by Gina Wilkins
As for herself—she loved him so much her heart felt close to bursting with it. Like him, she had never allowed herself to truly fall in love before, not even with Daryn’s father. But Tate’s hesitation had been more noble than hers; he had worried about hurting someone else, while she had feared being hurt yet again. She’d said she was shielding Daryn from heartache—and that was true. But was Tate right that she had used her defense of her daughter as an excuse to protect herself, as well?
“Take all the time you need to decide whether you want to give us a chance. I promise I won’t rush you. If you want me to stay away from Daryn until you feel you can trust me, I’ll do it, though I have to admit I’ll miss her,” Tate added with a glance at the quietly playing baby. “It took me a while to wrap my head around the enormity of the responsibility, but I know now it’s a challenge I’m ready to take on. I’m willing to make the same lifelong commitment to Daryn that I am to you. I can’t imagine ever regretting that decision.
“I just hope you won’t shut me out entirely while you decide how you feel about me,” he finished quietly. “I’ve missed you every day since we parted last. The Wednesday lunches weren’t the same without you. Nothing is the same without you.”
Kim raised her hands to rub her temples in slow circles. She wanted nothing more than to burrow into Tate’s arms and tell him she loved him, too. For the first time since childhood, she was tempted to entrust her heart to someone. But was she really prepared to entrust her daughter?
“I do need time to think,” she said, her voice raspy again. “I can’t deal with this right now.”
He looked penitent. “I know. I’m sorry about my lousy timing. Why don’t you go lie down again? I’ll take care of everything in here.”
She made one last attempt to reassert her independence. “You don’t have to stay. It’s almost time for me to put Daryn down for her morning nap. I’ll rest while she does.”
“I can take care of that. And while she naps, I can take a quick shower and do some busywork on my computer. You need to give yourself time to fully recover, for Daryn’s sake and for your own.”
Maybe she could have continued to resist had her head not been threatening to explode. Fighting back the tears she refused to release, she nodded and stood. She hesitated another moment, looking at her daughter, but Daryn was preoccupied with a yellow plastic car and seemed content.
Tate rose, and through her fog of pain his expression appeared apologetic. “If I’m making things worse for you, just say so, Kim. I’ll leave. I can call someone else to come help you out, if you want me to. I wanted to help, but maybe I’ve overstepped my bounds.”
She drew a shaky breath. “I just need to lie down again for a few minutes. Daryn is happy with you here, so if you could stay a bit longer…”
He nodded. “Of course. Is there anything I can get for you?”
“No. Thanks, but I just need a little time for the headache meds to kick in. Wake me if you need help with Daryn, please.”
“I will, but I’m sure we’ll be fine.” He reached out to touch her flushed face. “Go rest, Kim. We’ll talk again later.”
She definitely needed rest before facing the next talk with him. Turning on one heel, she headed for the bedroom and the blissful oblivion of sleep.
* * *
Her dreams were chaotic, flashes of images and voices, memories and fantasies. People who had drifted in and out of her life, others she had deliberately pushed away. Her mother and brothers. Her grandmother. Coworkers and clients. Friends and enemies. Chris. Daryn. Tate.
The house was very quiet when she woke. Daryn must still be napping. Before glancing at the clock, she lay on her back staring up at the ceiling and trying to assess how she felt.
Better, she decided tentatively, feeling no pain shooting through her temples now. She swallowed experimentally, and her throat, while dry, seemed less inflamed. Even her joints ached less than before. Sleep really did have healing powers.
The last two days seemed almost like a dream themselves now that she was thinking a little more clearly. Had Tate really said he loved her?
She chewed her chapped lower lip, replaying everything he had said, every word of which suddenly stood out clearly amid the hazy other memories. He had professed his love for her. And his intention to be the one man who stayed, unlike the ones who had walked away.
Every cell of her longed to believe him. She had missed him so much during the past week and a half, even while she had so carefully avoided him. She’d had a glimpse of what her life would be like without Tate in it at all, and it had made her so sad. And that was before he’d offered her a chance at a serious relationship with him. If she took that chance, if she acknowledged her own love for him—to him and to herself—would she be opening herself up for yet another heartbreak?
Even worse, would she be setting Daryn up for bitter disappointment? Daryn was already growing attached to Tate, despite Kim’s efforts to protect her. To be fair, Tate seemed to be growing fond of Daryn, too. Of course, who wouldn’t? Not that she was at all objective. Still—could she trust that his affection for the baby would survive the daily challenges of family life? The day-to-day routines and grinds and difficulties of raising a child?
He’d had a taste of those difficulties during the past few hours, and she had to admit he’d handled it all beautifully. He’d even told her he loved her after a night that had to have been harrowing for him. But long-term?
Not in her experience.
Sighing lightly, she glanced at the clock, expecting to find that she’d slept for an hour or so. She gasped audibly when she saw that four hours had passed since she’d fallen onto the bed.
Four hours?
Climbing from the bed, she moved straight to the bathroom. Since Tate hadn’t disturbed her, she trusted he had everything under control, at least long enough for her to clean up. She was in and out of the shower in five minutes. Ten minutes later, her hair was blown mostly dry, her teeth were brushed and she was dressed in a pink T-shirt and black athletic pants with a narrow pink stripe down the side. Donning black slippers, she decided she looked more controlled and composed and less helpless and sickly than before. Better able to make critical decisions that could affect the rest of her life—and her daughter’s.
With her head held high and her confidence in place, at least outwardly, she walked toward the living room.
Dressed now in a dark green polo and jeans, looking as though he, too, had showered since they’d last parted, Tate sat on the couch, bouncing Daryn and Mr. Jingles on his knees. Daryn gurgled happily, still wearing the lavender romper, her headband bow arranged a bit more tidily now than it had been before. She looked clean, healthy, content and secure with this man who had saved her life, and had promised to be there for her for the rest of his own. Her little heart was open to love. Would it really be in Daryn’s best interest to teach her to spend her life hiding behind preemptive, self-protective emotional barriers?
Kim understood that she wasn’t like her mother. She would never subject Daryn to the chaos Betsy habitually created around her. Wasn’t it time for her to acknowledge that Tate wasn’t like her father, or any of the other men Betsy had been drawn to? As he’d said himself, Tate deserved to be judged on his own merits, not punished for the shortcomings of others.
As if sensing her standing there, he looked around, smiling in approval when he saw her. “I hope you’re feeling as much better as you look.”
“I love you, Tate.”
His legs stopped moving abruptly, so that Daryn bobbled a bit on his knees. Tate righted her instantly, gathering her into his arms as he rose slowly from the couch. “Sorry, monkette, your mom just knocked me for a loop. Um, Kim—am I coming down with your fever, or did you just say—?”
“I said I love you,” she repeated a bit
more clearly this time. “And it scares the stuffing out of me.”
“I can understand that.” His voice was just a little unsteady, as if shaken by emotions he was holding barely in check. “I’m a little nervous about all this myself. But every fiber of my being tells me it’s right. In fact…”
His eyes glinted with a return of the infectious humor that was so much a part of the man she had fallen in love with over Chinese food. “I’d be willing to wager on it. I’ll bet you that I’ll be around to walk Daryn up the aisle in, say, twenty-five years or so. Assuming we let her date by then, of course.”
Nerves merged with hope, both mixed with almost overwhelming love. She moistened her lips and tried to match his light tone. “What are you willing to bet? Another hundred bucks?”
“I’m willing to bet everything I have,” he answered simply, his eyes burning with sincerity. “I’m betting my heart.”
Taking all her courage metaphorically in both hands, Kim moved into a group hug with Tate and Daryn, smiling up at him mistily. “I’ll take that bet.”
While Daryn patted their faces enthusiastically, she and Tate sealed the wager with a kiss.
Epilogue
Guided by the dim glow of a nightlight, Kim made her way back to her bed in the middle of that night. Dropping her lightweight summer robe to the floor, she lifted the sheet and slipped beneath, where she was gathered immediately into Tate’s bare arms.
“Is she okay?” he asked, his voice husky.
“She’s fine. Just making noises in her sleep again, I guess.”
“She makes some funny ones,” he agreed with a chuckle. “Startled me a couple of times last night when I was snoozing in the chair.”
“I worry a little that you’ve only seen the best side of her,” she fretted, resting her head on Tate’s chest, just above his steadily beating heart. “I mean, she’s a very good baby, but she can be a pill sometimes.”
He laughed softly. “The best side of her? Did I mention the two toxic-level diapers I changed last night? Or that I learned the hard way not to bounce her up and down immediately after giving her some milk? Or that she tuned up for a scream-fest every time I dared to lay her down for a minute last night? I had to time my bathroom breaks with her naps, which wasn’t always ideal, by the way.”
“No, you, um, didn’t mention any of that.” She was amazed yet again by what he had encountered with such admirable equanimity last night.
“But then this morning when she woke up and gave me one of those slobbery little two-toothed grins? Well, my heart melted.”
“I react exactly the same way to that smile every morning,” she admitted.
Tate shifted onto his side and leaned over her, brushing her hair away from her face as he looked down at her. “I know it’s going to take some time for you to really trust that I’m in this for the long haul. I’m thinking you should look at the evidence. I’ve survived a weekend with your mother and her sister, a grilling by your grandmother, a test of on-the-spot resourcefulness by your younger brother, and a night with a sick, cranky baby and her sick, cranky mother—and I’m still here. Still oddly looking forward to whatever else you might throw at me.”
She shook her head in bemusement. “Maybe I just can’t imagine why you would want to continually subject yourself to my crazy life.”
“Because I love you,” he answered without hesitation. “And I love Daryn. I love us together as a family. Maybe someday an even bigger family.”
She swallowed hard at the thought of having a child with Tate. She’d convinced herself she would never have another child, and she’d thought she was okay with that. Now she realized she liked the idea very much.
“Too soon?”
“Maybe a little,” she agreed with a shaky laugh.
He brushed his lips across hers. “We have plenty of time to discuss kids. I guess we should focus on getting married first. To make your mother happy, of course.”
“Married,” she repeated rather blankly.
He chuckled. “Married. I don’t want to be your husband for a weekend, Kim. I want to be your husband for a lifetime. Any thoughts about that?”
“I think…Grandma gave her ring to the right granddaughter, after all,” she said shakily.
His smile flashed in the darkness. “Is that a yes?”
“It’s a yes. We’ll take our time, do it right, make very sure of every decision we make, but—”
“I was thinking we could get married soon. I’d be good with Monday—but if you need a little more time, that’s cool, too. I know you can’t take any time off right now, but we can plan a vacation next summer, maybe.”
“Um—Monday?” The word came out in a near-squeak.
He nodded. “There’s no waiting period for a marriage license in this state, so that’s not an issue. You don’t really want a big, formal affair, do you? The wedding you described to your aunt, just us and an officiate—and Daryn, of course—well, that sounded perfect to me.”
“To me, too,” she agreed. “But, um, Monday?”
He chuckled. “Okay, maybe next month. Whenever you’re ready. Take time to think about it.” His hands had begun to roam, making it difficult for her to think about anything coherently.
Monday, she thought, arching reflexively when he lowered his mouth to her breasts. The day after tomorrow. She was definitely going to think about that. Later.
Much later, she decided when his legs wrapped around hers.
She would bet Tate would find a way to talk her into it.
* * * * *
The Anniversary Party
Dear Reader,
I am a big believer in celebrating milestones, and for Special Edition, this is a big one! Thirty years…it hardly seems possible, and yet April 1982 was indeed, yep, thirty years ago! When I walked into the Harlequin offices (only twenty years ago, but still), the first books I worked on were Special Edition. I loved the line instantly—for its breadth and its depth, and for its fabulous array of authors, some of whom I’ve been privileged to work with for twenty years, and some of whom are newer, but no less treasured, friends.
When it came time to plan our thirtieth anniversary celebration, we wanted to give our readers something from the heart—not to mention something from our very beloved April 2012 lineup. So many thanks to RaeAnne Thayne, Christine Rimmer, Susan Crosby, Christyne Butler, Gina Wilkins and Cindy Kirk for their contributions to The Anniversary Party. The Morgans, Diana and Frank, are celebrating their thirtieth anniversary along with us. Like us, they’ve had a great thirty years, and they’re looking forward to many more. Like us, though there may be some obstacles along the way, they’re getting their happily ever after.
Which is what we wish you, Dear Reader. Thanks for coming along for the first thirty years of Special Edition—we hope you’ll be with us for many more!
We hope you enjoy The Anniversary Party.
Here’s to the next thirty!
All the best,
Gail Chasan
Senior Editor, Special Edition
Contents
Chapter One by RaeAnne Thayne
Chapter Two by Christine Rimmer
Chapter Three by Susan Crosby
Chapter Four by Christyne Butler
Chapter Five by Gina Wilkins
Chapter Six by Cindy Kirk
Chapter One
by RaeAnne Thayne
With the basket of crusty bread sticks she had baked that afternoon in one arm and a mixed salad—insalata mista, as the Italians would say—in the other, Melissa Morgan walked into her sister’s house and her jaw dropped.
“Oh,
my word, Ab! This looks incredible! When did you start decorating? A month ago?”
Predictably, Abby looked a little wild-eyed. Her sister was one of those type A personalities who always sought perfection, whether that was excelling in her college studies, where she’d emerged with a summa cum laude, or decorating for their parents’ surprise thirtieth anniversary celebration.
Abby didn’t answer for a moment. She was busy arranging a plant in the basket of a rusty bicycle resting against one wall so the greenery spilled over the top, almost to the front tire. Melissa had no idea how she’d managed it but somehow Abby had hung wooden lattice from her ceiling to form a faux pergola over her dining table. Grapevines, fairy lights and more greenery had been woven through the lattice and, at various intervals, candles hung in colored jars like something out of a Tuscan vineyard.
Adorning the walls were framed posters of Venice and the beautiful and calming Lake Como.
“It feels like a month,” Abby finally answered, “but actually, I only started last week. Greg helped me hang the lattice. I couldn’t have done it without him.”
The affection in her sister’s voice caused a funny little twinge inside Melissa. Abby and her husband had one of those perfect relationships. They clearly adored each other, no matter what.
She wished she could say the same thing about Josh. After a year of dating, shouldn’t she have a little more confidence in their relationship? If someone had asked her a month ago if she thought her boyfriend loved her, she would have been able to answer with complete assurance in the affirmative, but for the past few weeks something had changed. He’d been acting so oddly—dodging phone calls, canceling plans, avoiding her questions.
He seemed to be slipping away more every day. As melodramatic as it sounded, she didn’t know how she would survive if he decided to break things off.
Breathe, she reminded herself. She didn’t want to ruin the anniversary dinner by worrying about Josh. For now, she really needed to focus on her wonderful parents and how very much they deserved this celebration she and Abby had been planning for a long time.
