Gordon. All he had to do was take away the things that Gordon had worked so hard to get—his job and his status among the Fosters and that was enough to destroy the status-driven man. Kincaid took a large measure of satisfaction in watching Gordon’s life fall apart. He deserved every last thing coming to him.

“You can’t do that, Edgar,” Gordon said. “I have rights.”

“And I have deeper pockets and better lawyers.” Edgar raised a firm arm and pointed at the Mercedes. “Get out of here. Now.”

Gordon stood his ground a while longer, then cursed and pivoted back to the car. The driver put the Mercedes in gear, and was gone a moment later. Silence descended upon the driveway, and the three Fosters remaining.

Kincaid had never seen his father do anything like that. Stand up for one of his children, without a second thought. It gave Kincaid a small measure of hope for the future with his father—and for the relationship he hoped Edgar would someday build with his grandchild.

“Thank you, Father,” Abby said. She hung beside Kincaid, her hand still on his back, but to Kincaid, her touch felt more confident, stronger.

“You should have told me,” he said. Anger still flashed in Edgar’s face, but when he looked down at his pregnant daughter, his features softened. He still stood a little apart from them, stiff and uncomfortable, as if this shift in their relationship had left him disconcerted.

“I tried at first. You didn’t hear me. I really tried. And I was afraid that you wouldn’t believe me.”

Edgar accepted that with a nod. It was as close to an apology as any of them would ever get, but it was a step forward, and that, Kincaid took as a good sign.

“Why don’t you come in?” he said to his father, “and have some coffee.”

Edgar looked about as excited about that idea as an elephant would be with the thought squeezing into an elevator. “I only have a moment. The chopper is waiting.”

“And your driver just left. I figure you’ve got some time before he returns for you.”

“True.” Edgar glanced at the old cottage, and brushed at his suit. His face said it all—the cottage was far from an acceptable location for a cup of coffee. “Why are you here when we have a perfectly good home on the northern end of this island?”

“Because that isn’t a home,” Abby said. “Not to me. This place is, for now. I’m going to find something else later, but for now, I love it here.”

“This…shack is not acceptable for either one of you.” Edgar shook his head. “I will send over one of the staff tonight to collect you and your belongings and bring you to the main house.”

Abby crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t want to go. I’m happy here.”

“It is not an acceptable environment for a woman in your condition.”

“I get to make that decision, Father, not you. And I’m happy here. I’m staying.” She turned away and headed back into the house. Kincaid watched her go, proud as hell to see the strong, confident sister he loved back in charge again. He knew then that no matter what came her way, Abby was going to be fine. Just fine.