“Is that the only thing you’re nervous about?”
“Isn’t that enough?”
“It is, but I doubt that’s the only thing,” Jess said, sending her a knowing glance.
Jess was right. There’d been a subtle change between them since his last visit. Something undefinable, and it made her more than nervous.
She was taking the boys to visit their father and the other half of their family. It didn’t have to be about her. Them.
A knock on the door sent her heart skittering. “He can’t be here yet.”
The door opened, and Connor called out, “Everybody dressed?”
“No,” Jess said, “but come on in.”
“Hey,” Clare said. “I thought you were working today.” She moved with Parker to the crib in the family room.
“I am. Just stopping by. Wanted to wish the little nuggets a happy Thanksgiving. And you of course.”
“Well, thanks. Poor Mommy,” she said, smiling at Parker as she worked his sleeper off. “Always an afterthought. Yes, I am. Mommy is an afterthought,” she said in a singsong voice to Parker.
“So you’re still going?”
Clare glanced back at her brother, saw him scowling at her suitcase. “Yes. I’m still going. He’s making an effort. I’m making an effort. For the boys’ sake.”
Connor went over to Jess and took Patrick from her arms. “Hey, little dude. Who’s big today? Huh? Who’s big?” He walked the baby to the sliding-glass doors, pointing out the weather and where they would sit and have a beer when he was older. “Are you sure you know him well enough for this trip?” Connor asked looking at her.
“Mmm. The real reason for your visit. And he’s the father of my children. I know him fairly well.”
Connor grumbled under his breath. “Thanksgiving is a stupid day to travel.”
“That’s my fault. I waited so long to decide, we couldn’t get four seats for yesterday.”
“I think it’s sweet that he’s coming to get you,” Jess said. “That he won’t even let you get a cab and meet him at the airport.”
“Well, I think it’s creepy,” Connor said. “I mean why wouldn’t he let one of us drive her to the airport? It’s weird.”
“He’s coming to get me because when he asked, I didn’t know your schedules, and he didn’t want me taking a cab or leaving a car at the airport then driving home alone with the boys when I come back.”
“Is this what you want Patrick to wear?” Jess asked, holding up a navy and brown one-piece with a puppy on the chest.
“Yes. And the socks are around here somewhere. He needs to be changed first.”
“Got it.” Jess took the baby back from Connor and went to work.
“We need to show Daddy your poopies. Yes, we do.”
Parker blinked up at her as she talked.
“And with that, I’m out.” Connor wrapped her up in a hug and kissed her forehead. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
“You, too.”
Jess left soon after, and she finished her last-minute packing. She was just getting a sleeping Patrick buckled into his car seat when she heard the knock at the door.
“Daddy’s here,” she whispered. And as nervous as she was, as uncertain about her life and the future, she couldn’t keep herself from smiling.
Chapter 27
“YOU OKAY BACK THERE?”
Clare met Deacon’s concerned eyes in the rearview mirror from where she sat in the back between the babies. Deacon had been right about flying versus driving. Stopping to nurse every few hours would have been a nightmare. On the plane, they had two sets of hands and were actually able to enjoy most of the flight. But the twenty-minute ride from the airport was getting hairy as Parker decided he was done with the trip.
“Yes.”
“I can pull over if you need to feed him.”
“No. It’s okay. I think he’s going to take this bottle.”
“Okay.” They rode a few miles in silence. “I’m sure you’re tired. I’d like to say you could rest when we get there, but I know there’s going to be a houseful. I’m sorry. I tried to hold them off.”
“It’s okay.” She actually felt a little sick. Would they like her? Did they think she was a slut for hooking up on her honeymoon? Did they hate her already for not telling Deacon about the babies sooner?
When they pulled into his parents’ driveway, Deacon got out, taking a car seat in each hand. Clare couldn’t help the flash of heat she got when he held both car seats, lifting them just enough to make his biceps flex even through his sweater. She was a woman after all. A woman who’d held onto those arms while he pounded himself inside her until she’d seen stars.
He paused at the door. “Don’t be nervous.”
“How do you know I’m nervous?”
“For one thing, you’ve tucked your hair behind your ear at least twenty times.”
Proving his point, she tucked it again. “I just want to make a good impression.”
“You will.”
“I didn’t even bring anything. No food, no flowers.”
“You’re bringing babies. Trust me, that’s better.”
She looked down at the babies.
“Hey. We would have gotten to this part anyway. Eventually.”
She met his eyes, and her heart turned over. “You think?”
“I know.”
He pressed a quick kiss to her lips. He had his hands full, but she didn’t, and her fingers found the front of his coat. When the kiss ended, they were both smiling.
“Okay,” he whispered against her lips. “Now I feel better.”
She laughed. “So do I.”
Deacon opened the door and ushered her in ahead of him. His mom, standing at the kitchen island, was the first person Clare saw.
“Oh, you’re here!” A woman, several inches shorter than herself, moved quickly from the stove to greet them.
“Clare, my mom, Nancy. Mom, this is Clare.”
Deacon’s mother wore soft grey pants and a pale blue top. She had a full, attractive face and friendly smile. Her eyes, the same color as her son’s, met her own, kind but assessing. Clare wiped her hands on her thighs again before holding out her hand. “Hi.”
“Clare,” Nancy said, not taking her hand but instead pulling her in for a warm hug. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
“You too.”
“And I’m so glad you came.” She bent to get closer to the car seats Deacon still held. “Oh, just look at them!”
A striking man with thick gray hair ambled in from the adjoining family room. His face was so similar to Deacon’s, Clare had little doubt what Deacon would look like in thirty years. “Clare, this is my dad, Bill. Dad, Clare.”
Bill took her hand in both of his, adding to the welcome she already felt.
“And this is Parker and Patrick.”
“Well, would you look at that,” his father said, in a deep baritone.
“Clare!” Maci and Margo ran to her, ignoring their father. She caught them close, surprised by their exuberant welcome, as if they felt altogether more confident in their place and with her being here as opposed to her house.
“You smell like cookies,” Clare said, pressing her nose into Margo’s hair.
“We made cookies,” Margo told her, loosening her grip.
“And we wolled dough,” Maci added.
“That sounds delicious. It looks delicious, too.” She tapped Maci’s nose then kissed each of their cheeks where a bit of flour remained. When she looked up, her gaze collided with a woman she assumed was Deacon’s older sister, Alex. Clare stood. “Hi. I’m Clare.”
“I gathered that,” she said lightly, sizing her up without being offensive. “I’m Alex. It’s nice to meet you.”
“You, too.”
“This one is Patrick, right, Daddy?” Margo said. “And this one is Parker.” The girls showed off the babies, who were passed around and cooed over by the adults.
Patrick moved his lips, making w
hat she thought of as his kitten sounds.
“Are you going to talk?” Nancy asked. “What can you say? Talk to Grandma.”
The back door slammed shut, and two older kids entered the kitchen, a boy and a girl, maybe twelve and eight.
“Come on, M and M. It’s your turn,” the girl said. “Oh, hey, Uncle Deacon.”
“Clare, this is my son, Sean,” Alex said. “And my daughter, Lauren.”
“Aww!” Lauren rose up on her toes for a better look at the baby her mother held. “He’s so little.”
“He’s grown a lot,” Deacon said proudly. “He weighs almost seven pounds now.”
“You weighed more than that when you were born,” Alex said, smiling at Lauren.
“Twins again,” the boy said, grinning at his uncle. “Dang.”
“Don’t say ‘dang,’ and stay away from that stuffing,” Alex said.
Sean put the lid back on the pot and turned. “Why?”
“Because we’d all like to eat it without your grubby fingers.”
“Why don’t say ‘dang’?”
“Dang, dang, dang,” Margo sang.
Then, thinking it was funny and noting the attention, Maci joined her.
“Now you’ve done it,” Deacon’s father said. He bent and picked up both girls at once. “Come with me, boy. Time to break out the dominoes, and you’re playing, too.”
“I’m on baby duty,” Alex sang, starting out of the kitchen to the family room, then stopped. “You don’t mind, do you? That I’m just taking off with your baby?”
Clare returned Alex’s smile. “No. I don’t mind. I hope he doesn’t spit up on you.”
“I’ll supervise,” Deacon said, following his sister with Parker and the diaper bag.
“As if I need your supervision,” Alex muttered.
Clare stayed where she was, unsure what to do.
“Alex loves babies,” Nancy said, pulling a casserole dish out of the oven. “I’ll get my hands on them after lunch.”
“This smells so good. I can’t imagine how long you’ve been working on it.”
Deacon’s mother didn’t exactly bustle, but she moved around the kitchen with purpose. It was obvious she’d gone to a lot of trouble.
“Can I do something to help?” Clare held up her empty hands. “It’s not often I have two free hands.”
She saw Nancy start to decline the offer, maybe out of habit, but then corrected. “I think the rolls are done. If you could get them out and into that basket.”
“Of course.” Clare washed and dried her hands at the sink and took two pans of rolls from the bottom oven. “He’s so good with them,” Clare said, peeking through the wide-open doorway to the family room, where the rest of the family had gathered. Deacon had one of the boys on a blanket on the couch while he changed a diaper and told Margo softly, but firmly, that she could not pick him up.
Nancy looked then went back to the pot on the stove. “Yes. He really is.”
“He’s better than I am.” Her throat felt thick, and she choked on the last word.
“Oh, honey.” Nancy squeezed her shoulder as she passed. “Have you ever done this before?”
“No.”
“Well, he has. Do you think he was so good the first time around? I can tell you he wasn’t. Didn’t even know the first thing about changing a diaper. Let him help you. He wants to do it with you.”
Clare nodded but wondered at the comment. Do it with me? Here in Ohio? In Missouri? She carefully moved the hot rolls from the foil tin into a towel-lined bread basket.
“Deacon was such a serious boy,” Nancy said, working at the stove. “Always with his animals or someone else’s or looking for the wounded. Spent more time with animals than people.”
“Didn’t he have friends?” she asked, not liking to picture Deacon as a lonely little boy.
“He did. Easy to like, athletic. But so serious. Too serious. The girls changed that. He could have let me do everything, but he didn’t. He wanted to be a father, and I’ve always known he’d be a good one. And a good husband,” she added, with a soft look.
Clare didn’t know what to say to that. Was his mother matchmaking? She concentrated on her rolls. She wondered what Nancy thought of the girls’ mother. If she’d wanted her to stick around.
“What’s going on in here?” Deacon asked, coming into the kitchen. “The natives are getting restless out there.”
“Girl talk,” his mother said easily. “And don’t put your fingers in the stuffing, either.”
“Yes, ma’am. I think Parker’s hungry. My magic touch isn’t working.”
Clare finished covering the rolls. “Okay. I’ll get him.”
By the time they sat down, Clare pretty well knew who was who. Alex’s husband, Will, was easy-going and seemed happy to let Alex be the bad guy at the dinner table, correcting their children’s manners.
The dining room table was decorated with a mix of crystal and construction paper. Two placemats with turkey handprints graced one side of the table. They passed butter and salt, praised the cooking, and made good-natured jokes about Alex’s cooking attempts. Lauren and Sean poked at each other as siblings do. Deacon and his father chuckled at Maci quietly poking her green beans under her mashed potatoes.
Clare could see what was between his parents, between parents and children and brother and sister. It was all warm and loving, and her heart felt glad for her sons to be a part of it. A part of them. But would she be a part? That was the unknown that sat in her stomach like too much turkey.
* * *
WHEN THEY WERE FINISHED, the men cleared the table, and his mom got what she called her “baby fix.” They sat in the family room, letting lunch settle before diving into dessert.
He had plenty of good memories in this room with its buttery leather couches that had seen years of use. A fire crackled in a redbrick hearth, under a mantelpiece lined with framed memories. It was more than a house. It was a home.
“How about that Thanksgiving show for Grandpa,” his father said, peeling the girls off his swinging leg.
His mom looked up from the baby in her arms. “Oh, yes. You promised to sing for Grandpa. And I bet Clare would love to hear it, too.”
After a little more prodding, the girls stood in front of the fireplace and performed a song about being glad they weren’t a turkey and another holiday take on “I’m a Little Teapot.” Maci might be behind Margo in speech, but she outperformed with the motions, throwing herself into it with enthusiasm that had them all laughing.
After that, they called his sister Allison to wish her a Happy Thanksgiving and sent her pictures of the babies. The afternoon turned into football games with everyone in the same room even if they mostly did their own thing. His dad held Patrick, and Clare walked Parker, patting his back, working up a burp.
“I could go for some pie,” Deacon said, standing. “Anyone else?”
Deacon took orders and, with his sister, went to fix plates.
“You were right,” Alex said, sliding apple pie onto a plate. “I do like her.”
“Could you say that again?”
“I like her.”
“No, the ‘you’re right’ part.”
“Shut it, or I’ll take your Christmas present back.” She handed Deacon the plate so he could add a scoop of ice cream.
“I thought we weren’t doing presents.”
“Well, we are, so mine better be good.”
Deacon smiled at his older sister. He’d warned them all to make Clare feel comfortable. He hadn’t really been all that worried though.
“Does she know how you feel about her?” Alex asked softly.
“Umm…” He hesitated, shifting on his feet, not altogether comfortable with the conversation.
Alex rolled her eyes, something she’d perfected at age twelve. “Don’t blow a fuse. I mean, have you told her?”
“Not exactly. We’re feeling our way through this. I don’t want to push her. She wants to take it slow.”
Alex sighed. “Why are men so stupid? I mean you function seemingly well in the world, but then there are moments I’m just baffled.”
More than a little offended on behalf of men everywhere, he straightened. “She knows I love the boys, that I want to be there for them long term. I’ve said that.” Hadn’t he?
“And points to you, really. But what about her? You and her?”
He just looked at her.
“Let me simplify. What would you do to win her over if she hadn’t given birth to your children?”
“I don’t know. We’d go out. I’d…” He trailed off as sappy, romantic notions like sending flowers popped into his head. He should have sent her flowers, something.
“Ahh. The lightbulb.” Alex tapped him lightly on the head. “Anyway, I wouldn’t want you, but there’s no accounting for taste.”
“Thanks a lot.”
For the next few hours, his sister’s advice swirled in his mind. Having Clare there with his family made him feel whole. And later, he would have her alone at his house. Alex was right. He needed to make it clear to Clare that he cared as much about her as he did the boys.
It was nearly dark outside when they finally made their exit. He could tell his mother didn’t want to let the babies go, but Clare promised her she was welcome to come over the following day for a cuddle. So loaded with leftovers, diaper bags, babies, and two three-year-olds who’d missed their nap, Deacon drove Clare to his house for the first time. Hopefully not the last.
He’d imagined the moment before he’d even found her. Bringing her home. That was how he thought of it. But she wasn’t a pet, not an animal he’d found and could keep just because he wanted to. He had to make her want it. Want him. And he would.
Chapter 28
DEACON CARRIED HIS SLEEPING daughters from the car, waiting for Clare to go inside ahead of him with the baby carriers. She took a long, slow breath as she entered. If going to his parents’ house for a holiday meal was a step toward trying, being in his home went even deeper.
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