Maybe deep down he’d always been the brooding type, and the accident had simply sharpened that trait.
He pulled up to the house and parked the truck. Without thinking, he went to reach for the door handle with his left hand. Natural reflex. But nothing happened.
He smashed the truck’s door with his right hand, as if he could open it with sheer force. He kept banging until he hurt his thumb. “Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!”
How could he not have checked the jack when he raised the chassis of his mother’s BMW? Sure, it was the old jack his father had used for decades, but it had never caused any issues before.
The jack slipped. He’d heard the metal rubbing against the grooves of the jack throat. As soon as he registered the sound, he’d started to roll out from under the car, but he hadn’t been fast enough to spare his left arm and shoulder.
The chassis dropped on Mica. He’d tried to yell, but the weight of the car had crushed the air out of his lungs. The pain had caused him to pass out.
He’d woken up when the paramedics were hoisting him onto a gurney. Rafe and his mother were there, leaning over the stretcher.
Rafe, coming in from the fields, had found him unconscious under the car.
The doctor’s prognosis had been devastating.
Inoperable. Paralyzed. Those were the only words Mica had heard. The doctor had pushed rehabilitation to keep the arm from becoming fully atrophied. Mica had agreed with that, and for the first month, he’d actually believed he could will his arm to move again. He’d tried everything—even hypnosis—but nothing worked.
The second month, his depression had slid deeper into anger. He had begrudgingly and sarcastically continued with rehab, but he knew now that all the exercise in the world would never bring his arm back.
And then Grace had come into his life.
It was impossible not to think of kissing Grace and holding her each time her face flashed across his mind. That month she’d spent in Indian Lake had almost made him feel like himself again. She’d looked up at him with those intense blue eyes and he’d felt more alive and invigorated than he had since well before the accident, if he was honest.
Maybe it was a good thing she’d cut him off. He didn’t know exactly where to put all his emotions for Grace.
Mica got out of the truck and hit the remote to lock the doors. He stared at it for a moment. Why don’t they make these to open the door from the inside?
He tossed the remote up in the air and caught it. “Maybe I should do that.”
He walked to the back door that led to the kitchen.
“Mom, I got the truck ready to go for you. The tractor is nearly fin—”
Mica stopped dead in his tracks.
His mother had her arms around Sam Crenshaw’s neck and Sam was holding her close, closer than Mica had ever seen his father hold her. And then...she kissed him as if this was the last kiss of her life. Mica averted his eyes.
“Mom!” he shouted.
Slowly, Gina turned.
“Sam?” Mica spluttered. “Mind telling me what you’re doing to my mother?” Sam was Liz’s grandfather. He was some kind of in-law, but that didn’t give him make-out privileges with Mica’s mother.
“I was kissing her.”
“I see that.” Mica’s gaze shot to his mother.
Gina blushed, but she didn’t step out of Sam’s embrace. Though she politely moved a few inches from his chest. She was smiling. Her face glowed, and...was that a tear falling down her cheek?
“Mom?”
“Sam has just asked me to marry him, and I accepted.” She withdrew her left hand and twiddled her fingers at him. “Ring and all.”
“You’re not serious.”
Gina’s smile withered. In that instant, he realized he’d shot down her joy, killed it. But he didn’t care. A year ago, his world had turned black. It was filled with shadows, fear, doubt and pain. Now his world had shifted again. Rafe wanted to replace Mica, and now their mother was replacing their father. He didn’t like it.
His eyes tracked to Sam. “How long?”
“How long what?” Sam snapped, squaring his shoulders.
“How long have you been in love with her? Have you been planning this since my father was alive?”
“Mica!” Gina started toward him, but Sam took her arm and shook his head.
“You want the truth, Mica?” Sam asked.
“Yes, I do.”
“I’ve loved her since before she married your father. We were young then. She’d made a promise to him back in Italy and she honored that promise for over thirty years. I never came near her until after he died. I’m an old man. I may not have many years left, but she’s agreed to be with me for however long I stick around.”
Mica felt as if he’d been shot through the chest. He’d said he wanted the truth, but this was too much. His mother hadn’t loved his father? And all her life, she’d wanted someone else, but hadn’t done anything about it? What kind of sacrifice was that?
Maybe he’d inherited his penchant for withdrawal from her. Had she brooded over Sam like he brooded over the loss of his old life?
Mica took a step backward.
Gina moved toward him. “Mica, don’t be like this. Be happy for us.”
Mica stopped. “Be happy for you? What is that, Mom? Happy? How can I be happy about you or him or anything ever again?” He looked down at his arm. “No. I can’t be happy. Not for you or for myself.”
He turned on his heel and stormed away, slamming the door behind him.
CHAPTER TWO
NEW YEAR’S WAS all about fresh starts. New goals. Rethinking life. At least that’s what Grace told herself to justify flying across the Atlantic at the last minute over the holidays.
Yet, here she was, sitting in her Aunt Louise’s car outside the Barzonni villa in the freezing cold. The afternoon sky was a slab of blue-gray pewter that was enough to depress the happiest of souls. It did nothing to bolster her courage.
She dropped her forehead to the steering wheel. “I’m out of my mind.” She balled her fist on her thigh. She had to do this. Had to. Tears stung her eyes, but she pressed her fingertips to the corners. She couldn’t let anyone see her crying. Especially not Mica.
She had to pull it together. She’d felt brave over the past year, but that didn’t come close to how heartrendingly brave she was going to need to be once she came face-to-face with Mica.
He’s going to hate me forever.
Oh, he’d wanted her on that golden October night over a year ago. Those days had been like a giddy ride on a Ferris wheel. She’d worked long hours for Aunt Louise at the ice-cream shop, while Louise went to rehab, saw her doctors and healed. She’d never known when she’d see Mica from one day to the next because they never actually made dates or scheduled dinners. He had simply showed up at closing time.
He had been battling anger and depression over his injury. She’d cut him a lot of slack, but still, his distance constantly warred with the magnetism between them.
Before the month she’d spent in Indian Lake, Grace had been attracted to Mica—intrigued by the memory of that day in the pool. Yet in the month they’d spent together, she’d grown to care about him. Deeply. She wasn’t sure he’d understood just how deeply. He hadn’t asked. Mica was a loner. “Aloof” didn’t begin to describe his attitude at times. He needed solitude to heal his psyche. Grace knew instinctively when to be with him and when to give him space. Yet she cherished every glimpse of him. Every breath and word he spoke. For her, there hadn’t been anything more important than simply spending an hour over a cup of coffee with Mica.
Looking back, the sharp blade of reality was that as much as she’d tried to show she cared about him, Mica had never said he cared about her. Never told her he loved her. Now that she
thought about it, he’d never told her that he even liked her. All of which was a flimsy foundation for a relationship.
“Not that we even have one,” she grumbled. Grace couldn’t pin that one on Mica. She’d been the one to cut off communication.
She’d itched to send him an email, longed to hear his voice on the phone. But she’d had only one thing to say to him. And it was the one thing she couldn’t—wouldn’t—say.
I’m pregnant.
She had told herself over and over that he didn’t love her and only wanted her as a fling. She lived in Paris. He lived in Indian Lake. They were universes apart in just about everything.
A clean break was best, she’d thought. Then she’d thrown herself into her spring line.
Part of her had wanted to tell him—had insisted it was the right thing. She remembered the times she’d stared at her phone, punched in his number, then lost courage before the first ring. Lost faith that he would ever want her. As the months passed and her pregnancy progressed, their time together had started to seem like some strange dream. It would never work in the long run. It was easier, for both of them, this way. Finally, she had come to a decision. She would have her baby and never tell Mica. She was capable and responsible and she could raise her child while fulfilling her ambitions for her career. She could do anything.
So she’d thought.
A door slammed, startling her. Grace looked up, but the villa was still. The sun was fading behind a shield of dense, snow-filled clouds. The timer on the white lights in the doorway garland and shrubs tripped. Thousands of tiny lights turned the villa’s facade into a fairyland.
The sound must have come from somewhere else.
She drove around to the kitchen entrance, and there he was.
He was dressed in jeans, cowboy boots and a leather jacket over a cream-colored cable-knit sweater. His hair was a bit longer than the last time she’d seen him. The lights over the doorway had come on and glistened in his ink-dark hair.
He’d stopped halfway across the paved area between the kitchen and the stairway to his apartment above the garage.
He stared at the car disbelievingly.
She opened the door and got out. “Mica.”
“Grace,” he said with a sharp edge of irritation. “What are you doing here?”
Her heart slammed violently in her chest as she took a step back and opened the back door to the car. Her hands were shaking and she absolutely knew that all the blood had drained out of her body. She probably only had minutes to live. She had to do this quickly.
“I brought you something.”
“You what?” He took a tentative step forward.
She leaned down and unhooked the seat belt that secured their son in his infant car seat, then lifted him into her arms.
She straightened and shut the door with her hip. Mica stared at her and then at the baby. “Hold out your arm, Mica. I’ve brought you your son.”
Mica was speechless as she walked up to him. She shoved the baby to his chest.
“He’s yours, and it’s your turn to take care of him.”
Mica’s blue eyes blazed with mistrust and something akin to revulsion. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Does he look like a joke?”
“No.”
“Just hold him. He’ll grow on you.” She took a step back.
“Hold on.” His surprise and mounting anger hit her like shotgun pellets. Sharp, painful and deep. She’d expected this. She’d thought she’d prepared herself for his reactions, but seeing him and remembering what it was like to be in his arms... She hated herself for being the bad guy. There wasn’t a single thing she’d done since last October that merited his trust, love or respect.
She would have loved to run back to Aunt Louise’s and cry all night—all week. Instead, she stood her ground and steeled herself for what was to come.
“I don’t have a son,” he said and started to hand the baby back to her.
“Yes, you do. This is Jules.”
“Jules? What kind of name is that?”
“It’s French. His middle name is Michael. After you.”
Mica clenched his jaw as he looked down at the sleeping infant. “What’s his last name?”
Grace swallowed hard. Incredibly, she hadn’t thought about the name issue. “Railton.”
He plopped the sleeping Jules into her arms with enough force that Grace rocked back on her heels.
“So, if he’s my son, why didn’t you name him after me?” He drew in a long breath. “Don’t answer that. I’ll tell you why. I wasn’t there. I couldn’t sign papers. And I wasn’t there because you didn’t tell me you were pregnant. You didn’t answer my calls or emails. You vanished, Grace. Poof!” He jerked his chin back forcefully. His eyes were shooting barbs at her and she stood pinned to the spot, ready for the assault. She deserved it.
“I didn’t. I thought it best we never see each other again.”
“You decided,” he declared angrily.
“I did.”
“But here you are.”
“Yes. With Jules.” She looked fondly at the baby. “I need to talk to you about him...”
“You sure took your time, but I get that since you didn’t want to see me again. Have anything to do with me. A guy with one arm.”
Her stomach flipped. How could he think that? On the other hand, why not? She hadn’t given him a reason not to believe that. She hadn’t spoken to him at all. And now she was hurting him. Insulting him. And it couldn’t be helped. “Mica, I’m sorry, so very sorry, for not telling you about Jules. I was wrong and I deeply regret my decision. But it had nothing to do with your arm. I’m here because I can’t take care of him. You’re his father. I need you to take over. Just for a while.”
His words came out in a rush. “You want me to take care of a baby. That’s ridiculous. I only have one arm—”
“Which is in better shape than most men’s...even the ones with two working arms. Please—try to understand. I thought I could do this by myself, but I was wrong. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but we need to do what’s right for Jules. I have responsibilities...my team’s futures depend on me—”
“And Jules’s doesn’t?” he barked.
“Of course it does. That’s the point. I’m doing the best thing for him, bringing him to you. I’ve only got a small window of opportunity to make something extraordinary happen. I was nearly there a year ago when I came back here. How I pulled it out of the water after a month away, I’ll never know. But I did it. We didn’t get the notoriety I’d hoped for. My team members didn’t get internships at the big houses, but I did get noticed by Chanel. If I can pull this off this season, I’m in. And my future—Jules’s future—is secure. If I don’t make a huge splash, the houses will look for fresh blood. They’ll decide that I don’t have talent and they’ll move on. It’s now or never, Mica.”
He was silent.
“Mica, please. Please don’t hold my actions against our son. It’s not Jules’s fault that I hurt you—am hurting you.” As Grace finished she realized how high-pitched and desperate her voice had become.
Mica was unnervingly stoic. His face registered no response whatsoever, and she could only hope he was considering everything she was telling him. Maybe seeing her side of the situation.
“That’s why I have to leave Jules with you,” she continued. “I need to turn my full concentration on my work. The truly demanding days of his infancy are behind us. He’s sleeping nearly all the night. His colic is gone. He took the flight like a champ. I’m really proud of him.” She forced a smile at Mica, but when she looked down at Jules, her face softened. “I’ll miss you, little guy.”
“Then take him back to Paris.”
“What?” She met Mica’s steely blue gaze.
“I can’t take care of him,” he growled and leaned closer.
“It’s only two months, max. Till the end of the spring shows. You can do it.”
“Forget it. If you’d told me about him before he was born, then maybe I’d be better prepared to become a real father. I could have taken Lamaze classes with you. Gone to the hospital with you. Helped you when he had colic. But no. I was robbed of all that. I didn’t get the chance, Grace—because you kept him a secret.” He let out a bitter laugh. “Guess the joke’s on me, huh?”
“Joke?”
“Here’s the way I see it, Grace. First, you find out you’re pregnant but can’t stand the thought of telling me—the dad, the loser with no career and no prospects. Maybe that was your plan all along—use me, string me along so you could have a child all to yourself. Then this baby interferes with your precious career so you decide to pawn him off on me after all. Oh, I get your reasoning. What else do I have going on? I’m just slugging around backwater Indian Lake. Why wouldn’t I be available to take on a kid? Well, it’s not going to work, Grace.”
He whirled around and took off. Grace’s heart cracked. She’d made a mistake, yes, but she hadn’t used him. She’d given him a piece of her heart when she was fifteen and handed over the rest of it last October. Being with him had been bliss, and in those few, short weeks, she’d been happy. She couldn’t blame him for being upset with her, but this angry, judgmental, intractable Mica was not someone she wanted to know. His chastisement cut straight to her soul. She was left speechless.
He spun to face her again. “You must think I have a stupid streak a mile wide. I’m not falling for it, Grace. I’m not!” he shouted.
Grace’s mind went black as she faced the onslaught of his revulsion. Before she could gather her thoughts, the kitchen door opened and Gina walked out.
“What’s all the shouting I hear?” she demanded. Then she noticed Grace. Her smile was instantaneous. “Grace! How lovely to see...” Her gaze fixed on the bundle in Grace’s arms. “Grace?”
His Baby Dilemma Page 4