Created In Fire (Art of Love Series) (3 page)

“As soon as Jessica agrees to a date, we’ll get married,” Will said smiling, studying the distress on his son’s face. “Why? You thinking we could make it a double wedding?”

Michael shook his head. “No. Sorry. I can’t share the limelight with you and Jessica. Carrie told me she had quickie civil ceremonies the other two times because her family was not supportive of either relationship. Winning over her family is my next hurdle. I’m planning to tackle that tomorrow. My plan is for her father to walk her down the aisle of a church to me this time. We’re going to have the kind of wedding that sticks.”

“Just because you had Celtic ancestors doesn’t mean you have to treat this marriage of yours like a strategic campaign of some sort. You’re not marrying the woman to acquire her money or land.” Will smiled at the grin Michael gave him.

“Dad, that woman is my land. In her own words, she said she was a field I plowed. I’m just going along with her metaphor. Don’t get me started on how I feel about the baby,” he said, sighing at his own determination to create the kind of relationship he wanted, even though Carrie obviously didn’t feel the same. “My bride might not be completely willing, but I still want our marriage to be so legal and sanctified that nothing and no one can say it’s not.”

Michael took a long drink and stared across the kitchen.

“One minute I’m mad as hell at Carrie for putting our pasts between us, and the next I’m compelled to take care of her because it’s my fault she’s so sick. I’ve never been so conflicted before,” he complained, “and all of that just makes me more determined to marry her. It’s crazy.”

Will laughed. “Yeah. That sounds like real love.”

“Well, real love sucks then,” Michael said firmly, laughing as his father almost choked on his coffee laughing at him.

“There are some upsides,” Will said, taking a more cautious sip. “My money is on you finding your way to them. After all, your future bride is actually sleeping in your bed in your house at this very moment. That’s way more than your mother, Shane, or I thought you’d manage.”

“Gee thanks,” Michael said sarcastically, “glad to know my family has so much faith in me. Who are you to talk? What did you do this morning? Just leave your future bride home sleeping alone in her own bed?”

Will snickered, thinking how much more he enjoyed Michael’s company when he wasn’t constantly around him. He loved his sons, but fervently hoped he never had to live with them again.

“No. Jessica is meeting her friends Susan and Steve to mend some friendship fences this morning over breakfast. She thinks Susan might be upset at her still. If it goes well, she’ll have the four of us eating dinner together soon. Frankly, I’m looking forward to smiling at Steve Lipton the whole evening,” Will said, not minding that it was bragging. He felt like bragging about Jessica. “I know he didn’t think my chances with Jessica were good.”

“Your chances were always good with Jessica,” Michael said irritably, frowning into his coffee cup.

“Oh, yeah. Sure they were,” Will agreed, “that’s why I had to beg her not to date and sleep with other men. If I hadn’t gone to Cincinnati and seduced her that night, she’d have bedded the math teacher trying to forget me. I still owe you and Shane for that one.”

“Great. Tell me how to make Carrie forget about the other women I dated,” Michael said.

Will sighed. “I wish I could, but I can’t.”

“Thanks for nothing,” Michael said, only half teasing. “No more coffee for you.”

“Michael—your situation is too complicated for an easy answer. I do think you’re doing well. She’s here and letting you help her. That says Carrie trusts you on some level whether she is willing to admit it or not. Fixing emotional things takes time,” Will told him, smiling. “Jessica asked me to marry her last night.”

“When last night?”
Michael said, surprised.

“Last night on the patio. Just before the lift and spin you guys were all clapping about,” Will said, bragging. “I said yes of course.”

Michael laughed. “I bet it was the bust that convinced her. That statue of her shows exactly how you feel about the woman. It’s some of your best work, Dad.”

Will nodded. “Yes. That’s what your fiancée thinks as well. Carrie says I should do a show of some smaller pieces. I don’t have many.”

“I think that’s a great idea,” Michael agreed. “Make some more.”

“I’m thinking about it,” Will said. “I sure liked getting done with a piece in just a few weeks. I might do some torsos. Maybe some arms lifting from stone.”

Will drifted off in creative thought, already imagining the work coming to life.

Michael smiled and studied the satisfied expression on his father’s face. “I hope you get to look like that for the rest of your life.”

“Look like what?” Will asked. “What do you mean?”

“Contented,” Michael told him. “It’s an emotion I long for but have never felt—well except once, but it didn’t last long. If Carrie would just believe I love her, I think I could find it again.”

“Contentment is one of the harder emotions to hang onto,” Will said, rising to refill his mug. “It helps if you’re the type of person who regularly counts blessings. Sometimes it’s hard for me, but I keep working at it.”

“Like being grateful Carrie is here for me to help, instead of her living alone and dealing with being sick by herself?” Michael asked.

Will nodded. “Yes. That’s a good start.”

“How long until I get to the contented part?” Michael asked, raising an eyebrow.

Will shrugged and laughed.

“Shane was right. You and Mom are not getting any wiser as you age,” Michael said bitterly.

“You learn wisdom by surviving trials, but it looks like you’ll be developing your own soon with all the challenges you’ve attracted to yourself,” Will said, choosing not to be offended by the opinions of the two smartass males he raised. “Michael, you’re thirty-four. It’s time to stop being mad that your mother, and I don’t have solutions for you anymore.”

Michael thought about his father’s statement, ignoring him as he sipped his coffee. “Well, growing up sucks too then,” he said, laughing despite the ache in his chest.

“I’m sorry you’re having a tough morning, son,” Will offered, fighting the grin that kept twitching the corners of his mouth. He shouldn’t laugh, but it was hard not to. He knew his stubborn eldest was going to push, shove, and do God only knew what else to the woman sleeping down the hall. Michael honestly thought he would win the stubborn contest between Carrie and him.

Will figured it was extremely wise of him not to point out the futility of that to an already frustrated Michael.

He was just glad Jessica was letting him live with her until they found a house to buy.

*** *** ***

“More scrambled eggs?” Michael asked, spooning them onto Carrie’s plate when she nodded. “There’s another piece of whole wheat toast too.”

Carrie sighed. “I’ve had three pieces already. And I don’t want to know how many eggs I’ve eaten,” she told him. “They were really good. I feel almost normal for once.”

“It wasn’t as many as you think. I’m just glad you can eat. Your color is better as well,” Michael told her, bringing his coffee mug back to the table.

“Did I hear your father here earlier?” she asked.

Michael nodded. “Yes. He collected most of his clothes and toiletries. I may move into his bedroom this week. It’s larger than the one I’m currently sleeping in, plus I’m thinking about turning the smallest bedroom into a nursery.”

“Oh,” Carrie said, chasing the bite of toast she was chewing with ice water. “I guess that will need to be done. Are you going to want me to help?”

“You can if you want,” he said, watching for signs of desire, but seeing none.

“I’d rather not. I think you should be the one making those sorts of decisions. I will gladly share the costs with you. I know baby gear can be expensive. My brother and sister-in-law just had a baby last year,” she told him.

Michael set aside her disinterest in decorating the nursery as a debate for another time. “Tell me about your family. What should I expect tomorrow?”

Carrie set down her toast and pushed her plate away. Thinking of taking Michael to meet her family robbed her of the rest of her appetite.

“My father is a paid caretaker of the church he and Mom attend. That’s his full-time job and he takes it seriously. He has some strict ideas about how a person should live, and I’m pretty much the only child of his who’s not towed the family line. He’s not exactly a warm and fuzzy guy where I’m concerned.”

Michael shook his head. “So no swearing or dirty jokes during lunch—got it.”

“My brother is pretty awful also, but I don’t care what he thinks. Don’t bother being nice to him. It’s a waste of breath,” she said.

Michael grinned when she sounded more like the woman he knew. “What else should I know?”

Carrie looked at Michael and thought that pretty much everything she liked about him was something her family was going to hate. “The list is too long. Plus it doesn’t matter if they like you or not. Their opinions are not going to affect my decision to marry you. They didn’t approve of the other men in my life either, and they were both fairly conservative. I certainly don’t expect them to approve of you.”

“Maybe I should cut my hair,” Michael said, pulling his hair out of his ponytail and running his hands through it. “I know I look less respectable with hair this long. It wouldn’t kill me to cut it off shorter for a while.”

“That’s silly. You’re not cutting your hair,” Carrie said tightly without stopping to filter her disgust over the idea. She looked at Michael, saw a question in his gaze, but looked away without answering it.

“Why shouldn’t I?” Michael asked, wondering if she was thinking about the same reason he was. “It’s just hair. It will grow back eventually.”

Carrie flushed as she thought about the only real argument she had. Since her preference was a result of their recent night of madness, she couldn’t share that with the source. But even setting that aside, it still wasn’t right for Michael to cut his hair just to please her family.

For one, nothing he did would please them anyway because they were impossible to please. She had been failing to do so for years. For another, Michael’s hair was innately a part of him. It suited his nature. It suited his art. It suited him, period. So no, Carrie wasn’t going to let him cut his hair off.

“Just don’t do it okay. Don’t change anything about how you look. It’s a waste of energy to try and please my parents,” Carrie said sadly.

“Cutting my hair is a small concession if it makes it easier for you to sell me to them as a potential husband,” Michael said carefully.

“You are not cutting your hair, Michael. End of discussion,” Carrie said, standing and stalking to the sink with her dishes. “I think while I’m feeling better, I’d like to run to my apartment and pick up some things.”

“Great. I’ll drive and you can keep briefing me on your family. I want to know about all of them,” Michael said, standing and taking his own dishes to the sink.

If Carrie turned to face him, he would barely have to bend his head to kiss her. He had all but forgotten there was only few inches difference in their heights. It gave him so many ideas that he couldn’t push them away, especially the ones about repeating their night together.

“I won’t cut my hair since I know you like it long,” he said softly, almost whispering it in her ear.

Carrie’s gaze swung to Michael’s, her irritation at his statement obvious to both of them.

“I didn’t say I liked your hair. I just said there’s no need to cut it,” Carrie said, defending her words.

“Oh, well if you don’t like my hair, then there’s no reason not to cut it,” Michael countered. “I’ll call Shane to come over and take off a few inches. He’s cut it for me before.”

“Michael, you are
not
cutting your hair, so stop talking about it,” Carrie ordered.

“Oh. There you are,” Michael said, grinning at her tone and the hands on her hips. “I’ve really missed you, General Addison. Glad to see you’re feeling better.”

“Up yours,” Carrie said smartly, to his resounding laugh.

But when she turned to walk away, the room spun. She reached out but there was nothing to grab but air.

Then suddenly, there was Michael wrapped around her and holding her up.

“Whoa,” he said, alarmed. “That was almost fainting. I’m sorry if I stressed you with my teasing. I’m not cutting my hair, honey. How could I cut it? I still remember your hands in it when you held me still and kissed me so fiercely. I thought I would die from the pleasure of feeling like I belonged to you.”

“Michael, please stop torturing me with memories,” Carrie begged, leaning weakly against him because she had no choice.

And all the while her mind reeled and reeled from knowing Michael remembered the same things she did about their night together.

“Can’t you even admit that’s why you don’t want me to cut my hair?” Michael asked fiercely, his voice a tense whisper. “I haven’t even had a stray thought about anyone but you since that night. Give me a little hope here.”

When Carrie’s mind cleared of the blackness threatening to take her under, she was still leaning against Michael, still in his arms. And it made her mad as hell that Michael was asking for something more from her—as if the man hadn’t already taken away
everything
—including control of herself.