“And what about you?” Ben’s voice was husky, a good match for the tightness in his chest and the queasiness in his stomach. “What’s important to you?”
“Family. Forgiveness. Protecting the kids from anyone who might harm them.”
And did she think Alanna needed protection from him? The possibility hurt somewhere deep down inside, and the fact that he’d given her reason to think it hurt even worse. “I would never do anything to harm Alanna. I know you have no reason to believe me, but I swear …”
“Actually, Ben, I do believe you. Berry said you were the best of the many that got away. She remembers you—which is something in itself—with affection.”
That made him feel guilty, especially when, for thirteen years, he’d tried not to remember her at all.
“You understand this is going to be a big shock for Alanna, don’t you? She seems to like you well enough as the nice guy who comes to her soccer games, but finding out you’re her father will change everything. She hasn’t had an easy life, and part of that can be traced to the fact that you weren’t a part of it. I imagine she’s got some anger and resentment built up toward you. She might be able to deal with you and it at the same time, or she might want nothing to do with you—and if that’s her choice, I won’t force her to see you anyway.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to.” He would have hated it if Emmaline had forced him to spend time with his father when he was twelve. He’d had zero need and even less desire for any sort of relationship with his old man. Like Alanna.
“All right.” Emilie’s voice took on a cheerier let’s-get-this-wrapped-up tone. “I think it would be easier if we tell Alanna the news together, the sooner, the better. The longer she thinks of you as just a friend, the more the deception is going to hurt, I think. Also, the quicker she hears who you really are, the sooner she can start dealing with it—and we’ll all do our best to help her with that. I’d like to suggest a meeting tomorrow afternoon—you, Alanna, Nathan, and me. We’ll break the news to her, and see where we go from there. How does that sound?”
Scary as hell, Ben thought. He wanted to say, Nope, I’ve changed my mind, forget about it, almost as much as he wanted to agree. He wasn’t on a winning streak at the moment. He’d lost Emmaline, then Lynda. Alanna was the only person left in his life who mattered. If she hated him, as she was surely entitled to, he would be truly alone.
“All right.” He cleared his throat to give his voice some substance. “What time and where?”
“Two o’clock? Our house?”
He nodded.
When she stood up, so did he. With a gentle smile, she laid her hand on his shoulder. “It will be all right, Ben. It may take some time, but everything will work out for the best. I’m sure of it.”
“I wish I was.”
She laughed. “Don’t look so grim. You’re in Bethlehem, where angels and miracles abound.”
It would take something spectacular, like angels with their pockets full of miracles, to make things work out best for him, he thought as he followed her from the library. Angels might abound—Sophy thought so—but surely they were too busy helping people who deserved their help to bother with him. After all, every bit of the blame for his problems rested squarely on him.
In the lobby, Emilie waved good-bye and turned into the dining room. He made his way past people way too happy for his mood. He wondered if he should tell Sophy he was leaving, then figured she could find her own way home. Surely fifteen or twenty generous souls there were going her way, but at the moment, he couldn’t play chauffeur or even friend. At the moment all he could think of was escape.
Seconds ticked past audibly from the old clock on the fireplace mantel. After a minute’s worth or more, the high-backed chair that faced the windows slowly swiveled halfway around before coming to a sharp stop. Alanna stared across the empty room, feeling numb and sick and tearful and mad, and about a million other things all at once.
Ben Foster was her father. The man who’d wanted nothing to do with her all her life. The man Berry had told her about when she was drunk—handsome as sin and with the devil’s eyes. Then she’d always said, Or was that Josie’s daddy? And then she’d laughed and said it didn’t matter. All their daddies were handsome and had the devil’s eyes. All liars, all no good, all selfish, and she’d bet Ben was the biggest liar of them all. Every time she’d seen him, everything he’d said … all lies.
Maybe this was a lie, too. Maybe he wasn’t really her father and was just saying so. Maybe he used to know her father, and he’d fooled Aunt Emilie and Uncle Nathan and everyone else into believing he was him. Maybe he’d never known her father—had never even known her mother—and he was just playing some stupid game of let’s-pretend, or maybe he was crazy, or … or …
Or maybe it was true. Maybe he was the father who’d never wanted her. Never cared what happened to her. Never loved her or even cared that she existed.
The first tear plopped on her arm, leaving a hot, wet trail as it slid off. Drawing her feet onto the seat, she rested her arms on her knees, buried her face, and cried.
The tension inside Ben made him feel as if he were going to pop, and he was envisioning a hundred-mile-an-hour drive to ease it when he saw the car parked behind the GTO, blocking him in. It was an old Caddie, a convertible with the top down. He didn’t have a clue who owned it and was considering how much he didn’t want to track down the owner in a crowd of hundreds when a voice spoke from the shadows.
“Somebody blocked your car. That was rude.”
Lynda. He searched the darkness until he spotted a shadow too dark and curvy to be anything else. He came to a stop beside the Caddie, slid his hands into his pockets, and simply looked.
She strolled out of the shadows, stopping a half-dozen feet in front of him. It was too dark to make out the color of her dress, but he had no problem seeing that it fitted like a second skin, that the neck dipped low and the skirt was slit up high. She was wearing higher-than-usual heels, since she was taller than him than usual.
“You look like you’re dressed for a party,” he remarked.
“For a date, actually.”
His gut knotted with jealousy. “Did he tell you you look beautiful?”
“No. He said I shouldn’t wear such high heels.”
He looked down again. “I like your heels.”
“Thank you.” She hesitated, and a measure of her aloofness slipped. “Would you go someplace with me?”
“Where?”
“It’s just a place I’d like to show you.”
He shrugged and started around the Caddie. “Whose car?”
“It’s a rental. Isn’t it great?”
Nobody in Bethlehem rented cars like that, which meant she’d made the owner an offer he couldn’t refuse for the use of his car. Why, Ben had no idea.
She slid behind the wheel, then started the engine and backed up. “Can’t you just see me tooling down some Georgia back road in this?”
With the sun shining hot and the air heavy with the fragrance of magnolia, with the countryside lush and green and the kudzu creating living sculptures out of any object in its path. Oh, yeah, he could see it. “You’d have to take your hair down.”
She drove through the gate onto the street, then reached up and removed the clip that held her hair off her neck. With a grin she tossed it out the window, then shook her hair free. The sight made his fingers itch to grab handfuls of it, made his groin tighten and his throat go dry.
For a time she drove in silence—through the mostly deserted town, turning onto a street that ran through an older neighborhood, then into a brand-new one, still under construction. They passed the last building sites and continued to follow the road as it climbed out of the valley. The road narrowed and became typical of mountain roads everywhere, curving this way and that, seeking the easiest route.
Finally, they reached the top, where the road ended in a clearing. She shut off the engine, combed her fingers through her hair
, then gestured out over the valley. “Isn’t it a great view?”
“Great,” he agreed without taking his gaze from her. “What are we doing here?”
She looked down at the valley, at him, then up at the sky, before turning to face him. He leaned back against the door and did the same, and there was still enough seat to put two people between them. It was a shame. Any man lucky enough to go for a ride on a night like this in a car like this with a woman like Lynda should have one hand on the wheel and the other arm around his girl.
“I went to see my parents,” Lynda announced.
“How are they?”
“Fine.”
“When did you get back?” He wouldn’t mention the date. He didn’t want to know what kind of Mr. Right Janice had found for her this time, didn’t want to know where they’d gone or what they’d done or anything except that she wasn’t seeing him again.
“About ten minutes before I showed up at the inn. I flew back.”
“Lynda the fainthearted who never breaks the speed limit?”
A breeze swept a strand of hair across her face, and she brushed it aside, but not in time to stop him from wanting to do it himself. “No, I mean I flew. I chartered a helicopter. I felt the need to get back as quickly as possible.”
He didn’t waste time wondering how expensive a proposition that was. She could afford it, and it got her away from Janice’s latest prospect. That made it fine with him. “Why the rush?”
After staring over the valley for another moment, she launched into her response. The longer she talked, the faster she went, as if she had to spit it all out before her courage failed her. “There’s something I need to tell you. I’m really great with words most of the time, but I’m not very good with emotions because—well, you know why. But I really am sorry for the things I said and the way I acted, but you scare me to death—or, at least, the way I feel about you does, and not knowing how you feel about me. Mom says I’m irrational when it comes to men, and maybe she’s right, because I really didn’t want to marry Doug, so I pushed him away, and I really did want to marry you, except you never asked, but I pushed you away, too. The truth is, I know you were just a kid, and you have a good heart, and maybe I really was just scared that you didn’t want any more from me than you wanted from Berry, and I—”
Finally she breathed, and the starved sensation in Ben’s own lungs eased. She looked at him, so damned beautiful in the moonlight, her features so delicate and perfect. “I keep telling myself and everyone else what a great life I have,” she said quietly. “The truth is, it’s lonely and sad without you. I don’t have any experience at being in love, and I’ve got this pride issue about not doing things that I’m not good at, and I’m really not good at this, but—”
He stretched his arm along the back of the seat, and his fingertips grazed her bare shoulder, silencing her. “Will it help if I tell you first?”
She gave him a sidelong look that lingered, then shifted to head-on. She was tempted, but she shook her head. “No. I mean, yes, it would help, but … I really need to say this first. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I judged you. I’m sorry I was unfair to you. I’m sorry I was unreasonable. I’m sorry I’m difficult.” Her expression grew even more serious. “I love you, Ben.”
Before the words had faded between them, she was going on. “You don’t have to say it back. You don’t have to say anything at all. I just thought it was time I told you, because otherwise—”
Catching hold of her arm, he pulled her across the seat, wrapped his arms tightly around her, and cut off her words with his mouth. He slid his tongue inside her mouth and tasted sweet heat and hunger and love. He took it needily and gave it back readily.
When he finally ended the kiss, he continued to hold her close. He combed his fingers through her hair, tangled them in the silky strands, then stroked the fine skin stretched across her jaw. “Can I speak now?”
She nodded.
“I accept your apology, and I want to marry you, too, and I don’t want much from you—just your body, your love, and a place in your life for the next sixty or seventy years.” Then he grew somber. “But your mom was right about one thing. I am just a carpenter. I can’t afford a house like yours, or a car like yours, or more than a few of these dresses and shoes you do such justice to.”
“Ben, most of the men I’ve dated have wanted me only for my money. Please don’t break my heart just because of the money.”
“I’m not going to break your heart. I have a healthy ego. I don’t care about the money. But other people will say—”
“ ‘Look how happy they are. We should be so lucky.’ ”
He cupped her face in his palms, looked intently into her eyes, and said, “I do love you, Lynda.”
Her smile was enough to make an arrogant man humble. He felt so much more than lucky. Blessed. It had been one of Emmaline’s favorite words, and it described his feelings perfectly.
She kissed him sweetly, then gave a deep satisfied sigh as she rested her head on his chest. After holding her for a time, he tilted her head back. “Why did you want me to see this place?”
Though he didn’t want to let her go, she gave him no choice when she sat up. “We’re at the top of the world,” she said, opening her arms wide to take in the valley.
“And that has what significance?”
She kicked off her shoes, maneuvered to stand in the seat, then stepped carefully into the backseat. There she reached behind her to undo the zipper of her dress. “It’s a balmy summer night, the top is down, at least one of us is stripped down naked”—she stepped out of the dress and tossed it over the seat, then eased off a pair of tiny, naughty panties—“and we’re about to make hot, lazy, crazy love under the stars. That is”—she looked suddenly shy and innocent in spite of the fact that she stood naked in the backseat of a rented Caddie—“if you’re willing.”
With a laugh, Ben ignored the buttons and pulled his dress shirt over his head, then joined her in the back, where four hands made not-so-quick work of—but created lots of incredible pleasure in—removing the rest of his clothes. As they sank down into the seat, he sank down inside her, filling her, and he knew that he truly was blessed. After thirty-two years of searching, he’d found the place he belonged.
And her name was Lynda.
Epilogue
The long corridor that led to the sunday school classrooms in the First Church of Bethlehem was wide, paneled on one side and with lots of windows on the other, and was carpeted with the same dark red carpet that filled the rooms. Four doors opened on the paneled side—one leading to the ladies’ room and three to classrooms. The other classrooms and the men’s room were off an identical hall on the other side of the church.
As the last of the kids went into their classes, Alanna looked at Caleb. He looked kinda sick, like all he wanted was to go on to Sunday school like he was supposed to. His fingers were holding his backpack strap so tight that they’d turned white, and there was a scared look in his eyes.
She was scared, too, but she wasn’t changing her mind. He could stay if he wanted, but her best chance at getting to Providence was leaving town in less than thirty minutes, and she was going to grab it.
Her hands were sweaty when she wrapped them around the bar that would open the metal door. Quickly she looked left, then right, then at Caleb once more before shoving the door open and stepping outside. He waited a bit—so long that she thought he wasn’t coming—then slipped through just as the door started to swing shut again. Together they hurried down the steps and started toward Fourth Street.
“This is a bad idea,” Caleb announced.
“You said that before.” Last night, when she’d suggested it. This morning, before church started. “If you’re afraid to go with me—”
“I’m not afraid. I just think it’s a bad idea. Providence is a long way from here. We’re gonna get caught. And I don’t understand why you can’t just tell your Aunt Emilie that you have to talk to your mothe
r. She’ll take you there.”
“And what if she doesn’t?”
“But she will.”
“But what if she doesn’t? What if she doesn’t understand …?”
“I don’t understand,” he muttered. “I don’t think even you understand.”
There was nothing to understand. She wanted to see her mother, period. She needed answers that only Berry could give her, and she needed to look into her eyes when she gave them, so she would know Berry was telling the truth. And the only way she could do that was to go to Providence, where Berry lived.
Alanna stopped at the first intersection, looked both ways, then looked at him. “If you want to go back, Caleb, go on. But if you tell anyone where I am or what I’m going to do, we’ll never be friends again. I’ll hate you forever.” She started walking again, faster than before, so she wouldn’t have to see that hurt look in his eyes. She would apologize later, when all this was over, but right then she didn’t have time to worry about his feelings. She didn’t need him to go with her. She could do this all by herself if she had to.
But she was relieved when he caught up with her again.
“I’m not going back,” he said in a hard voice. “I know you think you can do it all by yourself, but you can’t. You don’t know what it’s like to be all alone in a strange place. It’s dangerous and scary.”
She guessed he knew from when he’d run away last year, and she was scared. But she wasn’t gonna let him know it. “Then it’s a good thing you’re coming, isn’t it?”
Her house came into sight up ahead, and her stomach started hurting. What if something happened and she never saw it again? If she never saw her family again? What if Emilie and Nathan got so mad at her that they wouldn’t let her come back?
Getting Lucky Page 30