Read The Girl of Sand & Fog Online
Authors: Susan Ward
The Girl of Sand & Fog (44 page)
Bobby’s tense face cracks with a smile. “I hope
not,” he murmurs and both men laugh.
Ah. A joke. A good sign.
I relax into my husband’s side. There are times
Linda just floors me. This is one of those times. No wonder she didn’t hesitate
or argue when I asked for information to unseal Bobby’s adoption records. She’s
been communicating with his birth parents on her own for years.
Greg is right. Linda Rowan is a good woman and
Bobby couldn’t have done better in the adoptive mom department. She not only
raised an incredible man, but was the kind of mother who could make days like
today possible.
As I listen to them quietly talk, a part of me
wishes Linda was here to see this.
This would make her happy, too, I think.
I wonder if I can sneak a video without them
noticing.
I slyly reach into my tote.
EPILOGUE
Seven
years later
I
hurry through the house to my parents’ backyard to find my dad surrounded by my
brothers and sisters.
Jeez, Krystal looks agitated and annoyed, but
then again this is her high school graduation trip before she moves to New York
to attend Juilliard.
I avoid her stare, the angry sister stare,
pinning me as I cross the patio.
Fine.
I’m late.
Deal with it.
It’s not like the plane is going to leave the
airport without us, and if she had half a clue what a chore it was getting out
of the house with a husband and two boys, she wouldn’t be so darn petty about
waiting an extra twenty minutes.
Mom’s not even here yet.
See, I’m not late.
“Where’s Mom?”
My dad whirls toward me. “There’s my princess.
Chrissie is still packing. We were starting to think you were going to cut out
on us.”
I kiss him on the cheek. “I wouldn’t do that. I
love our annual family trips. I’m sorry I’m late. I was sick all morning. I’m
pregnant again.”
My dad’s jaw drops. “You’re joking, right?”
I shake my head. “No. Did a stick test. Pretty
darn sure grandchild number three is on its way.”
Those black eyes burn. “Where the hell is that
son-in-law of mine?”
“Well, that was a little mean, Alan,” I chide,
mimicking my mom.
“What is wrong with that boy? You’ve just
launched a start-up independent film company. That should be your focus. Two
kids. Enough. Why can’t he listen?”
I bite back a smile and do a pout instead. “Well,
that’s not the reaction I expected. And stop pretending you don’t like Bobby. I
know that you do.”
Alan rakes a hand through his hair. “I’m not
going to like him if he keeps this up.”
Krystal starts laughing. “You’re so ridiculous,
Dad. A man with five kids can’t be critical of a man soon to have three. It
doesn’t work that way.”
He gives Krystal
the stare
. “Stop. You
girls are not allowed to gang up on me. Not when Chrissie is not here.”
She only laughs harder.
My dad searches the backyard.
“Where is Bobby?” Alan asks again.
I sink down on a chaise.
“He’s not coming. I told mom that a week ago. He
left this morning with the boys for Lodi to see Greg. Bobby’s been learning
about grapes. Making wine. The business. We’re thinking about starting a
winery.”
“A winery?” More displeasure on my dad’s face.
“Terrible idea. They bleed money. Only good for the tax advantage. Bobby is
just full of winning ideas, now isn’t he?”
I pout again. “I think so. He married me.”
Alan’s gaze softens. “Yes, you are definitely a
winning idea. Unfortunately, you were Bobby’s only winning idea.”
Krystal scrunches up her face. “I’m never getting
married.”
Alan rummages in his pocket for his phone—no
doubt to call Bobby—as he drops a kiss on Krystal’s dark curls. “Perfect. Now
all I have to do is convince you not to go to Juilliard, stay home and study
dance here.”
Krystal groans. “Will you leave off about Juilliard?
Why do you have such a problem with me going there? It’s becoming unbearable
you trying to change my mind. Why don’t you just tell me why you don’t want me
to go?”
Jeez, did my dad’s face just flush?
“No reason,” he says quietly. “I just want you
here.”
“Not buying it, Dad,” Krystal says pointedly.
He shrugs. “I don’t like the thought of you
living in New York alone, Krystal. That’s my reason.”
I lock eyes with my sister, her expression
mirroring mine. Alan’s cheeks reddening—a definite dead giveaway.
What don’t we know?
Chrissie rushes across the patio. “Alan, stop
giving Krystal a hard time about Juilliard. We should both be thrilled she’s
going there. And there’s only
one
you. There’s not a chance in the world
our daughter is going to run into a guy like you there.”
My eyes widen in disbelief. “That’s why you’ve
been so difficult about the Juilliard thing, Pop? You don’t want Krystal to
live in New York because you’re worried she might meet someone like you? Like
Mom did when she went for her Juilliard audition? Just for future
clarification, would that be worse than marrying someone like Bobby?”
My dad’s expression is priceless.
Krystal and I explode into laughter.
Alan frowns. “Thanks a lot, Chrissie. Way to be a
team player.”
Krystal exhales loudly. “Why don’t you ever set
me up with any of Bobby’s hot surfing buddies?
I’d like to find a guy
like Bobby. I might be willing to stay in southern California for that.”
I slowly shake my head, smiling. “Sorry, Krystal.
Not going to happen. There is only one Bobby and he’s mine.”
The End
Continue the Parker Family Saga with the next generation, Krystal,
Ethan, Eric & Khloe. Their books releasing 2016. For all my current and
future releases visit my website:
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Enjoy one of my current contemporary romance releases:
The Girl in the Comfortable Quiet
One Forever
Kiss(Releasing Fall 2015)
Or enjoy one of my historical romance releases:
Love me Forever: Releasing Fall of 2015
Enjoy Chrissie and Alan’s story from the
beginning with
The Girl
on the Half Shell
, The Half Shell Series Book One:
The room is so quiet it is deafening.
I find Alan on his bed, casually reclined against
a stack of pillows, dressed only in flannel pajama bottoms, and reading—of all
things—the
Wall Street Journal
. There is a fire lit,
the silver candlesticks flicker with flame, the bedcovers invitingly turned
down as if in preparation for some sort of romantic scene. But he is focused on
the
Journal
.
He doesn’t look at me and I feel stupid hovering
by his door, so I start to wander around the bedroom, trying to still my
frantic pulse. It’s a good thing that it’s an interesting room, otherwise my
deliberate study would seem silly.
Even Alan’s bedroom is something I find weird and
demands a certain amount of mental analysis. It looks like something from a
nineteenth century English manor, elegant to the point of being almost a touch
prissy. There’s an antique mahogany king-sized bed facing the fireplace; floral
wingback chairs with pillows positioned before the hearth; and high-tech
conveniences camouflaged in antique furniture. There’s a Monet on the wall; tall,
polished sterling silver candlesticks; crystal; and fine, leather-bound, first
edition books of classic literature. I sink down before a small, mahogany table
where I find a stack of newspaper:
Barons
; the
New
York Times
; the
Washington Post
; and
the
Daily
Telegraph
.
The warmth of the fire surrounds me like a
caress, but I am quaking like a leaf. I wasn’t sure what Alan expected after he
walked out of the kitchen. It would have been logical to assume that I would
leave. But he knew I’d follow him. I don’t know why he’s ignoring me now. I
look at the lit candlesticks—he wanted me to follow him.
I bite my lower lip and stare at my knotted
fingers. I stayed alone in the kitchen for what seemed like ages, and now that
I’ve done exactly what he expected me to do,
nothing
.
I struggle for something to say to break the
silence. “You do have seven bedrooms. I counted them twice. But there are seven
only if I include yours.”
He folds the
Journal
, tosses
it on the table and fixes those penetrating, mesmerizing eyes on me. “Is this
the room you want?” he asks, his voice gentle. “I meant it when I said you
could have any room. It doesn’t have to be my room for you to stay.”
Does
he not want me in his room?
A ragged breath forces its way from deep in
my lungs. “Do you want me to go?” I murmur.
“Of course not. I want you here.” His voice is
husky and his eyes are wandering in a leisurely hold that is tender and oddly
comforting
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Susan Ward is a native of Santa Barbara, California, where she
currently lives in a house on the side of a mountain, overlooking the Pacific
Ocean. She doesn’t believe she makes sense anywhere except near the sea. She
attended the University of California Santa Barbara and earned a degree in Business
Administration from California State University Sacramento. She works as a
Government Relations Consultant, focusing on issues of air quality and global
warming. The mother of grown daughters, she lives a quiet life with her husband
and her dog, Emma. She can be found most often walking at Hendry’s Beach, where
she writes most of her storylines in her head while watching Emma play in the
surf.
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