by Brenda Novak
He scratched his head as he studied what she was showing him. “Am I supposed to know what this is?”
She laughed because he’d probably never seen one. “I took a pregnancy test—and this is a picture of the result.”
He gave her a sideways look. “And? What is the result?”
He had to lift her phone when she slid her arms around his waist so she could rest her head on his chest. “We’re going to have a baby.”
He pulled back to be able to peer into her face. “Are you kidding me? I’ve been hoping. But when you didn’t say anything...” An endearing grin spread over his face. “I can’t believe it. That’s so exciting.”
“What’d you say?” Lucas asked. “Someone’s having a baby? Who is it?”
She brought her son into the hug with them. “I am. In a little over seven months.”
He escaped her grasp. “Is it going to be a boy or a girl?”
“I hope it’s a girl,” Mack said before she could respond.
“Why?” Lucas wrinkled his nose to show that he wasn’t in favor of that at all.
Mack let go of Natasha so he could lift Luke into his arms. “Because your mother and I already have a boy, right?”
He beamed. “You’re talking about me?”
“I’m talking about you,” he said, and Luke put one arm around Mack’s neck and the other around Natasha’s.
* * *
If you enjoyed Natasha and Mack’s story,
don’t miss Brenda Novak’s next book
set in picturesque Silver Springs,
Keep Me Warm at Christmas,
about two house sitters whose wires cross before their stars do.
Coming this holiday season from MIRA.
Keep reading for a sneak peek!
Keep Me Warm at Christmas
by Brenda Novak
Bracing herself—human interaction was something she now avoided whenever possible—Tia took a deep breath. Please, God, don’t let him recognize me or have anything to do with the media.
The blinds were already pulled, so she turned off the lights and cracked the door barely wide enough to be able to peek out at him with her good side. “What can I do for you?”
His scowl darkened as his gaze swept over what he could see of her. He must’ve realized she was wearing a robe, because he said, “I hate to drag you out of bed at—” he checked his watch “—two in the afternoon. But could you let me into the main house before I freeze my—” Catching himself, he cleared his throat and finished with, “Before I freeze out here?”
Assuming he was a worker of some sort—she couldn’t imagine why he’d be here, bothering her, otherwise—she couldn’t help retorting, “Sure. As long as you tell me why I should care whether you freeze or not.”
The widening of his eyes gave her the distinct impression that he wasn’t used to having someone snap back at him. So...maybe he wasn’t a worker.
“Because Maxi has offered to let me stay in his home, and he indicated you’d let me in,” he responded with exaggerated patience. “He didn’t text you?”
“No, I haven’t heard from him.” And surely what this man said couldn’t be right. Maxi had told her that she’d have the run of the place. She’d thought she’d be able to stay here without fear of bumping into anyone. She’d been counting on it.
“He was just getting on a plane,” he explained. “Maybe he had to turn off his phone.”
“Okay. If you want to give me your number, I’ll text you as soon as I hear from him.”
He cocked his head. “You’ll...what?”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to come back later.”
“I don’t want to come back,” he said. “I just drove six hours, all the way from the Bay Area, after working through the night. I’m exhausted, and I’d like to get some sleep. Can you help me out here?”
His impatience irritated her. But since the accident, she’d been so filled with rage she was almost relieved he was willing to give her a target. “No, I’m afraid I can’t.”
He stiffened. “Excuse me?”
“I can’t let some stranger into the house, not unless Maxi specifically asks me to.” Even if this guy was telling the truth, forcing him to leave would not only bring her great pleasure, it would give her a chance to feed Maxi’s parrot before hiding the key under the mat. Then there would be no need for further interaction. He wouldn’t see her, and she wouldn’t have to watch the shock, recognition and pity cross his face.
The pity was by far the worst, but none of it was fun.
“If I have the code to the gate, I must’ve gotten it from somewhere, right?” he argued. “Isn’t it logical to assume that Maxi is the one who gave it to me?”
“That’s a possibility, but there are other possibilities.”
“Like...”
“Maybe you hopped the fence or got it from one of the staff. You could even have worked here yourself.”
His chest lifted in an obvious effort to gather what little patience he had left. “I assure you, if I was a thief, I would not present myself at your door.”
“I can appreciate why. But I’m responsible for what goes on here right now, which means I can’t take any chances.”
“You won’t be taking any chances!” he argued in exasperation. “If anything goes missing or gets damaged, I’ll replace it.”
What was to guarantee that? “The art in that house can’t be replaced,” she said and thought she had him. Maxi had told her so himself. But this stranger said the only thing that could trump her statement.
“Except by me, since I’m the one who created most of it in the first place,” he said dryly.
“You’re an artist?” she asked but only to buy a second or two while she came to grips with a few other things that had just become apparent. If he was one of the artists Maxi collected, he wasn’t some obscure talent. Yet...he couldn’t be more than thirty. And he certainly didn’t look like anyone who was too important wearing that stretched-out “Perspective” T-shirt, in which the word perspective was inverted, and jeans that had holes down the front.
“I am,” he replied. “And you are...the house sitter, I presume?”
She heard his disparaging tone. He wondered who the hell she was to tell him what to do. He thought he mattered more than she did. But that came as no surprise; she’d already pegged him as arrogant. She was more concerned about the fact that Maxi might’ve referred to her as a menial laborer. Was that the way her former producer thought of her now? Was that what she’d been reduced to already? It was only a few months ago that she’d been the most promising actress in Hollywood. Certainly she’d attained more fame than this snooty artist—when it came to having her name recognized by the general public, anyway.
But what did it matter how high she’d climbed? She’d fallen back to Earth so hard she felt as though she’d broken every bone in her body, even though the damage to her face was the only injury she’d sustained in the accident, other than a great deal of bruising that went away after the first week. “I’m house-sitting, yes. But, like you, I’m a friend of Maxi’s,” she said vaguely.
Fortunately, he didn’t seem interested enough to press her for more detailed information. She was glad of that.
“Fine. Look, friend.” He produced his phone. “I have proof. This is the text exchange I had with Maxi just before his plane took off. As you can see, he says he has someone—you—staying in the guesthouse but the main house is available and I’m welcome to it. If you’ll notice the time, you’ll see that these texts took place just this morning.”
Her heart sank as she read what he showed her: I have someone in the guesthouse. Just get the key from her.
“How long are you planning on being here?” she asked.
“Does it matter?” he replied.
It did matter.
But this was Maxi’s estate, and they were both Maxi’s guests, so she had an obligation to treat him as well as he was accustomed to being treated. “Just a minute,” she said and muttered a curse after she closed the door. There goes all my privacy.
She got the key from the kitchen drawer before cracking the door open just wide enough to slip her hand through. “Here you go, but I’ll need your phone number so I can coordinate getting inside the house when I need to.”
“The main house? Why would you need to get inside that?”
“I take care of the plants. As easy as that may sound, in a house that’s over fourteen thousand square feet, it’s no small job. And I have to take care of Kiki, too.”
“Kiki?”
“Maxi’s parrot.”
“Maxi didn’t say anything about a parrot.”
“Well, he has one, and parrot-sitting requires more than throwing a handful of birdseed in a bowl. I was also going to dust and vacuum once a week to keep things up, since the housekeeper is on holiday. But if you’d rather take over those chores, I can show you how to do it all.”
“Nice try,” he said. “Who are you—Tom Sawyer’s sister? I’ll let you handle the parrot and the rest of it. And don’t worry. I won’t get in your way.”
She continued to hang back in the darkness so he couldn’t see her face. “You’d rather have me invade your space?”
“I won’t mind as long as you’re quiet. That bird isn’t going to be too loud, is it? Because I typically work at night and sleep during the day.”
She barely refrained from rolling her eyes. The tortured artist was such a cliché. “She sleeps at night, so she should be quiet while you create your latest masterpiece. During the day you might hear her speak or squawk or whatever.”
“She speaks?”
“She says a few phrases. Maxi used to have a dog, so she learned to bark, too.”
He narrowed his eyes as if he wasn’t quite sure she was being straight with him. “Sounds annoying.”
“It’s the reason he didn’t replace his dog once it passed. But you don’t have anything to worry about. She lives in an aviary in the middle of the house that goes up through both stories. The plants and the glass walls absorb most of the noise, so you shouldn’t hear much—not unless she’s upset and really having a problem.”
“How often does that happen?”
“She’s an animal. Emotional episodes aren’t scheduled. If we keep her happy, it might not happen at all.”
“Good to know. I’ll make you a copy of the key.” He turned to go but she spoke again.
“You don’t feel it would be too presumptuous to copy someone else’s house key?”
“Not if I’m going to be staying here for a few months. I consider it a practical matter. Why? Would you rather try to pass it back and forth between us?”
Her heart sank at learning he’d be living on the premises for more than just the weekend, but she tried to focus on the coordination sharing a key might require. “No. A copy will be fine.”
“That’s what I thought,” he said and cracked the first smile she’d seen him wear. He was getting in the house right away, would have his own key, and she’d be taking care of the bird. That he was gloating annoyed her, but she had to admit that his smile absolutely transformed his face. He was much more handsome than she’d wanted to acknowledge—in a dark lord of the underworld sort of way. She thought of all the beautiful people she’d encountered in Los Angeles and believed he could easily hold his own, even in the most superficial city on Earth.
She’d been able to compete in that arena once, too. As far back as she could remember, people had gushed about her beauty. But now she was living an entirely different life with an entirely different face—was a complete stranger, even to herself.
“Welcome to Silver Springs,” she said, her voice as frigid as the wind whipping at his clothes. He hadn’t bothered to put on a coat before getting out of the car. At least getting the key hadn’t been as quick as he’d obviously expected.
Instead of being offended by her response, he chuckled as he strode off. She didn’t even know his name. But that was fine with her. If he did anything wrong, Maxi could deal with it. She didn’t plan on interacting with him again. The only thing his presence meant to her was that there was now someone on the property she’d have to try to avoid.
Copyright © 2021 by Brenda Novak, Inc.
If you liked Natasha and Mack’s story, please enjoy this special treat—a prequel novella to When I Found You, featuring the fateful night seven years ago when Natasha and Mack ran into one another at the Christmas market...
Enjoy Home for the Holidays!
Home for the Holidays
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
One
To Natasha Sharp, nothing said Christmas like Victorian Days. She couldn’t help smiling as she tasted the sweet yet salty kettle corn she and her mother had just purchased from a nearby vendor, something she hadn’t had in years, and paused to admire the colored lights adorning the quaint shops and old-fashioned, Western-style boardwalk that ran the length of Main Street. The sight of the porch and yard of Little Mary’s Bed & Breakfast, a historic building from the late nineteenth century, jammed with noisy revelers wearing heavy jackets and scarves while drinking hot cider or eating homemade sugar cookies, reminded her of the type of idyllic scene you’d find in a snow globe. If only she could make white flakes swirl gently onto the people as well as into the valleys of the roof and along the banisters of the building before falling thickly to the ground, the picture would be perfect.
Real snow wasn’t likely, though. Whiskey Creek rarely received more than a dusting.
“What are you doing? Why’d you stop?” her mother asked, turning back in surprise.
At forty-one, Anya Sharp was only sixteen years older than Natasha, but hard living was beginning to change the fact that they used to look more like sisters—hard living and substance abuse. Although Anya didn’t seem to be high tonight—thank goodness—she had the voice of a longtime smoker and the stench of cigarettes clung to her hair and clothes, impinging on the pleasant aromas of gingerbread and roasted chestnuts.
“Just taking it all in,” Natasha said.
Trying to keep her bleached-blond hair from whipping around her face, thanks to a stiff, cold wind, Anya gave her a funny look. “Taking what in? The festival?”
Apparently, Anya didn’t feel the same nostalgia. Although she was now divorced, she still lived in Whiskey Creek, so it was easy to take the innocence of the small, California Gold Rush town, nestled in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, for granted. Whiskey Creek hosted Victorian Days every year, usually the week before Christmas, but Natasha hadn’t been back, not during the holidays, since leaving for college six years ago. She was trying to get through med school at UCLA, and she had a job at a nearby hospital working as an orderly. The demands of both were especially high in December, so she typically visited during the summer.
“Yes, the festival,” she said. “The buildings. The people.” Natasha had such fond memories of this place, which was ironic. When Anya had married for the third time and told her they’d be moving yet again, Natasha hadn’t been happy about it. Barely a sophomore in high school, she’d already lived in so many cities and towns, and with so many “fathers”—both those who’d married her mother and those who hadn’t—that she’d almost rebelled.
She would have, if she’d had anywhere else to go. But she didn’t know who her biological father was. For that matter, neither did her mother. Given the type of encounters Natasha had witnessed as a child, she had little hope he’d be anyone she’d welcome into her life and had never tried to learn more about him. Dealing with Anya was difficul
t enough. She didn’t need another deadbeat parent. But since Anya’s behavior had alienated any extended family years ago, and Natasha had no father or anyone else to step in and help her, she’d had no choice except to move with her mother.
Anya had insisted that J. T. Amos, her new husband then, would take care of them as soon as he got out of prison, that this place would be better than all the others, and for once, she’d been right. Not that Anya or J.T. could assume any of the credit. It wasn’t what they did that had changed Natasha’s life. It was J.T.’s adult sons who’d made the difference. If Rod, Grady and Mack—the three brothers who’d still been living in the house where all five boys grew up—hadn’t looked after her until she could graduate, this town would’ve been like all the others.
“Do you think you’ll ever move back here?” her mother asked.
“Maybe. One day.” She spoke as though it was merely a possibility, even though she’d always planned to come back to Whiskey Creek. When she closed her eyes at night, this was where she dreamed of setting up her pediatric practice.
But in those dreams, she was also married to Mack, the youngest of the Amos brothers—and he didn’t seem to have the same dream.
“I think the Amoses, especially Mack, expect you to move back when you finish school,” her mother said as they started walking again.
Natasha said nothing. If that was the case, no one had ever told her.
“Are you going to see any of J.T.’s sons while you’re here?”
They passed a guy Natasha vaguely recognized from high school. She nodded to say hello before responding. “I’ve seen them already.”
Her mother’s head snapped up and her gaze sharpened. “When?”
Natasha had expected this reaction. She knew her mother wouldn’t like that she hadn’t been included. “Night before last.”
“But...I thought you didn’t get in until yesterday.”