The Instant Family Man

by Shirley Jump

  Maddy was seated at the head of the table—Bobby giving up his customary seat to his first grandchild—and Peyton and Luke offered to bring in the platters from the kitchen. The busy hum of family conversation came in waves from the other room behind them. Maddy’s birthday cake, a two-tiered pink-and-white confection with a quartet of sparkly pink candles, sat on the counter, waiting for the big moment.

  “Before we go in there for dinner, I wanted to tell you something. After I left this morning, I did some thinking,” Peyton said, “And I had a good conversation with Cassie. I ran out of your house because I was scared. I was afraid that if I told you how I felt, it would make me vulnerable to being hurt. To being let down. I decided that taking the leap is better than always wondering what if.”

  He couldn’t blame Peyton for feeling that way. After all, he hadn’t given her any reason to think that what was happening between them was going to last past her vacation.

  “Before you leap anywhere, I have a confession of my own,” Luke said. She started to protest but he put a finger over her lips. “I was an idiot last night. I screwed it all up, and I’m just going to chalk it up to a first time.”

  “First time? Surely you don’t mean—”

  He chuckled. “I don’t mean sex. I mean first time falling in love. You are the first woman I have ever fallen in love with, and I want you to be the last.”

  “You’re...you’re in love with me?” She blinked.

  “Totally and completely. In fact, I was about ready to hop in my car and chase after you. All the way to Maryland, if need be.” He took her hands in his and held tight. “When you first showed up on my porch, I was scared as hell. I didn’t know how to be a dad, how to be anything other than what I’ve been for the last few years, which wasn’t much. And then seeing you with Maddy...that scared me even more.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you are like mom of the year. You worry about the filleruppers and the schedules and everything I never even thought of.” Peyton was an incredible woman, and if she ended up loving him even a tenth of how much he loved her, he was going to be one hell of a lucky guy. “And you...you take care. In such a wonderful way.”

  “It’s just being a parent, Luke. You’re going to be a great one, too.”

  “I’m going to try. But right this second, I want to be a great man. A man that you could fall in love with.”

  She drew in a breath and met his gaze. “I did that a long time ago, Luke Barlow, and I never stopped. For as long as I can remember, I dreamed of being with you, of being the one you looked at with love in your eyes. I even dreamed of being here, wrapped in this warm and wonderful Barlow family, and going to Sunday dinner.”

  “And now you’re here.” He grinned. He loved this woman, loved her stubbornness and her heart and the way she made him work harder for the things he desired most. “And I, for one, am damned glad. Especially because it saves me an eight-hour drive to do this.” He dropped down on one knee and popped open a box. In it sat his high school class ring, a thick silver band with football players flanking either side of the center ruby. “If you’ll have this slightly damaged bachelor, then I’d like to make an honest woman out of you, Peyton.”

  Her fingers fluttered to her mouth. “What...what are you saying, Luke?

  “Marry me. Because I love you. There isn’t another woman in the world I want to be with. I promise, we’ll live wherever you want, as long as we live together.”

  Her gaze went around the kitchen, then out to the rowdy crowd seated at the dining room table. “But if we live here, we get to go to Sunday family dinners.”

  “You do indeed. Like it or not, my mom expects us every single Sunday. All of us.”

  “Speaking of Sunday dinner,” Jack shouted from the other room, “when are we getting some?”

  “Hold on a second,” Luke called back. “I’m trying to propose to the woman I love here.”

  “Well, it’s about damned time,” Jack said. Della shushed him for cursing.

  Luke laughed, then turned back to Peyton. “Will you marry me, Peyton? And before you say anything, I know it’s not a real engagement ring, but it was the only one I had handy. Think of it as a temporary—”

  “Yes,” she said, taking the box from him, slipping the ring into place on her left hand. It was too big, and it spun on her finger, but Peyton didn’t care. “This...this is perfect.”

  He got to his feet and drew her against his chest. He could feel her heartbeat, feel her every breath. Luke leaned in and kissed her, a tender, long kiss that held promises for later.

  Then Jack started shouting from the dining room that the food wasn’t getting any warmer while the family waited on the lovebirds, and the moment was broken. Luke and Peyton broke apart, laughing like two teenagers caught making out on the porch after curfew. Luke picked up a pair of platters and turned to Peyton. “Guess we better feed everybody before they start charging the kitchen.”

  They loaded up as much as they could carry and headed into the dining room. Just as Peyton was putting the chicken in front of Bobby, a low rumbling started outside, growing in volume until it became a roar. Just as quickly, the sound died.

  “What the he—” Bobby’s curse was cut off by a stern look of intervention from Della. “What? Who drives a motorcycle that loud? Sounds like it was in our driveway, too.”

  “I told him to come,” Della said, her eyes misty. “I wasn’t sure he would.”

  Then the front door opened and a familiar figure dressed in black jeans and a dark leather jacket strode through the door. He took off his helmet and grinned the same grin that three other men in that house had. “I heard one of you is getting married and I’m here to talk you out of it.”

  Jack laughed and got to his feet. He clapped his brother on the back. “Sorry, Mac, you’re too late. I’m already in love. Might want to talk to the other one. He just got engaged five seconds ago.” Jack nodded toward Luke.

  Mac scoffed. “I go away for a few years and this is the kind of craziness I come home to?”

  Della wrapped her oldest son in a hug and drew him toward the table. “It’s the best kind of craziness, so hush up and enjoy your family.” She placed a kiss on his temple, as if he was five years old again. “It’s good to have you home.”

  Mac captured his mother’s hand on his shoulder and gave her a smile that seemed a little dimmer, as if whatever Mac had left behind was still haunting him on the ride. “Good to be back, Mama.”

  Luke and Peyton went into the kitchen for the rest of the dishes, and a place setting for Mac. Luke gathered the basket of rolls and the glass butter dish his mother used only on Sundays. He snuck a quick kiss on Peyton’s lips just as she was grabbing a plate. “So where are we going to live, Mrs. Barlow-to-Be?”

  Peyton looked around the homey kitchen, filled with homemade bread and homemade memories. Who knew that what she had been dreaming of, what she had been seeking in all those books she’d read, was already right under her nose? She thought of Maddy’s smiles, and how they seemed brighter here, surrounded by people who loved her. “Right here. In Stone Gap. That is, after all, where my heart is. Where it’s always been.”

  Luke smiled, that charming grin that had won Peyton’s heart a dozen years ago, and gave her one more kiss. “Mine, too, Peyton.” His gaze went to his daughter, who gave him a wide, toothy smile, then circled back to the woman who had made his life complete. “Mine, too.”

  * * * * *

  Don’t miss Mac Barlow’s story,

  the next installment in

  New York Times bestselling author Shirley Jump’s Special Edition miniseries

  THE BARLOW BROTHERS

  Keep reading for an excerpt from DYLAN’S DADDY DILEMMA by Tracy Madison.

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  Chapter One

  Now what? Defeated and drained, Chelsea Bell tugged on her four-year-old son’s hand and led them toward the battered, almost-out-of-gas Chevy Malibu that had brought them the 260-plus miles from Pueblo to Steamboat Springs, Colorado.

  Henry didn’t ask why they were returning to the car, just shuffled alongside her, his spare body bowed against the chilly wind. Surprising, really, when just minutes ago she’d promised that they were done driving for a while, and that this beautiful A-frame house with its amazing mountain views was their new—albeit, temporary—home.

  The house-sitting job had been exactly what she needed for a fresh start. A roof over their heads and decent pay for close to five months meant she’d have plenty of time to locate permanent employment and a small, affordable place to live when the seasonal gig ended in September. Unfortunately, seconds after knocking on the front door, she’d learned that they’d come all this way for nothing. The job was gone, given to someone else.

  A solid portion of bad luck, timing and her own poor judgment were to blame.

  First, her car had malfunctioned, requiring last-minute repairs the mechanic had deemed nothing more than Band-Aids. He’d strongly suggested she junk the car and put her money toward something newer. Of course, she couldn’t afford newer, so she’d gone with the short-term fix and used a chunk of her not-so-healthy savings in the process.

  Then Henry had awakened with the flu on the day they were supposed to leave, delaying them further. She’d called her would-be employers twice before her pay-as-you-go phone had run out of minutes, had left messages but hadn’t actually spoken with them. And seeing how she’d spent so much to fix her car and didn’t trust it wouldn’t break down again, she’d decided to conserve her drastically dwindling funds rather than adding more minutes.

  She should have bought the minutes, because when the home owners attempted to reach her and found her phone out of service, they’d assumed she’d bailed. A logical assumption under the circumstances, and one she likely would have made in a similar situation. Understanding the whys, however, didn’t change her current predicament one iota.

  There were no two ways about it. She was good and stuck.

  Shivering as much from her jagged emotions as the cold, late-winter weather, Chelsea opened the door to the backseat. “Hop in, kid,” she said in as cheery a voice as she could muster. “Seems our plans have changed. How does dinner sound? I bet you’re hungry.”

  “I thought we were staying here.” Henry crawled into the safety booster seat and tiredly rubbed his eyes. Unlike most kids, he never slept well in the car, so the long drive had worn him out. Her, too, but she’d grown accustomed to exhaustion. “I don’t wanna drive anymore.”

  “We’re not going far,” she promised. “I saw several restaurants in the center of town. I was thinking we could stop for burgers and fries.” After buckling him in, she tousled the top of his sandy-brown-covered head. “Unless you’d rather have another peanut-butter sandwich?”

  In an effort to save for this trip, their menu for the past many weeks had largely consisted of peanut-butter sandwiches. She had little doubt her son would jump at the chance to eat his favorite dinner in a real restaurant. An extravagance she absolutely couldn’t afford, but the kid had to eat and she needed the break to decide what they should do next.

  “Burgers!” Henry’s face lit up in a megawatt smile. “And a root beer!”

  “Milk,” she countered. “You had a soda when we stopped for gas.”

  “Juice?”

  “Milk,” she repeated before closing his door. Always the negotiator, that was her son. She slid into her seat and with a silent prayer put the key into the ignition. The engine balked, hacking and coughing itself awake before settling into its normal state of aggravated compliance. She backed out of the driveway with a sigh of relief.

  Henry remained quiet as they drove, likely due to a combination of fatigue and contemplation over the milk debate. Breathing deeply, Chelsea tried to ignore the heavy pressure on her chest. This was bad. Really bad. Other than Henry—who counted on her to make his world safe—she was alone in a strange city with little cash and nowhere to go.

  Tears stung her eyes as the reality of her dilemma sank in.

  Should they turn around and return to Pueblo? She didn’t have to look in her wallet to know it held one crumpled five-dollar bill and two twenties. There were a couple of ones in her coat pocket and probably a handful of change lurking in the bottom of her purse. All told, she had less than fifty dollars to her name. Enough, maybe, to get them back to Pueblo. If she drove straight through and her car didn’t gasp its last breath en route. But why?

  She’d spend most—if not all—of her cash in the process, and frankly, there wasn’t much of anything left for them in Pueblo. No home. No job. No true friendships. Henry’s father—if anyone dared call Joel Marin that—had walked into the sunset shortly after learning she was pregnant. For most of Henry’s life, she hadn’t heard one peep from him, but six months ago, she’d received a postcard—a damn postcard, mailed from California—with a scrawled “Was thinking of you and wanted to say hi!”

  Really? Close to five years, zero communication, zero support, zero interest in Henry, and he sent her that? And how had he gotten her address?

  She didn’t know, but she’d thrown the postcard into the trash and had put him and it out of her mind. Then, two months ago, she’d heard he was back in Pueblo. He hadn’t shown up on her doorstep, so she’d assumed he didn’t want to see Henry, but just knowing they were in the same city was enough for her to decide to pick up stakes and move on.

  Plainly speaking, she wanted nothing to do with Joel Marin. Ever again. And she felt more emphatically about keeping Joel away from Henry. Her son deserved better than a fly-by-night, immature man who had bolted from his responsibilities as a father. The fact Joel was now in Pueblo only added a check mark to the con side of her what-to-do-next list.

  And what remained of Chelsea’s family—save her sister, but Lindsay had her own set of problems—would just as soon hang up on her than offer their help.

  So. She could be broke, alone and homeless in Pueblo and deal with the remote possibility of Joel popping into her life, or almost broke, alone and homeless in Steamboat Springs, but without the worry of Joel hanging over her head.

  Inappropriate laughter bubbled in her chest. When thought of like that, the choice was pretty damn simple. Sad and scary, but simple. She’d rather save the money she had and take her chances here than head back to a place she couldn’t wait to leave.

  Okay, then. One decision made. Now she just had to find a new fresh start. She’d done it before and she could do so again.

  “You win, Mommy,” Henry said from the backseat. “I’ll drink the milk.”

  “You will, huh? That’s good to hear.”

  “Yup! Chocolate milk!”

  She almost argued, but decided to give in on this front. “I think we can make that happen.” Amused despite the weight of her fears, Chelsea braked at a stop sign. Her son’s tenacious, never-give-up attitude always reminded her of what was important. Even when the world seemed bent on crumbling around them. So, yeah, he’d get his chocolate milk, and she’d keep them safe. Somehow. “Thank you, Henry.”

  “For what?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Just for being you.”

  Henry laughed, and the normalcy—the joy—of that sound wov
e into her heart and rekindled her hope. “I like being me,” he said, “so it’s easy. And fun!”

  And that, Chelsea thought as she pulled into the parking lot of a place called Foster’s Pub and Grill, was a motto everyone should live by.

  * * *

  Dylan Foster winked at the curvaceous blonde who’d flirted mercilessly with him ever since sitting down at the bar an hour earlier. She’d started off with a beer before moving on to a rum and Diet Coke, and had just ordered a Snowshoe shooter, which consisted of bourbon whiskey and peppermint schnapps. Three drinks in an hour didn’t cause him concern—he’d obviously seen far quicker consumption rates—nor did the relatively quick uptick in the alcohol percentage in each successive drink bother him all that much.

  What worried Dylan was the look in the blonde’s eyes. He’d tended bar at his family’s establishment long enough to recognize when someone was on a mission, and unless he was completely off base, this woman was bent on retaliation. Probably due to some man doing something stupid and ticking her off. Or breaking her heart. Or, he supposed, both.

  And he drew these conclusions based on the mix of sorrow and heat in her gaze, her relentless come-ons toward him and the guy sitting next to her—hedging her bets, he assumed—and finally, the way she kept looking over her shoulder toward the pub’s entrance. Waiting for the husband or boyfriend to show up and find her drunk-happy with some other guy.

  Not him. He wasn’t interested in a one-night, two-night or any-number-of-nights stand. But the man seated on the bar stool to the left of the blonde had responded eagerly to her not-so-subtle advances. Which could then mean a potential fight if and when Mr. Heartbreaker chose to make an appearance. So, yep, Dylan was concerned.