The Chesapeake Diaries Series (84 page)

Figuring he’d gotten about all he was going to get out of his efforts to put off the inevitable, he glanced over his shoulder at the house.

“Well, I guess it’s time to face the music.” He started back across the lawn. “You ready to meet your aunt Dallas and your cousin Cody and your great-great-aunt Berry?”

The back door opened and a golden retriever sped out, a fluffy white dog on its heels, both barking wildly at the intruders.

“Fleur!” A little boy of six or seven raced after the dogs. “Ally! Stop! Come back!”

The dogs continued to run toward Wade.

“See doggie!” The toddler demanded and struggled to get down. “Wanna see doggie!”

Wade stood stock-still, waiting to see just how close the dogs would come, if they’d continue to bark, and if they’d show signs of real aggression.

“Ally! Fleur!” The boy ran after them and caught up with them when they stopped about ten feet from Wade.

“Hi, Cody,” Wade said. “Do you remember me?”

Cody narrowed his eyes and searched Wade’s face momentarily before a smile appeared.

“You’re my uncle Wade,” he said. “You live in Texas.”

“Not anymore.” Wade gestured to the dogs, who had calmed down a little. “They don’t bite, do they?”

“Nah.” The boy shook his head. “They just act tough. Mom says they think they’re Dobermans or rottweilers or something.”

Wade laughed. “Where is your mom?”

“She’s in the house. She didn’t say you were coming
today.” Cody pointed to Austin, who was trying to wiggle out of Wade’s grasp to get to the ground. “Who’s that?”

“Cody, this is Austin.” Wade lifted the toddler in an arc over his head and placed him on his feet on the grass. “He’s your cousin.”

“Hi, Austin.” Cody knelt down in front of Austin, who pointed a chubby finger at the dogs, who approached cautiously, wagging their tales. “Austin, this is Ally. She’s Aunt Berry’s dog. And this one”—he pointed to the white dog—“is Fleur. She’s mine.”

“Here, doggie!” Austin chortled as the golden retriever drew closer.

Cody glanced up at Wade. “My mom didn’t tell me I had a little cousin.”

“Your mom doesn’t know.”

“Boy, will she be surprised.” Cody commanded the dogs to sit, then led Austin to them.

“Boy, will she ever,” Wade muttered.

A woman started around the side of the house, her pale blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, her dark glasses obscuring half her face.

“Cody, who are you talking—” she began, then stopped in her tracks. “Wade?”

“Hey, Dallas.” Wade walked to meet his sister as she started toward him. “We were just on our way up to the house when Cody and his furry friends came out to greet us.”

“You stinker! You didn’t tell us you were coming home this week!” Dallas MacGregor wrapped her arms around him and hugged tightly. “You’re looking good, kiddo.”

“You’re looking even better.” Wade hugged her in
return and spun her halfway around before setting her down. “St. Dennis agrees with you.”

“Why didn’t you let us know you were coming? And what’s with the trailer?” She pointed to the drive, where Wade’s Jeep sat with a trailer hooked up to the back. “You hauling your beer in there? Expanding your business to the Chesapeake?”

“Actually, I closed the business. I sold the equipment and the building.”

Dallas’s jaw dropped. When she recovered, she asked, “What happened? Your brewery was doing so well. All those awards you won … I thought you were really solid.”

“We were. It’s a long story, Dallas.”

Wade looked away. He’d been dreading this conversation for weeks. He’d been so proud of KenneMac, the brewery he’d started from scratch with his best friend from college. He’d hated closing it down, but hated the idea of selling it even more. The company name—that had been his and Robin’s. His brewing secrets had taken him years to perfect. KenneMac Brews had been the best part of his life for the past eight years. Giving it up was one thing. Selling it—allowing someone else to become KenneMac Brews—well, that just wasn’t going to happen.

But then again, even giving up the brewery wasn’t the worst thing that had happened over the past few months.

The back door opened and a woman of indeterminable age stepped out onto the porch.

“Dallas, who’s that you’re talking to? And what’s that thing parked in my driveway?” Hands on her hips, Beryl Eberle—once known internationally as
screen star Beryl Townsend—paused, appearing to study the scene. “Is that Wade?”

“Yes, Aunt Berry. It’s me.” Wade’s smile was genuine. He adored his great-aunt. She’d been the indulgent grandmother he hadn’t known and Auntie Mame all in one. He counted the years he’d lived with her as some of the best of his life.

She came down the porch steps, holding on, he noticed, to the railing all the way. She was always so spry, so clever and lively, he often forgot that she’d turned eighty-one on her last birthday and had another approaching. He quickened his step so that she wouldn’t have to walk across the entire yard to greet him.

“You are a sight for these old eyes, Wade MacGregor.” She hugged him fiercely. “How dare you stay away for so long.”

“What was I thinking?” He embraced her gently.

“I’ll be damned if I know.” She stood back and held him at arm’s length. “You look more and more like your father every year. And I don’t mind saying that Ned was the best-looking young man I ever—”

“Stop feeding his ego with that stuff,” Dallas admonished. “He’s already got a big head.”

“What is that thing in the driveway?” Berry asked again.

“It’s a trailer,” he explained. “Holds all my worldly goods.”

“Does this mean you’ve come home? That you’re staying?” Berry, clearly joyful at the very thought, grabbed Wade’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

“I’m not staying, Aunt Berry,” he said softly. “I’m just passing through St. Dennis on my way to Connecticut. I’m going to be working for another brewery.”

“What happened to your brewery?” she demanded.

“We were just starting to talk about that, Berry,” Dallas told her.

“Well, he’s going to have to start from the beginning, because I want—” A squeal of laughter erupted from the lawn. “What on earth …?”

Berry’s eyes narrowed. “Is that a small child I see down there with Cody and the dogs?” She stretched out her arm, her thin finger pointing to the tangle of fur and human on the ground. “There. There’s a little boy. Where did that child come from?”

“Ah, Berry, actually, he’s mine.” Wade’s eyes glanced from his aunt’s startled face to his sister’s. “That’s Austin.”

“Did you say … he’s yours?” Dallas’s eyes widened, as if she wasn’t quite sure she’d heard correctly.

“Yeah.” Wade nodded again.

“Well, who … I mean, when …” Dallas sputtered.

“You’ve had a
child
and you didn’t think to let us know about him?” Berry’s face was deadly with accusation.

Wade started to mount a defense, then stopped. Of course he owed them an explanation. What had he been thinking, not telling them as soon as the whole thing started? It wasn’t so much that he’d wanted to keep Austin a secret. It was simply that every time he thought about calling and telling them, he’d get cold feet. There were so many questions, and after the past six months, he was so depleted emotionally, it had been too difficult to think about having that conversation on the phone.

Wade sighed. “It’s really complicated.”

“Assume for a moment that your sister and I possess
a certain degree of intelligence. Perhaps even enough to understand.” Berry raised one eyebrow, her favored expression to convey sarcasm. “Provided you speak slowly and use only very small words, of course.”

Feeling like a chastised twelve-year-old, Wade went to his son and picked him up.

“No!” Austin protested loudly. “Play doggie.”

“The dogs are going to come with us, right, Cody?”

“Right.” Cody ran ahead and both dogs followed. “They’re following us, Austin. See?”

“Down.” Austin continued to struggle all the way across the lawn.

“Austin, meet your aunt Dallas and your great-great-aunt Berry.” Wade held the child in both arms.

Austin’s attention momentarily distracted from Ally and Fleur, he giggled and pointed to Berry and proclaimed, “Berry!”

“You coached him to do that so I’d melt right here on this very spot,” Berry accused. “And it worked. Hello, Austin.”

Berry held out her hand and Austin giggled again.

“Let me have him.” Dallas reached for the child, and Wade passed him over. “He is a darling little thing, isn’t he?” She met her brother’s eyes. “Who’s his mother, Wade? And where is she?”

“That’s the complicated part,” he told her softly. “It’s a really long story.”

“I’ve got all day. Berry? You have plans for this afternoon?” Dallas shifted a squirming Austin in her arms, then let him get down.

“I do now. Into the house. All of you—kids, dogs,
everyone.” Berry turned and started up the steps. “I can’t have this conversation standing out in the hot sun without a cold glass of iced tea. It isn’t civilized.”

“She says march, we march.” Dallas shrugged and followed in Berry’s footsteps. She paused partway up and turned to Wade. “Wade, are you married to Austin’s mother?”

“I was.”

“When?”

“For almost three weeks, in July.”

“Three weeks?” Dallas frowned. “You were only married for three weeks? Jeez, Wade, why bother?”

“Because she was dying,” he said softly, “and I wanted her to die in peace.”

For the second time in less than ten minutes, Dallas was momentarily stunned. When she recovered, she raised her hand and gently touched his face. “Oh, sweetie. What happened to you in Texas?”

“Like I said, it’s a long story.”

“Like I said, I have all day.” Dallas took him by the hand and walked the rest of the way up the steps in silence. When they got to the deck, she paused and asked, “Is Austin your son?”

“He is now.”

He opened the door for his sister, and waited while she entered the house, a million questions on her face and in her eyes.

He waited for the boys and the two dogs at the top of the stairs, and wondered where to begin to tell the story he should have told them months ago.

The bell over the door in Steffie Wyler’s ice-cream shop, One Scoop or Two—known locally as “Scoop”—rang for what Steffie thought was probably the five hundred and fiftieth time in the past two hours.

“Top of the list of things to do as soon as the afterdinner rush dies down: deep-six that damned bell,” she told Tina, one of two of her part-time employees who were working that night. “It was a cute idea when the shop first opened and I’d get a dozen customers in the morning and maybe twice as many in the afternoon. It’s no longer cute. If I had a gun, I swear I’d shoot it off the door from here.”

The bell rang again and she glanced up as the latest group entered the small onetime crabber’s shack that now served as Scoop’s home, and her words died in her throat. Dallas MacGregor, a regular customer, came into the shop, trailed by her great-aunt and the tall, ridiculously handsome guy who’d been the object of Steffie’s affection—and lust—since before she was old enough to know the difference between, well, affection and lust.

The last time she’d seen Wade MacGregor, he was driving away from the inn at Sinclair’s Point on the night of the local police chief’s wedding—driving away and leaving a hurt, confused, and wildly frustrated Steffie standing alone in the parking lot after they’d danced away most of the night. No explanations. Just “Gotta go. Got a plane to catch. See ya.” And just that fast, he’d disappeared.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t quite that abrupt—there’d been some mumbling about something unexpected coming up—but Steffie’s big plans for the rest of the night had faded into the moonlight along with the exhaust from Wade’s rental car. That had been four months ago, and she hadn’t heard a word from him since.

Jerk
.

She tried to ignore the smile of recognition that spread across his face when he saw her. Tried just as unsuccessfully to keep her heart rate under control. Tried to push from her mind the scenes her imagination had conjured up of Wade walking into Scoop—like he just had, all nonchalant and gorgeous, smiling a special smile just for her—at which time she put the “Closed” sign on the door and they fell into each other’s arms and frantically …

“I said two scoops of chocolate.” The customer she was waiting on waved a hand in front of her face to get her attention. “That’s pistachio.”

“Oh. Sorry. I thought you said …” Steffie shook her head and forced herself to focus on the task at hand and hoped that no one noticed the red flush that she felt spreading from her neck to her hairline. “Sorry.”

She returned the pistachio scoops to the container and remade the cone. “You can take it right over there to the cash register and Claire will ring you up,” she told the customer, then nodded to the next person in the line that had formed in front of the glassfronted case. “What would you like, ma’am?”

Seven customers later, Steffie looked over the counter and found Cody Blair, Dallas’s son, waiting his turn. He held the hand of a little boy, a beautiful child who had dark curly hair and big brown eyes.