“Okay,” Carrie says, backing toward the stock room. “Ten minutes.”
I nod in acknowledgement and wander toward the baby section of my sister’s groundbreaking toy store. It’s a land of bright primary colors and toys made of natural wood and stuffed animals so soft they feel like they were made of angel wings. I find a brown cat with chocolate eyes and bring it to my cheek, chest aching as the whisper-soft fur brushes my skin. This could be my baby’s first stuffed animal. In less than a year, this heavenly fluff could be brushing against my child’s skin.
I’m still marveling at the surreal, wonderful miraculousness of it all when a winded voice asks, “Is that a stuffed cougar? Does that mean you were thinking about me?”
I turn, eyes flying wide as I spot Dylan a few feet away by a display of Baby’s First Building Blocks. “Wh-what are you doing here?” I ask, the thrill that rushes through me at the sight of him tempered by anxiety.
How on earth am I going to keep up this lie with him standing in front of me, staring so deep into my eyes I’m pretty sure he’s reading every hidden wish I’ve ever scrawled across my heart?
“I can’t let you do this.” He clears his throat and shakes his head. “That didn’t come out right. I meant… I hope you’ll give me a chance to change your mind. About the sperm bank. I practiced what I was going to say all the way here, but I took one look at you and it all flew out of my head.” He runs his hand through his already disheveled hair with a sigh. “It’s good to see you, Blondie. I missed you today.”
My lips twitch, but I’m too nervous to smile. “I missed you, too. And I’m sorry. I know a note wasn’t the best way to handle this, but I—”
“No, it wasn’t. But being a vague-ass bastard about something that’s so important to you wasn’t the best way to handle your question last night, either.” He steps closer, his delicious Dylan smell swirling through my head as he takes my hand, pressing it between both of his. “So I’d like to try again, and make it clear to you that if you’re having a baby, I want to be the father. And yes, I would rather we wait a few months before we start trying again, just to be one hundred percent sure we’re ready, but if you can’t wait a few months, then I—”
“It’s not that.” I pull my hand from his and take a step back, my resolve faltering as the truth shoves at me from the inside, doing its best to break through into the air between us.
But if I tell him the truth, this won’t be a choice we’re making anymore. It will be a fact he’s stuck with, no matter what happens in our future.
“Then what is it?” he asks, uncertainty flickering across his face. “Have you changed your mind about me? Decided you’d rather have someone with a master’s degree and a better sperm pedigree?”
I shake my head. “No, nothing like that.”
“I can understand if you did,” he says, looking so crestfallen it makes my chest ache. “I was top of my class in high school, but I don’t have a college degree or a flashy career. Hell, I’ve never even lived on my own. I’ve been under my father’s roof since I was a kid.”
“Because you’ve been taking care of him and your nephews and the farm and everything else,” I say, refusing to listen to him minimize who he is or all the wonderful things he’s accomplished. “You’re a savvy, hard-working businessman who not only has a green thumb, but does his own books, to boot. You also happen to be one of the most grown-up, selfless, loving people I’ve ever met. And that’s more impressive to me than a dozen fancy degrees.”
Relief and uncertainty mix in his expression. “Then what is it, princess? Tell me what you need from me. I was thinking about this all afternoon and I…” His breath rushes out. “I want to be a part of everything your future holds. I want to see your winery succeed beyond your wildest dreams. I want to watch your garden grow to take up an even more ridiculous amount of your yard. I want to laugh and learn and adventure with you and watch you become the best mom any kid has ever had.”
Tears spring into my eyes, blurring his features as my hand comes to cover my mouth.
“I know you will be an incredible mother,” he continues softly. “But no matter what a kick-ass mom she’s got, I don’t want this kid to ever wonder why her dad isn’t around. I want to be right there, every minute. Every second.”
I blink, sending twin tear-streams rolling down my face. I’m crying again, but I don’t think even Carrie would blame me this time. Because that was by far the most romantic, beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me.
“Really?” I ask, with a sniff. “You’re serious? And sure? Because once we take this step there’s no going back.”
“I’m sure,” he says, closing the distance between us. “I would hate to lose the chance to be a biological father to your baby because I didn’t do a good enough job explaining the way I feel.”
I swallow past the lump in my throat and swipe my fingers across my cheeks, regaining control. I don’t want to be crying when I tell him the news. I want to have all my wits about me so I can judge his reaction as clearly as possible.
“You’ve done a beautiful job of telling me the way you feel.” I pull in another bracing breath. “But I’m afraid I haven’t done the same. I thought I was doing what was best, bending the truth so you would have the freedom to walk away.” He frowns, obviously confused, so I hurry on, “But you don’t want to walk away.”
“I sure as hell don’t,” he says. “But I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
“I’m saying that I’m not going to the sperm bank. I don’t have to go. Because I’m…” I lift my hands at my sides, fingers spread wide. “…already pregnant.”
His eyes go blank for a long moment before he blinks. “I’m sorry, I thought you just said—”
“I went to the doctor this morning for an ultrasound and they confirmed it.” I reach into my purse, pulling out the grainy black and white picture and holding it out between us.
Dylan takes the piece of paper carefully, like it’s made of baby-delicate stuff, and studies it with a furrowed brow.
“We got pregnant the first night. I didn’t realize it because of the spotting, but apparently that’s normal and the baby’s fine, so…” I trail off, toes squirming anxiously inside my boots. “Please say something. Or at least look at me, so I have some idea what you’re thinking.”
He looks up, eyes bright. “We’re pregnant? We’re going to have baby?”
I nod. “Looks like the Hunter baby-making gene didn’t skip a generation.”
A slow smile spreads across his face in response—a delighted, wonder-filled grin that leaves no doubt he’s as excited about this baby as I am. “I can’t believe it.” He reaches out, hand hovering over my belly where our little dot is working hard at growing into a baby. “God, Emma. I… I don’t know what to say.”
“But you’re happy?” I ask, needing to hear the words, even though the way he pulls me into his arms, hugging me tight, is a pretty solid indicator.
“So happy. And shocked, I’ll admit it. But excited, too.” He kisses the top of my head before he pulls back, adding in a whisper, “Also a little turned on. Is that weird? That hearing you’re having my baby makes me want to bang you by the diaper display?”
I bite my lip. “If it’s weird, I’m weird, too. I want you so much. This time with no lame-ass condom.”
“Condoms are lame-ass.” He kisses me, his hands threading gently into my hair. “But you are sexy as hell, baby. You’re going to be one hot fucking mama.”
I smile against his lips. “Let’s see if you still think that when I’m eight months along and weigh a gajillion pounds”
“You’ll still be a smoking hot fox.” His hands drift down to cup my ass, pulling me closer to the erection that proves how sexy he finds my knocked-up self. “I’m still going to want to make you come every chance I get.”
“Sexy Farmer, I presume?” My sister’s voice is close.
Too close.
Close enough that Dylan and I jum
p apart with guilty laughs to find Carrie a foot away, watching us make out with narrowed eyes.
“Hey, I’m Dylan,” he says, extending a hand. “You must be Carrie.”
Carrie takes his hand, shaking it firmly. “I am. Is it also safe to presume that you’re crazy about my sister and are going to adore and support her in the coming months and fetch her ice cream and anything else her sweet heart desires?”
“I am and I will. Going to be there every step of the way,” he says, the words a promise that sends warmth rushing through me, banishing the last lingering bit of worry.
This is right.
This is the way this was always supposed to happen. I don’t know that I’ve ever believed in destiny before, but I believe in it now, and I know that Dylan and I are written in the stars somewhere over Mercyville, California.
Later that night, after we’ve gotten a room at The Graduate Hotel near the college in order to spare the rickety old bed in Carrie’s guest room, Dylan and I prove how well we fit together all over again. As he guides me down onto him in the moonlight, filling me so perfectly, every shift of our hips, every kiss, every touch is another promise that we’re all in, no holding back.
“I love you, princess,” he says, holding me close as he softens inside me, neither of us in any rush to pull apart. “I’m so glad I’m here with you. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
“Me, too,” I agree, patting the place above his lovely heart. “I’ve got everything I need. Right here.”
* * *
Or so I think, until nine months later, when Mercy Elizabeth Haverford Hunter the first makes her appearance on the scene after ten hours of labor and a ridiculous amount of pushing. But the second she looks up at me with her big blue eyes, all the pain and suffering is forgotten.
The universe shifts, the world is reordered, and she slips right into a space between Dylan and me that I hadn’t realized was empty until she came to fill it.
To make us a family.
“Oh, she’s an angel.” I cradle her close, heart growing a dozen sizes larger as her tiny fingers close around one of mine.
“So beautiful,” Dylan says with a sniff. “She looks just like you, baby. She’s perfect.”
I glance over to see tears in his eyes and laugh even as I bring a hand to his face. “Don’t cry. She’s here and I’m fine. We made it. It’s all over now.”
“No, it’s just beginning.” He leans in, pressing a kiss to the blond fuzz on our daughter’s head. “We’re here for you, baby girl. Always. Me and your mama. You don’t ever have to worry whether someone’s got your back.”
A lump rises in my throat, but before I can take my turn on the teary-go-round, Dylan kisses me, slow and steady, a kiss that assures me of the same things he just promised our baby. That he’s always here for me, that he has my back, and that my heart is by far his most treasured possession.
We kiss until Mercy makes a squawking sound that makes us laugh as we glance down into her little face.
“Guess she’s ready to meet the rest of her crew,” Dylan says, kissing my cheek. “You ready? Or do you want me to tell the savages prowling outside that we want to spend the first night with her alone?”
“No, show them in,” I say, excited for my sister and the wonderful men who have made me a member of their family to meet our sweet girl. “I’m ready.”
And I am.
Ready for this and all the love and magic the future holds.
EPILOGUE ONE
Dylan
One year later…
The guests are already seated, the string quartet has started to play, and the flower girls are walking down the aisle, but the bride is still nursing the baby in the back garden, and I’m pretty sure I’ve got baby food on the lapel of my tuxedo.
In other words, it’s another day in paradise.
Am I cheesy bastard who loves his life, his soon-to-be wife, and his sweet baby girl?
Why yes. Yes, I am, and I’m not about to apologize for it.
A year ago, if you’d told me the first IPA from my new brewery, Chopper Hops, would be winning double gold at the harvest fair, I might have believed you. That was the big dream, after all. But if you’d told me I’d also be the father of the cutest, sweetest little girl in the world—Little Blondie has the market cornered on both, trust me—and about to marry my best friend, I’d have said you were flat out delusional.
But it’s all true.
This is my life, and it is filled with more love and happiness than I realized were possible until this amazing woman came into my world.
“Hey, baby. You ready to go?” I jog into the garden as Emma is retying the bow holding up the top of her dress. A few feet away, Mercy toddles unsteadily across the paving stones on chubby legs, headed for the red and orange flowers she likes to grab and shove in her mouth at every opportunity.
Thank God they’re edible.
“Yes, just a sec.” Emma stands, smoothing the front of her dress as she turns to me with a smile that takes my breath away. “What do you think?”
“Beautiful,” I say, throat going tight. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve seen.”
Her grin stretches wider as her cheeks flush. “Thank you. You’re not too shabby yourself. But I didn’t mean that.” She smoothes her hand self-consciously over her belly. “I meant, can you tell?”
I narrow my eyes at the ever-so-slight bump beneath her gown. “I can, but it’s not going to show in the pictures.”
“Are you sure?” Her brow furrows as she hurries toward Mercy, who is already shoving flower number two between her lips and burbling happily to herself. “I just don’t want it to be too obvious.”
“It won’t be,” I promise. “But we should probably—”
“Time to bounce, you two.” Jacob hurries around the corner with Blake close behind. “We’re on Mercy duty. You two go get married.”
“Yeah,” Blake says. “The last bridesmaid is on her way down the aisle.”
“Don’t let Mercy eat any more flowers,” I say, reaching for Emma.
“Or dirt,” she says, squeezing my palm with one hand while she gathers the skirt of her lace dress with the other.
And then we’re off, jogging around the side of the house and down the hill to the patch of grass near the vineyard where our family and friends are seated in rows of white chairs, waiting to celebrate with us. And every one of them—even Rafe, who hates weddings with a rabid passion, and Carrie, who swears marriage is a broken, archaic institution—is smiling ear to ear.
That’s what happens when you’re in the presence of love like this—love that’s right, real, and accompanied by a hundred daily acts of devotion that speak louder than any words ever could.
It lights you up. It spreads. It multiplies.
So really, you can’t blame Emma or me for being already knocked up a second time. Love’s to blame. And condoms. Or lack thereof.
Turns out Emma and I really don’t care for condoms…
Good thing we really like babies.
We reach the end of the thick blue runner laid out over the grass and slow to a walk, grinning like crazy people as we walk down the aisle hand-in-hand, giving ourselves to each other for as long as we both shall live. And I sure hope that’s a long, long time, because I’m never going to get tired of making love or laughs or babies with this woman.
She taught me to reach for my dreams, to be thankful for all the gifts in my life, and to love without holding back. She made me treasure my family even more than I did before, and gave me a family of my own, a gift so beautiful I can’t believe I thought I was complete without it.
“You are my best friend, my partner, my love, and my life,” I say, gazing deep into Emma’s eyes as we near the end of our vows. “You are my partner in crime, the keeper of my secrets, and the best mom any kid ever had. You make me excited to wake up every morning, because I get to share another adventure with you, Emma Haverford. I will love you all the days of my
life and all the days after.”
She sniffs, lips pressing together as she shakes her head slightly from side to side. “I should give up on the whole trying-not-to-cry thing, right?”
Our gathered family and friends laugh, I smile, and then take my turn getting choked up as Emma recites the same vow to me.
By the end, we’re both choked up, but that doesn’t make our first kiss as husband and wife any less sweet.
Later, as we’re dancing under paper lanterns strung through the trees at the vineyard’s edge, we make more promises and plans. We float ideas for future adventures, laugh at Mercy’s face as she tries her first bite of wedding cake and decides it’s even better than flowers, and debate whether or not Finn is an acceptable name for a baby boy who isn’t also a fish.
And, of course, we fall deeper in love, the way we have every night since the night Emma made me an offer I couldn’t refuse beneath a harvest moon.
EPILOGUE THE SECOND
Rafe
Weddings.
Gag me with the sharp end of the bouquet.
No offense to those who enjoy this kind of shit, but I’d rather be dragged naked through the streets behind a speeding Harley.
My brother’s wedding is better than most—Dylan and Emma are crazy about each other and can’t seem to stop having kids, so it makes sense for them to take the plunge, I guess—but all the sappiness in the air is still making me queasy.
Romancing the shit out of a woman is one thing.
Getting teary-eyed over the wedding vows is another.
As soon as the toasts and the first dance are over, I beat it to the parking lot, knowing I won’t be missed. The bride and groom are too busy making goo-goo eyes at each other, and everyone else is too drunk, seeing as the wedding started forty-five minutes late and Emma’s tasting room staff was pouring hefty samples while we waited.
The Baby Maker Page 17