by Gina Wilkins
Everything he had done for the past year had been for the sake of his children. She wished she couldn’t see that quite so clearly. It was that damn tendency of hers to see the other side again, the one that made her all too quick to understand and forgive.
Why couldn’t she hold a decent grudge like other women?
“Will you come to the pool with me tomorrow and watch me swim, Daddy?” Sam continued with an artless change of subject. “Jamie said she would teach me to swim on my back. I can a little. You hold your hands like this and you swing your arms back over—uh-oh.”
Quickly scooting away from the stream of spilled milk that poured out of Sam’s overturned glass and dripped off the table, Jamie stood and made a grab for a paper towel.
Sam looked warily at his father. “I’m sorry, Daddy. It was an accident. I didn’t mean to.”
Trevor sighed lightly and moved dishes out of the way so Jamie could wipe up the spill. “I know you didn’t mean to, Sam. But try to be more careful, okay?”
Relieved that he wasn’t in trouble, Sam nodded firmly. “I’ll be more careful. I’m sorry it dripped on your leg, Jamie.”
She stood by the table, the soggy paper towel in her hand, her gaze focused on the sweet smile Trevor was giving his son. Well, hell, she thought in resignation. She was really going to have to work on that holding-a-grudge thing. Someday.
“That’s all right, Sammy,” she murmured. “Everyone makes mistakes. And everyone deserves a second chance.”
Probably in response to her tone, rather than her words, Trevor’s smile froze. His gaze shot to her face, narrowed, and then widened. “Jamie?”
“I forgot to make dessert,” she said, her throat tightening at the almost painfully hopeful expression in his eyes. “Want to go get us some ice cream? I’ll still be here when you get back.”
“Ice cream?” Sam’s face lit up again. “Could we have chocolate?”
“I’ll, uh, go get it,” Trevor muttered, but he didn’t move, or look away from Jamie.
“Make mine strawberry,” she told him gently, thinking that if he didn’t stop looking at her that way soon she was going to burst into tears, right there in front of the kids.
“Strawberry,” he repeated, sounding dazed. Still not moving.
“Daddy,” Sam said impatiently, planting his little fists on his hips. “Are you going to get ice cream or not?”
Trevor suddenly grinned. “You bet I’m going to get ice cream,” he said, finally coming out of his paralysis. “There’s nothing I’d rather do than bring ice cream to the people I love best in the world.”
Sam giggled. “Do you love Jamie?”
“Yes.” His voice was low, tender.
The boy nodded matter-of-factly. “Me, too. Hurry with the ice cream, okay? My mouth’s all ready for it.”
Jamie laughed—and so did Trevor. It was the first time, she realized, that she had seen him really laugh. And she told herself that some rewards were definitely worth taking risks for.
“THE SUN’S COMING UP.”
“That isn’t the sun. It’s the glow in your eyes.”
Jamie looked away from the faint light coming through Trevor’s bedroom window to give him a repressive look. “Don’t try to be poetic, Trev, it just doesn’t work for you.”
He chuckled and tucked a strand of hair away from her cheek. “Sorry. I guess I’m getting a little punch-drunk. It’s been a while since I’ve stayed up all night talking and, uh…”
She grinned. “I’ve particularly enjoyed the ‘and, uh.”’
But the talking had been good, too, she thought, resting her cheek on his bare shoulder. Trevor had told her more about his marriage, and the things he’d heard from his so-called friends after Melanie’s funeral. It had been a horrible time for Trevor, especially after he’d found Melanie’s frank, almost viciously worded journal.
Jamie had told him about her gradual realization that she hadn’t been cut out for stardom, her desire to face her past, her reluctant acceptance that her parents would never be what she had always needed them to be. They had talked about dreams they’d had, mistakes they had made and the accomplishments they took pride in.
She felt as though she had shown him more of herself than anyone else had ever seen. And he’d as much as said the same when he’d admitted that he and Melanie had never really bared their souls to each other, that they had simply operated on assumptions about each other that had often proven to be wrong.
“I’d better go back to the guest room,” Jamie murmured, looking again at that lightening window. “I don’t want Sam to find me in here. It doesn’t set a good example.”
“Does this mean we have to sneak into each other’s beds until after we’re married?”
She lifted her head. “I don’t remember anyone mentioning marriage.”
“We should make it pretty soon, I think, before the gossips get started again.”
“Aren’t you forgetting something?”
“Like?”
“A proposal?”
Pursing his lips, he shook his head. “You might say no. Better to just forge ahead, I think.”
“You’ve got a real sneaky side to you, did you know that, Trevvie?”
“I’ve asked you not to call me that.”
“I’m going to call you worse if I don’t get a proper proposal.”
“Should I get down on one knee?”
Since they were sprawled so comfortably in his bed, she saw no need for that. “No. But I want you to say the words.”
“Jamie, will you marry me?”
“Why?”
He sighed. “Why can’t you ever respond the way I expect you to? It’s a simple yes-or-no question.”
“Why, Trev?”
“Because I love you,” he said after a moment, all teasing gone. “Because I’m not stupid enough to risk losing you twice. Because I want to spend the rest of my life waiting to see what fascinating and unpredictable thing you’re going to do next. Because you have so much to give to me and to my children, and I believe we have a great deal to offer you in return. I like being a part of a family. That’s something I’ll never take for granted again. This time, I swear I’ll work at making it a success. I think I’ve loved you since you were a precocious teenager flirting with me behind the gym. I know I’ll love you until the day I die. Is that reason enough?”
“Oh, yeah,” she said shakily, swiping at her cheek with the back of one hand. “More than enough. I love you, too, Trevor McBride. And if you’re sure you won’t regret it, I’ll marry you.”
“I’ll never regret it,” he vowed, tugging her closer. “And I’m going to make damn sure that you never do, either.”
“I never could resist a challenge,” she murmured, pulling his mouth to hers.
Epilogue
“TREVOR, you can’t come in here! It’s bad luck.”
Trevor smiled at his sister, kissed her cheek, then firmly set her aside and stepped past her.
Dressed in a beautifully beaded white suit, Jamie stood in the center of his mother’s guest room, being attended to by her other bridesmaids, Susan Schedler and his cousin Emily. Both of them frowned when they saw him.
“Too late,” he said. “I’ve already seen her. And I can’t imagine any bad luck could come from seeing my bride looking so beautiful.”
Because they found that touching, the others fell silent. Jamie smiled at him. “You’re trying to be poetic again,” she accused him. “Okay, this time it worked.”
“Could I be alone with Jamie for just a few minutes?” Trevor asked the women.
Tara planted her hands on her hips in exasperation. “Can’t it wait? The wedding starts in fifteen minutes. If you’re a minute late, Mother will have a hissy fit.”
“We won’t be late,” he promised. “Not if you’ll all clear out now.”
Sighing and rolling their eyes, Tara, Emily and Susan left the room. “But don’t blame me,” Tara couldn’t resist saying over her shoulder
just before she closed the door, “if Mother comes in here to lead you out by your ear.”
“You really do look beautiful,” Trevor murmured, admiring the tiny white flowers scattered in Jamie’s short red hair.
She smiled and touched his cheek. “Thank you. Now, tell me why you’ve barged in here. If you’ve gotten cold feet and decided to cancel the wedding, I swear I’ll hang you in front of the guests by your toenails.”
He chuckled. “You know better than that.”
“Then what is it?”
He reached into the pocket of his navy suit jacket. “I wanted you to see this. It came this morning.”
She took the folded sheet of paper curiously. “What is it?”
“Open it.”
She did, read the dryly stated scientific facts stated upon it, then gave a little cry. “Trevor!”
His smile was shaky. “I know.”
She held the paper to her heart, not caring that it was crumpling in her hands. “You’re Abbie’s father. This removes any doubt.”
“I’ve always been her father,” he answered firmly. “This only confirms what my heart has always known. But even if the results had been different, it wouldn’t have changed anything. I would have loved her just as much.”
“I know. But this really is wonderful news. She’s really your daughter.”
“In fifteen minutes, she’ll be our daughter,” he reminded her.
She drew a deep breath. “Oh, wow. I’m about to become a stepmom.”
“There’s no one I would trust more with my children,” he assured her. “Or with my heart.”
She dashed at her eyes. “You really have to stop this poetic thing, Trevvie. It’s hell on my mascara.”
Though he was smiling, he spoke in a warning growl, “If you dare call me that in front of anyone…”
Her smile turned wicked. “You know I can never resist a challenge.”
He kissed her, telling her he wouldn’t stop until she promised not to embarrass him in public. He was still there when his mother barged into the room to drag him out by his ear.
“I’ll see you at the altar,” he called over his shoulder.
“Trust me,” she said. “I’ll be there.”
He paused just long enough to send her a smile. “As it happens, I do trust you. Implicitly.”
ISBN: 978-1-4603-7084-1
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Copyright © 2000 by Gina Wilkins.
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