“Nonsense,” James grumbled, but he smiled.
Little Jamie, ignored for more time than he deemed appropriate, gave a shriek of laughter and sank one chubby fist into his father’s dark hair.
“Ouch,” Ryan said. “Hey, kid, show some respect for your old man, huh?”
“Jamie, you devil!” Devon Franklin Kincaid tried not to laugh as she came through the door from the kitchen with a bowl of home-made ice cream in her hands. “What on earth are you doing to your daddy?”
“Making me bald before my time,” Ryan said, wincing. “See what you can do about separating my son’s fingers from my head while leaving some of my hair behind, will you please?”
Devon put down the ice cream and came toward her husband.
“Our son, you male chauvinist,” she said, smiling. “Here, bend down a little and I’ll see what I can do.”
Ryan cocked his head toward his wife’s as she rose on her toes and worked gently at easing their child’s death grip on his hair. She was so beautiful. So incredibly beautiful. Even after eight years of marriage, the sight of her was enough to make his heartbeat quicken.
“Still calling me names, Mrs. Kincaid?” he said softly.
“Only when you deserve to be called them,” she answered saucily. “There,” she said. “How’s that?”
“My scalp hurts,” Ryan said, lying through his teeth. “You’ll have to give me a kiss to make me feel better.”
Devon smiled and looked into the eyes of her handsome husband. How could a woman still feel this way, after eight years and two children? But she did. Sometimes, when she looked up and saw Ryan entering a room, her heart felt as if it were going to leap from her chest.
“Gladly,” she whispered.
“Right here,” he said, tapping his finger lightly against his lips. “Smack on the kisser.”
She smiled and brushed his lips with hers.
“That,” Ryan said softly, “is not a kiss.”
“Eeew,” a voice said, “aren’t they icky?”
Everyone laughed as a little girl with Ryan’s black hair and Devon’s amethyst eyes came bursting into the room.
“Are you and Mommy done being icky?” she said impatiently. “’Cause if you are, Daddy, you promised you’d come and help me look for frogs.”
Ryan handed the baby to Devon and squatted down beside his five-year-old daughter. Her hair was tousled, there was a smudge of dirt on her chin, and as he looked at her, he thought with a fierce pang that she was going to grow up to be every bit as beautiful as her mother.
“I will, baby. But right now, I want you to go wash your hands and face.”
Susannah Kincaid, who had been named for her paternal grandmother, gave her father a rebellious glare.
“Why?”
“Well, because you have to,” Ryan said reasonably, “especially if you want a slice of Grandpa’s birthday cake.”
His daughter hesitated. Ryan could see her need to assert herself silently warring with the knowledge that neither her father nor her mother would tolerate much nonsense before gently lowering the boom. It was hard not to smile. His daughter was like a miniature of his wife, feisty, independent, and utterly adorable.
Susannah sighed. “OK.” Her lips turned up in a sunny smile. “Can I have my cake with ice cream?”
“Of course you can, precious,” Agnes Kincaid said before Ryan could open his mouth. She held out her hand. “You come with Granny, darling. I’ll help you wash up and then you can decide if you want vanilla ice cream or if you’d rather pick a different flavor from the freezer.”
Ryan got to his feet and sighed dramatically as Agnes whisked his daughter away.
“Grandfather,” he said, “you’ve really met your match.”
James chuckled. “That’s why I married her, my boy. How could I have let such a gem slip away?”
Ryan smiled and sat down beside the old man. “Bettina’s coming for a visit next month,” he said quietly.
“Good. We haven’t seen her in quite some time.”
“No. Not since Jamie was born.”
The older man nodded. “Is Devon looking forward to the visit?”
“It was her idea. I don’t think they’ll ever be close, Grandfather.” He smiled slightly. “I mean, this isn’t going to turn into anybody’s version of a mother-daughter relationship made in heaven, but they’ve made peace with each other.”
James patted Ryan’s hand. “I’m happy to hear it, my boy. The older one gets, the more foolish it seems to hold old grudges.”
“Hello, everybody.”
Ryan, James and Devon all looked around. Frank Ross was standing in the doorway, smiling nervously.
“Frank,” Ryan said happily. A grin stretched across his face as he jumped to his feet and hurried toward his oldest friend, his hand outstretched. “I’m glad you could make it, old buddy. How’ve you...”
Ryan fell silent as a petite, pretty redhead stepped out from behind Frank’s bulky shape.
“Hello,” she said. “I hope I’m not in the way. I told Frank there was nothing worse than taking an uninvited guest to a party, but he insisted.”
There was a silence and then Devon plunked little Jamie into his grandfather’s welcoming arms, and rushed forward.
“Of course you’re not in the way.” Devon held out her hand. “I’m Devon Kincaid. This is my husband, Ryan, his grandfather, James, and that bouncing bundle of energy is our son, Jamie.”
The redhead smiled at everybody and took Devon’s hand. “I’ve heard so much about you... I feel as if I know you all. My name is Sarah. And I‘m—I’m—”
“She’s my wife,” Frank blurted, his face turning a bright red.
Ryan stared at his old friend and then he began to grin.
“You sly old so-and-so! You’ve been keeping secrets!”
Frank’s color deepened. “Yeah, well, I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure she would have me.”
Sarah made a face. “As if I’d have given him the chance to get away,” she said, and gave her husband a smile filled with love. The smile he gave her in return was enough to melt the polar ice caps.
“And then,” Frank said, “then, well, we thought we’d announce our engagement and have a wedding in a couple of weeks.” He looked at Ryan. “But then I remembered your wedding, well, yours and Devon’s, and what a nervous wreck you were...oh, jeez, Devon, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean...”
Devon laughed and linked her arm through Sarah’s. “Frank’s understating it,” she said. “We weren’t nervous, we were petrified. Come on, let me search out the rest of the crew for introductions and maybe, by the time we get back here for cake and coffee, my husband and your husband will have recovered from their mutual shock.”
Ryan waited until the laughing women had disappeared. Then he clapped Frank on the back.
“You finally did it, pal,” he said.
Frank blushed. “She’s a wonderful girl, Ryan. Wait until you get to know her.”
“I’m sure she is. And I’m sure you’re going to be very, very happy.”
Frank grinned. “Yeah.” He looked past Ryan to where James sat, smiling and taking it all in. “Hi, Mr. Kincaid. Happy birthday.”
James’s smile widened. “Hello, Frank. Congratulations on finally finding a wife.”
“Not just a wife, sir. A proper wife.”
Ryan laughed, but his laughter faded as he looked across the room.
The kitchen door had opened again and now everyone he loved most in all the world was gathered in this one place. His grandfather, his grandfather’s wife, his oldest and dearest friend and his friend’s bride, who would surely take her rightful place in this extended family.
His gaze fell on the three special joys of his life. His beautiful, healthy son. His beautiful, healthy daughter...
And Devon.
His throat constricted as his eyes met hers. My wife, he thought, my exquisite, wonderful wife.
The noise and the
laughter in the room faded as he went toward her. She smiled up at him as he slipped his arm around her waist and drew her into the kitchen. The door swung shut behind them and Devon laughed breathlessly as he took her into his arms.
“What?” she whispered.
Ryan kissed her. His heart and soul were in the kiss, and she put her arms around him and kissed him back with the same sweet intensity.
“I love you,” he said softly, and he smiled and kissed her again and wondered how long it would take Frank to figure out what he and James and every other man who’d ever loved a woman had surely known in their hearts since time began.
There was no such thing as a proper wife.
There was only the one woman in the world whom Fate had created, just for you.
ISBN : 978-1-4592-6865-4
A PROPER WIFE
First North American Publication 1997.
Copyright © 1996 by Sandra Marton.
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills. Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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