The Wedding Lullaby

by Melissa McClone

  No matter how much she pretended everything was okay, it wasn’t. Her insides were tied up in knots. Over the two-weeks they’d be waiting for the test results, over the kiss—make that kisses—yesterday with Brett.

  She couldn’t do anything about the wait except have faith everything would work out for the best, but Brett…

  The memory of last night was so vivid. Thinking about those kisses made her lips tingle. The way he’d held her, comforted her, talked with her…

  She’d almost believe what happened in Reno and between them in her bedroom had been real. Something beyond physical attraction and chemistry. Something she was afraid to define.

  He’d made her feel cherished and safe, loved, and accepted. All those things she didn’t need to feel or want to feel. Yet, she’d felt them.

  It worried her.

  She didn’t want to rely on anyone but herself, but Brett was becoming the other constant in her life besides Junior. He was the father of her child, so that was understandable, but Laurel’s growing affection for him had more to do with Brett, the man, than Brett, the father.

  If only she knew what to do about those feelings…

  “Nice outfit.” He stood in the nursery’s doorway.

  A shiver of awareness traveled along her spine. Laurel glanced at the black-and-orange Oregon State University sweatshirt and the navy sweatpants she wore. Quite a difference compared to his khakis and a blue button-down oxford shirt, but she preferred sweats, a ponytail, and bare feet when she wasn’t working at MGI. Funny, she’d never worn sweats except for gym class. Laurel hadn’t known what she’d been missing.

  “The clothes are comfortable,” she said. “But I’m sure you know that.”

  “Those never looked as good on me as they do you.”

  Flutters filled her stomach. Was that a compliment? She’d take it as one. “Thanks.”

  “If you get tired of my clothes, I can loan you the money to buy maternity ones.”

  The idea of shopping made her mouth water, but that was the old Laurel. Mommy-to-be Laurel knew how dangerous retail therapy could be to a budget. She wasn’t the same person she’d been in Chicago. That person wouldn’t have been a good mother for Junior. “I appreciate the offer, but these are fine.”

  She couldn’t afford impulse purchases she’d never wear enough to justify buying. One or two pieces on sale or from a thrift shop would work well.

  “Sarah’s giving me her maternity clothes, and Danielle’s checking with her sister-in-law to see if she has anything.”

  His mouth twisted. “Hand-me-downs?”

  The distaste in his voice surprised Laurel. He’d been in a similar financial situation when he was younger. Not as bad, but…

  “What if I charge you interest with the loan?” he asked.

  “No, thanks.” Saying that was so satisfying. “I’m happy to borrow whatever clothes I can.”

  He frowned. “You’d rather wear used clothes than buy new ones?”

  “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

  The lines on his face deepened. “You’ll never be a beggar.”

  “Never say never.” His snooty tone irritated her. She didn’t like seeing this snobbish side of Brett. “Don’t forget, I’m on a budget.”

  He sat next to her on the floor. “Your maternity clothes are one thing, but I want all new things for the house. No old or used items.”

  “What about antiques? Remember that shop we went to on the other side of the river? You liked several pieces in there.”

  His face fell. “I thought we were just window shopping. I didn’t realize you were going to buy used things for the house.”

  “I wouldn’t call the antiques we saw used. They would fit the style of this house perfectly, and they were heirloom quality.”

  “Buy new heirlooms.”

  “That’s an oxymoron.” Laurel didn’t get it. “What’s gotten into you?”

  He stared at the floor. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me.” She wasn’t letting this go.

  “You grew up rich.”

  She didn’t understand what he was getting at. “Growing up rich doesn’t mean your life is problem free.”

  “Yeah, right. I climbed trees and peeked into the windows of the ‘big house,’ so I know how the better half lived.” An edge of bitterness hardened his voice. “My mother did the best she could. She was paid a decent salary, and we lived rent free, but she was always so worried about money and being able to send me to college that she saved more than she spent. She patched my pants, then bought the rest of what I wore at thrift stores and garage sales.”

  “At least you had clothes.”

  “Sometimes I wished I hadn’t.” The hurt in his voice was palpable. “Imagine wearing your ‘new’ outfit only to find it was a neighbor’s castoff.”

  Oh. That explained why not buying used mattered so much to him.

  Her heart ached for Brett. She’d teased a classmate for buying an off-the-rack dress for a formal dance. Laurel had never considered the girl might have been on a scholarship at the expensive private school and not able to afford anything else. “Kids can be cruel.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Adults can be the same.” She’d learned that lesson from her so-called friends in Chicago. But Brett’s pain still lived inside of him. He might be grown up, but that didn’t stop him from hurting. Badly. Laurel struggled not to take him into her arms and kiss away the bad memories—both his and hers.

  His jaw tensed. “I was the outsider. My clothes and shoes were one more thing that told people I didn’t belong, and everyone let me know it.”

  “That was then. You live here now. You have more money than most of them. You belong.” Brett’s childhood had been difficult, but he’d overcome and achieved so much. Surely that erased many of the wrongs of his past. Laurel touched his hand, but then pulled back her arm. She didn’t trust herself around him. “You’ve come full circle.”

  “Exactly. Which is why I don’t want to go backward.” His dark gaze met hers. “You may think I’m being picky or eccentric or whatever, but I’ve worked hard to get where I am. I want only brand-new things for my house.”

  “Okay, but if you change your mind about the antiques—”

  “I won’t.” Brett’s decisive tone left no doubt. “I’m not the kind of man who changes his mind, ever.”

  She felt a pang. His words reaffirmed what she knew in her heart—hoping for anything romantic to develop between them was futile. They may have come further than she’d expected with their friendship, but they’d never reach the end of the journey.

  Not together.

  “I don’t remember seeing this pattern in the sample books.” He picked up the comforter. “Is this for the crib?”

  “Yes.” His question returned her focus to where it should be—on the baby. Junior had brought them together. Nothing more would happen. The cuddling and the kissing couldn’t continue. She ignored the twinge of disappointment.

  “I found the set underneath other ensembles on sale.” She noticed his surprise, and her confidence wavered. “It’s okay if I buy new things on sale, isn’t it?”

  “Sales are fine.”

  Thank goodness. Otherwise, she’d never finish decorating the house under budget.

  He picked up a cranberry-red A, motioning to the rest of the letters. “What are these for?”

  “See the blocks with letters in the fabric?” She placed a French-blue D next to the bed skirt. “I thought these would work well as a border. I’m going to put up a white chair rail on the top and bottom to define the alphabet.”

  “The color matches perfectly.”

  “I used craft paint.”

  Concern flashed in his eyes.

  “Nontoxic acrylic paint, so don’t worry,” she added.

  “What color will the walls be?” he asked.

  “Ivory.”

  Brett surveyed the room as if seeing it for the first time. “Th
e nursery is going to be amazing.”

  “I think so.” Laurel had no doubt. She wasn’t sure how she knew, but decorating came easier to her than the job at MGI. She also found interior design more fulfilling than being a personal assistant. “The letters will be fastened to the wall with Velcro, so we can play and spell words with them once the baby is old enough.”

  “You’ve thought everything out.”

  She shrugged. “The baby won’t have a room like this at my apartment, so I want to make the nursery here special.”

  As his gaze caught hers, Laurel swallowed the quarter-sized lump in her throat.

  Remember, the warmth in his eyes means nothing.

  “You’re welcome to stay as long as you want, Laurel.”

  Butterfly wings flapped in her stomach. No, more like tiny bubbles being set loose. She hadn’t expected Brett’s offer to affect her that way, but she…couldn’t. “Thanks, but I need to live on my own.”

  The bubbly feeling happened again. Her lips parted.

  Not Brett.

  The baby.

  That was the only thing the feeling could be.

  Brett leaned toward her. “Is something wrong?”

  She touched her belly. “The baby moved.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I think so.” She placed his hand on her stomach, happy to share this moment with him. Times like this were meant for both parents. Of course, once she moved out, sharing milestones would be almost impossible.

  She brushed aside the guilt creeping up her spine.

  Another flutter. “Did you feel that?”

  “No. Isn’t it early for you to—”

  Laurel repositioned his hand. “What about that?”

  “No,” he said.

  She moved his hand again. “Anything?”

  “Sorry.”

  “Maybe it’s too soon for you to feel the movement, but something’s going on in there.”

  “I’ll trust you on this one.” He removed his hand, and she missed the warmth of his touch. “Some things only a mother can know.”

  “My father used to say…” Her voice faltered. Images of her dad flashed through her mind.

  “Hey. You okay?”

  She nodded, but thinking about her father had brought back painful memories of how much he’d hurt her and her mother. And then to have her mom do the same after Laurel discovered she was pregnant…

  The gap between her and her parents would never be bridged. She hadn’t heard from her mother in weeks and doubted any contact would be made again. That meant the baby would only have Brett’s mom for a grandparent. Laurel had known that logically, but she hadn’t grasped what that would mean long term.

  “What do I tell the baby about my parents?” She ran her fingers along the drawstring of her hoodie. “How do I explain to Junior that Grandfather and Grandmother Worthington want nothing to do with us?”

  Brett’s easy smile didn’t relieve her heartache, but it lessened her pain. “You won’t have to deal with that for a long time.”

  “But one day, I’ll have to tell the baby the truth.”

  “Maybe by then you and your mother will have resolved—”

  “My mother wants nothing to do with us.” The words rushed out before Laurel could stop them.

  “She’s your mother.”

  Not any longer.

  Brett deserved to hear the entire truth about Serena Worthington. Laurel wet her lips. “Before my mother used the last of her frequent flier miles to travel to France, she told me to call her ‘Serena’ instead of ‘Mom’ because being the mother of a twenty-five-year-old pregnant daughter would interfere with her ability to snare a rich husband. Her words, not mine. I understand she suffered through a living nightmare with my father, but you’d think she’d want to hang on to her only daughter and grandchild.”

  “Come here.” Brett pulled her close.

  Laurel buried her head against his chest, relishing the security of being in his arms. He was so strong. So much stronger than she was.

  “Your mother doesn’t know what she’s losing,” he added.

  “She doesn’t care.” The truth shattered Laurel’s heart into a million pieces. She couldn’t understand her mother then or now. Not when Laurel was going to be a mother herself.

  He brushed his lips over her hair. “I care.”

  “Thanks.” But she couldn’t forget the hard lesson she’d learned from her parents. She might want to be close to Brett and gather strength from him, but she couldn’t.

  Not now, not ever.

  He’d made both his intentions and his feelings clear—he wanted to marry for Junior’s sake—to give their child a family.

  Laurel appreciated his honesty. She also desired to give Junior a family, but she would never marry for any other reason but love. She knew that in her heart and in her soul.

  Using an enormous amount of willpower, she backed out of Brett’s comforting embrace. She would never be like her mother.

  Never.

  ♥ ♥ ♥

  After a rocky two weeks at work, Brett wanted nothing more than a quiet day at the office. The stock market opened nicely before dropping and then continuing a downward spiral until the closing bell. The phones kept ringing as investors let their emotions and fear grab hold of them. Brett and his staff tried to lessen high-strung clients’ worries. Easier said than done because he didn’t leave the office until after seven.

  Driving out of downtown Portland, he was grateful Danielle had taken Laurel home at five. She didn’t need to put in long hours, though she would if asked. Her willingness to work hard—whether on the house or at MGI—continually surprised him. He hadn’t expected a pampered heiress to have that kind of work ethic. He respected her determination to succeed. She might be better at decorating his house than office work, but she gave her all to both jobs.

  Brett didn’t know if the anxiety over waiting for test results was fueling her productivity, but that was better than worrying. He wished he could push aside his concerns and find that same level of energy, but he couldn’t stop thinking about when they’d get the results.

  He parked his car in the driveway.

  Work had always been his sanctuary, where he could lose himself and forget about everything else in the world, at least until Laurel Worthington stepped into his life. Now work was another place to see her, to think about her, to want her.

  She’d gotten under his skin; she’d invaded his dreams. He hadn’t expected that to happen. Yes, Brett wanted her to be a part of his life, but by his rules. No one else’s.

  As he walked toward the front of his house, the door opened.

  “Long day?” she asked.

  “One of the longest.” But seeing her relaxed him. She’d changed into black leggings and a loose-fitting pink shirt. Beautiful. “New outfit?”

  Eyes bright, she nodded. “I found the pants and shirt on sale when I went out to lunch with Sarah yesterday. I never thought I’d be able to afford anything new, but I could thanks to the budget you helped me set up. Sticking to it is paying off.”

  Brett bowed. “Mr. Budget at your service.”

  She chuckled. “You should write another book for people like me.”

  “Like you?”

  “People who don’t have a clue about money.” She sounded resigned to her fate, only she couldn’t be more wrong.

  “You’re no longer clueless,” he countered.

  “That’s because I have a good teacher. You could write about all the things you’ve taught me—from budgeting to saving—everything someone would need to know before they’re ready for your book on personal investing.”

  “That’s not a bad idea.”

  “It’s a great one.” She smoothed her hands over her protruding stomach. “See how much Junior is growing.”

  Her tummy was becoming round, her chest fuller. Her hair seemed thicker and shinier. The mother-to-be was turning into the sexiest woman he’d ever seen. After the last kiss they’d
shared, Brett had been afraid of what might happen if he kissed her again, so he’d kept his distance. With each passing day, though, staying away from her became more difficult to do. “You finally look pregnant.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “It’s meant as one.” He closed the front door before setting his laptop case in the foyer. The smells of basil, garlic, and oregano lingered in the air. “Did you cook?”

  “You’re going to ruin one of my surprises.”

  “One of them?”

  “Close your eyes.” She took his hand. “Come with me.”

  Brett did as he was told, enjoying the feel of her soft skin over his. He missed touching Laurel, being close to her.

  He ran into her backside. His hands went to her hips so she wouldn’t stumble. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine,” she said without missing a beat. “I shouldn’t have stopped, but please keep your eyes closed.”

  He did. The familiar minty scent of her hair tickled his nose. He wanted to feel the silky strands over his face. Over his chest. Over him.

  He wanted her. Period.

  One more reason to stay away, far away, from her. Laurel needed to come to him, on her terms. So far, she’d kept her distance, too. But once she was making it on her own and feeling confident, that would change. Until then, he had to be patient.

  “This way.” She led him to the left. “Okay, open your eyes.”

  Brett opened his eyes. “What…”

  The dining room had been transformed into something out of a magazine or HGTV show. An oval cherry table, splat-back Chippendale chairs, a server, and a china cabinet with buffet filled the once-empty room. Botanical prints, candlesticks of varying heights, rich gold-and-red draperies, and fresh flowers completed the luxurious decor.

  He stared dumbfounded. “Am I in the right house?”

  “I hope so, or we’ll both be arrested for trespassing.”

  He moved to the table set with his grandmother’s china, but those were the only pieces he recognized. The gold chargers, damask placemats, and crystal goblets and glasses were new. He ran his fingertip along the back of a chair. “Wow.”