by Leger, Lori
Tiffany mumbled a polite thank you, before turning toward the couple.
Thanks again for doing this,” Giselle said, grasping her hand. “You look fantastic, by the way. I want the name of the dress shop after the ceremony.”
They found Jackson’s friend, who had all of the paperwork prepared, thanks to a previous phone call. They obtained the license then stopped off at the judge’s office for special dispensation of the three-day waiting period. Within twenty minutes of their arrival, the four of them were standing before the Justice of the Peace.
After the brief ceremony and everyone had put pen to paper, the document was stamped, signed and placed safely in her hands. Giselle turned to thank the witnesses, giving each a big hug.
The group exited the courthouse and gathered around Giselle’s vehicle. Heat rose from the concrete parking lot in waves as the late August sun beat down mercilessly.
“Well, good luck you two,” Tiffany said. “This was an honor.”
“Thanks Doc,” Jackson said. I’ll see you for my check up next week.”
“You certainly will.” She turned to Red and nodded. “Mr. McAllister.”
He gave her a slight, but gallant bow. “Dr. LeBlanc.”
Red loaded Jackson into Giselle’s vehicle, and got in his own truck to follow them home.
Giselle buckled her seatbelt and gazed at her new husband, stretched out in her backseat to accommodate his leg brace. The man was a mess—head shaved, a surgical steel plate in his skull, and a metal brace with pins sticking out of his right leg. A cast covered his left arm, and black and blue bruises covered the rest of him from head to toe. Regardless, she couldn’t help but smile at that crooked, boyish grin of his.
“Not much to look at, am I? Right about now, you’re probably thinking you dove head first into the shallow end of the pool.”
“I’m thinking I gained a wonderful husband. You’re the one who should worry. You get a wife and two rowdy girls.”
“Baby, this is a dream come true for me.”
She slipped on her sunglasses and shifted her car into drive. “Let’s go home.”
October 25th
Crystal white lights twinkled and glittered in the luminescent glow of the evening sky, reflecting off the pond like bits of diamonds. Friends and family members gathered around to watch Jackson and Giselle as they walked gracefully to the center of the dance floor under the pavilion Bill had constructed for this night. It was the perfect night for a wedding—crisp, cool but not cold, with low humidity.
Giselle was stunning in an ultra-feminine, ivory, tea length wedding gown with insets of Brussels lace. She danced with Jackson, the man she’d just wed for the second time. Her new husband had so completely filled her life with love that, at times, she thought she had never been this happy. At other times, of course, she remembered she had been. She knew how lucky she was to have found love twice, first to Toby, and now to Jackson. This kind, loving, sexy man was her future and she prayed every day to spend the rest of her life with him.
She danced with her husband—tall, healthy, and handsome in his black tuxedo, holding him, loving him so deeply. They swayed to the sound of James Otto’s deep soulful voice, singing their favorite song, Last First Kiss. A song about a couple finding the one love they hope is eternal, sharing a first kiss, one they pray will be the very last first kiss they ever share with another, and pledging their love for all time.
She gazed up into the piercing blue of her husband’s eyes. “Sing to me Jackson.”
He smiled, and did as she asked, singing the words she adored with the voice that made her melt. For the last verse, he slipped to one knee, acting out the words he sang in complete confidence, his voice rich and full.
Giselle laughed, as delighted at the show as their guests were. She let him have his moment, gloried in it, but pulled him up from his knee before the last chorus ended. Then and there, during their dance, in her husband’s arms, she enjoyed her own moment. She wrapped her arms around his neck and stood on tip toe to whisper the closely guarded secret she’d saved for this day.
She pulled back to gauge his reaction—no disappointment there.
Jackson’s eyes widened, his entire countenance filled with absolute delight. “Are you sure?”
She nodded, giving him a teary-eyed smile.
Jackson stared into the twin orbs of gold-specked green, loving her as he’d never loved anyone before.
“A baby? Are you sure?”
Again, she nodded, her eyes bright with tears and laughter. “Positive.”
He wrapped her in his arms, treasuring this moment, holding her as if his life depended on it. He squeezed his eyes shut and held on to his wife, praying for the strength to protect her from all harm. He cherished this woman, as well as their daughters, Mac and Lexie. And now—now the new life growing inside her.
“I love you, Jackson,” she whispered. “Are you okay?”
“I’m perfect. Everything’s perfect. And I’m going to be a daddy again.”
Thank you for letting me share Giselle and Jackson’s story with you. I’d love hearing your opinion, so if you’d care to leave a review on your retail of choice and/or Goodreads, I’d be thrilled. All reviews are a learning opportunity … even the bad ones, if they’re constructive. Thanks! ~ Lori ~
Blurb for Hart’s Desire
It’s late 1974, and high school student, Melinda Dawson is in serious trouble. Within two hours of revealing her problem to her parents, she’s whisked off against her will to another state, far away from the boy she loves.
Back in McCray, Washington, Greg Hart is one confused young man. His girlfriend vanished in the middle of the night without so much as a see ya later. After six long months, and still no word from her, he hopes to put his broken heart behind him by enlisting in the U.S. Marines.
Thirty years later finds Melinda back in McCray to care for her ailing father. It’s not long before she runs into Greg, now retired from the military, and mayor of the tiny town. Immediate sparks erupt at their first meeting, rekindling the smoldering embers of a strong mutual attraction.
Can the two of them bypass old feelings of anger, bitterness, and abandonment in order to find the love they once shared?
July 16th, 1975
Dallas, Texas
A single shriek ripped into the silence, echoing through the corridors of the Dallas Texas Home for Girls surgical ward—unofficially known as the Home for Unwed Mothers.
“Make it stop. Please. Make it stop!” Her previous ear piercing screams had long given way to low, exhausted groans.
Seven hours ago, Melinda had decided the word labor was slightly misleading when it came to giving birth. She’d labored in her mother’s flower garden, and labored helping her father do yard work. She’d even labored over her homework. None of which came close to this excruciatingly painful experience. Her opinion, vocalized approximately mid-point during the fifteen hour delivery process, had earned a sarcastic comment from one particular stiff backed woman in white assisting the doctor.
“If it were any easier, they’d call it something else.”
Melinda had taken time out of her panting to roll her eyes at the self-proclaimed Florence Nightingale of the establishment. She’d also kept her follow-up thought to herself.
You’d think they, whoever the hell they were, could come up with a better description for a day long process of having your insides ripped from you.
“Nobody said it would be a walk in the park, young lady. Remember that, the next time you spread your legs for a b—”
“That’s enough!”
The doctor’s bark silenced the white clad woman, causing her mouth to pucker as if she’d sucked on a green persimmon. If she could just get to her, Melinda could easily have scratched the old bat’s eyes right out of her skull. The urge lasted a full two seconds before another pain lashed out across her abdomen—the worst yet. This one wouldn’t turn loose of her.
She panted through it. “
Oh God… oh Jesus … how long is this going to last?”
“Until you give birth.”
Pain finally got the better of her. “Shut up, you miserable old hag!” She snapped her mouth shut, grunted. No way would she apologize, even though her parents hadn’t raised her to be rude. Then again, they hadn’t raised her to get knocked up in high school, either. She’d done that all by herself.
Well, not exactly, but he’d been non-existent during all this.
Grant it, her parents had whisked her away in the middle of the night before she could speak to him. God, what a nightmare. She could still see the look on her mother’s face once she’d narrowed down her daughter’s prognosis. One phone call and two hours later, and the three of them were on their way to Seattle to wait for the next flight to Dallas.
She could understand him being upset that she’d left without a word. She couldn’t call—there was one phone in this entire place, and it stayed locked up in an office. But she’d written countless letters to him the past seven months. He’d never bothered to write back, not even one lousy letter. Obviously, he wanted nothing to do with her or their child. But he’d change his mind. As soon as he saw her holding their baby, he’d change his mind. If she could just speak to him.
Another pain caught her mid-thought, this one accompanied by a strong urge. “I feel like I need to push.” Her low groan lengthened, turned into a strangled scream.
The doctor’s scrub-cap-covered head disappeared under the sheet. After a quick inspection he spoke. “It’s crowning. When I say to, I want you to push, Melinda.” He checked something down there and lifted his head. “Now, push. As hard as you can. Push.”
She did. She pushed, and grunted, and screamed through clenched teeth, until finally—finally—something gave way with a warm whoosh, bringing immediate relief.
“Oh God, let me see!”
The doctor and Florence worked on the baby, neither saying a word. She heard a strangled mewling sound, started to panic.
“What’s wrong? Is my baby all right?”
“Just have to clear the mucus …she’ll be fine.”
Melinda caught the raised eyebrow, a silent message from nurse to the doctor.
She had a baby girl? She heard the sound of suctioning, then a tiny cry of protest. Then another, this time louder.
“Let me see. I want to see her.”
Still they huddled around the child.
“What’s wrong?”
The woman sent her a glare. “He’s clamping and cutting the umbilical cord. It’s procedure.”
She allowed herself to relax a little. That lasted until Flo turned away from her, clutching the child. Panic filled Melinda suddenly as the woman blocked her baby from view.
“Bring her to me.”
Only silence greeted her as the doctor turned back to work under the sheet. She barely noticed him. Her eyes were glued to the too white crisply starched back of the nurse’s dress.
“Give me my baby!” The ear piercing shriek bounced off the sterile, white tiles of the tiny delivery room.
Florence spoke in the stern, heartless voice so many girls at the home abhorred. “We can’t do that, Miss Dawson.” Her voice sounded muffled through the mask covering her face. “It’s against regulations.”
“Whose regulations?” Melinda demanded, trying to sound stronger than the grueling experience had left her. “That’s my child.” Desperation filled her seventeen year old mind as quickly as water in the hull of a leaking boat. “I want to see my baby. Now.” The nurse continued to ignore her as she swaddled the child Melinda had just forced out of her exhausted body.
When the woman pivoted toward the door with her baby, Melinda let loose with belligerent screaming that caused everyone in the room to freeze in place.
“For crying out loud,” the doctor yelled as soon as she stopped to take a breath. “Let her see the baby so I can work on her in peace before she hemorrhages to death.”
“She’s not supposed to. Her parents insisted it be given up as soon as—”
“I heard him say I had a girl. My daughter is not an it, and I want to see her now!”
The young mother held her breath until the nurse turned reluctantly toward her. She pulled off her mask and carried the tiny bundle wrapped in yellow to her. Yellow. It was the only color in the too-white room, from her perspective of flat-on-back-feet-in-stirrups, anyway. The look of sour disdain on nurse Flo’s face had Melinda wishing the old witch had kept her mask on a little longer.
She stretched her arms to their limit as the nurse hesitated just beyond her reach. “Give,” she demanded, determined she’d have this woman fired as soon as she could get out of here with her baby girl. Florence Handley had been a miserable pain in her butt since the day of Melinda’s arrival at the home.
Melinda took the bundle carefully and settled it on her belly. She pulled the blanket aside and gasped as she peered down at her daughter.
“Hello baby girl,” she breathed, reaching up to pass a finger along downy soft skin of the infant’s cheeks. “You have my hair.” She stared at a head full of damp, dark locks that would surely curl as she grew. “You have my nose and mouth, too.” She moved her forefinger to the tiniest cleft below her daughter’s bottom lip. “But you have your father’s chin,” she whispered, smiling through her gathering tears. “Oh, Greg …our daughter has your chin,” she croaked hoarsely, wishing more than ever that she could speak to him for one minute. The instant she squeezed her tear filled eyes shut, Flo seized upon the opportunity to rip the infant from her arms.
“That’s enough. You should never have seen the child in the first place.”
“Nooo! Give her to me. I want her,” she pleaded. The door shut, blocking out the view of the woman as well as her child. Horrific screams filled the air. Hysterical and physically weakened, it shocked Melinda when she realized it was her own screaming. She fought to get up, knowing that if she didn’t get to her daughter tonight, she’d lose her forever.
The doctor cursed, raised one hand flashing a glove covered in crimson. Even as the blackness closed in on her, Melinda was in awe of the bright red blood standing out in stark contrast against the sea of white.
Blood on his hands.
“Oh God, she’s hemorrhaging. We’re going to lose her if we don’t stop this!”
The doctor’s voice sounded far away, muted, barely penetrating through her consciousness.
Her last thought was that she’d be glad to die.
No Greg.
No baby.
No reason to live.
June 4th, 2005
Gregory Hart cringed at the too damned cheerful jingle of his electronic shop’s front door. The last thing he wanted to deal with right now was another customer. It was Friday afternoon before a much needed weekend, and all he wanted to do was to go home and pop a top on an icy longneck. He clamped his jaw tightly at the sound of feminine footsteps approaching but didn’t look up from the spreadsheet on his computer screen.
Days like this … hell, weeks like this made him want to pack up and sell the place. Just take off and drive somewhere, anywhere else in the world. Anywhere but here, where every direction he turned, something or someone reminded him of the wife he’d lost to cancer a year ago.
A woman spoke from the end of the aisle to his left. “Excuse me, where do you keep the batteries?”
“Do you know the size you need?”
“They’re for a television remote control. Uh, triple-A, I think.”
Keeping his eyes on his spreadsheet, he reached up to the counter display on his right and pulled a pack. “Will these do?” He slid the pack to the end of the checkout counter.
“That’s just what I needed. What do I owe you?”
That voice. Something about the woman’s voice sounded disturbingly familiar—tweaked something locked up in his memory banks for longer than he wanted to admit. He looked up, and his gaze landed on a pretty lady with curly reddish brown hair. She perused the
pack of batteries and nodded. Her sparkling green eyes met his gaze briefly before she started digging for something in her purse.
His breath left him in a rush the moment recognition dawned. He stood speechless, staring at the woman who’d left town as a young girl of seventeen, taking his heart with her. Thirty years had changed her, of course, but not enough to keep him from knowing the first woman he’d ever loved.
“How much do I owe you?” she repeated, sounding breathless and rushed for time. He’d heard a rumor once that she’d been in Texas all these years … Houston area. Judging by the prominent accent, it was more fact than rumor.
“I’d say you owe me about two bucks—and one broken heart. Not sure I can put a price tag on that, though.” She froze, standing there with her hand shoved deep inside her purse. “You’re looking good these days, Melin.”
Her head pivoted slowly, her wide-eyed gaze locked onto his, shock keeping her speechless. Her pupils dilated seconds before her cheeks flushed a becoming shade of pink he’d seen many times before.
Some things never changed.
“Gregory?”
He lifted one brow and nodded. “That’s right. What brings you back to this part of the world?”
“My-my mom passed.”
“I’d heard. I was out of town when it happened. I was sorry to hear that.”
She stammered, sounding a little flustered. “Dad-dad needs me here to take care of him.”
“So, what you’re saying is, this isn’t a visit, but a relocation?”
“For the time being, anyway. How long have you been back in McCray? Last I heard you’d joined the Marines.”
“I retired with twenty-five and came back in 2000. I figured I’d given the U.S. military enough of myself, and it was time to live my own life. I married a year later.”
“You hadn’t married before then?”
She seemed surprised. At what? The fact that he hadn’t waited for her?
“Nope. I kept waiting to hear you’d come back to town …but you never did.” He pointed one finger at her. “You’re the reason I made a career of the Marines.” Her face paled, and just for a millisecond, he thought he should feel guilty for making the comment. Her reply made him swallow the apology he’d considered.