It Started with a House...

by Helen R. Myers

  “I liked our reunion part,” she said, glancing at him from beneath her lashes.

  His eyes lit with humor. “I think we should reenact my return to Lake Starling at least once a month.”

  “Holding out on me, Mr. Roark? I thought it could become our Friday night tradition.”

  Marshall had to shift in his chair to a more comfortable position. “I like the way you think.”

  Growing more serious, Genevieve said, “If you don’t mind, I’m going to tell the girls at the office before we go to Mother and Bart’s. Could I interest you in coming along?”

  “Absolutely. After all, I’m about to become a fixture around the place.” Seeing that she had yet to taste her yogurt, Marshall took the spoon, scooped a bit from the cup and directed it to her mouth. “Open.”

  She did, but she wasn’t all that gracious about it. Shuddering away the last effects, she asked, “What do you mean? You want to sell real estate here?”

  “No, I want to get your building painted for you. It looks like every one of your offices could use a fresh coat or two.”

  She stroked his arm with renewed appreciation. “My hero. I keep meaning to address that, but it usually stays on the bottom of the to-do list. That would be wonderful, thank you.” This time she anticipated the next scoop of creamy yogurt like a baby bird spotting a parent with grubs and worms.

  “You know my ulterior motive, don’t you? That gives me the excuse to keep a closer eye on you and Baby.”

  “I never doubted it.” The second spoonful of yogurt was no better than the first and she had to refuse any more. “Baby is saying ‘yes’ to toast and ‘no’ to yogurt.”

  Clearly in an amicable mood, Marshall put down the spoon. “What else would you like done there?”

  “Nothing that I know of—yet. You can start over on your ideas about updating this place, though.”

  He took the hand closest to him and kissed it. “Thank you, my love.”

  “And I was thinking that the sooner I moved into your house—”

  “Our house.”

  “—the easier it would be for contractors to work.”

  Keeping her smaller hand within both of his, Marshall nodded. “I haven’t done anything with those boxes in my garage yet. I’ll start transferring them here in the next few days.”

  “It’s going to be difficult to tell Riley and Shirl. They’re such sweet souls. They’ll be heartbroken to see me leave.”

  “They won’t be losing a friend and cherished neighbor,” he assured her. “They’ll be gaining someone else who cares and will be there for them.”

  Genevieve’s eyes threatened to flood. “My cup runneth over,” she whispered.

  “No tears, love. Change of subject.”

  She laughed and blinked away the tears. “One of us is going to get whiplash. Shoot.”

  “Do you want a big church wedding?”

  That one was the easiest to answer. “Heavens, no. That’s way too much work, a waste of money… Besides, we’ll be busy enough doing everything you said, plus getting the nursery ready.” The word nursery won her an ardent and intimate look from him. “Let’s elope to Vegas tonight.”

  “Too flashy and impersonal.” She covered her flat tummy with both hands. “Besides, you’re not getting me on a plane with this precious cargo.”

  “Good thought.” He grew thoughtful. “We could have your minister or a judge come to the house. Either of the houses.”

  “I like that idea. But since this place is likely to have a ‘For Sale’ sign in front of it shortly, let’s say your place?”

  “Our place,” he amended with a look.

  Feeling impish, she replied, “Good, then it’s settled—the lake house.”

  “Wise guy. Just for that, I’m going to get with my lawyer and have him start drafting the right paperwork to add your name on the deed. That’ll fix you.”

  She enjoyed their banter. She hadn’t played like this in years. “Until we come to the next topic of discussion,” she said, grinning.

  “I have one—namely when will you agree to be mine?”

  Genevieve had no problem thinking of an answer because it was actually a critical one for her peace of mind. “The day I move in with you. Otherwise I will be losing clients due to my scandalous behavior.”

  After checking to make sure all three of her team would be at the office, Marshall drove Genevieve to town. Just seeing them enter together won giggles from Ina.

  “Hello, Mr. Roark,” she said shyly. “It’s always good to see you.”

  “Make it Marshall, Ina, since you’re going to be seeing a lot more of me from now on.”

  “So much for my wanting to break the news gently,” Genevieve said with a wry smile.

  Raenne came rushing out of the kitchen. “I heard that. Does that mean what I think it does? Show me the hand! Oh, my gosh—Avery! Get out here, hasta la giddyap and look at this ring!” The perky blonde grabbed Genevieve’s left hand and all but salivated over the ring. “That’s a stunner.” Then she turned to mush. “Aw, congratulations, you two. We were all so worried it wouldn’t happen.”

  Clearly determined to act more dignified, Avery emerged from her office at a more deliberate pace. “So you wore her down,” she said to Marshall. “My money was on you.”

  “Have you set a day yet?” Ina asked.

  “Not exactly,” Genevieve told them. “But it’s sooner rather than later.”

  “It better be. It’s hard to get a good place for a reception around the holidays,” Raenne said.

  Genevieve shook her head, her expression growing impish. “That’s not the only reason.”

  “Oh, my God,” Avery groaned, narrowing her eyes as she studied her. “You aren’t!”

  “I am.”

  The usually cool and collected brunette grabbed her and hugged her. “Hallelujah and raise the flag!”

  When Genevieve fought a gag, a startled Avery quickly backed off. “Jeez, Gen, I’m sorry. I didn’t think I was that strong.”

  “Morning sickness,” Marshall offered.

  Slapping herself in the middle of the forehead, Avery muttered, “Of course!” She immediately began waving her arms around, her Dolman-sleeved jacket flapping like bird wings. “I make a motion,” she declared to all. “From now on this is a scent-free zone!”

  With one hand clamped to her mouth, Genevieve waved her thanks. “I’m sure it’s just temporary.”

  The announcement went so well, Marshall encouraged Genevieve to move on to her mother’s house. Bart answered the door not quite looking his upbeat self, but seeing them, he brightened.

  “This is a nice surprise. Come in.” He hugged Genevieve and kissed her on each cheek.

  As he shook Marshall’s hand, she asked, “Is Mother hard at work?”

  “Not so much so that I can’t take a break for my favorite child.” Sydney announced, already descending the staircase.

  She looked affluent and elegant in a rust pants ensemble that looked very in keeping with the fall weather. As always, she jingled with every step like a belly dancer thanks to the various pieces of jewelry she was wearing.

  “Gigi, darling, you’re feeling better? You certainly look as though you are.”

  Genevieve accepted her mother’s embrace, but did not smile. “I’m okay. I wasn’t so okay when Marshall and I talked and we determined that your mouth triggered a great deal of pain for him—and me for that matter.”

  While Sydney held her right hand against her throat, Bart shot his wife a pained look. “I had the awful suspicion that you had something to do with Marshall leaving. They should name a hurricane or cyclone after you, Syd. You’re long overdue.”

  Although she looked a bit uneasy at first, Sydney recovered well. “I don’t know what you all are talking about. I’ve been nothing but supportive of them. And protective.” She looked from Genevieve to Marshall. “Tell him.”

  Genevieve shook her head. “You never think of the ramifications of what yo
u’re saying. You don’t know the meaning of the word edit outside of your work.”

  “I do so.”

  “You repeated part of our conversation at lunch last week,” Genevieve told her. “When taken out of context, Marshall misunderstood. Added to other misperceptions…well, that’s why he went away.”

  “No,” Sydney replied, firm in her rejection. “That can’t be. What did I say that could be possibly be misconstrued? I’m a writer, for pity’s sake!”

  “Stop while you’re ahead and say ‘sorry,’” Bart said, looking a little less amused and tolerant than he usually was. “Just be grateful they figured things out and are together for good this time.” He raised his eyebrows as he pointed an unlit pipe at Genevieve’s left hand. “I take it that’s the deal-maker?”

  Looking shaken and more than a little uncomfortable, Sydney laughed thinly as she noticed Genevieve’s ring. “Why, Marshall, you have excellent taste.”

  “No, my excellent taste is asking Genevieve to become my wife,” Marshall said, slipping his arm around her waist. “She’s agreed. I hope we have your blessing.”

  Genevieve held out her left hand to give them a better view of the ring. Bart wasted no time in hugging her, longer this time.

  “Sweetheart, my prayers have been answered. I couldn’t be happier for you,” he said.

  As he moved on to Marshall, Sydney approached her daughter. “I’m utterly ecstatic for you both.” Casting her husband an apologetic look, she embraced Genevieve again. Then did the same to Marshall, although more awkwardly. “When is the big day?” she asked almost shyly. Her expression clearly indicated that she wasn’t so sure about being invited.

  Once again slipping his arm around Genevieve’s waist, Marshall said, “We’re narrowing down potential dates.”

  “And it will be very low-key,” Genevieve added firmly. She cast Marshall a sidelong look. “Probably at Marshall’s house.”

  “I’m putting that lawyer’s number on speed dial,” he murmured for her ears only.

  “Oh, my dears.” Sydney began rallying from her short stay in hot water. “Please—have it here? And let me arrange for my portrait photographer to capture the moment. You’ll want a memento for that precious child you’re carrying.”

  Bart leaned to whisper in Genevieve’s other ear, “She’s relentless, isn’t she?”

  “There’s no one like her,” she replied with a fatalistic sigh.

  “Sometimes I think I married the reincarnation of the Unsinkable Molly Brown.”

  Genevieve looked questioningly at Marshall. When he gave her a wink and nod, she said to her mother and Bart, “All right. Thank you, both.”

  “I think this calls for a Bloody Mary or mimosa,” Bart declared.

  It turned out that the wedding happened later, rather than sooner. And life got busier, and more complicated.

  Only days later, Bart had a heart scare and was laid up in the hospital for several days before he was strong enough to undergo bypass surgery. Having experienced her second scare in such a short time, Sydney never left his side.

  In the middle of October, only days after Bart returned home to convalesce from bypass surgery, Riley Butler suffered a stroke. He lingered for a day and passed away on his and Shirl’s wedding anniversary.

  With their son’s gratitude, Genevieve helped Shirley move into an assisted-living facility. As close as they were, everyone expected she would soon follow Riley, and yet within days, Shirley Butler was playing dominos, cards and starting painting classes. She cut off the heavy braid that had been giving her headaches for years and got a perm. And Genevieve heard, the next time she went to check on her at the home, that she hadn’t picked up a crocheting needle yet.

  To celebrate Bart’s continued convalescence, Sydney decided their growing family should have a traditional Thanksgiving meal at their residence. Bart grumbled the whole time for the single wine spritzer his wife limited him to and finally dumped the thing down the bar sink drain and poured himself a stout scotch-and-water.

  Sydney went livid. “Fine—leave me a widow.”

  “I’ll leave you a wealthy widow,” he drawled, raising his glass to her.

  Before the meal could turn into a cold war, Marshall stood. “I think this would be a good time to make a small presentation,” he began. Then he turned to Genevieve and said, “You have their attention, my love.”

  She reached under the table and brought out a wrapped package they’d snuck in with the help of Dorothy. “As you know,” she began, “we delayed our next appointment for my sonogram due to our darling St. Bart. But we finally did the procedure two days ago and here are the results.” But before she handed it to them, she added beseechingly, “Look, you two. I know things have been tough and scary for you. But don’t lose sight of why you two married. I love you. You’re going to be the only grandparents our child has. I’m counting on you to establish lots of traditions like the one you’re starting today.”

  With that she held out the box.

  Sydney eagerly accepted it and had paper flying to the floor before Bart could join her at her end of the table. She chipped a red polished nail prying off the lid and then swatted away the tissue paper. With Bart’s hands on her shoulders as he lowered his head next to hers, she stared at the framed photo of Genevieve’s ultrasound. As Bart began to grin, she lifted it from the box and held it higher as one would a baby.

  “Oh, Bart,” she said, her voice cracking. “We’re going to have a grandson!”

  Chapter Nine

  “I hope that before the night is over, I don’t end up wishing that we had eloped after all.”

  Hearing a hint of nerves in his bride-to-be’s voice, Marshall backtracked to the bathroom and came behind Genevieve, where she stood before the master suite’s vanity mirror. Gently grasping her by her shoulders, he kissed the back of her head and said, “Breathe, my love.”

  She had agreed to move in with him shortly after Bart’s attack and Riley’s death. Along with their desire to be together so they could share every moment of her pregnancy, it cut down on back-and-forth travel, and it let her be closer to Bart, whom she increasingly referred to as “Dad,” much to Bart’s delight.

  But Marshall was as ready to finish getting this deed done and make her his wife, as she was to have this over. Genevieve—the woman who’d captured his imagination and given him back his sanity. His impulse was to sweep her into his arms and carry her two doors down with or without the necklace he’d bought her for this occasion. He was all but exploding from eagerness, although he’d been restraining himself and acting like the calm voice of reason for her sake. The last thing he wanted was to add to her stress. As good as she was getting at allowing herself to see him as partner and someone she could lean on, he knew her independence was only one old habit away. He wasn’t going to risk some shadow of a doubt making her back out of this wedding in the last minute.

  Calmly taking over, he swept the shining cape that was her golden hair over one shoulder and fastened the clasp of the starburst diamond pendant. It was as finely formed as she was as it rested in the subtle cleavage exposed by the square neck of her ivory gown. The cocktail-length velvet empire-style dress concealed the subtle swell of her abdomen. She’d been firm about being discreet for this occasion in respect for the minister of her church who had graciously agreed to perform the service.

  “Thank you,” she said with relief. “You have to promise to tell me if I start to sound even slightly high maintenance. I know what they say about daughters turning into their mothers, and I refuse to ‘Sydney’ you.”

  Chuckling dryly, Marshall added another kiss to the side of her neck—one of his many favorite spots on her body. “I actually think your mother is trying to turn over a new leaf or three by taking lessons from you. Bart confided in me the other day that he’s never been prouder of her. She actually went golfing with him. Well, she stayed in the golf cart the whole time, but she went.”

  Genevieve gaped. “He didn�
�t tell me. Neither did she.”

  “I think there was some romancing afterward and Sydney’s probably afraid you’d make fun of her.”

  “I’d hug her neck for remembering she had a husband and not just an escort to social galas and a backup checkbook. Oh, I hope they continue to behave tonight.”

  “Genevieve, mine—” Marshall leaned over her shoulder to lean his cheek next to hers “—try to focus on what’s about to happen. All I want is for you to enjoy this moment as much as I am. What are we looking at—two hours maximum before we can be alone again? We can handle that.”

  She met his gaze in the mirror, her left eyebrow arching as her skepticism surfaced. “That’s wonderful in theory. But you know it’s been three whole days since I’ve dealt with this nausea, and I’m so feeling the potential for it happening again. What if it comes back right at the moment Pastor Jarvis starts the vows?”

  Taking the role of the pragmatic, he massaged her shoulders and stroked her arms to continue soothing her. “We’ll be asking a half-dozen people to be patient. That’s hardly the entire congregation at the Washington Cathedral—or your church for that matter.” Having been at her side and witnessed all that she’d been through, he sympathized. “It’s going to be fine, even if your mother is directing this. You probably also don’t know that with her attempting to behave herself, Bart’s been better at following his doctor’s directives.”

  He knew, though, that she’d experienced several challenging weeks. Along with Bart’s health issue and old Riley passing, she had lost two contracts, and not due to fair competition, either. She lost because two couples in her church were “offended” by her personal behavior that they claimed set a bad example for the community. He’d found it laughable how they—with seven children between them—could find love, enhanced by a healthy sexual attraction, offensive.

  At least she’d been spared the crass disrespect of overhearing one of the painters he’d hired as they’d begun to prepare Genevieve’s house to be put on the market. He happened to be arriving to check on things when the jerk—who was married, no less—made a disparaging remark about her new financial status as though she hadn’t worked hard and successfully for every dollar she’d earned herself. However, what triggered Marshall’s fury was the added comment that he wouldn’t have turned down a chance in her bed any more than Marshall had. It had given Marshall great pleasure to personally remove the ingrate from the premises.