Sure that no other man knew her as well as Wade, nor could please her in so many fascinating and breathtaking ways, she gave herself up to him, to them, to the moment. She refused to think about the yesterdays in their lives or the worries that tomorrow might bring. She focused only on now.
And when he entered her, joining his body with hers, she squeezed back the tears of joy that sprang to her eyes at the sense of oneness that swept over her, the sense of rightness in being here at this moment and in this place with this man.
And when he’d given her the satisfaction he’d promised—and hopefully received an equal measure for himself—she curled naked against his side, laced her fingers through his over his heart and slept.
Stephanie decided that sleeping with Wade was almost as satisfying as making love with him. Cradled like two spoons, her back to his front, her buttocks nudged into the bowl shaped by his groin and thighs was truly a heavenly experience. Adding to the pleasure was having his knee wedged between hers and his arm draped over her waist, keeping her snugged close. It wasn’t a position that either of them had choreographed or maneuvered into after a lot of fidgeting and adjusting. It had just…happened. Naturally.
And that made her smile.
She knew couples who struggled for years to find the perfect sleeping arrangement. Others who were still struggling. Yet she and Wade had slid naturally into this position and had slept comfortably and soundly throughout the night.
And he was still sleeping.
Careful not to wake him, she turned beneath his arm, wanting to see him…and smothered a low moan of adoration when she saw his face. Handsome awake, he was absolutely adorable when sleeping, looking more like a tousle-headed toddler than a man in his late thirties. His sandy-brown hair shot from his scalp in wild clumps and flipped endearingly just above his ears. Relaxed in sleep, his lips were slightly parted, the lower one a little puffier than the upper and all but begging for a kiss. A day’s worth of stubble shadowed his jaw, chin and upper lip. Lighter than most men’s, the blond stubble held the faintest hint of red.
Unable to resist, she touched her lips to his.
He flinched, blinked open his eyes, then smiled and drew her hips to his. “Mornin’.”
His voice was rough with sleep, and the huskiness in it sent a shiver sliding down her spine.
“Good morning to you, too. Did you sleep well?”
He nuzzled his cheek to hers. “Like a rock. You?”
Finding the graze of his stubble on her skin unexpectedly erotic, she sighed and snuggled closer. “Never better.”
Lulled by the soft stroking of his hand over her buttocks, she closed her eyes, content in the silence that settled over them.
“You never married.”
She flipped open her eyes, startled by the unexpected statement. “No, I didn’t,” she replied, hoping he’d let the topic drop.
“Why?”
Because I never met a man who could make me forget you. That was the answer that came immediately to mind. Probably because it was the truth. But she was hesitant to admit that to him. Why, she wasn’t sure, but she suspected it had a lot to do with her pride, which had suffered a mortal blow when he had broken their engagement and married someone else.
She shrugged, hoping by her nonchalance he would assume that she hadn’t given the subject much thought. “I guess I just never met anyone I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.”
She waited, holding her breath and praying that he wouldn’t probe deeper. When he remained silent, his hand still rhythmically stroking her hip, she quietly released the breath and let her eyes close again.
“Do you think you’d want to spend the rest of your life with me?”
Her breath caught in her throat, burned there. Gulping, she slowly lifted her head to look at him. “Was that a rhetorical question or a proposal?”
Gripping her hips more firmly, he shifted her over to lie on top of him. “Since I’m not sure what rhetorical means, I’d have to say it was a proposal.”
She searched his face, sure that he was teasing her. But she didn’t find even the slightest hint of amusement in his eyes or in his expression. His face was smooth, his eyes a clear crystal blue. If anything, he looked…expectant.
She wasn’t ready for this, she thought, feeling the slow burn of panic as it began to crawl through her system. Not yet. Maybe never. She’d agreed to be his friend. They’d become lovers…but husband and wife? Married? She gulped as thoughts of all that marrying him would entail flashed through her mind. Giving up her home and business in Dallas. Moving into the house he’d once shared with another woman. Becoming a stepmother.
Dear God, she thought, feeling the revulsion churn in her stomach, making her feel sick. His daughter. The child, whose conception had caused a ripple effect the size of a tidal wave, ripping Wade from her arms and shattering her emotions, her very life. How could she live with that reminder on a daily basis? How could she look that child in the face every day and not be reminded of all that her birth had caused? The anger. The heartbreak. The years lost that she might’ve shared with Wade. The loneliness. The regret.
“Steph?”
She gulped and made herself focus on his face. Seeing the concern there, she gulped again and eased back to kneel beside him. “I don’t know, Wade,” she said, trying to keep the tremble from her voice. “This is so unexpected.” She pressed a hand to her heart, and gulped again, knowing that unexpected didn’t even come close to describing her reaction to his proposal. “Everything is still so…new between us. We’ve only just begun to get to know each other again.”
He braced himself up on one elbow and caught her hand. “Nothing’s new, Steph. If anything, the feelings I have for you are stronger than they were before. I love you. Always have. And you love me, too. Or at least I think you do.”
She dropped her gaze, unable to deny that she did still love him. But marry him? Oh, God, she wanted to. More than anything else in the world. But in marrying him, she had to be willing to accept all that he brought to their relationship, including his daughter.
Deciding that she had to be honest with him, she drew in a steadying breath and lifted her head to meet his gaze. “Wade, I do love you,” she said and had to stop to swallow back the tears that rose to her throat. “But there’s so much more to consider than our feelings for each other.”
He wrinkled his brow in confusion. “What could be more important than what we feel for each other?” He squeezed her hand. “I love you, Steph. Everything else is secondary to that.”
“Even your daughter?”
He stared, his hand going lax in hers. “Steph, please,” he begged. “Don’t do this.”
She gripped his hand hard, knowing she’d hurt him by mentioning his daughter but desperate to make him understand, to see her side. “It’s not that I don’t like your daughter, Wade. How could I, when I don’t even know her? But she was what tore us apart. Surely you realize how difficult it would be for me to see her, live with her, and not think of that every time I looked at her.”
Pulling his hands from hers, he dragged himself to a sitting position and braced his arms over his knees. “She’s just a kid. An innocent kid. You can’t blame her for what happened.”
“I don’t…not intentionally. But she would be a constant reminder.” She crawled to lay a hand over his arm, hoping that in touching him she could ease the pain her confession was causing him. “I don’t want to hurt you, Wade. I would never do anything to purposely hurt you. But I can’t lie to you either. Your daughter presents a problem for me, and I can’t promise you that I can accept her or even feel comfortable living in the same house with her.”
“But you don’t even know her,” he said in frustration. “If you met her, spent some time with her, you might find you like her a lot.”
“That’s just it. I don’t want to meet her. Not yet,” she added quickly. She took his hands and grasped them between her own. “We’ve only just begun to heal ol
d wounds and make a new start. Maybe in time…”
He searched her face. “So that’s not a definite no? I mean, about marrying me.”
“It’s a maybe. A really strong I-want-this-to-workout-too kind of maybe.”
He opened his knees and dragged her up his chest. “I can live with one of those kind of maybes.” Smiling, he swept her hair back from her face. “You’re gonna like her,” he said confidently. “Once you two meet, I just know that you’re going to get along great.”
Six
Scowling, Wade shoved the plate of pancakes in front of Meghan. “I said no, and begging isn’t going to make me change my mind.”
“But, Daddy!” she cried and jumped up from the table to follow him to the sink. “It’s going to be the coolest party ever. Richie’s parents have hired a DJ and everything!”
He shoved his hands into the dishwater. “Richie is fifteen years old,” he reminded her.
“So? I’m going to be thirteen my next birthday.”
“Which is still six months away.” Frustrated, he dropped the pan he was scrubbing and turned to face her. “You’re too young to be running around with guys Richie’s age and you’re definitely too young to date. Now the answer is no, and don’t ask me again.”
She pushed her hands into fists at her sides. “I hate you and I wish you weren’t my daddy!” Whirling, she ran from the room, sobbing uncontrollably.
Wade braced his hands against the edge of the sink and drew in a long breath. She didn’t mean it, he told himself as he slowly released the breath. She was just mad. Blowing off steam. Kids said things like that all the time to their parents when they didn’t get their way.
Setting his jaw, he picked up the pan again and began to scrub. She’d get over it. It wasn’t as if it was the end of the world. There’d be other parties for her to go to. Other boys for her to date.
He glanced over his shoulder to the hallway beyond the kitchen and the empty staircase that stretched to the second floor.
But damn if being a parent wasn’t hell.
Stephanie tossed the tattered book on veterinary medicine into the box marked Trash.
“Hey!” Frowning, Wade shifted to dig it out. “You can’t throw that away.”
“Why not? I have no use for it, and the library won’t accept books in that bad a condition.”
He smoothed a hand over the worn cover. “But this was like Bud’s bible. Passed down to him from his father. He referred to it whenever any of his livestock fell sick.”
She waved an impatient hand. “Then you take it. You have more use for it than I ever will.” Rising to her knees, she pulled another stack of books from the shelves, then sat down to sort them.
His forehead creased in a frown, Wade watched her, wondering how she could be so indifferent about something that had belonged to her father, a book that Bud had cherished as much as another man might have gold. Giving his head a shake, he turned away and placed the book near the door so that he wouldn’t forget to take it with him when he left.
“Bud had the weirdest reading taste,” he heard Steph say and glanced her way.
Propped up on her knees, her elbows on the floor and her chin on her fists, she read the titles imprinted on the spines of the books stacked in front of her. “Moby Dick, How to Win Friends and Influence People, Mommie Dearest. And a couple of dime-store Westerns.” She shook her head. “Weird.”
“Well-rounded,” he argued.
“Weird,” she repeated, then picked up the books and dumped them in the Donate box. Dusting off her hands, she turned for the closet. “I guess I’ve put off dealing with his clothes long enough.”
She opened the door and scooped up an armload of clothing and lifted, making sure the hooks had cleared the rod before turning and heaving the stack onto the bed. She picked up a coat, gave it a cursory once-over, then tossed it in the trash.
Wade dug it right back out.
She huffed a breath. “Wade, I threw that away.”
“And I took it out,” he informed her.
“Why? It’s covered with stains and the cuffs are all frayed.”
“It was Bud’s favorite.”
“That doesn’t make it any less a rag!”
He folded the coat neatly in half and laid it in the Donate box.
“Wade!” Stephanie cried. “What are you doing? Nobody’s gonna want Bud’s old coat.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that coat. Just because it’s seen some miles doesn’t mean it can’t keep a body warm. Besides, I think Bud would be pleased to know that somebody got some use out of it.”
“Whatever,” she mumbled, then picked up a shirt and laughed. “Oh, my gosh. Do you remember this?” she asked and held it up for Wade to see. The shirt’s front sported a bold red-and-white-stripe fabric, the back a blue with white stars embroidered in neat rows. “Bud wore it to every Fourth of July parade ever since I can remember.”
Wade dropped the sack of trash he’d just picked up and fisted his hands on his hips. “And I suppose you’re going to throw that away, too?”
She looked at him in puzzlement. “Why would I keep it?”
“Because it was his? Because it was something that Bud obviously liked?”
Seeing her stunned expression, he turned away, dragged a hand over his hair, then spun back, unable to suppress the frustration he’d carried since his battle with Meghan that morning. “Do you realize that you never say my father or my dad when you refer to Bud? You say Bud.”
She opened her hands. “So? That was his name.”
“But you never used it before! You always called him Dad, never Bud.”
“What difference does it make what I call him? You know who I’m talking about.”
“It doesn’t make any difference to me, but it would probably make a helluva lot to Bud! Can you imagine how hurt he would be if he could hear you right now? Calling him Bud and throwing away the things he cherished most. For God’s sake, Steph! He was your father, not an acquaintance.”
Seeing her hurt expression and knowing he’d gone too far, he stopped and hauled in a breath through his nose. “I’m sorry,” he said, releasing it. “I didn’t mean any of that.”
“Obviously you did or you wouldn’t have said it in the first place.”
Frustrated, he dragged a hand over his hair again, then dropped it to his side. “It’s just that you seem to have forgotten that Bud was your dad. He was the one who raised you, took care of you. But ever since you found those letters, all you can talk about is your real dad.”
“I haven’t forgotten Bud,” she said defensively. “I loved him. I will always love him. But I owe a certain allegiance to my real father, too. And the only reason I refer to Dad as Bud is for clarification. I have two fathers,” she reminded him. “My natural one and the one who adopted me. Just because I’m determined to get to know my natural father in no way detracts from my feelings for the one who raised me.”
Realizing how much he’d upset her, Wade gathered her into his arms. “I’m sorry,” he murmured with real regret. “I guess I’m just a little touchy about fathers in general because of what Meghan said to me this morning.”
She drew back to frown up at him. “What did she say?”
He ducked his head, reluctant to repeat his daughter’s angry words. “That she hated me.”
“What?” Steph cried.
“She didn’t mean it,” he hurried to assure her. “She was just mad because I wouldn’t let her go to a party with a guy three years older than her.”
“But, Wade—”
He silenced her with a kiss. “Forget it,” he said and turned away. “They’re just words. And you know the old saying about sticks and stones.…”
Stephanie hummed along with the song playing on the radio as she sorted through the linens she’d pulled from the closet. Most she tossed into the Donate box, as there was very little sentiment to be attached to sheets and towels. But the tablecloths, especially those crocheted by her grand
mother, she placed in a separate pile, planning to keep.
“A lost art,” she murmured and paused to finger the decorative filet crochet border on a set of linen napkins, trying to remember who had made them. All of the women on her mother’s side of the family had done some type of handiwork. Whether it was quilting, knitting, crocheting or embroidery, each had excelled at her chosen craft and had generously shared the fruits of her labors with other family members.
“Aunt Colleen,” she decided and set the napkins in the Keeper stack.
A knock on the door had her lifting her head to peer toward the front of the house. Glancing at her wristwatch, she frowned as she hurried down the hall, wondering who it could be. It was too early for Wade’s daily visit, plus he’d told her he’d probably be late because he was working his cattle this morning. Murmuring a fervent prayer that it wasn’t Mrs. Snodgrass, the nosiest busybody at her mother’s church, she opened the door.
She lifted a brow in surprise when she found Wade standing on the porch. She sputtered a laugh. “And since when have you ever knocked?” She opened the door wider. “You’re lucky I even answered the door. I almost didn’t because I was afraid it might be Mrs. Snodgrass.”
When he made no move to enter, she looked at him curiously and noticed the tension in his face. “Is something wrong?” she asked in concern.
“You could say that,” he replied tersely, then released a long breath. “I need a favor.” He gestured behind him to where his truck was parked. “Meghan’s in the truck, and I’d appreciate it if you would keep an eye on her for me.”
“Meghan?” she repeated, her stomach knotting in dread. “But—shouldn’t she be in school?”
He set his jaw. “Should being the operative word. She got expelled this morning.” He gave her a pleading look. “I know it’s asking a lot, considering, but it would only be for a couple of hours.”
“Why can’t she stay at home? Surely she’s old enough to leave by herself.”
A Piece of Texas Trilogy Page 9