Married...Again

by Stephanie Doyle

  He smiled and leaned in to kiss her.

  “You’re supposed to wait until I say it’s okay,” Judge Martin reminded him with a chuckle.

  “Oh. Sorry.” But then Mike kissed her anyway.

  “You may now continue to kiss the bride.”

  Maggie sniffled and clapped her hands.

  Allie pulled back from Mike and thanked her visitors. “Now remember what we agreed upon? No one breathes a word of this to my mother.”

  Maggie slid her fingers over her lips as if she was zipping them shut.

  “Not a word,” Judge Martin agreed.

  “Okay. Then it’s time for champagne!”

  Three months later

  “STOP FUSSING,” MARILYN SAID, even as Eleanor tried to remain still. She was seated in a chair in the vestibule of the church where the wedding was to take place in a little less than an hour while her mother added more hair pins to keep her hair in place on top of her head.

  “Seriously, Mom. How many pins does a person need to hold an updo?”

  “If my count is correct,” Allie chimed in, “one million and two.”

  Marilyn harrumphed. “That sounds about right.”

  “Besides, it’s not as if anyone is going to be looking at me, anyway. All eyes are going to be on Allie. She’s the bride.”

  “I don’t know, Eleanor. You’re basically as big as a whale. It might be hard for people to see me at all if I’m standing next to you.”

  Eleanor glowered and reached over to pinch her sister.

  “Stop that,” Marilyn chastised her. “No red marks on her arm before she walks down the aisle.”

  “Yeah, Eleanor. I’m the bride, remember.” Allie stuck her tongue out at her sister.

  “How is it that you are so relaxed?” Eleanor wanted to know. Her mother had been her usual self. Fussing and prodding and trying to make everything exactly perfect. Allie had been completely unaffected by it. She’d simply gone along with every request and order as if none of it was stressful at all. As if today wasn’t the single biggest day of her life.

  Allie smiled and shrugged. “Don’t know. Just feel pretty chill about it all, really.”

  Eleanor was anything but chill. She felt full and bloated and about ready to explode. She knew she was sweating through her purple maternity gown, which Marilyn said made her look elegant and statuesque, but she thought made her look like a giant eggplant.

  Plus there was the cramping.

  She’d been having Braxton Hicks contractions for the past few weeks. At her last doctor’s appointment she was still only a centimeter dilated, though. The doctor had said it could happen any day, or it could be another week or two.

  Babies, it seemed, had their own timetable.

  But she was feeling strange today. Like her whole body was getting ready for something big.

  I love you, little baby, but please hold off until after the ceremony.

  Eleanor rubbed her belly, mentally trying to convey the words. Maybe she should go find Max. Tell him about the contractions and that he should start to time them. But if she did that, then he would probably freak out and want to take her to the hospital right away.

  She was not going to miss Allie’s wedding. Surely, if she was going into labor, then she could spare an hour to see her little sister get married.

  “Okay. You both look as good as you can look,” Marilyn proclaimed.

  Eleanor and Allie shared a smile. It was their mother’s idea of a compliment.

  “Now let’s get this show on the road.” Marilyn walked over to the vestibule door, opened it and made a signal.

  The organist must have been waiting for it, because immediately the music started up.

  Allie had decided she wanted to be given away by both her mother and her sister. At first, Marilyn balked at the break of tradition, but on this decision Allie would not be moved.

  And so that was how it happened. Allie was in the middle with Mom on her right arm and Eleanor on her left arm. They made it exactly halfway down the aisle when Eleanor felt the rush of wetness between her legs.

  She stopped, and because her arm was linked with Allie’s, Allie and her mother had to stop, too.

  “What’s happening?” Marilyn asked. “Why are we stopping?”

  “Oh, no,” Eleanor said just as a major wave of pain rolled over her belly.

  “Eleanor?” Allie asked.

  “My water broke.”

  “Oh, shit.” Allie laughed. “That is hilarious.”

  Not really. Eleanor didn’t find a single thing funny about the pain.

  Max made his way up the aisle with Mike following closely behind him. The whole church was on their feet and staring in disbelief.

  “Nor?” Max said, reaching her first.

  “It’s happening,” she panted, even as the contraction started to recede. “Like now.”

  “Let’s go!” Allie said.

  “Go? We can’t go. You have to get married,” Marilyn shouted.

  “Oh, Mom, don’t worry about that. Mike and I got married months ago. This was just for show.”

  Eleanor’s eyes popped wide as she stared at her sister. “Are you kidding me?”

  Allie smiled smugly even as she took Mike’s hand. “It’s what I wanted.”

  “Allison Ann Harper.”

  “Davies, Mom. Allison Ann Davies.”

  Marilyn put a hand to her chest. “This is a disaster.”

  “Uh, I can appreciate you’re upset, Marilyn, but I sort of would like to get my wife to the hospital,” Max said.

  Eleanor was in agreement with that as another contraction rolled over her. That seemed really fast. “Oh, man, this hurts.”

  “You doing okay?” Max asked her.

  And suddenly it all made such crazy sense. Eleanor laughed through the pain even as she doubled over. “I want a wedding!”

  “What?” Max asked.

  “I want a big wedding. I want the church and my own dress and the party.”

  “Seriously, Nor? Can we talk about this later? Like after you have the kid?”

  Eleanor reached and grabbed Max’s hand. For months, he’d done nothing but be the most supportive and most amazing husband a wife could imagine. He’d been there for her every step as she grew the business. He’d told her he loved her all the time without ever pressing her for more. He’d given her the time she had needed to finally heal. And it was now, standing in the aisle of a church wearing her hideous purple dress with a puddle between her legs, she knew in her heart that she had done just that.

  “Max Harper, I love you. Will you marry me again and give me a big, splashy wedding with all the trimmings so that everyone will know how much I love you?”

  She could see the tears in his eyes. Because he knew, more than anyone, what her declaration meant. It meant not only that she had not only overcome the grief of losing him, but it also meant she trusted him. One hundred percent trusted him.

  “Yes, Eleanor Harper. I will marry you and give you everything you have ever wanted. I promise.”

  He kissed her then, and she held on to him with everything she had.

  “This is so sweet,” Allie said.

  “Sweet? This is supposed to be your wedding!”

  Allie patted Marilyn on the back. “Look at it this way, Mom. At least you’re going to get another shot at it.”

  Max pulled away from Eleanor. “Can we please go to the hospital now?”

  “Yes,” Eleanor agreed. “Let’s go have a baby!”

  At that, the entire church of family and friends erupted into applause.

  Seven hours later

  “SHE’S SO TINY. I can’t get over how tiny she is,” Allie said, looking down at the bundle in her arms.

  Eleanor leaned back in the bed with a contented smile. The wo
rd labor was no joke. Bringing Sarah Allison into this world had been a rough job, but it was done now and Eleanor was pleased with her efforts.

  “I want her back,” she said, and her sister quickly handed her over.

  Baby nestled in her arms, everything felt right again.

  Then the hospital door opened, and Max entered with bags full of food. With everything that had happened, no one had eaten a thing that day. All their family and friends had gone on with the reception. Allie and Mike had told everyone to have a good time without them.

  But then they had come to the hospital with Marilyn to sit and wait.

  Now everyone was happy and starving.

  Max handed off the bags to Mike to distribute, then he carefully sat on the bed to gaze into his daughter’s tiny face.

  “I missed her when I was gone,” he whispered.

  “You were gone for less than half an hour,” she pointed out.

  “Yes, and that was too long,” he said. “Can I hold her again?”

  Eleanor decided she couldn’t hog all the baby time, so she handed her daughter off to her father.

  Looking at Max holding their daughter, she realized what a miracle life really was.

  When he’d died, she’d died. Now there was nothing but life.

  “I love you, Max.” She promised herself then she would say it every day to him from now until her last.

  “I love you, too. But I’m not giving her back just yet.”

  And Eleanor thought that was okay. For now.

  * * * * *

  If you enjoyed this Superromance book

  by Stephanie Doyle,

  she has a wonderful backlist

  of romances including

  HER SECRET SERVICE AGENT,

  THE COMEBACK OF ROY WALKER,

  SCOUT’S HONOR and

  BETTING ON THE ROOKIE.

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  A Cop’s Honor

  by Emilie Rose

  Chapter One

  HANNAH SANK DEEPER into her Adirondack chair and stretched out her legs. Her foot bumped the empty fire pit, and a few flakes of rust rained onto her ankles. She shifted again, hoping to find a more comfortable position on the hard seat. Her fingertips brushed across the chair’s peeling paint and a sense of futility rose within her.

  The furniture and fire pit, like everything else around the house behind her, needed work. A lot of work. More than she could handle or afford, yet she was tackling it one project at a time. But sometimes she felt like a hamster on a wheel, spinning ’round and ’round and getting nowhere.

  The old house was home—the first real home she’d ever had. Not that the places she and her parents had lived as her father climbed the army’s noncommissioned officer ranks had been bad, but they’d all been temporary. She hadn’t been free to paint or make any changes in the rented accommodations. And she had never, ever put down roots until she and Rick had bought this fixer-upper.

  Rick. She closed her eyes and let the loss roll over her. Five years ago today he’d been taken from her. His death had robbed them of so many future plans as a family, and it had jeopardized their dream of turning this old house into the kind of home their children would remember fondly and always return to. She was trying to hold on to it, but life seemed determined to undermine that goal.

  She took a deep breath of humid, hyacinth-and lilac-scented April air and tilted her head to stare at the full moon hanging like a fat beacon in the sky between towering oaks. A gentle breeze swayed the budding branches framing the orb. She pressed her bare soles against the still-warm brick pavers and endeavored to follow the advice she gave clients every day.

  Inhale deeply to the count of ten, then exhale slowly. Release the tension by relaxing each muscle group sequentially: her forehead, her cheeks, her jaw, her neck, her shoulders. Knots loosened. Her pulse slowed and her grief settled back to a bearable level.

  The click of the back door latch halted her progress. She’d thought both kids asleep before she’d slipped out for a moment of peace. Twisting, she leaned to look around the high back of her chair. The door eased open. Mason stepped onto the deck. Guilt pinched. Was he looking for her?

  She opened her mouth to ask what he needed then noticed his backpack and remained silent. Why was he carrying it at this time of night? Where was he planning on going? He turned the knob and silently pulled the door closed. An uneasiness pricked through her. The feeling amplified when he furtively glanced around then tiptoed down the steps, carefully avoiding the squeaky middle tread. He turned for the side gate and clicked on a flashlight.

  He wasn’t looking for her. Concern turned into alarm. “Mason, where do you think you’re going?”

  He jumped, dropping the flashlight with a clank. The beam flickered and died. “Mom! What are you doing out here?”

  The dismay on his face and in his voice confirmed that finding her hadn’t been his objective. Her heart thumped hard and fast in her chest. She rose and crossed the yard. “The question is where are you going at ten o’clock? You should be sleeping. It’s a school night. Your bedtime was nine.”

  The sound of crickets filled the air.

  “Mason Brandon Leith! Answer me.”

  His gaze skittered away. “I...um... I...was going to camp out in the treehouse.”

  Lying and sneaking out. Anxiety dried her mouth. She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. “The treehouse is that way.”

  “I...um...was looking for frogs first.”

  Another lie. “Inside. Now.”

  “Mooooom,” he wailed.

  “Move it!” What had turned her sweet, easygoing ten-year-old son into trouble looking for a place to happen? He’d been suspended twice from school in the past three months for making inappropriate comments to other students then to his teacher, and finally, for sassing the school principal. She knew middle school kids were supposed to be difficult, but she hadn’t expected sixth grade to change her little boy into someone she didn’t recognize.

  She followed him into the kitchen. “Where were you going?”

  “I told you.”

  “You lied. Try the truth.”

  His chin jutted out. “I was going to meet a friend...for homework help.”

  “At this hour? Who?”

  “No one you k
now.”

  That concerned her. “I’ve told you more than once that you’re not allowed to go to anyone’s house unless I’ve met them and their parents—and definitely not after bedtime and without permission.”

  “How’s that supposed to happen? You work all the time. Even Grandmother Margaret says—”

  “Do not throw your grandmother in my face. I work because I have to. And you’re only required to spend a couple of hours a day in after-school care. It won’t kill you. Anyway, you’re supposed to use that time to get help with your homework.” But the guilt of not being there for them the way her mother had been for her, ate at her.

  “You treat me like a baby. I’m not!”

  She didn’t bother arguing that he would always be her baby. “You know the rules, Mason. You’re grounded for the week. No TV and definitely no video games.”

  “You’re mean! I hate you!”

  The dart hit home. Her heart ached and her eyes stung. She knew he was only striking out in anger, but his words still hurt. She stiffened her spine. “Go to your room.”

  He charged out of the kitchen and stomped up the stairs. His bedroom door slammed. She winced and hoped he hadn’t woken his sister.

  She had to figure out what had triggered the drastic change in his behavior before he ended up in serious trouble. But who could she turn to? Not to the school counselor who’d warned her that the next time her son misbehaved he’d be expelled. Not to her in-laws who’d insisted more than once that Hannah wasn’t a good parent to their grandchildren. Their constant criticisms were hard to swallow.

  And she definitely couldn’t turn to a professional—not only because of the cost. She feared her in-laws might warp whatever a psychologist learned into something that could be used against her to make good on their threat to pursue partial—if not full—custody. She didn’t think they had a legal leg to stand on, but Mr. Leith had been golfing buddies with numerous lawyers and judges over the years. She couldn’t even afford to hire an attorney if her in-laws took action. And after witnessing a coworker lose custody of her kids due to something her ex-husband had trumped up, Hannah was afraid to take chances.