by Patt Marr
But they had today, and she would make it as much fun for him as she could.
When she realized Ry had not turned off his motor, she opened her eyes and waved him over to join her in her convertible. But Ry shook his head and motioned her over to his big black SUV.
“Hop in,” he said happily, looking much more relaxed now that his meeting with his dad was over.
“Let’s take my convertible,” she said. “Let some breeze blow in your hair, New York City boy.”
“I’m not riding in that death trap,” he said lazily.
“You would disparage my car?” She loved her car, every square inch of it from its tan ragtop and leather interior to its frosted white body and shiny hubcaps. “You won’t, once you drive it.” She dangled the car keys in the air, taunting him. “You’re not afraid of the freeways, are you, Motorcycle Man?”
Challenge in his eyes, Ry stepped decisively out of the SUV, six feet of danger, coming her way with a calculating smile. She got out of the convertible and moved toward him on her way to the passenger side. At the rear of the car, she tossed her keys high in the air.
Laughing, he caught them. “You haven’t had a ride until you’ve ridden with an ambulance driver, babe.”
“Show me what you’ve got, big talker.” She got in the car and snapped her seat belt in place.
He drove out of the parking lot like an old man on Sunday, but when they reached three-lane traffic, he shoved on his sunglasses and picked up both speed and audacity, changing lanes like he thought he was at the Indy 500.
Show-off. Her sweet little car would be a death trap, the way he was driving. She helped him as much as she could, jamming her foot on the floor as if she were stomping on the brake pedal and holding the door handle in a white-knuckle grip.
But when he left the freeway and got on the highway leading to Pete’s house, Ry settled into perfectly respectable go-with-the-flow-of-traffic speed and drove with such appropriate caution that she decided he was a grown-up after all.
“How was that?” he asked, raising his voice to carry over the sound of wind rushing through their hair.
“How was what?” she answered as if he hadn’t scared her to death. She’d forgotten that Ry loved a dare more than most. Not much of a risk-taker herself, she’d loved that about him, but neither of them were kids anymore. On their return trip she’d be the one driving.
Sneaking a look at her chauffeur, she had to smile. He raised his face to the sun as if he were shedding a whole load of care as the wind tossed his dark blond hair.
He looked her way with one of those wide smiles that made the butterfly troop wake up and soar. She wouldn’t mind if Mr. Right had a smile exactly like that. And she wouldn’t mind a good, steady breath around this man.
This man? What a strange way to think of Ry, her buddy and pal.
She looked at her watch and calculated that she had nine hours before Ry’s plane took off. That wasn’t much time to enjoy this new feeling, but it would have to do until Mr. Right came along.
This was the life, Ry thought, enjoying the warm sun on his face, not a bit sorry he was missing a snowy day in New York City. Meg was right. Her convertible was the best choice. Riding along in the open air was exhilarating—a little like the feeling he used to get on his motorcycle—though he still wished Meg drove something that could take an impact and let her survive. Chalk it up to the accidents he’d seen, he’d become a cautious guy.
She was wrong though about him worrying about driving in this traffic. Compared to the years of dodging yellow taxis on the streets of New York, the relative freedom of the multilaned freeway was downright relaxing.
And it was great, having this extremely cute woman beside him. From their swing set days to the teen years when he coached her on what to do about boys like himself, she’d been his constant ally and loyal friend. She’d even understood when he’d cut her out of his life when he left home. Holding on to any part of the past had been too much to handle back then.
In the future, however, he could see the two of them as much more than friends. She could do better than him, that was for sure, but maybe God had set things in motion for both of their lonely days to end.
When Meg directed him to this highway leading to Malibu Colony, Ry was surprised. The colony was full of pricey real estate. Pete had done well for himself if he could afford a home there, or maybe the money had come from his wife. He remembered Beth telling him that Pete married the daughter of Sam Keegan, U.S. senator from California. The man was a political giant and came from old money.
At one of the more modest beachfront homes, Meg had him turn in. “This is it,” she said, stowing her sunglasses. “Wait until you meet Pete’s wife and kids.”
Pete had always been more of a big brother to him than Trey, but would Pete be as understanding as Meg about the way Ry had neglected their friendship in those years? Pete had gone through terrible days—losing his first wife, his dad, his health and everything that mattered to him. The guy ought to slam the door in his face.
But Pete opened the door with a warm welcome, pulled him into the foyer and gave him a hug that said the silent years meant nothing at all. Ry breathed a prayer of gratitude. This was so much more than he deserved.
Pete was a decade older and showed it, though he was still the good-looking guy he’d always been. Both Pete and Meg had their Irish father’s dark hair and blue eyes.
“Hey, there, Shay,” he heard Meg say.
Holding on to Pete’s leg was a precious little guy, the spitting image of his daddy. Ry knelt down to be on the toddler’s level. “Who’s this big boy?” he said, looking into the Maguire blue eyes with long, dark lashes.
“This is Shay Maguire,” Pete said. “Shay, give Daddy’s friend a high five.”
The kid packed a wallop, slamming his tiny palm into Ry’s big hand, grinning with the unabashed joy of a child who has known nothing but love in his life.
“Can I pick you up, Shay?” Ry asked, instead of grabbing him up in his arms like he wanted to do.
Little Shay reached out his arms, so instantly trusting that he stole Ry’s heart completely. What a great kid.
Meg always melted at the sight of a strong man holding a child. The picture of Ry and her precious nephew, looking into each other’s eyes, engaged in serious man-to-little-man silent communication, was one to remember.
Pete met her eyes, nodded toward Ry, and gave him a thumbs-up that only she could see. She nodded back in total agreement. Ry Brennan was a very good man. No wonder her little-girl crush had made its way back, making her heart so soft and loving toward him that she would embarrass them both if she didn’t take care.
“Pete, this place is great,” Ry said, taking in the nautical navy-and-white theme of the entryway.
“Thank you,” Pete said humbly. “My dad and I built it for a retired Navy admiral.”
Meg wondered if Pete would mention that it was the last project he’d worked on before their dad died.
Looking her way, Pete added, “It was my personal hideaway until Meg dragged me out of here and tricked me into going on her TV show.”
“Where you met Sunny,” she added defensively. Yes, she’d used a little trickery to set his life in motion, but would he never stop teasing her about it, especially when it had turned out so well? “You know that’s when your life really began, Petey.”
“She’s right,” her brother said, dropping his arm around her shoulder. “It’s lucky for you that you live in New York, Ry, or Matchmaker Meg would have you on Dream Date and walking down the aisle before you knew it.”
“Actually, I’m thinking about moving back here,” Ry said looking directly her way with a gleam in his eye. That gleam used to signal that he’d set his sights on a babe target. She didn’t know what it meant these days, but it took her breath away.
Shay’s exploring little fingers reached up and tweaked Ry’s nose, hard enough to make him say, “Ow.”
Way to go, Shay. Tha
t checked the potency of Ry’s babe-magnet appeal.
“What’s this, big guy?” Ry tried to interest Shay in the polished oak captain’s wheel mounted on the foyer wall.
“I mounted that wheel for the admiral,” Pete said, “and set that big brass bell into the plastered alcove. Sunny and I decided to keep them there to remind ourselves that the Lord is the captain of our ship.”
“You’re Christians, too?” Ry beamed. “That’s terrific. I turned things over to the Lord at a home Bible study. How about you?”
“Actually, Sunny pushed me in the right direction and got me going to her church before we were married. Not long after that, Meg joined us.”
“Our church is a big part of our lives,” Meg added.
Pete nodded. “Meg serves on the audio-video committee. Sunny was a high school teacher and coach before she chose to stay home with the little ones, but she works with our church youth, and I’m on the building commission.”
“That’s a natural ministry for you,” Ry said. “Beth told me you’d become a developer and that you named your first project Sunny Valley for your wife.”
Pete nodded proudly. “I’d like you to see it.”
“Shay, where’s your mommy and baby sister?” Meg said, eager to hold a little one herself.
Shay pointed to the deck, and Pete led the way past a big-screen TV showing one of the Bowl games. To their credit, both men only paused to catch the end of one play. Knowing them, it could have been longer, even with a darling baby to see. They’d both played football in high school and Ry had been good enough to earn a college scholarship.
At the end of the room were floor-to-ceiling windows and a sliding door that led to the deck and a truly beautiful view. Shades of blue and green where ocean met sky formed a backdrop for vibrant-colored flowers potted in bright Mexican pottery.
Close to the house, under an awning, Meg’s beautiful red-haired sister-in-law slept on a chaise. Baby Megan’s little face nestled against her mother’s neck, her lighter red hair blending with her mother’s. Meg shaded her eyes from the sun’s glare and let the scene sweep her into peace and serenity.
“Sunny,” Pete said softly, kissing his wife’s forehead.
“Don’t wake her,” Ry whispered.
“She asked me to,” Pete replied.
“And he always does what I ask,” Sunny said, coming awake with a smile that matched her name. “Want to hold her?” she asked Meg, lifting the baby toward her.
That was like asking if a child wanted Christmas. Meg cradled the baby in her arms and showed her to Ry. “Ry, meet Megan Maguire. This little girl is the new Meggy.”
The baby opened her sleepy blue eyes.
“Hey, Meggy.” Ry touched the baby’s hand and smiled when she instinctively wrapped her tiny fingers around one of his. “Don’t they get the two of you confused?” he teased.
Meg scowled at him. “I’m not Meggy anymore.”
“You’ll adjust,” Pete said sympathetically. “We all have. Sis convinced us that she couldn’t climb the corporate ladder unless she was Meg Maguire, power woman.”
“And she’s right,” Sunny said, ever supportive.
Meg had bonded with Sunny as soon as she came into Pete’s life. Now, the two of them were as close as real sisters. Their friendship helped fill the void while Beth finished med school and did her residency.
Staying in the shade, Meg strolled the width of the deck, swaying slowly, putting the baby back to sleep. The familiar rush of wanting her own baby swept through her body with its usual powerful presence.
She really did have to find Mr. Right. If a guy asked her out and met The List prerequisites, she would give him a chance, whether she felt any chemistry or not. Maybe love could grow if she gave it a chance. Her guy could be just around the corner.
That’s how it had been for Pete and Sunny. Neither expected to fall in love when they went on Dream Date, and they didn’t fall in love at first sight. But look at them now, perfect for each other.
Sunny was asking Ry about their childhood—the four of them, Pete and Meg, Ry and Beth. Ry admitted he’d been a handful, and sometimes his intentions had been better than his deeds, like the time when Meg was so sick with chicken pox.
He’d only wanted to cheer her up when he fixed the nicest present he could think of—his favorite frog in a pretty box with a bow. If Ry had been the sick one, he’d have loved to have Froggie’s company. But Meg had opened the box and been so scared when Froggie jumped out that she tried to beat him with the lid of the box until the bow fell off.
Ending his tale, Ry looked at her reproachfully. “Poor Froggie,” he said.
“Poor Meg,” she said, defending herself. “I still hate surprises.”
“Auntie hurt the frog?” little Shay asked worriedly.
“No, honey,” she said, reassuring the child and glaring at Ry. “Auntie had a fever and a very bad aim.”
Pete served cold drinks and added his own memories—the time she nailed her shirt to the roof when she was determined to prove her worth as a builder so her father’s pickup would read Maguire And Family instead of Maguire And Son. And there was the time Pete had to rescue her and Beth from the tree house. Trey had stolen the ladder and left them up there for hours.
Shay played quietly at their feet, putting colorful plastic tile blocks together. Ry motioned to him and said, “He’s a builder just like his grandpa. Pete, I loved your dad. He was the only father in the neighborhood that played with us.”
Meg blinked away tears, still missing her dad.
“No wonder we all hung out at your house,” Ry added.
“No wonder we had the worst lawn in the neighborhood,” Pete said, laughing softly. “But neither Dad or Mom cared, not as long as the kids were happy.”
It was true. Their parents had their separate careers and not much in common, but there had been love to spare at their house.
“What’s your mother doing these days?” Ry asked.
Pete answered. “She sold the house after Dad died, moved to Taos, New Mexico, and became part of the art community there. We hated to see her leave, but Mom needed a fresh start.”
“She can sculpt to her heart’s content without interruption and do exactly as she pleases,” Meg added, happy for her mom. “She’s doing the best work of her life.”
“But you still get together?” Ry asked, as if he couldn’t bear hearing that they didn’t.
“Sure we do,” Sunny said. “Mom was just here for Christmas, and she came and stayed with us when Meggy was born. She’s been more of a mother to me than my own.”
“What about your family, Sunny?” Ry asked.
He didn’t know that he’d just walked into a land mine, but Meg knew. How would they explain Sunny’s unfortunate family situation?
Before Sunny could answer, Pete stood up and stretched, yawning so contagiously that Meg felt a yawn coming on herself. “Shay, how about taking your dad upstairs for a nap? Could you do that, son? Your sister kept us up last night.”
Shay pushed his building tiles to one side, tidy little perfectionist that he was, and reached for his dad’s hand. “C’mon, Dad-dee! You sleepy boy.”
“Won’t we be glad when Baby Meggy learns to sleep through the night like a big girl?” Pete said, letting Shay pull him along. “Ry, help yourself to a T-shirt, swim trunks, whatever you need. Meg knows where they are.”
Sunny rose from the chaise and reached for the baby. Smiling, she said, “Mommy’s sleepy, too. When they’re this age, Ry, you sleep every time they do. We’ll take a family nap and leave you two to enjoy the beach.”
Ry watched his hosts climb the stairwell to the loft over the living room with a puzzled look on his face. “What just happened here? Was it something I said or were they really that sleepy?”
“Both, I imagine,” Meg replied, opening the lid of a bench that doubled as storage for beach towels and swimwear. “We don’t talk about it, but Sunny’s mother makes yours look like
Mother of the Year, and Sunny’s father has Alzheimer’s. He hasn’t known Sunny for more than a year.”
“I didn’t mean to pry,” he said, obviously worried.
“They know you didn’t. Don’t blame yourself for having the good manners to inquire about your hosts’ family.”
He still looked worried.
“Really, it’s fine,” she said, touching his arm.
He glanced at her hand and then met her eyes as if he needed her reassurance.
She smiled, willing him to see how much she admired the man he’d become.
He held her gaze until the butterfly troop started their crazy routine. She had to look away, lest the troop get the wrong idea.
“Here,” she said, motioning to the storage bench. “Take your pick.”
He chose a bright orange towel centered with a dark-haired mermaid wearing bright pink scales. “This looks like you, Power Woman, and I believe this one’s mine.” His choice was a friendly porpoise on a sea-blue background.
“That’s you, all right, ready to chat up the girl fish.”
“Hey,” he protested, his voice low and so appealing that the butterfly troop did an encore. “I’ve reformed.”
“How much does a bad boy ever reform?” she teased.
“A lot when he wants to.” Completely serious, Ry’s eyes met hers again and stayed there until she had to break the connection or melt where she stood.
“You can change in the bathroom at the end of the kitchen,” she said, eager for a chance to regroup. “I’ll change upstairs.”
Ry watched her zip up the stairs and wondered how he could convince her that he wasn’t the same guy she used to know. He couldn’t claim the credit, for it was God working in him, just as the Word said. He didn’t doubt that she loved the Lord, but loving meant trusting. Why couldn’t she relax and trust that this chemistry between them would take its own course?
He changed into a pair of dark swim trunks, tossed a T-shirt over one shoulder, left his clothes in a hall closet and walked outside. He might as well catch the midafternoon rays while he had a chance, though he would burn rather than tan if he weren’t careful.