Expecting a Bolton Baby

by Sarah M. Anderson

  Were they really writing off David Caine’s threats?

  “But the money...”

  Jenny shrugged, as if a couple of million in seed money were nothing. “News flash—money doesn’t buy happiness. This David Caine—one of the richest guys on the planet, right?”

  “Yeah...”

  Jenny shot him a hard look. She could be a tough woman when she wanted to be, for a first-grade teacher.

  “Is he a happy fellow? Is his daughter happy? Sounds like no. That’s one thing I’ve never gotten about you, Bobby,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re incredibly well-off—the whole family is rich by normal-person standards—but it’s not enough for you. What’s all that money going to buy you?”

  “Respect.”

  But even saying it out loud felt...wrong.

  “Whose respect?” Jenny demanded. “Not mine. I respect actions.”

  “Not mine, either,” Josey added. “And not Stella’s. So what you’ve got to decide is, if you’re doing this to get David Caine’s respect, is it really worth it?”

  Whose respect? He’d always told himself that he was doing all of this because he wanted to prove to his brothers that he wasn’t the family screwup—a great game of one-upmanship. The resort was supposed to be his and his alone. Something he’d made with his own hands.

  Except it had been a lie from the start. He’d never been able to go it alone. He’d had to get his family to agree to the show and kick in seed money. He’d had to rely on Caine’s money. The resort might have been his idea, but it wasn’t his alone. And when Caine got done with him, it never would be. By his own standards, he’d failed.

  Except he’d had Stella. And the baby.

  For a few happy weeks, Stella had made something with him that was theirs.

  “They’ll forgive you,” Josey said into the silence.

  Jenny snorted. “Eventually.”

  “Jenny,” Josey hissed. “They’ll forgive you, Bobby. I know they will. But will you forgive yourself?”

  Her words cut him deep.

  What had he done?

  “I’ve got to go get my men,” Jenny said. Her voice sounded far away, even though she appeared to still be sitting at the table. “Good luck, Bobby.”

  He couldn’t even come up with words. Jenny left and Josey let him sit at the table, staring at the wood as if it held the answers.

  His mind played over the past few weeks. He thought of the mornings—waking up with Stella’s body wrapped around his, making love to her and then cooking breakfast for her. Of rushing home after work so he could make dinner with her. Of singing eighties pop songs while she knit and sewed.

  Of how damn much he’d wanted her to stay for Thanksgiving. Of how he’d hoped for a blizzard so she’d be trapped in his apartment until Christmas and New Year’s.

  Of how she looked when he caught her patting her belly—still flat, but changing. Of how she’d looked with Callie in her arms. Of how he didn’t want to miss being there when she heard the baby’s heartbeat the first time.

  Of how he hadn’t been able to stop thinking of her since that night at the club, so much so that he hadn’t even looked at another woman since then.

  He was wrong—so wrong.

  He had something he’d made right in front of him—a relationship with Stella. No one could take that away from him—not Caine, not Mickey, not his brothers.

  He wasn’t going to let Caine win. He’d never been deeper in negotiations, never had higher stakes.

  It was time to make his move.

  He had to go get Stella.

  Sixteen

  The Fashion for Humanity Gala and Benefit was crowded—and secure. Wearing his tux, Bobby tried to slide through the entrance behind a famous starlet in a backless gown, but a bodyguard in a black suit got to him before he got inside.

  “Name?”

  At least Bobby was prepared. He’d crashed a few parties in his day and knew the drill.

  “Franklin,” he said, giving the man a handshake and slipping him a hundred-dollar bill.

  The guy slid the money into his suit jacket and said, “Name?”

  “Come on, man.” But he kept his voice bright and his smile wide.

  “No name, no entry.”

  To emphasize this point, the guard stepped aside for a television star in a truly terrifying feathered gown. When she was past, the goon squared around to Bobby, casually flashing the piece under his jacket.

  “Thanks for your time,” Bobby said.

  “Sure, buddy.”

  The guy moved on to his next victim as Bobby traced his way back to the curb, careful to avoid the cameras that were snapping shots of posing celebrities.

  He hadn’t seen Stella or Caine yet, but he wasn’t worried. There was more than one way to crash a benefit.

  It took a little walking, but Bobby managed to get around to the back of the building. There, caterers in bow ties and white shirts were unloading vans of hors d’oeuvres. Bobby shed his jacket, waited for an opening and picked up a tray.

  No one gave him a second look as he followed a waiter through the kitchen and into the reception space. He kept his eyes peeled for either Caine, but there were so many outrageous outfits that it made it challenging to see past the ruffles. No one had on lace.

  Then Bobby saw David Caine, wearing an exquisitely cut tuxedo. He looked miserable as two men who appeared to be a couple tried to chat him up. For being at a Fashion for Humanity event, Caine appeared to be deeply uncomfortable with actual humans.

  Bobby wanted to enjoy the sight of Caine squirming in the presence of a nontraditional couple. But he couldn’t gloat from a distance. He scanned the party—no Stella. Where was she?

  For the first time, Bobby considered that Stella had not come to the benefit, after all.

  This put a crimp in his plans. Publicly professing his love to Stella with witnesses was hard to do when she wasn’t present. For a moment he considered bailing, but he quickly changed his mind. He had things to say to Caine and he wanted witnesses—even if Stella wasn’t among them.

  He slipped off to the side to ditch the tray and his bow tie. He was at a fashion show—if he didn’t have on a full tux, he needed to be making some other sort of statement. He undid the top three buttons on his shirt. That was as good as he could do.

  The gay couple had been joined by a third man. Caine looked as if he was having dental work performed against his will. Bobby took a deep breath. No big deal—he was just going to create one hell of a scene. He grabbed a champagne flute and headed for his target.

  “And Joel said—”

  Bobby hated to cut the guy off, but he did, anyway. “Excuse me, gentlemen.”

  All four men turned their attention to Bobby. A rush of adrenaline hit him hard.

  “You! What are you doing here?” Caine looked alarmed. He glanced around, as if he could summon a security guard out of thin air.

  “Mr. Caine, I came to tell you that I reject your last offer.”

  “You what?”

  Bobby cranked his neck to one side, then the other. His joints popped. The three gentlemen who’d been talking to Caine took a step back. The old Bolton moves were still the best.

  “I’m going to marry your daughter, Mr. Caine. Not because you want me to, not because you’re afraid that people will find out I got her pregnant and—this is the big one, Mr. Caine—not because you’re going to cancel my show if I don’t. I’m going to marry her because I love her.”

  “I—I—” Caine was sputtering. Good. Bobby had him off balance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Sure you do. You remember that I got your daughter Stella pregnant? You do remember your daughter, don’t you? Or did you push her aside the moment she walked out o
f my apartment—like you always do?”

  “I’m going to destroy you,” Caine hissed, recovering from his initial shock faster than Bobby would have liked.

  People were beginning to stare. He was all in.

  “Like you destroyed your daughter? I don’t get you, Caine. I’m sorry your wife died, I really am—but why do you hate your own daughter so damn much? What did she do to deserve it?”

  Caine had turned an ugly shade of red and he’d lowered his arm so that what was left of his champagne was dribbling from the glass.

  “I don’t hate her. I’m merely disappointed in her choices. Like you, for example.”

  The three men all went “Ooooh” at the same time and a few others had begun to edge closer. Bobby could hear Caine’s name being whispered around the room.

  Bobby pitched his voice up a notch. “You treat your only daughter as if you wish you’d buried her with your wife.”

  Caine’s color went from red to purple. He roared, “You dare talk to me like that?”

  “You’re damn right I dare. You don’t own me and you don’t own Stella. I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure that you never see your grandchild.”

  “You won’t have a dime to your name by the time I’m done with you.”

  “I have something better than money, Caine—something you’ll never have. I have a family.”

  With that, he turned around and walked out.

  At least fifteen camera phones followed him. It wouldn’t be long now.

  Caine had promised to destroy him?

  Two could play at that game.

  * * *

  Stella stared at her dress on the dress form. She didn’t know why she was fussing over it. She wasn’t wearing it to the benefit and her figure would change before she got another chance. It was a dress with no purpose.

  But none of that stopped her from obsessing. Some part of her knew that she was distracting herself from reality, but she had no choice. Reality was something she couldn’t alter.

  “Maybe it’s the rosettes?” she asked Mickey, who was taking his tea as he watched a football match on the telly.

  “Couldn’t tell you, lass,” he replied without even looking.

  Stella sighed. If Bobby were here, he’d get up, walk around the dress and announce that, yes, perhaps it was the rosettes.

  She winced in pain. Bobby wasn’t here. That was that.

  She’d been round and round this dress ever since she’d returned from South Dakota. She didn’t like the lace—the pattern was too open. She’d planned on wearing nothing but a bra and some panties underneath it, just to give her father a heart attack, but the lace didn’t cover enough. She’d tried the dress with a corset, but that hadn’t been an improvement. So she’d sewn in a lining, only to rip it out.

  Now she was fixated on the rosettes. The lace was floor-length and had long sleeves, thereby ensuring that she was completely covered, as her father had demanded. But she’d added satin rosettes to the neck and shoulder—huge fabric flowers that draped around the neckline like a cowl.

  Perhaps that was the problem. Too many rosettes made it look dowdy. She’d take them off and add them back on, one by one, until she got it right.

  What else did she have to do? At the very least, the dress would be a showcase piece.

  She was snipping the threads off the rosettes when she heard a knock. A fairly insistent knock, followed by another round of knocking, even louder.

  Mickey’s gaze met Stella’s. “Expecting someone, lass?”

  “No,” she replied, her stomach tightening. What if her father had come by? There was a chance he’d come to make amends. An incredibly small chance. Otherwise... “You?”

  “No.” Mickey hoisted himself out of his chair and went to his coat, where he extracted his revolver. “Stay clear, just in case.”

  Stella stepped down the hall and into the loo. If she peeked her head out, she’d have a clear view of the front door.

  She heard the door open, heard a muffled male voice say, “I need to see her,” heard Mickey reply, “Don’t think that’s the best idea, lad.”

  Bobby. Sweet merciful heavens. He was here?

  Stella wanted to rush out to him and she also wanted to lock the door and pretend he hadn’t come. The conflicting emotions had her stomach doing new and unusual things.

  Why was he here? Perhaps he had the test results? Yes, that was it. She was too terrified to think of what else it could be.

  “The hell it isn’t, Mickey. Let me in. I need to see her.”

  “Give me one good reason.”

  There was a period of silence, which didn’t bode well. What were they doing, having a staring contest?

  Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore. Bobby had come a great distance. The least she could do was face him.

  She opened the door and stepped into the hall to find Mickey and Bobby standing in the doorway, both peering at...Bobby’s mobile?

  They looked up as she stepped into the room. Mickey’s face was knotted up with confusion, the revolver forgotten at his side.

  Bobby... Stella’s chest clenched so sharply at the sight of him that she gasped. His eyes lit up at the sight of her—was it possible that he was happy to see her? That he’d missed her as much as she’d missed him?

  Mickey sighed in resignation. “Keep yer cool and we’ll all be just fine,” he told Bobby, pocketing the gun. “But try anything funny...”

  “I’m just here for Stella,” he said, pushing past Mickey and walking toward her with long strides. In mere moments, he’d closed the distance between them.

  She was no longer sure if she was breathing.

  “What are you doing here?” she managed to get out in a surprisingly level voice.

  “I came for you.” He was close enough to touch, but he didn’t reach out and grab hold of her as he’d done the last time he’d kissed her in his apartment.

  Instead, he dropped to his knees.

  “I screwed up, Stella. I’ve never screwed up so badly as I did the last time. I made you think that I cared more about the show or the resort—that I cared about what your father thought—more than I cared about you. That I had to marry you.”

  “Did you, now,” she managed to get out, which helped her draw in enough air to keep from fainting.

  “I don’t have to marry you. My father can’t make me and your father can’t make me. Only one person can make me want to marry you.”

  “And who is that?” Was he possibly talking about Mickey?

  “You. I want to marry you.”

  No. She would not cry. She squared her shoulders and tried to tamp down her emotions. “You promised to call and write and visit. I didn’t ask you for anything else.”

  He shook his head. “You did. You asked me what I wanted. And I was so worried about what you wanted that I never answered the question.” Then he held up his mobile. “You weren’t at the benefit tonight.”

  She looked at it warily. “I was uninvited. And I couldn’t get my dress to work. Did you go?”

  She was certain he hadn’t planned on attending. He couldn’t get away—he was far too busy.

  Which did not explain why he was on his knees in her flat on a Saturday night in half of a tuxedo.

  “I crashed it.” He grinned at her. “Had to go in the back with the waitstaff. That’s where the rest of my tux is.”

  “I see.” She didn’t.

  His grinned deepened. “You can’t lie to me, Stella. I know you.” He held the phone up again. “I wanted you to hear me say this, but you weren’t there, so I had to hope that someone else would hear me say it for you.” He tapped the screen and a supergrainy video began to play.

  The title was Is that David Caine getting shut down by a waiter
? It is! It was the middle of an argument, she gathered—and Bobby was clearly one of the men doing the arguing. The other was her father. He looked horrid. Which had been the whole reason she was supposed to have gone with him, to provide an insulating layer between him and the unsavory types who attended fashion shows.

  She watched as they argued, watched as Bobby said, “I have something better than money, Caine—something you’ll never have. I have a family.” She watched as Bobby walked out of the frame. The clip ended.

  “Saints help us all,” Mickey muttered. “Davy’s not gonna like that, not one bit.”

  Had Bobby really just thrown away his dream resort, his show? Had he really destroyed any hope of making peace with her father? Publicly humiliated David Caine—and had it caught on film? And for what?

  For her. He’d done that for her.

  Stella’s knees gave.

  Bobby sprang up and caught her halfway down. “Easy,” he told her as they folded onto the floor together. “Can you get me a wet washcloth?” he yelled at Mickey.

  Stella turned her face into his chest and tried to remember how to breathe. “Why did you do that?”

  “Because this isn’t about him.” He brushed her hair away from her cheek and kissed her. Oh. Suddenly everything that had been wrong since her father had found her wasn’t important.

  “This is about you and me,” he said when he pulled back from her. “I’m asking you to marry me, Stella—to be my family, to let me be yours. You have always been more important to me than any show, any resort ever could be.”

  A family. Hers. She had to close her eyes and lean against him again to keep the world from dancing to and fro. “You would give up all that for me?”

  “Well,” he said in that voice that Mickey had deemed too smooth. “I’ve still got a few tricks up my sleeve.”

  She met his eyes again. “What did you do?”

  “You should know something about the Bolton brothers, Stella. When we put our minds to something, we’re unstoppable.” He said it with such conviction that a little tingle went through her. “I had to throw myself on their mercies, but Ben’s lining up alternative funding for the resort. I’m thinking it needs to have a boutique in there—featuring clothes that are edgy but soft.”