The stream opened up to the lake. The north end of the lake had a noise ordinance, but the sounds of jet skis and motorboats could be heard in the distance. Emma’s horse trotted ahead and came to a stop by a small fishing cabin. She turned Lady around and waited for Misty to catch up.
“Hop down, Mom. Rest your legs for a bit.”
Meg, grateful for the opportunity to stretch, slid down the horse until she felt steady ground under foot. She stretched her arms and neck and stood at the edge of the lake.
“Oh, honey, it’s so relaxing here, isn’t it?” She heard the shuffle of horse hooves in the sand and turned to discover Emma and the two horses trotting away from her.
“Emma! Where are you going?” The horses didn’t slow but disappeared into the brush. “Emma! You get back here right now!” Her screaming seemed futile. Her daughter abandoned her. Meg picked up a small rock and tossed it into the lake. “Now what do I do?” she muttered.
“You could come inside with me.”
Startled, Meg turned. Connor. Goosebumps worked their way up from her toes to her fingers. Her heart leaped out of her chest, not from fright but from an overload of love she had kept buried inside for the past month, begging to be released. To Connor. Regaining her composure, she smiled at him.
“I have a feeling I’ve been set up.”
He stayed on the front step of the cabin, hands tucked away in his cargo shorts’ pockets, looking as handsome as she’d ever seen him, scrapes, bruises, and all. “You’re a smart lady.”
Meg bit her bottom lip and stared out onto the lake. “It’s beautiful out here.”
“Mm. Scenery’s a bit nicer from over here.”
She turned back around and slowly walked toward him. “How are you feeling?”
“Amazing.”
“Oh.” There were no clouds in the sky, but it dulled in comparison to the brightness of his eyes. God, she missed him. But before they could stand a chance at reuniting, she needed to tell him the truth. “We need to talk.”
“I have a few other things I’d like to do instead.” He came closer until their bodies brushed, lifted her chin, and touched his lips lightly to hers. The goosebumps came back and her heart relaxed, spilling its contents throughout her body. Meg lifted her arms around his neck and drew his head in for a deeper kiss. Calling it magical and toe curling wouldn’t do it justice. Her body tingled and warmed, her mind swimming but perfectly clear.
He came up for air and rested his forehead against hers. “Damn, I missed you.”
Meg dropped her arms, but he held on to her hands, keeping her close. “We do need to talk.”
Connor led her through the screen door and into a quaint room. The floors were old and scuffed, a raggedy braided rug made the small living area cozy. Mounted fish decorated the walls, as did shelves of football trophies and pictures of Connor and his brothers and sister. She would have rather distanced herself by sitting at the chipped Formica kitchen table, but he sat down on a blue plaid couch that had seen better days.
She shimmied by the rustic, log coffee table and sat. Their knees bumped as she settled next to him. Connor was honest, caring, and kind. He wouldn’t be friends with J.T. if he knew about his sordid past. At least, she hoped he wouldn’t. But there was still her lingering doubt of actual events from that night. She said, “No” over and over again, hadn’t she? Could it be possible she was so drunk that she came on to him? No. She would never have come on to the high school quarterback. Sex was never an image she had conjured up before that night. Sure she imagined kissing a boy, dreamed about what it would feel like, but she was too young and naive to think about sex.
Waking up in the backseat of his car, alone, cold and sore, she knew what she’d lost. What he’d stolen. Now it was time for her to get it back. Her life.
“I need to tell you something about—”
“I know about J.T.,” he said at the same time.
Her spine stiffened as she met his intense gaze. “What do you mean you know?”
Connor shifted closer and stroked her cheek with his thumb. “Sweetheart, I know about J.T.”
Blinking back tears and gasping for air, her first reaction—besides obvious shock—was anger. “You knew? You knew all this time and you never…” she stood up abruptly banging her knee into the coffee table. Rejection was one thing, but for him to have known all along what James—J.T.—had done to her, well, her heart ached from being ripped out of her chest. A stupid, lovesick idiot who was duped not once, but twice. Searching for an escape route through the veil of tears, she stumbled past the battered couch and into the kitchen, sick and confused.
“Hey, hey, hey.” Connor jumped to his feet despite his recent injuries and grabbed her arm.
“Let go of me!” Meg twirled around and released her venom. “You bastard! You used me! You knew—”
“Just listen to—”
“Get the hell out of my way! I never want to—ˮ her mouth clamped shut as his lips came down hard over hers. She remained rigid in his arms, fighting the urge to relax and melt into his strength like she wanted to, but he didn’t relent. His powerful body enveloped her as he pressed his lips against hers. When she didn’t open up to him, he moved his beautiful mouth to her cheek, her neck, her shoulder. Fidgeting, she managed to step back and break the moment. They both panted for air. He grinned. She seethed.
“It’s the only way to shut you up. You have two choices. Listen to what I have to say, or I’ll have to go back to restraint. Or I’ll tickle you until you snort.” He wiggled his eyebrows and looked down at her lips.
Stuck in the middle of nowhere with no transportation, she sighed and plopped herself down on the hard, uncomfortable 1970s kitchen chair. “Go on.”
“With the kissing or the talking?” he teased, but she didn’t smile. Men like Connor and James were used to getting away with…rape…because of their looks. No. Connor could never be compared to him. No matter how hard she tried, they had nothing in common. Remembering their first big fight over miscommunication, she crossed her arms and listened.
“I found out a few days ago. I finally put all the pieces of your complex puzzle together. I flew down to Texas, dealt with him and then flew back here to see you. Only I got sidetracked on my way home and had to stay in the hospital for a few days.” He inched his chair closer and reached out for both of her hands. “He’ll never hurt you again, Meg. I swear.”
“I—” she peered out from under her lashes and saw the love in his eyes. She sniffed, “What do you mean you dealt with him?”
He examined their joined hands and held up his right hand. “It took a car to beat me up. It only took my fist to make him look like this.”
“He’s your friend—”
“No. He’s not. I made it clear he’s never welcome near me, you, or Emma, much less the state of New Hampshire, again.”
“Emma? You told him about Emma! Oh my God, Connor. He’ll try to contact her.” Meg ripped her hands out of his grasp. “He’s rich. He’ll hire the best lawyers and…and sue me. I hid Emma from him. He’ll use that, Connor.”
“Hey, hey, hey.” He soothed again pulling her into his embrace. This time she didn’t resist, resting her head on his shoulder and soaking his shirt with her tears. “I took care of it. Trust me.”
She picked up her head but stayed in his cocoon. “How?” She wiped her eyes on his shoulder. “How can you promise me he won’t try to hurt Emma?”
Connor kissed her forehead and each swollen eye. His tenderness weakened her knees and warmed her heart. “My lawyer sent him some papers and he signed them.” He kissed her chin and dipped his head to her most sensitive spot behind her ear. Tingles shot through her body, and she couldn’t help but shiver.
“Stop.ˮ She attempted to sound serious. “You can’t do this to me right now, Connor.”
“Okay, later then?”
“Not until you explain it all to me. Now stop distracting or delaying or whatever you’re doing and lay the car
ds on the table.”
He released her and walked over to the fridge pulling out a bottle of wine. “Care for a glass?” Not waiting for a response, he took down two completely out of place crystal wineglasses and poured the chilled chardonnay. “Strawberries?” Seemingly out of nowhere, he brought out a tray of enormous chocolate covered strawberries.
Completely baffled, Meg rubbed her hands across her face. “Connor McKay! Stop eluding and tell me what’s going on!” The seductive combination of wine, chocolate, and Connor rattled and distracted her from the pressing matter at hand.
Dangling a ripe strawberry in front of her mouth, Connor whispered, “Take a bite.” She sighed but complied. He purposely waited for her mouth to be full of rich, dark chocolate and sweet strawberry before adding, “I’m adopting Emma.”
Choking on the delectable duo, Meg braced a hand on her chest and coughed. She swiped up the wineglass and downed nearly half of it before coming up for air and noticing the twinkle in Connor’s eyes. “What?” she barked.
“Here.” He shoved, not politely, the rest of the strawberry in her mouth. She could choose to either open up or end up with chocolate all over her face. Death by chocolate was not on the agenda for tonight. “J.T. signed the papers and faxed them to my lawyer last night. Emma signed them this morning so all that’s left is your John Hancock. Wine?” He held up her glass as if expecting her to choke again.
She didn’t choke but took the offered glass and emptied it. Reclaiming her demeanor, she set down the glass, braced her hands on her hips, and rolled her eyes at the ignorant man standing before her.
“So, you adopt my twenty-two-year-old daughter and figure you’ve solved all my problems? You don’t need to be the knight-in-shining-armor, Connor. I truly appreciate you for wanting to help, but I’ll find a way. I always do.”
“Yes, Meg, you do. You always come out on top, one of my favorite places for you to be.” He smirked. She lightly punched his ribs. “Ouch! I’m broken, remember?”
“Yes, I remember. And although I’d love to fix you, I can’t. And you can’t fix my problems by adopting Emma. She’s an adult and doesn’t need to be adopted. I just need James Spiller to stay away from her.”
“He will. The papers are cut and dried. He can’t step foot in New Hampshire without letting us know first. He won’t come anywhere near our family.”
Their eyes met, his tender, hers sad. “Connor, this is all wrong. You can’t adopt her. It would be weird. It’s not like we’re—”
“Married?” Her cheeks flushed. “Let’s make it right, Meg. Marry me.”
“Connor.” She rested her hands on his chest and picked at an imaginary loose thread. “You’re a wonderful man. I care about you a great deal, but I can’t let you throw your life away because you feel guilty about telling James about Emma.”
“Whoa there, babe. My wanting to marry you has nothing to do with him. Nothing. And it has nothing to do with gallantry. I want you. Bad. The moment you stepped into my high school all high and mighty, I knew you would give me a run for my money. You put up with all of my idiosyncrasies; you call me out on all the crap I say and do, making an honest man out of me. You’re smart, beautiful, kind, loving, and I can’t sleep at night without you next to me. And hell, waking up without you is a bitch.” He gathered up her loose mane of hair and pulled it away from her face. “I hate mornings when you’re not there. So, no, Meg, this proposal has nothing to do with gallantry, but one hundred percent selfishness. I need you. I want you. I love you. And that’s all there is to it.” He let out a huff of air and looked at her matter-of-factly.
The room went silent, the air thick with emotions, and Meg laughed. “You, Connor McKay, try so hard to be the tough guy, but you’re a romantic at heart.” She beamed up at him, cradled his face in her hands, and then kissed him slowly and sensuously. The magnetic force pulled their bodies into one solid mass. He kissed her, swallowing her up with his mouth and walked backward, to where, she didn’t have a clue, but she’d follow him anywhere.
They ended up in a small, dark bedroom and quickly fell onto an uncomfortable mattress, springs bore into her back, but she didn’t feel a thing.
“So is that a yes?” he asked, his mouth still on hers.
“That’s a yes,” she said as she slid his T-shirt over his head.
Epilogue
“I’m ready when you are!” Connor put his left hand into a baseball glove and tapped it with his right fist. “Come on babe, fire away.” He squatted at the foot of her hospital bed in a catcher’s stance.
“Connor McKay! You get away from there right now! You’re not funny!” Meg used her elbows to prop herself up in an attempt to stare over her rounded belly.
He could barely see the top of her head, the pitcher’s mound that had once been a flat belly held his precious cargo, and he was more antsy than anxious, more excited than nervous. Being a father didn’t scare him in the least.
“I’m getting ready for the big game,” he teased.
“Yeah, well they better have heads like little baseballs because if they come out with a head as swollen as yours and shoulders as wide, I’m going to kill you. Now wipe that goofy grin off your face and grab me a cold cloth. I’m dying here.”
The nurse who was prepping for the arrival of his babies chuckled and walked out the door.
More than happy to dote on his extremely pregnant and incredibly moody wife, Connor rinsed the white washcloth in the stainless steel sink and wrung out the excess water. He tri-folded it just the way Meg asked—or, demanded—last time and gently placed it on her forehead, followed by a soft kiss to her nose.
“You’re beautiful.”
“I’m fat.”
“You’re pregnant.”
“Seriously, Connor. Twins? Can you ever do anything half-ass?”
“Tsk, tsk. Such vulgar words from the mother of my children. And no, only the best for my wife. You’re doing great. Dr. Sherman thinks you’ll be ready to push within the hour.”
“Hand!”
He knew the drill. Connor sacrificed his right hand—his left still wore the catcher’s mitt—and felt his bones crunch under Meg’s intense squeeze.
“Ahh!” she screamed. “I need to push. NOW!”
He soothed comforting words in her ear and reached up to stroke her hair, but the damn mitt got in the way. So much for trying to lighten the mood. After a minute of intense bone crunching, he ran out into the hall and called for the doctor. He hated to hear his wife in so much pain and knowing he couldn’t do a damned thing to help made him feel worse. The comedy routine helped take her mind off the contractions for a while, but in the past hour they had gotten stronger and faster. Meg’s eyes were bloodshot; she shivered and sweated at the same time, and seemed to have lost all sense of hearing. He stood by her side and whispered encouraging words as she grunted, screamed, trembled, and panted.
Ninety minutes of sailor swearing, Freddy Krueger screaming, and ten broken fingers all ended with the final push of their little girl. Meg cradled her twins, Tucker Randall and Hannah Grace, to her chest and smiled.
Connor had never been so blessed, so happy, so in love. “They’re beautiful and perfect,” he whispered in his wife’s ear. “Just like you.”
The End
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Ready for Emma’s story?
Enjoy the first chapter of False Hope.
Chapter 1
“Higher. Oh, God, right there. Yes! Oh, harder. Faster!” Emma Fulton closed her eyes and trembled beneath his warm, calloused hands. His long, strong legs straddled her, pinning her into the couch. She felt him easing from her and yelled, “Don’t you dare stop, Cole Tucker! You’ve got the spot…right…there…oh…my…” She arched under him, moaned, and let out a long sigh before going limp. “Oh, that felt so damned good.”
“Was it as good for you as it was for me?”
“Better.”<
br />
The weight of his body quickly left her, and she heard him growl, “Damn. My balls are cold.”
Rolling over onto her back, Emma sat up on the couch and scowled. “You’re such a pig.”
“What?” Cole grinned and winked. “My meatball sub was nice and toasty warm before you asked me to scratch your itch.” He winked at his innuendo.
“Well, so-rry.” Emma smacked his shoulder. “I can’t reach that far.” She stretched her arm over her head trying to get to the magic spot beneath her shoulder blade where the damn mosquito bit her last night and drained her of nearly a quart of blood.
“Poptart, you keep making noises like that and the neighbors are gonna start pounding down your door.”
“You are my neighbor, wiseass.”
“Yeah.” Cole kissed her forehead. “Lucky me.”
Emma tied her long, brown hair up with an elastic band and glanced up at the clock.
“I told my mom we’d be at her place at two. It’s quarter past, and you’re eating a sub. I’ll never understand men.” She snorted in disgust and walked into her kitchen, opening the fridge and taking out the bowl of pasta salad she made for the family barbecue.
Cole licked sauce from his fingers and wiped them on his khaki shorts, earning a scowl from Emma.
“It’s an appetizer. We menfolk need lots of protein to help us keep up with our…extra-curricular activities.” He tugged on her ponytail and grabbed the bowl of pasta salad from her.
“You’re a cocky little boy. Now let’s go,” she teased, tossing a checkered pillow at him.
“Boy? Want me to show you how much of a man I am?”
“No thanks!” She laughed and grabbed her purse. “You’re driving. It’s my turn to get liquored up.”
False Start (The McKay-Tucker Men Series Book 1) Page 19