Hope Everlastin' Book 4

by Mickee Madden

  Dinner was a hit with everyone but his parents.

  Reith diplomatically excused himself after the meal and retired to the carriage house.

  Deliah and Winston returned from Ayr sometime after ten that evening. Roan's parents had retired an hour earlier, around the same time William had said his good nights. Exhausted, Winston inquired about the new guests over the sandwiches and tea Beth had made for him and Deliah, and they listened to Roan's account of the day before discussing the paperwork Winston had brought back with him from Ayr.

  They went over Lachlan's new identity.

  It was all in a manila envelope, and Winston assured Lachlan all the information was in the computers—a statement that meant nothing to Lachlan—including a credit and travel history. The fake passport showed Lachlan had traveled to Greece, Italy, France, and Germany, which he had, but not in this century. The birth certificate was chemically aged, folded, and crinkled in places. Every document looked used and authentic. The only complaint Lachlan had was his name.

  Horatio Lachlan Baird.

  Horatio.

  It left a bitter taste in his mouth just to say it in his mind.

  The boys were too wired up to go to bed before eleven. They were very young when they'd last seen their grandparents, and Lauren promised not to wait so long again to visit with her only grandchildren. All in all, Laura had a tiring but exhilarating day. She'd always thought her parents stuffy and distant, but after meeting Roan's she now looked at them in an entirely different light. She fell asleep on the foot of Alby's bed after reading him a story.

  Sometime after 1:00 AM, everyone slept in the main house, except Roan.

  Melancholy kept him imprisoned in a daze as he stared into the fire he'd built in the library. He sat cross-legged on the stone extension of the hearth, dimly hearing the crackling and spitting of wood as flames reduced the paper and kindling to ash and lapped and rose into dancing peaks around two hefty logs. The fire screen was in place. Waves of warmth spilled over him and, although he should have felt secure and at peace, he didn't.

  His mind kept replaying one evening when his parents had gone into his room and told him of their decision to move to the States. An argument had ensued, in which he'd told them he refused to leave his Aunt Aggie and Scotland. Not once had the subject come up again after that night. Two months later, as he watched his parents pack everything that was familiar to him, he waited for them to tell him he had no choice but to go. They never did. His toys and book collection had been given to the local church, his clothing and toothbrush taken to Aggie's, and he was left without another word from them.

  His last image of Taryn that last cold morning as his parent's car pulled away from the curb in front of his aunt's house was her face pressed against the rear window and her tongue stuck out to taunt him.

  He hadn't wanted to move to the States, but neither had he wanted to be left behind.

  To the best of his ability he couldn't remember ever being a difficult child. He had never liked school and, his grades had attested to that. His teachers had liked him. He'd graduated by the seat of his pants, but he had graduated. For Aggie, he had.

  She'd tried to make up for his loss. Loved and cared for him as she'd done for her son, Borgie, never showing favor. That she wouldn't be here for his wedding hurt like hell. That his parents would be, hurt worse.

  Taryn.

  He wanted another chance to bond with her. She couldn't help her attitude. Their parents had always doted on her, but he really hadn't been envious when they were children. Taryn was beautiful, and had always possessed an impish quality that instantly swayed their parents' frustration with her. When their mother was upset with her, Taryn helped in the kitchen, and soon had their mother laughing at her ability to wear more of the ingredients than went into their meals. If their father was peeved with something she'd done, she curled up on his lap and told him how much she loved him.

  Roan had admired her ability to manipulate with cuteness. She'd even done it to him countless times. If she broke one of his toys or ripped one of his books, she offered up her favorite baby doll, which of course he wouldn't take. He wished that little girl still existed. He wished he'd been around to coach her for her first date, her first serious relationship.

  He choked up with tears and lowered his face into his hands for a time, miserably regretting the years he'd lost with his family.

  When he looked up, he thought he saw Adaina and Jamey's faces staring at him from within the flames of the hearth. In a way, they, too, had left him behind.. And Borgie and Aggie.

  Taryn had left, but at least she could be found—he hoped.

  He wanted her at the wedding. He didn't understand why it was so important to him, but it was.

  If she was still in Scotland, how difficult would it be to find her?

  All he needed was a possible location and a few days. He couldn't remember if it had been decided to search first for her, or wait until after the wedding. He couldn't disappoint Laura. She'd already waited long enough to exchange vows. He really did want Taryn there, and he desperately wanted another chance to repair their relationship.

  If only he had given her a portion of the patience he gave the boys.

  God, what if he became the kind of father to them his father had been to him?

  Was this a genetic flaw, and could it be ticking away inside him, waiting to surface?

  Was to look at his father to see himself in a few years?

  "Roan?"

  He jerked in surprise and swung his head around. Laura's features swam in front of him, and he blinked hard to remove the tears blurring his vision.

  "What's wrong?" she asked with concern. She brushed back the hair at the sides of his face then tenderly cupped his jawline in her soft hands. "Honey, you're scaring me."

  With a shuddering breath, he turned on his bottom, pulled her onto his lap and buried his moist face into one side of her hair and silently wept.

  "They really got to you, didn't they?" she asked tremulously, stroking the back of his head. A short time of silence passed. "Do you know what I love most about you?"

  His arms snugged her closer.

  "You feel so much," she whispered. "Most men refuse to show pain or sorrow, or even how much they love. Not you, Roan. You wear your emotions on the surface, for all to see."

  He made a grunting sound in response, and she smiled. "Do you know what I thought the first time I looked into your eyes?"

  A second passed before he lifted his head and despondently stared into the depths of her eyes. "I'm afraid to ask."

  She laughed low and kissed him briefly on the lips. "I knew I was in trouble."

  He frowned. "Why?"

  "Because I thought you were the most drop-dead gorgeous man I'd ever seen. And burly. Let's not forget that."

  "Me? Burly?"

  "Remember, I woke up to hear you shouting at the boys. Alby had gotten into the matches."

  "Aye." A hint of a smile appeared on his face. "I also remember you vomitin’ on me."

  She grimaced playfully. "How about if we forget that part?"

  Now he grinned in earnest. "How could I? It’s when I fell in love wi' you."

  "That's so gross."

  He laughed, its deep, rich sound vibrating in his chest. "True, though. You were achin’ly embarrassed, and yer irises looked as if they possessed emerald fires.

  "Oh, Laura." He sighed deeply. "I shudder to think wha' ma life would be like wi’ou' you and the lads."

  "Probably a lot more quiet and uncomplicated," she said whimsically.

  He somberly shook his head. "Damn miserable. I used to have this terrible emptiness inside me, Laura, and thought it had begun efter Jamey died. But I was sitting here, thinking back, and realized it began when ma parents left for the States."

  "You can't let them upset you like this."

  Again he sighed, and again he shook his head. "I don’t understand this love-hate stuff, Laura. It makes me crazy, and scares m
e to think I could be like them."

  "With the boys?"

  He nodded, swallowed hard then cleared his throat. "I love them, Laura." He laughed unsteadily and lowered his head. "I love the feel o’ them in ma arms, their scent and their mannerisms, and even their pranks. I don’t just want to be their Uncle Roan, but their dad, wi' every responsibility tha' comes wi' it. I want to adopt them and give them ma name as weel as ma love. I know tha's selfish, Laura. They have a faither and a mither."

  "I've thought about it, too," she said softly.

  "You have?"

  She nodded. "I planned to talk to you about it after the wedding."

  His tears glimmered to the glow of his smile. "Abou' adoptin’ them?"

  "Yes. I don't know how my parents will take it, though."

  "I like them."

  "You do?"

  He grinned crookedly. "Your faither tells the corniest jokes, but I can’t help but laugh at them. Somethin’ in his facial expressions durin’ the telling, I guess."

  "They like you. A lot."

  "Do they?" he chuckled.

  "Daddy told me after supper that you're a man's man, even though you cook like a woman."

  "Meanin’ wha'?"

  She laughed and shrugged. "Beats the hell out of me, but he said it with pride, so it must be good. And Mom said I sure have an eye for a hunk."

  "A hunk, eh?"

  Laura nuzzled her brow against his left cheek. "You're my hunk, Roan Ingliss, and I love you more than I ever thought possible."

  "Even when I'm in a foul mood?"

  "Yep."

  "On ma lips?"

  "Depends where you have them."

  "On the rim o' a glass o' scotch?"

  She paused then said, "Yep."

  "Hmm. Remember you said tha' when next I transgress."

  She gave a low murmur of contentment. "I'm sure you'll remind me. Roan?"

  "Wha', love?"

  "I'm worried about how our parents are going to take meeting the fairies."

  He thought about this for a time and twisted his mouth in wry amusement. "It'll rock ma parents' comfortable little world o' reality."

  "Now, Roan, be nice."

  "I am nice—nice and disappointed tha’ efter all these years they still make me feel like the boy who stood in front o' Aggie's watchin’ them drive away. Damn me, Laura, I don't like this side o' me. They're ma parents. Maybe I just think I'm mon enough to get past the hurt and go on wi' ma life. Obviously, I'm no'."

  "Think you're man enough?" she challenged, sitting up and looking him in the eye. "Roan, stop beating yourself up over this! You have every right to be angry. Parents have to earn respect like anyone else. Considering what you've been through, I'm amazed at your ability to love so openly."

  "But I don't," he murmured. "I've held back on you and the boys from the verra beginnin’."

  "Oh, bull. Short of ripping out your heart and handing it to me on a platter, what more could you possibly give?"

  "A snip o' parsley on the side," he quipped, laughter in his eyes.

  With a groan, she pressed her brow to his. "You know what?"

  "Wha’?"

  "You're talking like yourself again."

  Frowning, he leaned his head back to look at her. "Talkin’ like maself, how?"

  "For a while, you've been using Lannie's lingo."

  "Lingo?"

  "His 'dinna' and 'canna'."

  "Kevin mentioned tha' a few days ago."

  "There's nothing wrong with it," she laughed. "You admire Lachlan, and I think you wish you were more like him."

  "Aye, I do."

  "Why?"

  "He has a knack for acceptin’ the good and the bad wi' equal measure, and he finds humor in almaist everythin’. You know, Laura, considerin’ his history, he should have a big chip on his shoulder, but no' him. And I guess I admire the way he brings ou' the best in people. Like Reith. Here was this scruffy kid we caught, who we thought at first was diggin’ up the graves, and wi’in a few minutes, Lannie hires him. He hires him, gives him a home, and puts warmer clothes on his back."

  "You wouldn't have done the same?"

  Roan shrugged and stared into the fire. "I don't know. I'm too suspicious by nature."

  "Bull twinkie."

  Her words brought his gaze to her face, and he laughed. "Bull twinkie?"

  "Yeah, bull twinkie. Now you listen to me, Roan Ingliss. You and Lachlan are very much alike, so there's no reason for you to want to be him."

  "I don't exactly—"

  She pressed a forefinger to his lips, silencing him. "Yes, you do." She lowered the hand and eyed him adoringly. "But I'm in love with you, Roan, not Lachlan."

  "If we're so much alike...."

  "There are differences, obviously. Looks. You're quieter. You were born in this century."

  He laughed. "Okay, I get the point."

  "Do you?"

  Her soft tone was like a caress to his ears. "Aye, I do. I was just havin’ a wee fun wi' you."

  "Hey, I have an idea!"

  Humorous wariness shadowed his features. "And wha' is this idea?"

  "Maybe the fairies have a spell that will make our parents think they're attending a normal wedding."

  Roan threw back his head and laughed. "Lass, I think ye're thinking too much. Besides, Reith doesn't seem concerned, and he is the Pledger."

  After a moment, Laura nodded. "You're right. Besides—and please don't take this to heart—I think your mother could do with a dose of Blue."

  A wicked gleam appeared in his eyes as he contemplated this. "I can't imagine her takin’ guff from ma mither."

  Laura made a rueful face and grinned. "Lachlan told me Blue was hiding in his hair most of the day."

  "Wha'ever for?"

  Laura laughed. "To keep him calm."

  Roan's face crinkled with a smile. "I'm growin’ mair and mair fond o' our fairy queen. Shame abou' her and Reith, though."

  "I know. They're so cute together."

  "Laura, we have a fairy king workin’ as groundskeeper."

  She shrugged flamboyantly, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Doesn't everyone? Oh, and by the way, guess what?"

  He arched an eyebrow.

  "We're alone. Sitting in front of a glorious fire. Just you and me."

  He looked about the room. "So we are."

  "So?"

  Both of his eyebrows jerked upward. "Are you suggestin’ wha' I think ye're suggestin’?"

  She gently nipped his lower lip. "I don't know. Am I?"

  Roan's chest expanded with an intake of air into his lungs. "The ceilin’ might fall on our heads. Or the boys burst in."

  "We're wasting time," she purred, running her palms along the muscular contours of his pectorals.

  "Do you want to go back to our room?"

  "Not a chance. I want you here and now, Roan."

  "This verra minute?" he asked breathlessly.

  She kissed him. "Right—" She kissed him again. "—now."

  Her eyes riveted on her task, she unbuttoned his shirt and swept aside the material to expose the breadth of his chest. She swallowed as desire quivered through her, and her hands trembled slightly as she touched the fingertips to his warm flesh and ran them over the enticing curvatures. She saw his eyes close. He shivered, and she knew she had awakened his nerve endings. With her own eyes closed, she leaned forward, pushed his hair aside, and directed her mouth to one side of his neck. She nibbled at his skin with her teeth, relishing his spasms of delight then caressed him with the tip of her tongue. He tasted of salt and mild soap, of heaven and earth and the sweetness of love.

  Roan's hands eased around to her back and kneaded the solidity beneath her cream-colored pullover sweater. It amazed him that no matter how insecure or lost he felt, a touch or a kiss from her could banish it all and make him feel as if the world were his for the asking. How could a man hurt because of something from out of his past, when his present and future were so filled with love and promi
se and hope? Nothing should matter but what life had offered him in this woman and her nephews.

  And he vowed to himself, nothing would again.

  With a rumbling moan, he dipped his hands beneath her sweater and explored the satin of her camisole, then the softness of her skin. Her lips and tongue and teeth had erupted tiny flames behind his breast and a haze of desire in his mind. Hooking his hands on her shoulders, he urged her back and hungrily sought her mouth. He kissed her deeply, passionately, his tongue sweeping along the lining of her lips and then venturing into her mouth. They kissed for an indefinite time, wrapped in each other's arms, sharing body warmth and the intricate matrix of their sexual nature which had initiated their bond during their first union as Roan and Laura.

  "I love you," she rasped when the kissed ended.

  He loved the way her eyes looked when she was passionate. Green and fiery. An entity in their own right. Eyes that could say more with a glance, than most people could vocalize.

  Framing her face with his large hands, he took a while to gaze over her features. He had always thought her beautiful, but of late there'd been a glow about her, softening and yet enhancing the qualities her genes had bestowed on her. It struck him again how much he wanted to have a child with her. A daughter with her eyes and blond hair, pouty lips, and a pert nose.

  Impatient with his delay, Laura pulled her sweater and camisole over her head in one motion and tossed them on the sofa. Roan's gaze dropped to her heaving breasts, and his mouth went dry at the sight of her rigid nipples. Static roared in his ears. The haze in his mind slipped down to blur his vision.

  "What's wrong?" she asked in small voice.

  "Ye're so...exquisite."

  "Then why aren't you making love to me?"

  He couldn't answer right away. Jiggling his head, he cleared his throat and blurted, "I was thinkin’ o' our daughter."

  Laura leaned back, eyes wide in a shocky face. "You're psychic?"

  "Wha'? No." He chuckled. "I was thinkin’ wha' it would be like to have a daughter who looks like you. I suppose I shouldn’t been thinkin’ abou' anythin’ but you. I'm sorry, Laura."