This was my chance at redemption.
Unlucky? No. This sounded more like an opportunity at something pretty damn incredible.
Now I just had to figure out what I’d done to piss Bailey off so badly.
Since she clearly didn’t want to see me right now, I chose to give her a cooling-down period and put my time to good use doing research. I spent the next several hours on the internet.
Huge mistake.
By the time I was done reading, I was convinced our baby—which I now knew was called an embryo—would be born with eleven fingers, three ears, and would resemble an alien. There were so many things that could go wrong, and Bailey and I had absolutely no control over most of them. The notion was terrifying.
I finally forced myself to close my laptop and proceeded to pace the living room trying to work out how in the world we’d be able to afford specialized care for our little alien. I’d just resolved to sell a kidney when my mom walked in from work.
She set down her purse, covered her mouth, and gave me “mom” eyes. Then she dropped her hand and jumped up and down like a damn teenager. “I’m gonna be a grandma!” she squealed before running over to tackle me in a huge hug. Despite myself, I had to laugh.
Not wanting to throw a damper on my mom’s excitement, I just told her Bailey went home for the night—I left out the part about our argument and how I’d basically been declared an idiot. I was still trying to comprehend that one the next morning as I helped lay new sod in a section of the Vaughn’s yard. The design was looking great, and I couldn’t have been happier with the project.
I knew I had the dreaded meeting with Tessa McGuire in the afternoon, so I took off early, after confirming with Ollie that he’d meet me there. I was in no mood for any interaction with an entitled rich girl—the only girl on my mind was probably sitting at work pushing pins into a Beckett-shaped voodoo doll. I parked on the street in front of the McGuire’s home and looked around. No sign of Ollie or a Precision vehicle.
There was no way I was getting out until he showed, so I took the chance to send my second text of the day to Bailey. This time, she deigned to answer.
Jake: You can try to ignore me but I won’t go away. You may as well respond.
Bailey: I’m working.
Jake: Me too. Oh, look—we have something in common. I hear it’s good for married people to have things in common.
Bailey: I thought you didn’t want our child to grow up fatherless??
Jake: Uh, my point exactly.
Bailey: Then you should probably shut up before I run you over with my car.
Jake: Why are you so pissed off? Tell me and I’ll apologize. That’s a great offer!
Bailey: I have to go. I need to make a phone call.
Jake: Who could be more important to call than your baby daddy?
I snickered to myself at that one.
Bailey: The coroner.
Oh. Well, it seemed she was still just as pissed and just as tight-lipped about the reason. I was about to respond when there was a tapping on my window. I looked up, and Tessa McGuire stood there with bright red lips spread in a wide smile and a tall glass of iced tea in her hand—complete with a decorative lemon slice. Shit.
I glanced around furtively hoping to spot Ollie, but the guy was a no-show. Dammit! Looked like I’d have to do this on my own. Forcing a smile, I rolled down the window.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. McGuire.”
“Tessa, silly.” She laid her arm across the window opening. Did she just refer to me as “silly”? “I thought you could use a drink. I’ll bet you’ve been working hard today.” She let her eyes slide down my body which was, indeed, covered in dirt and a fair amount of sweat.
“Yes, ma’am, but I’m all right. Just had some water. I’m waiting on a colleague and then we can both meet you in the backyard if that works for you.”
Her smile froze. “A colleague?”
“That’s right. I’m not sure if you’ve met him—Oliver—he’ll be giving me some input. He’s more cultured than I am, by far, so I think he’ll be a great asset,” I said, pulling that tidbit straight out of my ass. Ollie did the accounts and only helped out the crew when Jax was short. I had no idea, however, if he knew the difference between a croquet mallet and a crowbar.
She recovered her smile, although it was strained, thus telling me that my instincts had been spot-on. I was in deep shit. “Oh, well I’m sure he’s wonderful, but that’s entirely unnecessary. Come on into the backyard and I’ll show you what I’m concerned about.”
Come on, Ollie. Where the fuck are you?
“Sure thing,” I responded. “I just need to send a quick text.” I motioned for her to go on without me, but she stayed put. Crap.
I texted Ollie, threatening his very existence on this planet if he didn’t show up in the next thirty seconds. No response.
I threw another glance at Tessa and she just tilted her head, the wide smile returning.
If I wanted to keep this job, I was going to have to get my ass out of the truck and suck it up. So I did.
Tessa tried to link her arm through mine on the walk to her backyard, but I pretended to trip on something and then told her I’d changed my mind about the tea. I grasped the glass and brought it to my lips, hoping to hell it hadn’t been roofied.
She closed the gate to the backyard once we’d passed through, and I suddenly felt like a child who’d been lured into a molester van with promises of candy and puppies. Except in this scenario, the molester was a designer-clad young bride and I was the hapless gardener. I was guessing in her mind we were in one of those romance novels with the heiress and the stable-hand, except this stable-hand had a pregnant fiancée and a fucking career to keep afloat.
I looked around, hoping to see a big tree laying on its side across the yard, but no. I scratched the back of my neck. “What seems to be the problem?”
She walked into the yard, deliberately taking it slowly and shifting her hips in her tight skirt. Then she turned or, more accurately, whipped around in a dramatic move that sent her hair flying. It completely startled me and I took a step back.
Jesus.
Tessa started toward me again and only stopped when she was in complete violation of my personal space. Her finger touched my chest. “The problem, Jake,” she began, and then—thank fuck—the gate latch banged and a flustered Ollie practically sprinted over to us. I sighed in relief. Tessa huffed in frustration and stepped back. I didn’t know whether to kiss Ollie or punch him in the nuts for being late.
After Ollie made his grand entrance, Tessa had very little to say. She murmured about some changes she’d like to make to the plans, something that could have easily been handled over e-mail. Ollie and I just smiled and “yes ma’am”ed until we could politely get the hell out of dodge.
“Jesus, man, I’m so sorry!” Ollie said for the fourth time. We were sitting at the bar of one of my favorite hangouts, both of us in desperate need of a beer after that near-catastrophe.
I patted him on the back. “It’s okay. I’m just glad you showed up when you did.” I took a swallow of my beer and let the cool liquid slide down my throat, calming me.
Ollie readjusted his tie—why he wore one, I had zero clue—and took a pull on his own beer. “That woman is a viper. She looked like she was getting ready to poison you and drag you into her den.”
I had to laugh at that.
Ollie looked sideways at me. “Why doesn’t shit like that ever happen to me?”
That just made me laugh harder.
Driving to the Vaughn’s the next morning, I resolved that if I didn’t get Bailey talking to me by the end of the day, I was going to enlist my mom for help. I know—it felt fairly emasculating, but I was getting desperate and she was the only other person who knew about the pregnancy.
There’d been another text exchange with Bailey the night before. She’d felt obligated to tell me about an upcoming doctor’s appointment on Friday, but she was still unyiel
ding regarding any other discussion of our situation.
I was so preoccupied by my dilemma that I didn’t hear Mrs. Vaughn until she was standing right in front of me saying my name. “Mr. Beckett, are you all right?”
My head shot up from my work on the hedges. I noticed she was wearing another impeccable pair of trousers and a matching sweater set. Not a hair was out of place in her silver bob and her hands were clasped neatly in front of her. She was, at once, completely out of place in the filthy surroundings and completely at home wherever she decided to put herself.
“I apologize, Mrs. Vaughn.” I stood up. “I’m a bit preoccupied.” Sheepish seemed to be my permanent condition around her.
She smiled understandingly. “Did you find the answers you were looking for?”
I gave her a baffled look. Jesus, I was doing a bang-up job at impressing this client.
“The young woman,” she prompted.
“Oh,” I replied in understanding. I scratched my chin and tried to determine a good response, looking to the hedges for help. “You could say that, I guess.” I gave a self-deprecating chortle.
“And that’s a bad thing?” She inspected the box hedges with her long fingers.
I suddenly felt the need to unburden myself and, for some reason, I instinctively knew Mrs. Vaughn wouldn’t mind. Before I could chicken out, I divulged the abridged version of events, including the secret of the gestating alien and Bailey’s refusal to speak to me.
Mrs. Vaughn just looked at me, not unkindly, but speculatively. “Am I to understand you’re happy about the baby?”
“Well, yeah, I guess. I mean, what’s done is done. I can either be mad or happy, and since mad does nobody any good…I guess I’m happy.” I shrugged.
“And are you happy about this Bailey being the mother?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely. There’s nobody else in the world I’d rather have this baby with.”
She smiled. “Well then. There’s your answer.”
“Huh?” Damn, I was inspiring boatloads of confidence here. All I needed now was a piece of straw to chew on to complete the portrait of a jackass hick.
“Repeat that last sentence to your young woman and I think you’ll get a more receptive response.”
“Oh,” was all I could think to say. Then comprehension dawned. “Ooh.” I nodded my head. Bingo.
She nodded as well. “Don’t let her stew too long, Mr. Beckett. And might I suggest flowers? As you know, the hydrangeas are beautiful right now.” She lifted a brow. “You may be unaware, however, of what they symbolize—both heartfelt sincerity and the gratefulness of the giver for the recipient’s understanding.” She nodded as she spoke, assuring I felt her full meaning.
“Are you by any chance a therapist, Mrs. Vaughn?” I asked with a grin.
She smiled and shook her head.
“A psychic then? No, a florist!”
She laughed outright. “No, Mr. Beckett. I am many things, I’ll admit, but above all, I’m a woman.” She lifted her chin and wished me luck.
Chapter Twenty-Three
These Irish Eyes Ain’t Smiling
BAILEY
I was completely at my wit’s end. I’d run around and around in circles in my head for two days and I determined it was finally time to bring someone else into this clusterfuck. Or, more precisely, two someones. I swallowed hard and took a deep breath before opening the door to my childhood home.
“Dad?”
Please don’t be home! I was hoping it would just be my mom, as I was guessing her reaction would be a bit easier to stomach.
“Bailey!” my father’s deep voice boomed from the living room.
Damn.
I entered the room, crossing it to give him a hug. His tall frame and broad chest made me feel positively dainty, a rarity for me. His returning hug also made me feel cherished, and I hoped to God my news wouldn’t change the way my father looked at me.
“What brings you here in the middle of the week? Not that I’m not happy to see you.” He released me and looked me over. “You look tired,” he declared.
I barked out a laugh. “Gee, thanks.”
“Are you working too hard? Are you sleeping? What’s going on?”
How did he do that?
“Nothing. For God’s sake, can’t a girl come over to see her parents?”
He pulled me in again. “You’re my daughter. I worry—it’s my job.”
“I’m aware,” I mumbled, my words swallowed by his shirt.
“Of course you are. ‘A son is a son till he takes him a wife. A daughter is a daughter all of her life.’” He quoted another of his favorite Irish gems. Then he let me go and smiled. “And that one is especially appropriate given the recent nuptials!” He seemed rather pleased with himself as he sat down in his leather recliner and rocked a few times.
“So, is Mom around?”
“She’s upstairs,” he responded and followed that up with a holler. “ERIN! YOUR DAUGHTER’S HERE!”
I covered my ears and briefly wondered if the baby had formed eardrums yet, as they’d surely been rendered useless after that. My mother’s footsteps sounded down the stairs.
“For goodness sake, Riordan! Would you please pipe down! I’m not deaf—yet.” She crossed to me and gave me a tight hug. “Hello, sweetheart. What a nice surprise. Are you hungry?”
My mother was always trying to feed people. Unfortunately, she lacked any degree of culinary skill, and it was a wonder no one had ever been poisoned. I shook my head. “No thanks, Mom. I’m fine.”
“Come into the kitchen anyway. I’ll get you a drink.” She waved for me to follow her. “I’m glad you stopped by—it gives me an excuse to take a break from closet cleaning. You wouldn’t believe the things I’m finding in there. I’d forgotten I used to be so trim. And to think I never stopped to appreciate it.” She looked me up and down and sighed. I was tempted to tell her not to feel bad—that I’d be Shamu in a few months’ time. That didn’t seem like the most tactful way to announce my big news, though, so I refrained and took the glass of tea she held out.
My father’s voice sounded from the next room. “She looks tired, Erin. Do something.”
I wrinkled my nose. My mother inspected my face, no doubt noting the bags under my eyes. “He does have a point. Haven’t you been sleeping?” She gestured for me to sit with her at the kitchen table.
“Um,” I began, not quite sure where to start. The sudden urge to flee bloomed in my chest and I imagined leaving clouds of Road Runner–style dust in my wake as I darted to freedom. But, as I was far too aware, there was no outrunning this particular problem. Best to just face the music. I turned my head to the living room. “Hey, Dad, can you come in here?” I faced my mother again and saw worry etched on her brow. Shit, this was going to be hard.
My dad entered the kitchen seconds later, wearing a similar expression of concern. I motioned for him to sit.
There we were. This was the last moment I’d be the Bailey they knew—the Bailey who hadn’t carelessly fucked things up and changed her future irrevocably. I inhaled deeply, steeling myself.
Like a Band-Aid, I thought.
I placed my hands flat on the table. “Well, it looks like you’re going to be grandparents.”
Crickets. Fucking crickets.
Just as I was about to jump into the silence, my mother whispered, “Sweet baby Jesus.” She brought her hand to her chest. “She’s pregnant already? Oh my word, this is so exciting!” Her voice rang through the kitchen and she grabbed onto my father’s hand. Then she looked quizzically at me. “Wait, why are you telling us? Won’t Laney be upset you spoiled the surprise? And why did they tell you before us? Everybody knows the grandparents find out first! I’ll be having words with Nate, you’d better believe that!”
“Erin!” my father shouted. “For the love of God and all that’s holy, be quiet!”
She smacked his arm. “Don’t you speak to me that way, Riordan Murphy—”
&nbs
p; He cut her off again. “I’m guessing the grandparents are finding out first, you daft woman.” I could feel him look at me but I couldn’t meet his eyes.
“I don’t understand,” she continued.
“Mom,” I said, daring to meet hers. “He’s right. Laney’s not pregnant. I am.”
The sound of my mother gasping and my father’s fist hitting the table just about undid me. But what had I expected? We were Irish Catholics—well, at least they were. I wasn’t quite sure what I was, but that was beside the point. Their reaction was very predictable and that was fine. It had to be. Just as I knew they were disappointed, I also knew they’d come around and love this child unconditionally. We just had to get through this first rough patch.
“Give me a name.” My dad’s voice was low and controlled.
I barely refrained from rolling my eyes. “Dad, I’m almost thirty years old, not sixteen. You’re not beating anyone up.”
“You’re damn right I’m not. I’m gonna kill him. Name,” he demanded again.
The sounds of my mother quietly weeping then registered and I had to decide which source of crazy to address first.
“It doesn’t matter! I’m a grown woman and I can make my own decisions.”
“It does matter! It matters a whole hell of a lot, young lady!”
Young lady? What was this, the morning after prom?
The weeping from the other side of the table was growing louder.
“Dad, I appreciate your concern and I will certainly appreciate you being an awesome grandparent to my baby. But that’s it. There will be no shotguns and no fists. For God’s sake, you had a heart attack a year ago and you think you’re going to stalk around town beating up my boyfriends?!”
“Boyfriends? As in, more than one? What is the matter with you young people?”
I took a breath, begging for calm. “No. There is one guy—one father. But what he and I decide to do from here on out is our business. I just wanted to tell you because I thought it was the right thing to do. Maybe I was wrong.”
The Lucky One (Carolina Connections Book 3) Page 17