The Late Bloomer's Road to Love

by Marie Ferrarella

  “Penance, atonement,” he told her, slowly drawing a little closer. “Anything you want to call it.” His eyes were searching her face for a trace of compassion. “I was wrong to leave like that when I did. You needed me and I wasn’t there for you. You don’t know how much I regret that.”

  If Elliott was trying to make amends, it was much too late for that. She wasn’t the young woman she had once been and she wasn’t easily taken in by words she knew were empty.

  “And it took you two years to come to that conclusion?” she asked.

  “No,” he told her. “Two years to work up my nerve to apologize.”

  He had always been the impetuous type, given to acting on impulse. That explained why he had fallen for and married Dora the way he had.

  “Does your wife know you’re here, apologizing like this?” she asked. In her opinion, he was being despicable.

  “I’ve left her,” he said. His voice grew emotional as he went on to tell her, “I made a mistake, Rachel. I realize that now.” Elliott stepped closer, attempting to take her hand in his but she pulled back. As much as she had once welcomed it, the thought of him touching her now was almost unbearable.

  In one fell swoop the man was actually dumping his wife and his baby. What in heaven’s name had she ever seen in him? How could she have been so blind?

  “And the baby?” Rachel asked pointedly.

  “Dora will get custody, of course.” He tried again, stepping closer to her. “Look, I’ll admit it. I made a lot of mistakes.”

  “That’s a flesh-and-blood baby you’re trying to abandon, Elliott. She’s not a ‘mistake,’” Rachel told him coldly.

  “You’re right,” he freely conceded, sounding as if he was willing to say anything to get her to let him back into her life. “You’ve always been right. Look, Rachel, I just really want us to have a fresh start.”

  “Well, you can certainly have a fresh start,” Rachel told him without reservation. But the next moment, as he happily began to move toward her, she added, “But there is no ‘us.’”

  Elliott looked at her in disbelief. “You want me to leave?”

  “I want you to go where I never have to see you again,” she told him, “so yes. Go.” It was an order now, not a request.

  It was a request he wasn’t allowing to sink in. He shook his head. “You don’t mean that.”

  The man was insufferable. Again she couldn’t believe that she had been so impervious to all his faults and shortcomings. Had it been that important to her to have someone love her?

  She blocked the thought from her mind.

  “Oh, but I never meant anything more in my life,” Rachel told him.

  Elliott’s face darkened. “You’re going to be sorry you said that.”

  “What I am sorry about is that I didn’t say it to you earlier and I wound up wasting three years of my life, thinking we were going to get married,” she told him. “I’m with a wonderful man now—”

  “Oh, I get it.” There was a cruelty in his voice as he regarded her. “And you think you’re going to get him to marry you,” Elliott said with a sneer.

  “I am not going to get him to do anything. I don’t play games,” she informed him. “But I do know that five minutes with him is worth more than those three years I spent with you.”

  There was anger in her eyes as she asked him, “Now, are you going, or do I have to have Eduardo throw you out?” referring to the security guard who doubled as a bouncer.

  “I’d listen to her if I were you,” Wyatt said, coming up behind Rachel. He placed his hands on her shoulders in a gesture that could only be construed as protective. “Because I’m guessing that you probably already know that Rachel always means whatever she says.”

  Elliott’s eyes narrowed as he shot Wyatt a hostile glare, looking him up and down. His mouth registered disdain and disapproval. “I take it that you’re the new guy.”

  “No,” Wyatt contradicted. “I’m not the new guy. I’m the permanent guy.” He took a step toward the former boyfriend, who looked as if he had grown paunchy in the two years that had gone by. “Rachel’s not going to tell you again, but I will. Go while you still can.”

  A look akin to fear passed over Elliott’s features. He scowled at Rachel. “You’ll be sorry,” he predicted again.

  “Not for even one minute,” she answered, slipping her hand into Wyatt’s.

  The gesture presented a united front.

  Like a rat leaving a sinking ship, Elliott left quickly, muttering under his breath.

  “So that’s the ex, huh?” Wyatt asked after Elliott had cleared out. “I thought you had better taste in men.”

  “I do—now,” she told him. “I was young and very naive when I was in high school. And Elliott was on the football team.”

  Wyatt laughed, slipping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her against him. “I guess everyone’s entitled to one mistake.”

  “Is the snake gone?” Johanna asked, emerging out of the small office where she had disappeared, presumably to allow Rachel to deal with her ex on her own.

  “He slithered underground,” Rachel told her.

  “What did he want?” Johanna asked innocently.

  “Rachel here, apparently,” Wyatt answered.

  They weren’t fooling her. Rachel had a feeling that Johanna had only disappeared in order to call Wyatt, allowing him to come and rescue her if need be.

  “Interesting how you just happened to appear out of nowhere,” Rachel commented, looking at Wyatt.

  He grinned, still maintaining innocence. “I’m lucky like that,” he answered. He refrained from saying anything about the fact that Johanna had texted him the moment that Elliott had made his appearance at the restaurant. Wyatt had dropped everything to get there.

  Rachel looked at him with the same wide-eyed innocence she had just been subjected to. “Are you here for a reason?”

  “Do I need one?” he asked.

  “No,” she answered honestly. “But you don’t normally pop up in the middle of the morning, that’s all. I just thought I’d ask.”

  “Well,” Wyatt said, taking her hand and leading her off to where the desserts had been placed on ice just before they were stored for sale. “As it happens, I am here for a reason.”

  Rachel looked up at him, wondering if she should be bracing herself. She no longer believed that she could continue to live in a dream world and that everything was going to resolve itself to her satisfaction. She knew that when she expected the best was when she became an easy target for disappointment.

  “All right,” Rachel said, wanting to get this over with. “You might as well tell me what it is.”

  “You sound as if you’re waiting for the judge to read you your death sentence,” he told her.

  Rachel didn’t see a reason to lie. “That all depends on what you have to tell me.”

  He had come prepared, but this was turning out to be harder than he had anticipated. He had never done this before.

  “Let me start out by saying that I have had a wonderful two months,” Wyatt told her. “When I took this assignment, I never thought things would wind up turning out this way.”

  He was going too slowly and it was killing her.

  “But...?” she said when he paused. Rachel felt as if she was dying inside. Part of her wanted to put off what he was going to say for as long as she could because she was certain this was the beginning of the end. The other part wanted to face up to what she felt was the disappointment that was waiting to take the air out of her balloons as she sailed over the Grand Canyon.

  “But it’s time for me to tell you what I’m feeling,” Wyatt continued.

  She felt a chill slide down between her shoulders that was really hard to ignore. “And that is?” she asked in a whisper.

  He took a breath, then finally
said, “I love you, Rachel.”

  She blinked. She had hoped, but hadn’t expected. Hearing the words was thrilling. “You what?” she cried, stunned.

  “Love you,” he repeated. “You have heard of love, right?”

  Her heart slammed against her chest. “Yes, oh yes,” she said breathlessly.

  He needed an answer to his question. “So what I want to know is—”

  “Yes,” Rachel cried, before he had the chance to finish.

  “Yes?” Wyatt asked uncertainly.

  “Yes,” she repeated with emphasis.

  “To?” he asked, not clear just what she was saying yes to.

  “To what I hope is the question you’re asking,” Rachel told him.

  Okay, he needed to make this as clear as he could. “I’m asking you to marry me because I’ve never felt this way before and don’t think I ever will again. I know a once-in-a-lifetime thing when I come across it and—”

  The grin all but split her face. “I’ve already given you my answer, Wyatt, so if you know what’s good for you,” she told him, “you’ll stop talking and kiss me.”

  He laughed then. “Yes, ma’am, happy to accommod—”

  Wyatt didn’t get to finish the sentence because her lips were already sealed to his.

  Sealed in happiness and in utter, complete, zealous passion.

  Epilogue

  “Well, ladies, clear your calendars for the last Saturday of the month. It looks like our track record still stands,” Maizie announced happily the moment Theresa and Cilia walked into her family room.

  “You mean—” Cilia began, only to be cut off by Theresa.

  “Yes, she does,” Wyatt’s “aunt” declared. Smiling broadly, she placed her wedding invitation on the table. “I got this in the mail this morning.”

  Maizie produced her own invitation and put it right beside the first one. “George hand-delivered mine last night.” She looked at her friends with no small sense of triumph. “It’s written out to all three of us,” she told the other two women.

  “Well, then I won’t say anything about being the low woman on the totem pole,” Cilia said, since she hadn’t personally received hers.

  “Cilia, a victory for one of us is a victory for all of us,” Maizie reminded her friend.

  “I know, I know,” Cilia assured her. Turning toward Theresa, she said, “Your cousin must be ecstatic.”

  The latter smiled broadly. “For once, Ariel is speechless—something else Wyatt is grateful for,” she added with a wink.

  Utterly delighted about this latest wedding they were instrumental in bringing about, the three lifelong friends began to eagerly talk among themselves, making plans for that day.

  * * *

  George Fenelli knocked on the door behind which, for forty-five years, brides had been getting dressed and preparing to take vows that would unite them with the men who had won their hearts.

  “Come on in, Dad,” Rachel said, knowing it had to be her father, since Johanna was here with her, fussing with her veil.

  George walked in, his heart swelling almost before the moment he took in the sight of his daughter wearing the floor-length wedding gown that his wife had worn all those years ago.

  When she had told him that Wyatt had proposed, George had offered to buy Rachel her own, new wedding gown, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She said that she wanted to wear her mother’s. He couldn’t find the words to tell her how happy that made him.

  He didn’t have to.

  “Well?” Rachel asked, turning around to face her father as she smoothed down the bridal gown while Johanna carefully adjusted her veil so it wouldn’t get caught.

  “You look absolutely beautiful,” he whispered, his voice growing hoarse from the tears that were gathering in his throat. “I just really wish your mother was here to see this.”

  “She is,” Johanna assured both of them.

  Another knock was heard as a very pregnant Myra peered into the room. “It’s time, Rachel.”

  They all knew what that meant.

  “I’d better get out with the others,” Johanna told Rachel. “See you up front,” she added, giving her new stepdaughter’s hand a squeeze before she left the room.

  “Ready, honey?” George asked.

  “More than ready,” she answered as her father handed her the wedding bouquet. Strains of the wedding march were beginning to fill the room.

  George slipped his arm through Rachel’s. “Then let’s get this show on the road.”

  “Let’s,” Rachel agreed.

  It was hard for Rachel to walk so slowly at her father’s side when what she really wanted to do was race up the aisle to Wyatt so she could hear the words that would forever bind the two of them together.

  The moment she walked into the church proper at her father’s side, her eyes immediately found Wyatt’s. His smile instantly sank into her soul, drawing her to him. Rachel honestly didn’t remember walking from one end of the church to the other, she just remembered reaching her long-awaited destination.

  “You came,” Wyatt whispered, repeating words he had said to her on their very first date.

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she said, echoing her reply.

  They turned in unison to face the priest, both more than ready to begin their new life.

  Together.

  * * *

  Don’t miss previous romances by Marie Ferrarella, from Harlequin Special Edition:

  Secrets of Forever

  Coming to a Crossroads

  Her Right-Hand Cowboy

  Bridesmaid for Hire

  The Lawman’s Romance Lesson

  Adding Up to Family

  Keep reading for an excerpt from The Puppy Problem by Katie Meyer.

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  The Puppy Problem

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  Chapter One

  No matter how old you were, being called into the principal’s office was always nerve-racking.

  That was the conclusion Megan Palmer reached in the fifteen minutes she’d been kept waiting in the reception area, perched on a worn plastic chair as a wall clock that looked older than she wearily ticked away the time. Her anxiety rose with every sweep of the second hand.

  She really should be used to this by now. Ever since Owen had moved from a special school for kids with autism into a mainstream classroom, she’d been called in on an increasingly frequent basis to discuss her son’s “difficulties.”

  That’s the word they usually used—difficulties.

  His teachers were concerned that her six-year-old was having difficulties adjusting, that he found transitions difficult, that he was having a difficult time following directions. Well, yeah, dealing with autism was difficult—for Owen. That’s what always seemed to get lost in the conversation. It was always about how his behaviors affected the classroom, the routine, the other kids. Never about how hard he was working, or how incredibly overwhelming daily life could be for someone with a brain that was wired differently.

  Megan knew exactly how it could be to deal with Owen. She’d been doing it all his life—most of that time as a single parent. But as her late husband had often said, the best things in life didn’t come easily. At the time, Tim had been referring to his job as a soldier, defending the freedom of their country. But she figured it applied to a lot of things, and lately it had become her personal mantra.

  Getting the news her husband had been killed by an IED hadn’t been easy. Finishing school while grieving him hadn’t been easy. Raising Owen wasn’t easy. Tra
nsitioning him into a mainstream classroom hadn’t been easy. The truth: each had been hard as hell. And she had a feeling today’s conversation with Principal Wright would be the hardest yet.

  But she was going to push for what she wanted—for what Owen needed—no matter how much educational red tape she had to cut through. She wasn’t a little kid, and she wasn’t going to let an elementary school principal intimidate her. She straightened her shoulders, rehearsed her well-researched arguments in her head, and ignored the little drop of nervous sweat trickling between her breasts.

  “Mrs. Palmer, Dr. Wright will see you now,” Ms. White, the school secretary, said. A middle-aged woman in slacks and a polyester blouse, she opened the little half door that divided the office into public and private areas. “I’ll show you—”

  “I know the way.” Too well, unfortunately. Megan could probably give tours of All Saints Elementary School at this point. Blowing by the disapproving woman, she briskly stepped through the portal and walked down the short hall that led to the administrator’s office. A left turn and there, three doors down, was her destination. The lion’s den, as it were.

  She knocked, perhaps a bit too firmly, and the door swung open a few inches, just enough for her to catch the principal’s eye as he motioned her in, a phone pressed between his ear and shoulder as he typed furiously at the open laptop on his desk.

  Megan stepped inside and took a seat in one of the two straight-backed chairs in front of the ancient, scarred wood desk while he returned his attention to whomever was on the phone. Frustration gnawed at her. Why call her back if he hadn’t been ready—it wasn’t as if this meeting had been her idea. But the man was probably used to women being eager to sit around waiting for a scrap of his time. Not because he was the principal of a small, private school, but because Luke Wright was drop-dead gorgeous.

  It was a term she didn’t often use for men, but it fit. Unlike the crusty old administrators she remembered from her school days, Mr. Wright—or “Mr. Right” as he was often referred by local gossipers—looked like he should be on the set of a Hollywood blockbuster, not sitting in a stuffy, overcrowded office in the tiny town of Paradise, Florida.