Waiting for Your Love (Echoes of the Heart) (9 page)

“What do you mean,
you didn’t accept PetClub’s offer?” Conrad demanded.

“Yet,” Clair said through their cell connection. “I haven’t accepted their offer
yet
.”

Conrad wiped his eyes with the palms of his hands, the call hands-free on his Smartphone’s speaker. It was the middle of the night. Once again it was Clair, not an emergency, waking him up.

Or maybe it was both.

He still hadn’t cobbled together enough conscious brain cells to understand what had happened in Charlotte, or why she was home earlier than she’d planned.

“I met with their executive team yesterday,” she chattered on, as if her leaving without a final decision on the merger were no big deal. “I took a tour of their headquarters and listened carefully as we talked through the details of their proposal. And then I told them I simply didn’t have what I needed yet, to give them the answer they wanted.”

“Clair…” No way was she backing out on this deal. “I don’t want to fight with you about this, but—”

“But, ‘If fighting is sure to result in victory, then you must fight.’ Right?”

“Don’t quote
The Art of War
to me in the middle of the night.”

“Technically it’s morning.”

“That’s not the point.”

“The point is that I caught the first flight into Atlanta this morning, because I couldn’t wait to talk with you about my decision.”

He checked the clock on the side of his bed. “Five a.m. is not early. It’s
not
morning. Not when I just got home from work. My shift ran long. We had a multiple-vehicle accident roll in at two. The babysitter slept over. I just closed my eyes.”

Actually, he hadn’t been able to sleep at all. Or, despite his assurances to Clair before he’d left Charlotte, think about anything but how close he was to losing her. The prospect had tortured him all night after rushing home to Harper, and again when Conrad had collapsed into bed an hour or so ago.

He wanted her.

He wanted
them
.

But not like this.

“PetClub’s offer”—he dropped his head into his hands—“is your dream come true for ALL PAWS.”

“Yes, and those executives were eating out of my hands at the contract negotiations, just like you predicted. But ALL PAWS isn’t the only priority in my life. Not anymore. And I made that clear to the board.”

Conrad felt his heart turn over in his chest at the absolute certainty of her declaration, and the easy way she’d said it. Clair Summerville was a beautiful, smart, headstrong woman who would be a catch for any guy, if she’d
ever
allowed herself to be inclined to get caught. If he was the man to finally persuade her to do that, he couldn’t help but smile.

But he
wouldn’t
be the reason she settled for less than everything she deserved. Even if it meant him getting out of her way.

“Don’t string Russell and Waterston along because of me,” he said. “You’re giving up your chance to—”

“I’m not giving up on anything. You were right about that, too. I countered their offer, we’re still in negotiations, and that’s where we’ve left things for now. PetClub is re-considering their options. So am I.”

“This is crazy, Clair. I’m not going to let you do this.”

“Just try to stop me.
After
I get there and tell you everything I have to say. Your sitter’s sleeping over, right? She’s around until morning? Hang tight. I’m almost home, Conrad. I’m coming to you this time. See you soon.”

Clair had intended to
head over to Conrad’s later in the day, after dissolving into a couple of hours of dead-to-the-world sleep.

But, rotten friend that she was, she’d called him from her car as soon as she’d left the airport. And of course he’d answered, the way he was always there for her whenever she needed him.

And yesterday as she’d sat in the contract meeting with PetClub, minutes away from signing their deal memo, she’d finally been certain that she
needed
Conrad and Harper and the life they could make together—in addition the phenomenal success she knew she would make of ALL PAWS and PAWSMatch, with PetClub’s deep pockets and market presence backing her.

She pulled up to Conrad’s house, dawn’s first light breaking behind the trees rimming his backyard. His Jeep was parked in the driveway. His babysitter’s hybrid hung at the curb, where Clair parked, too.

His front door swung open. Out stepped the scruffy-looking, exhausted, not-quite-awake man she’d rushed home to see. He looked worried, and raring to argue her out of the reckless choice he thought she was making. But when she stepped out of her car, his smile was immediate.

She raced up his front walk, launching herself into his arms.

“Oof!” He caught her close.

“Gotcha,” she whispered against his neck.

“Always.” The break in his voice made it a solemn vow. “I’m here for you, Clair, whatever you need. I’ll always have your back. But you’re not letting PetClub slip away. You’ll regret it if you do. You’ll resent me, if I’m the reason you give it up.”

She kissed him and pushed away—but only far enough to stand on her own two feet.

“I’m not giving up anything,” she said. “I agreed to all of their terms except one. I made it clear it was my deal breaker. And then—”

“What one thing?” Conrad dug his hands into the pockets of his oldest, softest-looking pair of jeans.

“That I’m not changing my home base.”

His expression grew grim. When he crossed his arms to argue, she held up a hand to stop him.

“I told them I couldn’t move away from my family and friends.” Even her meddling mother. “That my support network here is an essential part of how I’ve made ALL PAWS and PAWSMatch such a success, and PetClub would be crazy to mess with that formula. But most important, I made it clear that I’m not leaving behind the man I’m asking to marry me.”

“But you can’t…” Conrad blinked.

Everything about him softened, melting.

He stepped closer and took her back into his arms.

“What did you say?” he asked.

“Marry me, Conrad. That’s what I raced all the way home to ask you. I don’t need to talk about my negotiations with PetClub. That’s done, and they’ll come around. They want PAWSMatch—they want
me
—a lot. But I’m not moving to Charlotte. I’ll commute to North Carolina whenever I absolutely have to, and I’ll teleconference the rest of the time. I’ll travel as much as they want me to. It can work this way.”

Conrad linked their fingers together. “Of course it could work. You can make anything work. But the other thing you said. You asking me to—”

“Marry me? I…” She licked her lips, reading only shock in his expression and wondering whether she’d miscalculated. “I told Waterston and Russell I couldn’t leave my whole life behind, no matter how lucrative a business move PetClub would be for me. Especially not the man I love, my soon-to-be husband, and my…”

“Stepson?”

She nodded.

“You love me…” Conrad whispered, as if he wasn’t certain he’d heard right.

Or was he regretting being the first one to say it, now that she’d returned the sentiment and was pushing for so much more? After all, his plan had been to take things slow, and to make sure they knew what they were getting into.

Her smartphone buzzed in her pocket.

She dug it out, read the text message and smiled.

“Mr. Waterston.” She held up the device. “PetClub’s agreeing to my counter. Their lawyers should have a new offer ready for me to sign by the end of the day.”

Conrad stood there mute. Too shocked—or appalled—to give her a clue what he was thinking.

“Look…” She backed toward the curb and her car. “It’s early, and I’ve sprung a lot on you. Why don’t you call me later when you know whether or not you want to—”

“Yes.” He caught her arm, his eyes filling with morning light.

“Yes,
whether
?” She tilted her head, trying to read him. “Or yes,
not
?”

“Yes, I want to.” He kissed her, smiling now. “I want
you
. I want you here in Chandlerville with Harper and me. I want you to climb as high and as fast as you can, up PetClub’s corporate ladder. I want to share all of that with the sexiest, craziest, smartest best friend a man could have. I want to love you forever, Clair Summerville, as my wife.”

Those last few words were muffled by her return kiss.

“I want to take you inside now”—he cupped her face in his palms—“and never let you out of my sight again. When Harper wakes up, I want to introduce him to his new stepmother.”

Clair was crying.

She realized they both were. But they were laughing, too. It was Independence Day all over again. Wild and free, they were both starting over, moving forward to the amazing future they could make together.

She hugged Conrad, never wanting to let go. “I can’t think of a more perfect way to spend the day than telling Harper, and maybe taking him out for a cupcake to celebrate.”

“For breakfast?” Conrad asked.

“We’d need to pick Buster up on the way. His owner is desperate. I know it’s last-minute, but would you mind if we—”

Conrad pressed a finger to Clair’s lips. “If I’m going to marry a pet concierge mogul, I guess I’d better get used to celebrating big events with a side of poodle pampering.”

She disengaged herself and checked her watch, then gave him a sly smile.

“If Harper and his sitter will keep for an hour or so”—she led Conrad toward the house—“I can think of another kind of celebrating we could start getting used to, before the rest of the day takes over.”

“Roger that.” Conrad picked her up and rushed her inside so quickly she squealed.

“Mission parameters accepted?” she teased.

He paused just beyond the threshold, kissing her soundly.

“Making sure our love lasts forever,” he promised. “
That’s
my life’s mission now—every crazy, busy, overwhelming day we have together.”

Read All the Echoes of the Heart Stories

Here in My Heart

Let Me Love You Again

Christmas on Bellevue Lane

His Darling Bride

Turn the page for exciting excerpts from

Excerpt from His Darling Bride

and

Excerpt from Let Me Love You Again

“Come on, Law,”
said the older man behind the bar of McC’s Tavern. “Don’t leave me in the lurch.”

“I can’t cover tomorrow night, Rick,” the bartender said to what appeared to Mike Taylor to be the pub’s owner.

Rick plunked a pint of ripe strawberries onto the bar. “I got no one else to cover second shift.”

“And that sucks,” Law commiserated. “But my last final’s Monday morning. And I have a wife and daughter who’d like to get to know me again, once I’m not chained to campus and my course work every hour I’m not hauling ass here. I can’t blow my shot to finish my undergraduate degree ’cause Paisley crated her cat, strapped it on the back of her Harley, and went trailing after some dude.”

Mike’s full attention lifted from the local paper he’d been reading at the bar. He pushed away his half-eaten lunch and nudged up the brim of his Stetson. The other men’s conversation had officially become too entertaining to tune out.

It was an early-August Thursday in the small community of Chandlerville, Georgia. McC’s was midafternoon empty. He’d been the place’s only customer for the last half hour while he’d lingered over a cheeseburger, sweet potato fries, and a draft. The bartender and owner had mostly ignored him since Law pulled Mike’s beer and Rick ran his food out from the back. The two were prepping for their evening shift, making numerous trips to wherever they stored supplies. Replenishing booze and napkins and swizzle sticks, and the menagerie of condiments that mixing popular drinks demanded.

“If you have to study for exams,” Rick said, the shorter, rounder of the two men, “do it here.”

“During Friday-night rush?” Law maneuvered a fresh keg of Guinness under the dark oak counter.

Rick pulled glasses from the compact dishwasher and slid them into their overhead runners. “It’ll be a slow night.”

“Then cover the shift yourself.”

“It’s not gonna be
that
slow.”

“No kidding.”

“So don’t bail on me.” Rick jammed his hands to his waist, a midlife paunch spilling over his jeans’ belted waist.

“It’s the only time I’ve asked off in two weeks.”

“Hell, I know you got other priorities. I’m just in a bind.”

“And I sympathize.” The rangy bartender sounded more like a commiserating friend than a pressured employee. He wiped down the counter with a soft cloth, his attention stalling on Mike before returning to his boss. “Things have been in a bind since the recession nearly dragged you under. But you and Kristie kept the place open. Business is growing. Train another second-shift bar back.”

“Next week, I promise.” Rick nailed Mike’s eavesdropping with a
WTF
stare. “In the meantime, Friday-night baseball will be on the flat screens. We’ll have a packed crowd from six till last call. You’ll make a week’s worth of tips in one easy shot.”

Law shook his head. “I’m pulling all-nighters straight through the weekend.”

“I’ve got nothing going on until early next week,” Mike said.

He eased back in his stool, as stunned by the offer he’d blurted out as the other two seemed to be.

Needing to clear his head, he’d hit town early with a few necessities loaded in his Jeep and a powerful hankering to drift for several days. A new contract was on the horizon. It would be a much-needed distraction from the business he’d left behind in Atlanta. And from the other realities of his life that clung like a second skin no matter how far or how fast he moved. Especially this time of year.

Tending bar for these guys would kiss off some of the free time he’d carved out. But he liked to get the lay of the land when he rolled into a new place. Ease into the flow of things. And McC’s was a local hangout, according to the guy Mike was subleasing his furnished apartment from—and the kid behind the gas station register, and the elderly checkout clerk at Sweetie’s Fairway, a cross between a mom-and-pop general store and a full-service butcher shop.

“If you need someone to fill in for a day or two,” he reasoned, “I could—”

“Don’t reckon we’ve met,” Rick interrupted.

“Mike Taylor.” He held out his hand. “I’m new in town.”

Rick eyed Mike’s worn Stetson and wrinkled clothes.

The bartender shook Mike’s hand.

“Law Beaumont,” he said. “You have any experience tending bar?”

“Worked my way around the country and back a few times doing it. Paying the bills. Meeting interesting people. I’ve got something steady lined up starting next week. But I could give you a few nights if you need a stand-in for Flora or whatever her name is—the one with the cat and the Harley.”

“Paisley.” Rick crossed his arms over a belly that could have seemed jolly on a less cranky man. “My wife’s niece. She’s flighty, but she’s the second-best bartender in the county.”

“
Was
the second-best,” Law reminded him.

“That would make you number one?” Mike nodded at the bartender and pushed the brim of his hat higher. “And me nobody from nowhere. I get it.”

“You’re a drifter.” Rick glanced through the bar’s open-paned windows at Mike’s mud-encrusted Jeep. “Just waltzed into town. Already nosing into people’s business. Probably blow right back out whenever the mood strikes you.”

“Probably.” It had been close to a decade since Mike had been a sticking-around kind of guy.

Law went from studying him to grabbing more of the glasses sitting in the dishwasher. He wiped them and hung them overhead with the rest. “I don’t expect his mood will change before tomorrow night.”

“So I should sign him right up?” Rick asked. “To take care of my best customers during my busiest rush?”

Mike recognized the distrust, the cynicism. And he’d typically steer clear of the vibe.

But there was something about the place, the town itself. He’d arrived only last night, but he’d spent the morning walking picturesque streets warmed by a sluggishly rising sun. Everywhere he’d turned people and homes and small businesses had invited him closer with smiles and waves and introductions. Chandlerville seemed spun from the kind of charm you wanted to capture in a postcard image, to keep in a memory box instead of mailing. He couldn’t help but want to burrow in for a spell.

“I’ll be out of your hair in a couple of days,” he said. “I don’t mind pitching in.”

“Why?” Less confrontational, Rick seemed to be debating whether Mike was just plain nuts.

“I like helping where I can.” Wasn’t making a difference what taking this break was about? Maybe this one more than all the rest? “I like places where good people do the best they can for each other. Being part of something like that for a couple of nights wouldn’t be a hardship.”

“No, I don’t suppose it would be.” Law gave Mike a more thorough once-over. “I could work with Cowboy here tonight. See how he fits in with the staff.”

Rick threw his hands in the air.

“What the hell.” He headed out from behind the bar and stalked past Mike. “Show Law what you’re worth,
before
the afternoon rush starts. If you know one end of a mixed drink from another, you’re on tonight while he’s around to pick up after you. Handle the happy hour and dinner food orders folks make at the bar, and we’ll talk about tomorrow.”

Rick stalled out a few feet away.

“And . . . thank you, I guess.” He dug his hands into his jeans’ pockets. “I’ll go find the paperwork you gotta fill out. Even if we all end up regretting this by sundown, Kristie will have my ass come payroll if I don’t make it official.”

The man headed down the same strip of a hallway that led to the kitchen and wherever McC’s stored its supplies.

“Kristie?” Mike asked Law.

“His wife. Rick’s CPA. His conscience. He’ll tell ya she’s the real reason he kept this place going a few years back when businesses all over were tanking. The woman’s a genius at investments and taxes, strangling the last gasp of oxygen from every dime.”

Mike joined him on the other side of the bar. “You know them pretty well?”

“They’ve been good to me since I moved to town.”

Mike took the absence of details in stride. Lots of people kept the nuts and bolts of their lives close, for a lot of reasons they didn’t discuss. “So folks around here don’t automatically distrust every newcomer on sight?”

“I didn’t say that.” Law tossed him an apron identical to the one wrapped around his hips. “But helping out a neighbor who’s got nowhere else to turn should earn you some cred.”

“It’s really no big deal.” Mike relaxed deeper into the right-place, right-time moment. “Where do we start?”

Law waved a hand at the bar’s shelves and cabinets, the bottles and glasses and equipment and other flotsam. “Make me a seven and seven. A lemon drop. A frozen margarita. A manhattan. Then we’ll move on to the complicated stuff.”

“After you taste what I mix?”

“I’m a recovering alcoholic,” the guy said with the same emphasis Mike would have given to announcing that he was left-handed. “But I’ll know you’ve got game when you don’t have to cheat with a mixology app on your phone. Ready to rumble, Cowboy?”

Mike lifted his hat, smoothed back his hair, and resettled his Stetson. Nuts or not, this was going to be fun. He reached for a highball and twirled the glass in his hand.

“Guess we’re about to find out.”

“Benjie’s not seriously
here,” Nicole said to Bethany Darling, taking the words right out of Bethany’s mouth.

She’d been thinking it ever since her louse of an ex had slinked back into town the end of May, and kept popping up on her radar with disturbing regularity.

“Maybe he just wants a beer?” Bethany begged the universe at large.

“Honey.” Nic crossed her supermodel-long legs. She was perched on the stool to Bethany’s left. “Richie Rich wouldn’t be slumming in a place like this for anyone else but you. I’m sure Mummy’s wondering why he’s not holding court with her at their family table at the country club. You gotta nip this one in the bud.”

“Put that dirty dog down,” Clair insisted from Bethany’s right,
really
needing a mute button. “He’s been panting after you for too long. You’ve ignored him. Your family’s ignored him. Even we’ve ignored how he did you wrong, because it’s what you wanted. If the guy had a clue to catch, he would have by now.”

Bethany snuck a glance around at the half dozen or more people casually listening in. Most of them were dressed in jeans and Braves shirts, a lot of the guys and more than a few of the women wore team ball caps. As she caught their attention, several smiled. Some in support. Others in commiseration.

It was nearly eight o’clock. McC’s Thursday-night happy hour had been a crazy swarm of friends and neighbors clustering around nearby tables. Now the dining room that doglegged off to the right brimmed with patrons, too. Standing room at the bar was maxed out, with more regulars pouring in by the minute—most recently, Benjie Carrington.

Thankfully, he’d stopped to talk with an elderly couple sipping wine and waiting near the hostess stand.

“It’s time to be brutal.” Clair’s sage wisdom came with a side hug.

Bethany shrugged off her bestie. “We don’t all do brutal as effortlessly as you do. You have a revolving door of hotties—including one of my brothers—perfectly happy to be loved and left anytime you crook your finger at them.”

Nic, not the hugging type, nudged Bethany with a sharp elbow. “Smack him across the nose with a rolled newspaper. Can you think of a better place to finally be done with the jerk?”

“So, basically, make a spectacle of myself?” Bethany toasted the overfull room with her nearly empty glass of wine. “I don’t think so.”

Her days of embarrassing herself over guys were behind her. She’d lost it after she’d dumped Benjie the end of their senior year of high school. Then she’d compounded her misery by attaching herself to a steady stream of emotionally unavailable men—so sure with each new love that she’d finally found
the
one who’d be everything her heart desired. Now her heart was firmly focused on more important things. Permanent things, like friends and family and the community she’d come back to.

“To hell with anything Benjie or any man wants from me,” she told her friends and herself.

“Like that guy has ever cared about what
you
want,” Clair warned. “In his warped view of reality, you two are back to ground zero.”