The Last MacKlenna

by Katherine Lowry Logan

  “Family and friends,” Meredith said. “They don’t count.”

  After a significant silence, Elliott said, “I want our baby. What do I have to do to convince you of that?”

  “You’re a confirmed bachelor. What would you do with a baby?” she asked.

  “The same thing I did with Kit for twenty-five years. She’s part of the reason I never married or had children of my own. I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her.” He put his elbows on the table and ran his hands through his hair. “I found her on the front porch when she was an infant—”

  “Found? As in lost?”

  “More like misplaced, but that’s a story for another time. I fell in love with her from the get-go. Beautiful round face, green eyes. I was with her when she took her first step. Picked her up off the ground when she fell off her pony. Wiped her tears. Her butt, too.”

  “So you’re saying . . . what? That you want a child?”

  “Yes, but I never met a woman I wanted to have a child with. The first time I saw you, I fell in love again, and I’ve been afraid ever since.”

  “Why?”

  He pushed back in his chair. The legs scraped against the hardwood floor. “I thought you wouldn’t be interested because of my scars, my past.”

  “Elliott, that’s not true—”

  “I pushed you away, not because I didn’t want you, but because I was afraid.”

  Meredith didn’t say anything, and silence grew between them.

  After what seemed an eternity, he said, “It would help if you said something.”

  “I have cancer.”

  He lowered his head, squeezed his eyes and the bridge of his nose, thinking. Maybe for the first time in years, he was feeling something other than pain. Something that made his frozen heart crack open. He gazed at her. “I’m not an expert, but I believe pregnant women have survived breast cancer. I can afford the best treatment in the world. That’s what you’ll get.”

  “I won’t put my baby—”

  “Our—”

  “At risk.”

  “I think I read that there are some chemo drugs that don’t cross the placenta.”

  “I don’t trust that.”

  “There’s anesthesia that won’t hurt the baby.”

  “I had a reaction to the anesthetic five years ago. I won’t take that risk either.”

  That old familiar rise in blood pressure heated his body. “You’ve ruled out chemo and surgery. What’s left? Wait nine months while the cancer spreads?”

  She held on to her arms, shaking. Her ankles wrapped around the chair legs.

  “Are you cold?” he asked.

  “Yes. No. I’ve just got the shakes.”

  Even if he’d never studied body language, he could easily read her. Her movements screamed don’t touch me.

  “Tomorrow,” he said, “we’ll go over to the medical center and talk to Granny Mac’s oncologist. We can conference in your doctors and develop a treatment plan.”

  “The launch is in two weeks. After that, I’ll get a second and, if necessary, third opinion. But until then, my priority is my wine.”

  The emphasis Meredith placed on the word wine tagged a lost memory in Elliott’s subconscious and pulled it up front and center. He heard his mother yelling at his father. Ye’ spend more time with yer damn wine than you do with me.

  He gritted his teeth, torn between the urge to yell at Meredith and the urge to shake her until good sense prevailed. “Your priority is your survival, not your wine.”

  “That’s why I didn’t intend to tell you.” She stopped and took one deep breath and then another one. “I knew you wouldn’t accept my decision.”

  Tears leaked from his eyes. “Why did you?”

  She got up and walked over to the kitchen sink and filled a glass with water. “Two weeks isn’t going to make a difference.”

  “Two weeks won’t, but how long have you known? A month?”

  She took a long drink, then carried the glass over to the table. “I’ve known about the cancer, but I only found out about the baby a few days ago”

  “You still haven’t answered my question. Why did you decide to tell me?”

  She sat and placed the glass on the table. “I’m going home to finish what I started months ago, and then—”

  He took her hand in his. “What you started? What about what we started?”

  “We crashed and burned, or have you forgotten?”

  He was nothing more than a horse that had cornered the rail, fading fast with only an eighth of a mile to the finish line and nothing left in reserve. He and Meredith needed to be in each other’s arms, comforting each other.

  “Boss. Boss.”

  Elliott thrust out a breath and allowed some semblance of a smile. The cavalry had arrived.

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  “WHERE ARE YOU?” Kevin yelled. “You’re not going to believe this.”

  Elliott knew Meredith was crazy about the lad, and his presence could possibly diffuse the wee bit of tension between them. “In the kitchen.”

  “I just got a text from Meredith’s assistant, Cate. Meredith’s on her way—”

  Kevin entered the kitchen and came to a dead stop with his face turning beet red. “Busted.” He glanced first at Meredith then at Elliott. “Cate and I decided we’re both going to quit if the two of you can’t work this out.” He turned and left the room. A few seconds later, the front door slammed.

  Elliott stared at Meredith. She stared at him. He stood and pulled her to her feet. “Let me hold you.”

  She hugged her elbows. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Stop thinking with your head, and start feeling with your heart.”

  The front door slammed again. A moment later, Kevin reentered the kitchen carrying Meredith’s bags. “I paid for the taxi. What do you want me to do with these?”

  Elliott raised his eyebrow. “You kept the meter running?”

  “I wasn’t going to stay,” Meredith said.

  “You could have gotten back on your plane. Why the luggage?”

  “Gregory had to go to Washington. I was going to stay in a hotel tonight.”

  “Put her bags in—”

  “The room upstairs,” Meredith said.

  “My room.” Elliott sounded forceful, but he didn’t care. She wasn’t going to leave. He didn’t feel cocky. Just self-assured. He knew where her sexual buttons were, and he intended to push all of them—several times. If he didn’t win her over tonight, he might not get another chance.

  Kevin turned one way then the other before marching off in the direction of the master suite, announcing over his shoulder, “I’m putting these in Elliott’s room.”

  “Kevin, come back,” Meredith said.

  He leaned around the doorframe. “Sorry, Meredith, but he signs my checks.”

  Meredith watched him walk away with her bags. She turned to Elliott saying, “You created a monster.”

  “Remind me to tell you how I met him.”

  “Lyles said he’d been a friend of Kit’s.”

  “What else did he tell you?”

  “Not much.” She nodded toward Elliott’s leg. “How’s it going?”

  He placed his hand over his mouth, stretching out the lower lip before letting it spring back. “I’m motivated this time.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.”

  Okay, they were stalling. Time to make a move. “I need to sit and stretch my leg. Can we go into the other room?”

  “Your room?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  She scratched her forehead. “I’m not sure this—”

  “Meredith, just go with it. Let’s talk. That’s all, but I can’t do it in here.” He could, but he wasn’t going to. He aimed to press his advantage, so for effect, he slumped for a wee bit. A slight twinge of guilt swept across his heart, but he dust-panned it away. Yep, he was manipulating her, and he’d continue to fight dirty if he had to.

  She followed him
into the bedroom. “What happened to the wheelchair?”

  “I’m allowed to use the sticks as long as I don’t go any farther than the kitchen and back to my bedroom.” He eased onto the bed and stretched out, watching her eyes, tense and worried, bluer than usual. Slowly, they softened. He blew out a quiet breath of relief. She kicked off her shoes, curled up on her side, and pushed up on her elbow like she had done so many times before.

  “I’ve missed you, but you hurt me.”

  “I know I did, and I’m sorry.” He gently cupped her cheek. She pulled away slightly, but he didn’t drop his hand.

  “You’ll hurt me again. Won’t you?” Her body still shivered.

  Elliott had heard those words before. From his mother. Not directed toward him, but at his father. He was beginning to see with adult eyes the problems in his parents’ troubled relationship.

  Another tear slipped down his cheek. Then another. “God, I hope not. I couldn’t live with myself if I did.”

  She wiped his tears with her thumb. “You’re angry about something that goes much deeper than what’s going on now. At least that’s what my therapist told me several years ago.”

  “Did you find out what it was?”

  For an instant, her eyes were naked with vulnerability. “Mom died when I was born. I told you that earlier. As a child, I felt responsible—”

  “You were a baby.”

  “I know, but I grew up believing that if I hadn’t been born she would be alive and my dad would be happy.”

  Elliott kissed her, and this time Meredith didn’t withdraw at his touch.

  “You’re not angry now, though?”

  “I read the medical reports. During childbirth, the placenta separated. The doctors saved me, but Mom had a reaction to the anesthetic. They lost her. After her death, they discovered that she had a bifurcated uterus. The placenta had attached to the weak interior wall. It was a miracle I survived.”

  “Is that why you don’t want surgery again? You’re afraid.”

  Blood drained from her face, and her upper body sagged—a crumbling façade. Tears fell in thick streams down her face. Her emotional floodgate creaked open. Elliott made no attempt to bolt the door. He could easily have distracted her with a touch here, a kiss there, but he knew deep in his heart that she needed to unleash the mountain of gnawing fear and disappointment. He reached for a box of Kleenex and wiped her face. Her tears cut into him, creating deep grooves. How could he have been such an ass? For years, he’d inflicted pain, disregarding the feelings of others. His insensitivity would end now. It might require him to bite off his tongue, but he’d do what he could and pray for strength to do what he couldn’t.

  “If the anesthesiologist has a record of your history,” he said, “the doctor will be prepared. You’ll be in good hands.”

  Meredith’s salty tear-coated fingers covered his mouth. “I don’t want to talk about it. Please.”

  He kissed her palm. “Okay.”

  She leaned into him, sobbing louder.

  Granny Mac and Lou had cried on his shoulder. So had Kit, only months earlier. But with Meredith, her pain seeped into dry places within him that had been sealed up most of his life, and that’s why he cried, too. He tried to keep his sobs quiet, but they poured out in wavy patterns and played in concert with hers.

  In the midst of her guttural cries, interspersed with gasps of breath, came the words, “It’s not fair.” She pounded on his chest. He grasped her hands, uncurled her fingers. Her nails had cut into her palms, leaving white oval-shaped indentations. He took the brunt of it. The anger, the frustration, the fear. Warm tears soaked his shirt. At one of the most vulnerable times in her life, he had hurt her, hurt her deeply. And he’d carry the guilt forever, hearing her pain-filled sobs. They would bounce around in his memories like echoes reflecting off red and yellow canyon walls.

  Kevin stepped into the room, turned the lights down, and closed the door. And all the while, they cried, until finally all the tears were shed. She rolled back onto the pillow, heaving, as did he—exhausted. Yet in a way, his body was now buoyant, purged of the deadly emotions that had weighed him down.

  “You’ve carried all that around for years, haven’t you?” He pushed her sweat soaked hair off her face. “You’ve tried to run it off, but even twenty-milers couldn’t get rid of it.”

  “I wasn’t aware of how much I was holding on to.”

  “We never do. But our stomachs and our hearts know. The stress puts wear and tear on our bodies. But we ignore it, pop antacids, yell, and micromanage everyone around us. As long as we can keep control, we won’t succumb to the one thing we fear the most.”

  “What do you fear the most?” she asked.

  “If you had asked me a month ago—hell, twenty-four hours ago—I couldn’t have told you.”

  “And now—”

  He had no rapid-pulsed fear of telling her anything, but his jumbled mind struggled with verbalizing his revelations. “I—” he stopped and waited for the words forming on his tongue to catch up. “—have always been afraid of not measuring up and being left behind.”

  She hiccupped. “You don’t seem like you’re afraid of anything. I noticed that about you when we first met. You’re like the rocky soil that nurtures my vines—fearless, indestructible.”

  “It takes practice.” No one cheered his success right now, least of all himself. He had succeeded in doing what he had set out to do as a lad of ten. He had sworn then that no one would ever see his pain again or hurt him as his mother had done.

  “You can be human like the rest of us and let your foibles hang out.”

  He chuckled. “What’s the expression about the pot calling the kettle black?”

  She wiped tears with the back of her hand. “Since we’re confessing . . .”

  “Let me guess. You’re afraid of failing.”

  “I’m that obvious?”

  “No, you’re too confident. No one would ever believe it. But what I want to know is what will happen if you do? Will the world end?”

  She sat and leaned against the headboard, tucking her feet beneath her. “People will talk about me.”

  “What could they say that’s so important?”

  Her well-formed, sexy shoulders lifted in an easy shrug. “That I didn’t deserve whatever it was I was trying to do, to get. That’s why I work so hard.”

  He thought back to the compulsive work habits he’d seen in Scotland and later when she’d visited the farm. “Who cares what they think?”

  She combed her fingers through his longer than usual hair. He’d skipped the last two or three weekly barber appointments, and although he wasn’t sure he liked wearing it longer, everyone else seemed to.

  “Because it reflects . . . Because I’m a Montgomery.”

  “You’re much more than a name.”

  “My name is everything. It’s who I am. What I do. How I live my life.”

  “So you’re obsessive about your new wine because you’re afraid it’ll fail.”

  “There’s too much at stake. I can’t think about anything else.”

  “You’re letting your wine become more important than your health.”

  She raised her eyebrows theatrically. “Well, there’s that black pot again. Something’s been rattling your cage for years or your leg would have healed a long time ago.”

  “Maybe.”

  Being open—even partially open—and honest with a woman he was having sex with was new for him. He tugged her back down on the bed, and she sprawled beside him. “Tell you what. I’ll give you two weeks. I’ll even carry your to-do list and pencil and check off the items as you get them done, but after Cailean is launched, we’re focusing on two things: your health and us.”

  She reached for a bottle of water off the night stand and took a long swig.

  “Can I get you a glass of wine?” he asked.

  “I’m not drinking now.”

  “They say one glass of red won’t hurt the baby.”
>
  She snorted a laugh. “Chemo won’t hurt the baby. Surgery won’t hurt the baby. Wine won’t hurt the baby. Somehow I don’t believe it.”

  “Sex doesn’t hurt a baby,” Elliott said.

  This time she let loose a real laugh. “Neither does running.”

  He pulled her over on top of him. “Your laughter makes beautiful music.”

  “I’ve missed your singing.” She kissed him. He put his hand behind her head and held her to him, kissing her back.

  As strong as his need for her was, he took it slow. Her breath brushed against his check. He smiled when he breathed in the faint scent of wine. For him, he smelled hope. He pulled her sweater over her head and unclasped her bra. Snap. When her breasts fell free, she flinched slightly.

  “I don’t care if you have two natural breasts or two man-made ones. You’re beautiful and desirable and always will be.”

  “You say that now—”

  “And I’ll say it later.” He touched her.

  She pressed the pads of three of his fingers against the side of her breast. “The lump was right there.”

  “Did you find it yourself?”

  “I’ve had a lot of practice searching for them,” she said.

  “We’ll conquer this, Meredith. I’ll be with you every step of the way.” Her brows drew closer, and her face tightened. He read her face. She didn’t believe him.

  “Lou said you wouldn’t even hug her after her surgery.”

  “She told you, huh? At first, I was afraid I’d hurt her. Then, I was afraid she’d be self-conscious.” He used his hands and pantomimed weighty breasts. “She’s large, and the absence of one was very noticeable. I was insensitive, but I didn’t know how to approach her.”

  “You should tell her.”

  He slipped his hands down Meredith’s back, beneath the waistband of her jeans. “I didn’t know it still bothered her.” He held tight to Meredith and pushed her against his crotch. His dick throbbed. He wanted to rip off the rest of her clothes, but this was not that kind of night.

  The air around them took on a pulsating life of its own.

  She pushed his shirt up, and her fingers threaded through his hair-roughened chest. He lifted his arms and pulled the shirt over his head. “Is there anything else you’d like me to take off?” he asked.