He shook his head and faced the door again, amazed at himself. Wondering if she’d slap him or laugh.
Or maybe, just maybe…say yes.
He was scared but oh, so alive. Taking a chance. He’d never liked life more than when he was skating on the edge, daring what couldn’t be done.
He’d been on this earth enough years not to kid himself that this wouldn’t be damn near impossible to pull off, but his back was against the wall. Joanna’s deadline expired in two more days, and he couldn’t surrender without a fight. Somehow he had to divine the magic solution for her—and the baby.
He’d never find a better partner in a fight than his Cleo. Cleopatra Felice Formby Channing, who looked like Vivien Leigh and had every bit the grit of Scarlett O’Hara.
So here he was, hat in hand, about to ask for her help, insane as such a course might be. Hoping the love that had never truly died in him was still alive in her, somewhere in the ashes of a marriage that they should have fought harder to save.
His hand trembled slightly as he knocked on the door.
“Gramps! Gramps is here!”
Malcolm smiled, hearing what sounded like the thundering hooves of a herd. Remembering many other slumber parties where he and Cleo had prayed to survive the night.
He was still grinning when Benjy opened the door, jumping up and down. “Hey, sport—” Malcolm caught the boy in his arms and lifted him high over his head, then settled him on his shoulders.
“Gramps, me next,” Marguerite pleaded.
He gave her a turn, Marguerite as noisy as Benjy. Then Elizabeth slipped to his side and clasped his hand. He swept her up in his arms. “And how’s my princess?”
Elizabeth’s green eyes sparkled as he spun a slow circle. When he finally stopped, she threw her arms around his neck, giggling. “I’m dizzy, Gramps.”
“Me, too.” He pressed his lips to her forehead. They grinned like conspirators.
She looked past his shoulder. “Gramps is making me dizzy, Nana.”
His heart gave one quick stutter. Malcolm wheeled to face Cleo, both eager and nervous. Wishing they were alone.
But the woman he’d hoped to see was nowhere to be found. This one smiled brightly, but it was all an act he’d witnessed before, when Cleo didn’t trust…or when she was hurting.
She wore composure like armor when she felt most fragile, but he’d hoped never to find the shields raised against him again.
He frowned, glancing at the kids. “You all right, Snow?” Then he spoke to them, but kept his eyes on Cleo. “Kids, let me talk to Nana alone for a minute.”
Her gaze skittered everywhere but at him. “Oh, no, that’s not necessary,” she said quickly. “The grill is almost ready.”
“We’re cooking hot dogs outside, Gramps,” Benjy chattered. “And later, Nana says we can make these things called S’mores.”
“You know, with marshmallows toasted over the fire?” Elizabeth demonstrated her superior knowledge.
Malcolm smiled at them, setting his granddaughter on her feet. “Sure. That’ll be great.” But his mind was on Cleo and uncovering what had happened to her.
“Good,” she said briskly. “Ria is outside, straightening coat hangers. Perhaps you could assist her. Marguerite, go wash your hands, since you’ve been petting Tyrone. Benjy and Elizabeth, come help me carry things out.” The woman whose organizational skills could probably have created the world in one day less than God, giving them all marching orders.
Malcolm touched her shoulder as the kids brushed past them. “Cleo, we have to talk.”
She didn’t turn back. “I can’t imagine why. If you’ll excuse me, Malcolm, I’d better make sure no one drops anything. Thank you for helping Ria.”
And just like that, she walked away. Malcolm rested his hands on his hips and exhaled. This Cleo, the one who could make you invisible if she didn’t want to deal with you, wasn’t his favorite.
But he had the home court advantage. He understood something that most people didn’t. When she got cold, she was hurt. The colder the shoulder, the deeper the ache.
It only made him want her more, to pull her into his arms and shield her from harm. Soothe away the hurt. Guard her heart.
Cleo had never really needed him to do any of that. She’d coped with everything life had ever thrown at her.
But it didn’t make him quit wishing to be her champion anyway. Even though he’d failed to protect her from the one who’d hurt her most.
Himself.
And then it hit him.
The baby. Betsey must have told her about the baby.
Hell. Not that there was any good time for her to find out, but he’d intended to be the one to tell her.
That explained everything, though. How she held herself so stiffly, why she wouldn’t meet his gaze.
His high hopes crumbled to dust. Malcolm saw himself for the fool he was. He’d convinced himself that he could woo her again, draw her to his cause. That she would care about what had become so important to him and view it as a gift, too.
She did have plenty of love inside her to give a child who was not her own; he was certain. But hadn’t she been through turmoil enough? Everyone else was dropping into her life—Lola and Cammie, Ria, Benjy. How many causes could one small woman take on?
Malcolm raked both hands through his hair, then dropped them to his side and confronted the hard facts.
He wanted Cleo. Loved her still.
But love didn’t always mean that you could have your heart’s desire. He’d wished for Cleo and the baby both.
But maybe he could have only one. That baby hadn’t asked to be created.
“Gramps—” Benjy raced into the room, plastic bag of hot dog buns swinging from his hand. “Come on. Mom could use your help with the coat hangers.”
The small hand tugged at his own. He had responsibilities greater than his own longings. “Okay,” he said, dredging up a smile. “Let’s go.”
When they reached the deck, Ria glanced up at him, then her gaze skittered away.
“Hi, sweetheart.” He moved to her side and clasped her shoulders, brushing a kiss across her hair.
“Hi, Daddy.” But she didn’t look up, concentrating fiercely on straightening the coat hanger in her hand.
Malcolm narrowed his eyes. “You all right?” he whispered.
A quick nod, but still she didn’t make eye contact.
Suddenly, he realized who, instead of Betsey, might have told Cleo.
Oh, man. As if she and Cleo didn’t have enough problems.
Malcolm plucked the coat hanger from her hands and drew her a few short paces away. Out of the hearing of the others, he spoke softly. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head and studied the boards on the deck. “Nothing.”
He tilted her chin upward. “It doesn’t seem like nothing.” He kept his voice carefully neutral. “You know. About the baby. Am I right?”
She nodded, eyes closed.
“Your mother does, too?”
She glanced up, misery darkening her eyes. “Oh, Daddy, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to tell her. I was hurt and angry and—” She sighed and pulled away. “There’s no excuse. All I ever do is hurt people.” Before he could speak, she lifted her gaze. “Mother loves you. I know she does. You still love her, too, don’t you?”
He shrugged. “If I did, it wouldn’t change anything.”
He ached for his daughter’s misery. And her words kept repeating in his brain: Mother loves you. I know she does.
Benjy called out, “Mom, come on. We’re ready to roast the hot dogs. Gramps, I want you with me.”
Ria started to turn and then stopped. “She’s upset, but don’t give up now. There’s got to be a way.” She ducked her head. “And I’m sorry I made things worse. I don’t expect you to forgive me.”
“Ria—”
But she left his side too quickly for him to comfort her.
Malcolm pasted on a smile he didn’t feel and
joined the group.
Somehow, they made it through the evening, partly thanks to Lola. She took center stage from the three adults, who were struggling, and entertained the children until the adults could draw on their masks.
Malcolm gave more horseback rides than his aching knees would have preferred. Cleo wiped sticky fingers and faces coated with chocolate and marshmallow debris. Ria held Benjy on her lap as often as he’d let her, quietly observing her nieces but never venturing closer.
And eventually, the three children were tucked in bed after Cleo had read them two stories. Lola and Cammie had long since retired, and Ria sought her room.
Only Malcolm and Cleo were left. He helped her straighten the ravaged living room, picking up scarlet cushions he didn’t recognize, placing them on a sofa he’d never bought. All around him, the room that had once been so familiar whispered to his heart. Just enough touches of their shared past remained to make him remember more than was wise. Every memory drove the sense of loss deeper.
And the woman who was the soul of those recollections held herself carefully apart, a polite stranger at best.
He should leave, but she might never let him come back. There were things that must be said. He started with humor. “Thank God they’re not in junior high. We’d never have survived.”
Cleo glanced up, surprised enough to smile. “Please. It doesn’t bear thinking.” For a moment, their eyes met, amusement sparking between them.
Malcolm took heart. “Do you remember David’s tenth birthday when he had ten boys over to spend the night?”
Cleo shuddered. “Don’t. You’ll give me nightmares.”
But they both laughed, recalling waking up and finding eleven boys up on their roof. Praying every second until Malcolm got them all down safely.
Then the laughter died, but its echo remained. Both went still, unable to look away.
“Snow, I wanted to be the one to tell you, but I didn’t know how. I—the baby—”
She held up a hand, all traces of laughter gone. “You don’t owe me an explanation. You have your own life now. There’s Joanna, and soon, a child.” She swallowed visibly. “I’m…glad for you, Malcolm.” The mask slid over her features again, her eyes too bright. “I hope you’ll be very happy.” She began rearranging the cushions she’d just straightened.
“Cleo, look at me.”
She stopped fussing, but she didn’t face him.
He grasped her shoulders.
Cleo jerked away. “Don’t. You should go, Malcolm. Now.”
Maybe she was right. Perhaps that was smart. But damn it, he wasn’t leaving until they’d talked this out.
“Not yet. You don’t understand.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You have no business here. Not anymore.”
“I don’t love Joanna. I love you.”
Her mouth dropped open.
Then she shoved at his chest, hard. “You bastard. How can you say that to me? How dare you, Malcolm?” Angry tears glistened. She pushed at him again, but this time he seized her hands.
“I don’t blame you. I can guess what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong. Joanna doesn’t want this baby. She doesn’t love me, and I don’t love her.” Cleo struggled to pull away and he gripped her hands. “Damn it, Cleo, listen to me. I need your help.”
She trembled in his grasp. “Let me go, Malcolm.”
“If I do, will you stay? Hear me out?”
Her chest heaved in outrage, her chin jutting, her eyes giving him that go-to-hell stare no one else did half so well.
Malcolm swore under his breath. Their arguments had always led to passion of another sort, and right now, his twice-damned body was remembering.
Hell. Right here, in the middle of the biggest screwup of his life, he craved this woman who would just as soon unman him for good.
“Stop squirming. You can’t have forgotten how our fights always ended.”
Cleo’s voice was almost a growl. “Don’t you even consider it.”
But he could see memory flare.
It was all he could do to let her go. “Don’t you think I realize how absurd this is? Please, Cleo. I won’t touch you again. I just—” He raked his fingers through his hair. “I need you, as my friend. As the person who knows me best.”
He turned up one hand. “I’m aware that I don’t deserve your compassion. I let you down in the worst way anyone who claimed to love someone ever could. I had no idea how to get us past the pain, but I should have been able to figure it out.”
Her eyes softened slightly. “You didn’t do it by yourself, Malcolm. It takes two people to give up on a marriage. I let my grief become more important than any of you. And I’m the one who asked you to go.”
“I told myself you’d be better off without me. All we did was blame each other. The wounds wouldn’t heal because we didn’t talk—and when we attempted it, we kept ripping them open.”
“I don’t know where the blame belongs. We tried with Ria. So hard. It just—maybe there was never any way for us to reach her.” Her green eyes searched his. “And perhaps it was no one’s fault. Just a terrible, cruel twist of fate.”
She stood there, so small and brave. He wanted to put his arms around her more than anything on this earth. He flexed one hand, longing to touch.
But he’d already hurt her again without meaning it. Just when he was beginning to understand what he desired most, fate had stepped in with other plans for him.
His hand settled back at his side. “I’m in a hell of a mess, Snow.”
Cleo’s head tilted. “What do you mean?”
“Joanna wants an abortion. Day after tomorrow is my deadline for figuring out an answer we can both live with. She never cared to have children, and she doesn’t feel that she can interrupt her career right now, even if she did.”
He laughed without mirth. “Pretty ironic. Remember me, the staunch defender of women’s rights? Well, I’d have sworn I’d uphold any woman’s privilege to decide for herself. I always have.” He lifted his gaze to hers. “But guess what? When it’s my child in question—suddenly, all my principles fly out the window.”
“Of course you feel that way. You love children. You’ll be a wonderful father, just as before.”
Her generosity moved him to open up more. “I—it feels like a second chance, Cleo. A new child to—”
Her eyes darkened. “You can’t replace David.”
Fury rose. “Don’t you think I realize that?” He began to pace. “But I’ve been haunted for years over all I wish I’d done, the things I should have said. And not just with David. With the girls.” He turned. “With you.”
She ignored his last words. “You can’t undo the past, Malcolm. And every parent has regrets.” Her own were clear in her tone. “Even with a new child, you’ll make mistakes. You and Joanna will struggle, just as we did.”
“Joanna won’t be a part of this. She’s already made that clear. I just have to come up with some way to convince her to bring the baby to term.” He shook his head and exhaled. “You think I sound like a fool now? Wait till you hear my other idea.”
Cleo frowned faintly. “What?”
He steeled himself. Might as well go for broke. “From the moment I learned of the child’s existence, all I could think was what a great mother you are, how lucky this baby would be to have one like you.”
For a second, she didn’t understand.
Then she did. Her mouth made an O. Her eyes went wide in shock. “Malcolm, you can’t possibly suggest—” Sparks erupted. “Unbelievable. You arrogant, selfish—that’s the most—” She paused for breath, chest heaving.
“I understand. I do, I swear.” His shoulders sagged. “It’s out of the question. Not even fair to ask.” He captured her gaze, owing her honesty. “But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wish for it, Snow, because it’s true. You have more love in one finger than Joanna has in her whole body. You’d never punish a child for not being your own flesh.”
Cleo sat d
own heavily. “I have no clue what to say.”
“How about ‘You’re a goddamn fool, Malcolm Channing, and get the hell out of my house.’ It’s the only smart response.”
He went down on one knee in front of her, reaching for her hand. It was ice-cold. “And I wouldn’t blame you. But you know me. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. You’d be the best thing that ever happened to this baby. We’re one whale of a team.”
He shook his head. “Damn, I am some kind of dreamer, aren’t I? Always was. But before you throw me out of your house, Cleo, please help me figure out what I can say to Joanna to make her understand what she’s giving up. I don’t deserve your consideration, but this baby does. I’m begging you. I’m all out of ideas.”
Cleo studied him for a long moment. “We’ve had some bizarre conversations in our life together, Malcolm Channing, but I do believe this might take the cake.” She passed her free hand over his hair, one stroke so light he could almost have imagined it.
But he hadn’t. He smiled, ridiculously happy that she’d touched him of her own accord. “Ain’t it the truth?” He sobered abruptly. “I really have no clue what to do. I can’t find the magic words.” The ache that had haunted him for days squeezed down hard.
Cleo’s hand tightened on his, then she released him, her eyes gentle and sad. “If you’re ever to convince that woman, you need to be spending time with her, not with me, Malcolm. Maybe you don’t love her now, but that doesn’t mean affection could never grow between you. No woman is interested in being a broodmare for a man who doesn’t love her. You’ve got to try to make it work, for that baby’s sake. Go back to her and tend whatever seeds of caring you have. Focus on what’s good in her and build on that.”
“But she’s not the woman who holds my heart.” Was this truly the end for them? No more second chances?
Silence swirled, smothered. Pain crowded the room.
Cleo’s eyes were bleak. He was sure his were, too.
“Damn it, it’s not fair.” He gripped her hands, willing her to change her mind.
“Malcolm…” Head down, hunched over, she tried to withdraw, but he wouldn’t turn loose.
The House That Love Built Page 15
