by Hope Ramsay
Nor did it erase the deep-seated ache in his heart.
But coward that he was, he didn’t say a word. Instead he snagged his own Bloody Mary and headed across the den in Uncle Mark’s direction.
But he didn’t get far before Uncle Jamie intercepted him. “You got a minute?”
The sober look in his uncle’s eyes put Matt on guard. Uncle Mark might be the oldest sibling and the one with the political connections, but Uncle Jamie was probably the most powerful man in Jefferson County.
If Matt were to become a member of the County Council, he’d have to worry about Uncle Jamie all the time. It occurred to him that the close family bonds might be a problem in the future. But for now he didn’t want to rock any boats.
“Sure. What’s up?” Matt said.
“Not here. Let’s step out onto the terrace.”
What the hell? It was ninety-six degrees out on the terrace. But Uncle Jamie snagged him by the arm and gently tugged him out through the French doors. No one, except David, seemed to notice. David, on the other hand, followed them with his dark, sober stare.
“Let’s sit in the shade,” Jamie said as he crossed the terrace and sat down under one of the umbrellas. Even in the shade it was muggy. Sweat began to dampen Matt’s skin. He took a long sip of his drink and then asked, “What’s up?”
“What’s up is that I’m deeply disappointed in you.”
Damn. Story of his life. He sat straighter in his chair. “About what?” He did a poor job of disguising his annoyance.
Jamie shook his head. “Don’t take that tone with me. I think you know what I’m upset about.”
Damn. This made no sense. Courtney wouldn’t have gone to Uncle Jamie. If she had wanted to mess up his life, she would have gone to Bill Cummins or the press. She could have made him pay. But she didn’t. All she’d ever done was help him and his clients.
“I’m confused.” He collapsed back in the chair and closed his eyes, the heat melting him.
Jamie chuckled. “I’m not surprised by that.”
Matt opened his eyes. “Wait. I really am confused. You’re disappointed and you’re not surprised. Oh yeah, I guess the story of my life.”
Jamie leaned forward and gave his knee an avuncular pat. “Son, Courtney Wallace apparently had a crying jag at work on Wednesday morning. And as you know, your cousin Amy, who is not here today because she works on Sundays, happened to mention it to me yesterday when she came by the vineyard to pick up some reserve wine for a reception.”
“Courtney had a crying jag? That doesn’t sound like her.”
“No, it doesn’t. And apparently she’s drinking a lot of chamomile tea these days.”
“Chamomile tea?” A very bad feeling was beginning to settle into Matt’s gut.
“That’s the foul-tasting tea women drink when they’re pregnant. Debra swore by it.” Jamie’s stare was both direct and compassionate.
“Are you telling me that Courtney really is pregnant?”
“Courtney is not Allison.”
“You know about Allison?”
“Everyone knows about Allison and what she tried to do to you. Thank God for your aunt Pam, who can be a royal pain in the ass much of the time. But in the case of Allison Chapman, she saw that girl coming from a mile away.”
“Aunt Pam?”
“Are you telling me that your father never told you how Aunt Pam cornered that girl and cut right through her lies?”
Matt shook his head. “No. I thought he went to Judge Chapman or something.”
“Why would your father do that? He regularly argues cases before Judge Chapman. And believe me, there was some fallout, even though Pam did the dirty work.” Jamie let go of a long sigh. “Look, son, I know you were heartbroken over Allison. Everyone in the family knows that. But Courtney is not Allison. I understand if you don’t want to marry her. But you’re a fool if you walk away from a child.”
Uncle Jamie’s voice got hard and a little emotional. The look on his face pierced Matt’s armor. If he didn’t know better, he might think Uncle Jamie had a child somewhere no one knew anything about.
“Are you saying that—”
Jamie put up a hand, palm outward. “We’re not talking about me. Or my regrets, of which there are many. I’ve been an asshole on any number of occasions. And in this case, it takes one to know one.”
Matt braced his elbows on his knees and sank his head into his hands. Sweat rolled off his back. It was hotter than hell, even under the umbrella. “I guess if the shoe fits…”
“But here’s the thing. Redemption is possible. I have discovered this. There was a moment, not long ago, when I had lost Amy’s trust. But look at us now. I even like her husband. But don’t tell Dusty that. He might get a swelled head.”
Matt chuckled but said nothing.
“Do you love her?”
Wow, that question jolted him right out of his complacency. He raised his head. “Yeah.” He spoke the word on a long sigh. “But I screwed it up. I got all bent out of shape when she accused me of cheating on her when I didn’t.”
“And you paid her back by not believing her when she came to you with her life-altering news, is that it?”
He nodded and then shook his head. “I guess trust goes both ways, huh?”
“If you’re interested in a real relationship it does. Take it from me, the guy who strayed and ended up without his wife’s trust.”
Damn. That was news. Uncle Jamie had lost his wife a number of years ago to cancer, but Matt had never dreamed that Jamie had cheated on Debra.
Uncle Jamie must have read the surprise on his face because he said, “Look, I get the allure of playing the field. It’s fun. But love is something else again. It’ll mess with your head and make you feel like you’re gonna die. But it’s worth it. And if you want to know my biggest regret? It’s that I didn’t let myself love.
“So, I’m not advising you to marry Courtney Wallace if it’s only because you’re running for office or you’re afraid of a scandal. These days, nobody cares if you have a baby out of wedlock. Everyone is doing it. But if you love her, then don’t be an asshole. You get up right this minute and you go find her and you tell her how you feel. Have you told her how you feel?”
He shook his head.
“Why not?”
He shrugged. “Fear, mostly. I don’t know. Stupidity?”
Jamie nodded. “I am familiar with these feelings.” The older man stood up. “And just remember this, even if you decide that it’s not going to work out between the two of you, you only get to be a father to that baby once. Don’t blow it.”
Jamie strolled back toward the French doors. He stopped halfway and turned to look over his shoulder. “And one other thing I’ve learned from my many mistakes. Giving love, especially to a child, won’t diminish you. You don’t run out of love. It’s funny that way.”
He turned and continued his journey into the air-conditioned den.
Matt stayed behind, enduring the July heat in his own private hell, thinking deeply about his next move.
Courtney dragged herself home on Sunday evening. It had been an easy day at work with only one small event—a thirtieth-anniversary luncheon and vow-renewal ceremony—and yet she was exhausted. As she climbed her apartment’s steps, her only thoughts were about a glass of tea and a tepid bath. The weatherman said the heat index had reached one hundred and six. She believed it.
Her bones were limp, her skin sticky, and her stomach unsettled, as if a body snatcher had taken possession of it. That brought a little smile. In a way, she had been invaded, and the little stinker was changing her body chemistry—even though she was only about four weeks into this unexpected adventure. Her appointment with Dr. Lawrence wasn’t for another couple of days, but she didn’t need a doctor to fully confirm the pregnancy. Her nipples were already turning a dark rosy color.
She gave Aramis a can of food and then headed to her bedroom, where she peeled off the slightly damp little black dr
ess she’d worn to work. She had several little black dresses, which served as a kind of uniform when she had to manage receptions and weddings. Black was a fine color for the fall, winter, and spring. Summer, not so much.
She’d just changed into her terry-cloth robe when something rattled the French doors in her bedroom. It almost sounded like someone was throwing pebbles against the glass.
It was probably Ethan Riley from downstairs. The kid needed a little discipline. She tore open the doors. “Ethan, I swear, if you break my window, I’m going to make you scoop cat poop for a solid month.” She stepped onto the small Juliet balcony and leaned on the iron railing.
“I’d be totally willing to scoop poop for you,” Matt said. “In fact, I was just reading in this book that it’s probably not a good idea for you to be doing any poop scooping at all.” He waved a paperback book that looked suspiciously like a copy of What to Expect When You’re Expecting.
Her body flushed hot, and not from the evening sun that baked the front of the apartment building. This wasn’t happening, was it? This was a fever dream.
Matthew Lyndon, wearing a Ralph Lauren polo shirt and khakis, with his longish hair curling in the July heat into a slightly sweaty tangle over his forehead, was standing below her balcony.
Like Romeo.
Stupid romantic heart. It should have given up a long time ago. But she had to hand it to him. He was standing out there in the hundred-degree weather when he could have just as easily knocked on her front door.
“You should get out of the sun before you give yourself heatstroke.”
He tucked the book under his arm and folded two hands over his chest. “I’m proving my adoration down here by enduring the elements.”
“Oh, is that what it is?”
“Yes. Now be quiet. I have something to say.” He paused a moment. “Um, but before I say it, you might want to tighten the belt on that beautiful robe because, uh…”
She looked down. Her boobs were about to make an appearance. She tucked them back in place and tightened the belt. “Okay, I’m ready. Now what?”
He cleared his throat again. And then he started talking in that voice he used whenever he recited poetry.
“Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;”
She recognized the Shakespeare sonnet immediately. No truer words were ever written about the power of true love. And as those words floated up on the hot summer air, a knot swelled in her throat, and her eyes got all misty, and tears started flowing like water. The book and the poem and the pebble against her window. Who said romance was dead in the twenty-first century?
“Don’t cry, please,” he said when he’d finished reciting the poem. “I know you can never forgive me for what I accused you of, but I’m hoping against hope that you will forgive me. Because I don’t want to abandon a child, Courtney. And the truth is, I don’t want to abandon you either.
“We may have started out trying to one-up each other, but that changed somewhere along the line. The truth is, you’ve done nothing to hurt me. In fact, I owe you for just about everything. There are people who regard me as some kind of hero because I gave my research to Linda Petersen, who is probably a much bigger hero than I am. And I would never have taken even that small step without you.
“And most of the tenants of Dogwood Estates seem to think I was the one who went to Jeff and convinced him to save those apartments. You did that too.
“Everything I’ve become over the last few weeks is all because of you. And your kindness to the tenants should have told me right from the start that you weren’t like Allison.
“So I know you can’t forgive me, but I’m hoping. On bended knee.” He got down on his knees and looked up at her out of those big, dark, sad puppy-dog eyes.
“Oh, for God’s sake, get up, you silly man. And get out of the heat.”
He grinned. “Okay. I’m coming up.”
She met him at the door. “So will you forgive me?” he asked.
She nodded, tears streaming down her face. “Will you forgive me?”
He cocked his head. “I’m sorry about that too.”
She shook her head. “No. That was my fault. All my fault. How on earth can I expect you to trust me when I didn’t trust you?”
He cupped her face and swiped her tears away with his thumbs. “We both got played, Courtney. A long time ago. And I guess it’s not easy to come back from that. It’s not always easy to trust when you’ve been hurt before.”
She nodded. “I only cared because I love you. I never would have called you on it otherwise. I truly believed that you were a player, Matt, but you’re not. You don’t fit the boxes I’ve labeled. You never have.”
“So, are we going to do this? The last time a woman told me she was pregnant I immediately got down on one knee.”
“What?” She blinked. “Really?”
He cocked his head. “I thought you knew about Allison.”
“I know she played you, but—”
He took a step forward into the apartment and closed the door behind him. “One day I’ll tell you the whole story. I only just learned all the details this morning. But suffice it to say that I would have been trapped by that woman were it not for Aunt Pam’s quick thinking. Who, by the way, has a surprising amount of respect for you. Something about the way you stood up to Daniel’s ex-fiancé when she wanted to turn her wedding into a three-ring circus.”
“Really? Pam likes me? To tell you the truth, she intimidates the crap out of me.”
He nodded. “Well, that too. Pam also thinks we should name the baby George after my grandfather, which is not a suggestion so much as it’s a command.”
“Let’s hope it’s a girl, then.”
He pulled her into a kiss so sweet and so hot it buckled her knees. He pulled back a little. “Will you marry me?” he asked.
She’d waited all her life for someone to ask that question. But for some reason she hesitated in her answer.
He nodded. “I’m not worried about my campaign, and I’m not asking because of the baby. And I’m not even worried about your eventual answer. I want you to know the truth about how I feel. I’m tired of waiting for my real life to start. And the truth is, in the last few weeks, I found myself. That would never have happened without you. And it’s so clear to me now. My real life is right here, right this minute, with you. So if you want to wait, that—”
“No.” She shook her head. “I’m tired of waiting too. Let’s elope.”
He laughed. “No way that’s happening. But we’ll let Amy and Willow plan the shotgun wedding, okay?”
And then, just like Mr. Right, he pulled her close for another long, erotic kiss before he hoisted her into his arms and carried her to the bedroom, where he made slow, beautiful, soulful love to her.
Epilogue
Courtney had planned hundreds of weddings for other people, but when it came to hers, she let Amy and Willow handle every single detail. Her friends worked overtime, and the wedding took a mere four weeks to plan.
On the day before Labor Day, she stood in the small room off the vestibule at the Laurel Chapel staring at herself in the mirror.
“I remember your mother in that dress,” Sid said as he gave her shoulders a squeeze.
“I have a picture of her wearing it,” Courtney said in a hushed voice. She wished she could remember her mother better. But Mom had been gone for such a long time—so long, in fact, that Courtney had considered getting rid of the box containing Mom’s wedding dress dozens of times over the years. For some reason, she’d never been able to let it go.
Now she was glad she’d hung on to that silly memory.
Courtney looked up at Sid’s reflection in the mirror. He had recovered from his heart sur
gery and seemed bigger and more full of life than ever. “Thanks for giving me away.”
He chuckled. “Honey, you don’t need giving away. But I’m honored to stand in for your dad.”
Just then, Amy, Melissa, and Arwen came through the door. They wore short rose-pink dresses with high waistlines to accommodate Amy and Melissa’s baby bumps. Courtney’s bump wasn’t all that visible yet.
“It’s time,” Amy said, handing Courtney a beautiful bouquet with a vintage look that blended perfectly with the dress’s ivory satin. The peonies and dusky roses were gorgeous, and all the more precious because Amy had made the bouquets herself. And Amy had become such a good friend.
But today, Courtney and Amy would become more than mere friends. This wedding would bind Courtney to Willow, Amy, and Melissa as family. It had been such a long time since she’d had any family to speak of.
Arwen, her maid of honor, was the odd woman out. She’d threatened to write a song about a wedding where all the bridesmaids were married and pregnant except herself. But she’d also made it clear that she was very happy not to be joining the Lyndon family. She had Rory, and he was enough to keep her busy.
They took their places in the vestibule. The music swelled, and the processional began.
When it was Courtney’s turn, at last, to walk down the aisle, she hung on to Sid’s arm like a lifeline. She’d dreamed this dream a million times, but somewhere along the line, she’d lost faith.
And now, like some fairy tale, here she was, looking at her imperfect prince with his curly hair and espresso eyes, which were trained on her as if she hung the moon for him or something.
Matthew was so much more than he appeared. Thank God she’d had a chance to get beyond the surface. Because underneath, he was kind and sweet and incredibly good to her and for her. Plus, his store of romantic poetry was nothing short of amazing.
He grinned at her. And she smiled back.