Finding The One (Meadowview Heroes 1; The Meadowview Series 5)

by Rochelle French

  From what he could tell, it was only Trudy and Milla and Milla’s brood—which consisted of a couple of kids and a husband. No parents, no other siblings. His family wasn’t extensive—neither of his parents had siblings and all his grandparents had passed on a few years back—but he couldn’t imagine not having Doe or his father, as remote as his dad could be. His mother had been there constantly for him and Doe until the cancer took her. Family meant something to him, and he was touched and a little nervous that Trudy wanted him to get to know hers.

  He cast a glance at Trudy, appreciating the red and black sundress with the tie at her side—a dress designed to be easily removed. A Diane von Furstenberg, he assumed. Several years as a fashion photographer in New York had given him an eye for design, something his sister ribbed him about, but the skill had proven handy over the years. Like knowing how to get a woman out of her dress. Although he’d failed pretty miserably with the dress Trudy had worn the night at the gallery.

  He shoved that thought out of his head. This was a new beginning, and tonight, if things went the way he thought Trudy wanted them to go, he’d have another chance at undressing Trudy. He hoped.

  Next to him, Trudy tripped on an uneven brick on her sister’s walkway. He held her steady against him, breathing in the scent of her shampoo. Funny how the aroma reminded him of a garden. So sweet. So sexy.

  “We’re here,” Trudy said as they reached the front door, her voice small.

  “Everything okay?” he asked. Her sudden reticence conflicted with her typical self-assured attitude. Meeting her family seemed like quite a large step for a first date. Usually meeting a woman’s family meant a relationship was brewing. Could Trudy be regretting her decision to bring him to dinner tonight?

  Trudy nodded, and he transferred the bottle of wine to his other arm and knocked hard on the white paneled door, which swung open under his fist.

  High pitched squeals and screams greeted them.

  “It’s open!” Milla’s voice overpowered the screams. Trudy shrank behind his back, as if he were her personal bodyguard. Mac opened the door and stepped inside the cool and airy foyer, propelling a cowering Trudy forward.

  “So much for my warrior woman,” he teased.

  She flashed him a grin, but one that still held a bit of apprehension.

  Another shriek rendered the air. Apparently the start of World War Three had commenced, judging from the wails and sobs coming from the interior of the house. Some relaxed family evening. No worries—Mac was used to Aaron’s meltdowns. This felt like home. Although maybe a tad bit louder. Someone sure knew how to shriek. He tightened his grip on Trudy’s hand. Driving up, the cozy suburban home on a tree-lined street in the outskirts of Sacramento had appeared well-kempt and serene, with no hint of the auditory chaos now welcoming them.

  Milla came charging around the corner, barefoot, and slid to a stop in front of them, wobbling a little. “Thank God, the cavalry’s arrived.”

  “The cavalry?” Mac repeated.

  Milla grabbed his arm to steady herself as she slid on a pair of brown and pink polka-dotted sneakers. “That’s what Jarrod and I always call the babysitters.”

  “Babysitters?”

  Milla stopped shoving a swollen foot into the shoe and stared up at him, then looked hard at Trudy. Her grip on his arm tightened. “You mean Chicken Little here didn’t tell you?” Milla asked, her brows forming a dark line across her forehead as she glared at her sister, who’d ducked her head and was now hiding a grin behind a curtain of long red hair.

  “Tell me what?”

  “Trudy’s plans for this evening.”

  Mac shook his head, realization dawning. He turned to Trudy. “We’re the babysitters?”

  Trudy nodded and looked up, her eyes shining bright.

  He lowered his head until their eyes were at the same level and glowered. “Gertrude T. Prendergast, this is not the evening you led me to believe it would be,” he whispered.

  “You said you didn’t want to know,” Trudy whispered back, still grinning like a fool.

  True. He squeezed her hand and added, “I’ll still win the bet. And you know what that means…”

  A thrill zipped through him when Trudy sucked in a quick breath and her eyes went wide and sparkly. Oh, yeah, she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Thank god he’d remembered to buy a mega-box of condoms, several of which were in his wallet.

  “Anyway, I’m glad to see you again,” Milla added, pulling him into a warm embrace “Even if Gertrude kept her agenda from you.”

  Over Milla’s shoulder, Mac raised his eyebrows at Trudy.

  “Don’t even try calling me Gertrude,” she said, defiantly. “Only Milla gets away with that.”

  “TABITHA!” A high-pitched wail split the air.

  Milla groaned, dropped her arms from around Mac’s shoulders and slapped a hand to her forehead. “Sorry about the nuclear meltdown.”

  “What are we in for here?” Mac drawled.

  Milla rolled her eyes. “You have no idea. Apparently Betsy learned how to use scissors today.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Dare I ask?”

  “You’ll see for yourself soon enough. Hurry up, True.” Milla grabbed Trudy’s hand and tugged her forward. “I know you’d rather have a tooth pulled without Novocain, but you did offer to babysit, so get your butt in here.”

  He shuffled to the side to let Trudy go by. His foot hit something small and wheeled, sending him crashing against the wall.

  “What the…?” He braced himself while watching miniature car careened down the foyer.

  “Sorry,” Milla apologized, waving a hand airily and waddling ahead. “Jarrod’s tired of me having only girls, so he got out his collection of Matchbox cars. He thought he could interest Betsy, but she thinks he’s an idiot. I’ve been finding those wheeled nemeses all over the house.”

  Trudy poked him from behind, nudging him forward. With some trepidation, Mac walked forward into the great room, stepping into what he could only describe as a suburban nightmare.

  A screaming three-year-old sat cross-legged in the middle of the floor, holding a shock of hair in one hand and a pair of scissors in the other. He could only assume this was Betsy. And the reason for her screaming he could only assume came from the freshly shorn doll cradled in her lap.

  “Ta-a-a-bitha,” Betsy repeated between sobs.

  Milla stepped over her daughter and flopped herself down on the couch. With her feet, she shoved a pile of laundry off the cushions next to her and onto the floor, motioning to Mac and Trudy to sit. Mac tugged Trudy’s arm, carefully picking his way through the maze of swingy-seats, chew toys (of the non-dog variety), and dolls (total carnage—most were naked and some beheaded).

  “Mac,” Milla said, pointing to the man bent at the knees in front of Betsy, attempting to console the inconsolable kid, “this is my husband and eternal saint, Jarrod.”

  Milla’s husband smiled at Mac and opened his mouth to speak, but Betsy let out another wail, silencing her father. Instead of shaking hands, Jarrod gave Mac a silent smile and shrug. Mac tilted his head in acknowledgement. Helping Doe raise Aaron in his home had given him more than a passing compassion. These people needed a night out.

  As he and Trudy joined Milla on the couch, a baby monitor on the coffee table emitted sounds of crying, higher pitched and soft with sleep. Huh. How many kids did these people have?

  “Trudy, hon,” Milla said, waving in their direction. “The twins are up. Could you go get them for me? They need changing, and I don’t want to risk getting pee on my going-out-to-dinner outfit.”

  “Uh…now?” Beside him, Trudy sunk deep into the couch.

  When Mac turned to her, surprise shot through him. He thought he’d been overwhelmed walking into Milla and Jarrod’s home, but Trudy appeared shell-shocked. Her slack jaw and dull eyes told him she was way in over her head.

  He leaned in close, his eyes twinkling. “Babysit much?” he asked, keeping his voice low.<
br />
  She stared straight ahead with a glazed over expression and shook her head. “No…I get a little nervous around kids and babies. That was one of the reasons I invited you along. You seem to do well with Aaron.”

  Now that was downright cute. She’d needed his help. He patted her knee and stood. “I’ll get the twins. You see if you can get the little one to stop feeling so bad about scalping her doll. Milla,” he said, turning his attention to Trudy’s sister. “Why don’t you and Jarrod take off now? Enjoy your night. We’ll be fine here.”

  “Are you sure?” Milla asked. Jarrod came to standing, Betsy still sobbing at his feet.

  “Absolutely. No problem.” Mac grinned. “I’ll change the twins, and when I come back, Betsy and I are going to talk about how jealous her other dolls are of Tabitha’s rockin’ hair cut. Good job, Betsy.”

  Betsy stopped carrying on and stared at him, her eyes as large and brown as chocolate coins. She gave a shuddering sigh, then opened her mouth wide and closed her eyes, a scream about to escape.

  “Uh…let’s not encourage her,” Jarrod said under his breath. “You know, with the whole—” He made snipping motions with his hands in the air.

  “Don’t worry.” Mac kneeled down next to Betsy, careful not to look straight at her but instead looked at her doll. “You know, I used to be a fashion photographer. I took pictures of cool models, like in the magazines. I have a one of my cameras out in the car.” Betsy closed her mouth. “How about after I change your sisters’ diapers we have us a fashion shoot? Tabitha can be the star.”

  Betsy worked to hold back tears, her little body jolted by repressed sobs.

  “She’s your most special doll, isn’t she?” he asked. When Betsy nodded, Mac continued. “Well, then, we have to make sure none of the other dolls ever get a haircut. That would make Tabitha less special. She wouldn’t be the cool fashion doll anymore.”

  Mac held his breath while Betsy stared at him. In slow motion, she handed Mac first the scissors, and then the lock of shorn hair. Then she smiled.

  Next to him, Trudy let out an audible gasp. He caught her impressed expression, then grinning, she held her hand up and slapped him a high five.

  Milla scooped up her daughter and kissed her belly. “Okay, pumpkin, you be good for Aunt Trudy and her friend Mac. The two of them will take good care of you and your sisters.”

  Betsy squirmed out of her mother’s arms. “Bye-bye Mommy.” She reached for Mac’s hand. “Mac, can we start the fashion shoot now?”

  Milla burst out laughing. “Looks like you’ll do just fine. Call my cell if you need anything,” she threw over her shoulder as she and Jarrod walked to the doorway. There, Milla turned back. “And please wake the baby in an hour. I don’t want her to nap too late or she’ll never get to sleep tonight.”

  Mac pivoted to face Trudy. Baby? he mouthed.

  Trudy shrugged and grinned even wider before calling out to her sister, “We won’t forget!” before waving goodbye.

  When Milla stepped outside and shut the door, Mac leaned against the wall and slid to the floor. “Trudy, how many kids does your sister have, anyway?”

  She didn’t reply, but gave him a rueful smile and waggled her fingers in the air.

  Four. There were four children to take care of tonight. This was not going to be the homey family meal he’d thought. Nope, he knew how evenings with kids went. The home cooked meal would be macaroni and cheese out of a box. The wine—grape juice. Conversations about politics, culture, and art would be substituted for repeated readings of Goodnight Moon.

  No worries—he loved mac and cheese and knew Goodnight Moon by heart.

  Fun times were about to begin. If Trudy thought this was a test, he’d pass with flying colors. He just needed a moment to gather his energy. He’d need it tonight.

  As they drove through the dark, streetlights sent flashes of white to crisscross Mac’s face. Trudy fiddled with the knobs on the car door. Beside her, Mac thumbed the gear shift, sending his Porsche Cayman into fourth as he entered Highway 99. She rolled her head against the leather seat and stared out the window. Mac had passed the test, most definitely.

  She’d known he was good with kids, but had no idea how good. She always stumbled when taking care of Milla’s brood, but not Mac. Nope, he’d been a success from the moment he’d stopped Betsy from wailing. And in doing so, had most likely had prevented the preschooler from ever cutting a doll’s hair again.

  He’d charmed the socks off her twin nieces Lana and Laura, reading the two-year-olds Hop on Pop five times and then letting them jump all over him. When he saw how uncomfortable she was holding the baby, he’d held Gabbie himself and hadn’t made a single comment about the lack of mothering instincts Trudy seemed to possess. And when Gabbie wouldn’t go to sleep, he’d taking Milla’s mini-van out of the garage and driving around the block fifteen times until the baby fell asleep.

  A man like that deserved his own family. A man like that should have his own children. A man like that shouldn’t be with someone missing a uterus and ovaries and—

  “So Trudy is short for Gertrude, but what’s Milla short for?” Mac’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

  She toyed with her hair, then gathered the heavy weight up and swept it over a shoulder as she mentally swept away thoughts of her infertility. No sense in alienating the man now. That was a conversation they could have another time, after she worked herself up to do the whole “Do you want babies” conversation. If things even got that far—Mac was a playboy, used to dating a multitude of women. Not the kind of guy who had marriage on his mind, fortunately for her.

  After clearing her throat, she said, “Um, Camilla.”

  “But you both go by nicknames?”

  She swallowed. “Our mom gave us old family names. She said they were very special and she’d even make up songs with our names in them. But then she royally screwed up her life and Milla and I were dumped into foster care. She died after that.”

  “Oh” Mac’s voice had gone quiet. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

  Trudy shrugged. “It’s okay.”

  “Were Trudy and Milla the nicknames your mom gave you?”

  “No,” she said flatly. “When we were put into our first foster home, we didn’t want Foster Mom Number One to call us by the names our mother called us by, so we told her to call us Trudy and Milla.”

  “Do you miss your mom?”

  She sat for a while, thinking about the question. “No,” she said, slowly, “not really. I don’t even remember her much. But I miss the idea of her. The idea of family.”

  Mac changed lanes, getting ready to merge from the 99 to Highway 50. “Your sister looks like she’s embraced the whole concept of family rather willingly. That’s a heck of a lot of kids she and Jarrod have back there.”

  Trudy let out a light laugh. “You were awesome with my nieces. Much better than me.”

  He chuckled. “Not much of a baby person, are you?”

  “I…” She paused, then placed a hand on her belly, becoming aware of how shallow her breath had grown. “I don’t have much experience with them, is all.”

  “Think you’ll ever have a passel of your own? Like your sister?”

  The unexpected question hit her hard. He wanted to talk about family already? She sucked in a deep breath, hungry for oxygen, and feeling the distinct need to switch topics. “It’s getting a little stuffy in here. Mind if I roll down the window?”

  Using his own controls, Mac lowered the window for her, and she breathed in the balmy night air. And noticed they were almost to the junction of Highway 99 and Highway 50. Just off 50 was her place.

  Suddenly, she realized what she didn’t want. And what she did.

  “Mac?” She said his name, aware of how thick her voice sounded.

  “Yes, Trudy?” He mimicked her formality, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward.

  “Um…you know you won the bet.”

  “A gentleman never bets on a lady’
s honor,” he intoned.

  She laughed. “A gentleman never rescinds on an agreement, either.”

  “Are you saying I should have brought along a toothbrush?” he teased, then reached over and stroked her thigh, a simple light and gentle touch, and she just about melted.

  She brushed her hair behind an ear and looked fully at him. “No,” she said, holding her voice as steady as she could. “I’m saying you shouldn’t make the two-hour trip to Meadowview alone.”

  Mac shoved the car into gear, stomped on the gas, and shot past the exit lane to the 50. The lunge of the car threw Trudy back against the seat and she burst out laughing.

  “I have a box of condoms, clean sheets, and Barry White on my iPod at home,” he said over the roar of the engine.

  Excitement gripped and held her tight. Griswold could wake someone else up tomorrow morning. “An entire box?”

  “This time we’re using every single condom in that package. Just you wait.”

  She wasn’t sure she could.

  * * *

  Within ninety minutes, they’d arrived at Mac’s estate. The streets of Meadowview had been still and dark as they’d slowly driven through, and the clock tower in the middle of town had both its hands on the Two marker. She twisted her hands in her lap. Had she made the right decision coming here? The choice she’d made earlier, to stay overnight at Mac’s place, had seemed a no-brainer at the moment. But now…

  She could always chicken out, she told herself. Tell Mac she’d changed her mind. Ask to borrow a guest room for the night and then find her way home in the morning.

  But when Mac came around the corner of the car and took her hand in his, sliding his fingers between hers, she kept silent. An electrical tingle buzzed up her arm and into her chest. She followed him into the house, and once inside, squeezed her eyes shut for a second, then opened them, letting her gaze drift about, taking in the mix of traditional and contemporary décor, the lead-paned windows, and the thick oak flooring.