“I can explain that. Emily tried to make Louemma love her more than she loved me. I imagined it happening all over. You’re not like that, Laurel. Forgive me for ever thinking you were.”
Louemma gazed at the two adults from her spot on the floor of the cave, where she hunkered down, both arms wrapped tight around Dog.
“Daddy?” she asked when the couple finally emerged from an especially lengthy kiss. “If we’re marrying Laurel, does that mean we’re marrying Dog, too?”
Startled at first, Alan, his good arm still clamped around Laurel’s waist, felt laughter bubbling up. He realized he was being given a second chance to laugh and enjoy life. A chance to love and maybe—someday—add to his family.
“I’m having a hard time picturing Dog in a tuxedo. But you bet we’re marrying Laurel, honeybee. And that means accepting everyone in her family. I already promised Cinnabar a warm stall and oats for the rest of her life if she held out long enough to let me find you two. I think my promise goes double for Coal Fire, since he carried you and Laurel out of harm’s way. But Dog? I guarantee he’ll eat steak from now on. If he hadn’t barked at me, we might have passed each other in the darkness.”
Louemma used both hands to lever herself up, something she hadn’t done since the accident. “When can we leave this stinky old cave? I want to go home. Nana will be worried, I’ll bet. And can I call Birdie—oh, and my friends, to tell them I’m getting a new mom. And…can I go back to school, and—”
“And we’ll get your dad’s arm taken care of,” Laurel said, breaking in. “Horse bites can be nasty if they aren’t properly treated.”
In spite of Louemma’s long list, Alan didn’t seem in any rush to leave. His primary focus seemed to be kissing Laurel….
She didn’t object very strenuously. And neither, really, did Louemma. After all, she was assured of getting the two things she prayed hardest for every night—that Laurel would live with her, Daddy, Nana and Birdie. And that she’d bring Dog.
“Dog,” she mumbled, smothering the animal in hugs. “Some days that start out really, really bad can end okay.” She kissed him right on his wet snout.
The shepherd licked her cheek and whined softly in her ear, which Louemma took for total agreement.
Epilogue
SPRING HAD AGAIN COME to Ridge City, Kentucky. Laurel’s second spring here. This March was better in every way than the previous one, when she’d so recently arrived in the valley, heartsick, scared, yet hoping for a bright future. Even Dennis had moved on. In his last note he said he had a good job and was still sober. And she’d found peace and comfort, she thought as she raised the window to let in the breeze. It carried with it the delighted laughter of her stepdaughter, Louemma, who played tag in the field below with three of her friends and Dog.
As she watched the kids, Alan drove in and climbed out of his red SUV. Smiling, Laurel waved at her husband. His new vehicle was just one of many changes brought about by last September’s flood and mudslide, which had destroyed much of Laurel’s past and damaged Alan’s beloved blue Jeep.
So much had happened since the disaster had forced them to strip away the veneer of their lives to expose what really mattered.
Hearing his footsteps on the stairs, she ran to greet him with a hug. These days they stole these blessed moments alone whenever they could.
“Hi, beautiful.” Alan swept her up and swung her around. Laurel always laughed, because he made her feel as young as Louemma.
“You’ve been to Bell Hill,” she said. “So the reforestation is going well?”
He kissed her, set her down, then pulled off his jacket and tossed it over a brass coat tree they’d salvaged from her grandmother’s cottage, along with a few looms and Laurel’s favorite spinning mule, which had been restored.
“The way they do the planting is a fascinating process, Laurel. Kids from the college forestry program scatter and cover seeds they harvested from the remaining crop of pinecones. You wouldn’t believe how much progress they’ve made.”
“Alan,” Laurel said pensively. “Are you positive you have no regrets about scrapping your business expansion plans?”
“Dissolving the corporation and scaling back to a smaller, more selective distribution of our bourbon is the best thing that ever happened here. Hardy agrees. He’s much happier back making bourbon than being general manager. Well,” he added with a wink, “that’s not altogether the best. Our marriage was the best.” He reached out and ran one finger idly overt the gold spinning-wheel pin she wore on her lapel. Alan recalled a time when he doubted he’d ever be in a position to give Laurel that pin, and now she was never without it. He turned her so they could both look out the window. At the kids, and the sun-dappled estate. “Your brilliant idea of opening up Windridge for tours and letting Vestal run them has given my grandmother a new lease on life. Shaved ten years off her age.”
“I only suggested something Vestal mentioned on my first visit to Windridge. She’s the one who said people were always asking you for private tours.” Laurel paused. “So, you don’t think all the adjustments she’s had to make since we got married have been harder on her than she’s willing to admit?” They’d had a small wedding at the house the previous Christmas.
“Are you kidding? Watch her. She’s in her element.” His laughter vibrated against Laurel’s back.
“I have. It’s a treat to see her—she really is a natural. I hear her spiel sometimes when she winds up her tours in the showroom downstairs. And she’s the one who insisted we display and sell my weavings. I swear, she never lets a tourist leave without buying a scarf, a shawl, place mats or something. But listening to her brag about my work is enough to make me blush.”
Alan slid his hands around his wife’s waist and rested his temple against hers. “What’s most impressive to me is Louemma’s three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turnaround. Before the accident, I used to think she was a happy kid. Now she positively glows. I have you to thank, Laurel. You gave me a gift I can never match.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” She took his hand in hers and flattened it across her belly. “Dr. Fulton said that if all goes well, we can expect a very special family gift by Thanksgiving.”
Alan turned her slowly, his face filled with awe, which gave way to the biggest smile. “You…aren’t pregnant?”
“I am. Barely. Birdie knew before I did. She said she read it in my eyes. That woman’s mountain intuition is uncanny. She’s going to claim it’s the result of some herb sachet she tucked under our mattress.”
Alan whooped for joy and rained kisses all over Laurel’s face.
“I know we said we’d wait a year,” she said nervously. “How…how do you think Louemma will react? We have a month or so to figure out how to tell her.”
“You’re worried?” Alan dropped another kiss on her lips. “She’ll be the happiest person on earth.”
Laurel went very still and slowly reached up to brush her thumbs over Alan’s cheekbones. “Louemma can’t be the happiest because I am. I’m finally living my dream.”
“Me, too,” he whispered, turning to press his lips into her palm. “Just the other day, Louemma said, ‘If our new life’s a dream, I don’t ever want to wake up.’ I feel the same way.”
They stood comfortably entwined until the phone rang, and the next carload of tourists arrived. As Alan went back to his computer and Laurel to her loom, both knew their love would flourish in this valley; season after season.
Copyright © 2004 by Rosaline Fox.
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
All characters in this book have no exi
stence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.
www.eHarlequin.com
Daddy's Little Matchmaker Page 28