by Robyn Grady
And yet, there that sound was again. Unmistakable. So out of place.
When the third neigh filtered in, Vanessa flung back the covers, strode to the window, opened the shade. Then she clapped a hand over her brow at the same time her jaw dropped to the ground. Meanwhile, Missy had deigned to join her. She curled around Vanessa’s ankles and leapt up onto the window ledge. Then she arched her back and hissed till there was nothing left in her feline lungs.
The horse outside was white, too. Colorful flowers were braided in its mane. The tail was… Of course, bright blue. If this wasn’t a dream, there could be only one explanation.
There he was now.
Griffin came into view, carrying a bale of hay. He dropped it on the lawn and patted the horse’s neck while it snuffled in and started to munch. Then he caught sight of Vanessa and sent a salute.
Okay. She knew what this was about. And a part of her was touched. Another part remembered the receipt she’d found on her father’s desk for that extravagant saddle. She’d never confronted either man about the discovery. She was too embarrassed for having been suckered in.
Through the opened window, she called out, “I’m not allowed a fairytale horse in my backyard.”
“I checked. You’re allowed.”
She grabbed a robe and joined him outside. The horse stomped a hind hoof, shook its blue tail.
“You’ve obviously gone to lot of trouble, but…”
He took the piece of straw from his mouth. “Too corny?”
“We’re not kids anymore.”
Funny, but this minute, those words made even more sense to her than perhaps they did to him. It really was time to grow up. Face what had to be faced and get it sorted.
Vanessa took his hand, led him toward the back landing. They sat side by side on a step.
“Griffin―”
“Wait. I need to say something first.”
She sat back. “Okay.”
“It’s stupid. Really. But I want you to know…the saddle, the blue saddle with all those glittering stones…”
She was listening. “What about the saddle?”
“Ronan gave me the idea.”
She kept a straight face. “Oh, he did.”
“We were having coffee a week after that auction. He’d made a sizeable donation and I wanted to thank him personally. Anyway I was telling him the story about you losing that toy saddle all those years ago. How I’d wanted to find it for you and but never did. The place where he bought his model boats did all kinds of custom made stuff. He phoned and I spoke to the store that morning.” His lifted his gaze from his gym shoes to her eyes. “And, well, that’s my confession. We did collaborate on that one.”
Vanessa seriously didn’t know what to say. Except maybe the truth.
“I found the receipt on my father’s desk. I saw that interaction playing out differently.” Like a manoeuvre meant to hook and rope her in.
She could still choose to see it that way, but something far more important needed addressing.
“My turn,” she said. “I want you to take a deep breath.”
He sucked in, held it. “Okay.”
“I’m pregnant.”
That breath came out in a rush at the same time he tipped back and his elbows caught his weight on the higher step behind them. He sat there looking at her for what seemed an eternity, not blinking, not moving. She had thought he’d had a brain seizure or had simply turned to stone when he finally shifted to scratch his head hard and fast.
“We’re having a baby?”
“Early days yet.”
“How early?”
“Four months.”
“You knew all that time…on the day your father passed away? Why didn’t you say something?” He gripped her shoulders hard before obviously reconsidering and readjusting the hold. His voice was suddenly threadbare. “You’ve been going through this on your own?”
“That’s why I’m taking time off. My doctor said I should take it easy for a while.”
“Absolutely. I mean, what can I do?” He nodded, smiled, although it was strained. “Besides the obvious.”
“The obvious being…?”
“A baby needs his father.”
“I agree.”
His chest expanded and he nodded. “Okay. So, we’ll make it a low-key affair. No fuss. What’s important is keeping you healthy. Both of you safe.”
“There isn’t going to be a wedding. You said yourself. You’re not ready for parenthood. I can’t do anything about that. It’s happening, ready or not. But I don’t want…” She rephrased. “We don’t need to get married because it’s the right thing to do.”
“Contradiction right there. Because it is the right thing to do.”
“It wasn’t for your parents. Isn’t for a lot of couples who would be better off co-parenting rather than rushing into something that feels…forced.”
He looked so confused. “But I love being with you.”
“That’s different to till death us do part. Ask your mother.”
He flinched before his jaw jutted. “I’m not Stanley.”
“I know. You’re a person who makes his own choices.” She added, “So am I.”
Chapter 13
Four months later, Point St. Claire.
Vanessa got used to seeing him around. After all, it had been Griffin’s town long before it was hers. He had as much right to spend time here as she did.
Picking up groceries, she’d come across Griffin chatting to Judd Everett. At the café, he would have coffee with friends. Max Devlin, an architect. Helene Masters; she was the woman who’d become that prince’s maid, and more recently wife.
A month ago, Vanessa had been visiting Griffin’s mom when he’d shown up announced. Straight away, he’d said he’d leave, but Vanessa had told him of course he should stay. They’d shared tea and cake, lots and talk and even some jokes.
Yeah. This co-parenting thing was going to work.
Then, last week, she and Griffin had dinner out. They’d discussed whether they still wanted to leave the gender a surprise. Whether a newborn girl should be dressed in green. Whether a newborn boy should ever wear mauve? Who would be the godparents? Disposables or cloth? Which schools? What name?
The biggest question was: when would he, or she, arrive?
Although carrying her basketball tummy around had gotten more difficult, every morning, when winter weather permitted, Vanesssa went for a walk. Now, as she wrapped the red and gold scarf Maureen had knitted around her neck, popped the matching beanie on her head and stepped out into the fresh air, Vanessa thought of her last visit to their obstetrician in Boston. The baby was breech, bottom rather than head pointing down. The doctor said if the baby hadn’t swung around by next week, he would book in a C-section.
Natural was the way to go, but both she and Griffin agreed. They wouldn’t delay scheduling the Caesar if that’s what needed to be done.
Past the gate, on the shovelled sidewalk, she was about to turn left. Griffin’s house was to the right, and if she went that way, she’d be gripped by an almighty urge to go knock on his door. He’d make hot chocolate, they’d talk and talk, and Vanessa would leave wondering again if she was being pig-headed.
First off, as far as Griffin and her father having conspired to have her wed for mutual gain… Given her baby hormones had been all over the place at the time and she’d been feeling a little more than fragile―well, maybe she’d over-reacted. Yes, a marriage would have benefited both men. Ronan would have the son-in-law of his personal and business dreams. Griffin would have taken control of Toomey Constructions, a major feather in his business tycoon cap.
But neither of them had intended to hurt her.
No one had flat out schemed.
And as far as the more important ‘here and now’ went…Griffin was really trying.
Since he’d found out about the baby, he still ran both companies, but more and more by electronic means, same way she and Jace kept VeeTee
Fashions running smoothly for now. On a highly personal note, Griffin was caring without being smothering. Organized without trying to takeover the show. He seemed, well, relaxed about the prospect of becoming a dad.
And that confirmed at least one thing. She’d been right not to accept Griffin’s proposal.
One day…maybe.
She would know when―or if―it was the right time, even if Griffin didn’t.
Now Vanessa headed off, gloved hands stuck in parka pockets, but then she stopped, pulled off her beanie and listened. The sound echoed again through the treetops. Isolated. Sharp. Like the crack of a whip or bang of an air gun.
Vanessa guessed way more likely that someone was belting in a few nails. Maybe building a birdhouse or extending a back deck. One thing was for sure. It wasn’t Griffin out in the snow, hammer in hand. Although he had mentioned putting up a cubbyhouse out front of his place. He’d even drawn up some rough plans, and had spoken with Max Devlin’s teenage son, who was apparently very creative with timber.
Had they started already?
Beanie back on, Vanessa made her way toward Griffin’s place. And, yes, someone was in the front yard. Not a teenager, though. Rather a tall gorgeous man dressed in a winter jacket and boots. As she came nearer, he straightened from measuring a length of timber. Then he set aside the tape to reach for a tool. Like, automatically. Without a second thought. He picked up the hammer and positioned a nail on the wood.
The hammer swung back and―
Vanessa bit her lip, shut her eyes.
Griffin had told her, and more than once. He was no good at that stuff. He didn’t ‘build’. For fear of inevitable injury, he supervised. And yet…
The sound of hammer head hitting nail echoed through the air again, clear and precise. Vanessa opened one eye, then the other, and released that pent up breath. Because there he was. Doing what he wouldn’t or couldn’t have done a year ago.
Then (oh god) it happened.
His arm swung back. The hammer struck. But not the nail this time. His poor brave thumb.
Griffin jumped, dropped the hammer and swore loud enough to shake the leaves on next block’s bushes.
It was horrible. There was absolutely no reason to laugh. But she did. It just…came out.
His gaze snapped up. Sucking the side of his thumb, he strode through last night’s glistening layer of snow to the fence.
Vanessa swallowed the laughter and put on a curious face. “What are you doing?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” He stuck out his hand and presented the wound. “I’m having fun.”
When she laughed again, his scowl vanished and he laughed, too. And that look on his face, so fresh and alive and inviting… Vanesssa could smell that hot chocolate now. The warmth of his home.
Which meant she ought to be on her way.
“I need to get in a walk before it snows again.”
“Sure thing.”
He looked as if he was about to lean over the fence and grab a kiss before he remembered that particular state of affairs was currently off limits.
Instead, he hooked that sore thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll get back to it then.”
Did he know what he was saying? Doing? He was walking away, sweeping that hammer off the ground where he’d dropped it, and actually going back for more?
She entered through the gate and stood behind him as he lifted the hammer again. This time it struck the nail dead on. The next time, too, and the next and the next.
He was totally absorbed. But finally he must have sensed her standing there behind him. He lowered the hammer, turned around and narrowed his eyes, playful and inherently sexy.
“Well?”
“Don’t you have an email to draft?” she asked. “A drawing to correct?”
“Right now, I have a cubbyhouse to build. Might take me until he’s a freshman in high school…”
She laughed again, and then rested her palms on the top of her belly. “You’re really not going anywhere, are you?”
He looked at her as if that were a trick question. Then, his boots crunching on the snow, he stepped closer. Actually took her hand for the first time in months.
“You and I are having a baby,” he said. “And he, or she, will know their father. Will see him every single day until you’re both sick of the sight of him.”
“Or until you get tired of hitting your thumb and want to get back to being a boss.”
Griffin’s gaze intensified. He almost looked hurt.
“I don’t want to be a boss as much as I want to be a father. Have a family. And I want that with you.” He lifted her hand and pressed his lips to her inside wrist. “Only you.”
Vanessa’s heart squeezed so much, her head began to tingle. She siphoned in a quivering breath, tried to ground her feelings.
She must have looked faint or something because Griffin’s brows knitted before he gently raised her chin with a knuckle. “The baby…?”
“I’m not in labor, Griffin. I’m―”
“In love.” He cupped her cheek as he smiled and murmured, “Me, too. For the longest time.”
Her heartbeat was pounding. Her lips suddenly felt too rubbery to form a single word. She swallowed against the lump and got it out.
“You never said.”
“It feels right now, don’t you think?” He grinned. “More right than chocolate with caramel. Or carols at Christmas time.” He searched her eyes. “You and me. We feel right. And our beautiful baby makes three.”
His lips touched hers and all those incredible, wonderful feelings came rushing back, sweeping her away until knees were weak and tears leaked from the corners of her eyes.
Then his mouth covered hers and the struggle and uncertainty washed away. She felt only love and trust and hope.
Most of all she felt faith. In him. In their future.
As the kiss broke, he held her as close as her big belly allowed. “I love you, Nessa.”
She tried to firm up her wobbling lower lip. “I love you too.”
“I’ll always love you.” His brow pinched. “Do you believe me?”
Action spoke louder than words, so she leaned in and showed him just how much.
Epilogue
Griffin was a wreck.
He’d told himself a thousand times. Nothing would go wrong. He and Nessa had something so amazing and special―so meant to be―fate could never be that cruel.
But, if anything did happen…
Griffin lowered his head into his hands.
Beside him, his mother reached and squeezed his shoulder. “Vanessa is in excellent hands, Giffy. Any minute now, the doctor will come striding out with the good news.”
Griffin’s stomach only twisted more. He couldn’t swallow over the stone aching and stuck in his throat. Two hours ago, Nessa had shaken him awake, saying all kinds of stuff in a rush that didn’t make sense. Then he felt warmth seep across the sheet. He caught the faint metallic scent of blood.
She said she could walk but he’d carried her to the car. When he went back to grab the bag she’d packed for the hospital and his coat. Rushing out again, he checked the inside pocket, felt the jewelry box.
He’d planned to ask her after the baby was born.
Now, more people rushed into the waiting room. Max Devlin and his wife Olivia, and Emma Bagwell. Belinda Slade and Helene had arrived a few minutes earlier.
“We heard,” Emma said, sinking into a seat right next to him as she removed her winter gloves. “How is she?”
Griffin knew he should answer but he couldn’t. Every morsel of strength was needed to keep focused. To concentrate on this day ending well. There would be laughter and hugs and why the hell wouldn’t anyone come through that door and let him know what was happening? Just a word to say Nessa, and their baby, were doing okay.
The pregnancy was going so well. The baby had turned. Their obstetrician had said there was no real chance of a breech now.
But they should have gone with a cae
sar. Booked in early so there wasn’t any risk.
Finally Damon Knight appeared. His scrubs weren’t covered in blood. Good sign. But as the doctor closed the distance separating them and Griffin stood on shaky legs, Damon wiped his brow with his forearm and exhaled like he’d just run a marathon.
“Griffin, you can go through now. Nessa wants to see you.”
Relief filtered through, a tingling warm rush that left him feeling giddy. But then Griffin’s chest tightened.
“The baby…?”
Damon smiled. “A son.”
In all his life, Griffin could never remember crying. Now, as everyone hugged him at once, he was aware of damp on his cheeks. He didn’t care if the whole world saw his tears. He would never ask for anything again, except to be with his family, now and every day of his life.
A moment later, he was at Nessa’s recovery bedside. She slowly opened her eyes, blinked and then smiled like he alone had made the sun rise that day.
Her voice was croaky, barely audible. “We made it.”
As Griffin’s throat convulsed, he buried his face in her damp hair and murmured, “We sure did.”
A voice filtered across―a nurse. “Want some company?”
As Griffin straightened, she laid a warm swaddled bundle in his arms. A perfect tiny face. Fingers so small, like a doll’s. When they wiggled now, Griffin’s eyes misted over again and he laughed. He’d never been so happy. Had never felt more blessed.
There’s nothing like a father’s love for his children.
And that was the honest truth.
“A new little life.” Nessa sighed. “He looks like a Ronan, don’t you think?”
Griffin shifted his gaze from his newborn son to his wife. Nessa’s eyes were edged with tears, too.
“Definitely a Ronan,” he said.
She groaned, closed her eyes. “I could sleep for a week.” Then she sighed and opened them again. “But I don’t want to miss a single moment.”
Griffin gently laid their baby in the crook of Nessa’s arm and then lowered his head to first kiss his son’s forehead, and then his wife, on her flushed cheek and welcoming lips. And as they gazed down at the miracle they’d created and would love until the end of time, Griffin sent up a prayer knowing it would be answered.