That'll Be the Day

by Kress, Alyssa

  The whirlpool had brought Maggie to his doorstep, loving him—wanting to marry him!

  Who would have guessed? Who could have known? Every time Ian pondered the question and came against the imponderable rightness of the whirlpool, he had to veer away again. It was just too...big.

  With a soft sigh, Maggie stirred. She turned onto her side and pushed her hair out of her eyes. "Are you able to think again?" she asked.

  Ian looked at her and laughed.

  "Is that a yes or a no?"

  He chuckled and touched her cheek. "I doubt I'll ever be thinking completely straight when you're around."

  "Ian." She came very close to pouting.

  "Yes," he said.

  The pout disappeared. "What?"

  "Yes," he repeated. "Yes, I'm thinking again. Yes, I'll marry you. Yes, I'll do my best to give you a baby." As he said the words, he felt the tinge of panic he'd experienced each time Sophia had announced she was pregnant, but greater than his fear was a glimmery anticipation. Seeing Maggie pregnant, getting Maggie pregnant, would be no hardship. Nope, no hardship at all.

  Meanwhile, Maggie's lips parted. "Oh."

  "That was what you wanted to know, isn't it?"

  "Well—" She ducked her head. "Yeah."

  "But I have to tell you something." He moved his hand from her cheek to her shoulder. He knew his expression had gone grave.

  Regarding him, Maggie's expression similarly sobered. "What is it?"

  "Well, first off, my job may be changing. I don't want to have to hare off to Kansas City or Raleigh at a moment's notice. I have a list of conditions for my continued employment. If Howard doesn't like them, I'll probably quit. Maybe he'll hire me back as a consultant. Maybe I'll start my own business." He grinned. "Like you."

  "Huh." Maggie pretended to mull that, as if she wasn't quite sure about it, then smiled back. "Oh, and speaking of business—" She put a finger in the center of his chest. "Thanks for getting that check out of Corporate Edges for me."

  Uh oh. Ian's grin faded.

  But Maggie was still smiling. Indeed, her deep green eyes started glowing. "I have a few qualms about your method, but I get what you were trying to accomplish. It was loving of you. So, thanks."

  Ian couldn't believe his ears. "You mean I'm not in trouble?"

  "You're in trouble," Maggie shot back. "About the method, but not the intent."

  Ian's lips started to curve again. "But as far as the intent goes...?"

  Maggie leaned closer. "I got myself in a bind over that contract. You got me out of it. That was good. Now." She crossed her arms on the bed. "Is that it? All confessions and admissions accounted for?"

  "Uh...not quite." Ian's grin began to fade again.

  Maggie tilted her head.

  "About this baby..." Ian sucked in his lips. "I'm not sure, but there may have been a genetic component to my heart attack."

  She didn't get it. Ian could tell by the blank way she was looking at him.

  He sighed. "I may pass that on. I may already have passed that on to Andy and Kathy, though there's hardly anything I can do about it now, except warn them to keep an eye on things once they get a little older. I'm not saying I don't want to have another child, I'm just letting you know."

  Maggie kept on looking at him, then shook her head. "A genetic component...I don't understand. I knew your parents, Ian. Neither one of them died of heart disease."

  "No. I mean, no, they weren't my parents. My birth parents, that is. I guess Sophia never told you. I was adopted."

  Maggie's eyes went wide.

  Ian found himself looking at his hand, which now gently squeezed her shoulder. "It was no big deal, never meant that much to me—until this heart attack and the cardiologist clamoring to know about my family's medical history." He shook his head. "I had to tell him I had no idea. For some reason, that got to me, that I didn't know who they were. It's not that I really want to know their identity even now with the health question. It was just...I had to think..." Ian frowned, unsure what he meant.

  Maggie was silent a moment, then said, "You didn't want to think about why they hadn't wanted you."

  His startled gaze swept up to meet hers.

  A corner of her mouth kicked up. "That's how I would feel, anyway."

  "Yeah, well..." Ian didn't know what to say. He'd never admitted to himself that the question had ever entered his mind. But perhaps that's why he'd always tried to arrange his relationships with the idea of creating a need for him in the other person. He'd wanted to make sure of ties, build a super-glue knot. Assure he'd never get rejected again.

  "No wonder you wanted to 'nail me down.'" Maggie leaned so that she was half on top of him. Her smile was pure honey as she looked into his eyes. "You don't have to worry about me, Ian. I know you can be bossy. I know you think you have all the answers. I know you can sometimes make me so mad I want to spit. But I'm not getting rid of you. You're stuck with me."

  Ian felt an amazing tide of emotion. He hadn't even known he'd wanted—or needed—to hear these words. "Maggie." His voice was hoarse as he pulled her down to him. "I love you."

  "Hey." Maggie stopped him before he could cover her mouth with his. "Does this mean I'm stuck with you, too?"

  "You're stuck," Ian assured her, then proceeded to show her the sentiment without words. They were stuck, they were glued, they were partners. No matter what.

  EPILOGUE

  Maggie had sole charge of the kids.

  Six months before, Andy would have adored going on a big trip without his father. Now at the airport in Tampa, Andy rued his father's absence as he watched Maggie dig in her purse for the address of their hotel. Dad wouldn't have lost the address, not even over the course of a six-hour flight to Florida, together with all the attendant complications of cabs, ticket lines, and security.

  A person could really count on Ian.

  "Where could that darn thing be?" Maggie asked herself, her auburn curls falling all over the place as she ransacked her oversized purse.

  Andy cleared his throat. Personally, he thought Aunt Maggie didn't really want to be in Florida to begin with. She'd been shocked and incredulous when Grandpa Arthur had called last month, demanding the whole family show up for a surprise anniversary party for Maggie's mother, Grandma Lilah. It was hard for Maggie to admit Grandpa Arthur could do anything nice, and especially not something nice for Grandma Lilah.

  Maggie looked up at Andy's throat-clearing.

  "You know the name of the place, right?" Andy said. "I'll bet that would be enough for any cab driver."

  Maggie kept on looking at Andy. "Right." She straightened. "Uh...you kids wait here while I check if our luggage has come out yet."

  "Okay," Andy said.

  "All right," Kathy agreed.

  They both watched Maggie stalk off to the luggage carousel.

  "She's really rattled," Andy remarked.

  "Mm." Kathy's eyes watched their new stepmother. "I think it's the pregnancy. I've heard that can make a woman absent-minded."

  Andy's eyes popped wide. He turned to stare at his sister. "No," he said. "She's not pregnant."

  Kathy's smile was broad.

  "She told you?" Andy demanded.

  "No-o-o-o."

  Andy released a deep breath. "Then you don't really know."

  "Wel-l-l, maybe not," Kathy admitted. "But if I were you, I'd get used to the idea."

  "Huh." Andy brushed his hair off his forehead. He was just getting used to his Aunt Maggie and his dad being married at all. He'd rather not have a baby thrown into the picture. Another sibling. Jeez.

  All the same...as Andy watched Maggie move toward one of their big suitcases, his eyes narrowed. He found himself springing forward. "Hey, Aunt Maggie! Let me get that."

  Surprised, Maggie stepped back and let Andy lift the heavy bag off the carousel.

  Hey, better safe than sorry, Andy thought. He insisted on carrying all the bags out to the street, and then muscled Maggie out of the way in
order to place them in the cab's trunk.

  Maggie was too occupied explaining the lost hotel address to the cabbie to notice she was being coddled. Andy knew Maggie wouldn't appreciate being coddled, but he was too much his father's son not to coddle her if there was any chance she was pregnant.

  "I don't know why we couldn't have flown yesterday with your father," Maggie muttered as they all piled into the cab.

  "Well, Dad's consultant meeting in St. Petersburg was yesterday," Andy explained. His dad tried not to leave town too often, and when he did leave he usually arranged for at least one member of the family to come along with him. The St. Pete job had been a real nice coincidence to go along with the O'Connell family reunion, except for one detail. "Your yoga class was last night," Andy reminded Maggie. "And somehow, Dad has this idea you have to take your yoga class—or else."

  Maggie made a grumbling sound.

  "I wonder where he got that idea," Kathy mused.

  Maggie shot her a dirty look.

  Andy hid a grin behind his hand.

  When they clambered out of the cab at the hotel twenty minutes later, Ian was at the lobby entrance waiting for them. Andy didn't know how his dad managed it, but he caught them all in one big embrace. "Hey, I missed you guys," he breathed.

  "If you'd let me come yesterday with you, you wouldn't have had to miss us at all," Maggie retorted, her voice muffled by Ian's shirt.

  Ian pulled back to grin at her. "And have you skip your yoga class? No way." Andy saw him lean closer to her and say in a lower voice. "Especially now."

  Kathy met Andy's eye and gave him a big elbow in the ribs. "Especially now," she hissed at him.

  Andy heaved a deep sigh. Well, maybe his sister was right and Maggie was expecting a baby. He watched as Ian took hold of his wife and played major kissy-face with her. But Andy couldn't tell if their smooch was more emotional than usual. They were always pretty heavy-duty in that department.

  Andy was almost getting used to it. As his father turned to him and took him by the shoulder, Andy decided maybe he could get used to having another member join the family, too. Someone else to love, someone who'd love him back. Because that's what families were about, after all.

  Love.

  Yeah, he could probably get used to it. Andy turned to take his sister's hand and they all walked into the hotel together.

  The End

  About the Author

  Alyssa Kress completed her first novel at age six, an unlikely romance between a lion and a jackal. Despite earning two degrees from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and spending nearly a decade in the construction industry, she's yet to see her feet stay firmly on the ground. She now lives in Southern California, together with her husband and two children.

  You can learn more about Alyssa Kress and her other novels at http://www.alyssakress.com.

  Other books by Alyssa Kress:

  Marriage by Mistake

  The Heart Heist

  The Indiscreet Ladies of Green Ivy Way

  Asking For It

  Love and the Millionairess

  Working on a Full House

  Your Scheming Heart

  I Gotta Feeling

  The Fiancée Fiasco

  If I Loved You

  Preview of A Perfect Knave (Historical Romance)

  1572

  Emile glanced down at the knife pointed at his belly. It was a wicked little blade, quite deadly, but he merely smiled and scratched the neatly clipped beard at his chin. "Oh, now, you don't really mean to stick me with that, Fish."

  Yellowed eyes fixed on Emile amid the sounds and chaos of the crowded market fair. "Oh, but oi do."

  Yes, he probably did. Fish was loyal to the gambling master, Stone. All of Stone's minions had thought Emile had been loyal, too, playing his lute, priming the gamblers. But Emile had not been loyal. Far from it.

  In the market fair, recalling his awful—and most profitable—disloyalty, Emile grinned. And plotted his escape. Turn and run, he thought. Easy. Once clear, he could jaunt his way to the next town and start over again. It wouldn't be the first time.

  Then another voice chimed in, behind Emile's left shoulder. "We all do mean it."

  That let out running. But Emile swiveled with an even brighter smile than before. "Why, good morning there, Carver."

  An incongruous dimple appeared in the second henchman's stubbled cheek as he raised a dagger the size of a mutton chop. "You're through, you no-good whoreson bastard."

  Around them the village fair continued fantastically oblivious. Over Carver's shoulder, Emile could see people moving among the stalls, squeezing the apples arranged on tiered bales of hay, haggling over prices. The smell of roast pork hung in the air.

  Meanwhile two more ruffians slunk up on Fish's heels. Perhaps it was the end of this whoreson bastard.

  But not if Emile could help it.

  "Now, I can explain." He held up his palms. Duck? he pondered. But Fish's stiletto knife was awfully close.

  "You can explain that worthless fighting cock?" Carver demanded, incredulous.

  "He wasn't worthless. Just...a little scrawny."

  "A scrapper, you told our master."

  Emile stretched his lips but couldn't help a grin. Stone had wagered a fortune on the wretched rooster—and gotten clobbered in his own gambling pit. Oh, it had been passing sweet to watch. Particularly considering all the times Emile had watched the opposite scenario, that of Stone fleecing his 'customers' of their hard-earned wages.

  "Shit of a dog," Carver growled, "You're pleased about it!"

  "No!" Emile claimed, and held up his hands. "I—I want to repay Stone. How much will it take to satisfy?"

  Fish laughed, a rusty and foul exhalation. Carver joined in, less rusty and a lot more eager. Though they couldn't guess Emile hadn't a penny, they both knew Stone was too furious to take money. And too embarrassed.

  Fish raised his knife. Carver took a step forward. They were too close. No room to duck, whirl, or jump. As Fish feinted, Emile swiveled to escape the knife, but didn't miss the fist Carver had weighted with grapeshot. The blow to his head knocked his eyes crossed.

  Pest! They were well prepared, and faster than Emile had expected. As he fought back the pain between his ears, Emile watched Fish come at him again. Emile's heart contracted. There was no time or space to do anything. Except—

  He reached forward, clapped both hands around Fish's pockmarked jaw, and kissed the brigand full on the mouth.

  "Hey!" Reeling back from this abuse, Fish gave Emile just the opening he needed.

  Head pounding, Emile looped around the stricken brigand, then pushed the next ruffian into his fellow.

  "No!" Carver's voice bellowed as Emile plunged into the crowded market fray.

  His head still hurt, but Emile was grinning as he dodged a man holding a tray of figs. From the sound of a thud and sharp exclamation, Stone's cutthroats had not been as quick-footed. Emile hardly had time to gloat, however, before a mountain of a woman stepped into his path, blocking the aisle from one side to the other.

  "Apologies, mistress," Emile breathed, before dropping to the ground, lifting the frayed hem of her skirt, and diving. A squeal and a glimpse of blue-veined skin—and he was on the other side of her.

  "Oh, good," Carver drawled. His dimple appeared over the outraged mountain woman's shoulder. "But not good enough."

  Spitting straw, Emile rolled to duck Carver's reaching blade. He leaped to his feet and hopped onto the bale of hay that had been his target all along. With his breath cutting hard into his lungs and his head still pounding, Emile scrambled upward. Apples, artfully arranged upon the tiered bales, began to tumble. Oh, it was a regular cascade of apples by the time Emile reached the top of the display. Chuckling at the sounds of frustration below, Emile hurled himself over the other side.

  He hit the ground harder than he'd expected. For a moment his sore head rang. A cloudy blackness obscured his vision. For a moment he even wondered if this
was it, then, the death he'd been cheating for years.

  The next moment he was through with such nonsense. There was a commotion above him on the hay bales. Dizzy or not, he picked himself up and ran.

  Weeds snapped beneath Emile's feet as he made for a tent, the closest of several spotting the empty field. Emile threw himself at the untied slit, home to some vendor from the fair.

  At the same time he heard a shout at the top of the hay bales. "Go on!"

  "He's got to be here somewhere."

  They hadn't spotted him then. But rolling into the vendor's tent, Emile's shoulder hit something hard. Cringing, he opened one eye.

  He'd bashed into a bath. Yes, a tub of oak barrel slats stood as high as his hips and big enough to drown an ass. Intrigued, Emile opened his other eye.

  A head peered out over the soap-flecked surface of the water. It was a female head, eyes wide, with a vast quantity of raven-black hair loosely knotted atop. Her neck was a graceful curve.

  A woman? And unguarded? Emile was too shocked to know what to think, what even to hope for.

  "Check that way," Carver's voice commanded, just outside the tent's canvas. "I'll search the tents over here."

  Emile's eyes locked on those of the woman. He thanked the saints she was, herself, too surprised to make a sound. On his feet again, he put one finger to his lips. The female's eyes opened wider.

  Emile knew what was coming next. As he stepped over the copper rim of the tub, his hand went from his own lips to hers. His palm covered her nascent scream. Then he grabbed the woman's naked body against his own and dropped them both under the filmy surface of the water.

  She was a fighter. His breath held, his heart pounding, Emile felt like he was holding a caught fish. But this fish had buoyant breasts and a soft rump twisting up against his groin. It was impossible not to notice, impossible not to...react, even though—or perhaps because—Emile expected Carver's mutton chop knife to slash down at any moment. This could be his last taste of heaven before Carver killed him.