Man's Best Friend (The Dogmothers Book 6)

by Roxanne St Claire

  Evie and Declan left Waterford right after the game, laden with leftovers for her grandfather. Before Declan drove her home, they zipped by Vestal Valley to check on Judah, who was off his IV and quite alert. He seemed happy to see them and even was able to get out of his pen and take a short stroll around, so Evie confirmed she could take him home the next day.

  On the way to Gloriana House, Declan rooted for a way to drag this perfect day out a little longer. But when he pulled his truck into the drive, Evie reached over and took his hand, her cheeks flushed from the sun and active day.

  “Stay for a while,” she said simply.

  He exhaled and laughed. “So I don’t have to manufacture a reason?”

  She lifted his hand to her lips, holding his gaze. “I want you to. Is that reason enough?”

  The words gave him a kick and the incentive to lean across the console and give her a kiss on the lips. “More than enough. Come on. Max’s linner is officially dinner now.”

  She cupped his cheek, smiling into his eyes. “I love that you know that. And care.”

  After one more quick kiss, they took the food in, prepared a tray, and Declan put everything away while Evie went upstairs to spend some time with her grandfather. While waiting for her, he wandered around the downstairs for a minute, checking on his newel, testing a few of the windows, and admiring how clean the chandelier was.

  After a moment, he stopped in the monstrous dining room, imagining all the dinners that had taken place over the years at the table that could easily sit eighteen people, maybe more.

  They sure could have a Sunday dinner there, he mused, leaning against the doorjamb. What would it be like to see this room lit and lively again? He’d never noticed the details as a kid, but now he could really see the craftsmanship in the wainscoting and the beauty of the coffered ceiling.

  “Looking for things to fix?” Evie came up behind him, sliding her arms around his waist and pressing against his back.

  “Imagining this place full.”

  “You can see it for yourself at the Founder’s Day event.”

  He placed his hands over hers to prevent her from slipping away, because even against his back, she felt good. “I bet there were some unbelievable dinners here.”

  “Two governors of North Carolina have dined in this room,” she said.

  “Really? I didn’t know that.”

  “Family history says Amelia Bushrod went into labor with Evangeline in here, and Thad Jr. put her on the table until the doctor came and they got her upstairs for the delivery.”

  He laughed softly, finally bringing her to his side so he could put his arm around her. “How do you know all this?”

  “It’s all in the museum room. In journals and articles from the Bitter Bark Banner. In pictures and albums.” She eased him that way. “Want to see the picture of Governor Cherry in 1946?”

  “Sure. I haven’t been in that room all that often. It was always off-limits.”

  “I remember one time you were in there, for my piano recital when we were in eighth grade.” She grunted. “I hated that Grandmama made me do that every year. My mom put her foot down on the debutante ball, but dear old Penelope won the recital battle.”

  “You played a Beethoven symphony,” he said as they reached the double doors. “I was blown away.”

  “‘Ode to Joy,’ Old Ludwig’s Ninth Symphony. Please, it impresses, but isn’t very difficult.”

  “Do you ever play now?”

  “I haven’t for years. But no one has asked me quite as frequently as your grandmother and Yiayia. I think they’ve suggested it every time I’ve seen them.”

  He turned to her, frowning. “Really? I wonder why.”

  “Who knows with those two?” She guided him toward a wall of gold-framed photographs, many sepia-toned and yellowed with age. “Here’s the picture. That’s my great-grandfather Montgomery Hewitt and Governor R. Gregg Cherry.”

  He studied it for a moment, more interested in her great-grandfather than the stuffy-looking governor. “Granddaddy Monty?”

  She laughed. “Maybe privately with Evangeline. To the rest of the world, he was Montgomery Jasper Hewitt the Third, the man who started the Bitter Bark Bank, which he ran until Max did.”

  “Your father sold it, though, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, when Granddaddy retired. That’s why it’s a Wells Fargo now.”

  He stepped closer to the framed picture, squinting. “I can see your eyes.”

  “But I don’t have the moustache.”

  “Thank God.” He took a few steps to the right, his gaze drawn to a glass-covered display of close to fifty different lighters, some gold, some brass, some engraved, two shaped like cars, about seven shaped like various handguns, and one that looked like a genie’s lamp with a small placard that said 1821 on it. “Wow, that’s two hundred years old?”

  “Worth a small fortune, too.”

  Some of them might be, he thought. The more modern Zippos weren’t so impressive, though some had cool engravings, but even an untrained eye could see this collection was worth many thousands of dollars.

  “Every man in the family has collected lighters,” Evie said. “Starting with Thad the First. His son was a supercollector, and Montgomery picked it up when he married Evangeline. Granddaddy kept up the tradition, but my dad wasn’t interested.”

  All these lighters and lighter fluid on hand twenty years ago…yet all but one of the investigators had dismissed the idea that lighter fluid had been used as an accelerant to set the fire. He stared at the collection, gnawing at his lower lip as he thought about all he’d read that week about the fire.

  Could someone in the house have set it using the—

  “Declan?” Evie’s fingers curled around his arm. “What is it?”

  He turned to her. “You always know when I’m thinking something, don’t you?”

  “It’s my superpower,” she joked. “Animals and Declan.” She studied him for a moment. “What were you thinking just then?”

  “Truth? About lighter fluid.”

  He saw her expression change and instantly regretted that truth. He didn’t want to talk about the fire tonight. Didn’t want to think about it. Today had been too perfect and so long overdue that he wasn’t going to derail it by going…to that place, as she’d put it.

  “Hey.” He flattened his hand over hers, giving her fingers a squeeze. “How about some of that wine you offered the other day?”

  “After a Bloody Mary today? You’ve gone straight off the rails, Mahoney.”

  He laughed. “I’m not on duty until tomorrow afternoon, and I enjoyed that drink.”

  “I know. Your happy glow was the talk of the town.”

  He rolled his eyes and walked away from the lighters toward the middle of the room. “They all act like I’ve been some kind of ogre. Someone had to take charge of that gang.”

  “Well, no one has to take charge tonight,” she said. “I’ll be right back with wine, and we can make toasting jokes like the old days.”

  “Perfect.”

  When she left, he took a steadying breath and one more glance at the lighters, then looked away. Not tonight.

  Instead, he walked over to the giant, gaudy piano that looked like it had been rolled right out of the Munsters’ house. Carved from dark wood with intricate designs and curlicues, the gold letters that said Krakauer above the keyboard were as shiny as he imagined they were the day this thing was built.

  Which had to have been nearly a hundred years ago.

  He grazed his finger along the key cover, noticing some very light prints in the fine, nearly invisible layer of dust. Had someone opened this recently? Evie said she hadn’t played in a long time, so who would have done that?

  Didn’t she say Yiayia had been in here? And Grandma Finnie? So…

  He put his hand over the fingerprints and lifted the keyboard lid, which weighed a ton and squeaked like a cat. The minute he did, he saw an index card between two keys. Wer
e the keys broken, or was that a note, or—

  He sucked in a noisy breath when he picked it up and stared at his own printing, distinct and familiar and…

  Oh God.

  DECLAN’S PROMISE

  The words stared back at him, in screaming capital letters, raised like a dead man from the emotional basement, which was the only place Declan would expect the memory of this card to make an appearance.

  I, Declan Joseph Mahoney, being of sound mind and body…

  He closed his eyes, transported back, still hearing her voice as she teased. It was pretty sound last night.

  The memory sucker-punched him, forcing him to open his eyes and read.

  Do hereby swear that I will wait for Evangeline May Hewitt…

  And what had she said to that? There’s nothing worse than a broken promise. Good God, that’s all he had done for twenty years. Break promises.

  For twenty years and anytime in between, I promise to be whatever she needs me to be. I will be her friend, lover, husband, confidant, partner, provider…

  That’s when he’d caught her crying, he remembered, when she said, You already are everything, Dec.

  Really? Because then he turned into a self-involved promise-breaker. He forced himself to read the rest.

  …chauffeur, chef, traveling partner, fellow camper, handyman, and father to our

  He’d never finished writing the sentence. The one promise he could still keep, and he hadn’t written the damn words, but he did sign the promise with a flourish. And sometime after that, he’d lost this card. He’d remembered it only a few years later and assumed he’d thrown it away, like the rest of his life back then.

  But someone had kept it. His grandmother, of course. And she left it here for Evie to find. To what end? To make her remember that he was the worst friend ever? To make her—

  “You are not going to make me play ‘Ode to Joy.’”

  He stuffed the card into his jeans pocket without giving himself a nanosecond to consider why he was doing that. He had to think about it, had to reread it, had to take at least some time to wallow in self-loathing and thank God she’d forgiven him. He had to…

  “Declan?”

  Of course, Dr. Dolittle would read his thoughts and know everything.

  He turned, determined not to give anything away. “Yeah?”

  She frowned at him, coming closer. “Are you all right?”

  “I was just…thinking.”

  “About your toast?” She handed him a glass of red wine. “Because I have mine all ready.” She grinned. “It’s a good one.”

  “I can’t wait for this.” He held up the wine and prayed his hand was steady.

  “What did the grape do when he was crushed?” she asked, her eyes glinting with humor.

  “He let out a little wine?”

  “Oh, you know me too well.” She dinged his glass. “Your turn.”

  “Evie…” He took a slow breath, not sure how to say what he had to say and definitely not sure how to turn it into a toast. He couldn’t joke. This was too serious.

  Her frown returned as she studied him. “What is it, Dec?”

  “Let’s have a baby.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Evie barely clung to her wineglass. “Excuse me?”

  “I’m serious.”

  “I can tell.” She backed up, more from the sheer force of his expression than the words, which were…shocking. And kind of insanely beautiful. “What…made you want this?”

  “You. Today. This house. Your family. And mine. Us.” His voice was thick on the last word, and he tried to laugh it off. “I can’t even form a sentence.”

  “Really? ’Cause I think ‘Let’s have a baby’ is a pretty well-formed sentence.” She lifted her glass and angled her head. “Can I even drink this, then?”

  “So you’ll do it?”

  She managed a laugh at his enthusiasm, and maybe to cover the shock wave rolling through her. “I’ll drink to talking about it. How about that?” She tried to take a small sip, and he did, too, holding her gaze with one so fiery and intense she couldn’t look away.

  “That’s a start,” he said after he swallowed, leading her toward the settee.

  “Declan.” She dropped down, happy for the support of something under her. “I don’t know—”

  “I do,” he said, the words bathed in certainty. “I know. It’s the right thing to do. And, Evie, before you launch into a laundry list of complications, hear me out. You call the shots. You make the decisions. You live where you want to live, and you’re the boss on this. I’d love to be in our baby’s life. Hell, I’d love to be in your life, in whatever capacity you think is right, but this would be for you.”

  “Wow. You’ve been thinking about this for a while.”

  “I guess I have, but it hit me. The rightness of it. And the…urgency.”

  Really? Was it right? Urgent? Or…terrifying? She lifted a brow, still as puzzled by this sudden change as the very topic itself. “I appreciate you saying it’s for me, but let’s be frank. A baby belongs to two people.” And those two people belonged to each other, at least in a perfect world.

  But was he offering a perfect world or a perfect solution?

  “Of course,” he agreed. “That’s ideal, but what I’m trying to say is don’t let that stop you. You want a baby. You said you want a baby more than life itself. I want to give you…everything you want. Why wouldn’t we at least try?”

  She took a slow breath and set the glass on the table, like he did, and probably for the same reason. The crystal would be much safer there than in her slightly trembling hand.

  “I did try,” she said. “I told you it didn’t work.” As excuses went, it was weak, but it was all she had in the face of this bombshell detonating in front of her.

  “I’ll go with you to a doctor or a specialist, if you like.”

  The offer touched her, making her squeeze his hand. “That’s not necessary. The insemination didn’t take.”

  His eyes flickered at the words. “So clinical.”

  “Oh, it was.” She smiled and dropped back, sliding a look at him. “Cold and uncomfortable.”

  “Maybe that’s why you didn’t get pregnant.”

  She shot him a look. “Uh, sorry to go all doctor on you here, but that’s not how it works.”

  “Really?” He lifted a shoulder. “I’ve heard stories of people who got pregnant only when they stopped trying. Or adopted a baby after years of infertility, only to find out they’re expecting six months later. Maybe you didn’t have your head in the right place.”

  She laughed. “The head’s not involved in reproduction, darling.”

  “I know, but one thing I can promise, E.” He lifted her hands and kissed them. “It won’t be clinical or cold.”

  From way deep in her belly, something awakened and fluttered. Something like a thousand aching, dancing, hungry butterflies. There was no question they’d been on their way to the bedroom, but…a baby? “I guess it would be fun to try.”

  He smiled. “Understatement of the year.”

  For a moment, she didn’t say anything, but blew out another breath, trying to control the whirlwind of emotions that whipped through her. Hope—God, so much of that—and joy and fear and gratitude, all exploding like a glitter bomb in her chest.

  Finally, she reached for her glass and took a deep drink.

  “Did something happen today?” she asked, still not quite getting this rather sudden shift. “One of your grannies talk you into this? Your uncle? I heard he’s done a fair bit of matchmaking to get all his kids married off, too.” Then she caught herself. “Not that you’re suggesting that.”

  “What I’m suggesting is something I promised you a long time ago. You might not remember that once I wrote—”

  She put her hand on his arm. “I remember.”

  “You do?” He looked a little stricken, like a man who wouldn’t want to have made promises he didn’t keep.

  �
�But life happened, Dec.” Actually, death. And they both knew it. “I’m not holding you to anything you wrote that morning.”

  “I’m holding myself to it, and damn it, Evie, it’s not too late. It’s what you want. A baby. You’ll never find a better person for the job.”

  “Talk about an understatement.”

  “No, I mean in terms of giving you exactly what you want. The freedom to do what you want and live how you want…with your baby that I could make with you.”

  But without him right next to her every minute? She appreciated the wildly generous offer, but still doubted it would work out that way. “I don’t really know what I want anymore,” she admitted.

  “Well, start with a baby. You know you want that.”

  “Yes,” she answered without hesitation. “But it isn’t even only the baby, because obviously, that only lasts a few years. But a child. A son or daughter. A friend. A person who’ll be there when I’m old and care about the family treasures and take my advice and maybe give some of their own.” Her voice cracked as emotion welled up.

  He scooted closer, taking both her hands. “What I’m trying to say is you don’t have to make it a package deal. You don’t have to take me to have my baby. I don’t want that to stop you. And I know you don’t want to wait. We’re not kids, and it might not happen right away.”

  “I know.” She bit her lip. “We might have to try over and over again.”

  “Multiple times.” He gave a sly smile. “I can think of so many worse ways to spend a night.”

  “Of course, you’re cheaper and way sexier than the nurse at the fertility clinic.” She pulled him a little closer. “Declan,” she sighed.

  “Evie,” he whispered back.

  “Can I think about it?”

  “All you want. Nonstop. I have been ever since your grandfather planted the idea, and then…” He caught himself.

  “And then what?”

  “I spent time with you,” he said, pulling her closer to wrap an arm around her. “And I’m right back where I was that morning in the mountains.”

  “Oh yeah.” She settled next to him, relaxing into him. “That was a good morning.” Until it wasn’t.

  “I thought I knew how my life was going to go,” he said, stroking her hair. “I figured we’d keep falling more and more in love, then we’d get married, maybe when you graduated from vet school, before you started neurology. Eventually, we’d live here and you’d have a practice, and we’d have kids, but…” His voice trailed off.