“But you got out four months later, right?”
His gaze dropped to a sleeping Kayla, his words filled with an anguish that broke her heart. “I was devastated, humiliated. And, as men often do, I reacted. Or, rather, acted out. I re-upped my tour. Stayed in for another four years. I began dating women overseas, never seeing any of them more than once or twice. It became a game of sorts…
“A game that didn’t quit when I finally got out of the military and returned to the States. I avoided the town where Lorraine lived, convinced myself I was better off. And that was pretty much my life. Until I met Mary.”
He reached out, plucked one of the frames from the end table beside his recliner and studied it for a few silent moments before holding it out to Phoebe. She took it, swinging her feet back to the ground. The woman in the picture was breathtaking in a girl-next-door kind of way. Her hair, which seemed to be blond despite the black-and-white photograph, was shoulder-length. The smile on her face accentuated her high cheekbones and the almond shape of her eyes.
“Is this Mary?” she asked, realizing before he even answered that she was looking at the woman who’d painted the border in her kitchen.
Tate’s mother.
“Yes. That’s Mary. She changed something in me when we met. It was like she flipped a switch that had turned off when Lorraine failed to acknowledge my proposal. I felt something. Something real. Something powerful. Eventually we married.” His words petered out for a brief moment as he closed his eyes. “Mary was a tremendous woman. The kind of spouse everyone dreams about. I had her, I had the perfect wife…yet I didn’t appreciate her like I should have. And I think that’s because there was a part of me that could never quite forget Lorraine or her rejection. A part that always wondered what happened, and—I’m ashamed to admit—a part that wondered what if. What if she’d said yes? What if we’d married? What would my life have been like? That sort of thing.”
Phoebe sat there motionless, yet again not sure what to say. Fortunately she didn’t have to worry as Bart continued with words he seemed to need to hear as much as he needed to speak them. “As a result, I wasn’t always the best husband. I wasn’t appreciative of all the things Mary did. And because I felt lousy about myself inside, I seemed to have this need to hold her down—her dreams, her hopes.”
Phoebe’s stomach tightened as her mind began replaying the animosity in Tate’s voice whenever his father was mentioned. The story she was hearing was surely a contributing factor to that anger. And as the man continued, she couldn’t help but wish she’d reacted differently to Tate’s outburst that morning. Perhaps if she’d known some of this earlier, she might have been more sympathetic and a little less offended.
But she hadn’t known. And she certainly hadn’t cut him any slack.
So much for trying to fix things all the time…
“I think I had so many unanswered questions and so much pent-up frustration—even anger—that I held a part of myself back. As if I was punishing Mary for Lorraine’s betrayal…or what I thought was her betrayal. Or maybe, somehow, I was so afraid of being rejected again that I kept a wall up at all times, even when my heart craved Mary and her love.”
He propped his elbow on the armrest and lowered his forehead to his hand. “I’ve spent many sleepless nights looking back. Regretting the hurt I invariably caused my family. And now,” he murmured, his voice quavering, “I realize, had I received this when it was mailed, I would have married Lorraine. I never would have met Mary. And Mary could have had the opportunity to find someone void of all the baggage I brought to our marriage. Someone who would have shown her how deeply she was loved.”
He stopped speaking, regret filling the silent space as if it were a living, breathing presence. They sat like that for what seemed like ages before Phoebe finally spoke, her words quiet yet steady.
“If I’ve learned anything from my broken heart it’s that all things happen for a reason. I think, for me, it was better we didn’t stay together, from the simple standpoint that Doug was wrong for me. He would have sucked the joy right out of my life.” She stood and walked over to the end table that had held Mary’s picture. “Yet, had I not met him, I wouldn’t have Kayla.”
With barely a glance to confirm her suspicion, she plucked the remaining frame from its spot on the table and handed it to Bart. “Had that letter arrived when it should have, you’d have married Lorraine. And if you had, you wouldn’t have—”
The quiet sobbing began again, the sound even more gut wrenching and heartfelt than before. But no matter how hard it was for him to speak through the sudden flood of emotion, he managed to find the words to complete her sentence.
“If I’d married Lorraine…I wouldn’t have my son.”
Chapter Seven
It didn’t take a genius to know the design he’d been working on for the past hour was pure garbage. The entrance was boring, the window placement was off and the building as a whole looked as if he’d drawn it in his sleep. While being chased by aliens.
Tate Williams flung his pencil into the canister at the top of his drafting table and reclined back in his chair until he was staring at the ceiling. It was a view he’d sought often over the past forty-eight hours, a neutral backdrop for the one image that kept playing over and over in his brain. A reminder of his overwhelming stupidity.
“Good morning, boss.”
If storming out of Phoebe’s house like a toddler with a serious case of the terrible twos wasn’t bad enough, he’d actually—
“Boss?”
“Huh?” With a slight heave forward, Tate’s gaze left the ceiling in favor of the office door he could’ve sworn he’d closed. “What is it, Regina?”
Even if he hadn’t come to during his last few words, he’d have known his tone was snarky simply by the way his secretary’s eyebrows furrowed in surprise. He felt even worse as she held up her hand and backed away, a twinge of hurt in her eyes.
“I’m sorry. I knocked, but you didn’t answer.”
“Wait!” Tate jumped to his feet and jogged over to the door. “Come in. Sit. Smack me. Curse me. Whatever. I deserve it. All of it.”
“As tempting as that sounds, you have a visitor.” She pushed the door shut behind her and lowered her voice. “I know you’re preparing for your meeting with the partners, but I get the sense this might be important.”
He shook his head as he peered over at his desk, to the file he was supposed to be compiling for his lunch meeting. “Take a phone number and I’ll get back to him. I’m not in a terribly personable mood at the moment and I really need to focus. This could be the day, Regina.”
“No could about it, boss.” She turned on her sensible heels and reached for the doorknob. “I’ll let Miss Jennings know.”
His head snapped up as his secretary’s words broke through his mental cloud. “Did you say Jennings?”
“Yes. Sweet girl. And very pretty, too.”
With a shove of his hand he thwarted Regina’s attempt to open the door. “She’s here?” he whispered.
“Uh-huh. Right outside.”
Cupping his hand to his mouth, he exhaled deeply. He’d acted like a total idiot over the weekend, yet she’d still sought him out—
“Did she have a shotgun, by any chance?”
Regina’s brows furrowed. “Boss?”
“Never mind. How about a baby?”
Confusion gave way to awareness as his secretary shook her head. “This is the one with the letter, isn’t it?”
He looked around the office, at the countless awards and photographs documenting his success. Accomplishments he suspected were about to lead him to the role of partner as early as that afternoon. But somehow it all paled before the notion of seeing Phoebe Jennings once again.
“Give me two minutes and then send her in, okay?”
Regina’s eyes sparkled. “Yes, boss.”
Drawing a deep breath, he strode around the room, his foul mood a thing of the past. He knew he needed
to apologize for his outburst Saturday morning, and then he hoped they could move forward. Quickly.
The feelings she’d ignited in him as they’d kissed were ones he wanted to explore further. All the way to the bedroom if she’d let him.
He stopped in front of the window and looked down over Morgan Lake. His view was one of the best in the building, and he took advantage of it often as a way to detox after a particularly stressful project or client. The morning sun reflecting off the surface of the water warmed him where he stood, and he couldn’t help but imagine holding Phoebe Jennings in his arms in the very same spot.
“Tate?”
At the sound of her soft voice he turned, his eyes drawn to the woman standing in the partially open doorway. Phoebe shifted nervously, drawing his eye to where the hem of her classy white linen skirt hit just below midthigh. She’d pulled her hair back with a clip, leaving thin tendrils to frame her delicate features. He felt his body stir with awareness.
“Phoebe, it’s good to see you.” He closed the distance between them in several quick strides, reaching for her hand and giving it a gentle, lingering squeeze.
“I did a little digging and found out where you work. I hope you don’t mind me showing up like this. I won’t stay long.”
“No, please. It’s a nice surprise. Come in. Sit down.” He gestured toward the small sitting area in the back right corner of the room. “I’ve been thinking about our time together. A lot.”
He followed her to the pair of armchairs he often used during first visits with a new client. The more relaxed atmosphere tended to nurture creativity. Today, though, his creative energy wasn’t focused on blueprints and sketches. Phoebe Jennings was the only thing that stoked his curiosity and imagination. That and the gnawing desire to explore the sensuous curves of her slender body.
Phoebe stopped just short of the vacant chairs and turned around, her eyes void of the sparkle he remembered. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot, as well, and I’m sorry. I was out of line, sticking my nose where it didn’t belong. I hope you’ll forgive me.” She looked down at her hands, linked them together nervously. “I knew from the first afternoon we met that there was bad blood between you and your father. I should have left it alone. I should have—”
“Hey.” He nudged her chin upward with his fingers until their eyes met. “I shouldn’t have snapped like I did. You were just trying to be nice.”
Her eyes searched his closely and he smiled in response. “You are a beautiful woman, Phoebe Jennings.”
A hint of red arose in her cheeks as she looked down. “Thank you.”
“No, thank you.” Without thinking, he released her chin to brush a lock of hair from her cheek, the feel of her skin beneath his fingertips igniting his desire even more. “Where’s Kayla this morning?”
“Mrs. Haskell agreed to watch her for an hour. I thought about bringing her, but didn’t know how you’d react to seeing me.”
His gut twisted in guilt as memories of his weekend outburst came flooding back. “Look, Phoebe, I’m sorry I exploded the way I did. I’m not prone to temper tantrums like that, I swear.”
She didn’t reply. Instead, she turned her head and looked slowly around the room. “I saw the photographs on the wall out in the hall. Your secretary said you designed every one of those buildings.”
“I did.”
“They’re amazing.”
“Thank you.” He’d always been proud of his work and his accomplishments, but hearing praise from Phoebe took it to a level he’d never expected.
“May I?” She gestured toward the built-in bookshelves lining the east wall of his office. Shelves that housed the many plaques and awards he’d received since coming to McDonald and Murphy.
“Of course.” He resisted the urge to follow, opting instead to admire her from afar. And admire he did. Every. Single. Little. Detail.
“Tate?”
Uh-oh. He’d missed something…
“I’m sorry, Phoebe. What was that?”
She pointed at the assortment of ribbon-cutting photographs that graced the top shelf. “These are special.”
“Yes, they are. Pictorial evidence of a completed job.”
Phoebe nodded softly. “I know that party the other night wasn’t about the family portrait I’d painted, but seeing it on the wall was so special, so exciting. I wish I’d snapped a picture of it hanging there.”
“I know Shane pretty well. I’m sure he’d let us go take one.”
“It’s okay. I have one right here,” she said, pointing to her heart. “I just wish my grandmother could have been there to see it, too.”
“She was.”
His heart ached with tenderness as those green eyes focused on his face. “You think so?”
“Yeah, I do. That kind of love, that kind of connection doesn’t just disappear. It’s too precious.” Keeping his eyes on hers, he closed the distance between them. Never in his life had he had such an urge to touch a woman, to hold her close. And he wasn’t about to let this chance pass.
Pulling her against him, he simply held her, reveled in the feel of her soft body molded to his. “I’m glad you stopped by,” he murmured, the sensation of her hair beneath his lips creating an undeniable reaction in his body. “I missed doing this—”
Gently, deliberately, Tate guided Phoebe’s mouth to his own, sought the warmth and softness he’d experienced just days earlier. She parted her lips in response, allowing him to explore her mouth with his tongue.
He dropped his hands from her shoulders and grasped her hips, pulling her still closer as his mouth sought her neck, her ear…
“Your door is open,” she whispered.
“No, it’s—” He looked up, silently cursed the reality. “Missed that detail.”
“It’s okay.” She pressed her palms against his chest and stepped back, then smoothed her hair. “Your secretary told me you had a meeting in a little while so I don’t want to keep you.”
He groaned. Any other day he’d be climbing the walls in anticipation of a lunch meeting with his boss—particularly when his future with the company was the expected topic. But not today. Today he wanted to lose himself in this woman.
“You have a really important job, don’t you?” she asked quietly.
“I guess.”
She looked back at the pictures on the shelves, an open scrapbook of his life—both at work and play. “Do you attend many parties like the one Mr. Dolanger threw?”
“All the time.”
“Not many barbecues, I imagine.” Her voice grew ever quieter as she stepped closer to the second set of shelves.
He laughed. “No. Galas are more likely. Most of the parties I attend—or host—are on a different scale than a backyard barbecue.”
“I see.”
“Caterers are hired, bands are brought in, the best wines served.”
“Sounds like a foreign country to me.” She continued her inspection of the photographs, stopping when she reached the one in the center of the middle shelf. “This is your mother, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is.”
“She’s a little older in this picture, yet every bit as beautiful.”
“Older?”
Phoebe nodded. “In the one I saw she was closer to my age.”
“How did you see…?” His voice trailed off as confusion morphed into understanding.
The letter.
“Your father loved your mother very much,” Phoebe said softly, her gaze leaving the photograph and coming to rest on his face.
“That man wouldn’t know love if it jumped in his lap,” Tate growled, anger and frustration coursing through his body. Fisting his hands at his sides, he walked to the window, stared unseeingly at the lake below. “You show up at his door touting some nonsense letter, and you think that means you know him? That you can tell me what my life was like as a kid? You’re crazy, absolutely craz—”
“She’s gone, boss.”
HE SET HIS BRIEFCASE
down on his desk long enough to open it and remove the Dolanger file. The extended lunch with the bosses had gone amazingly well, and barring any unforeseen circumstances, the sign in the lobby would be changing to McDonald, Murphy and Williams very soon.
Making partner at his age was an accomplishment all on its own. Making partner in a firm as prestigious as McDonald and Murphy was even more impressive.
Yet now that Tate’s dream had finally come true, he wasn’t as enamored by the notion as he’d expected. And he knew why.
Phoebe Jennings.
Somehow, some way, the woman who had shown up on his doorstep simply looking to deliver a misplaced letter had captured his heart as no one ever had before. She made him laugh, think, feel, imagine and believe.
The laughter had been easy. Her beautiful smile and sweet innocence would make anyone come alive. Her selfless nature caused him to think, to examine himself in ways he hadn’t in years. Seeing how she loved her daughter brought up welcome memories from his own childhood. Her willingness to share her past and to forgive so easily made him imagine that, one day, he could find something similar in himself.
But above all, there was something about her that made him believe a happily ever after could exist—between the right people.
A soft knock at the door interrupted his thoughts and he turned, his gaze coming to rest on Regina’s wide smile.
“I hear congratulations are in order.” She stepped into his office, closing the door behind her. “You’ve worked so hard for this partnership, and I couldn’t be happier for you than I am at this moment.”
Shrugging, he leaned against his desk and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Pretty cool, isn’t it?”
He felt her studying him and looked up to meet her eyes. “What?” he growled.
“May I?” She pointed at the chair opposite his desk. When he nodded, she perched on the edge, ready to resume her duties at the ring of a phone or the sound of a footstep. “The day I interviewed with you, you told me you wanted to be partner. It’s been your one motivating goal the past few years. Yet now that it’s here, you don’t seem terribly excited.”
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