The heaving whimper that rose in the air fused his trousers to the seat as surely as if they were hand-stitched to the red leather. She began to sob, hands to her mouth, and the whites of his eyes expanded in shock. “Rose, please—”
A wailing moan finished him off, and his blood froze as she wept against the back of her father’s Moroccan leather seat. Heaven help him, he had way too much compassion for his own good, a trait he could obviously blame on his parents. With an agonizing sigh, he dropped his head in his hands and gave up the ghost, finally pulling her to his chest and patting her on the back. “Rose, don’t cry, please! It’s like fingernails on a chalkboard—I can’t handle it.” Her body continued to heave, and he stroked her hair, rocking her with a gentle motion as he whispered in her ear. “It’s okay, Rose, you’re going to be fine, I promise.” The waterworks continued, and her sobs grew, obliterating any thoughts but those for her welfare. “Rose, Rose,” he said, kissing her hair. He closed his eyes, and her scent aroused his senses, a heady meld of Breck shampoo and Chanel No. 5, warming his blood while he warmed her arms with the buff of his hands.
Her travail rose in volume and he panicked, weaving fingers into her hair to cup her face in his hands. “Rose, shhh . . . it’s okay . . . it’s okay . . .” Like he’d done a million times with Gabe or Katie or any of his nieces, he pressed his lips to her cheek, and her moist lashes lifted, spiky with tears and swollen eyes awash with surprise. His breath caught at the tremble of her lips, parted and wet, the innocence of her face, mottled with weeping, and a once-familiar heat singed his body like an electric shock. Her breathing was husky and shallow like his, filling the silence between them with something other than grief. His gaze settled on her lips and his mouth went dry, confirming that this kiss on the cheek was far more dangerous and far more compelling.
He jerked away. “Rose, I need to go.”
“Sean, no, please . . .” Her voice was nasal and husky, drawing him back like the hands now clasped to his neck. Before he could retreat, she captured his mouth with her own, paralyzing him to the spot.
It was a brisk autumn night, but the taste of her lips made it feel like a blistering day in June, melting his resolve and fogging the windows as much as his mind. The woman may as well have been made of magnetite—her lips drew his with a pull he hadn’t felt since Clare. His eyelids weighted closed, heavy with need as his mouth devoured hers, and he wrenched her close while their breathing merged into one. Glazed with desire, he gripped the nape of her neck and kissed her hard, a groan trapped in his mouth as he pressed her to the seat.
What am I doing?
But his body didn’t seem to care. She was putty in his hands, warm and willing, and heaven help him, he hadn’t felt like this in such a very long time. A moan left her lips, and he groaned, lost in the taste of her mouth, the scent of her skin, the feel of her body clinging to his.
“Sean, I love you,” she whispered, and his body froze, colder than October frost on her daddy’s steel bumper.
He jerked away, mind in a stupor. “Rose, no . . . you can’t . . .” Shame surged within, cooling the heat of her kiss. “Forgive me, please, I was wrong—”
“No, Sean, you weren’t! We’re attracted to each other—why do you fight it?”
He stared, chest rising and falling with tortuous breaths and his body still humming from the heat of their kiss. Why? Because he’d only felt like this one time before, and that had ended in the most excruciating pain of his life. A fatal attraction, pulsing with passion and little else, starting fast and finishing faster . . .
Like this . . . tonight.
He put his hand to the latch of the door. “Rose, I need to go . . .”
Need and want were two different things, apparently, at least to Rose Kelly. She sidled close, sending his pulse into overdrive faster than her daddy’s Cadillac Vic. Reaching up to nuzzle his neck, she feathered his ear with her whisper, her words warm and husky. “Stay with me, Sean, please? Just for a while?”
He was a responsible man, moral to a fault and loath to hurt anyone’s feelings. He needed to end this before he got in too deep and someone got hurt. And he would. He closed his eyes and drew her close as the blood throbbed in his veins.
Right after the next kiss.
“Okay, somebody’s in trouble because I just picked up those toys.” Katie stared, arms folded and mouth flat as she assessed a parlor that looked as if it had been gutted by a pack of wild children rather than just two.
Luke and Kit looked up at the same time, sitting in a sea of Tinkertoys and wooden blocks that sprawled from window to wall.
“Mama!” Kit’s little legs pumped in joy beneath her nightgown. “Da-da . . . fun!”
Rubbing her temple to alleviate yet another headache, Katie shot Luke a narrow gaze. “Yeah, well, there won’t be a lot of ‘fun’ for Da-da if he doesn’t get those toys picked up, pronto.” She squatted and held her arms out to Kit. “Come on, big girl, it’s time for bed.”
Before Katie could steal Kit away, Luke swooped the little girl up and blew raspberries on her belly, sending baby giggles bouncing off the fleur-de-lis papered walls. His blue eyes sparkled as he winked, flashing Katie a sultry smile. “Admit it, Katie, you’re just sore because I’m playing with Kit instead of you.” He tossed Kit over his shoulder and rose to his feet, sending Katie a smoky look that never failed to quiver her stomach.
Except for tonight.
Luke leaned to give Katie a quick kiss on the lips. “Don’t be so grumpy, Mrs. McGee. I’ll put your daughter to bed and pick up the toys.” He lifted her chin with his finger, teasing her with his eyes. “And if you’re a good girl, Katie Rose,” he whispered, “I’ll play with you too.”
She returned his warm gaze with a cool one. “No thanks, McGee, I’ve had enough playtime with you as it is.” She kissed Kit’s cheek as the little girl giggled and squirmed over Luke’s shoulder. “Good night, Kitty Kat. I’ll come tuck you in after Daddy reads you a story.”
Brow kinked in concern, he palmed Katie’s cheek while Kit’s chubby legs flailed his back. “What’s wrong, Katie? You’ve been edgy all night. Don’t you feel well?”
Tears stung her eyes and she turned away. “I’m fine, just need to finish the dishes.”
He grabbed her arm, tone tinged with worry. “Has something happened? What’s wrong?”
Steeling her chin, she blinked to dispel her tears. “Nothing. I’m just crabby, that’s all.”
A blond brow jagged high. “Yeah? Well, I’d say that’s an understatement. Why don’t you take a hot bath, and I’ll finish the dishes?”
She jerked free from his hold and hurried toward the kitchen, unwilling for him to see the tears streaming her face. “No, I’ll do them,” she called. “You just put Kit to bed, okay?”
Slipping into the kitchen, she closed her eyes and put a hand to her mouth. Her shoulders heaved with silent sobs as she pressed against the wall. Oh, Lord . . .
Giggles escaped down the hall to taunt her, first Kit’s high-pitched squeal and then Luke’s low, husky laughter, an untimely reminder of just how much joy they brought to her life.
With a shaky swipe, she pushed tears from her eyes and sucked in a deep swallow of air, willing it to calm her, settle her, before Luke came back in the room. She needed to be tough, efficient, a pillar of strength. And as cool and calm as the lawyer she’d always dreamed she’d be.
Even if those dreams were dead in the water.
Exhaling her grief, she moved to the sink to finish the dishes, plunging her hands into dirty dishwater as cold and slimy as the fear snaking its way through the pit of her stomach. She’d always seen herself in a courtroom with high heels and a tailored suit, giving birth to her dreams of fighting for women’s rights, first as a lawyer and then finally a judge. She sagged against the sink and hung her head, dispelling more tears as she placed a wet palm to her abdomen. Well, she’d give birth, all right . . . but not to her dreams. No, she’d spend the rest of her life ch
anging diapers instead of the world. The thought terrorized her, and she slumped over the sink, nausea curdling her stomach. Oh, Lord, I don’t know how to be a mother . . .
“Katie?”
She spun around, no longer concerned about the tears coating her cheeks. Her lips quivered while a sob broke from her throat. “Oh, Luke . . .”
In three urgent strides he had her in his arms, stroking her face with the pads of his thumbs. A fierce protectiveness girded his tone. “Katie, what’s wrong?”
She collapsed against his chest, body convulsing in tears. “Oh, Luke . . . I’m so scared.”
“Of what?” He bundled her close, kissing her hair, kneading her neck.
A raspy heave wrenched from her lips. “Of b-being a m-mother. I’m s-so s-scared.”
———
Luke stilled, hand paralyzed against her back. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Jerking away, he grasped her at arm’s length. “What are you talking about, Katie?”
She continued to weep, swollen eyes meeting his as she splayed a quivering hand to her stomach, and in that instant, everything—his heart, his blood, his air—slowed to a crawl. His mind raced, reflecting on all the headaches lately, irritable moods, being weepy at the drop of a hat and snapping at him.
He swallowed hard, his voice no more than a croak. “Are you . . . late?”
A dribble of tears spilled when she nodded, and he worked hard to hide the joy that pumped in his chest. Without another word, he picked her up and carried her to the parlor, dodging blocks and Tinkertoys on his way to the sofa. Tucking her head against his, he sat and snuggled her in his lap. He kissed the top of her head and buffed the side of her arm, his voice cautious and low.
“How late?” he asked, every muscle taut as he awaited her answer.
She sniffed, and he fished his handkerchief from his pocket. With the utmost tenderness, he wiped the tears from her face and then pressed it to her nose. “Blow.”
She did, rather loudly, and his lips tipped into a smile.
“Almost two months,” she whispered, and her wavering sigh vibrated against his chest.
“It could be a false alarm,” he said carefully, caressing her hair with gentle, calming strokes. “Have you ever been late before?”
She shook her head, and the motion caused her hair to tickle his jaw. She sniffed. “Always twenty-eight days, just like clockwork.”
He drew in a deep breath of hope and strove for calm. “Law school has been pretty stressful, Katie,” he said in a tone meant to ease her fears. “And I’ve heard that stress or any number of things can throw a woman’s cycle off.”
She sat up and blew her nose. “Maybe . . . but what if I am pregnant? What if I have to give up law school and stay home and be a mother?” Tears welled as she searched his face. “I don’t know anything about having a baby, Luke, or being a mother, for that matter. Faith and Lizzie were born to it, just like Mother, but Charity and I . . .” Two giant tears trickled her cheeks before her voice trailed off into a pitiful wail. “We don’t seem to have the mother gene.”
His heart swelled with love. “Katie,” he whispered, “you’ll be an incredible mother to my children. You’re smart, funny, and a disciplinarian like nobody I’ve seen. I’ve watched Lizzie spoil and pet Kit until she was rotten, and then when I married you, you whipped her into shape and fawned over her at the same time in that wonderful, quirky way that I love. Studying with her in your lap while you feed her ice cream or teaching her to Charleston when she couldn’t even walk.” He held her face in his hands, more grateful for Katie O’Connor than he’d ever been in his life. “Mothers come in all shapes and sizes, Katie, and every one with their own personal weaknesses and strengths, but don’t underestimate the wisdom of God in matching a child with a mother. By God’s decision alone, you become the perfect fit for any child God chooses to send. Trust me, Katie—you are an amazing woman who will make an amazing mother.”
Her chin wobbled. “But how can you be sure?”
The grin finally broke free. “I just am.” He grazed the tip of her jaw with his finger, his grin softening into a smile. “As sure as I am that I want to spend the rest of my life loving you, Mrs. McGee.” He kissed her softly on the lips, in awe of the God who’d blessed him with this woman. “I love you, Katie, and if we do have a baby right now, I give you my solemn vow—I will see to it you go to law school when the time is right, I promise.”
His words were meant to soothe, but they only prompted more tears in her eyes. With a feeble sob, she laid her head to his chest and wept. And in the frail tremble of her body, his euphoria over a child leaked away along with the tears that now dampened his shirt. Closing his eyes, he shared her grief over law school, holding and stroking her until her weeping finally ebbed. The scent of rosewater filled his senses as he gave her a kiss, her skin wet and cool against his lips. “Tomorrow’s Saturday, Sass,” he whispered, “and we can finish the dishes then. I’ll pick up toys and you get ready for bed. Then I want to hold you till you fall asleep, okay?”
She nodded and he gently scooted her off his lap, squeezing her hand before she made her way down the hall, shoulders slumped and handkerchief to her eyes.
“God, help her, please,” he whispered. An uneasy mix of gratitude and sadness bled the joy from his heart as she disappeared into Kit’s room. It certainly appeared as if he were on his way to the family he’d always longed for. A child of his own—his blood, his genes, and possibly a son to carry on his name. And yet the moment was bittersweet because the woman he loved had to sacrifice her dream for his.
Releasing a weary sigh, Luke lumbered up from the sofa and proceeded to pick up the toys in the room, his mind wandering to the prospect of another mouth to feed. It would be tight, but they could do it. And the depression couldn’t last forever.
Could it?
He tossed Tinkertoys into the wooden toy chest that Sean had made for Kit, and his heart suddenly leapt at a thought. A son. A daughter. A child of my own. His pulse began to race. Which meant once this baby primed the pump, that family of four he and Katie agreed upon could be here before they knew it. And who knows? Katie might like being a mother so much, he could talk her into six kids or eight. He grinned. Or maybe his own basketball team . . .
He thought of Katie’s passion for law school, and his grin flattened into a frown. He exhaled loudly and glanced around the room to make sure it was picked up, then turned out the lights and trudged down the hall. Flipping the bathroom light, he closed the door and stripped off his clothes, hurling them into the hamper. He reached for his toothbrush, then sagged against the sink to stare at the man in the mirror. The one who had just obliterated all of his wife’s hopes. He huffed a sigh and brushed his teeth with a vengeance, determined to get Katie through this.
The room was dark when he finally entered, but he could hear her muffled weeping from the door, inflicting a sharp stab of regret. He padded to their bed and climbed in, silently tugging her into his arms. With a hoarse heave, she clutched tightly, and he eased back on the pillow, caressing her head as she wept against his skin.
“I love you, Katie,” he whispered. “You and Kit are my life, and more important than anything in this world . . . including having a baby.”
Her weeping slowed and she sniffed, moments passing before she finally spoke. “Luke,” she whispered, her voice nasal and thick, “do you . . . think I’ll ever be a lawyer?”
He closed his eyes, swallowing hard at the fragility of such a question. He drew in a deep breath and released it again, feeling the weight of his wife’s fears heavy against his chest. “I don’t know, Katie, but I do know we serve a God who delights in giving us the desires of our hearts, especially when those desires are one with his.”
A frail whimper rose as she slowly sat up. She swiped at her eyes with a handkerchief now as sodden as the skin on his chest. With a final sniff, she averted her gaze, head bowed in apparent concession. “Will you . . .” The muscles s
hifted in her neck as she stared, a dark profile stark against a moonlit window. “Will you pray I can accept his will?”
His heart squeezed at the familiar lift of her chin, the glint of silver trailing translucent cheeks, and his throat tightened. He swallowed hard, loving Katie O’Connor more with every breath he took. With a slow nod, he drew her back, aching to seal her in the warmth and protection of his embrace. He felt the rise and fall of her chest, the steady beat of her pulse in rhythm with his as she lay silent and still in his arms, and in one fragile breath of air, he knew they were one. Not just in God’s eyes or in their lovemaking or even in the family he one day hoped to have. No, they were one flesh, just as God’s Word proclaimed—if her heart broke, he ached, if her dreams died, he mourned. Expelling a shaky breath, he closed his eyes and gripped her close, willing the hope in his heart to seep into hers. He knew a thing or two about dreams and the God who instilled them, especially for those with one knee bent at the throne. A quiet peace settled as his body slowly relaxed against hers, and faith girded his prayer until it was steady and strong.
Because he knew, as surely as his love for this gift of God in his arms, that when it came to heart’s desires and the wishes of a loving Father . . . more often than not, they were one and the same.
12
What’s this?” Emma stooped to pick up a rose petal from the floor, marveling at its softness as she grazed it against her cheek. “Roses? In October? Where did this come from?”
With a wry slant of her lips, Bert swiped a clean sheet of paper off her desk and shoved it into her typewriter. She nodded toward the far corner of Alli’s desk and then shot Emma a sideways glance as thin as her patience. “A secret admirer,” she said with a snort of disdain. “As if we aren’t busy enough without this inane distraction.”
“Come on, Bert, you’re just jealous.” Sean strolled from his office with a boyish grin. “A secret admirer would probably leave roses for you too, if you didn’t scare him half to death.”