by Heidi Betts
But even though he’d heard Vanessa’s complaints, he knew now that he hadn’t listened. He’d shrugged off her unhappiness, thinking perhaps she was turning into a bit of a bored trophy wife. He’d let himself be consumed by work and told himself it was just a phase—that she’d get over it. He even thought he remembered suggesting she find a hobby to keep her busy in hopes that it would distract her and keep her off his back.
No wonder she’d left him, he mentally scoffed now. He’d have left him after being dismissed like that.
By her own husband. The man who was suppose to love, honor and cherish her more than anyone else on the planet. Boy, he’d really messed up on that one, hadn’t he?
As always, hindsight was twenty-twenty…and made him want to kick his own ass.
Which meant that if Vanessa had met another man, Marc couldn’t really blame her for leaving him in hopes of moving into a situation that made her happier than the one she’d been in with him.
The thought of another man touching her, being with her—especially with his baby growing inside her belly—made his vision go red around the edges and his mind fill with images of tearing the aforementioned male who’d dared to touch his woman limb from limb. But he couldn’t blame her, not when so much of what had gone wrong between them was his own fault.
“Is it?” he asked again, suddenly needing to know. Though he wasn’t sure what difference it would make now.
“No,” she answered quietly. “There was no one else. Not for me, anyway.”
He raised a brow. “What does that mean? That you think I was being unfaithful?”
“I don’t know, Marc. Were you? It would certainly explain all those extra hours you were supposedly spending at work.”
“I had just taken over the company, Vanessa. A lot of things required my attention, practically around the clock.”
“And I wasn’t one of them, apparently,” she muttered, bitterness clear in her tone.
Marc rubbed a spot between his eyes where a headache was brewing. He’d heard that level of frustration and discontent in her voice before, so many times. The same as he’d heard her complain that he wasn’t spending enough time with her.
But what choice did he have? And why couldn’t she have cut him some slack? The twenty-four-hour workdays hadn’t lasted forever. Nowadays, if he was at the office past five, it was usually because he didn’t want to go home. Why bother, when there was nothing much there for him to enjoy other than a soft bed and a giant plasma television?
“This again?” he ground out. “Do we really have to get into this again?”
“No,” she replied quickly. “That’s the nice thing about being divorced—we really don’t.”
“So that’s why you didn’t tell me you were pregnant?” he demanded. “Because I wasn’t paying enough attention to you before the divorce?”
A furrow appeared in her brow. At her breast, the baby continued to suckle, though he could only hear the sounds, not see the child’s mouth actually at work.
“Don’t be obtuse,” she snapped. “I wouldn’t keep something like that from you just because I was pouting or angry with you. If you’ll recall, we didn’t exactly part on the best terms, and you were the one who refused to speak to me. That sort of thing makes it difficult to have a personal heart-to-heart.”
“You should have tried harder.”
Blue eyes flashing, she said, “I could say the same about you.”
Marc sighed, rocking back on his heels. It was nice to know that even after a year apart, they could jump right back to where they’d left off.
No growth or progress whatsoever, and to make matters worse, there was a whole new wrench thrown into the works. One with his blood running through its veins. One that he should have been told about from the very beginning.
But arguing with her about it or getting red in the face with fury over having his child kept from him for so long wasn’t going to get him anywhere. Not with Vanessa. She would simply argue right back at him and they would end up exactly where they were—in a stalemate.
Striving instead for calm and diplomacy, he said, “I guess that’s something we’re going to have to agree to disagree about.” For now. “But I deserve a few answers, don’t you think?”
He could see her mulling that over, trying to decide how much pride or privacy it would cost her to share the details of the last year of her life…and fess up to something he suspected even she knew had been wrong—namely keeping his child from him.
“Fine,” she relented after a moment, though she sounded none too pleased with the prospect.
While he weighed his options and tried to decide where to start, she shifted the baby in her arms and quickly rearranged her clothing beneath the veil of the knitted throw to make sure she was completely covered.
The child, Marc noticed, was sound asleep. Eyes closed, tiny pink mouth slack with sleep. And suddenly he knew exactly what he needed to know most of all.
“Is it a boy or a girl?” he asked, his throat clogging with emotion, making the words come out scratchy and thick.
“A boy. His name is Danny.”
Danny. Daniel.
His son.
His chest grew tight, cutting off the oxygen to his lungs, and he was glad when Vanessa rose from the sofa, then turned to toss the afghan over the back so she wouldn’t see the sudden dampness filling his eyes.
He was a father, he thought, blinking and doing his best to surreptitiously suck in sharp, quick breaths of air in an attempt to regain his equilibrium.
When he and Vanessa had first gotten married, they’d discussed having children. He’d expected it to happen before long, been ready for it. When it hadn’t in the first year, or the second, the idea had drifted further and further to the back of his mind.
And that had been okay. He’d been disappointed, he supposed, but so had she. But they’d still been happy together, still optimistic about the future, and cognizant of the fact that they hadn’t even begun to explore all of their options yet. If getting pregnant the fun, old-fashioned way hadn’t worked out, he was sure they’d have discussed adoption or in vitro or even fostering.
But as it turned out, they hadn’t needed any of that, had they? No, she’d been pregnant when they’d signed the divorce papers.
“When did you find out?” he asked, following her movements as she trailed slowly across the room. The baby— Danny, his son—was propped upright against her shoulder now and she was slowly patting his back, bouncing slightly.
“A month or so after the divorce was final.”
“That’s why you moved away,” he said quietly. “I expected you to stick around Pittsburgh after we split. Then I heard you’d left town, but I never knew where you’d gone.” Not that he’d intentionally tried to check up on her, but he’d kept his ear to the ground and—admittedly—welcomed any news he managed to pick up through the grapevine.
She shrugged one slim shoulder. “I had to do something. There was nothing left for me in Pittsburgh and I was soon going to have a child to support.”
“You could have come to me,” he told her, just barely able to keep the anger and disappointment from seeping into his voice. “I would have taken care of you and my child—and you know it.”
She stared at him for a moment, but her face was passive, her eyes blank, and he couldn’t read her expression.
“I didn’t want you to take care of us. Not out of pity or responsibility. We were divorced. We’d already said everything we had to say and gone our separate ways. I wasn’t going to put us both back in a position we didn’t want to be in just because our reproductive timing was lousy.”
“So you came here.”
She nodded. “Aunt Helen had only been living here a couple of years herself. She moved in with her sister when Aunt Clara became ill. After she died, Helen claimed the house was too large for one person and she could use the company. Unfortunately, she’s never met a problem that couldn’t be solved—or at least all
eviated—with food, so she baked and I ate. Then one day, I got the brilliant idea that we should open a bakery together. Her recipes are amazing, and I’ve always been pretty handy in the kitchen myself.”
“Good for you,” Marc said.
And he meant it. It hurt to realize that he’d never known she had such amazing cooking or baking abilities, or that she’d preferred to move away and live with her aunt in Mayberry R.F.D. over coming to him when she’d discovered her pregnancy.
He certainly had the means to care for her and their son. Even if reconciliation hadn’t been an option, he could have set her up in a small house or apartment, somewhere he could visit easily and spend as much time with his child as possible.
He could have provided for her, provided for his child, in ways she could never dream of simply by running a single bakery—no matter how popular—in such a rural area.
But then, Vanessa knew that, didn’t she? She was well aware of his and his family’s financial situation. While they’d been married, if she’d asked him to buy her a private island paradise, he could have done so as easily as most people bought a pack of gum.
Which was probably why she’d chosen to move away and find a way to support herself. From the moment they’d met, his money hadn’t impressed her. Oh, she’d enjoyed their two week honeymoon in the Greek isles, but she’d never wanted him to give her silly, expensive things just for the sake of it. She’d never wanted priceless jewels or a private jet, or even her own platinum card for unlimited shopping sprees.
When they’d first been married, she hadn’t even wanted to move into his family home, despite the fact that his brother and his brother’s family resided there and the estate was large enough to house a dozen families comfortably. Possibly without any of them coming into contact with the others for weeks at a time.
Keller Manor boasted a mansion the size of six football fields with separate wings, for heaven’s sake, as well as three isolated cottages on its surrounding two hundred acres. But Vanessa had wanted to find an apartment of their own in town, then maybe later buy a house for just the two of them and any children that came along.
Marc wondered now if he shouldn’t have gone along with her on that idea. At the time, staying at the mansion had been easy, convenient. He’d thought it would be the fastest way for Vanessa to bond with his family and start feeling like a true Keller.
Now, however… Well, considering how well that hadn’t turned out, he was beginning to think he’d made a lot of wrong decisions while they were together.
After patting the baby on the back for a good five minutes—burping him, Marc assumed—Vanessa moved to a navy blue playpen and started to lean over, presumably to lay Danny down for the rest of his nap.
“Wait,” he said, reaching out a hand and taking a step forward before halting in his tracks. What was he doing? Why had he stopped her?
Because he wasn’t yet ready to lose sight of his son. Or to be distracted from the reality that he was suddenly a father. A father. A fact that part of him still couldn’t seem to comprehend.
“Can I hold him?” he asked.
She looked down at the child sleeping in her arms, indecision clear on her face.
“If it won’t wake him,” he added as an afterthought.
Lifting her head, Vanessa met his gaze. It wasn’t fear of waking the baby that caused her hesitation, he realized—it was her fear of having him near their son, of sharing a child who had been hers alone up until now. Not to mention a secret she’d had no intention of sharing anytime soon, but that had been unexpectedly revealed all the same.
Finally, with a sigh, she seemed to reach a decision. Or perhaps come to her senses, since they both knew there was no way he’d be kept from his child now that he was aware of Danny’s existence. No way in hell.
“Of course,” she said, the words sounding much more agreeable than she felt, he was sure. Meeting him halfway, she carefully transferred the child from her arms to his.
The last child Marc had held who was this size, this age, had to have been his three-year-old niece. But as adorable as his brother’s children were, as much as he loved them, it didn’t hold a candle to how he felt now, cradling his own child to his chest.
He was so tiny, so beautiful, so amazingly peaceful in sleep. Marc soaked in every minuscule feature, from the light dusting of brown hair covering Danny’s head to his satin-soft cheeks, to the tiny fingers he curled and uncurled just beneath his chin.
Marc tried to imagine how Danny had looked as soon as he’d been born…his first day home from the hospital…how Vanessa had looked all rounded and glowing in pregnancy. Tried and failed, because he hadn’t been there, hadn’t known.
A furrow of irritation drew his brows together and he knew he couldn’t leave Summerville without his son, without spending more time with him and hearing every detail of the months that he’d missed of this child’s life.
Drawing his attention back to Vanessa, he said, “It looks like we’ve got a bit of a problem here. I’ve been left out of the loop and have some catching up to do. So I’m going to give you two choices.”
Before she could interrupt, he pressed on. “You and Danny can either pack a bag and come back to Pittsburgh with me, or you can give me an excuse to stick around here. But either way, I will be staying with my son.”
Four
Vanessa wanted nothing more than to snatch Danny away from Marc and go running. Find a place to hide herself and her baby until he lost interest and went back from whence he came.
She knew her ex-husband better than that, though, didn’t she? He would be more inclined to give up breathing or walking upright than he would to walk away from his child.
There was nowhere she could go, nowhere she could hide that he wouldn’t find her. So she might as well save herself the time and trouble and just face the music. She’d composed the symphony, after all.
She’d also been prepared to tell him about her pregnancy as soon as she’d discovered it for herself. Just because things hadn’t worked out quite the way she’d planned didn’t mean she should disregard her moral values now.
But that didn’t mean she was ready to pack up and follow him back to Pittsburgh like a lost puppy. She had a life here. Family, friends, a business to run.
On the other hand, the thought of Marc staying in Summerville made her heart palpitate and brought her as close to suffering a panic attack as she’d ever felt. How could she possibly handle having him underfoot—at the bakery and maybe even living with them at Aunt Helen’s house?
She was trapped between the proverbial rock and a hard place, both of which looked suspiciously like her ex-husband. Stubborn, stoic, amazingly handsome in a suit and tie.
“I can’t go back to Pittsburgh,” she blurted out, pretending the sight of Marc holding their infant son in his big, strong arms didn’t tug at parts of her that had no business being tugged.
“Fine,” he said with a nod, his face resolute and jaw firm. “Then I guess I’m relocating.”
Oh, no, that was worse. Wasn’t it? Rock, hard place…rock, hard place. Her chest was so tight with panic, she was beginning to see stars from lack of oxygen.
“You can’t stay here forever,” she told him. “What about the company? Your family?” My sanity?
“It won’t be forever,” he responded.
Looking more reluctant than she’d ever seen him, he handed Danny back to her, careful not to wake him. Then he reached into his jacket pocket and removed a slim black cell phone.
“But if you think that anything back home—with the company or my family—is more important than being here with my son right now, you’re crazy. I can afford to take a few weeks away, I just have to make sure everyone knows where I am and can keep things running smoothly in my absence.”
With that, he turned and headed for the stairs leading back down to the bakery, dialing as he went.
Rocking back and forth, Vanessa stared down at her sleeping son and felt tears prick
le behind her eyes.
“Oh, baby,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his smooth forehead. “We’re in so much trouble.”
For Vanessa, having Marc “move” to Summerville felt very much like when she’d first met him.
She’d been putting herself through school by waiting tables at an all-night diner near the college campus. He’d been attending school on his father’s dime, breezing through classes and spending his free time playing football or attending frat parties.
He’d walked into the diner late one night with a pack of his friends, all of whom could have been male models for some brand of expensive cologne or another. She’d served them pancakes and eggs, and enough soda to float the Titanic. And even though she’d noticed him—she’d noticed all of them; how could she not?—she hadn’t thought much of it. Why should she, when he was just one of a thousand different customers she served day in and day out? Not to mention one of the many young, carefree men who breezed through school—and life, it seemed—while she worked her fingers to the bone and burned the candle at both ends just trying to stay in school?
But then he’d shown up again. Sat in her section again. Sometimes with friends, other times by himself.
He’d smiled at her. Left huge tips, sometimes a hundred percent in addition to his check total. And made small talk with her. It wasn’t until much later that she realized she’d told him nearly her entire life story in bits and pieces over a matter of weeks.
Finally, he’d asked her out and she’d been too enamored to say no. Half in love with him already and well on her way to head over heels.
Those same sensations were swamping her now. Shock, confusion, trepidation… He was a force to be reckoned with, much like a natural disaster. He was a tornado, an earthquake, a tsunami swooping in and turning her entire life upside down.