His response to her never ceased to amaze him, just as her response to him never ceased to amaze him. Hers was always so honest, so open, so freely given. He could never remember—or rather chose not to remember—a time when she wasn't in his life. He could, however, remember the loneliness that predated her. Because of that, he could never take her for granted. Their marriage, simple and sweet, marked the beginning of a new life for him. He would always be grateful that Dean had given her away, symbolically saying that he accepted his daughter's choice of a husband. In the end, he'd been willing to live by the creed he'd once espoused; namely, that no third party could stand in judgment of what two other people felt in their hearts. Both Bunny and Adam had had no problem with the marriage. Adam even teasingly called Lindsey "Mom" on occasion.
"I love you," Walker said seriously.
"I love you," she answered back in kind. Suddenly, unexpectedly, delightfully, she laughed. "I steamed your glasses."
"You steam a lot more than my glasses," he answered on a growl, and pulled her to him to prove his point.
"You're just saying that because I'm such a dowdy little creature these days."
"You're fishing for compliments."
"You would, too, if you were the size of a football stadium."
"You're gorgeous, from your curly little head right down to your curly little toes."
"I don't have toes. I don't have feet. At least, I haven't seen them in weeks."
"You have toes. You have feet. Trust me. I know. I put socks and tennis shoes on them this morning."
"You're just saying that."
"I'm not."
"I'll have to give up my ballet career."
"You never had a ballet career."
"Oh, well, how fortunate, because I'd only have to give it up."
Walker grinned.
Lindsey grinned. Her grin gave in, however, to a slight wince.
"Your back?"
"Mmm."
"Does it hurt worse?"
"Not worse. It just hurts." For days there had been a mild ache that the doctor had deemed normal. With the last twenty-four hours, however, the ache had increased.
"You don't think—"
"Walker, you ask me every ten minutes if it's time. You're worse than Adam was waiting for Grace to deliver. I'll let you know when it's time. Besides, it's day and you said yourself that babies only come at night."
Lindsey's suitcase had sat by the front door for days, not that that would do any good when the time came, Lindsey thought, because Walker probably wouldn't even be able to find the front door. Let alone his pants, car keys or wallet. He'd been such a worrywart that he'd almost gotten kicked out of the birthing classes.
"Maybe we should call the doctor," Walker said.
"Maybe we shouldn't."
"I think we definitely should stay in tonight."
"It's Dad's birthday and Mom's gone to all the trouble of throwing a surprise party."
"They'd understand," Walker said, thinking how glad he was that Bunny and Dean were working out their problems. In fact, they seemed happier than they ever had. He knew that it hadn't been easy for Bunny to turn her eyes away from the hurt he'd caused her. Divorce would have been easier, but Walker, like Dean, had learned that Bunny Ellison was a gutsy lady. As for Dean, Walker knew that he lived daily with guilt, knowing the heartache he'd caused. Walker knew, too, that his friend was determined to make it up to his wife. As a token of good faith, he'd sold the sports car, saying that he was too damned old for such nonsense.
"I know they would understand, but I want to be there."
"Okay. But only if you lie down and rest this afternoon."
"Will you lie down with me?"
"That suggestion, as I recall, led to the state you're in," Walker said, running his hands over her stomach. "Yeah," she said on a purr.
She remembered vividly the rain-splattered afternoon in question, the afternoon they'd drunk champagne and eaten strawberries and made repeated love. It had been a lovely way to begin a family. But then, everything about being married to Walker had been lovely, from the wedding, to the honeymoon in London—they'd save Timbuktu for later, he'd promised—to moving into his house. That he'd once shared the house with another woman in no way disturbed Lindsey. It was a house that had known love. What better place to begin a new life? Besides, she'd brought her collection of teddy bears and a bevy of other possessions that had soon turned the house comfortably into hers. At present, her Winnie the Pooh books lay cribside. She'd also found the book that Walker had once read to her. Soon he'd once more read about kings and queens and simpler things.
True to his word, Walker forced her to rest. An hour later, both lay on the bed, she spooned against him, he gently rubbing her stomach. They had drifted in and out of sleep, in and out of tender and not-so-tender kisses.
"Walker?" she whispered at long last.
"Mmm?" he mumbled.
"Are you afraid?"
He knew she was talking about labor, about becoming parents. "Are you?"
"Not afraid," she answered. "Just a little apprehensive. I'm not sure what to expect."
"Everything'll be fine, Lindsey. I swear it. I'll be right with you." He stopped rubbing her stomach and turned his attention to the small of her back when she grew restless.
Pressing her back against his hand, so he could find the right spot, she said, "I know you will. And I'm really not afraid."
Walker smiled. "Yeah, well, I guess I am a little bit. Being an older father is nice—it comes at a time when you can appreciate things more. But I'm not blind to the problems it creates. Subscribing to Modern Maturity and Parents Magazine at the same time is a little weird."
"We don't subscribe to either."
"You know the point I'm making."
She did. Of course, she did. And she didn't want to be flippant about his concerns. She rolled toward him and raked back a swath of silver-tinted hair that had fallen across his forehead. "You're vital. You're healthy. You'll be around when they need you most. You'll be around to teach your son to play football and to screen your daughter's dates—or vice versa. And as good a father as you were the first time round, you'll be twice as good the second. They'll adore their daddy.... Just like I do." Suddenly, she grinned, once more her playful impish self. "Look on the bright side. We can have their weddings catered by Meals On Wheels."
Walker laughed and pulled her to him. It was then that she first noticed the little niggling pains that shot through her lower stomach. She said nothing, though, thinking that they would pass. And they did.
"You okay?" he asked minutes later.
"Yeah," she said, struggling to sit on the edge of the bed. "I've got to shower, though, if we're going to Dad's party."
"Want some help?" Walker said, displaying his best leer.
At the ringing of the phone, Lindsey said as she stood and waddled toward the bathroom, "I'll hold the thought."
Reaching for the phone, Walker said, "Hello? Oh, hi, Bunny. Yeah, getting ready now. Yeah, sure, we'll bring our camera. No, no prob—" He stopped when he saw Lindsey, who'd disappeared for a moment inside the bathroom, standing once more in the doorway. A patch of clear liquid moistened the front of her jeans and ran down one pants leg. She was also clutching her stomach.
"I, uh, I think we're going to miss the party, after all," she said softly.
The next thirteen hours were a blur to Walker—a happy, scary, wonderful blur. They were filled with holding his wife's hand, of wiping perspiration from her forehead, of telling her to push just one more time. He hadn't been present at Adam's birth and, although he'd always known birth to be a miracle, he'd had no idea of its magnitude. Nothing, except Lindsey's love, had ever touched him so deeply. At exactly eight minutes apart, a sassy girl first, a bouncing boy second, the twins were born.
Bunny cried.
Dean beamed with pride.
Adam and Grace cheered.
And Walker...
Well, if ever Wa
lker had questioned his decision of wedding a woman so young, of fathering a family at his age, those doubts were forever removed the moment he saw Lindsey's radiant face, the moment he held his healthy, squirming children. With a certainty that defied logic, he knew that he'd made the right choices. Lindsey had turned out to be his lover, his friend, heart of his heart. She had turned out to be the sweetest surprise of his life.
Books by Karen Keast
Silhouette Special Edition
Once Burned #435
One Lavender Evening #469
A Tender Silence #536
Night Spice #614
The Surprise of His Life #688
KAREN KEAST, a nature lover whose observant eye is evident in her writing, says if she were a season, she'd be autumn. The Louisiana resident admits to being a workaholic, a perfectionist and an introvert. Author of more than a dozen romances and two short stories, she likens writing a novel to running a marathon, noting that the same determination and endurance are necessary to overcome the seeming impossibility of the task and the many obstacles along the way. Still, happily married for over two decades, she is thrilled to have the opportunity to write about the "joy, pain, exhilaration and sheer mania of love" and to be able to bring two lovers together eternally through her writing.
Keast, Karen Page 21