He grabbed hold of the plastic seat. “Whee! Whee!”
The slender blonde woman pushing another little boy on the adjacent swing chuckled in response to Oliver’s demand. “He knows what he wants, doesn’t he?”
“He certainly does,” Harper agreed. She smiled at the blonde as she lifted Oliver into the swing, then did a double take. “Have we met?”
The other woman nodded. “At the funeral. I’m Kenna Garrett—my husband, Daniel, is Ryan’s cousin. And this—” she gave her little boy another gentle push “—is Jacob.”
Harper fastened the belt around Oliver’s middle. “I’m usually pretty good with names, but there were so many people there that day.”
“No need to apologize,” Kenna assured her. “You had a lot of more important things on your mind that day.”
“Whee!” Oliver demanded.
“Whee!” Jacob echoed.
Kenna chuckled and Harper pulled back Oliver’s swing and set it in motion.
“How is Oliver doing?” Kenna asked.
“The days are good,” Harper said. “But he still wakes up in the middle of the night almost every night crying for his mama.”
Kenna’s eyes misted. “Poor fella.”
Harper nodded.
“That’s got to be hard on you, too. I remember how constantly exhausted I was before Jacob started sleeping through the night.”
“Thankfully, because I have to get up so early, Ryan has been dealing with most of the middle-of-the-night stuff.”
“That’s right—he told me you work on Coffee Time with Caroline,” Kenna recalled.
“Do you watch it?”
“Faithfully,” Kenna assured her. “I started tuning in when I was on mat leave and I got hooked, so when I went back to work in the fall, I had to DVR it.”
“Went back to work doing what?” Harper asked.
“I teach science at South Ridge High School.”
“Sounds challenging.”
“It’s a piece of cake compared to being a stay-at-home mom,” Kenna assured her. “And yet there are still days—most days, in fact—when I wonder if I made the right choice. But school will be out for the summer in eight weeks, and then I’ll be able to devote myself to being a wife and a mother.”
“Who looks after Jacob while you’re working?”
“Daniel mostly works from home now, and his mother helps out a lot. Early on I suggested that we look into day care, and she was devastated to think that I’d prefer to have strangers looking after her grandson. Which wasn’t true, of course—I was just worried that it might seem we were taking advantage of her.”
“It’s nice to have family support,” Harper agreed.
“You’ve got it, too, you know,” Kenna told her.
She nodded. “And I’m grateful. I honestly don’t know how we would have managed without the help of Ryan’s parents, especially those first few days after the accident.”
“I can’t imagine,” Kenna said sincerely. “I had nine months to get used to the idea of having a baby. Actually, forty weeks and two days, since Jacob wasn’t in any hurry to be born. And during that time, I read everything I could about childbirth and babies and what to expect and I thought I was prepared. But the reality is, no one can ever completely prepare you for the joy and responsibility of being a mother—as I’m sure you’ve already realized with Oliver.”
“I’m not his mother,” Harper felt compelled to point out—partly because she didn’t want anyone to think she was trying to take Melissa’s place in her son’s life and partly because the title of mother terrified her even more than the responsibilities of being a caregiver.
“Maybe not biologically,” Kenna acknowledged. “But in every other way that matters.”
Harper knew it was true, and she felt a pang deep in her heart for the little boy who would never really know the woman who had given him life or how very much she’d loved him. She would tell him, of course. She would do everything in her power to ensure that he never forgot his mother, but she knew that he was too young to really hold on to any of the memories that he had.
“When Melissa asked me to be his godmother, I didn’t hesitate. She was my best friend, and I loved Oliver from the minute he was born. But I never thought I would actually have to do anything more than take him on occasional trips to the zoo or museums and buy him fabulous presents.”
“I’m sure she thought the same thing,” Kenna said sympathetically.
* * *
Ryan worked late that night, and when he got home, Harper was getting Oliver’s bedtime snack of oatmeal and banana ready.
They chatted a little about their respective days—he told her about the plans for Garrett Furniture’s upcoming annual summer picnic and she told him about meeting Kenna and Jacob at the park. Though the conversation was easy, he detected a hint of coolness in her tone—the likely cause of which was revealed by her next comment.
“The receipt for your dry cleaning is on the counter,” she told him as she settled Oliver into his high chair. “Along with the note from Nadine Deacon that was in the pocket of the jacket you wore for the funeral.”
He’d forgotten about the note—probably two seconds after Nadine had slipped it into his pocket.
“Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised, but I actually thought you’d managed to refrain from hitting on women at your best friend’s funeral.”
Her comment chafed, as she’d no doubt intended. Maybe he did have a reputation for enjoying the company of various and beautiful women—and he wasn’t going to apologize for it—but he wasn’t an indiscriminate womanizer.
“I didn’t ask for her number—she gave it to me and told me to call if she could help with anything.”
“Oh, well, that’s different, then,” she said, in a tone that indicated it was not. “Although I’m not sure that Brittney would agree.”
“Bethany,” he reminded her.
Oliver blew a raspberry, spraying cereal and banana out of his mouth. Harper used his bib to wipe his chin, then offered him another spoonful.
“And you’re hardly in a position to criticize me when you were chatting up the long-haired guy with the polished loafers.”
“Simon Moore was the real estate agent who sold this house to Melissa and Darren. He came to pay his respects.”
“Are you saying that he didn’t give you his number?”
“He gave me his business card,” she acknowledged. “In case we decided to sell.”
“We’re not selling their house.”
She scraped the last of the oatmeal out of the bowl. “That’s an emotional rather than a rational response.”
“How would you know?” he challenged.
She stiffened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that you’re so damned rational about everything, I sometimes wonder if you feel anything.”
“I feel plenty. I just don’t think it’s necessary to share my emotions with everyone around me.”
“I’m not everyone—I’m the man you’re helping to raise a child with,” he pointed out, his voice tinged with frustration.
“I grew up in a home filled with drama,” she told him. “And as if it wasn’t enough that I had to live in it, I got to read about it in the headlines of the tabloids, so forgive me for wanting to spare Oliver that.”
He knew some of her family history from Darren and Melissa—and yes, because he’d seen some of those same headlines—but he hadn’t thought about how her parents’ very public breakups and reconciliations had affected her. Until now.
“There are no photographers lurking in the bushes outside,” he assured her.
She sat back in her chair and sighed, toying with Oliver’s spoon as he played with a chunk of banana. “I know. Or at least the logical part of my brain does. And then I remember being blindsided when I walked out of school one day to find a reporter demanding to know how it felt to know that Peter Ross was claiming he wasn’t my father.”
“Jesus, Harper—I’m sorry.”
She shrugged. “Apparently the tear-streaked face of a ten-year-old love child on the cover of a magazine helps to sell a lot of copies. Eventually, the test results proved that he was my father, but that wasn’t worthy of mention.”
No wonder she’d learned to hide her feelings.
Ryan was angry at the reporters who hadn’t seen her as anything more than a juicy headline, sick for the child she’d been and frustrated that the woman she’d grown into was so determined to keep him at a distance. While he understood a little better now why she kept such a tight rein on her emotions, she needed to understand that they were a team and that they needed to work together to do what was best for Oliver. And it would be a lot easier to do that if he wasn’t continuously running up against the walls she kept putting up between them. But her confession about her past gave him hope that she was starting to open up to him, at least a little.
Oliver had finished his snack, so Harper gave him his two-handled sippy cup. He raised it to his mouth, one-handed, and sucked back milk like a man taking a swig of beer.
Ryan couldn’t help but smile, thinking about the countless brews that he’d tipped back over the years with Darren. “Like father, like son,” he noted.
Harper’s lips started to curve. Then her smile wobbled and her gaze shifted away.
He could guess what she was thinking, because his mind had gone in the same direction. His offhand comment had reminded both of them that the little boy wouldn’t have the chance to learn anything else from either of his parents.
Grief made his chest feel tight, and that was before he saw the tears precariously balanced on Harper’s bottom lashes.
Oh, crap.
He’d practically demanded proof of her emotions, but he hadn’t wanted to see her cry.
What was he supposed to do now?
Ryan didn’t have a lot of experience dealing with emotional females. It was rare for him to get so deeply involved with a woman that she’d feel comfortable crying on his shoulder, and even when he ended a relationship, he was careful to ensure there was no cause for tears.
Of course, this situation was completely different, and he knew he shouldn’t be surprised by Harper’s grief—it had been a hellish few weeks for both of them. Truthfully, he was a little surprised she hadn’t broken down before now.
Not that she was breaking down now. Despite the shimmer of tears in her eyes and the quiver of her chin, she was valiantly fighting to hold it together. Obviously she didn’t want him to see her cry any more than he wanted to see her cry.
Blindly, she unbuckled the belt around Oliver’s tummy and lifted him from his high chair.
“Harper.” He touched a hand to her shoulder, not sure what else he was supposed to say or do.
She shrugged off his touch. “Don’t. Please.”
“Don’t what?” he asked helplessly.
“Don’t be nice to me.” It was as much a plea as a statement. “I’m barely holding on by a thread here, and if you show any understanding or compassion, you’re going to have your arms full of blubbering female.”
Then she thrust Oliver at him so his arms were full of squirming baby instead and fled from the room.
He stood there for a minute, not quite sure of his next move.
“Baff,” Oliver said.
“You’re right.” He shifted the little guy onto his hip and headed toward the stairs, grateful for an assignment that he could handle. “Let’s go get you into the bath.”
* * *
A few days after she’d almost melted down in front of Ryan, Harper was feeling more in control of her emotions and a little more comfortable with Oliver. She was cutting Oliver’s grilled cheese sandwich into strips so they were easier for him to pick up when her cell phone rang.
A quick glance at the display revealed that it was Adam McCready, the executive producer of Coffee Time. She ignored it. Whatever her boss’s reason for calling, it probably wasn’t as urgent as he thought.
As she reached into the cupboard for a sippy cup, she felt Oliver tug on her skirt. He pointed to the jar on the counter. “Kee! Kee!”
“You can have a cookie after you have your sandwich,” she promised, removing the lid to pour milk into his cup.
“Kee!” he insisted.
She scooped him up and settled him into his high chair, buckling the belt around his middle before sliding the tray into place. “Sandwich,” she said. “Grilled cheese. Yum.”
His arms stretched out in the direction of the cookie jar. “Um! Kee!”
She put the plate with his sandwich on his tray along with his drink.
Her phone had stopped ringing, but now the message light was blinking. She might have ignored the blinking as easily as the ringing except that it then chimed to indicate a text message from Diya.
HD canceled for 2morrow. Adam freaking. Thoughts 4 replacement?
HD was Holden Durrant—their spotlight guest, the one they’d been advertising all week.
She immediately called Durrant’s agent and learned that the actor had the flu and was currently puking his guts out in a penthouse suite at the Courtland Hotel. Harper booked a new date for the following week and also secured a second appearance to coincide with May sweeps. Then she contacted Elaine Hiller—an up-and-coming local artist whose work had recently been exhibited at the New Morning Gallery in Asheville—and filled the vacant slot for the next day. After that she called Diya to give her an update, trusting that her assistant would inform the people in PR so they could run some last-minute promos about their new guest.
By the time that was all done, Oliver had finished his sandwich and his drink and was squirming to get out of his high chair. Harper cleared away his dishes, washed his face and hands, then set him on the floor to play with the box of plastic lids—one of his favorite kitchen toys—while she called Adam to personally assure the producer that the crisis had been averted.
Of course, he wasn’t satisfied with that report but demanded to know when they were going to find time on the program for his wife’s brother’s daughter-in-law, who had recently published a children’s book. Biting back her frustration, Harper went to the office to get her tablet so she could check the master schedule.
She’d just opened up the calendar when she heard a clatter, a crash and a scream. It all happened so fast she couldn’t say which had actually come first. There was only one thought in her mind: Oliver.
She dropped the phone on top of the desk and raced back to the kitchen. The little boy was on the floor beside an overturned chair with pieces of broken cookie jar and scattered cookies on the floor around him.
But it was the blood mixed with streaming tears and dripping down his cheek that brought her racing heart to an abrupt stop.
Chapter Five
“Oh, sweetie.” Harper carefully picked her way through the broken pottery to lift Oliver out of the mess.
“Kee?” he said, his lower lip trembling.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, her own eyes filling with tears.
She grabbed her purse, shoved it inside the diaper bag, then slung that bag over her shoulder and carried Oliver out to her car.
She settled him into his seat, then dabbed at the blood on his cheek with a tissue, careful to avoid the cut on his face. She didn’t know if there was any glass in the wound, but there sure was a lot of blood.
Twelve minutes later, she was checking in at the ER of Mercy Hospital.
Of course, Oliver’s initial screams—probably a response triggered by more surprise than pain—had subsided. Now even his quiet sobs were fading and his tears had mostly dried. But when he tried to wipe the moisture from his cheek, he smeared blood on the back of his hand.
She gave her insurance information and Oliver’s date of birth to the triage nurse. No, she wasn’t his mother—both of his parents had died. Yes, she was his legal guardian. No, she didn’t have any proof of her guardianship status. Yes, she was becoming increasingly f
rustrated by the endless questions with no evidence of a doctor anywhere in the vicinity.
“I have insurance. I have credit cards. I just want a doctor to look at him and fix him up,” she implored the nurse.
“Please take a seat in the waiting area until you are called.”
Harper held back a frustrated sigh—barely. “How long are we going to have to wait?”
“It shouldn’t be too long.”
Which, of course, wasn’t any kind of answer at all.
She turned away, her own eyes brimming with tears of helplessness and frustration.
“Harper?”
She glanced up at the blurry figure in the white coat, then blinked and brought him into focus. It was Justin Garrett—Ryan’s brother.
“What happened?” he asked her.
But when she opened her mouth to respond, she discovered that she couldn’t force the words through the tightness in her throat.
Thankfully, Justin didn’t seem to require a response. “I’ll take them into exam room four,” he told the triage nurse.
“But—”
“Dr. Seabrook is examining the elderly gentleman with chest pains in two and Dr. Wallace said she would take a look at the sebaceous cyst in three.”
The nurse pursed her lips in silent disapproval, but she nodded and handed him the chart she’d prepared.
Justin led Harper into the exam room and gestured for her to sit on the bed. She did so, facing Oliver forward on her lap so that the doctor could evaluate his injury.
But Justin didn’t seem in too much of a hurry as he pulled on a pair of sterile gloves. “Does Ryan know you’re here?”
She shook her head, her stomach tensing at the thought of that inevitable conversation. “I didn’t think to call him—or anyone. I just grabbed Oliver and came directly here.”
“Why don’t you give him a call now?” he suggested as he tore open a gauze pad and began to clean the blood from the baby’s cheek.
“I know he went into the office for a meeting today—I don’t think I should disturb him.”
Justin paused to look at her. “You don’t think he’ll want to know what happened?”
A Forever Kind of Family Page 5
