Everything but the Baby (Harlequin Superromance) (21 page)

Roddy rounded on his son. “Are you to blame for this? My God, have you really betrayed a member of your own family, have you broken the O'Hara oath, and all to make points with a woman who hasn't a thought in her head for you, except how she can use you? How could you, son? How could you be such a damn fool?”

Daniel flushed, but he squared his shoulders and faced his father. “Yes, I warned her about what Allison was planning. I did it because she deserved to know. She loves Lincoln, Dad. I didn't know what she'd do with the information, but obviously she warned him, and I'm glad.”

He turned to Allison. “I tell you, I'm glad. She loves him. Doesn't that mean anything to you?”

“Of course it does,” Mark answered for her. “Why do you think she went through all this? She wanted to keep him from hurting any other women, the way he had hurt her. The way he had hurt my sister.”

“That's a lie. She did it because she wanted to get even. She hates him, and she wants to see him thrown in jail.”

Mark started to move forward, his anger finally finding a proper outlet. This deluded, self-absorbed punk dared to pass judgment on Allison?

But Allison held him back. “He's right, Mark,” she said softly. “I was driven partly by the desire for payback. I'm not proud of it, but it's true.”

“And what's wrong with that?” Mark took her hand. “Why shouldn't the bastard pay for what he's done to you?”

“Please,” Janelle broke in. “Please, I know this is a difficult time. But I have something I need to say.”

Mark turned toward her. She looked extremely nervous and very young. She wore a sensible shirtwaist dress and very little makeup. She looked sweet and scared to death.

For the first time, he realized that she held a large manila envelope against her chest.

“Go ahead,” Allison said. “Tell us why you're here. Did you say that Lincoln sent you?”

Janelle nodded. “I know you hate him, and I don't really blame you. He's not a very strong person, and he's done a lot of bad things. I know what he does—with women. Rich women. He thought I was rich, at first. That's the only reason he dated me. I know that.”

Allison frowned. “Are you saying you're
not
rich?”

“Hardly.” Janelle laughed self-consciously. “I'm a media specialist at an elementary school in Des Moines. That's a fancy name for a librarian.”

“Then how—”

“My favorite aunt died last year. She left me a little bit of money. Not enough to change my life. But enough, I thought, for one wonderful summer. When school got out, I came down here and spent it all in just three months. It may have been crazy. But it was wonderful, too. And it was worth every penny.”

“When did Lincoln find out the truth? No…wait…let me guess. Was it early last week?”

Janelle nodded, her brown bob dancing against her round, girlish cheeks. “How did you know?”

“Because that was when he told me he'd decided to give you up.”

“Oh, you think you know everything,” Daniel cried, turning his hot face toward his cousin, though he stood steadfastly beside Janelle. “But he
didn't
give her up, not even then. I saw them together. They were both hurting so bad. He loved her, damn it, and she loved him. But you had to get in the way. You and your money.”

Mark and Allison exchanged looks. He had his own opinion about what Lincoln Gray's “love” was worth. But Allison's eyes were soft, strangely sad, as if the story was touching her heart.

God help him. She believed in love. That was her strength—and her Achilles' heel. She believed that love could work miracles. Even now, she was ready to accept that Lincoln could change.

Stephen stepped in, uncharacteristically practical and calm. “Maybe you'd better make your point and go, young lady. I'm afraid you're not going to find any fans of Lincoln Gray in this family.”

“I understand,” Janelle said. “Anyhow, Daniel is right. Lincoln and I do love each other. We're going to get married and—”

“For God's sake, Janelle,” Mark cut in. “You can't be such a fool. He's already married. He married my sister six months ago.”

“I know,” she said in a low voice. Her eyes welled. “It was a terrible thing he tried to do. He wanted me to tell you that he's sorry.”

Mark shook his head coldly. “He doesn't owe
me
an apology—he owes one to my sister. And a good deal more, besides.”

Janelle walked slowly toward him, holding out the manila envelope. “He knows that. He sent this to you. It isn't enough, of course. But it's his first attempt to make things right.”

Mark had a momentary impulse to reject the envelope, to knock whatever it was out of her hands and onto the ground. Did Lincoln Gray really think he could undo the damage now? Could he give Tracy back her confidence? Her smile?

Allison squeezed his hand. He'd almost forgotten he still held it. It had felt as natural as breathing.

“Take it,” she said, pulling her fingers loose so that he could use both hands. “He's clearly trying, Mark. And it might be something that would help Tracy.”

Because she wanted him to, he took the envelope.
He opened it roughly, indifferent to the way he ripped the clasp.

Inside was a thick sheaf of papers.

He scanned the first page quickly, then read it again, more slowly. He could hardly believe his eyes.

They were divorce papers.

Lincoln had enclosed his lawyer's card, so that Tracy's lawyer could contact him to discuss terms, though Lincoln clearly was asking for nothing.

Nothing but closure. An admission of guilt.

It wasn't enough. But it was a start. And Allison was right. It might, in the end, set Tracy free.

Mark looked up at Janelle, wondering how she could have been persuaded to deliver such a document. She must love the bastard to the point of madness. And yet she looked utterly serene.

“There's more,” she said.

He shook the envelope, and something heavy fell out into his hand.

Gasping, Allison clutched his arm. “Mark,” she breathed.

The sunlight winked on diamonds, smoldered in deep blue sapphire and tossed tiny emerald rainbows against his fingers.

It was the Travers Peacock.

A
FTER THE CHAOS
died down, after Janelle said goodbye, and the justice of the peace went home, and Daniel stormed upstairs to pout, the rest of them sat down at the blue tables with white roses and put on the best party Allison had ever seen.

Roddy had come up and apologized for his son's behavior.

“It's all right,” Allison said. “I can see his point. I'm just sorry he feels so much hostility toward me. I had hoped…”

Roddy hugged her. “He'll come round,” he promised. “You know teenagers. They can't sustain any emotion for more than a few days.”

Allison nodded, but she still felt sad. She adored her new family, and she hated to have any bad feelings there.

But the quiet gloom couldn't last, not in this family.

“Sure, and what this occasion calls for is an Irish wake,” Stephen had announced gleefully. The rest of the family sent up a cheer.

Allison hadn't ever been to a wake before, but she decided it was a lovely tradition. They danced to three-hanky Irish ballads and breathtaking Irish jigs. Allison
danced with her uncle and then her grandfather and finally with both the twins at once. She hoped Mark would break in, but he never did, though she saw him twirling Kate and Moira gracefully on the other side of the pool.

They all ate like horses and took pictures of each other cutting the cake, each one more idiotic than the last. Roddy did it while standing on his head.

Now and then one of the hotel's other guests would wander out to see what the fuss was about, and they'd end up in the photos, too. As always, the O'Haras didn't recognize the concept behind the word
stranger
.

In three hours, they drank five bottles of champagne and two cartons of orange juice for the twins. They toasted themselves, and the loved ones gone on ahead. As the sun started to go down, they began to offer Irish blessings to everyone they had ever known or would know in this lifetime.

When it was Allison's turn, she leaned over and whispered to Fiona, “I don't have a blessing to share,” she said. “May I use the one you wrote?”

The little girl froze, shocked, her mouth full of orange juice. She swallowed hard. Then she smiled. “Sure.”

So Allison stood. Stephen clinked his glass with his spoon, to alert everyone that a new blessing was to be offered. Apparently this was a solemn O'Hara ritual.

“May every day be Christmas,” she began, holding out her champagne glass. It caught the orange rays of the sinking sun and looked like a magic elixir.

She winked at Fiona, who giggled and put her hands
over her eyes. Then she went on. “May your mom's face always smile. May God invite you to heaven, but not for a long, long while.”

Everyone cheered and clapped and whistled. Allison curtseyed, but out of the corner of her eye she could see Fiona blushing with delight.

“Except for Lincoln Gray,” Stephen called out merrily. “I hope he'll get his invitation to Heaven any day now. In fact, I'd be glad to hurry it along.”

Roddy laughed. “I suspect he'll be getting one to the other place, Dad,” he said.

“Where?” Flannery's eyes twinkled as she sensed her chance to use a bad word in an acceptable context. “To hell, Dad? Is he going to get an invitation to hell?”

“You know it, my darling,” Stephen answered confidently, oblivious to Moira's glare. “Personally engraved and hand-delivered by Satan himself.”

Kate, ever diplomatic, started the stereo up again, dialing up the volume loud enough to drown out the voices.

After a minute “The Isle of Innisfree” came on, and everyone sang along. Allison didn't know the words, but as the beautiful melody floated over her, something stirred deep inside. She had heard this song before.

She closed her eyes, and suddenly she saw a little plastic leprechaun, who bowed and jiggled and collapsed as she pressed her thumbs against the base.

Then she heard her mother singing. A light voice, gentle and true.
But dreams don't last, though dreams are not forgotten….

Allison stood clumsily, dropping her napkin. She
needed to get away, though she wasn't sure where to go. The brilliant sunset blinded her. She blundered toward the center of the courtyard, her eyes blurred with foolish tears.

Mark caught her there. “Hey,” he said. “It's okay. Come here. Dance with me.”

She moved into his arms, and almost instantly her panic started to subside. This was the safe harbor she'd been seeking, though she hadn't even known it. She pressed her face gratefully against his shoulder and allowed the tears to fall.

He let her cry as long as she wanted. But happy tears dried quickly—her grandfather had said that once. Soon she lifted her swollen eyes and gave him a watery smile.

With gentle fingers, he wiped the tears from beneath her lower lashes.

“Sure, darling, and it's not over Lincoln Gray you'd be crying.” He captured her grandfather's slight brogue perfectly.

She laughed, ending on a hiccup that might have been from the crying or the result of too much champagne. “No. It's just—I think I just had my first real memory of my mother. She used to sing this song to me.”

He brushed her damp hair behind her ears. “It's a beautiful song.”

“She had a beautiful voice.” She blinked, her lashes soggy against her cheeks. “She smelled like red roses.”

He nodded, as if he understood the non sequitur. It was a relief not to have to explain why this was so im
portant. It was a relief just to be in his arms again. She dropped her head against his shoulder and let him move her gently to the music.

He smelled beautiful, too—just as he had last night. She drank it in until it ran through every vein. This was the same enfolding peace she'd known so long ago, when she was just a child. When her mother sang to her of going home to Innisfree.

She'd waited twenty-five lonely years to recapture this feeling. She'd lost it once, because she had been only a helpless child, and the adult world had been beyond her control.

But she wasn't going to lose it again.

When the song ended, she took Mark's hands.

“Come with me,” she said.

“Allison, I don't think we—”

“Don't say no. I can't bear it. I only want you to listen to me, Mark. Is that too much to ask?”

His face was strained, every bone in his jaw and cheek standing out ruggedly. She knew he was fighting against himself and against her. But she didn't let go of his hands and she wouldn't let go of his dark gaze.

Finally, she won.

“No,” he admitted. “It isn't too much to ask.”

She pulled him over to the arbor. Though it was growing dark, the others must have seen them, but no one followed, not even the twins. Moira must have tied them down with the ribbons from the champagne glasses, for which Allison sent her a mental kiss of thanks.

Once under the flowery arch, they could still hear the
music and the laughter—the new song was “The Mountains of Mourne” and again everyone sang along. But the twining roses provided enough privacy to create the illusion that they were all alone.

“I know you're planning to leave tomorrow,” she said. “But I can't let you go. Not without telling you the truth. The truth about how I feel.”

He closed his eyes tightly, as if something deep inside was hurting him. “I already know the truth, Allison.”

“You do? You know that I love you? That I love you more than I've ever loved anyone? That you are everything to me?”

“I know.”

She put her hands on his face, cupping each side of his strong, elegant jawline. It was so tight. He must have been humming inside, burning with tension. “You know all that and still you're planning to leave me?”

“Yes.” He opened his eyes. They were full of pain. “That kind of love is more than I deserve, I'm well aware of that. But it isn't enough.”

“Enough for what?”

“Enough to make me let you do it.”

“Do what? Love you? You don't have any choice. I already do.”

“That's my fault. I felt it happening, and I didn't even really try to stop it. I shouldn't have let it come to this. And last night—”

“Last night was the most beautiful night of my life. I'll never forget it.”

“Maybe not. But you'll get over it. You may not
think so now, but you will. You've got so much love to give. You can't keep it bottled up inside forever—someone else will come along, and you'll give it to him.”

Maybe it was the champagne, but she was getting downright irritated. She let go of his face and placed her hands on her hips. “Well. Apparently you think very little of me. That must be because of Lincoln. I guess, because I was going to marry him, you think I'm an idiot or a tramp—”

“Damn it, Allison.” He caught her up, wrapping his arms around her and sweeping her to his chest. “You don't believe that. You know you're the most beautiful, most courageous, most exciting woman in the world. But a woman like that deserves more than some broken half man who can never give you—”

The most exciting woman in the world? She started to laugh, joy bubbling up from the place inside that heard the truth. That was so far from the truth—it could only mean one thing. No matter what he said, he loved her.

He
loved
her, and that was all she really needed to know. The rest was just noise.

“What is so funny?”

“You are,” she said, reaching up to touch his wonderful, dark, dark hair. “You call yourself half a man, but you're the only man I'll ever want and about twice what I can handle. Although I'm willing to try.”

He shook his head, but he didn't let her go. “You've had too much champagne, sweetheart. We should talk about this in the morning.”

“I may be a little drunk, but I see the truth more clearly than you do. There's no possible way we can walk away from each other, Mark. It seems crazy, after such a short time, but we belong together. You are my home, and I'm yours.”

“It's a pretty dream, but you're forgetting—”

“I'm not forgetting anything. So you can't have children. So what? The world is full of children who desperately need parents.”

“You don't want to adopt. You want your own. Every woman wants her own children.”

“You know,” she said thoughtfully, “I'm afraid you're a little bossy. You keep telling me what I think and what I want. Luckily, it's one of the many, many things I love about you. You are a born protector. But just this once, Mark, don't try to save me from myself. Just this once, accept that I know what I need better than anyone else could. Even you.”

She wished he would kiss her, but apparently he wasn't finished arguing. Maybe he should have had another glass of champagne, she thought, mentally calculating the pros and cons of darting out to get him one. It was a wonderful clarifier.

“Are you saying that you don't want your own children? Children with red O'Hara hair? Children who can take the O'Hara oath and mean it?”

“I'm saying I want
our
babies. I don't care where they come from, as long as we bring them up together. And, just for the record, they'd have to take the Travers oath, I'd imagine. Which will probably include something absurd about a peacock.”

“Allison. Be serious.”

She sighed again. After all this debate, she felt herself sobering a little, which was a shame. Being tipsy at an Irish wake was a delightful experience.

“I am serious. Don't you understand? I have been searching for something almost my whole life. I just haven't known what. But now I do. I was searching for
this,
this feeling I have when I'm with you. The feeling of being complete again—alive. We can bring babies into our lives or not. It doesn't really matter. In the end, the yearning to have babies was just another way of searching for you.”

He frowned. She could see the fight going on behind his eyes.

“But later…in a few years…are you so sure you won't regret—?”

She smiled. This one was easy. “Do you really think I will? How about you? Should I be worried? Maybe, in a few years, you'll stop loving me. Maybe one day you'll see a sexy chick with giant—”

“Never,” he said, dipping his head to her neck and laughing helplessly. “You little devil, you know that.”

She threw her head back, relishing the feel of his lips against her throat. “Of course I know. Just as I know that a hundred years could never make me regret falling in love with you.”

His arms tightened around her. He lifted his head, but he didn't meet her eyes right away. He looked through the trellis at the laughing people who flickered in and out of sight, silhouetted by the last, weak rays of sunset as they danced.

“You want the truth, Allison?” He hesitated, as if the words weren't easy to say. “The truth is that loving you scares me. I have lost the defenses I've counted on for so long. Taking this risk—”

“Risk?” She adopted an outraged tone. “Now listen, Mr. Travers. If Janelle Greenwood can take a chance on that lousy Lincoln Gray, it certainly seems to me you could step up and be brave enough to take a chance on me.”

Finally, he looked at her. The heat in his eyes took her breath away, and suddenly she didn't feel quite so spunky and full of sass. She felt humbled by the love in that gaze.

“So what do you say?” She tried to recapture the silliness, but her breath was shallow and tight. “Will you take a chance on me?”

“On
us,
” he corrected. He bent his head and spoke his next words against her waiting lips. “If you'll have me, Allison, I'll bet my heart, my soul and the rest of my natural life on us.”