by Loree Lough
It surprised him a little . . . the lump that formed in his throat, blocking words. So he nodded. Blanketed her hand with his. Because he’d have given anything to spare her this. Since he couldn’t, he’d do whatever it took to make it easier for her. Especially if it meant she’d come around, in time.
She walked with him to the porch, took his hand. “Do you need to get anything? Socks and T-shirts? Jeans? From your room, I mean.”
God love her, thinking of his best interests, even now. “No. I have duplicates over there.” Besides, he thought, I’ll be back in a day. Two, at most. He hoped.
Dusty wanted to hold her. Kiss her goodbye. But . . . what was the protocol in a situation like this?
She answered the question by sliding her arms around him and snuggling close. “Maybe on second thought. . . .”
His heart beat harder, hoping to hear her say she didn’t need time.
“. . . maybe Mitch should go with you.” Grace looked up, her brow furrowed with concern. “You know, with that gang so close by. . . .”
Disappointment battled with the relief of knowing she cared enough to be concerned. In the end, love won out. “I’ll be fine,” he said, kissing her forehead. Lord, help me win this one. . . .
Because if he had to choose between this loving, capable, remarkable woman and the boy who’d grown up without a father, who’d soon lose his mother . . . ?
He climbed onto the Harley, fighting tears as it rumbled down the drive, praying that God would move this mountain-sized problem aside and make a way for them to be together. Because without her, life with Ethan wouldn’t be nearly as sweet.
34
She hadn’t slept a wink since waving goodbye from the porch two days earlier. Hadn’t thought about much of anything except how she’d deal with “The Truth According to Dusty Parker.”
Of course, he’d had romantic entanglements. What man his age—and with his personality and good looks—didn’t? That, she could handle. That Randi had no confidence in him as husband or father material? Not nearly as easy to handle.
Grace had two choices, as she saw it: Figure out how to live with the news, or become another episode from his past. She loved him. Just as important as that, she believed Dusty loved her. Did anything else really matter?
In a word, no.
And so she’d made the scariest phone call of her life. “What would you say to dinner out tonight? Just the two of us.”
“I’d say I can be there in half an hour. Wear something pretty. I know just the place.”
That was twenty minutes ago.
He didn’t walk right in, the way he used to before she’d sent him packing. Instead, Dusty rang the bell, and when she opened the door, he stood smiling, a bouquet of roses in one hand, a heart-shaped box of candy in the other. “You’re gorgeous,” he said.
She hadn’t seen him in a jacket and tie since Keith’s and Tucker’s funerals. He’d looked handsome that day. Today, striking was the only word that came to mind. Grace stepped aside. “Come in,” she said, wondering why she felt giddy and twittery, like a shy young girl on her first date.
“After you put these in water,” he said, handing her the flowers, “we can leave. I made reservations. For seven. At Ciaparelli’s.”
Her favorite Italian restaurant. She remembered having told him during one of their first conversations, that it was the only place that served gnocchi, rivaled only by her grandmother’s recipe. “The boys and Mitch are in the living room,” she said, heading for the kitchen. “In case you want to poke your head in and say hi, that is.”
He took the cue, and Grace smiled when she heard the immediate welcome they gave him. It made her feel guilty, for having sent him away; they hadn’t said it in so many words, but they’d missed him. She’d missed him, too, and if she hadn’t insisted on putting some time and space between her and Dusty, she may never have realized how different her world looked and felt without him in it.
He walked into the kitchen as she was placing the vase in the center of the table. “They’re beautiful. You didn’t have to, but thank you.” She glanced at the chocolates, sitting on the counter near the microwave. “Wherever did you find a heart-shaped box at this time of year?”
“Same place I found the roses,” he said, bending to sniff one. “Hopefully, they’re not left over from last Valentine’s Day.”
“It wouldn’t matter if they were.”
“It’s the thought that counts?”
“Something like that.” Small talk. Grace knew how much he hated it, and searched her mind for something meaningful to say. She stepped into the hall, and grabbed her purse and sweater from the foyer table. “Did you see Jesse today?”
“I did. He looks great. Did he tell you . . . they might let him come home in a day or two.”
“That’s the best news I’ve heard in a long time.”
Dusty flinched at that, and a ripple of guilt coursed through her. She hadn’t meant to remind him of the whole Randi-and-Ethan saga. At least, not consciously. “I’ll fix up the room you and Mitch are using, so he won’t have to maneuver the stairs. At least at first. You guys will have to grab whatever beds are empty, I guess.” She shrugged and opened the door. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m just grateful to have a bed.”
Outside, she saw the Harley, leaning on its kickstand behind the van, which Mitch had nosed up to the rear bumper of her SUV. “Seems a terrible waste of gasoline,” she said, pointing to the van, “driving that.”
“Want me to drive your car? I could top off the tank on the way back.”
Grace hoped he knew her well enough to believe she didn’t have a problem riding in the big, old thing. She glanced at the cloud-streaked sky, alight with strands of orange, red, and pink, painted by the setting sun. “It’s a beautiful night. How would you feel about taking the bike?”
His eyebrows shot up. “But . . . you’re wearing a dress. And what about your hair? Won’t it get all mussed and mashed under the helmet?”
She shrugged into her sweater. “I’ll tuck the skirt under my thighs. And this?” She fluffed her curls. “A little flattening won’t hurt it.”
Grace looked up at him while he buckled her helmet and imagined waking up to that beautiful face, every day of her life.
“What?” he said, tucking her clutch into the chopper’s saddlebag.
“Oh, nothing.”
Dusty threw his leg over the bike, and when she climbed on behind him, he said, “Hold on tight.”
Gladly, she thought, pressing herself into his strong back, literally and figuratively.
He didn’t know it, but she’d never been on a motorcycle before. She’d never understood why anyone would want to get from place to place this way, exposed as drivers were to traffic, the weather, bugs. . . . She’d never be able to say that again! The ride was exhilarating, and as the wind and the city lights zipped by, Grace wondered how it might feel to be in control of the vehicle.
As the hostess seated them in a remote corner of the restaurant, Grace was still smiling about how he might react when “Motorcycle!” would be her answer to his, “What would you like for your first anniversary?” question.
If he noticed, Dusty didn’t show it. Because of the candlelight, ancient brick walls, and the soft tones of an Italian tenor adding to the ambiance? She didn’t think so. And it wasn’t the sounds of laughter from other diners, the quiet clink of fork against plate that kept him quiet, either. She was the reason he seemed so edgy and out of sorts. Would what she had to say help bring back his calm, easy smile?
“So,” she began, scooting her chair closer to his, “I’ve been thinking. . . .”
He cringed, adding to her guilt. Only one way to smother it, she thought, and pressed on. “The guest house is nearly finished. All it needs, really, is a good dusting and it’ll be move-in ready.”
Dusty steepled his fingers under his chin and nodded, confusion raising his left eyebrow.
“We can ask th
e boys to whack down the cobwebs in the walkway. That way, when they go back and forth—or we do—no one will get all spider-webby.”
“Spider-webby, eh?”
She couldn’t allow his tantalizing smile to distract her. At least, not yet. “And I think the ceremony should be small, because I’d hate to steal Honor’s thunder.” Grace remembered all he’d told her about Matt and Honor, who had nearly allowed misunderstanding and stubborn pride to keep them apart. Nothing like that would come between her and Dusty! “After all they went through to get to this point,” she continued, “they deserve their moment in the sun.”
Grace watched his expression change, from uncertainty to hope. “And speaking of the ceremony, this seems as good a time as any to admit that I’ve never been one of those girls who dreamt of a big, storybook wedding. Which is what I was about to tell you the other night when. . . .” When Randi’s call interrupted us.
In the time it took to entertain that thought, Dusty’s optimism faded just enough that she felt compelled to blurt out “And sweet as it was of you to offer to take me shopping, so I could choose the perfect diamond engagement ring, there’s no such thing, in my opinion.” She splayed her hands on the tabletop, and laughing, said, “Look at these babies! I’m way too clumsy and spend way too much time digging in dirt, painting, and shoveling manure for delicate jewelry. And even if I wasn’t?” She shrugged. “While other girls were paging through Modern Bride, looking for the perfect ring, I pictured a plain gold band on the third finger of my hand.”
He lifted her chin on a bent forefinger. “You’re something else, you know that?”
The warmth of his touch and the genuine affection emanating from his gray-blue eyes almost diverted her attention.
Almost.
Grace wanted—no, needed—to make him see how much he’d come to mean to her, that he’d changed her in ways it would take a lifetime to explain. The stuff Agent Spencer had dug up about his past had only made her love Dusty more, because if he could overcome all that, it proved not only the strength of his character, but the strength of his heart.
“So anyway, I want to meet Randi. And Ethan, of course. The sooner the better.”
“Okay. . . .”
She heard the suspicion in his voice, and while Grace didn’t blame him for doubting her sincerity, it hurt. During those first few lonely hours after she’d sent him away, Grace had considered all the facts as she knew them: he’d left nothing to her imagination where his child was concerned; when cancer took Ethan’s mother, Dusty would pick up where she’d left off. And in the meantime, he aimed to get close to the boy—not only to make up for time lost because of Randi’s deception, but to give Ethan time to adjust to having a full-time father. He’d left nothing to the imagination about how much he cared for Grace, either. The fact that Dusty was willing to sacrifice this chance at a happy marriage to do right by his son only made her love him more. Her “find peace in the Word” moments led her to 1 Corinthians 13:7, and she believed every comforting word: “Love bears all things and believes all things, hopes all things.” In the tranquil moments that followed, a plan took shape, and she knew without a doubt who its architect was. . . .
“From everything you told me about Randi’s illness, it’s clear that time is of the essence. So I’ve been praying that she’ll agree to move in with us. There’s plenty of room for all of us in the guest house. I’ll fix up that little bedroom on the first floor so she won’t have to maneuver the stairs. Ethan can have the front bedroom upstairs, and we’ll take the back bedroom. And with all of us there, it frees up my old room at the main house for two or three more boys.”
Dusty scooted his chair closer, too, putting him a mere breath away.
“Not right away, mind you,” she rambled on, “because the most important thing is that, while I’m taking care of Randi, Ethan will have time to get to know you. And me, too. And get used to us as a couple, so that when—”
He silenced her with a kiss. Not a long, passionate kiss, but one that felt like “Thank you” and “I think you’re terrific” all rolled into one. When it ended, he said, “Guess I’d better get used to this. . . .”
To shushing me with sweet kisses? She wouldn’t mind that, at all.
“When you get on a roll,” he finished, “there’s just no stopping you, is there?”
A busboy stepped up, shook open the legs of a tray table, then disappeared while the waitress delivered their orders. When she was gone, Grace said, “Maybe I should have taken a job here, instead of the Double-T.”
He flapped a big red napkin, then draped it over one knee. “Why’s that?”
She answered by flexing her right bicep. “I didn’t get these guns by letting busboys heft my trays.”
Dusty sat back and laughed. And as she sipped her water, he said, “I thought you wanted a December wedding.”
“Haven’t you heard? There’s an ancient saying that goes something like, ‘It’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind.’ ”
He twirled pasta around the tines of his fork. “Yeah. I’ve heard. But I never would have guessed that old saw applied to you.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” he said matter-of-factly, “I’ve never lumped you in with ordinary women.”
“You give me way too much credit, Parker.”
The truth was, she had wanted a winter wedding. But then the whole “surprise baby” thing cropped up, and Grace knew that putting things off for four long months wouldn’t be good for any of them, least of all, Randi and Ethan. But how could she admit that without admitting she was like other women? “Truth is,” she fibbed, “the more I thought about you in a red velvet tux, the less appealing the whole scene looked.”
“Red?” He groaned. “Good thing you didn’t tell me that.”
“Because . . . ?”
“Because I’d do anything to make you happy. Even. . . .” He grimaced, held his stomach. “Even that.” Then he shuddered. “Doesn’t mean it would have roused happy memories, twenty-five, fifty years from now when we flipped through our wedding album. . . .”
Twenty-five or fifty years from now. . . . It told her everything she needed to hear. “Here’s the real reason,” she said, hoping God would forgive back-to-back fibs, told to spare Dusty’s feelings. “If we get married now, while the weather’s still balmy, I can wear the dress my mother and grandmother wore and not have to cover it up with a jacket or a shawl.”
“When you say ‘now,’ what exactly do you have in mind?”
She speared a gnocchi. “Saturday.”
He chuckled. “This Saturday?”
“Well, sure.” She winked. “Are you forgetting that you said yes when I offered to keep your calendar? I happen to know you don’t have other plans that day.”
“No, I’m not forgetting, and yes, I know I don’t have other plans. But . . . it’s Tuesday already!”
“O ye of little faith,” she teased, popping the mini-dumpling into her mouth. “If you think I can’t pull this off in four days, think again. I happen to know there’s plenty of time to get a license, and that Pastor Jackson from the Last Chance church is free that day.” She giggled. “Well, not free. I’m sure he’ll expect the usual ‘offering.’ And there are more than enough burgers and dogs and rolls in the freezer for a simple backyard barbecue afterward. Just you, and me, and Austin and Mercy—who said they’d love to be our witnesses, by the way—and the boys. Kylie and Gavin. Molly Logan. Agent Spencer.” She put a hand beside her mouth to add, “I get the feeling he’s a little sweet on her.”
He was laughing when he said, “And here I thought you’d arranged this dinner to give me the heave-ho in a public place, to spare yourself a repeat of that waa-waa-poor-me scene from your living room.”
“I’ll say this for you . . . when you’re wrong, you’re wrong.” During those lonely hours without him, she’d thought of the hundred or so times she’d watched as he built his boys’ confidence. He made them feel valued
and protected, until they believed it when he promised they were good and decent, and strong enough to survive whatever life decided to throw at them. Because he’d given her the same gifts, Grace vowed to be a life partner who’d go far beyond telling him that she believed he’d hung the moon . . . at least in her world; she’d make sure he knew that he could turn to her, always, when life made him doubt himself.
“So are you okay with the plan?”
“I’m so okay with it, I’m afraid my heart might explode.”
If that wasn’t an answer to her prayer, Grace didn’t know what was. Thank You, thank You, thank You, Lord! Unfortunately, her plan involved more than just Dusty and herself. “You think Randi will be okay with it, too?”
“If she isn’t, she’s crazier than I remember.” Dusty relieved her of her fork, then put his down and linked his fingers with hers. “Tomorrow, first thing, we’ll go shopping for a gold band,” he said, kissing her naked ring finger. “And then the two of us will sit Randi down and—”
“I could be wrong, here, but I think she’ll be more receptive to the idea if I present it, alone. You know, considering your, ah, history with her and all.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“If I loved you enough to have your baby—and didn’t trust you enough to tell you about it—I don’t know that I’d be 100 percent confident in your choice of women.”
“I don’t like the sound of that.”
Grace shrugged. “I didn’t say it to hurt your feelings. You know that, right?”
“ ’Course I do.” He kissed her knuckles. “I was referring to your use of the word ‘if’ just now.”
She replayed the sentence in her mind. If I loved you enough to have your baby. . . .
“Now I’m the one who’s worried her heart will explode!” Few things could have made her happier than knowing he wanted children . . . with her. “If God sees fit to bless us with a baby,” she said softly, “I pray it’ll be just like you.”
“Weird. ’Cause I was just sitting here, hoping He’d give us the gift of a little girl who’s every bit as sweet and big-hearted as her beautiful mother.”