0373659504 (R)

by Brenda Harlen

“That he has a head injury?”

  Amy rolled her eyes. “That he loves you?”

  She picked up her fork and poked at her salad. “I believe he thinks he does.”

  “How do you feel about him?”

  “I...miss him,” she said.

  “What do you miss?”

  She missed seeing him every day, falling asleep in his arms at night and waking up beside him in the morning. She missed kissing him and touching him and making love with him. She missed their middle-of-the-night conversations, their playful disagreements and their spirited discussions. And she missed just being with him, even when they didn’t have anything to say.

  “Everything,” she finally responded. “I miss everything about him, every minute of every day.”

  Amy nodded approvingly. “The question now is—what are you going to do about it?”

  * * *

  Apparently if a man decided to spell out his deepest feelings on a three-foot-by-ten-foot banner, he should expect a fair amount of ribbing and ridicule. None of it bothered Justin. What bothered him was that the banner had been up in the cafeteria for four days and, as far as he knew, Avery still hadn’t seen it.

  And how could a grand gesture be grand if the recipient was unaware?

  The banner had been a last, desperate effort to help her realize the true depth of his feelings for her. And, so far, a futile one.

  He was reviewing a patient’s chart with a second-year resident when Avery showed up in the ER. He glanced at her briefly, and his heart hammered against his ribs as he refocused his attention on the resident to explain the next steps in the patient’s treatment. She waited patiently until he turned to face her again.

  Activity at the nurses’ station had practically come to a standstill, with all eyes focused in their direction. She didn’t seem to notice; he didn’t care.

  “Is there something I can help you with, Dr. Wallace?”

  “I hope so,” she said. “Do you have a few minutes to take a walk with me?”

  He couldn’t read much in her expression. She seemed a little nervous, but after studiously avoiding any personal contact over the past few weeks, that didn’t surprise him.

  He glanced at his watch. “I’m waiting on a report from radiology regarding a possible tibia fracture in Exam Six.”

  “Dr. Roberts is finished up in Two,” Callie piped up helpfully from the nurses’ station. “I can see that he gets the report when it comes in.”

  “That would be great—thanks.”

  Avery didn’t say anything as they made their way down the corridor toward the cafeteria, and he wasn’t sure what to say to her. He knew how much she hated being the subject of gossip, and he considered that maybe the banner hadn’t been such a great idea. Maybe he should warn her—

  But before he could say anything, she walked directly through the food service area to the atrium. The strong, fearless woman, who could handle any medical emergency with a steady hand but who hated to be the center of attention and trembled when he touched her, didn’t halt until she was standing directly beneath the banner he’d hung up four days earlier—and he’d never loved her more.

  And that was before he realized a length of examination bed paper had been taped to the bottom of the banner. Her response, written with a Sharpie marker, read: She Loves You, Too.

  He looked from the paper to Avery, who was watching him and chewing on her bottom lip, as if she wasn’t quite sure of his response.

  He put his arms around her and drew her close. “How did you finally figure it out?”

  “I remembered something someone once said to me,” she confided. “That love is wanting to spend every possible minute with someone, missing him every second that you’re apart, and knowing that your life is better, richer and fuller with him in it. That’s how I feel about you.”

  He lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her with all the pent-up emotion of the past few weeks and all the love in his heart. And she kissed him back exactly the same way.

  “So where do we go from here?” he asked, when he finally eased his mouth from hers so they could each catch their breath.

  “Well, I’ve offered to sublet my apartment to a colleague who needed a place, so I was hoping you might let me move back into your condo and share that king-size bed again.”

  “That sounds like a good start,” he agreed.

  “And my prenatal classes begin in a few weeks,” she told him. “I could use a partner for those.”

  “Done.”

  “Then I’ll want you there for the actual birth, too.”

  “I already told you that I’d be there for that,” he reminded her.

  She nodded. “And I was thinking it might be good for us to stick together after.”

  “How long after?”

  “A long time,” she decided.

  “I like that plan.”

  “Okay, then.” She nodded again. “That’s good.”

  “It is good,” he agreed, holding her close. “And it will only get better.”

  “I do love you, Justin. The feeling terrifies me, but it scares me even more to imagine my life without you in it.”

  “You don’t have to imagine that,” he promised. “Because I love you, too, and I’m not ever going to leave your side.”

  “I still want to take things slow.”

  “We can take them as slow as you want,” he assured her.

  “I’m not saying I don’t ever want to get married, but I don’t want to rush into it. I need to be sure.”

  “Then we’ll wait until you’re sure.”

  “Thank you,” she said, and brushed a soft kiss across his lips. “In the meantime, will you do me a favor?”

  “Anything,” he promised.

  “Will you please take down this banner that’s hanging over our heads?”

  He chuckled softly. “I’ll take it down and put it up in our bedroom—to make sure you never forget how I feel about you.”

  Epilogue

  Three months later

  “I think I’m ready,” Avery told him, zipping up the duffel bag she’d packed for the hospital.

  “I hope so.” Justin stood in the doorway with his keys in hand. “I’ve already called Dr. Herschel to meet us at the hospital.”

  Her labor had started several hours earlier, but her contractions were—she insisted—still mild and inconsistent. He wasn’t sure how mild they could be when she sucked in a breath every time one started. She was gritting her teeth now and holding her belly as another pain hit. He immediately glanced at his watch, timing the contraction as she panted through it.

  She nodded, indicating that it had passed.

  “Thirty-eight seconds.”

  She nodded again as he picked up the duffel and slung it over his shoulder.

  “I meant I’m ready to get married,” she said.

  He stared at her, not sure he understood what she was saying. “You’re ready to get married?”

  “Yes,” she confirmed.

  “When?”

  She headed toward the door. “I was thinking that I’d like to do it before the baby’s born.”

  “Wait a minute—are you honestly saying that you want to get married now?” he asked incredulously.

  “I know the circumstances aren’t ideal,” she admitted, “but the more I think about it, the more I realize you’re right. We should be married before we become parents.”

  “I love you, Avery, with all of my heart and soul,” he said, punching the button to summon the elevator, “but there are times that I am completely baffled by your thought processes.”

  “I’m not asking for a church wedding with a hundred guests in attendance—more of a quick, informal ceremony, maybe performed by the hospital chaplain.”

  “What if I want the church wedding with a hundred guests in attendance?” he asked her.

  “We can have a big reception at a later date, if it means that much to you,” she promised.

  He shook his head as t
he elevator dinged to signal its arrival. “You know the only thing that really matters to me is being with you.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  “That’s an ‘I’ll try to find the chaplain when we get to the hospital.’”

  She smiled and brought his mouth down to hers for a quick kiss. “That’s good enough.”

  But he did better than that.

  He called his mother while they were on their way to the hospital, to tell her that Avery was in labor and that they were hoping to get married before the baby was born. He wasn’t surprised that his parents arrived at the hospital only moments after they did. He was surprised to discover various other family members were already gathered in the hospital chapel—including his cousin Andrew and Andrew’s wife, Rachel, who brought a hand-tied bouquet of white roses for the bride and a matching boutonniere for the groom.

  But Avery’s labor had progressed rapidly, and by the time they were ready to begin, her contractions were much more painful and intense and coming every five minutes. The chaplain expedited the proceedings as much as he could, but Justin could tell by the death grip Avery had on his hand that she was struggling with the transition stage.

  “Breathe,” he said softly.

  She nodded.

  When it was time for his vows, he recited them as quickly as he could. Then it was her turn.

  “I, Avery Vanessa Wallace, take you, Justin Aaron Garrett, to be my—” She broke off on a gasp and squeezed his hand so hard he worried that she was going to break a bone.

  “We can finish this later,” he reminded her.

  She shook her head fiercely as she breathed through the contraction, then picked up right where she’d left off.

  “To be my husband. To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health—and in labor,” she ad-libbed, squeezing his hand again but much less painfully this time, “to love and to cherish, till death do us part.”

  Moved beyond words, Justin leaned forward and touched his lips to hers. “I love you.”

  “We haven’t got to that part yet,” the chaplain admonished.

  “Sorry,” Justin apologized automatically.

  Avery smiled at him, because she knew he wasn’t sorry at all, then mouthed the words back to him. I love you, too.

  “By the power vested in me by the state of North Carolina, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” He closed his book and peered over the rim of his glasses at Justin. “Now you may kiss your bride.”

  He drew her as close as her belly would allow and brushed his lips over hers again, just as another contraction started.

  “Can we move you up to maternity now?” he asked her.

  She nodded. “I think that’s probably a good idea.”

  Amy immediately came forward with the wheelchair she’d kept at the ready. Justin helped his bride into it, then pushed her toward the door.

  On her way out of the chapel, she seemed to realize that she was still holding her bouquet. She tossed it over her head—and it smacked straight into her brother’s chest. But Avery didn’t have time to wonder what that could mean—she had a baby to deliver.

  Thirty-nine minutes later, at 8:52 p.m., Vanessa Erin Garrett was born. The baby girl weighed in at almost eight pounds and measured twenty inches. Her proud parents celebrated the birth—and their wedding—with family, friends and cookies ’n’ cream ice cream from the hospital cafeteria.

  * * * * *

  Don’t miss Ryder Wallace’s story,

  The next installment of Brenda Harlen’s miniseries

  THOSE ENGAGING GARRETTS!

  Coming soon to Harlequin Special Edition!

  Keep reading for an excerpt from FORTUNE’S SPECIAL DELIVERY by Michelle Major.

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  Fortune's Special Delivery

  by Michelle Major

  Chapter One

  “A toast to your marriage.”

  Charles Fortune Chesterfield lifted his glass of deep red cabernet, unable to hide the smile that curved one corner of his mouth. “Or should I call it your unmarriage? Your remarriage?” He winked at his sister Lucie, sitting across the table from him in the trendy Austin restaurant. It was early April and the weather in Central Texas was quite fine, a welcome change from the dreary rain of a London spring. He would rather have been sitting at a table on the restaurant’s spacious patio, enjoying the fresh air and the sound of the city passing by them. Unfortunately, the paparazzi hounded his family wherever they went, so Charles and Lucie were huddled in a quiet booth in the back of the restaurant.

  “Don’t be cheeky, Charles,” Lucie answered in a clipped tone, her hazel eyes flashing. “If you came all the way to Texas to tease me, you should have stayed in London.”

  “I’m happy for you, Luce.” Charles set down his wineglass and grabbed his younger sister’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “Truly I am. That’s why Austin was my first stop on this trip.”

  “And...” she prompted, her smile returning.

  “You and Chase make a lovely couple,” he offered. “It’s obvious how much he loves you.” Charles hoped his sister realized he was sincere. He hadn’t seen her as happy as she was now, reunited with her first love and husband, Texas oilman Chase Parker. Few had known about Lucie’s impulsive wedding when she was only seventeen until the fact that she and Chase were still married came to light last month. Charles had hated watching his younger sister hounded by the press, but true love had triumphed in the end.

  He’d flown in yesterday from London and gone straight to dinner with Chase and Lucie at the sprawling Parker ranch outside town. Even jet-lagged, he’d been able to see how much they loved each other. His family had wasted no time in filling him in on the news from Horseback Hollow, the small Texas town the rest of his siblings called home. Lucie had also informed him that family matriarch and cosmetics mogul Kate Fortune was still in Austin and apparently meeting with their generation of Fortune children to look for someone to take over the empire built on her Fortune Youth Serum.

  “Chase is perfect,” Lucie agreed now, “although I wouldn’t recommend calling him ‘lovely’ to his face. A native Texan won’t appreciate that description, Charles. But I’m talking about you.” She punched a few keys on her cell phone and lifted it for a better view. She’d gone to one of the online tabl
oid sites so popular in Britain.

  The headline displayed on the small screen read Is the Third Time a Charm for Bonnie Lord Charlie? An obvious reference to Charles’s two previous broken engagements. Below the headline was a grainy photo of Charles and a beautiful, thin and very regal-looking brunette.

  “Lady Caterina Hayworth?” Lucie asked, her brow puckered. “Tell me you’re not engaged to Conniving Cat. I know you like your women brainless and beautiful, but she’s a social climber of the worst sort. You must know she wants your celebrity status as much as she wants you.”

  “I hate that nickname,” he muttered, running his finger along the smooth screen as if he could blot out the maddening words.

  “Conniving Cat?” Lucie waved a hand in the air. “Perhaps it isn’t kind, but you must admit—”

  “Not that one,” he clarified. “Hell, Caterina loves the moniker. I think she was the one to start it. I mean ‘Bonnie Lord Charlie.’” He scrubbed a hand over his face, the transatlantic time change suddenly catching up with him tenfold. “Jensen is the one with the title.” Their mother, Josephine May Fortune Chesterfield, had married Sir Simon Chesterfield after ending her first, loveless marriage to Rhys Henry Hayes. “The press doesn’t feel the need to give Brodie or Oliver a fake title,” Charles said, referring to their two older half brothers from Josephine’s first marriage. “And calling me ‘bonnie’ is ridiculous. I’m a twenty-nine-year-old man, not a wee lad toddling around in rompers.”

  “You are quite handsome.” Lucie’s smile turned sympathetic. “I’m sure it’s meant as a compliment.”

  “It’s an implied dig that I don’t do anything, that I have nothing to offer but my face and my family’s good name. No use denying it.”

  Her slim shoulders stiffened. “You do plenty, Charles. I think your ads single-handedly doubled the number of women vacationing in Britain over the past year.”

  He fought back a grimace, even though he had no one but himself to blame. The ad campaign that featured him promising visitors to England “the royal treatment” had started as a joke during a meeting he’d attended with the British Tourism Council two years ago. He’d been expected to bring ideas to the table, but had spent the night before the meeting clubbing with friends and had shown up to the meeting a half hour late with a raging headache. He’d pitched the Royal Treatment campaign as a jest, but the council had loved it. Before he knew what was happening, Charles ended up the star of a series of print and television ads, wearing a tux in front of various British monuments, giving it his best James Bond–meets–Mr. Darcy impression.