The Surprise Holiday Dad (19 page)

She did love him. She was afraid of it, though. She’d been afraid all along.

So am I.

Disturbed by his thoughts, Wade switched off the lights and went upstairs. In his room he took a photo from the shelf, a high school graduation photo of Vicki. At eighteen she’d twinkled with high spirits. A cute blonde, she wore her mortarboard at a rakish angle, with the tassel barely missing her eye.

For all her youthful gaiety, she’d been cruel to him. But she’d suffered, too. And now she lay in that cemetery while the world went on without her. Wade saw her as she’d been, vulnerable and unstable, a woman who, as her sister said, hadn’t deserved to be born with a mental illness.

The last of his resentment faded. Though it was unintentional, Vicki had left him a precious gift with her death almost a year ago. His son. Make that two gifts: she’d also cleared the way for him to fall in love with Adrienne.

Time to bury the past, Wade thought. And to start working on the future.

Chapter Nineteen

Adrienne awoke to the scent of orange-cranberry muffins and the awareness that the two people dearest to her heart were downstairs. For today, she intended to simply enjoy being with them. Happiness was too precious to waste.

She showered and dressed in a silly red sweater embroidered with a couple kittens in Santa hats. Vicki had given it to her last year, and she prized it.

Downstairs in the kitchen, Wade wore an apron and a patch of dough on one cheek as he removed the muffins from the oven. At the crookedly set table, Reggie stuck a butter knife in a tub of margarine.

“I’ll bet you’re hungry,” Adrienne said.

Proudly, he pointed to the full coffeepot. “I made that. Dad showed me how.”

“You taught him to brew coffee?” It seemed to her like a rather grown-up task.

After positioning the muffin tin on the stove, Wade set down the pot holders. “When our son is determined to do something, it’s better to teach him the right way than let him try on his own.”

She conceded the point.

Reggie produced his tablet computer and, after a few clicks, showed her a map of Safe Harbor’s bus routes. “I’m not s’posed to go out alone ’cause it’s dangerous. But now I can find my way if I have to.”

Across the kitchen, Wade shot her a silent appeal. “Okay,” Adrienne said. “Anytime you’re tempted to do adult stuff, come to us first, okay?”

His head bobbed in agreement. “Can I pour you a cup?”

About to point out how heavy the carafe was, she caught herself. “Thanks for asking. Let your dad show you how.”

With Wade’s guidance and the aid of a pot holder, Reg filled her favorite mug. So what if he spilled almost as much as he poured? Thanks to Wade’s instructions, it went into the sink.

As soon as the muffins were cool enough to eat, they dug in. The meal went fast, both because they were hungry and because Reg was impatient to open presents.

Santa had left
Presidential Pets
by Julia Moberg and a couple other picture books under the tree. Reggie flipped through them with interest and then set them aside for later. Next Wade insisted his son open Adrienne’s packages. The little boy nearly got sidetracked by a computer puzzle game and had to be dissuaded from playing it immediately. He dived into another present, a hands-on science kit that Peter had recommended.

“We can both use this, okay, Dad?” he asked.

“You bet.” Wade’s smile seemed distracted.

Don’t think about what he might say later. Stay in the moment.

Before tackling his remaining gifts, Reggie handed them each a small package, messily wrapped in Sunday comics. Opening hers, Adrienne removed a computer-printed booklet filled with photos Reg had shot during the year. There she was at Harper’s wedding—an unflattering view from child height, but never mind that—plus there were pictures from school, sports camp and Mia’s birthday party last summer.

“I love it.” She hugged him.

Wade leafed carefully through his. “This is the best present anyone ever gave me.”

Peering over his shoulder, Adrienne saw that Reg had taken shots not only of his father but also of the toy police station after they’d assembled it. And, as with Adrienne’s book, he’d included an out-of-focus self-portrait with his little face scrunched and his tongue stuck out.

Priceless.

After gleefully accepting their thanks, Reg reached for a large package that bore Wade’s name. “Can I open this next?”

“Of course,” his father said.

It was a child-size guitar. Although small, it had a clear tone when Reggie ran his fingers across the strings.

“Now I can sing with you, Dad!” the boy exclaimed. “We can make a video.”

“That’s a great idea.” Wade handed him a second gift, which turned out to contain an instructional DVD. “It’ll take some work before we’re good enough.”

“Let’s start now.”

Adrienne hesitated. She wasn’t ready for her men, as she thought of them, to go off on their own. “Wade and I haven’t exchanged our presents yet.”

Then she realized that only one package remained beneath the tree, the one she’d wrapped for Wade in the same paper she’d used for Reg’s packages. A sparkly shape behind the tree was only a lump in the tree skirt, not a box.

Reggie noticed, too. “Where’s Daddy’s gift for you?”

Maybe Wade hadn’t bought her anything, she thought, noticing a flush on the man’s cheeks. “Grown-ups sometimes give each other the kind of gifts you can’t wrap,” she said. “Like dinner out.”

“The truth is, I bought your aunt something too small to put under the tree.” It was hard to tell whether he was joking. “How about you go play upstairs with that new game for a few minutes?”

“Why can’t I see it?” his son demanded.

“You can, but she gets to see it first,” Wade said. “In private.”

Reg eyed him sternly. “I expect a full report.”

“It’s a deal.”

Having struck a bargain, the little boy collected an armful of new possessions and hauled them away. That left Adrienne and Wade alone, sitting on the carpet.

They were overdue for a discussion about her inability to have children, yet in a rush of nervousness, she plucked the remaining package from beneath the tree. “I hope you like it.”

He took it with a puzzled expression. “Thanks.”

“It’s okay if you forgot to buy me anything,” she added.

“I didn’t forget.” With that cryptic remark, he slid off the ribbon and tore into the paper.

Hands clenched in her lap, Adrienne watched.

* * *

I
T
WAS
A
gorgeous sweater, soft, warm and an unusual shade of blue-gray. Adrienne had chosen this carefully. Pleased, Wade pulled it on, enjoying the warmth. “Thank you. Just what I need.”

“Good.” She sounded breathless.

Although last night he’d assumed he knew what to say, his whole body tensed. She’d already rejected him once.

Well, he wasn’t about to let that scare him off.
Better get started.
Reaching into his pocket, Wade produced a black-velvet jeweler’s box.

Adrienne sucked in her breath sharply. When he placed it in her palm, she let it sit there as if it might explode. Then, pressing her lips together, she pried it open.

A pair of gold earrings set with diamond chips caught the lamplight. “They’re stunning.”

Hurry up before she thinks that’s all there is.
“I’m hoping we can find a ring to go with those. The kind with a diamond.”

After a silent moment that stretched far too long, she said, “You don’t mind about not having children?”

Wade longed to reassure her, but he had to answer honestly. “Sure, I’m disappointed. I’d love to have kids with you.”

Adrienne blinked, studying the earrings. “We could hire a surrogate.”

“Either way, I want to marry you, if you’ll have me,” Wade said. “Funny thing—it’s almost a relief that you won’t have to go through a pregnancy.”

“What do you mean?” Her startled gaze met his.

He reached out to touch her shoulder. “In my family relationships seem to be jinxed. Not only were the marriages unhappy, but my grandmother died after she fell down the stairs, and my mother died in a plane crash. I don’t want any harm to come to you, and pregnancies, well, I understand they can get complicated.”

“They’re usually safe,” she responded promptly. “That’s really a concern for you?”

“Protecting you and Reggie is my number-one priority,” Wade said fiercely. “Later we can talk about surrogacy or adoption, but that’s not what matters most. You and Reggie mean everything to me.”

Was she on the verge of tears? And if so, was that good or bad?

Adrienne swallowed. “I’ve always been the strong one, picking up the pieces for everyone else and protecting myself.”

He squelched the impulse to argue.
Let her finish.

“The thing is, I’ve discovered I’m stronger with you than on my own.” A tear slid down her cheek.

“Then why are you crying?”

“I’m afraid to say yes.”

“Why?” He kept hoping that he’d start to understand women—Adrienne, specifically—but he wasn’t making much progress.

“I never expected to have my dreams come true.” She ran her hands up his arms, along the soft sweater. “It’s almost too much to ask. Like you said, our families are jinxed.”

“How about I knock over a vase or something?” Wade joked. “To use up the bad luck.”

They both laughed, and then Adrienne scooted across the carpet into his arms. “I guess nobody gets a guarantee.”

“Only that we’ll love each other as long as we both shall live.” Wade had no doubts on that score.

They clung to each other, closeness deepening into a kiss. He’d have liked to carry her upstairs—well, being realistic, to lead her upstairs—and make love, but here came those racing footsteps.

In popped the cute little boy who’d brought them together. “Yay!” he shouted on seeing them cuddling. “You aren’t fighting. Promise you never will, okay?”

“I’m sure we’ll disagree occasionally,” Wade said, adding for Adrienne’s benefit, “Just keeping it real.”

“I tend to be a little grumpy when I’m tired.” Her words were muffled against his sweater.

“But we’ll always fight fair, and we’ll talk things out until we find a solution,” Wade finished. “That’s what husbands and wives do.”

Reggie regarded them with rising excitement. “You guys are getting married?”

“Yes,” Adrienne said.

“I’ve been waiting for that,” Wade murmured against her hair.

“I thought I said it.”

“Not till now.”

“Can I walk you down the aisle, Aunt Addie?” Reggie asked.

“What about me?” Wade pretended to be hurt. “I was going to ask you to be my best man.”

Reg drew himself up proudly. “I’ll walk you both down the aisle.”

What a brilliant idea. “Perfect,” Adrienne said.

“That’s our little boy.” His heart swelling, Wade gathered them both into his arms.

His wife-to-be. His son.

His family.

* * * * *

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Chapter One

“I'm sending you to the ranch in New Mexico.”

Nothing like condemning a man without a fair trial.

Somehow Ryan Molloy managed to keep from saying that to the man standing in the barn doorway. What did it matter, anyway? Trial or no trial, he'd already condemned himself. His gut-level response at hearing his boss's words only piled on the guilt.

“Plan on being there by the end of the week.”

Keeping a stranglehold on the reins in his hand, he nodded.

Over the past few months, Caleb Cantrell had allowed him more than a few chances to pull himself together and get his life back on track. No need for Caleb to voice
his
thoughts. The fact that he'd made the day trip from New Mexico to Montana said it all.

As if reading his mind, Caleb said, “I don't reckon I need to state the obvious.”

“That I've given you no choice?” Caleb wasn't giving him one, either. No option of staying on the ranch here in Montana. He could take the offer. Or walk.

Raising no argument, asking no questions, he returned the reins to their peg on the wall, making sure they hung neatly in their appropriate spot. Too bad he hadn't handled things with such care earlier in the week.

As if in tune with his thoughts again, Caleb said, “What happened with Rod?”

“You haven't heard?”

“I want to hear it from you.”

He shrugged. “He mouthed off about folks—about the manager—not attending to business around here.”

Caleb frowned. “He didn't come across that way when we hired him.”

“He was drunker than a skunk the other day,” Ryan admitted.

“He didn't mention that.”

“Why would he? Doesn't matter. He was in the right. And I did the unthinkable.” Let months of anger and frustration and plain raw pain get the best of him. He forced his hands to relax by his sides. “I threw a sucker punch at one of my men. And you're relocating me to the new ranch.” His own actions had led to this, yet the words left a bitter taste against his back teeth.

Caleb nodded. “For the time being. I need someone in Flagman's Folly, and you could use a change of scenery.”

And a change in attitude.

More words he and the boss didn't need to have out in the open between them. He heard them loud and all too clear.

He heard them ringing in his ears even now, though that conversation had taken place days ago. Afterward Caleb had hustled off to the airport, but not before Ryan assured him he would see him in a few days.

In the weak morning light of his ranch-house bedroom, Ryan fumbled in his dresser drawers, scooping up the items he would need for a temporary but indefinite stay and shoving them into the duffel bag on the bed.

T-shirts...handkerchiefs...briefs...bandannas... And heck, why not take the Louis L'Amour paperback from the nightstand, too? The slip of paper marking his place in the book had rested between pages eight and nine for only about six months. He just couldn't seem to focus on the damned story, no matter that over the years he'd read it so many times he had practically memorized every word.

He managed to ignore the dresser top and the picture frame he'd turned facedown a year ago. He could stand beside a rectangle of freshly turned soil, could stare at names and dates on a chiseled stone, but he hadn't the willpower to look at that photo.

Again he swallowed against the bitterness threatening his molars. Leaving Montana meant walking away from every connection he had to Jan and Billy. It meant running away from the memories, too, the good ones he could barely recall anymore, blotted out by the bad ones he couldn't forget.

A year since the accident, those memories still filled his days and occasionally woke him in the dead of night. The pity in his friends' faces had added a few more rips to the torn-up places inside him. And last week, a drunken cowboy's insults had pushed him to his breaking point.

His throat tightened. Despite the breeze blowing in through the open window beside the bed, sweat dotted his brow. Hands hovering above the duffel bag, he paused. Before he could argue or talk himself out of his action, could brush away or second-guess the thought, he grabbed the picture frame from the dresser and slid it, still facedown, under a pile of shirts in the bag.

He would head out late afternoon, once he'd taken care of his chores here on the ranch one last time. Once he'd swung by for a last visit to the small churchyard on Hanaman Road.

And then...

Then he'd drive to New Mexico.

Only a fool would pass up the opportunity Caleb had given him, one he'd done less than nothing to deserve. Somehow he had to undo the damage he'd done, to restore his credibility with the boss. To earn back his reputation.

The hell of it was, most of him didn't give a damn about all that. The wonder was, a small part of him still cared enough to fight for it. Plain enough to see the unexpected reassignment would be a battle.

A trial.

A risk he couldn't afford not to take.

* * *

O
NLY
A
SHORT
while into his solo journey, one stretch of road had started looking like any other. He drove through the night, when all the towns he came to had rolled up their sidewalks and gone to bed. Or—in the case of his arrival in Flagman's Folly, New Mexico, sixteen hours later—hadn't yet unrolled those sidewalks to a new day.

As he turned onto Signal Street, he figured he could describe the main thoroughfare with his eyes closed; it was almost exactly like all the other main streets in every other small town. Some stroke of luck—
good
luck, for a change—made sure his eyes stayed open. Up ahead of his pickup truck, a little girl darted into the roadway.

The luck stayed with him, letting reflexes take over. Lungs sucked in a breath. Ribs strained. Arms jerked in tandem with his wrench of the steering wheel, and both legs joined forces to jam the brake. Momentum hurled him against the shoulder belt and then ricocheted him back into the driver's seat.

Far past the end of the truck's high hood, the little girl turned around, met his eyes through the windshield and gave him an angelic smile.

As he sat there shaking his head and willing his heart to beat again, the air left his lungs in a whoosh. Other reactions washed through him, no less powerful for the delay. A tremor that shook him from head to toe. And an immediate understanding of something he'd never before believed—in moments of extreme stress, life
did
flash before your eyes.

Not only your own life but those of people you loved.

In the street, a slim woman hurried over to the girl. A puppy bounded across the adjacent lawn to join them and looked up, tail wagging and head cocked as if to ask what had happened.

The woman led the child back to the sidewalk—where she should've stayed all along. What if—?

He swallowed hard, unable to finish the sentence, even in his mind. Only moments ago he'd shoved a slew of year-old questions like that from his thoughts. Now he could barely think at all.

Both hands scrabbling, he unclasped his seat belt and shoved the door open. As his feet hit the ground, he nearly choked on the smell of scorched tires. A burning sensation raced through his insides. Pain-fueled anger flared. “Lady,” he shouted, “are you crazy?”

Even from several yards away, he saw her blue eyes narrow. She spoke, but he couldn't catch the response.

Again he shook his head, wanting to chase away the memories triggered by the near miss. Needing to focus on the here and now.

She said something else, and still he couldn't make out the words. Obviously she was wrought up, with good reason. But that didn't account for the blurriness of her voice.

The hairs on the back of his neck rose. She'd risked her little girl's life.... “Are you drunk?” he demanded.

“No, I am not.” She clipped off each word now, making a visible effort to speak calmly and clearly.

He frowned. Whether she denied it or not, something was up with her. “What the hell were you thinking, letting that kid run into the road?”

“I didn't let her. She chased after her puppy, and it was too late for me to stop her.”

Too late.

Not, thank God, for this little girl.

“I'm sorry,” she said in a softer tone.

He could hear the ring of sincerity, but couldn't shake off the visions of her child. Or his own. Under his breath he muttered what he'd been forced to learn: “Being sorry won't save your kid.”

“I told you, it happened too fast.”

He blinked, willing to swear he hadn't spoken loudly enough for her to hear.

Ignoring him, she turned to talk to the girl.

With neither of them paying him any mind, he sagged against the sun-warmed metal of the truck and scrubbed his hand across his mouth, glad for the chance to pull himself together.

He still couldn't shake the images that had peppered his brain like buckshot the moment he'd seen the girl run into the street. He couldn't stop the questions he had hoped to leave a thousand miles behind him.

Had memories flooded Jan's mind in the seconds before the crash? From his booster chair in the backseat, had Billy seen the end coming, too?

From somewhere deep inside, he found the strength to slam a mental door shut on his thoughts. For now.

Avoiding the pair on the sidewalk, he stared down the length of the street, taking in the general store, the pharmacy and a café. When he could breathe regularly again, he checked out the lawn alongside him. The town green, evidently, judging by the formal look of the hitching posts spaced all around the property and the horse troughs overflowing with flowers decorating the walkway. It almost seemed like home.

Good thing he'd never been here before, because this would've been one hell of a homecoming.

And good thing he didn't intend to stay long. Didn't matter what his boss said about “fresh starts” and “taking a breather.” No one here but Caleb's wife, Tess, and daughter, Nate, knew him, anyway. But even that didn't matter. He would do his job, make things right with the man who paid his wages and move on to...who the hell cared where.

Trying to ignore the sudden stiffness in his shoulders, he focused on the building ahead of him. Tall columns held up the porch, though the structure looked sturdy enough to do without them. Beneath that sheltering roof stood a white-haired man impersonating an Elvis gone forty years past his prime.

Great.
If he'd had to ruin his grand entrance, couldn't he have done it without an audience? The irony made his shoulders grow even more rigid. A year ago he'd hounded the sheriff's office to come up with a single witness.

Maybe the way the old man stood squinting and patting his shirt pocket meant he couldn't see a thing without glasses.

Naturally, all his good luck had run out. Elvis pulled a toothpick out of that pocket, stuck it in the corner of his mouth and crossed his arms over his chest. The old guy looked him up and down much the way Ryan himself inspected potential ranch stock.

Yeah, just great.

Distracted by movement, he looked toward the woman, who had turned to face him again.

A heavy feeling started in his chest and only got worse when she stalked toward him. Slim legs in below-the-knee shorts flashed gracefully but with as much determination as a filly headed for the finish line. He barely had time to take in the rest of her racehorse-lean frame before she came to a stop a yard from him. Her cheeks flushed pink with anger and her blue eyes flamed.

“I explained to Becky what happened,” she said, spacing her words, “and now I'll explain some things to you.” She spread the fingers of one hand and ticked off each statement as she made it. “I am not drunk. I am not crazy. Becky is not my child.”

He shifted his shoulders again. She had a heck of a lot of points to get across, all on his account.

Beyond her he saw the little girl, as blond-haired as the woman in front of him. No wonder he'd taken them for mother and daughter. The child went onto one knee to pet the puppy.

“Becky is my niece. And—” the woman tapped her final finger, then curled both hands into fists and slammed them down in front of her “—I
can
take care of her.”

The sparks in her blue eyes made him fight not to wince. She had some justification for her anger. He wouldn't deny that. He had good reason for getting upset, too.

But he didn't have enough damn fingers for his list of regrets.

Yeah, at first fear had driven him. Once he saw the child was okay, relief had set in. But then, as with the drunken cowboy, he had let frustration take over.

He couldn't lose it with her again.

“Look,” he said, “when I saw the girl, I thought—”

“We've covered what you thought.”

“Right. And you've said a mouthful about it. Or maybe a handful.” He gestured to her fists.

She looked down. Again she made a visible effort to gain control, to unclench her fingers and let her hands hang naturally by her sides. He ought to take notes.

When she met his eyes again, he gave her an unblinking stare.

“I've already apologized.” She spoke softly, indistinctly again, making him strain to focus on her words. “I'll say it one more time. I'm sorry Becky ran into the road and gave you such a scare. But she wasn't anywhere near you. You just overreacted.”

Another truth he couldn't deny. No matter his unease about the woman, she was right. He
had
gone over the top with his reaction. The child had run into the road dozens of yards away from the truck, and he'd had plenty of time to come to a stop. Yet if he'd been closer to her, if he'd been distracted, if a car had come from the other direction... Too damned many ifs.

“You should have called her back,” he said flatly.