Unexpected

by Karen Tuft

  Cover image Hot Chocolate and Macarons © Verdina Anna, Courtesy of Getty Images.

  Cover design copyright © 2013 by Covenant Communications, Inc.

  Published by Covenant Communications, Inc.

  American Fork, Utah

  Copyright © 2013 by Karen Tuft

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any format or in any medium without the written permission of the publisher, Covenant Communications, Inc., P.O. Box 416, American Fork, UT 84003. The views expressed within this work are the sole responsibility of the author and do not necessarily reflect

  the position of Covenant Communications, Inc., or any other entity.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are either products of the author’s imagination, and are not to be construed as real, or are used fictitiously.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-62108-601-7

  For Stephen, always.

  Acknowledgments

  A special thanks to Carolyn, the original Bob, for allowing me to channel her essence into a heroine with a happily-ever-after ending.

  And many thanks to my editor and friend, Samantha Millburn, who generously shares her talents and insights in order to make my words the best they can be.

  Prologue

  The sky, when he could see the sky through the towering buildings, was a gray shroud, and the air was thick with bone-cutting moisture, the temperature nearly subzero. Gusts of wind tore at his coat and whipped his cheeks into fiery redness. Newspapers pitched and dove wildly, slapping his legs like angry, flapping birds. Steam billowed out of the shop grates in the sidewalks, ripe with the smell of garlic and garbage.

  But Ross McConnell could not stop grinning. It was a glorious day in New York.

  His thumb, nearly numb from the cold, ran smoothly over the soft velvet of the small blue box in his pocket just as a large man in a heavy woolen overcoat, his hat pulled low against the weather, bumped into him, cursed, and hurried on. Startled briefly from his reverie, Ross did a mental check of the bundle he held carefully against his chest inside his coat—a dozen pink roses. Pink was Liz’s favorite color.

  He was nearly there.

  A taxi shrieked past, spraying slush at him in its wake. Ross sidestepped, nearly managing to escape, but the brown sludge splattered his jeans below his knee and seeped rapidly through the denim. He could feel it ooze slowly down his shin, soaking his sock. And he grinned. It was a magnificent day in New York.

  Ross was in love.

  Liz had missed class again today; she had mentioned to Ross when he’d called to check on her yesterday that she thought she was coming down with something. She’d asked if she could get his class notes later, and he’d assured her she could. He loved her. He loved everything about her and had since they’d begun dating at the beginning of the semester. Besides, they were in the same study group, so sharing notes was no big deal.

  This sudden illness of hers, he thought, still grinning like a fool, played so neatly into his plans. He was able to leave the law library early this morning and get to the jeweler, and with Liz conveniently not around, she wouldn’t suspect anything. The ring had set him back quite a bit; he’d be paying for it, along with his law school loans, for a few years, but Liz was worth it. He wasn’t about to scrimp on a diamond simply because he was a poor student. Not for Liz. He wanted that ring to clearly show her how special she was, how perfect.

  And she was perfect. He wanted to yell it to the sky.

  He took the steps of her apartment building two at a time. He imagined her in her oversized Boston College hoodie and matching sweatpants cut off and frayed. He would tuck her into a blanket on the sofa, all propped up with pillows, and brew a nice hot cup of herbal tea for her. Not cocoa, her usual favorite, not if she was under the weather. Once he had her all toasty warm and under his spell, he would cuddle up with her, take her hand, and—Whew! How was it possible that his hands could sweat when they were nearly blue from the cold?

  He would tell her how wonderful the past few months had been with her. He would tell her he wanted her to stay by his side and be his bride, his queen, forever. He could envision her beautiful brown eyes brimming with tears of joy, her sweet mouth trembling with emotion. He would pull that ever-present elastic from her golden ponytail, run his fingers through her silky hair, and kiss that soft, sweet, trembling mouth. He would tell her how proud he was of her and her decision to be baptized. It was scheduled to occur a week from Saturday, and he hoped this little germ she had wouldn’t create any delay there. He was confident that her decision to meet with the missionaries had been based on her own interest generated by his example. He was certain enough of her character that she would not agree to be baptized merely because she knew it would make him happy. She was not the type of woman to be swayed from her personal beliefs by a man’s opinion. Elizabeth Turner, hopefully soon to be Elizabeth McConnell, was the most honest person he’d ever met.

  Just as Ross was wiping his waterlogged shoes on the mat, Liz’s neighbor opened the lobby door, allowing him to slip inside without buzzing Liz for entry. Even better. He could surprise her right at her door. Taking a deep breath, still grinning with excitement and nerves, he made his way to her door and knocked. His hand trembled. He chuckled and shook his head. He, Ross McConnell, at the top of his law class, editor of the Columbia Law Review, a man who had secured the plum internship with a prestigious law firm and had the amazing good fortune of a job offer with them upon graduation, was shaking like a callow boy simply because he would be asking a slender reed of a girl from Boston to be his wife.

  And he couldn’t be happier.

  The door opened a crack, the chain still in place. He could see Liz, her eyes widening in surprise. “Ross! What are you doing here?”

  He chuckled. “Let me in, and I’ll show you, sweetheart.”

  She glanced over her shoulder and edged the door nearly closed. “Now really isn’t a good time, Ross,” she whispered. “You should have called first.”

  “I wanted to surprise you. How are you feeling, Liz? Take the chain off and let me in, honey. I want to make sure you’re all right.” He nudged gently on the door, trying to open it wider. Her face had paled, and he was growing concerned.

  She shook her head. “Oh, Ross, please go. I can’t see you right now. I’m not well. It’s not a good time. I’ll call you. Tomorrow, okay?” She pushed back against the gentle force he was maintaining on the door. “Tomorrow, I promise.”

  “Lizzie, someone at the door?” a deep male voice called from behind her. Her eyes lowered. Ross felt every cell of his body go on high alert. “Is it the pizza delivery? About time. I’m starving.”

  Ross pushed less gently on the door now. “Take off the chain, Liz. What is going on? Who’s here?”

  He looked over her shoulder. A tall, well-built guy was coming toward the door, pulling a shirt on as he came. He saw Ross, scowled, then threw a possessive arm over Liz’s shoulders. “Friend of yours, baby?”

  Liz dropped her head and removed the chain. “Ross, this is my—this is Clay. Clay, this is my friend Ross. We’re in the same study group.”

  What? My friend? Same study group? We’re more than that, Ross wanted to yell. He wanted to grab her and shake her, but his hands wouldn’t move. We’re so much more than that! We’ve spent nearly every day, every evening together for months. We’ve talked about our goals and our families. We’ve pulled each other through tough study sessions and raced each other through the falling leaves at Riverside Park. We’ve fed french fries to the ducks, shared ice cream. He knew every contour of her face and the sweetness of her mouth. And now she was leaning back against some guy named Clay, and her eyes had gone distant, the light snuffed out.

  Clay
wrapped his arms around Liz’s waist and stared hard at Ross like he was drawing battle lines. “This must be that ‘friend’ of yours I’ve heard rumors about.” He smirked, and Ross wanted to plant his fist in the guy’s arrogant face. Clay laughed mockingly. “It appears I know more about him than he does about me. He’s shocked speechless. You really know how to play it, baby. I didn’t give you enough credit. But obviously, this guy doesn’t know you well enough, or he’d know you belong to me. Game’s over, buddy. You lose.”

  Ross’s raging pulse quickened and rammed at the wall of his throat. He could feel an intense cold taking over, a cold that had nothing to do with the freezing temperatures. He couldn’t feel his hands. He wondered abstractedly if the numbness in his extremities would stop his heart beating altogether if it were to reach that far.

  “Five minutes, Liz. I deserve five minutes.” Ross looked from Liz’s dull eyes to Clay’s glinting ones. “Then I’m gone.”

  Liz glanced at Clay. He shrugged, whacked her gently on the bottom, and walked out of the room. Liz quietly slid through the door and eased it nearly shut. She was hugging herself. Ross wanted to grab her, hold her, shake her senseless, yell at her. Cry. Instead, he stood rigidly, waiting. Waiting for the words that would shatter him.

  Liz heaved a huge sigh and then spoke quietly. “Clay and I are a couple. We’ve been together for a long time, really. Until this year, actually. We just hit a rough patch for a while. But he came to town the other day, and we decided to give it another try.”

  Ross could hear the words and knew what she was saying. He also knew she wasn’t telling him everything. His hand clenched in his coat pocket, and he was only slightly aware of the velvet box that rubbed against his knuckles. His other hand clutched the bunch of roses still hidden inside his coat, a thorn stabbing him. How appropriate. “Explain this rough patch.” She wouldn’t look at him. “Explain it!”

  Now she glared at him, her back stiff. “Fine! Clay and I are together. You don’t know how hard I worked to get him away from the other girls. Everyone wanted him, and I got him. I got him,” she said almost to herself. “He’s everything. He has everything. A prominent family, money, looks, connections. He can trace his family all the way back to the Mayflower on one side and the Boston Tea Party on the other. He’s perfect. Things were great for a while; then I came to New York for law school, and he decided to be a jerk. The first year, it wasn’t so bad. Then I guess he figured if I wasn’t around to see what he was doing, I would never find out. Oh, but my friends saw him with other women, and they told me all about it. Over and over again. Until I’d had enough and decided it was payback time.”

  “I was payback,” he said.

  She rubbed at her arms unconsciously. “I’ll admit it started out that way. I had to find the type of guy he would really see as a threat. That’s why I asked to join the study group.”

  “I see. I should be flattered, I suppose,” he said.

  “I said it started out that way, but it didn’t stay like that. Not exactly.” Liz crossed and uncrossed her arms. She reached toward him then backed her hand away. “I do care about you, Ross. We had great times together.”

  Great times together building ammunition to make her ex-boyfriend Clay jealous. Ross just stood there. He had no words at the moment. Liz’s face was a stranger’s face. He was sure the thorn was making him bleed, so he unbuttoned his coat and removed the pink roses. He held the bunch loosely in his hand.

  Liz looked up miserably. “Oh, Ross. Pink roses.”

  “Yeah. Your favorite.”

  “You were always so thoughtful, made me feel special. There were so many times I thought maybe . . . it was real between us, Ross. Times I’d forget about Clay, times I’d think of him and wonder if he was really who I wanted to be with.”

  Don’t go there, Ross thought. Don’t say it. It was one thing for him to play the dupe and be fooled by a consummate manipulator. Only his pride would suffer with that. But if she told him he’d been considered and rejected in favor of the clod he’d just met, it would kill him. On a very deep level, he wasn’t sure he would survive it.

  “Clay and I have a history. He loves me; really, he does. I made him see it. We’ll be married this summer at his parents’ home. It’s what I’ve dreamed of for so long.”

  “You’ve dreamed of a vain, philandering husband, all for the sake of money and appearances?”

  “It won’t be like that. He won’t be like that.”

  “You’re an intelligent woman. You say you have a history with him. Can you not see the pattern? History repeats itself, Liz.”

  “Sometimes people recognize their mistakes and grow stronger. They change.”

  He could tell she really wanted to believe that. He knew he had lost her. But Ross loved her enough to take one final risk. He was not begging. He was arguing his case. “I love you, Liz. Marry me, not him. He may have money now, but I’ll have money—all you could ever need or want. Connections? Those are formed easily enough, and you know I have the beginnings of those already established. You want a pedigree. Easy. I can trace mine back to Robert the Bruce. There. Scottish royalty. And I’ll be faithful to you, Liz.” His voice softened. “You won’t ever have to wonder where I am or with whom. Marry me.” He pulled the blue box out of his pocket, flipping it open for her to see its contents. This was not the way he had planned to propose to her, standing in a freezing hallway, desperate, dying inside.

  Liz touched the brilliant two-carat diamond gently with the tip of her forefinger, then pulled her hand slowly away. “You must have robbed a bank or held the jeweler at gunpoint.” She gave him a watery smile.

  “Only for you, Liz.”

  Her face crumpled then, and Ross’s heart sank. “I can’t do it. I can’t do it, Ross. It’s too much. I worked too hard for too long to get Clay. I can’t start all over again with only promises and no guarantees. I can’t. And I can’t be baptized next Saturday.”

  “Liz, that is an entirely different matter. It has nothing to do with us, or at least it shouldn’t. Don’t—”

  “I can’t say the things I learned weren’t valuable. I really think I believed a lot of it, on some intrinsic level. But now I—Clay just laughed and said I couldn’t be serious about pursuing such a quaint little idea. And my family won’t understand. I’m sorry. You’ll let the elders know?”

  Ross nodded slightly. Looking down, he realized he still held the roses. He shrugged and started to hand them to her. She shook her head, and he dropped his hand.

  “Well, there’s nothing more to say except congratulations, I guess. Be happy in your choice.”

  He started to leave, ring in one hand, roses in the other. Liz stopped him with a touch. He turned and looked at her, her large brown eyes overflowing with tears. Her lips trembled. She brushed them softly over his cheek. He could feel the dampness of her tears on his skin. “Remember all of the good times, okay?” she whispered. “I do love you, Ross, and I’m sorry.”

  He looked at her then, this woman he’d known so well and didn’t know at all. The numbness consumed him at last. “Yeah. I’m sorry I love you too,” he said flatly.

  Ross turned and walked out of the building. He didn’t look back, but he heard the door shut behind him. He had been afraid his heart would break. Instead, it turned to stone.

  Outside, the clouds had begun to part. Blue sky was breaking through, and there were tiny purple crocuses peeking out of the crusty snow in a small garden patch as Ross walked by. He chucked the roses on top of them.

  New York was a lousy place to be.

  Chapter 1

  Eleven years later

  Natalie Forrester stepped into the Lisles’ house, loaded with her cleaning tools, only to stumble upon an eruption of empty pizza and Chinese-food boxes, potato chip bags, and cookie crumbs. Various beverage bottles and cans were strewn from room to room with the wild abandon of indulgent, wealthy youth, the cans’ contents forming sticky sprays on walls and puddles on tables
and floors. Valerie Lisle, Mrs. Lisle to Natalie, even though Natalie had cleaned the Lisles’ spacious eastside Salt Lake City home for nearly two years, had left a note for Natalie the previous Friday saying she and Mr. Lisle were leaving for a cruise to the Panama Canal but that the boys would be expecting Natalie to clean up. That was obvious, Natalie thought as she looked around. The note had included a fifty-dollar bonus and a penned apology from Mrs. Lisle, stating she suspected the eighteen-year-old twins, Justin and Jeremy, would be “less than tidy” with their mother gone. Natalie’s eyebrows rose in ironic agreement as she viewed the disaster before her, sent up a silent prayer of gratitude for three basically well-mannered children, and grabbed a bucket and rag. Her usual Friday-morning cleaning job of three hours had climbed to at least six. The extra fifty from Mrs. Lisle wouldn’t even come close to covering the extra time and work.

  She plunged her rag into a bucket of hot, soapy water, wrung it out, and attacked the living room walls. Golden droplets of beer and caramel cola fanned out like fireworks on the living room walls. A shake and spray stunt, no doubt. Next to the fireplace, someone had spelled an offensive word out of Oreos on the wall. Natalie had been tempted to rearrange them into a smiley face and leave them for the Lisle twins to find, but she wasn’t sure when the mister and missus would be home and didn’t think they’d appreciate the humor. She snagged one of the remaining cookies from the package on the counter and nibbled it as she threw the others away and pushed the soapy rag through Oreo goo.

  Natalie moved to the master bedroom next; it appeared a little too disorderly to simply presume Mrs. Lisle had gone into a frenzy packing. More likely amorous party guests. She grimaced and pulled the luxury 520-thread-count sheets off the king-size bed and packed them downstairs to the laundry room, where she immediately put them in the washing machine.

  She murmured words of relief that she only had to quickly make the beds in the boys’ rooms and collect their dirty laundry from the floor. Slayer and Megadeth glared down at her from Justin’s walls. Maxim girls smiled invitations from Jeremy’s. Natalie knew as much about Jeremy and Justin as she cared to know. She was more than willing to let them live with their dust bunnies and whatever else lurked in the dark corners.