by Jaycee Clark
Ian smiled. “No, you don’t.”
He left the agent there and strode down the hallway to look in on the chapel, just to make sure Ella was okay. No one was about to let anything happen to her now. Ella, for all her faults in helping people, wanted to help people. He didn’t know about Mrs. DeSaro.
Mr. DeSaro didn’t like that his wife was hurting, even as he understood the law and the right thing to do.
But sometimes right had different views on each side.
“Is she still in there?” the very man asked from behind him.
“Yes, they’re . . .” Ian shook his head. “Hell if I know. Women baffle me.”
The man peeked in, started to step in and then shook his head. “All she wanted was a baby. She can’t have any, or I’m too old, I don’t know, but either way I’d do just about anything to see her happy.”
Ian nodded. “I get that. I do.” He took a deep breath and thought about what he was about to say. He hated hospitals, the way they smelled, the way he had a constant itchy feeling between his shoulder blades. “Look, I know someone.”
DeSaro only arched a brow at him. “Thanks, but no. I’ll be lucky if we don’t face prosecution for this.” The man rubbed a hand over his face. His blue eyes were weary and angry and hurt. “So, no.”
Ian looked down the hallway and then motioned to the doors at the far end of the hallway. “Take a walk with me.”
DeSaro stared at the door that led to the chapel. “I need to get my wife out of here. The police said we could go.”
“Yes, but I might have an answer to your problem. Just a walk. And a talk and if you’re not . . . interested, fine.”
The other man raked a hand over his face again and then finally nodded. “Okay. Five minutes.”
Perfect. Ian led him to the elevators and then through the lobby and finally outside.
“Look, I used to work for someone who wishes to remain anonymous. He’s widowed and apparently his late wife’s sister and brother-in-law never changed their wills after her death. They died in a car accident recently, about a month ago. Both were lawyers in Georgetown. Their nine-month-old twin girls have no home and my old boss isn’t interested in becoming a father. A guardian, or a godfather, maybe, or at least that was his stipulation to me.”
“To you?” the other man asked him.
“He wanted to know if my wife and I wanted the girls. We have three other children, all adopted. Of course, we’d love to have them, but I haven’t told her yet. If you’re interested . . . well, I would have to talk it over with him. He’d want to meet you and your wife, I’m sure. But he might go for you guys adopting the girls instead.”
For a long moment the man just stood there. He blew out a breath and shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“Actually, I already mentioned it to him,” Ian admitted. “If you don’t want them, fine. Rori and I will take them.”
The man stared out over the parking lot. “Twins?”
Ian pulled up their photo on his phone and turned it so that DeSaro could see the smiling cherubs on the screen. Big blue eyes and almost bald heads, chubby cheeks.
“Cute kids,” the man said. He blinked, studied them, then huffed out a breath. “When?”
“Tomorrow if you want. We can fly out to D.C. Or I can see if he’ll meet us in Chicago.”
“After this, I doubt a judge would agree.”
Ian just looked at him. “Mr. DeSaro, I think we know that . . . how did you put it . . . men in our positions overcome complications? He’s not looking for judges, it would be a straight private adoption. Your lawyer, his lawyer.”
“What is the catch?” DeSaro asked him, his gaze narrowed on Ian.
Ian smiled. “Always a catch, isn’t there? That’s the thing. He’s . . . let’s just say he works behind the scenes. Though he doesn’t believe he’s conducive to giving the girls a proper, safe home life, he’s not so keen on never ever seeing them either. He takes his responsibilities rather personally. So he’d want to know they’re safe.”
“You think they won’t be?”
Ian smiled. “I think you’ll keep them as safe and happy as I would.”
The other man tilted his head. “I could truly hate your family. Little Sophia is an angel.”
“But not your angel, DeSaro. Sorry. And you can have two new angels. It’s not the same and I know Sophia isn’t replaceable. Up to you, though.” He tucked his phone back into his pocket.
“Children are not interchangeable, Mr. Kinncaid.”
“No, they are not, and I apologize if you believed that was my intention.” Ian merely looked at him. “Our family knows you are hurting, and nothing will take that pain away completely. However, this is an opportunity that is open to you now and might alleviate some of your wife’s hurt. I wasn’t attempting to swap children, DeSaro. They’ll be part of our family if you don’t want them. And if I didn’t think you deserved them, I wouldn’t offer these angels to you.”
The man looked away and out over the parking lot. Finally, he sighed and nodded. “Give me tonight. I’ll let you know in the morning. I need to take my wife to the hotel so she can rest.”
Ian nodded and they went back inside. Neither said another word.
He’d be hearing from them, he knew it. And he knew enough about the DeSaros to know that the girls would have a great home. Might be almost too protected, but then with a family like the DeSaros, that was expected. He understood that.
Upstairs he found the family circled around the window into the neonatal unit. The blinds rose and there stood Quin and Ella in their scrubs. She handed the bundle of blankets and pink skin over to Quin. Grinning, he walked to the window and held up his daughter so they could all see her.
“Oh, Jock! She has my hair!” his mother said.
His father tucked her under his arm and kissed the top of her head. “She’ll be a beauty like her grandmother.”
Rori bumped Ian’s shoulder with her own. “Everything good with the DeSaros?”
He nodded. “Think so.”
“Good, I’d hate to have to—”
He kissed her, often the only way to shut her up.
Aiden and Brody were betting on how obnoxious Quinlan would end up being as a dad. But then again, he had every right to be. Aiden was busy taking photos through the glass on his phone. Grinning, he said, “Got it, finally. Now Jesslyn will be happy and everyone else. I’ll just send it to Gav and Bray as well.”
Looking in through the glass at his brother’s happiness, Ian was finally able to take the first deep breath he’d taken in since he’d realized how lost Quin had really been.
In there, in that nursery . . . there was their brother and his family.
Ella puffed on the glass and wrote Sophia Grace.
“Aww. What a lovely name,” his mother said.
“Our Gracie is beautiful, isn’t she?” his dad asked.
“Gracie? Really?” His mother chuckled.
“I like Gracie,” Jock said.
“He’s so happy, Jock. They’re so happy,” his mother said, wiping her eyes.
Ian jerked his head to his brother and cousin.
“Like we were,” his father whispered.
“Thank you for our family, Jock.”
He left his parents looking in at the new generation as he joined in on the betting about his youngest sibling before the others got here.
Epilogue
Chicago, January
Vincent DeSaro bounced one twin on his knee in the study. His wife had taken the other up to change her.
Two were a complete handful.
His Leah was already walking. Her sister Bianca still scootched all over the place and picked up everything. They’d already made a trip to the ER when she’d swallowed some plastic from a damned Christmas ornament.
It had been an eventful and happy Christmas.
New Year’s had come and gone and they’d only had more blessings than he could count.
But he st
ill missed Sophia. His wife made the best of it, often saying that God worked in mysterious ways.
Maybe.
But DeSaros worked in ways too and the DeSaro way wasn’t that mysterious.
His private line rang. He picked it up. “DeSaro.”
“Problem resolved.”
He took a deep breath and set the baby on the floor. She immediately grabbed his pants leg and pulled herself up, grinning up at him and cooing as she steadied herself.
“How?”
“Heard the problem had an unfortunate incident with a sharp object.”
He nodded. Good. He’d hated the fact that the bastard doctor who had caused so much pain might get away once he was out on bail. No one had paid his bail yet and it was set extremely high. Not even the man’s wife, which was interesting in and of itself. Though the news had reported that the doctor’s own daughter had been adopted as well, and no one ever knew.
Whether or not the wife had known was probably a moot point. Time would tell. If she’d known what was happening the authorities would find out.
Then he’d decide.
Until then?
“Thank you for letting me know. Now what about the trip to Sicily?” He wanted to take his family, surprise his wife.
“All set. You can leave at the end of the week.”
He smiled at his daughter. “Good.”
The line clicked and he set the phone aside, picking up Leah, kissing her cheek. Life was interesting, wasn’t it?
• • •
New Orleans
Quinlan stood in the doorway of the kitchen just watching as Ella bustled around, switching pots and bowls. She even had an apron tied on. He didn’t know she’d even owned one of those. Scents of garlic and spice wafted on the air, the heat from the kitchen fogging the windows. It was cold outside, but January was cold even in New Orleans on occasion.
She was stressed and worried.
Why, he had no idea. So his family was coming to visit. So what? She’d met them already. Spent part of the holidays with them in Seneca. They all loved her.
So beautiful was all he could think. And she was his. Finally, completely and wholly his. She was muttering to herself about his father’s diet and if he should have spicy food or something.
“Marry me,” he said softly, surprised that the words had just blurted out. He’d planned to ask her again, to beg her again if need be.
“ . . . maybe it would be better—” She whirled around. “What?”
“Marry me, Ella.”
“I’m not in the mood for jokes, Quin. Your family is coming and I’m cooking and the baby’s asleep for a bit and—”
He stepped closer and stopped her with his hands on her shoulders. “I’m not joking. I’d already planned to do this. Some night after Grace is asleep, maybe some wine or champagne out in the courtyard or up on the balcony. Hadn’t decided yet. Some music, some romance and propose. Properly. I don’t remember asking you before and I want to remember.”
“Maybe I asked you,” she said, grinning up at him, even as her brow furrowed.
“As fast as you ran, commitment-phobics have nothing on you, so I doubt it.”
“Hello, Pot, I’m Kettle.”
He ignored her. “And I realized you never had the whole pretty dress, the planning for a big or little wedding, a cake, a celebration with photographs and what all.”
She just stared up at him as whatever was on the stove boiled.
“I love you, Ella Kinncaid. I love us. I want to give it to you. All of it. All . . .” He took a deep breath. “So, will you? Will you marry me?”
Still she just stared at him. Finally, she licked her lips. “You do know we are already married, right? Are you feeling okay?”
“That’s not the point, and yes, I’m feeling fine.”
She tilted her head and the lights flashed in her purple hair. He loved her hair, no matter what color it was. “Did I do something to make you think—”
“What? No! That’s just it. I don’t ever want you to look back and wonder. I want you to know you were it for me. I took one look at your blue hair with pink tips and your sassy Southern drawl and that was it. Once I met Ella Ferguson . . . Kinncaid, no one else came close. After swearing to anyone and everyone I’d never marry, I spent one memorable—” He stopped, winced. “Okay, and forgettable wild weekend with you and I was . . . fascinated. I want you to never, never wonder if or why or how come. But to know, simply know, what is.”
Tears shimmered in her eyes.
“I love you, Ella Kinncaid, and I want the world to know it. So . . . will you marry me . . . again as the case sort of is?” Strangely, his heart was thrumming in his chest and his palms were damp.
“This isn’t going to be a yearly thing, is it? A wedding?”
He hadn’t thought of that. They’d met in February and here it was January.
“Maybe not the wedding,” he said, pulling her toward him and dancing her back. “Maybe, maybe the proposing . . .”
“Hmmm . . .”
“Hmmm? You realize that isn’t an answer, Ella.” God, what if she said no. What if she were only with him because of Grace? What if . . . No. No, that wasn’t the case.
“Hmmm . . .” She leaned up, pulled him down to her and kissed him.
“El-la.”
She grinned. “Quin-lan. Bless your heart, I’ve been your wife for a year.”
“I know, and an absent wife at that. You’re supposed to be with me. I don’t like it when you’re not beside me.”
“I never slept right after leaving you.” She laid her head on his chest. “I don’t ever want to be there again. I could finally breathe again even if I was afraid to when you walked into my hospital room. I’d watch you sleep, afraid I’d wake up and you’d be gone.” One tear trickled over and slid down her cheek. “I was so thankful, hopeful and . . . I don’t even know when I realized we were still married and then . . . then . . .”
“Shh . . . it’s okay now. We’re okay now. We’re a good team now, right?”
For a moment he just held her. “Yes. Yes, you tenacious man. We’re okay now, we’re a good team now and we always will be. Yes, I’ll marry you.” She leaned back and looked up at him. “Again. Today. Tomorrow. Next week. Next year.” She put her arms around his neck as he picked her up. “Again and again, I’ll marry you.”
“Thank God. I was starting to worry I’d have to resort to extreme measures. Be a deceptive man. Seduce you quickly, spend a lot of time with you, whisk you off to Vegas for a secret wedding. Get your pregnant.”
“Smart-ass.” She kissed his cheek and he caught a whiff of her shampoo, sort of minty with flowers or something.
“You’re a smart-ass.”
“Just so you remember who you belong to, sugar.”
He chuckled. “Same goes, honey.”
“Like I’ll ever forget.”
“And I won’t ever let you, not ever again, Mrs. Kinncaid. You’re mine.”
She kissed him, giggling. “Like anyone else would put up with me?”
Grace began to cry from the other room. He let her slide down and said, “There is that. I’ll get her.”
“Bring her in here,” she said, turning back to the stove.
Quinlan hurried to their bedroom, where the cradle rested beside their bed. The nursery still wasn’t finished, and frankly neither of them would ever sleep with her upstairs just yet. It was all still too new, the fear still too new for them to let her out of their sight for long.
Little fists thumped jerkily in the air. Encased in her pink and turquoise sleeper thing, the legs only half filled, the footsies dangled uselessly. She was still so tiny. She’d spit up enough yesterday, and her diapers had leaked enough, that most of her clothes were in the laundry. This size was for zero to three months and it was clearly too big.
“Hey, sweetie.” He picked her up, careful to cup the back of her head. “Daddy’s here. It’s okay.” He tucked her up close to him and patted
her as he walked back to the kitchen. “Your momma is busy, busy. Grams and Pops are coming to see you tonight.”
She stopped crying as she always did when he talked.
“That is so unfair. She never stops crying for me like that.”
“Ohh,” he cooed. “That’s because she knows who her daddy is.”
He looked up to see Ella biting her bottom lip. “I need to tell you something.”
“What?”
“I used to play your voice messages to her. I saved them all.” She’d never told him that. “So I’d play them, sometimes through the phone, but I also made a recording.” She shrugged and turned back to the stove. “Sometimes I played that video of you singing ‘My Girl.’” She glanced at him over her shoulder. “You remember? When you were being silly at the shelter? And you sang?”
The past was still a touchy thing for them to talk about sometimes, but they talked about it and worked through it.
“You did? I didn’t know you’d recorded that.”
She nodded. “Yep, and I played it for her, the phone against my big ol’ belly.” She stirred something on the stove. “I wanted her to know your voice. So that’s what I did. And she knew you the first time she heard your voice.”
He could only stare at her. She still surprised him. He’d often laughed at the baffled look on his father’s face through the years when dealing with their mother.
Now he had more sympathy with the man. He knew, without a doubt, that forty years from now Ella would still surprise him.
Grace moved her head in the crook of his neck.
“See how smart your momma is, Gracie? She’s brilliant, isn’t she? And she loves you very, very much.” He bounced and walked and patted his daughter’s back until Ella had turned things off on the stove so she could feed her. They’d seen a lactation specialist and had been lucky that little Gracie liked her mother and nursing so much, even as the whole experience wasn’t easy and completely foreign to him, as he’d been unable to help at all.
Ella turned from the stove. “I love you both very, very much.”
“But Daddy loves his girls more,” he said, kissing the top of Gracie’s head. “My girls.”