Her Motherhood Wish (The Parent Portal Book 3)

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  Both sayings his mother had often repeated—and had made into wall art that had hung above the kitchen table when he and Peter were young. Those pieces of painted wood were old, faded and peeling now, but they were still hanging in his work shed, nailed to the inside of the door.

  It was thinking of the workshop that gave him the idea. Barely waiting until his crew had left for the day—he made a habit of sitting in his truck and watching as they left the site—Wood texted Cassie. For the first time since he’d dropped her off on Saturday, he was feeling energized. Confident. More like himself.

  Do you have a crib yet?

  No. The text came back almost immediately. Two picked out. Couldn’t decide.

  May I make one for him?

  Him. Alan. His son. Biologically speaking. And biologically speaking, he wanted to make that boy a crib in the worst way.

  You don’t need to do that.

  She hadn’t said no. He read significance in that.

  I need to—He deleted. Typed again. I want to. Hit Send.

  I would love it!

  He grinned. Really big. And then typed.

  Are you free anytime this week to go with me to pick out wood? And finish?

  It had been so long since he’d had a major project to do. Something other than fiddling and house and yard maintenance. Lord knew Retro hadn’t made any use of the doghouse he’d built.

  I’m free tonight. The text came back.

  Well, didn’t that work out just fine. He was free, too.

  * * *

  It would have made more sense for Cassie to meet Wood at the home improvement store out by the freeway, rather than having him pick her up. She’d had the thought as she was waiting for him. Too late to change the plans.

  Put her lack of forethought down to the fact that she’d been distracted when they’d made the arrangements.

  She’d still been at work when he’d texted and had another couple of hours of work to do to prepare for a client meeting in the morning. Work she’d planned to do over the weekend but hadn’t completed because of her mother’s impromptu visit.

  The time with Susan had been good, though. Great, actually. She’d taken her mother to the cemetery, to show her the bench Wood had built and delivered. Instead of just the quick visit she’d envisioned, Susan had taken a seat and talked to her for over an hour—offering details about her life she never had before.

  Like the night Cassie had been born. Susan had told her daughter she’d had a picture-perfect pregnancy. Had gone into labor a day before her due date. She was slowly dilating. And then her blood pressure had soared. She’d been scared to death, but Cassie’s father had been right there, holding her hand, telling her over and over again that everything was going to be okay. That things always worked out as they were meant to work out.

  Cassie thought of the waves, rolling in, receding out. Bringing good and bad.

  There were other stories, too. All good ones. A family vacation they’d taken to Disneyland. Alan had been like a kid with a kid, and Susan remembered feeling like a child herself for that short time.

  And any time Alan was in town, he had dinner ready every night when she got home from work. Had always insisted on doing the dishes, too.

  Her mom had actually cried a little, wishing things had been different for all of them. But Cassie figured they’d worked out as they’d been meant to. It was like Susan had said the day before. If she’d stayed, she and Alan would most likely not have remained friends. They’d have been bitter housemates at best. And Cassie would have grown up with all that tension instead of with two households full of love.

  And if Cassie, in her current state of flux, started something with Wood, she could end up just like her mother. Accidentally hurting a good man with whom she had little in common except the child she carried, then having to live with that knowledge, and the regrets it brought, for the rest of her life.

  As she waited for Wood’s truck outside her law office, she started to feel a little better about their situation. She wasn’t psychic. Couldn’t see into the future, but she had a feeling that all would resolve itself. As long as she listened to her heart and to her conscience. As long as she didn’t grasp for something she only wanted in the moment.

  Climbing up into Wood’s truck was beginning to feel like habit. She knew the exact height of the running board, where the handle was that she could grasp and exactly how the seat felt against her legs and back. She knew the musky, masculine smell.

  He, on the other hand...had clearly come straight from work and was the quintessential stereotypical male fantasy model in construction gear. All he needed was a hard hat and a bare chest and...

  The hard hat was on the seat beside him.

  Which left her imagining that chest...

  “Is something wrong?” he asked, waiting as she fumbled with the seat belt before he drove away.

  “What? No!” She’d left her satchel in her car. Had only the cross-body clutch she wore into stores when she shopped. Nothing she could bury herself in, looking for something, anything, as a means of hiding her embarrassment.

  “I’m sorry, I should have gone home and changed after work. I probably smell like sawdust. Or I’m wearing it.” With a glance in the rearview mirror, he brushed off the top of his head.

  Nothing fell.

  “You look wonderful. A little too good,” she added. If things were going to work between them for the long term, they had to be honest with each other. And with themselves.

  “What’s that mean?” He glanced her way, but she was pretty sure there was a bit of a smug smile on his face.

  Woodrow Alexander being smug? That was a new one for her.

  Dangerous for her. She couldn’t be pleasing him. Not in that way.

  “I just...this is...you, me, the baby...it’s all new territory, you know?”

  Pulling to a standstill at a four-way stop, he looked over at her, his expression serious. But open, too. “I do know,” he said. “Have you changed your mind? About me being involved?”

  Did he want her to? Disappointment crashed through her. And then dissipated. Because she pushed it away. “No. But I keep the door open for you to walk out at any time. You have no responsibility or obligation here.”

  It was his turn to speak. And he did. Not saying a word.

  Cassie spent the rest of the short trip to the store reminding herself of the waves.

  * * *

  Pulling into a spot far back in the lot, Wood put the truck in Park and turned to Cassie as she unbuckled her belt and reached for the door handle.

  “Can we talk?” he asked. He’d had no intention of doing so. But she’d broached the subject, which meant she could have spent a weekend similar to his. He had to do all he could to put her mind at rest.

  With a look of concern framing her beautiful features, she gave him her full attention.

  “You’re right,” he said. “This thing that we’re doing...” He had no other words to describe them. “...it’s brand-new territory. Odd territory,” he added. “I know it’s not going to be easy, but, first and foremost, you can rest assured that I will never be walking out that door. Open or closed. I’m in, unless you tell me to go.”

  She smiled, glanced out her window for a second, and he suspected he’d seen a sheen of tears in her eyes—suspected that she didn’t want him to see them.

  They were still there when she glanced back at him. “I want you in, Wood,” she said. “I don’t ever see myself telling you to go. How could I deny my son the chance to know such a good man? Most particularly when he is flesh of your flesh?”

  The old-fashioned phrase reached out to him. Into him.

  “You’ve only known me for a little over a week,” he had to point out.

  “Eleven days,” she shot back. She was counting. And not counting down, ready for him to
be gone. “I’m a good judge of character,” she said. “In my job, I have to be. Not that he probably ever knew it, or knew I noticed, but my father used to always watch people, listen to them, before he opened up to them. He’d get their measure by things other than words. He taught me that. In eleven days, your actions have shown me that my son would be missing a vital piece of himself if he didn’t know you.”

  Those complications he’d known were coming...one had just flown right out of his heart and into the world. Their little world. And now they had to deal with it.

  “I think what we need is some kind of definition,” he said. “Not one designated by any sense of normal, or what other people think...but one that works for us...” Lord knew none of his other relationships had been traditional. Normal. Not since his father had died. He’d learned from them, too. “If we know, going in, what our expectations are going to be, then this will work, too.”

  This thing with Cassie had to work. There just wasn’t any other option. There was a boy coming who would benefit from knowing him.

  She’d just hooked him and reeled him in for life.

  Whether they got hurt or not, there was absolutely no turning back.

  Chapter Twelve

  She had to trust herself to do the right thing. Right for her baby. Right for her. Right for Wood. Or maybe she should focus on doing what was the best for all of them. Which road would lead to the most happiness for the most people?

  The guidelines between right and wrong were more clear cut when she was doing her job. But in life...when there were so many parameters, so many different societal mores and lifestyles and views of the world...what was right for some was wrong for others. It was like her mom said—she had to rely on her inner self. Live her life, and let others have theirs.

  Which all sounded great, and a little lofty, but how did that translate into reality?

  Before she could come up with any kind of parameters to describe who they might become, Wood suggested that they go inside and focus on the crib first. She’d practically run beside him, getting into the store. For the first time since she could remember, she was at a total loss. This wasn’t just about her, or about someone else’s life. It wasn’t just about being a part-time daughter to her father and tending to him when she could. It was about other lives, ones that were now permanently attached to hers, and her choices were going to affect all of them. For the rest of her life.

  How did you control something to make certain that you didn’t screw it up?

  “Maple is a viable choice, as is this birch here,” Wood was saying. He’d mentioned owning both a jointer and a planer—tools, she knew. “Pine is good, too, but a more basic option, in my opinion. Cherry’s a great choice, if you like the color,” he said. And then added, “But you can have pretty much any color you’d like. I can dye it. We have several non-toxic options, depending on what kind of top coat you’d want...”

  And she’d thought crib plans would be less overwhelming.

  “Maybe it’ll help if you decide what kind of style and design you want first,” Wood said as she stood there, looking at the array of choices, her mind a complete blank.

  He opened the folder he’d grabbed from the back seat of the truck, moving close to her so that she could look at it with him, and started pointing out various cribs, from a Shaker style to the traditional granny style that had been around for decades. There were plain, square legged and barred, those with fancy scrollwork, and some that fell in between the two.

  She looked at them all as he showed them to her. Listened as he talked. But all she could think about was how good it felt to be so close to him. And how manly he smelled. None of the expensive cologne or aftershave she was bombarded with all day at work—from the partners and the clients—but just a fresh, clean, sexy smell that was driving her nuts.

  Even the deep tone of his voice reverberated through her, touching her intimately.

  “I need some direction here.” The words got through her distraction to sit heavily upon her.

  Yeah, she needed direction, too. And had no idea where to source it.

  “It’s your gift to your...to the child your donation helped create.” She stumbled a bit over the words. But quickly continued before either of them could make note of what she’d almost said. “I think you should make the choices.” Yes, she liked the idea. More and more as she thought about it. “Make whatever crib you want, with whatever wood you want, in whatever color you want,” she told him, not only feeling good about turning the project fully over to Wood, but actually satisfied that she’d made the best decision.

  One down...several major ones to go.

  * * *

  Eager to begin his new project in ways he’d never have imagined, Wood wanted to do some research before making choices. He knew about the different kinds of materials he could use, but he wanted to familiarize himself with more history when it came to crib making. This wasn’t going to be just any crib. It was going to hold and nurture his...the child that his donation had created.

  Finally, he had a job to do. Someone to be. The crib maker.

  He had a purpose in this infant’s life.

  The strength of satisfaction that thought brought—that gave him pause.

  And yet, with Elaina in her residency, earning her own money, Retro having learned more tricks than she’d ever use, their house fully maintained and his crew at work running smoothly, with more jobs lined up after they finished the current one, life had become more about routine than actually living. The only excitement in his life had come from his investments, and because money wasn’t the most important thing to him, even those had begun to pall. He’d mastered that challenge to his satisfaction.

  But it was more than just having something to do. He finally had a purpose where his son was concerned. A job.

  He was part of the process now.

  Just the idea of it had him antsy in his seat as he drove silently, leaving Cassie to whatever thoughts she was having. She’d been distracted from before they’d entered the store and hadn’t come out of it yet. While he wanted to know what she was thinking, he recognized the inappropriateness of querying her on it. Her life, her business, was hers.

  He was in charge of Alan’s crib. Peter was probably grinning down at him from his presumably blessed place in the sky.

  Because his brother would know, as Wood did, that his son would be sleeping in the best crib a guy could make.

  And it hit him. Alan Peter. Peter Alan.

  He liked the name.

  But he hadn’t suggested it.

  He was just the crib maker.

  Pulling into the parking lot, Wood stopped by Cassie’s car. He’d already suggested dinner before they’d left the store. She’d regretfully declined, saying she had to work. The regret had been stated, but also, he thought, discernible. She’d have liked to accept his invitation.

  He liked that.

  And hoped her distraction was due to whatever case awaited her. Not to the conversation they’d sort of had before going into the store.

  “Back to what we were talking about earlier,” she started, not reaching for the door handle that would release her from the truck.

  He wasn’t surprised she seemed to have read his mind. They were surfing along the same wavelengths at the moment.

  “I’m thinking it would be good if we both wrote down a list of what we’d like to see happen in the future,” she said. “A list of expectations, like you mentioned.”

  He hadn’t mentioned a list. And, at the moment, wished he’d kept his mouth shut in general, now that he had a job to do.

  “Because you’re right, we do need some kind of definition,” she continued. “Boundaries, at least.”

  He nodded. Boundaries. A good word. Denoting safety. Something he could adhere to that would prevent disaster. “You make the list,” he told her. “I’ll
abide by it.”

  “How can you say that when you have no idea what will be on it?”

  He shrugged. “You say you know me. Well, I figure I know you, too, and I’m confident that whatever you ask will be appropriate. Now get your beautiful butt out of my truck so I can focus on crib building.”

  “I need more, Wood,” her gaze had darkened.

  He stared at her.

  “I need you to make a list, too. Your life...it plays a key part in all of this, and I can’t speak for you. Or to it. I don’t want to be blindsided down the road. More importantly, I won’t allow my son to be.”

  She had a point.

  “I meant what I said about wanting Alan to have a chance to know you,” she said. “I talked about it with my mom this weekend... I took her to the cemetery, and we actually sat together on the beach after that, had the best talk we’ve ever had about my dad...”

  Damn. The woman had a way of making him feel good.

  “My father added so much to my life. And now that I’ve met you and see what a great guy you are and know that you want to know Alan, how could I deny my son the opportunity to have that kind of opportunity, as well? Mom came to the same conclusion even before I expressed my thoughts aloud.”

  Funny how a parent’s approval still had the ability to add validation when he’d been without any since he was seventeen. Not that he was seeking permission for anything. Just...added perspective, from one who’d been around a few decades longer than he had, was nice.

  “And we have to figure in, at least in the moment, that I’m finding myself really, really attracted to you,” Cassie added, with added tension in her voice. In the tightness of her lips.

  Figure in? You didn’t figure that in. You ignored it. Moved on.

  “You talked about that with your mother, too?” he asked, to buy himself time, even knowing that no amount of it was going to be enough.

  “No.” He liked how she was looking him right in the eye. And was getting turned on by it, too, which was a problem.