by Hinze, Vicki
She inwardly smiled. A couple weeks ago her stuffed-shirt counselor would have been miffed about the dirt. Now, it was no big deal. She hated loving that, too. Her list was growing lengthy.
He held open the door leading into the kitchen, and she walked through.
Mrs. Wiggins stood in the kitchen, her hand raised to slap Jeremy.
Cally saw red. “Don’t you dare hit him!” She stormed over, snatched Jeremy up, planted him on her hip, then pivoted so she stood between him and Mrs. Wiggins. He looked scared to death. “You okay?”
He nodded, on the brink of tears.
Cally cradled his head to her shoulder, rubbed his tiny back, and glared at the battleaxe. “You will never raise a hand to him, to any of the kids again. Not ever.”
Wiggins went as white as the curtains and her voice chilled to ice. “Miss Tate, I’ll thank you not to interfere. I understand your relationship with Mr. Richards, but my instructions on disciplining the children are explicit—”
“And you can stuff them right up your left nostril. Whatever Jeremy has done, he doesn’t deserve to be slapped. I will not stand by and see you do it. Mrs. Richards, God rest her soul, is dead. I hate it for Suzie and Lyssie and Bryce and mostly for Jeremy, because you have so little tolerance for anything he does. And I even hate it for you. But hating it doesn’t change the facts. The woman is dead, and your days of hiding behind her instructions to stay on Jeremy’s back are over. I’m sick of it. God knows Jeremy’s sick of it. And it ends right now. You’re fired, Mrs. Wiggins.”
“I don’t work for you. You can’t fire me.” She glared at Bryce. “She can’t fire me.”
Cally held her breath. So did Miss Hattie, who had come in during Cally’s tirade, paused at the back door, and now stood with her eyes squeezed shut, mumbling something at the ceiling. Cally screwed up her courage and then looked at Bryce. He seemed stunned and damned angry. Whether at her or at Wiggins, Cally didn’t know. And right now, she didn’t give a flying fig. He’d best remember his promise to not challenge her authority with the kids. Of course, if he didn’t back her in this, he wouldn’t be breaking his promise because it was the battleaxe, not the kids, she was challenging. But if he didn’t back her, then God help him. If he tolerated that woman slapping Jeremy, Cally’d never marry him. Never in a million years. And she’d make his life a living hell.
“Well?” Mrs. Wiggins urged Bryce, looking far too confident for Cally’s comfort.
Bryce looked at Jeremy, clinging to Cally’s shoulder for dear life. He wasn’t crying, though. Not a single tear. At Cally, shooting visual daggers his way, warning him he’d better not cross her on this. At Suzie, who stepped to Cally’s side, her jaw tense and her eyes saucer-wide. Cally slipped an arm around her, drew her closer. At Miss Hattie, who looked alert and attentive, not bothering to pretend ignorance this time, but closing her expression to unreadable, keeping her thoughts to herself. And, finally, he looked at Mrs. Wiggins. Her strained expression had her tight skin stretched over her bones. Frosted to the gills. He didn’t trust himself to speak.
“Mr. Richards!” Mrs. Wiggins stomped her foot. “I insist you set her straight on this.”
“I fully support Cally’s decision, Mrs. Wiggins. You’re fired.” He’d have fired the woman himself, but Cally had beaten him to it. Though it raised a whale of a problem, he felt good about that.
The woman’s jaw dropped open. “You can’t be serious!”
“I most certainly am serious.” He gentled his tone for the kids. They still looked terrified. “If you think past your indignation, you’ll realize this is what you’ve wanted for a long time. You only stayed for Meriam. In fact, I’ll bet you’ve already prepared your Thanksgiving resignation, haven’t you?”
Looking guiltier than sin, the woman lowered her gaze.
“You always deliver it immediately following breakfast, so everyone is upset at what should be a festive dinner. You’re not a mean woman, Mrs. Wiggins. So why do you think you do that?”
“Because I’m tired of raising children!”
“I know. And I thank you for the sacrifices you’ve made for mine. But Cally’s right. I can’t have you slapping Jeremy. It’s time for you to go on with your life.”
“Very well.”
Miss Hattie, who was the only person in the room who appeared calm and sedate, unclipped her earring. “I’ll book your flight, Mrs. Wiggins. Jimmy will take you to the airport.”
“Thank you, Hattie.” Mrs. Wiggins announced her intention to return to the Carriage House to pack her bags, then left the kitchen, looking more relieved than upset.
Cally smoldered. “I owe you one, Counselor.”
“No you don’t.” He owed her. And he didn’t regret his decision—the battleaxe’d had to go—but if Cally refused his proposal now, he’d be in a helluva fix.
Jeremy smothered Cally in a bear hug. Over his shoulder, Cally sent Bryce a look of gratitude, and picked up on his worry. The reason for it hit her right between the eyes.
She’d fired the only constant in the M and M’s lives.
“Oh, God, what have I done?”
Chapter 13
Mrs. Wiggins had departed, and Bryce couldn’t help but notice that none of the kids had seemed the least bit sad. That truth had guilt tumbling through his stomach, even though Cally pointedly had asked Jeremy if Mrs. Wiggins had hit him a lot, and he’d held up his fingers and specifically said, “Only three times.”
Three times. And Bryce hadn’t known about any of them. More guilt heaped onto the already sizable hill stuffed into his chest. What kind of father doesn’t know things that important about his own son?
A rotten one. Rotten. Rotten. Rotten.
Alone in the kitchen, he poured himself a cup of coffee, denied himself a bowl of peach cobbler, recalled vividly the scent of Cally’s peach shampoo, then sat down at the table to stew a while. Hell, maybe he’d just sulk, too. Really wallow in it. Sooner or later, he hoped to God, he’d run out of ways to stop failing his kids.
The grandfather clock in the gallery ticked softly, reminding him of what Miss Hattie had said about Bess Mystic calling it the heartbeat of the house. The rhythmic sound did help to soothe his frayed nerves. Jeremy had forgiven Bryce, but it’d take longer for him to forgive himself.
Cally came in, dressed in winter-white slacks and a forest-green baggy top that kissed the tops of her thighs. The same color combination she’d worn the day he’d first seen her. It suited her—the white for her purity of spirit, the deep green for her hidden depths—but the woman would be gorgeous in a flour sack.
“Jeremy and Lyssie are down for their nap.” She walked to the fridge, filled a glass with ice, then poured tea in it from the stoneware pitcher Miss Hattie kept on the countertop near the fruit bowl. “Mmm, I’d offer a penny for your thoughts, Counselor, but I don’t think they’re worth it.”
He looked up from his steaming mug.
Before saying anything more, she sat down opposite him. “I can tell by your grim expression you’re beating yourself up over this situation with Jeremy.”
“He’s my son.” Anger again roiled in Bryce’s stomach. “I’m not supposed to be upset?”
“Upset, yes. But not feeling as you do. You might as well have a sign on your forehead, darling. One that says Rotten Dad. And that you don’t deserve.”
Suzie came in, took one look at his face, then turned to Cally. “Can I go with Frankie to Miss Millie’s? She’s gonna show us some pictures of my island from fifty years ago.”
Cally glanced at Bryce. He shot her a why-not look.
“Sure, but be back”—she glanced at the clock—“no later than five, okay? And nowhere else, not without first calling home.”
“Okay.” Suzie dropped a kiss to Cally’s cheek, then turned to him. “Daddy, I didn’t know about Mrs. Wiggins slapping Jeremy, either. I felt really bad about it until I talked to Tony. He said that we can’t know everything, and what’s important is that, when we fi
nd out, we do something. I think he’s right. And I don’t think you ought to be mad at yourself. Jeremy’s not. He’s not mad at me, either. So it’s okay now. We fixed it, and she won’t hit him anymore.”
Tears stinging the backs of his eyes, Bryce hugged Suzie hard. “Thanks, sweetheart. And thank Tony, too. Okay?”
She nodded, then skipped out the back door.
“She’s an amazing kid, Counselor. So wise and so beautiful.” Cally watched Suzie through the window, running toward Frankie’s full-speed down the stone walkway. “Sometimes I look at her and she’s so beautiful I could just cry.”
Bryce’s throat went tight and his heart melted one more time at the simple complexities that comprised Cally Tate. And in his mind, he smelled the narcissus. It smelled exactly like her perfume. Soft, subtle, sexy. He had to be the luckiest man in the world. “Thanks, Cally.”
She looked back at him. “What for?”
“Being you. And for standing firm for Jeremy against Mrs. Wiggins.”
She came around the table, circled his head with her arms, then drew him to her chest. “Oh, Bryce.” Bending down, she pressed a comforting kiss to his crown. “It really is okay.”
He burrowed his face between her breasts and hugged her tightly, needing her strength, wanting her comfort.
She held him for a long few minutes then, as if sensing he’d gotten an emotional grip on this, she kissed him again. Longer. Deeper. Giving the father in him a rest, and awakening the man.
“Mmm, nice.” He cupped her bottom and pulled her closer. Standing between his thighs, she bumped her knees against the seat of his chair. “I’m hoping your firing the battleaxe was a declaration that you’ve accepted my proposal.” She’d been magnificent. Defending the M and M’s like a lioness protecting her cubs. That they were his cubs made him appreciate her protection even more.
She tilted her head in that adorable way. “Well, I suppose that since I’ve fired the only constant from the kids’ lives, I’ll have to accept.”
“Really?” A lie, of course. But one she needed. One that was easier to admit than confessing they’d both blown their agreement to hell and back before they’d officially started it. He certainly wasn’t going to complain. She might change her mind and, truthfully—he took a long look at his own motives—he, too, still needed the lie.
“What else can I do?” She shrugged in that teasing, Miss Tate manner, but her eyes were glossy and overly bright.
“You can do whatever you choose.” He didn’t want her feeling trapped into marrying him.
“Then I choose to be the constant in our kids’ lives.”
Our kids. Well, that said it all. Nearly giddy, he bit a smile from his lips. “Can we seal this yes in—er, that was a yes, wasn’t it, Miss Tate?”
“It was, Counselor.”
Immensely satisfied, he hiked a brow. “Can we seal it in our contract with a kiss?”
“Absolutely. I know you lawyers like everything tied up all legal like.” She raked her fingertips through his beard.
They were cold from touching her glass, yet warmed him far beneath the skin she touched. “Exactly, Miss Tate. And to be binding, consideration must be exchanged.”
“In this case, a kiss.”
“Actually, two kisses.”
Her eyes sparkled. “Hmm, interesting.”
“I’m feeling magnanimous, and I don’t want a reputation as a miser in these negotiations.”
She looped him with her arms, kissed his eyelid, his brow, then purred against his throat. “Generosity becomes you, darling.”
He circled her waist, let his hands roam her back, shoulder to thigh. “Yeah, I like the way it feels.”
“I’ll remember that, too.”
He felt certain she would. “Before you kiss me and I can’t think straight—”
She laughed, low and husky. “I’m definitely going to remember that.”
He nipped at her neck. “Don’t even think about blackmail, Miss Tate.”
“Counselor, would I do that?”
Damn right, she would. “Let me finish so I can have my kisses.”
“By all means. You go right ahead.” She dipped her nose to his skin, teased and taunted.
How was he supposed to think straight with her doing that? “Um, I think we should, um, wait to tell the M and M’s the day before the wedding.”
“Excellent idea. About twenty-four hours of ‘Is it time yet?’ is a reasonable max.” She nibbled her way down to the soft hollow of his throat, then over to his earlobe.
Bryce nearly came up out of the chair. He groaned and tightened his hold on her. “When Miss Hattie gets back with the kids, we’ll go talk to Pastor Brown. I like the idea of a Thanksgiving wedding. For Tony. Is that okay?”
She scraped his neck with her teeth. “It won’t give our families time to get here.”
God help him, he was going to melt. Or to embarrass himself. “I know, but they were at the first ones. This one I want special. Just for us without any reminders of the past. I guess that sounds selfish, but—”
“It sounds perfect to me.” She let out the sexiest growl he’d ever in his life heard and ran her hand down his chest. “Just us and the kids. Private.”
She understood. He’d known that she would. “Hmm, Cally?”
“Mmm?”
“I’m thinking you’d best give me three kisses.”
“Three?” She reared and looked down at him, her eyes smoky. “That’s extortion, Counselor. Reeks of greed.”
He gave her a negative nod. “Only two are for me.” They had the house to themselves, and it appeared his Miss Tate wanted more than a kiss to seal their contract. He’d oblige her of course and, with luck, they’d make it upstairs before he obliged her.
“Then why three?”
His eyes sparkled. “We’re lacking an official notary.”
“Ah, I see.” She lowered her gaze to the hollow at his throat, setting his pulse to leaping. “Will a mere kiss suffice in lieu of a notary? Seems to me that’s a very import—”
“No, Miss Tate. It will not.” He caught her behind the knees, then stood up, bringing her with him.
She locked her knees around his waist, her arms around his neck. “Then we’d best do whatever’s needed to avoid loopholes, Counselor. Right away.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
Tony smiled down on Cally and Bryce, watched them leave the kitchen in a dead run for the stairs, laughing like children. It did his heart good. They walked the cliffs and kissed under the special oak, and sat on the same kitchen chair and necked, drunk on love—just like Tony and Hattie used to do. Now, they were planning a Thanksgiving wedding.
Of course these two would choke before admitting they were drunk on love, but they both recognized love for what it was. Sooner or later, they’d admit it. If they had Tony’s experience—which he’d wish on no man or woman, not even Batty Beaulah or the battleaxe—they’d trip over their tongues to give each other the words. But they didn’t. And he couldn’t tell them. To fully understand, that experience had to be lived firsthand.
So they’re planning a Thanksgiving wedding.
Sunshine. Where had she been hiding? Yes, they are.
And what about Suzie?
He withheld a frown by the skin of his teeth. She’s still dreaming.
I know that. Just as I know you’re still interceding so she won’t be alone in those dreams. They’re not very pleased with you upstairs about that, Tony.
I gave her my word. That means something to me.
Yes, it does. How is Hattie handling the knowing?
That we’ll be separated after all?
Yes.
About like you’d expect. She’s devastated. Putting up a front for the kids and Bryce and Cally, but she’s crying herself to sleep every night, and she’s having some wicked dreams.
I’m sorry to hear that. She’s a lovely woman.
The best.
I have to say I admire you.
You’ve handled your situation well. You and Hattie have helped a lot of people who would have been lost without you.
That’s our purpose, isn’t it? Tony chided himself for letting his less than charming attitude leak out. Sunshine was invading his turf. He still didn’t like it, but some sixth sense so deep he didn’t want to acknowledge it—because it brought that powerless memory to mind—warned him she had to be here. Focusing on that powerless feeling usurped his confidence, so he shunned those thoughts and buried his attitude, determined to be cordial. It’s been fulfilling. I’d be lying if I said it hadn’t. But sometimes I wish I had just one more day with Hattie. Just one more night.
A chance to say all the things you’ve regretted not saying, mmm?
Her understanding didn’t surprise him. And he felt it wise not to think about why it didn’t. Yeah, exactly.
I’m not supposed to tell you this, but swamping yourself with guilt is sidetracking you something awful. So I’m going to do something I’ve never done before. I’m going to break protocol—and pray I don’t regret it.
Surprise shimmied through Tony’s chest. The woman sounded wary. Actually, scared stiff. So why would she be willing to do this for him? He’d been as grouchy as a bear with a thorn in its foot. What?
I’m going to tell you the truth, Tony. Even if you’d died on that battlefield and not vowed to never be apart from Hattie, even if you’d gone on and never returned to Seascape Inn, even if she’d never had any idea that you were near, Hattie Stillman never would have married another man. She’d never have given her heart to anyone else.
She might have.
She couldn’t. Think about it. It’s so simple really—if you look at it with your heart and not your head. Hattie could never give her heart to anyone else because it was no longer hers to give. She’d already given it to you.
He wanted to believe it. Needed to believe it. And the ferocity with which he needed to believe it shamed him. What about Hattie? What she wanted? Needed? Maybe with time—
No, Tony. Never. Not ever. For Hattie there never has been, nor ever could be, anyone but you. Don’t you see? You’re lifemates.