When did you start letting your libido run the show?
She scooted back out and turned toward him. “Oh, hey. Sorry we were gone so long. We made a little detour on the way hom—on the way back.”
“Uh-oh, dare I ask?” He pulled an exaggerated face, sending Elliott into gleeful giggles.
“Relax. No wild creatures today, but I did pick up some suet cakes to hang in the tree for Serenity.” She used her key fob to unlatch the trunk. “And some vegetable plants for me...you said this morning before I left that it was okay to plant some.”
He recalled her saying something about vegetable plants, but he’d been too busy thinking about that tattoo and running his tongue across it. Damn, what was wrong with him? The relationship rules were his, and yet he’d done nothing but break them since seeing her dressed like a lumberjack in that ER. If he wasn’t careful, he’d be in the middle of family drama if Roger came looking for Mary or Elliott. Had history taught him nothing? “I haven’t fenced the area off yet.”
“I’ve got that covered.” She grinned and pulled out a piece of decorative white plastic fencing.
Her guileless expression gutted him, and guilt for allowing their relationship to turn physical rushed in. The emotion rankled him. Mary wasn’t naive. She, of all people, knew the ramifications, the consequences. He had no reason to feel guilty. “I hate to break it to you, but that fence won’t keep anything out.”
She grinned. “I’m sure it will be fine.”
He blew out his breath in frustration. “You’ve been warned, don’t blame me if—no, when—this doesn’t turn out the way you expected.”
“I’ve told you before, I’m an adult and not into blaming others for my mistakes. I know what I’m getting into.” She adjusted Elliott so he rested higher on her hip. “I’ve known from the beginning. Now if you’ll excuse me, my son needs his diaper changed and a nap.”
Torn between wanting to run in and apologize for his behavior and keeping a handle on the situation, he got everything out of the trunk and piled it near the porch. By the time he’d finished, so had his anger.
* * *
Before dawn, Brody slipped out of bed and picked his pants off the floor. With the jeans still in his hand, he watched Mary sleep. If he woke her, they could repeat last night’s activities. The makeup sex had been worth swallowing his pride and apologizing.
Despite his warnings, she’d gone ahead and planted her garden and put up the decorative fence by the time he’d come back to the house for supper. Later today he’d be sure to build her a fence designed to keep her vegetables safe from pests. Of course it would never be one hundred percent safe, because some creatures could burrow under the fence and into...into his heart.
He tried to discount that last thought but she had burrowed into his heart. He yanked his pants on, grabbed his shirt and socks, and left the room. Why did he feel as though he were sneaking away?
After making coffee, he stepped onto the porch to enjoy the sunrise. Glancing over at Mary’s little vegetable patch, he choked on the sip he’d just taken. He slammed the cup onto the porch rail and hurried down the steps. Something had gotten into the garden and ruined it.
He muttered a string of curses as he surveyed the damage. This was one time he’d give anything to have been wrong. Her dark eyes had sparkled with joy as she’d surveyed her small vegetable patch—even his pessimism hadn’t dimmed her enthusiasm. She’d worn that special smile he’d come to enjoy.
Hell, this was reality, and she needed to deal with it. But hadn’t she been doing that her entire life? He turned on his heel and marched back to the house, grabbing his coffee mug and gulping down the contents on the way in.
He scribbled a note and propped the paper against the salt and pepper shakers on the kitchen table. He grabbed his keys and went out to his truck.
“A fool’s errand,” he muttered as he yanked open the driver’s side door. And he was that fool.
* * *
Mary sat on the top step and drew her knees up against her chest as she surveyed her ruined garden...again. This time from a distance, as if that would make it hurt any less.
She swallowed back useless tears, closed her eyes and rested her cheek on her knees. Brody had warned her, but she’d gone ahead and planted the garden. He’d warned, but she’d gone ahead and fallen in love with him. Not just him, but with the farm, the town, the animals...even the stupid crow, who had flown off without a backward glance.
And you’re going to just give up? Sit around and feel sorry for yourself?
She sat up straight and braced her shoulders. If last night was any indication, Brody’s ardor hadn’t dimmed. If she didn’t at least try to make him see how good a future together could be, she’d regret not trying. After mentally promising not to embarrass herself by clinging if Brody lost interest, she stood up and dusted off her pants. Elliott would be waking and wanting breakfast so she went back inside.
A short time later she heard Brody’s truck return, but he hadn’t come in the house, and she resisted the urge to rush outside. The “I told you so” over the garden was inevitable. And heck, she couldn’t blame him. So instead, she stayed in the house and made a plate of pancakes and left them in the oven to stay warm.
“Let’s get you cleaned up, sweetie,” she told Elliott and rinsed out a face cloth.
“Mary?” The front screen door opened with its usual squeak.
“In the kitchen,” she called.
“Could you come here? I don’t want to track dirt through the house.”
“Let’s go see what he wants.” Probably to show her the ruins of her garden. She picked up Elliott and went through the living room to the front door.
Brody stood in the doorway, holding the screen open. “Your secret admirer has struck again.”
“My what?”
He put his arm around her shoulder and pointed to the top step. Sure enough, a small pile of goodies rested there.
“How do you know they’re for me? Maybe they’re meant for you,” she teased.
He hunkered down and picked up an item, holding it on his flat palm so she could see. “There’s an earring in there today. I think it’s for you.”
She tilted her head and studied him. “Hmm... I don’t know...you might look like quite the rake with an earring.”
“A what?” He scowled. “I have no idea what that is.”
“Sorry. I’ve been reading a lot of Regency romances.” She laughed, and Elliott soon joined in.
“And don’t you try to tell me you know what she’s talking about, big guy.” Brody tossed the earring onto the sidewalk and tickled Elliott’s stomach, making him giggle even more. “Tell me what you’re—”
A furious cawing interrupted him, and a crow glided to the ground near their feet. The bird picked up the earring and dropped it back on the pile before flapping its wings and returning to its perch in the tree.
Brody guffawed. “Looks like we were right about your admirer.”
She nodded, her throat too clogged to speak. Elliott was straining every which way, trying to see where the crow had gone. She hugged him closer, reveling in the fact she’d made a difference in someone’s life, even if that someone was a wild bird. Aunt Betty would have been proud. Maybe someday she’d be able to do it on a grander scale with a summer camp for—
“...still need to get a fence around it,” Brody was saying.
“I’m sorry, what?” She blinked, trying to clear her thoughts.
“I said I need to put up a fence around your garden.”
Her shoulders sank. “But it’s destroyed.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “Is it?”
She walked to where the porch wrapped around the side of the house and glanced over to the spot that had once contained her small vegetable patch. Wood and hardware cloth similar to what they’d used for the crow’s
cage were piled next to neat rows of plants. Wait...plants? But all hers had been eaten or mangled.
“You...you...” she sputtered, trying to take it all in. “Is this what you were doing? Your note just said you needed to run an errand.”
“I saw the garden when I came out this morning.”
“And you went out and got replacement plants?” Instead of telling her, “I told you so,” he’d done this.
He cleared his throat. “Like I said before, I had planned on planting a few things and—are you crying?”
“No. I just...just...” She sniffed. Her reaction was silly. This was a garden, after all, but it represented so much more.
“Have sweaty eyeballs again?”
She burst out laughing, and Elliott joined in.
* * *
Two weeks had passed since he’d helped Mary with her garden, and life on the farm had settled into a comfortable pattern. Was that the reason he’d agreed to come to the annual Independence Day picnic? Brody gripped the cardboard tray holding popcorn and drinks tighter as he wove his way through the crowd, nodding in acknowledgment to the people who greeted him. It looked as if most of the residents of Loon Lake had gathered on the town green to enjoy the weather, the food and the music.
Why had he let her talk him into this?
Talk you into it? Are you delusional?
Delusional was the word for it. Mary had said she was coming, and he’d offered to come along. Not a lot of arm-twisting going on. He caught sight of Mary and Elliott up ahead on the blanket they’d spread out earlier. In a few moments, they would look like all the other families, but she must know he’d accompanied them to the picnic to help her and Elliott assimilate into life at Loon Lake. Happy families didn’t exist, even in idyllic settings like this with green grass and a bright white gazebo. As if to punctuate his thoughts, the band began playing a John Philip Sousa march. Yeah, he got it. Small-town America, but he’d bet Kevin and Danny would agree with him about families. No, what he and Mary were doing was having some fun. Definitely not forming a forever family.
Except the things he was feeling weren’t uncomplicated. No, they were veering more into forever, soul-deep, past-the-point-of-rescue territory. He could lay out all the logical, rational reasons in his head, but his heart wasn’t getting the message.
Mary held on to Elliott’s chubby hands, allowing the baby to pull himself up, his legs shaking under the unaccustomed strain of holding his weight. He’d be walking in another three or four months. Brody frowned at the thought. How long before Mary got tired of their arrangement? And why the hell was he thinking in terms of her getting tired of it? He was the one who should be setting limits. And sticking to them.
Elliott bounced up and down while Mary held him upright. The baby’s face lit up when he saw Brody. “Daaa. Daaa.”
Brody came to a stumbling halt, a tingling in his gut. Thank goodness the drinks had lids. Elliott was making sounds, not forming words. He had to believe that because he had no freaking idea how to be a father...except to not do the things his own had done. He swallowed hard. That was no way to parent.
Mary turned around, but her attention quickly skittered back to Elliott. “That’s Uncle Brody, sweetie. Can you say Brody?”
“Da.” Bounce. “Daa.” Bounce. “Daaa.”
Elliott was babbling sounds, not making conscious decisions. At least that’s what the article he’d read on the internet had claimed. Babies made sounds. Nothing to see here, folks. Just practicing new sounds. Brody mentally kicked himself and took the last few steps to reach their spot. He leaned down and placed the tray on the blanket out of reach of active baby feet.
“Hey, Mr. Brody, Elliott is calling you Daddy.”
Brody straightened and turned to find Fiona Cooper standing behind him. “Hello there, Miss Fiona.”
“Elliott called you Daddy,” she repeated, her eyes large and serious behind her glasses.
“Nah, he’s just making baby sounds.” He rubbed the back of his neck.
She nodded her head. “Yeah, he was. That’s the way babies say it, ’cuz they can’t talk good.”
“Sounds like they’re not the only ones,” Meg said as she joined them and gave Brody an apologetic smile. She tapped Fiona on the shoulder. “Go help Daddy with our stuff, please.”
“But, Mommy.”
“But, Fiona.” Meg gave her a look.
Fiona heaved an exaggerated sigh but said, “Yes, Mommy,” and ran off.
Meg watched her daughter until Fiona was with Riley, then shook her head. “Kids. Sorry about that.”
Mary smiled, but Brody couldn’t help noticing she’d remained strangely silent. What was she thinking?
He rubbed a hand across his face. He’d rather be behind that damned desk, buried in army paperwork than here, right now. Was it too much to hope for a freak rainstorm to cancel the rest of the day? How about Fiona Cooper developing laryngitis? No? Better believe he’d spend all next week saying “mama” to Elliott until the baby learned some new sounds.
“I’m back.” Fiona returned dragging a folded canvas lawn chair. “Here, Mommy. Daddy says the biggest one is for you so you don’t get stuck.”
“Blabbermouth,” Riley muttered as he approached.
Brody smothered a laugh, but Riley motioned to Elliott and poked Brody in the ribs. “Your time is coming.”
Brody grinned, but his gut twisted. He couldn’t have Elliott calling him Daddy. Could he? Mary never encouraged that. She’d seemed to make it a point to refer to him as Uncle Brody.
But she’s not jumping into the conversation, is she?
“Daa...daa,” Elliott persisted, enjoying being the center of attention.
Riley laughed. “See? What did I tell you?”
“Nah, man, it’s just noise.” Brody swallowed. He glanced over to Mary but couldn’t catch her attention. He cleared his throat. “Mary? Did you say you wanted to see the craft booths?”
“Sure.” She scooped up Elliott and secured him in the umbrella stroller they’d brought. “Meg, did you—”
Meg held up a hand. “I’m good. Riley’s going to wait on me hand and foot this afternoon.”
“I am?”
Meg raised an eyebrow at her husband. “I might get stuck.”
“Ouch.” Brody sucked in a loud breath and placed a hand on Riley’s shoulder. “Good luck with that.”
Riley grunted and brushed his hand away. Brody laughed and grabbed the umbrella stroller, lifting it when Mary struggled to get its wheels clear of the blanket.
“Poor Riley,” Brody said as they walked away, wanting to break the silence. What was going on in that beautiful head of hers?
Mary turned her head and glanced back at the Coopers. “I wouldn’t say that.”
“Huh?” He turned. Riley and Meg were locked in an embrace.
Brody didn’t miss Mary’s wistful expression at the Coopers’ PDA. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. Was that what Mary was longing for?
“Meg deserves her happy ending,” he said, remembering Meg’s struggles as a single mother.
“I’m sure she does.” Mary stopped when one of the stroller wheels got stuck in a rut in the grass.
Ouch. Open mouth, insert foot. “I meant—”
“I know what you meant.” She backed the stroller out of the rut.
“Here, let me.” He reached for the stroller handle.
“I got it.” She maneuvered it around the indentation.
He blew out a frustrated breath. Damn, he hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings, but he might never get his foot out of his mouth if he continued to botch his explanation. Better to let it drop. “About Meg, I—”
“Mary, I’m so glad you were able to come.” A distinguished-looking, gray-haired man dressed in khakis and a red golf shirt approached.
She smil
ed and shook the man’s hand. “Me, too, and I’m so glad the weather held out.”
Brody glanced at their clasped hands and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. She turned. “Reverend Cook, I’d like you to meet Brody Wilson.”
Reverend? Aw, man, he was in rare form today. Jealous of—Wait, no. He wasn’t jealous, because that would mean—
“Brody Wilson, nice to finally meet you.” The pastor smiled broadly.
His face on fire, Brody shook hands with the other man. “Uh, same here, Reverend.”
The other man chuckled. “Putting people on the spot is one of the perks of my job. And sadly, I confess I rather enjoy it.”
Brody laughed, despite the embarrassment, and the pastor winked.
“Brody is Elliott’s uncle, and he’s been kind enough to put up with us while I get my feet on the ground in Loon Lake,” Mary said.
She was making sure to clarify for people that he was Uncle Brody and nothing more. That was the truth, and yet it pinched like a new dress shoe. Maybe she didn’t want anyone seeing them as a family. Hey, dumbass, he’s the church pastor. What did you expect her to say?
“You’re the one with the animal sanctuary out at the old Miller farm,” Reverend Cook said.
Brody grimaced. “I’m not sure I’d go so far as to call it a sanctuary.”
“Well, whatever it is, I think it’s great and a fine example to be setting for little Elliott here.” The pastor hunkered down in front of the stroller. “Hello to you, young man. My daughter tells me you’re a joy to have in the nursery.”
Elliott kicked his legs and giggled as if to agree.
The pastor straightened. “I won’t hold you up any longer, but before you go, I’d like to extend an invitation to the three of you for dinner at the parsonage.”
Brody shuffled his feet. What was he supposed to say to that?
“It’s a thank-you dinner,” the pastor said, as if sensing reluctance. “Mary was a big help getting our church secretary up and running with the new accounting software.”
The Sergeant's Unexpected Family Page 17