“Like, it totally is. He may be free, but his heart isn’t. And that’s what counts. Quinn,” she said when her daughter rolled her eyes, “believe me, it breaks my heart to see him so unhappy. But I simply can’t put myself through that. Not again.” She reached over to take Quinn’s hand. “Or you.”
After several more cog-spinning seconds, Quinn tromped over to the fridge and got out the cheesecake, anyway, lugging the foam carton over to the table and plopping down to pick off pieces with her fingers and shove them into her mouth. “You know, if somebody would explain to me,” she said around a full mouth, “why grown-ups make everything so darn complicated, I could die happy.”
Sing it, sistah, Mel thought with a gloomy sigh.
* * *
The old place was definitely rising out of the ashes, Ryder mused as he pulled up in front of Amelia’s house. Already, wheat-colored siding replaced the colorless, decaying clapboard from before, the broken trim restored and repainted a soothing teal-green. The yard, however, was gouged and cratered and muddy, thanks to a slew of pickups and vans from April’s having apparently hired every contractor within a fifty-mile radius.
In paint-smeared jeans and a flannel shirt that might’ve fit Paul Bunyan, she met him at the door.
“Ryder! What brings you here?”
“Mel told me they’d left my jacket here?”
“Oh, right. Come on in. Let me wash my hands real quick and I’ll get it for you. Don’t bother shutting the door behind you, people are coming and going too much to bother.”
He followed her inside, nodding in appreciation at the changes taking place. Light flooded the dust-caked downstairs, thanks to new windows, a wall or two removed, and mountains of clutter banished. “Wow,” he said over the shouts and banging and satisfying din of rampant demolition. “This is incredible.”
“And we’ve barely begun,” April yelled back. “Blythe assures me it’ll be done by early December, but I’m not convinced. Take a gander at the drawings, they’re tacked up on the wall over there. I tell you, that woman is a freaking genius.”
To say the least, he thought as he scanned the elevations of the proposed kitchen remodel—quartz countertops and pale wood cabinets, bright, white beadboard and restaurant-quality appliances, including a fridge large enough to store a side of beef in, he thought with a smile.
And a six-burner stove and matching double ovens.
In pink.
“Pink?” he said when April returned.
“Of course,” she said easily as she handed him his jacket. “Because you know how much Mel loves pink.”
Ryder started. “She’s coming back?”
“Well, I suppose that’s up to you, isn’t it?”
“Excuse me?”
April grabbed a half-empty water bottle off a battered radiator cover and took a long swallow, twisting the cap back on as she said, “You’ve got a choice, you know. And I don’t think I need to tell you what that is.”
“And you’re butting in.”
“Damn straight, sugar. But only because you obviously haven’t looked in a mirror recently to see how pathetic you look. Long face and everything, mm, mm, mm. People are talking, Ryder. In case you didn’t know—”
“And maybe I care too much about Mel to offer her only half of myself.”
“Lord, men,” the blonde said, then jabbed a finger in his direction. “And there’s a sorry excuse if ever I heard one. Ryder...” She leaned forward. “You’re not miserable because of the love you lost, you’re miserable because of the one you let get away. The one you’re afraid to go after.”
And the demolition ruckus now sounded eerily like it was coming from inside his head. “You just want her to come back to work for you.”
“Heck, yeah, I want her to work for me. That’s a given. Especially after some of the ding-dongs I’ve interviewed? I wouldn’t trust them to feed my dogs. Well, if I had dogs. Anyway. Quinn also needs to be here, with her grandparents. And you. In fact, I’m not sure Quinn might not need you even more than Mel does, but don’t quote me on that. I am sure, however, that the person doing the most needing is you. Only you’re being too much of a scaredy-cat to admit it.”
“I’m not afraid, April—”
“Oh, yeah? Then prove it. Not to me. To Mel. And Quinn. But mostly? To yourself.”
His heart throbbing under his rib cage, Ryder mumbled, “Thanks for the coat. The place looks great,” and got his sorry hide out of there.
Except, if he was angry, it was only because April was right. That this past week had been hell without Mel, that there wasn’t a damn thing standing between him and a second chance at happiness except himself. And, yes, fear. Of what, exactly, he wasn’t sure. That he’d let Mel down somehow? That he’d lose her like he’d lost Deanna and have to go through the pain again?
Only...he had lost her, hadn’t he? And this pain...it was every bit as bad as the grief. Worse, actually.
Because at least with Deanna, it hadn’t been his fault.
Although he’d planned on going into the clinic to catch up on some paperwork, he instead found himself driving back to the house—funny, how he’d never, not once, called the place where he lived home—through yellowing fields and the occasional clot of trees, gloriously ablaze against a serene, infinitely blue sky...
You have a choice.
His breath left his lungs.
The leaves would return, the crops replanted. The sky was always there. Life, existence, being, whatever you wanted to call it...it never ended, did it? Changed, yes—that whole doors opening and closing thing—but it was never, truly over.
Unless a person believed it was.
You have a choice.
Ryder blew out a long, rough breath as it hit him that what he felt for Mel was only selfish if he chose not to share it with her. And how could he not, since...
Since...
Since so much of what he’d loved about Deanna, he realized as his heart tried to pound right out of his chest, he’d loved about Mel, first.
He never made it back to the house. Didn’t need to, since the decision pretty much made itself. And at first he considered returning to April’s to ask for Mel’s address, until he remembered someone else who’d have it.
“Ryder!” his mother said when he walked into his parents’ house. “What—?”
“I need—” He paused. “Mel—where does she live?”
Slowly, her lips tilted, before she went to her desk to open her address book and copy something onto a piece of her stationery. When she returned, however, she handed him a set of car keys as well as the address.
“Take the Prius,” she said. “It gets better mileage.”
* * *
It was nearly dark when, as Mel lugged the heavier of the grocery bags the short walk back home—so much for just needing a “few things”—she watched Quinn disappear around the corner ahead of her.
Then heard the shriek.
Her heart in her throat, she rushed to catch up, only to nearly wet herself when she saw Ryder sitting on her porch steps, one arm looped around her hugely grinning daughter.
“You weren’t home,” he said, as if that made perfect sense.
And Mel burst into tears.
* * *
Some hours later, Ryder breathed out a satisfied groan. “That was incredible.” He reached for her hand to kiss her knuckles. “You’re incredible.”
Mel grinned. “And there’s plenty more where that came from.”
“Lord, woman, give a man time to recuperate. I’m not seventeen anymore, you know.”
Laughing, Mel got up from the kitchen table to clear their dinner plates. Quinn had bolted down her food as usual and was in her room, reading. Except she’d given Mel a thumbs-up behind Ryder’s back as she l
eft the room, which made Mel smile all the harder now. “It was just roast chicken and potatoes, for heaven’s sake.”
“There was nothing just about it.” Ryder rose as well to cart the rest of the dishes to the sink, only to slip his arms around her waist from behind as she turned on the water, and Mel thought she’d die from happiness. Heaven knew there were a million details to iron out—fat chance of any real conversation with a hyper-excited ten-year-old commandeering the conversation—but it didn’t matter. Because the instant Mel saw him sitting on her steps, she knew. That he’d come for her.
For them.
So the question was, were they both ready for everything that meant?
“Mm. Nice,” Ryder murmured into her hair, then gently turned her around to kiss her.
“Even nicer,” she said, and he chuckled, his eyes going all crinkly at the corners before he kissed her again, slowly, like they had all the time in the world. Except... “The water’s running.”
Ryder angled himself around her to turn it off. “Problem solved,” he said, then tucked her head under his chin, holding her close. “I’m putting the house on the market.”
Mel leaned back to plant her damp hands on his chest. “Really.”
“Yep.”
“But you loved that house. And all the work you put into it—”
“Deanna loved the house. Frankly I’d rather live in town. And the work...like you said, it was therapy.” Then he linked his hands at the small of her back, smiled into her eyes and said, “Where do you keep the coffee?”
“In the fridge,” she said, lightly smacking his arm before he released her. “So you’re letting it go? Just like that?”
“Just like that,” Ryder said, dumping the Trader Joe’s blend on the counter. “Filters?”
She reached into the cabinet overhead and handed him one, a little thrill of delight swirling through her at the deliciousness that was watching this man go about something as mundane as making coffee in her kitchen. The coffee started, he opened his arms and she walked into them, where he whispered, “It’s okay, it’s all over now” into her hair, and she knew what he meant. Except then he said, “Mom said she’d told you that Amelia never knew about our friendship.”
Mel’s head popped up. “She didn’t.” Then she frowned. “Did she?”
“I’m pretty sure she did.”
“But how—?”
“Who knows? Maybe I left something of mine there when we were kids? In any case, I went out there to check up on the old girl once when Dad was busy, and she asked me if you were okay.”
“You’re kidding? When was this?”
“Maybe a month before she died?”
A jolt went through Mel. “And what did you say?”
“The truth—that I hadn’t seen you in years. And she got this really shrewd look on her face, like she was processing the information.” He tugged her close again. “Weird, huh?”
“Yeah,” Mel said, her mind going a mile a minute. Speaking of processing information—
“By the way,” Ryder said after several seconds had passed, “I’m staying in the old cottage. Until the right place comes along. Is that okay?”
Her heart jumped. “Of course—”
“I mean...” He cleared his throat, then set her apart enough to fish a ring box out of his pants pocket. “Would you be okay with living there?”
Wait. What?
“Holy crap, I need to sit,” she said, grasping for the nearest chair and letting Ryder lower her into it, before lowering himself to one knee, his grin as unsteady as her legs.
“Ohmigod, Ry...are you sure?”
“Completely.” He opened the box. Oooh, sparkly. “This is probably the weirdest proposal ever, but hear me out, okay?”
Struck mute, she could only nod. Ryder set the box on the table and took her hands in his, his eyes shiny. “Baby...I thought you were gone from my life forever. That what we’d had...that it really had been just some childhood thing I needed to let go of. But not until I finally felt free—and believe me, it took a helluva long time—did Deanna appear. And I loved her with all my heart, I truly did. Then, when she...went, I thought, that’s it. Not going through that a third time. Except...inexplicably—” Poor guy looked so baffled Mel had to smile through her own tears. “There you were. Back in my life, under the most extraordinary circumstances. And all I could think was, what the hell?”
Mel burbled out a laugh, only to bite her lip when Ryder gripped her hands harder. “Fix me, sweetheart. Do whatever it is you do, I’m putting myself in your hands. Because whatever magic you worked on me when you were born, it’s still working.”
Took a second. “Ohmigosh,” she gasped, her eyes wide. “You knew—?”
“I was five, Mel, well aware something was wrong with me. Just as I knew, even if I didn’t understand how or why, that being with you released something inside me. Same way it is now. I know what I said, about the timing being all wrong, but...” He smiled. “It actually couldn’t be more perfect, could it?”
Her eyes flooded, Mel shook her head, and Ryder finally retrieved the little box, slipping the pretty little pink diamond from its satin bed. “I know what I’m asking of you—”
“Yes,” she said, wiping her eyes. Laughing. Sliding off the chair to throw her arms around his neck. “Yes, and yes, and yes. To all of it.”
“Then give me your hand, woman.”
So she did, admiring the ring as Ryder said, “April will be beside herself—”
“She’s not the only one!” Quinn said from the doorway. With a bark of laughter, Ryder opened his arm to include her in their first official, we’re-a-family-now group hug.
And Mel thought, grinning, Over? Like hell.
Because the best part was just beginning.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt of Once Upon a Matchmaker by Marie Ferrarella!
We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Special Edition story.
You know there’s always a new chapter to be written. Harlequin Special Edition stories show that whether it’s an old flame rekindled or a brand-new romance, love knows no timeline.
Visit Harlequin.com to find your next great read.
We like you—why not like us on Facebook: Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks
Follow us on Twitter: Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks
Read our blog for all the latest news on our authors and books: HarlequinBlog.com
Subscribe to our newsletter for special offers, new releases, and more!
Harlequin.com/newsletters
Harlequin and Mills & Boon are joining forces in a global search for new authors.
In September 2012 we’re launching our biggest contest yet—with the prize of being published by the world’s leader in romance fiction!
Look for more information on our website, www.soyouthinkyoucanwrite.com
So you think you can write? Show us!
Chapter One
So this was what all the secrecy, giggling and whispers had been about.
Micah Muldare sat on the sofa, looking at the gift his sons had quite literally surprised him with. A gift he wasn’t expecting, commemorating a day that he’d never thought applied to him. He’d just unwrapped the gift and it was now sitting on the coffee table, a source of mystification, at least for him.
His boys, four-year-old Greg and five-year-old Gary, sat—or more accurately perched—on either side of him like energized bookends, unable to remain still for more than several seconds at a time. Blond, blue-eyed and small boned, his sons looked like little carbon copies of each other.
They looked like Ella.
Micah shut the thought away. It had been two years, but his heart still wasn’t ready for tha
t kind of comparison.
Maybe someday, just not yet.
“Do you like it, Daddy?” Gary, the more animated of the two, asked eagerly. The boy was fairly beaming as he put the question to him. His bright blue eyes took in every tiny movement.
Micah eyed at the mug on the coffee table. “I can honestly say I wasn’t expecting anything like this,” Micah told his son. “Actually, I wasn’t expecting anything at all today.”
It was Mother’s Day. Granted he’d been doing double duty for the past two years, being both mother and father to his two sons, but he hadn’t expected any sort of acknowledgment from the boys on Mother’s Day. On Father’s Day, yes, but definitely not on this holiday.
The mug had been wrapped in what seemed like an entire roll of wrapping paper. Gary had proclaimed proudly that he had done most of the wrapping.
“But I put the tape on,” Greg was quick to tell him.
Micah praised their teamwork.
The mug had World’s Greatest Mom written on it in pink-and-yellow ceramic flowers. Looking at it now, Micah could only grin and shake his head. Well, at least their hearts were in the right place.
“Um, I think you guys are a little confused about the concept,” he confided.
Gary’s face scrunched up in apparent confusion. “What’s a con-cept?”
“It’s an idea, a way of—”
Micah abruptly stopped himself. As a reliability engineer who worked in the top secret missile defense systems department of Donovan Defense, a large national company, he had a tendency to get rather involved in his explanations. Given his sons’ tender ages, he decided that a brief and simple explanation was the best way to go.
So he tried again. “It’s a way of understanding something. The point is, I’m very touched, guys, but you do understand that I’m not your mom, right? I’m your dad.” He looked from Gary to Greg to see if they had any lingering questions or doubts.
“We know that,” Gary told him as if he thought it was silly to ever confuse the two roles. “But sometimes you do mom things,” he reminded his father.
The Doctor's Do-Over Page 20