Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow her reluctance was about protecting Bayleigh. He’d have thought his parental radar stopped working after Marcus died. But all of a sudden it was telling him that Megan felt she had to keep him at arm’s length to keep her child from harm. If she didn’t know by now he wasn’t like the jerk who’d walked out, he intended to show her. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt her or Bayleigh.
The little girl pulled on his hand to get his attention. “What’s good news?”
Her glasses had slipped and he pushed them more firmly on her small, turned-up nose. “Good news is something good that happened to me.”
“What happened?” the two of them said together.
Besides meeting Megan? And this little girl? “I got a job.”
Bayleigh jumped up and down beside him. “Ya-ay. You won’t have to live in a box under the freeway.”
He grinned. Apparently, at five, she didn’t understand the concept of stocks, bonds, investments and savings. If one didn’t earn a regular paycheck, one was homeless. Then his smile faded as he realized her outlook under-scored how tough things had been for the two of them. And finances must have been tight. You and me against the world. Not anymore.
Megan moved away from the door and stood beside him. “What kind of job?”
“The firm that bought out Reynolds Electronics has been after me from day one to work with them on one of my designs. They just got a big contract with an aerospace company and want me to consult on the project.”
“Congratulations, Simon.”
Bayleigh squirmed in his arms. Apparently details weren’t important to her, just the fact that he wouldn’t be homeless. He set her on her feet, and she went back to the table.
Then he looked down at Megan. “Thanks.”
“It’s about time you stopped wallowing in self-pity and did something productive. Something besides keeping emergency rooms in business. Gainful employment is always a good thing.”
“Ouch. Have I been that bad?”
“In a word—yes.”
Her grin took the sting out of her words as surely as a topical anesthetic. But she was right. It had been a long, dark tunnel. Now he could see the light at the end. The brightness was Megan’s smile.
He stuck his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. “So aren’t you going to invite me to stay?”
“You’re not subtle, are you?”
He shook his head. “Not when I want something.”
Her eyes took on a wary, guarded look. “As long as it’s just food.”
“What if it isn’t?”
“Then you’ve come to the wrong place.”
“Mommy. Simon. Come see what I made.”
Saved by the five-year-old. Simon watched her hurry over to Bayleigh. He realized, not for the first time, that Megan looked as good from the rear as she did from the front. Her backside, encased in softly worn—tight—jeans, was practically a work of art. Her legs were slender, shapely, and he could picture them wrapped around his waist. He looked at the two blond heads bent together over something on the table and sighed. Life had been so much simpler when he’d been in suspended animation. Not as much fun, but definitely simpler.
He joined the two of them. Bayleigh’s hands were covered with flour. In front of her were several balls of dough. Megan looked up, then straightened. She brushed something off the shoulder of his jacket.
“Sorry—” She met his gaze and stopped. “You’ve got some fallout here.”
Bayleigh looked up. “Take your jacket off, Simon. Mommy says you shouldn’t wear it inside. Only outside. You’re staying, aren’t you?”
He looked at Megan. “Am I?”
“I guess so.”
Score one for him. Make that two. He also had tomorrow to look forward to.
Megan looked at her family gathered around the dining room table and wondered: how is it possible to be giddy with happiness and as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs all at the same time? In a word—Simon.
Her mother had set the table with the usual eclectic mix of old, weird and tacky. On the antique lace tablecloth was the centerpiece—Dan’s third-grade lopsided turkey made out of folded magazine pages painted brown. On either side were weird turkey candles set in crystal holders. Then there was the coup de grace: the regurgitating turkey gravy boat; the gravy came out of a hole in the bird’s mouth. This was her mother’s pride and joy from the dollar store along with the matching salt and pepper shakers.
Her father sat at the head of the table ready to carve the bird. Her mother was at the foot, closest to the kitchen and ready to hop up if anyone needed anything. Cassie sat between Dan and her fiancé Kyle Stratton. Megan had Simon and Bayleigh on either side of her because the little girl had wanted to sit by Grammy. So far everyone had been cautiously cordial to Simon. He’d related the story of how they met in the ER, which explained the almost faded but still visible marks on his face and the slight limp.
It was a measure of his intestinal fortitude that he hadn’t run screaming from the room when her father and brother had grilled him after shaking his hand. Following introductions, Cassie and her mother had grinned like idiots, pointed to Simon and given her clandestine thumbs-up too many times to count.
Megan had warned them all not to mention Bayleigh’s eye surgery and why. But there was always the possibility someone would forget and bring up the subject. This wasn’t the way she wanted Simon to find out. But she hadn’t known how to diplomatically uninvite him. Now that he was here, there was something far too right about the way he fit in with her family.
When everyone had filled their plates with turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes, cranberry salad, green bean casserole and yams the clinking and scraping in the room stopped. Everyone was quiet for several moments while her father said grace.
Then Bayleigh piped up with the dreaded words. “Grammy, when do we get to say what we’re thankful for?”
“Right now, sweet pea. Who wants to go first?”
Cassie raised her hand. She and Megan were often mistaken for twins with their similar blue eyes and blond hair. That and the fact that her sister was barely two years older.
Cass looked at the handsome brown-haired, dark-eyed man beside her. “I’m thankful for Kyle’s mother.”
He met her gaze. “I’m shocked and appalled. And wounded to the quick, I might add. That doesn’t do a whole lot for a guy’s ego.”
Cassie leaned her head against his shoulder. “If she hadn’t sent you to the beach the same time I was there, we wouldn’t have found each other.”
Kyle nodded in agreement, then leaned over and kissed her lightly, sweetly. “Okay. Then I’m thankful for my mother, too.”
“Since they started,” Dan chimed in, “I’ll just keep it going this way. I’m thankful for bachelorhood. Ow,” he said when Cassie elbowed him in the ribs.
“Easy, children,” her father said. Dr. John Brightwell lifted his crystal wineglass to his wife, Mary. “I’m thankful he doesn’t have a date. The family fits perfectly around the table. So go forth and stay single, son.”
“Reverse psychology never worked on me, Dad.”
“Okay. Can’t blame me for trying.” Her father looked down the length of the table and smiled at her mother. “Then I’m changing mine. I’m thankful Mary Brightwell said yes. Thirty-five years ago she took me on and there’s not a day since I haven’t been grateful that she did.”
A resounding chorus of “awws” filled the dining room. Then her father looked at Simon. “How about you, son? I know we’re an intimidating lot. But speak up.”
“Yes, sir. I’m thankful for bossy new friends,” he said.
Heat filled Megan’s cheeks when he looked at her because she knew her whole family was watching her—and wondering. Her heart pounded, and she would swear her face said, Simon and I did the wild thing.
She cleared her throat. “Okay. I guess it’s to me. I’m thankful for all of you.”
> “Mommy, you say that every year,” Bayleigh said.
She shrugged. “It’s the truth. You’re always there for me. And I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Another chorus of “awws” went up. Now it was time for the unpredictable child. Megan looked at her daughter. “Your turn, pumpkin.”
Deep in thought, Bayleigh pushed her glasses up on her nose as she nudged her already cut-up turkey around her plate. “Okay. I’m thankful Simon has a job.”
At that moment, Megan wasn’t sure whether she was relieved her child hadn’t mentioned her eyesight or if she wanted to wring said child’s neck. She definitely wished the Brightwells were looking at her instead of Simon. At that moment something scratched at the edges of her consciousness, some momentous realization she couldn’t think about now. Instinct told her she wouldn’t want to think about it later, either, because it was all about the depth of her feelings for the man beside her. Glancing at him, she was astonished that he seemed unconcerned.
“Is this a recent change in economic circumstances?” Dan asked, suspicion warring with disapproval in his tone.
“Yes,” Simon answered. “This turkey is delicious, Mrs. Brightwell.”
“Thank you, dear. I guess it’s my turn,” she said. “I’m thankful that—”
“So if it’s a recent job offer,” Dan interrupted, “are you financially—”
“Secure?” Simon asked. “I would say so.”
“Uncle Dan, Simon put money in the bank so he could go fishin’.”
“Your new job is fishing?” Dan asked, disbelieving.
Megan clenched her jaw. Don’t defend him. He’s a big boy. He can take care of himself. Just keep your mouth shut.
“He’s a consultant to the company that bought out his business,” she blurted. “So back off, Brightwell.”
“Interesting,” her brother said.
“That goes double for me,” her mother said.
“You go, girl,” Cassie said.
“That’s my girl,” her father added.
Simon leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Do you have any idea how turned-on I am right now?”
Megan stared at him as heat crawled up her neck and settled in her cheeks. Before she could figure out an appropriate response suitable for all genders and age groups present, her brother cleared his throat.
“So what kind of company?” Dan asked.
“Engineering. Widgets and gizmos for airplanes. They won a contract to make whatchamacallits for the space station.” He shrugged and forked dressing and gravy into his mouth. After chewing for several moments, he said, “They’ve been after me to consult since I sold it.”
“How long ago was that?” Kyle asked, typical nosey lawyer that he was.
“Two years.”
“How come you didn’t take them up on the offer then?” Cassie wanted to know. Typical nosy sister—a perfect match for the inquisitive lawyer.
“I needed—”
“Time off,” Megan finished for him. “Now, if you guys are finished with the third degree—”
“Hey, kidlet,” Dan said to his niece. “What’s all this about fishing?”
“Mommy and I went with Simon. He has a house by the ocean. And he has a fishin’ pole my size. He let me use it because his little boy never got to.”
Uh-oh. There it was. Leave it to Bayleigh to put the elephant right there on the table. Now Megan had to figure out what to do about it.
Simon smiled at Bayleigh, then looked at the rest of her family, who all seemed frozen. “Marcus, my son, was killed in an auto accident two years ago. Along with his mother, my ex-wife.”
Cassie gasped, but that was the only sound in the room. Megan held her breath, but no one said they were sorry. God bless the Brightwells.
Finally, her brother said, “No wonder you needed time off.”
“Simon?” Bayleigh said.
“Hmm?” he asked, looking down at her.
“Do you think Marcus would mind that I used his fishin’ pole? Even if I didn’t catch any fish?”
Leave it to the five-year-old to cut to the guts of the matter. Megan held her breath.
Simon looked past her to the little girl and the corners of his mouth turned up. A tender expression slipped into his eyes, and it tugged at Megan’s heart.
“Bayleigh, I think Marcus would be very happy to share with you.”
“I’m glad.” The little girl smiled as if a great weight was lifted from her shoulders.
Megan’s mother raised her wineglass. “We’re thankful to have you with us for the holiday this year, Simon.”
Along with everyone else, Simon raised his glass. “Thank you. It’s nice to be had.”
“So, kidlet, Simon took you fishing,” Dan said, when everyone stopped laughing. “I was going to do that. I’m hurt that you went out with another man.”
“You always have to work,” Bayleigh said in a scolding tone that Megan was afraid sounded very much like her own.
“You noticed that, huh?” Dan said.
“She’s smart, Dan. She notices everything and takes no prisoners,” Megan pointed out.
“Like her mother,” Simon met her gaze.
“Well,” Mary Brightwell said, “I don’t believe I’ve said what I’m thankful for.”
“Grammy, you’re thankful Simon is here.”
“That thankful was for all of us, dear. I get to have one just for me. And I’ve got just the one. I’m thankful that Cassie and Kyle are getting married.”
“Me, too.” Cassie looked at Kyle and grinned. “I’ve decided one of the marriage perks is not wondering whether or not I’ll have a date on Saturday nights.”
Dan made a dismissive noise. “I might not have a Thanksgiving date, but I’ve got one for your wedding.”
“Who?” Bayleigh wanted to know.
“Your mom.” He lifted his chin in Megan’s direction. “She’s the MOH—maid of honor, and I’m the best man. We get to walk down the aisle together.”
“I don’t have a date,” Bayleigh said, and pouted.
“You can be mine,” her grandfather offered.
“No, I can’t. You’re Grammy’s date.”
The older man smiled at his wife. “Can’t argue with that. But I could have two dates.”
“I want my own,” the little girl said.
“But you’re the flower girl,” Megan reminded her. “What about the ring bearer?”
“There’s not going to be one,” Cassie said. “None of our friends have a son the right age. Dan’s going to do double duty.”
“See?” Bayleigh complained. “I don’t have anyone to walk with.”
“You can bring a guest,” Kyle offered. He was such a softie where the little girl was concerned. “Why don’t you ask someone?”
“Do you know anyone in kindergarten who has a driver’s license?” Dan teased.
“You’re silly, Uncle Dan,” she scoffed. After chewing thoughtfully for several moments, she said, “Simon can drive. He brought mommy and me here in his car.”
Uh-oh, Megan thought. Everyone at this table would have to be deaf, dumb and blind not to see where this was headed. But surely after holiday dinner, Simon would have had a bellyful of the Brightwells. He would probably have a convenient excuse. He had to. She was afraid too much togetherness could result in an acute case of Simonitis—inflammation of her heart caused by prolonged exposure to Simon Reynolds.
“Simon?” the little girl said.
“Hmm?”
“Would you go with me to Aunt Cassie and Uncle Kyle’s wedding?”
“It would be my pleasure to escort such a lovely young lady.”
Megan groaned inwardly when the child smiled happily. But the event was two weeks and two days off. Not only was that enough time for him to back out, it was a little over fourteen days in which to fortify herself against the attraction to him that just wouldn’t quit.
“Why did you decide to have the wedding in December?”
Simon asked.
Cassie looked at her fiancé. “Tell him, Mr. Romance.”
“We wanted to get married before the end of the year so we could file joint income tax.” Kyle grinned.
“Smooth,” Simon said wryly.
“No kidding. And what’s this we stuff?” Cassie demanded. “It was your idea.”
“Would you believe,” Kyle said seriously, “that I wanted to start out the new year with you by my side—physically, emotionally, legally?”
“Okay,” Cassie agreed happily. “That works.”
“Right after Aunt Cassie gets married, we’re havin’ a play at school.” Bayleigh squirmed on her chair. A sure sign she’d been sitting too long.
“I thought you were a pilgrim yesterday,” Simon commented.
“I was, but we just wore hats we made out of construction paper.”
“Do you have a part in the play, Bayleigh?” her grandmother asked.
The little girl nodded. “I’m going to be an angel.”
“Typecasting,” Simon murmured.
“I get to wear a costume and everything. I need wings and a halo and a white dress.”
“This is the first I’ve heard about it,” Megan said, a knot forming in her stomach. So much for being an experienced kindergarten parent. “Where are we going to get that stuff?”
“I can whip up a simple white dress,” her mother said.
“But what about the other things?” Megan asked. “I’ve never been especially crafty.”
“Yeah,” Cassie piped up. “Remember when she insisted on taking that shop class in high school? Because she liked Mike Hawkins—” Her sister stopped when she saw the glare Megan was shooting her. “Anyway, who can forget that wooden bowl she made.”
“The one with the hole in the bottom,” Dan said laughing. “And the mirror. Do you still have it? Remember the gouges around the outside? You took a hunk out of it smoothing the wrong way and had to try and even it all the way around.”
“Thanks, you guys,” she said. “I appreciate the stroll down memory lane detailing the stellar exploits of shop class. But it wasn’t especially helpful.”
“I can help,” Dan said.
“You have to work,” Bayleigh said, looking worried.
“She’s got your number, Dan.” Megan met his gaze across the table.
Midnight, Moonlight & Miracles Page 17