“Honey…you’re tired and shaken because of what happened with Wendy—”
“Dammit, Scott—listen to me! Even if I didn’t believe, with all my heart, that we’re not suited for each other…you know that vision you had of filling all those bedrooms with little Fortunes?” She grabbed his hand and pressed the ring into his palm, closing his fingers around it so hard the stones cut into his flesh. “I can’t make that happen for you. Because the miscarriage, somehow it messed me up inside and I can’t have b-babies. That had been my only shot. And it was selfish of me to sleep with you, to let you put the ring on my finger, when I knew I could never help you realize that part of your dream—”
On a sob, she shouldered open the door and clumsily got out, leaving Scott feeling like the wind had been knocked out of him.
But only for a moment.
She was still blindly fumbling for her keys in her purse when Scott pulled her into his arms, holding on so tight she could barely breathe.
“Let me go, dammit!”
He released her immediately, only to clamp hold of her upper arms, fury thrashing in his eyes.
Christina lowered hers. “I’m sorry I made you mad—”
“Oh, I’m way past mad, honey. You say you love me, but you have so little faith in me that you couldn’t share what’s probably the most important thing about you—?”
“That I can’t have kids?”
“No! That you’re in pain! And why on earth do you think you have to lug that pain around all by yourself?”
“Because maybe it’s no one’s concern but mine.”
“Well, you’re wrong. Dead wrong.” He let his hands drop to stuff them in his jacket pockets, but his jaw was still rigid. “Independence is all well and good, it’s one of the things I admire about you. But if I’ve learned nothing else in business it’s that nobody accomplishes squat by themselves—”
“And maybe I do! Maybe I’m the exception to your rule!”
“Nobody is the exception to that rule. Nobody. Did you even tell your mother about the baby?”
“Oh, God, no,” she said on a bitter laugh.
“Why not?”
“Because she would’ve only said the same thing Chris did, that it was just as well I’d lost it…that I wasn’t any more ready than she’d been to have a kid.”
“You don’t know that for sure—”
“Enough to know I wasn’t up for taking that chance. Scott, you’re still not getting it. You can argue your point until you’re blue in the face, but you can’t make this work anymore than I can. Because nothing you can say changes the simple truth that I don’t know how to do this!”
“Do what, for God’s sake?”
“Let myself be loved! Be part of a healthy relationship! Whatever you want to call it. Because nobody, and I mean nobody, has ever stuck around long enough for me to figure it out.” Tears streamed down her cheeks; furious, she swatted them away. “Being alone…it’s safe. And after what I went through, I’m all about being safe. Although heaven knows you came closer than anybody to breaking through those barriers. Criminy, you’re the first man I’ve slept with since my divorce. What does that tell you?”
His trembling grin would be her undoing. “That I should be honored as hell?”
“Nice try. But how about…it’s like part of me is broken and I don’t know how to fix it—”
Scott grabbed her shoulders again, gently shaking her. “And maybe you don’t have to fix it yourself, dammit! That’s what you’re not getting! Or don’t you believe my feelings for you are real?”
“Of course I do!” she said to his tortured gaze. “But…but I still can’t wrap my head around how it would work between us in the long run, any more than it did between Chris and me—”
“Sorry, honey, but that dog don’t hunt. It never did, at least not from my perspective. Sweetheart—you and Chris were kids. We’re not. I’m not. And in an adult relationship, both partners—partners—work on that relationship together. Work out the problems together. Children…”
Closing his eyes, he let his head drop back, like he was asking for guidance, then looked at her again. “My heart breaks for you because you can’t have them. For you. Not me. Because I know,” he said, palming his chest, “I’d love a child we adopted every bit as much as I’d love one you gave birth to. I love you. And I’ve never said that to another woman. How’s that for a confession?”
Her heart shattering, Christina touched that beautiful face. “I hear everything you’re saying, I really do. But…I can’t help it—this all still feels like something out of a storybook. And I don’t dare trust it, no matter how much I want to. Especially since…”
Turning, she shakily got her key in the lock, not facing him again until the door was open and Gumbo rushed outside. The only creature, she realized, whose love she did trust. And how sorry was that?
“You know, I used to wonder, once the Prince married Cinderella? If he looked at her one day and realized…they really had nothing to talk about.”
Scott looked at her for a long moment, then said quietly, “This isn’t about trusting the fairy tale. Or even me. It’s about trusting yourself. What you want. What you deserve. And it pisses me off to no end that for someone so determined not to let circumstances define her…that’s exactly what you’re doing.”
Then he stalked back to the car and got in, slamming his door so hard it set off the Jetta’s alarm.
Chapter Twelve
Scott was still in a slamming and banging mood when he got back to Wendy’s, although he took care not to show his irritation when he returned the minivan’s keys to the neighbors, giving them a brief rundown on what had happened. Minutes later he was on the couch, his phone in one hand, his head in the other as he waited for Blake to pick up. Although he agreed with Wendy that it was probably best not to tell their parents about her condition, at least for the moment, Blake would skin him alive if he discovered they’d deliberately kept him out of the loop.
And calling his brother would divert Scott’s overwrought brain from dwelling on what was going on with Christina. Or would have, had not Blake’s voice mail picked up the call instead of the man himself.
Annoyed, Scott left a curt message, then stood, ramming the phone into his pocket and heading back outside before he suffocated in the tiny house. Granted, part of him was inclined to cut his losses and walk away. Unfortunately, the stubborn part—which would be the part that grabbed a project by the throat, refusing to let go until he’d seen it through—wasn’t onboard with that idea.
At. All.
Especially since the…resignation in her voice, which only intensified the deeper she got into the story, make him abso-freaking-lutely crazy. Maybe it wasn’t up to him, he thought as he found himself walking toward Main Street, to fix her, to eradicate her pain…and maybe it was. Because what if God or whatever had put him in that part of the airport for a reason, and that reason was to save—for a lack of a better word—Christina?
Or for her to save him, which was a far more likely scenario.
Whichever it was, how could he turn his back on that?
Sure, he’d been momentarily blindsided by her bombshell that she couldn’t have children. But, come on, he hadn’t even considered having kids a month ago. So pretty stupid to allow it to derail him now—
His phone buzzed.
“Hey, guy,” Blake said. “What’s up?”
“Wendy’s in the hospital,” Scott said as he walked. “She went into early labor.”
“Holy crap, Scott, is she okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, she’s fine. They got it stopped, but they’re keeping her for a few days to make sure it doesn’t start up again. But the plan is to let her come home, as long as she stays in bed.”
; “For more than a month?”
“Three weeks, at least. If she goes into labor then, she’ll be far enough along that the baby won’t be considered premature.”
“Wow. Who’s going to take care of her?”
“Now that you mention it, I have no idea. Marcos’s time is already splintered between the restaurant and seeing to Javier—”
“I’ll do it. Come out there to help out, I mean.”
Scott laughed. “You? Wait on the Princess?”
“She adores me. It’ll be good, I promise. I’ll simply work from there. Did you get the ranch?”
Instantly, visions flashed, of Christina gawking in astonishment at the huge kitchen…the late-afternoon light haloing her blond hair as she stood in front of the family room window…of her sweet cries as she shattered beneath him—
“Yeah. It’s mine. Plenty of room if you’d rather stay there instead of Wendy’s.”
“And…Christina?” At Scott’s dry laugh, Blake asked, “What’s going on?”
“Damned if I know.”
“Dude.”
“Let me clarify that. She’s told me plenty, enough to figure out there’s a lot of past garbage cluttering up her head. Then, as if that’s not bad enough…” He sighed. “She overheard Dad basically accuse of her being after my money.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah. Even though that couldn’t be further from the truth.”
“You sure?”
“Positive. As positive as she is that I’m going to wake up one day and realize I’ve made a mistake.”
After too long a pause, Blake said, “You sure you won’t?”
“I’m not infatuated, if that’s what you’re asking. And no, this isn’t about the thrill of the chase, either. And, sorry, obviously I didn’t call to bitch about my love life.”
“Good. Then we can talk about mine.”
“Wasn’t aware you had one.”
“Har, har. But, as you said, that staring death in the face thing really does have a way of making a person reassess his life. Choices he’s made, opportunities that slipped through his fingers.”
“Such as…?”
“Brittany.”
Scott’s scalp prickled. “Blake…no—”
“Gorgeous gal like her…why is she still single? I’ll tell you why—because we left things hanging. You remember that fundraiser we attended in the fall? How she and I ‘just happened’ to keep running into each other? Maybe the timing was off before, but now…it’s fate, I tell you. And this time I intend to give fate a helping hand—”
“And there’s nothing more pathetic than a man trying to win back his old college girlfriend. Give it up, guy. Let the past stay in the past—”
“No can do, bro. And I have you to thank for the inspiration. Now all I have to do is formulate a plan—”
Scott grimaced.
“—and you—don’t you dare give up. You want this woman, you fight for her, you hear me? And I’ll let you know tomorrow when I’m coming in.”
Pocketing his phone, Scott ambled past the hodge-podge of architectural styles that made up the little residential street, frowning so hard his head hurt. Because while Blake was clearly off his rocker for wanting to resurrect a dead relationship, giving up on one that hadn’t even gotten off the ground yet was something else entirely. But Christina was right, too, that this was one thing he couldn’t make happen—
He stopped dead in his tracks as large chunks of their last conversation replayed in his brain, and with them, an idea. A crazy, long-shot idea that could seriously blow up in his face. But if he wanted to be Christina’s prince, it would appear he had some dragon slaying to do.
He once more dug out his phone, scanned his Contacts, hit Send. She answered on the first ring, her already familiar cackle making him smile. “Yeah, figured I’d hear from you sooner or later…”
Scott had debated whether to call first or simply show up, finally deciding that, while the element of surprise often proved useful in business dealings, it could backfire in personal ones. Not the best way, perhaps, to establish a relationship with his potential mother-in-law. So he’d called.
Clearly nervous, Sandra invited Scott into the kitchen of the modest ranch house in the middle-class Houston suburb, where she offered him coffee and a slice of boxed Danish, both of which he refused.
“Your husband’s at work, I presume?”
The woman’s mouth tightened before she carefully closed the Danish box, then slid it toward the backsplash. “He’s not here, no. Well. I suppose we may as well go and sit down…”
The living room was simply and inoffensively furnished, the only spot of color a bright orange, long-haired cat sprawled across the back of a gray-and-beige-striped sofa.
“Have a seat—”
“I’d rather stand, thank you,” Scott said, pulling an old trick of his father’s out of his arsenal and using his height to his advantage. Not to intimidate, exactly, but definitely to keep the upper hand in the proceedings.
Christina’s mother briefly frowned, then shrugged, the gesture eerily reminiscent of her daughter’s. In fact, beneath the trying-too-hard makeup, the defensiveness stiffening her shoulders—not that Scott could blame her for that, he supposed—he caught a glimpse of the same vulnerability as well.
Something else, God forgive him, that could possibly prove useful.
“Suit yourself,” she said, sitting on the sofa. The cat immediately left his perch to settle on her lap. “I’m assuming Christina sent you?”
“No. She doesn’t know I’m here.”
“Then how’d—?”
“Doesn’t matter. Mrs. Hastings—”
“Sandra, please,” she said, apparently regaining her composure. “I haven’t used that name in years.”
“Fine. Sandra. Quite simply, I’m here because I love your daughter. Very much. And I want to marry her.”
Despite an obvious attempt at keeping her expression blank, agitation bloomed in eyes more gray than blue. “And, what? You want my blessing?”
“Right now I’m more about getting answers. Because something’s keeping her from saying yes.”
The agitation yielded, barely, to a tight, yet almost triumphant smile. “How about…maybe she doesn’t want to marry you? Nothing I can do about—”
“I don’t think that’s true.” Scott shoved aside the front of his leather jacket to slip his hands into his pockets. “In fact, I know it’s not. This isn’t about what she does or doesn’t want, but what she’s believes she can’t have—”
“And if, after all this time, everything I’ve been telling her has finally taken root? Then hallelujah. And frankly,” Sandra said, gently pushing the cat off her lap to get to her feet, “I don’t think you and I have anything more to discuss—”
“What’s taken root,” Scott said, blocking her way when she sidestepped the coffee table on her way to the front door, “is fear. Fear that I have very good reason to believe you planted—”
“So what if I did? After everything that happened—”
“And what ‘everything’ would that be? Chris turning out to be a loser? Or her father walking out on you?” When Sandra’s chin jerked up, Scott blew out a sigh. “Yeah, crap happens. People screw you over. So because of that she should never be happy again?”
She scooped the mewing cat off the coffee table, clutching him to her chest. “You rich men, you love to put ideas in girls’ heads. Make them believe they’re somebody they’re not. Until you get bored with your little game and then…you leave. And you know what the worst part of it is? That you’ve shown ’em a world nicer than anything they’ve ever known, letting ’em play in it for a while, only to yank it away when you go. Do you have any idea what
that’s like, Mr. Fortune? To wake up and realize…it was all a dream?”
And there they were, the daughter’s words echoed in the mother’s. And, Scott could now see, the pain. Sandra’s not wanting her daughter to suffer as she had—and she had clearly suffered, of that he had no doubt—was understandable. But he also suspected there was something else at work here. What, he wasn’t sure. What he did know, however, was that the bogeyman was finally out of hiding.
Or at least showing his face.
“For whatever you and Christina have gone through,” he said gently, “I’m truly sorry. I know you’ve both been hurt. But having money doesn’t make me a bastard, Sandra. At least, I hope not. And I have never toyed with a woman’s feelings in my life, or ever made a promise I wasn’t absolutely sure I’d keep. So I’d hardly do that to someone who means everything to me. And make no mistake, your daughter has become the most important thing in my life.”
Several seconds passed before Sandra stepped around him and continued to the front door, which she opened. Taking his cue, Scott joined her, where she laid one hand on his arm, the defiance mostly gone from her eyes.
“If I don’t tell my daughter to be careful, who will? Because no matter what you think, I love her—”
“Then you might want to rethink how you show it.”
Her hand popped off his arm as though she’d been stung. “You’ve got no right to say that to me.”
“Your daughter’s happiness is at stake, Sandra. If not her entire future. And I’ll damn well say whatever it takes to make you realize that.”
He started through the door, then turned, zipping up his jacket against the suddenly stiff breeze. “Nothing would thrill me more than to help Christina turn her dreams into reality. Her dreams, not mine. She’ll also never want for anything. Not only for the moment, for the rest of her life. But far more than either of those, I can give her the one thing she’s apparently had in pretty short supply, which is my pledge to love her as long as I live. Now I ask you…what mother wouldn’t want that for her child?”
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