He let himself inside the house. All the blinds were drawn, making the place dark and dank. The cardboard boxes were starting to smell a little musty from being closed up in the humid house all these weeks that Zane couldn’t deal. He cranked up the AC, let in some light and got to work. He made himself focus on the task and not think too hard about how the place looked empty and sad without most of his mom’s things. It didn’t even resemble the home that his mother had worked so hard to make for them. She’d done her best to provide for them. That was why she’d hung on to so much stuff. But in the end, all the things she’d accumulated, the stacks of fabric, piles of old patterns, half-finished projects and mounds of sewing supplies he couldn’t even identify—the stuff that had made her feel safe, as if she owned a little bit of something in this world—didn’t mean a damn thing. None of it had saved her when it mattered. The remnants of her life only served as a reminder to Zane that she’d gotten a raw deal when she trusted Nathaniel Phillips.
Zane was going to do better by his child.
A few hours later, he’d packed the last of her stuff. The boxes were ready to load into the bed of his truck. He’d separated things into four piles: keep, give away, trash and to be determined. The latter pile consisted of things he didn’t know what to do with. He’d snapped photos of things Ian might want and sent them to him. He’d ask Lucy about the other stuff. She might want some of it. She and his mom had bonded over crafty things. She might want some of her sewing supplies.
He loaded the last box and went back inside for one more look around. He’d hire Virginia Kelly, who had a cleaning service, to come over and put the final shine on the place. But his work here was done. The only thing he had to contend with was the trash. He started to tie off one of the lone remaining industrial garbage bags, but his well-loved and time-ravaged stuffed bear peeked out of the opening. Zane pulled it out.
He’d loved that thing when he was a child. Rather than a blanket, the bear had been his comfort and best friend. He’d dragged it around everywhere. He’d tossed it because it was too old and threadbare to be of any use to anyone. It wasn’t worth saving for the baby, but for some reason, instead of throwing it away, he wanted to share this connection to his past with Lucy.
Suddenly, he was grateful that his mom had kept things like the cradle and his bear. Zane realized that they were not only links to his past, but also links to his mom. She hadn’t just managed to give Ian and him a good, loving upbringing, but, even after she was gone, through the things she’d chosen to keep, she’d helped him realize that maybe his past did hold some memories worth hanging on to. For a melancholy moment, he wished Dorothy could be there to hold her first grandchild the way she’d tenderly held him when he’d needed her, but she wasn’t here. At least not in the flesh, but he felt her presence all around him like a hug—just when he needed it. Just like she’d always done.
Zane was filled with the overwhelming realization that the best way he could honor his mother was by being a good father to his own child. By being more like her and not like his own father.
As he stared down at the ugly stained bear in his hands, a quiet calm came over him. Maybe it was all in how he looked at life. From one angle, the bear, which had once been snowy white, but was now a funky tea-stained yellow brown, looked like trash. From another perspective, it represented the comfort of his past.
Maybe he could apply the same lens to love. He knew that was what his mom would tell him.
He closed his eyes, stood there still in the empty house and tried to imagine himself in love with Lucy.
While it didn’t crash over him like a breaking wave or envelop him like the sticky Texas humidity, something was there—like a swell in the ocean or the feel of a warm spring breeze. But where he turned a corner was when he looked at it from the opposite perspective and tried to imagine his life without Lucy and their child. That was the biggest shift. He knew without a doubt he needed them in his life.
He tied up the trash, tucked the one-eyed teddy bear under his arm and let himself out. As he was locking up, he heard the crunch of tires on the gravel drive behind him. It was just getting dark. Through the inky twilight haze, he could see a big black pickup parking next to his own truck. The windows were tinted, and the way the headlights shone in his eyes, he couldn’t readily recognize the driver. But soon enough the door opened and Nathaniel Phillips unfolded his lanky body as he exited the truck’s cab.
Zane’s ire prickled. His mouth flattened into a hard line. He cursed under his breath but kept his attention trained on the house door until he was sure it was locked. Then his fingers reflexively fisted into his palms.
What the hell does he want?
Zane was certain he’d made it perfectly clear where they stood when the bastard had the audacity to show up at Dorothy’s funeral. The guy couldn’t have been bothered to come around for the past twenty-five years. Now the jackass seemed to turn up around every corner.
Zane stood there stoically. He would let Nathaniel speak first. Or better yet he could turn around and get back in that fancy Ford F-150—Zane could see now that he wasn’t blinded by the headlights—and drive off a cliff, for all he cared.
Those trucks didn’t come cheap. The bastard must be doing all right for himself. Of course, he could never spare a penny for them. He lived in Dallas now. Or at least that was the last address that Zane knew of. He hadn’t cared to keep track of him over the years.
“Son.” Nathaniel hesitated for a minute. “I saw your truck from the highway as I was passing by.”
It was on the tip of Zane’s tongue to tell him to never call him son again. He had three sons with Marianne Crawford—the three kids he’d bothered to take responsibility for and raise. Wasn’t that enough? Why was he suddenly coming around now?
“What do you want, Nathaniel? I was just leaving.” Zane took a step toward his own truck, but Nathaniel moved at the same time, blocking the way. It wasn’t an aggressive move, but it put Zane on alert.
As a general rule, Zane wasn’t a violent person. He didn’t get in bar fights, he thought road rage was ridiculous—everyone had places to go—and he didn’t believe beating someone’s ass made him more of a man. Still, Nathaniel seemed to bring out the worst in him, because suddenly all he wanted to do was pound the sorry excuse for a man who was standing in his way.
“Move,” Zane said through gritted teeth.
Nathaniel seemed to shrink, but he didn’t budge. “I stopped here to ask you if you’d have dinner with me sometime.”
Zane laughed in his face. “Why would I want to do that?”
Nathaniel closed his eyes for a moment, and Zane took the opportunity to scoot by him. But Nathaniel must’ve sensed the movement, because he opened his eyes and turned toward Zane.
“I know I’ve never been much of a father to you,” he said. “And I’m sorry about that. If you would let me, I’d like to try to make it up to you.”
The words pierced Zane like arrows. They stung on impact but left him numb. It made no sense. After all these years, now that Dorothy was gone...now that Nathaniel was ready, he thought he could come around and everything would be fine?
Zane didn’t know whether he wanted to punch the guy or laugh in his face.
No, he didn’t deserve his anger. It was too good for him. He didn’t deserve any of Zane’s energy. Anger took energy. Anger meant he cared. Zane wanted to give the bastard exactly what he deserved: absolutely nothing.
Even so, all kinds of thoughts—all of the frustration and hurt and things he’d wanted to say to Nathaniel over the decades that the man had turned his back on Dorothy, Ian and himself—got log-jammed in his throat. Zane knew if he didn’t get in his truck right now and drive away, those words were going to organize themselves and he was going to unload them all over Nathaniel Phillips. He had never been a father to him. What the hell made him thin
k he could come blundering back now?
“My mother worked herself into an early grave because you wanted nothing to do with us when we needed you.” His voice was calm and even, void of emotion. “You made her sell the ranch that had been in her family for generations when you decided you didn’t want to hang around anymore. You thought you deserved half so you could take care of your other family with Marianne. We got by without you then. What makes you think that you can make it up to me now?”
Nathaniel opened his mouth to say something, but the words were lost when Zane got into the cab of his truck. He tossed the sorry-looking stuffed bear into the backseat and slammed the door. As he pulled away, he glanced in the rearview mirror only once and he saw Nathaniel’s silhouette illuminated by the taillights of Zane’s truck. His father looked like the sorry man he was.
Zane probably should’ve gone home, because he wasn’t in a very good head space. In fact, he felt like he needed to punch a wall. But his instincts led him to Lucy. Suddenly, she felt like the only tangible thing of substance in his miserable life.
He didn’t blame her for not wanting to marry him. She deserved so much more than his offering of soft-banana paint and a stained, threadbare stuffed animal.
After seeing Nathaniel and remembering all the years of heartbreak he’d put Dorothy through and all the broken promises he’d dished out to Ian and him, was it any wonder he had no idea what love was?
Nathaniel Phillips withheld a lot from him when he was growing up, but he’d be damned if he was going to let the bastard cost him his future. For the first time in a long time he knew the only future he wanted was with Lucy and his child.
He was tired of words and lame promises. No, he had to let his actions speak for themselves.
Lucy’s red Toyota sat beside the house when he arrived. He parked next to it, then stomped up the front porch steps and pounded on the door.
When she answered, she looked surprised. “Zane—”
But he didn’t give her the chance to say anything else, because he pulled her into his arms and covered her mouth with his. As her lips opened under his, passion consumed him. In that moment, he wanted to walk her backward right into the bedroom and make love to her. Instead, he deepened the kiss and pulled her even tighter against him.
He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, but when they came up for air, Lucy looked dazed. Her hand flew up to her kiss-swollen lips.
“What was that for?” she asked. “I mean, I loved it, but... Zane? What’s going on?”
He wasn’t quite sure what to say, how to tell her about his epiphany at the house and that he’d just seen his father and the combination of the two encounters had caused his entire life to flash before his eyes. That he didn’t want to be like Nathaniel Phillips. That if she would have him, he would never hurt her.
“I realized today that I don’t want to lose you.”
“You did?” She took his hand and pulled him inside, shutting the door behind them. She looked cute in the denim shorts and red blouse she was wearing. More than cute, actually. She looked sexy as hell. How had he been so blind all these years?
“And what exactly inspired this epiphany?” she asked.
He weighed his words and thought about what to say. Telling the truth was best, but it was messy. It contained too much baggage and he was tired of lugging it around. “It doesn’t matter. I know I’m not any good at this love thing, but if you’ll give me a chance, I can promise you that I will never let you down. What do you say, Lucy? Will you give me a chance?”
Chapter Seven
What was Lucy supposed to do? The love of her life had asked her to give him a chance.
After he’d kissed her senseless, every bit of resolve she had cobbled into place systematically unraveled, as if he had pulled a single thread and left her guard lying in a tangled heap at her feet.
Of course she’d give him a chance. As if she even had a choice in the matter. A girl could only be so strong.
However, a chance didn’t necessarily mean she’d marry him. Not yet, anyway. Maybe not ever. She didn’t know. She was still reeling from the force of that kiss. Her lips were still tingling.
All she knew right now was that Ethan and Chelsea needed to get married first. It wasn’t a competition, of course, but if Lucy had learned one thing since opening the Campbell Wedding Barn, it was that every bride, no matter how humble, deserved to be a princess for a day. Lucy wasn’t going to do anything to upstage Chelsea on her big day.
Lucy knew that the truth of the matter was if she and Zane ran off and got married—or even hinted that they were considering it—the focus of the entire town would turn to them and how little Lucy Campbell had run off and married Celebration’s most eligible bachelor. People would speculate about the reason—and they’d be right.
So, no, Lucy wasn’t going to even consider anything until after her brother and Chelsea had tied the knot.
That was fine. After the kiss, Zane had presented her with two gallons of paint—not just any paint, but the perfect shade of yellow for their baby’s nursery. In some ways, this gesture made her even more inclined to entertain the thought of marrying him. It had made her really ponder—what exactly was the meaning of love? How was the best way to declare love? Anyone could say those three little words. He could’ve very well told her exactly what she wanted to hear and she would’ve fallen for it. Because she had already fallen for him.
But in the Zane fairy tale in her mind, his going to the trouble of finding the perfect shade of yellow was almost metaphorical to Prince Charming searching the kingdom for the woman whose foot fit the glass slipper.
Well, sort of... It had seemed a bit more romantic as it came to her in a rush. Practically speaking, she could use two gallons of the perfect shade of yellow much more than she could use a glass slipper.
Or had Cinderella ended up with a matching pair? If so, why did everything but the glass slippers revert to their original state at the stroke of midnight? And if only a single slipper remained... Oh, who cared? Hadn’t fairy-tale standards caused her more trouble than they were worth? And who needed glass slippers anyway, when the man of her dreams gave her a whole heck of a lot more than lip service?
Zane had come through. He had been there for her. Shouldn’t the little gestures like the cradle and the thought he’d put into the perfect shade of paint and that ragged, one-eyed teddy bear prove that he was in this? That he was committed? If this wasn’t love, what was?
If only she could exorcise the demon that kept saying, “Everything is fine now, but what if, like Cinderella, everything does evaporate at the stroke of midnight?” In this case, midnight would happen if Zane met another woman who ended up being the love of his life and he fell head over heels in love.
It had happened to his own father with Marianne—though Lucy would never insult Zane by showing him that parallel.
That would be her midnight; it would be the darkest night of her soul.
And the earth would end someday and she might walk outside and get hit by a car smack-dab in the middle of the crosswalk. Nothing was guaranteed. Not even tomorrow. The angel on her shoulder began to override the demon: what if Zane never fell in love with anyone else and she had wasted her chance with him? What if this was Zane in love?
As they worked side-by-side, painting their baby’s nursery soft banana, Lucy began to ignore her doubts. Not only did she let down her guard, but she also let herself hope and imagine what it would be like to become Mrs. Zane Phillips and have a family with the man she loved.
* * *
Lucy was in the middle of finalizing the seating configuration for Ethan and Chelsea’s wedding ceremony when a text came through from Zane.
Are you up for a lunch break?
She wasn’t, really, because she was already behind the eight ball with the
seating plans. Two hours ago, Chelsea had asked if they had room to add twenty-five more people. Space was already tight, but Lucy told her she would get creative and see what she could do. She was supposed to meet with Lauren Walters, the assistant she hired on an as-needed basis to help with larger events. She’d planned on working through lunch to have the seating arrangements ready for the meeting. But now she was suddenly famished. Funny how that always seemed to happen when Zane called.
She replied to Zane. What did you have in mind?
Actually, I’m right outside. You keep this place locked up like a prison. Will you let me in?
Are you equating my wedding venue to a prison?
A moment passed without a reply and Lucy wished she’d included some kind of emoticon to indicate she was kidding. Surely, he realized she was kidding? Didn’t he?
And then he texted back. I brought subs and chips.
So much for trying to joke around through the magical medium of texting. She should know better. Sometimes humor got lost over the waves. She got up from her desk and opened the barn’s front door. There stood Zane. Her first glimpse of him after spending time apart always knocked the air out of her for an instant—in the very best way—and this was no exception.
“Hi,” she said. “Are you here to turn yourself in?”
He laughed. Sort of. Had something in the double meaning of equating marriage to prison struck a nerve? Because his sense of humor was notably absent.
“Sure,” he said.
“Good, because I deal in standard-issue ball and chains. But you can bond out of jail with the payment of one sub sandwich and a bag of chips.”
He held up the white paper sack. “Sounds like a deal.”
A Bride, a Barn, and a Baby Page 10