Baby Under the Mistletoe (Harlequin Super Romance)

by Jamie Sobrato

  “His name is Frank, and he’s retired, working as an artist now. He owns a little gallery in Guerneville, too.”

  “Is that where he lives?”

  Julia nodded.

  Soleil leaned forward, placing her elbows on the table, smiling to indicate she wanted every juicy detail.

  “And? Are you two dating? In love? What?”

  “No, none of that. The truth is…We e-mailed, and we talked on the phone, and we met a couple of times and I really liked him, but…”

  “You lost your nerve?”

  She nodded.

  “I think it’s so brave of you to try something new, put yourself out there. My own mom has just given up on ever having a relationship again because she’s too disillusioned. But look at you—online dating. That’s the best thing I’ve heard in a long time.”

  “Oh, it’s completely ridiculous. Someone my age creating a dating profile. It’s humiliating is what it is.” She was shaking her head, staring at her cup of tea as if she couldn’t even bear to meet Soleil’s eyes.

  “No, no, no. You’ve got it all wrong. You’re applying old-fashioned notions about dating to the contemporary world, and the truth is, everything’s changed. None of those old rules apply.”

  Julia looked doubtful. “You’re very sweet to say that, but…”

  “How did you leave things with Frank?”

  “I’ve ignored all his e-mails and phone calls since our first date.”

  “Why don’t you call him and explain you had a case of nerves but that now you’re ready to see him again?”

  She shook her head. “It’s not that simple. I…when I heard about John being sick, and needing someone to take care of him…”

  “You felt guilty for having fun?”

  “I couldn’t let myself be with Frank. It’s hard to explain. I guess, when I was with John, I always imagined us taking care of each other in our old age….”

  “It’s incredibly generous of you to help the way you have,” Soleil said, but something shifted inside her. Some essential piece of her well-being had gotten knocked out of place by Julia’s comment, and she felt suddenly uncomfortable.

  “Sometimes, I don’t know if I’m being generous or stupid.”

  She forced herself to set aside her own discomfort and focus on Julia’s problem.

  “John is lucky to have you in his life, but you shouldn’t stop living your own life in order to help him, you know.”

  Soleil took a sip of her tea and savored the almost-sweet taste of the chamomile, as the aroma itself had an instant calming effect.

  “It was too much to take in all at once—John’s illness, the stress of dating someone new. I suppose I’m getting to be a bit of an old dog who—”

  “Oh, stop it! You’re one of the most vibrant, active people I know. You accomplish more than ten people on most days. It was perfectly normal for you to freak out over a first date, though. When’s the last time you dated someone?”

  Julia flashed a self-deprecating smile, then winced. “I haven’t really dated in, maybe, eight years. I saw a man briefly, a few years after my divorce, until things fizzled out, but other than that, no one.”

  “No wonder you’re scared. You haven’t been on the dating scene since your early twenties, and you introduce yourself to it with online dating? How did that happen?”

  “I accidentally clicked on one of those darned pop-up ads while trying to make it go away.”

  Soleil couldn’t help it. She laughed out loud.

  “Well, good for you,” she said.

  Julia rolled her eyes. “And I went and blew it my first time out. Frank must hate me.”

  “I doubt it. If he’s a decent guy, he knows how hard it is to find a woman like you. I bet he’d be thrilled to hear from you again.”

  “You really think so?”

  Soleil placed her hand on top of Julia’s on the table, and said, dead serious, “Do me a favor? Call that man and apologize. Make a date with him, okay?”

  The older woman looked doubtful, but she finally said, “I do owe him an apology. Maybe if he’s open to it—”

  “He will be.”

  “But what man is going to understand that I have to be my ex-husband’s full-time caregiver?”

  She squeezed Julia’s hand then. “You don’t have to be. In fact, I don’t think you should be. I think it’s going to eat you alive emotionally.” Soleil normally tried not to be so meddlesome, but this one time, she felt as though she needed to speak the truth.

  “Someday you’ll understand—”

  “I do understand, and I’m not saying you shouldn’t be there for him at all. I only mean, the job you’re taking on is too big for any one person to handle. You need to step aside and let your sons be responsible for providing their dad’s primary care.”

  Julia shook her head. “They’ve all got their own lives, and they’re all so busy—”

  “They’ll figure it out. You giving up your life isn’t the right solution. Maybe they’ll find a trustworthy male caregiver who John won’t be able to bully so easily. And you could visit a few times a week if you want, or lend a hand here and there, but really, Julia—”

  “Now isn’t the time for me to play the martyr, is it?”

  Soleil shook her head, relieved her message was being heard and not dismissed.

  “Thank you,” Julia said quietly, sliding her hand out from under Soleil’s and giving it a soft pat. “I came here to offer you help, and you helped me instead.”

  “It was nothing. I’m always happy to talk over tea.”

  “I’ve got an appointment, so I’d better get going, but I’m so glad we talked,” Julia said, standing up.

  Soleil followed her to the door, each step closer to being alone again reminding her of the way she’d felt a few minutes ago, when Julia was talking about caring for her husband in old age.

  They said their goodbyes, and Soleil closed the door, watching through the window as Julia went to the car and drove away.

  Now the house was completely silent, save for the sound of the ticking antique clock in the living room.

  Tick, tick, tick…

  Julia’s absence left a gaping hole that was sucking Soleil toward everything she didn’t want to feel.

  She walked upstairs to the baby’s room, hoping to distract herself with one final coat of paint. Physical activity would make her feel better, keep her mind off negative thoughts….

  In the purple room with the empty crib and the basket of baby gifts, she was sure she’d feel soothed. This was the safe haven she was creating for her baby. This would be the scene of countless happy hours in her future.

  Just her and the baby.

  Together.

  Alone.

  They’d have each other, but…

  She recalled what Julia had said, about ties that couldn’t be undone, and the ache within her grew more and more unbearable until she couldn’t help but cry.

  She sat in the middle of the hardwood floor, put her face in her hands and cried for what she didn’t have.

  A partner, a lover, a father, a friend.

  A family.

  Sure, she and her baby would make a family, and they would love each other. But it would be lonely the same way her own childhood had been lonely, and someday she’d be bitter and alone, the way her mother was bitter and alone.

  Yes, she was on the road to becoming her mother, when what she really wanted was to be more like Julia, warm and open and loving.

  She was exactly like her mother, whom she couldn’t even share a house with, without having a major fight.

  Was she dooming her poor baby girl to the same fate, by not being able to break out of her mother’s mold?

  She was crying so hard drool formed a long ribbon from her lower lip to the top of her pregnant belly, and she felt more pathetic than she ever had in her life.

  She was alone, feeling sorry for herself, and utterly pathetic.

  All she needed now was a wh
iskey bottle and a penchant for angry poetry, and she could change her name to Anne Bishop Junior.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  JULIA DELETED everything she’d just written. Nothing sounded right.

  The main problem was, this wasn’t a matter she should have been handling via e-mail. And the other problem was, she was terrified to call Frank Fiorelli again.

  She tried again.

  Dear Frank,

  I’m so sorry to have ignored your calls and e-mail.

  I had a family emergency, and—

  No, too stilted.

  She ought to pick up the phone and call. Or maybe go to see him.

  But it was the day before Christmas Eve, and she didn’t know his address. She knew where his studio was, but would he be there today?

  She had to try. If he wasn’t there, at least she could leave a handwritten note to tell him she’d stopped by, which was better than an impersonal e-mail. Yes, that’s what she’d do.

  Julia jumped up from her desk chair. If she hurried, she could make it to Guerneville by four o’clock. Then maybe, if Frank wasn’t at his studio, she’d call him and let him know she was in town, see if he wanted to meet for a drink.

  Her stomach knotted as she hurried to the bathroom to check herself in the mirror.

  Same silver-blond bob as always, same brown eyes. She added a bit of lipstick, and her face instantly brightened. Then she grabbed her coat and headed out the door.

  An hour later, she was parked in front of Frank’s gallery. A light was on in the upstairs studio, she could see from the street, and her hour-long case of butterflies became twice as intense.

  During the whole car ride, she’d told herself he wasn’t going to be there, and yet…

  The light was on.

  The gallery was open, and she could see through the window that Frank’s daughter was busy helping a customer. A handful of other customers milled about the space, creating a welcome diversion for Julia to walk in and go straight up to the studio without having to explain her rudeness.

  She made it through the gallery without being spotted, and she climbed the stairs to the sound of someone hammering in the room above.

  When she reached the landing, she saw Frank wearing a pair of work goggles, poised over a table, nailing one piece of wood to another.

  “Hello?” she called.

  Frank looked up, clearly surprised at the interruption.

  When his gaze landed on her, she expected to see annoyance, maybe even anger, but all she saw was confusion, and then…A tentative smile.

  “Julia? What a surprise. What brings you here?”

  She could feel herself blush. “I owe you an apology,” she said.

  He put down the hammer, took off his goggles and rounded the table.

  Julia took a tentative step forward, and Frank closed the distance between them.

  “What happened?” he said, not unkindly. “I was worried you’d decided I was a pervert or an ax murderer.”

  “Oh, no!” she said, appalled all the more. “It wasn’t you at all.”

  “Then what? I was really hoping to see you again. I’m glad you’re here, in fact.” He smiled gently, and Julia got her first inkling that everything really was going to be okay.

  “I was hoping I could explain everything over dinner,” she said. “My treat.”

  Frank’s expression transformed into a frown, and her stomach twisted up. Oh, dear. She’d been too forward.

  “Call me old-fashioned,” he said, “but I never have gotten used to a lady paying for dinner. At least not the first few times around. But we can work that out later. I know a nice little Italian place around the corner.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief. “I hope I’m not interrupting your work.”

  He waved a hand toward the table dismissively. “You’re rescuing me from another evening of utter frustration,” he said. “I haven’t done a single good thing since you disappeared on me. Typical self-centered artist—I nearly managed to convince myself you vanished because you hated my art so much.”

  He laughed, and Julia melted.

  “I love your work,” she insisted. “It’s actually a little early for dinner. Would you like to have a drink first?”

  “Absolutely,” he said, but before she could turn and head for the stairs, he took her hand in his.

  He clasped it between both his hands, and he gave her one of those smiles that started in his eyes. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he said.

  Julia smiled back. “Me, too.”

  SOLEIL HADN’T WANTED to spend Christmas Eve alone. But when the invitations had come from friends, and even Julia, to have dinner with them, she couldn’t bring herself to say yes, either.

  She didn’t have the energy to go out and face people and pretend everything was okay when it wasn’t. And her mother had made plans with old friends for the evening.

  So Soleil would stay home, maybe watch a movie or read a book, and contemplate her last Christmas without a child. From now on, the holiday would be a big production, and she tried to tell herself she was savoring the freedom to do nothing this one last Christmas Eve.

  She had just turned on the Christmas-tree lights when she heard a vehicle coming up the driveway. Past the tree, she could see West’s car in the distance, and the tiny knot of dread that had been growing inside her all day transformed in that instant into something that felt like hope.

  No, not hope.

  Joy.

  No, not joy.

  Love.

  It didn’t matter why he was coming now—to deliver a gift for the baby or tell her he was leaving or berate her for being a fool for not being willing to move to Colorado. There was one thing she had to tell him, consequences be damned.

  She ran to the door and left it open as she bounced across the porch and down the gravel road toward the car. He stopped when she neared, stuck his head out the window and peered at her, looking confused.

  “Is everything okay?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “I mean, no, everything’s not okay.”

  He turned off the car and got out, staring at her belly as if it might hold some answer.

  She took him by the shoulders and looked into his eyes. “I love you, West.”

  “What?”

  She’d never seen him look so stunned—and she’d had some pretty stunning news lately.

  “I. Love. You.”

  “Does that mean—”

  “No, it doesn’t mean I’ll come to Colorado.”

  “That’s not what I was going to say.”

  “I love you, and I don’t know what to do about it. I can’t ask you to give up your career any more than I can give up my life here.”

  He smiled, still looking a little stunned, a little confused.

  “You could move here,” she said. “Help me run the farm. I could expand the program if I had you helping. We could help take care of your father if you were here.”

  He laughed. “You just took the words out of my mouth.”

  “Marry me,” she said.

  “That’s supposed to be my line,” he answered, taking a small black velvet box from his pocket. “And this belonged to my mother.”

  He opened the box, revealing a gold ring.

  “Is that a yes?” she asked, her voice nearly catching in her throat.

  Could this really be happening? Had he just said he’d move here?

  “Of course it is. You’re the only woman I ever want to love. Aside from our daughter, of course.”

  “But…the Air Force. What will you do?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’ll retire early. My life is here now, with you and the baby. Ever since I saw that ultrasound, there’s been a little voice in the back of my head whispering to me what I need to do.”

  Soleil looked down the winding gravel road that led away from the farm, and that had brought West back to her—that had brought him home.

  “You belong here, too,” she said. “Just like I do.”<
br />
  “Yeah, I think I do.”

  And when he kissed her, she knew without a doubt it was true. He belonged here.

  With her, loving her, for life.

  EPILOGUE

  “YOU’RE SUPPOSED to smile, not cry.”

  Soleil looked up at the camera pointed at her. “Would you put that thing away?”

  “No, I want a few more shots. I’ve heard newborn babies’ faces change every day. We have to get lots of pictures or we’ll forget what she looked like.”

  “Oh, God,” she muttered, but he could tell she was kind of enjoying the attention.

  He clicked a few more shots at various angles, unable to stop himself. They looked beautiful together, Soleil and their little girl.

  She smiled at the baby who’d been attached like a suction cup to her breast all morning. “Enough already,” she said to the baby, right before she gently pried her off.

  “Your turn,” she said. “My arms are cramping up.”

  He put down the camera and took the baby from her.

  “Think of any names you like yet?”

  “I know for sure that we’re not naming her Matilda.”

  “Mattie for short! I think it’s perfect,” West said as the baby rooted around on his chest, only to discover that he didn’t have anything interesting there.

  She began to howl. He gazed at the tiny pink bundle of screaming, angry perfection that had barged into his life and promptly taken charge of his heart a day ago.

  “Let’s don’t be one of those couples whose baby goes around for a month with no name.”

  “Alice?” he suggested.

  “No.”

  “Amanda?”

  “No.”

  “Drucilla?”

  “Now you’re making me angry.”

  West laughed. “You’re so cute when you’re mad, I can’t help myself.”

  Soleil eased herself off the hospital bed. Her pink flannel pj’s were kind of turning West on, but since they had a baby to keep up with and she’d just given birth and all, he figured he’d better keep that fact to himself for now.

  Or at least until she was in a better mood.