Renata and the Fall from Grace

by Becky Doughty

  He surged to his feet, grabbed her hand, and dragged her back to the house, sliding the glass door open in a dramatic flourish.

  "Up and at 'em, comrades!" Reuben and Simon were still awake, Judah was dozing, but Levi was sound asleep, curled on his side, his back against the skirt of the sofa.

  "What are you doing?" Renata asked, trying to decide if she should be upset at him for getting the boys all riled up now that they were settling down for the night.

  "Guys, where does your mom keep the hair buzzer?"

  Reuben stared up at him, a look of horror on his face.

  "Are you going to buzz Mommy's head?" Judah asked blearily, smoothing his hand across his own overgrown crew cut.

  "Her hair is too short already," Simon grumbled.

  Levi sat up from the floor rubbing his eyes.

  "Nope,” Tim assured them with a grin. “Your mom's going to cut mine for me."

  "I'm what?" Renata pulled up short, jerking her hand from his. "No, I'm not."

  "Well, boys, she won't marry me because my hair is longer than hers is." He shrugged, then crossed his arms over his chest. "So if she won't cut it, I guess that means one of you will have to."

  Reuben leapt to his feet, a huge grin on his face, his eyes suddenly bright with what almost looked like malicious intent. "I'll do it! I know where the buzzers are."

  Judah jumped up and launched himself at Tim, looping his hands over the man's forearm and hanging there like a little monkey. "Me! Me! Let me!"

  "Not happening, guys," Renata called above the melee.

  "Are you saying you won't love me if I cut off my hair?" Tim asked, ducking his head to look her in the eye. "Afraid I'll lose all my manly strength?" Then he lifted Judah clear off the ground with one arm, his bicep bunching and bulging under the tight sleeve of his t-shirt, earning whoops of appreciation from the boys…and a snort of appreciation from Renata.

  "Of course not. It's just hair. But—"

  "That's right. It's just hair." He winked at her and reached out to ruffle the top of her cropped head with his unencumbered hand. "I think she needs proof, guys. Who's with me?"

  Judah finally released Tim's arm and jumped up and down, chortling with excitement.

  Levi smiled and rubbed his hands together gleefully. "Can we make you bald?"

  "As long as it's shorter than your mom's hair, buddy."

  "Are you going to be our new dad?" Simon asked, rising slowly from his corner of the sofa.

  And suddenly the room went still, four sets of eyes, wide with questions, with curiosity, with…hope? traveled back and forth between Tim and Renata.

  Then Tim turned to look at her too, the hope in his own eyes mirroring the boys'.

  She stood stock still, completely at a loss for words for the second time that night.

  Then Simon crossed the room to stand beside Tim. He reached out and slipped his hand into the man's large one. "Please say 'yes,' Mom," he said.

  Reuben went to Tim's other side, and even though he didn't take Tim's hand, he stood close enough that his shoulder touched Tim's bicep. "We're cool with it. He already asked us."

  Levi nodded vigorously, still rubbing his hands together with delight, but now for a different reason.

  Judah charged Renata, grabbing her hand and tugging her back toward Tim. "Kiss him, Mommy! Kiss him!"

  And she did. To a chorus of "Ew! Gross! Woo-hoo!" and a few other choice expressions only preteen boys could produce.

  "You owe us twenty bucks," Reuben directed at Tim a few moments later.

  Renata gasped and glared up at the man who still held her shockingly close in front of her boys. "You paid them for this?"

  "Just kidding, Mom." Reuben rolled his eyes at her. "Wow. Lovesick much?"

  Tim guffawed and held up a hand to him. Reuben slapped his palm, smirking in a rather pleased-with-himself manner.

  "Nice one, Reuben," Renata admitted, wondering when her little boys had gotten so clever.

  "So are you going to say 'yes' to me, Renata Dixon?"

  "What am I saying 'yes' about?" she teased, reaching up to run her fingers through his shoulder-length hair. "To a haircut?"

  "If that's what it takes to get a 'yes' out of you."

  "Come on, Mom. You're making us miss our movie," Simon urged.

  "Yeah. Come on, Mom," Tim cajoled. "Say you'll have me as the father of your children.'"

  Baby D kicked hard, adding her vote of approval to the scoreboard. Renata burst out laughing, a sound that had grown almost foreign to her own ears.

  "Yes, Tim Larsen. I'll have you as the father of my children."

  EPILOGUE

  Tim pulled into the driveway, relieved to find it empty. He pushed the button on the garage door opener, dipping his head in respect as John's truck came into view, the bed of it still packed with his boxed up things. They'd get rid of the stuff when Renata was ready, but for now, it was tarped and securely tied down. Since shortly after John died, Tim had taken the truck out at least once a week to keep the engine running smoothly. Nowadays, the four boys piled into the truck with him, usually before their Friday outings, with Renata's blessing, of course. The tentative plan was to hang on to it for now, Reuben insisting he wanted it for his own when he was old enough to drive.

  The boys had spent the night at their grandparents last night, giving Tim and Renata a chance to finalize their plans for a private wedding ceremony they were having the second weekend in September, shortly after school started. They'd take a week-long honeymoon up to Carmel by the Sea, a wedding gift from Tim's brother who had a time-share there. They'd leave the kids with Renata's more than capable family.

  Tim didn't care that his bride would be seven months pregnant with another man's child. In fact, he was honored and humbled that she'd agreed to marry him before the baby was born; he wanted to give the little girl he'd already grown to love his name, too.

  Charise Olivia Dixon Larsen. It was quite a mouthful, to be sure, but he figured, being Renata's daughter, she could handle it. Her names meant hope and peace. The little one had brought both into their lives.

  Every day, he rested his hand on Renata's growing stomach, praying over his soon-to-be wife, his soon-to-be daughter, and his soon-to-be sons, thanking God for the miracle of this little family he loved and needed, who loved and needed him in return. He'd never blamed his first fiancée for leaving him all those years ago. He'd wanted kids just as badly as she had, and he had grieved his loss to the point of hoping for death on the front lines. Now here he was, not only gaining a family he already knew so well, but he was also getting to experience the miracle of pregnancy and birth and all that went into preparing for a new baby.

  It was Saturday and Renata would soon be back from her morning spent with her sisters at one of their G-FOURce meetings. She had filled him in on the evolving situation with Angela Clinton and her pending parole, and he thought it was wonderful the girls had each other to process through some of this. He knew how hard it was for Renata to let go of the past, but he'd watched her release so many things in the last several months, mainly her tight hold on the controls in her life. He was so proud of her, of her strength, her beauty, of how she seemed to be blossoming before his eyes. He took great satisfaction in knowing that his presence in her life played a large part in the changes in her.

  Lowering the tailgate of his own truck, he pulled the blanketed piece of furniture toward him, the cardboard underneath it helping the runners slide easily across the truck bed. It was bulky, although not very heavy, but hours of labor and an immeasurable amount of love had gone into its construction, and he wasn't taking any chances with it as he carefully hoisted it out of the truck.

  "I miss you, brother." Tim said the words under his breath as he passed John's truck, carrying Renata's gift. "We all miss you." He took a deep breath and headed inside the house, maneuvering the tight fit of the door into the kitchen, then down the hall and into the master bedr
oom.

  They'd radically rearranged things in the room, more to accommodate the baby than because of their pending nuptials, but Tim was thankful for the changes. Determining it was best for everyone for now to stay in this home, Renata had bought new bedclothes and they'd painted the room a pale sea blue that reminded Tim of Renata's eyes when she talked about baby Charise.

  It no longer felt like John and Renata's room, at least not to him. He'd only been in it twice before while John was alive, that he could remember, anyway. Both times had been to use the bathroom because the one in the hallway was occupied, but both times, he'd felt like an intruder in a sanctuary where he had no business being.

  Now, to him, it was simply Renata's room, a place in which he'd be taking up residence in less than a month from now. He knew it was a little more difficult for her, but he was looking forward to the challenge of claiming it for theirs after they married.

  He set the piece of furniture down in the corner next to the bay window, positioning it so it wouldn't bump the walls. A few minutes later, he heard the door from the garage open. He'd made it just in time.

  "Tim? Are you here?" Renata's voice was music to his ears, especially when she said his name that way, like she couldn't wait to see him.

  "Back here," he called. "In your room."

  Her footsteps in the hallway slowed noticeably. They'd made the necessary decision to spend as little time as possible in the house alone together before they were married, and definitely not in the bedroom that would be theirs in a few short weeks. He grinned at her caution; the woman was as anxious to share his bed as he was.

  "It's all right. You can come in. I won't touch you." He lowered himself into the bay window seat, his hands braced on the padded bench on either side of him, and crossed his ankles out in front.

  She pushed the door open slowly. "Are you naked?" she asked, her question in jest, but he heard the slight tremor of desire he'd come to recognize in her voice.

  Tim guffawed. "Nope. But if you'd rather—"

  "Stop. Stop. Sorry." Renata was grinning and shaking her head as she came in and dropped her purse on her dainty Queen Anne style chair just inside the door. Her eyes found him in the window and she smiled in guileless pleasure, an expression that made his pulse race. Then she noticed the oddly-shaped blanketed form in the corner of the room.

  "What—what is that?"

  He nodded at it and said, "Take a look."

  Renata crossed to it and lifted one corner of the cover, letting out a hushed exclamation. Then she whipped the whole blanket off and dropped it on the floor at her feet, both hands coming up to cover her mouth.

  "Oh Tim, it's beautiful." She turned shining eyes to him, then back to the piece of furniture. Complete with dove-tailed joints, hand-turned spindles, and wooden pins instead of metal hardware, it was a combination rocker and cradle he'd been working on since the day in May when she'd told him she was having a baby. He'd seen one in a Sam Maloof gallery a few years back and had always thought he'd like to try his hand at one if the right occasion ever arose. As far as he was concerned, this was the perfect occasion for such a project.

  "Sit in it. Try it out," he encouraged, confident that he'd made it to her exact specifications. He'd had Phoebe come by his place to test it as she was the closest of the sisters in size to Renata’s normal physique, and she'd lifted glowing eyes to him in assurance that it was just right. He'd had a seat cushion and little mattress custom-made for it, but he'd left them out for the unveiling. The dark stain he'd used on the cherry wood brought out the gorgeous pattern of the grain, and he wanted her to see how beautiful it was first.

  Renata sat down and nudged the chair into motion, reminding Tim of her on Judah's swing the night they'd professed their love for each other. She laid one hand on her belly, the other in the cradle section, and smiled dreamily, resting her head against the tall chair back, turning to look at him from half-closed eyes.

  "Thank you, my love. We couldn't ask for anything more perfect. You spoil us."

  "Something I intend to keep doing for a very long time. All six of you."

  "Come over here and kiss me, Mr. Larsen."

  Tim grinned and shook his head, his heart almost bursting at the look of contentment on her face. "Nope. I promised I wouldn't touch you."

  "Fine." She pushed up out of the chair and crossed to the window seat. "I, on the other hand, made no such promise." Taking his face in her hands, she bent down and kissed him, her mouth soft and warm, her lips opening in a sigh against his. Several moments later, he stood, turning her slowly so he could pull her to him, her back against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, their hands joined over her protruding belly.

  "Three weeks, three hours and twenty-eight minutes," he whispered in her ear. "Then you'll be mine to have and to hold. But who's counting?" He breathed in the delicious rose and citrus scent that emanated off her skin, her hair. She'd asked him if he wanted her to change her perfume since it had been John who first gave it to her, but he'd objected fiercely. This was the fragrance of Renata to him, one he'd recognize in a crowded room, in the darkest of nights.

  "Mmm." She made that sweet sound she always did when she was happy. She leaned her head back against his shoulder. "I love you, Tim."

  He was almost shaking with desire for her, this woman so ripe with need, with love, with a child he would call his own, but he would wait, just as he had promised. He would do this right, for her, for him, for the boys, for Charise.

  For John.

  For God, who had entrusted the heart of this woman and her children into his care.

  Tim laced his fingers through Renata's and led her out of the room, closing the door gently behind them. But he made another promise to her as he did so. "Renata Charise Dixon, the next time I come down this hallway with you, you'll be my bride, and I'll be carrying you into the room, not leading you out of it." He lifted her hand to his lips and eyed her over the top of her knuckles. "And I won't be closing that door quite so gently."

  "Hopefully," she added shyly, "you'll be calling me Renata Charise Larsen, too."

  Tim laughed out loud. "That I will, little girl. That I will." He kissed her on the mouth once more with gusto, then pulled her down the hall toward the front door. "Let's go bring our boys home."

  ~ ~ ~

  "[He will] comfort all who mourn and provide for those who grieve…to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness…." Isaiah 61:2-4 NIV

  THE END

  * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt:

  PHOEBE & THE ROCK OF AGES

  The Gustafson Girls Book 3

  * * *

  A Note from Becky Doughty

  Did you enjoy getting to know Renata in this second book in The Gustafson Girls series?

  I write heartfelt and wholesome Contemporary Romance, Romantic Comedy, and Women’s Fiction. It’s all fiction, mainly because nonfiction is hard! Yes, I’ve tried. Let’s just say I like to color outside the lines when it comes to facts. But emotions and feelings and the roller coaster ride that comes with all relationships? Oh yeah.

  I like to say I write HOPE-fully ever afters. Hopefully ever after because real life isn’t always wrapped up in a pretty pink bow, is it? I write fiction about real-life people and real-life situations. Because we love to escape into our fiction, but we want that escape to resonate with us, right?

  If you’re looking for fiction with relatable characters, relevant situations, and redemptive storylines, I invite you to check out some of my other books and series. You may meet your next BFF (Best Fiction Friend)!

  Visit me online at BeckyDoughty.com, and sign up for my newsletter while you’re there. You’ll get notified of book and audiobook new releases, sales, and recommendations, giveaways, and more.

  Where hope lives and love wins. Ev
ery single time.

  ~ Becky Doughty

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  AN EXCERPT…

  PHOEBE & THE ROCK OF AGES

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Put your clothes on, Brandon,” Phoebe ordered. “We’re done here.”

  The man strutted across the room—yes, strutted—and scooped up the white bathrobe he’d draped over the back of one of the throne-like chairs they’d used as a prop earlier. He didn’t bother slipping into the robe, just hooked it on a finger, flung it over his shoulder, and headed toward the dressing room. If Phoebe was a betting woman, she’d put money on his clothes being neatly folded and stacked in his designer man-purse, Italian leather shoes on the bottom, wallet, watch, and jewelry tucked inside one of them, then his pants, shirt, socks. He wore his underwear during each shoot, but only at her insistence.

  Phoebe grimaced. Why did men feel so at home in their own skin? She knew times were changing, that around the globe, men were becoming increasingly body-conscious, investing in beauty products and cosmetic surgery almost on par with women. But as a whole, they just seemed to be less inhibited than her female clients.

  It was jobs like this that made Phoebe question her sanity. It was jobs like this one that tainted every other aspect of her career choice. It was jobs like this that made her want to throw in the towel and go back to work for Maurice “Creepo” Salazar at Gossamer Magazine. He kept calling, kept offering her more bait in the form of money, convenient hours, and a clientele list that made her bank account sit up and beg, but she was holding her ground. She wasn’t interested in working on any more adult-themed photo shoots, no matter how good the pay.