by Loree Lough
He knew full well it might be a mistake to hang all his hopes on one lesson, learned so long ago. Revving the engine, he steered the sports car onto Route 40. As he merged into traffic, Connor considered all the pluses of his plan: Liam would have two parents, Jaina would have the baby and the house she’d always dreamed of, and he’d have the family he’d always wanted.
Jaina had been reading food orders for so long, it was second nature to her now. She hustled back and forth in the kitchen, helping Eliot fill platters and plates.
But her mind was not on her work.
She couldn’t remember a time when she felt more confused. And there wasn’t a soul she could discuss the dilemma with, now that Granny Chandelle was gone.
She had questioned herself intensively about this matter of falling so quickly in love with Connor Buchanan. Granny had always said, “Give a new love at least four seasons, so you can test its durability.” Oh, to have the luxury of twelve leisurely months to define her feelings for Liam’s uncle. Did she feel this way because he was related to the baby? Or were her feelings more personal than that?
She’d left his office that first day thinking he was a nice enough guy; he’d certainly been considerate when she’d nearly blacked out. Still, he’d seemed indifferent to Liam’s needs, disinterested in how his own my-way-or-no-way mind-set might affect Kirstie. Nice, yes, but opinionated and stubborn, too.
Since then, she’d drastically altered her opinion. Now Jaina saw him as an unbiased, flexible, caring man. If his warm, devoted behavior with Liam didn’t make him father material, she didn’t know what did. And surely the fact that he refused to prosecute the woman who’d been harassing him was more proof what kind of man he was.
Certainly he could afford to live on some exclusive Nob Hill, in an impressive, contemporary style of house, with wide expanses of glass and filled with costly, one-of-a-kind furnishings. Instead, he’d purchased a dilapidated Victorian on the outskirts of town and refurbished it with his own two hands.
When he’d given her what he called The Grand Tour of the house, Connor explained how he’d sanded and refinished every window and door frame, every ceiling molding, every chair rail and panel of wainscoting. He showed her the wide-planked pine floors he’d preserved along with the original wood dowels that held them in place. She’d done enough to her apartment to know it had been painstaking, time-consuming work. She had loved every backbreaking, fingernail-chipping moment of it; he seemed to have enjoyed it, too.
His pride and joy, he’d admitted, was the small sunporch, added when he’d finished with the inside, so that after a harrowing day at the office, he could sit and stare into the woods along the banks of the Patapsco River.
Connor wasn’t at all stuffy and pretentious, as she’d expected him to be. He’d worn sneakers and well-worn jeans to the Fourth of July parade…and a T-shirt that read “My golf score would be great…if I was bowling.” And when she’d learned that he taught law part-time at the University of Baltimore, she’d remarked, “A professor…I’m impressed.”
“Don’t be,” he’d cautioned, a sly grin on his face. “The hours are terrible and the money stinks.”
“Then why do you do it?”
His smile had softened and he’d said, “Doesn’t happen as often as I’d like, but once in a while, I get a student who loves the law as much as I do.” He’d shrugged. “Those are the ones who’ll help me dispel the idea that lawyers are like vultures, feeding off the misery of others.”
She’d smiled at that. “You don’t strike me as the type who pays much mind to the opinions of others.”
His blue eyes had widened and his brows had lifted, giving him an innocent, little-boy look. “Of course I care,” he’d said. “At least…I care what some people think of me.”
His intense scrutiny had unnerved her, so she’d focused on the plaques and certificates he’d hung in a dark hallway. “What are these?”
Normally, he was proud of his efforts, but somehow Jaina taking notice rattled him. She always rattled him.
Even in the dim light, she could tell her question had flustered him. He’d stammered and stuttered like a teenager on his first date, and if the light had been better, she was sure she’d have seen him blush like a schoolboy. “Oh, those,” he’d said. “I’ve been working with the city’s Stamp Out Illiteracy project for years.”
Jaina pictured the baseball player who’d started the program; Connor resembled the sports hero even more than the star’s younger brother who played for the same team. Tall and well built, Connor’s thick-muscled shoulders and biceps were those of an athlete. She wondered what sports he might have played in high school and college. Quarterback? He was certainly big enough, smart enough. Goalie on a soccer team? He had the strength and agility.
She wondered what his favorite subjects had been. Math and science, maybe. He was such a quick thinker. She could easily see him as president of the student council, standing at the podium introducing festivities at an assembly. Surely he hadn’t been the type whose shyness kept him from volunteering.
Or had it?
She didn’t like admitting it—given the fact that she had actually wanted to say “Yes!” when he’d brought up the subject of marriage—but Jaina knew very little about Connor Buchanan. What kind of people had raised him? Had he ever been married, and if so, had it ended because he’d been widowed…or divorced? Was he a churchgoer? Could he try to be?
What Jaina did know about him, she liked.
He craved order in his life. What more proof of that did she need than the way he’d organized his kitchen cabinets: mugs on one shelf, tumblers on another; pots and pans stacked neatly, each with its own lid upside down inside it; spices and canned goods, like toy soldiers standing at attention, had been arranged in neat, alphabetical rows.
He was not a bully, as evidenced by the way he’d reacted to the Chili Pot flood. Finding Liam in the sudsy water had upset him, and he’d said so in a firm yet calm voice.
He’d treated her so gently that day in his office. Held Liam with such tenderness. Spoke to her parents with respect, despite the fact that Rita resented him and made no secret of it.
And that kiss in his kitchen…
She’d been dreaming about it off and on for nearly a week now. The way he’d wrapped her in his arms had made her feel treasured, had awakened emotions she hadn’t known possible.
One of the many things that stood out in her mind was the discussion they’d had about her limp. They’d barely gotten the blanket spread on the ground when he’d asked, “Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”
“How can I answer that until I’ve heard the question?” she’d teased.
“You have a point,” he’d agreed. “Let me preface it, then, by saying if it makes you in the least uncomfortable, feel free to tell me to buzz off, take a flying leap.”
What could be so important, so serious, she’d wondered, that Connor had felt it necessary to apologize before he’d asked the question? “I might be forced to say mind your own business,” she’d told him. “But buzz off? Take a flying leap? I’m afraid that just isn’t my style.”
Smiling, he’d gently deposited Liam in the center of the blanket, then sat down beside him. “Does your leg hurt very much?”
Only then did she understand. He wanted to know if she limped because each step was painful for her, or if the accident had caused so much bone and tissue damage that she couldn’t walk any other way.
“The doctors were forced to remove a part of my thigh bone,” she explained matter-of-factly. “It shortened my leg by nearly an inch.” She paused to read his face. Satisfied he didn’t feel sorry for her, Jaina continued. “Sometimes it bothers me a bit, but no more, I imagine, than anyone else if they’ve been on their feet too long.”
“Good. I’d hate to think that accident had left you with pain to bear, too.”
Too? she wondered.
“I mean,” he quickly inserted, “you had so much el
se to contend with because of that…”
His gentle expression hardened, and hot fury blazed in his eyes. Jaina believed he must have read her face, seen the stunned reaction to his anger there, because he shook his head.
“Sorry,” he said. “Do you get a lot of dimwits asking questions about it, or am I the first?”
“Children ask me about it all the time. It’s refreshing, really, how open and honest they are. I wish grownups would ask how it happened,” she admitted. “It’d be so much easier to take than their pitying stares.”
“So I take it you don’t think I’m not a dimwit,” he said, chuckling. “I’m a childlike dimwit.”
There’s nothing dim about you, Connor Buchanan, she wanted to say. Not your eyes, or your smile, or your charming wit.
“Truth is,” he said, “it’s the only proof I have that you’re human. Though I still think you’re way too perfect for the likes of me.” He smiled, then said in a halting voice, “So what’s it going to be, Jaina? Are you going to marry me or not?”
“You’re joking again, right?”
“I’m completely serious,” he assured her. “But don’t worry. You needn’t answer right now. Give it some thought. I think you’ll see it’s the best solution for everyone.”
She hadn’t known what to say in response to that, and so she’d asked him to please pass her a soda from the plastic cooler they’d brought along.
For the rest of the day—and night—Jaina could think of little else. Connor had called his proposal a solution, but how could it be?
He knew everything there was to know about her, from the accident that left her scarred and, in all likelihood, barren, to the charges that had landed her in jail. He knew every detail, good and bad…
Considering all that, could he possibly want to marry her?
Besides, he didn’t need Jaina on his side to adopt Liam. In fact, having her there might hurt his case. So why would he ask her to become his wife? The question rumbled in her head until her heart was reverberating with it, too.
Could it be that he loves you?
Instinctively, she tried to dismiss the idea as ridiculous. Silly. Too outrageous for further consideration. Just as immediately, it was back, bigger and more powerful than ever. She smiled slightly, considering the possibility that a man like Connor Buchanan—handsome, intelligent, successful, highly respected in the community and comfortably off financially—would have more than a passing interest in a woman who only had down-to-earth parents and an assortment of friends many would consider less than socially acceptable.
Not that she was ashamed of them. Jaina would have held any of them up for comparison against the so-called high-and-mighty muckety-mucks of the social scene. They had made some mistakes, but they’d learned from them and were God-fearing Christians, good to the bone. Still, he was obviously not interested in her because of her family background.
Or was he?
He as much as said he admired her work ethic. And he did say he liked the way she took care of Liam. She grinned, thinking, He sure doesn’t have any complaints about the way you kiss. But then, it wasn’t really fair to take credit for that since her behavior was nothing more than a reaction to him.
Until Liam came into her life, bringing with him his handsome relative, Jaina had resigned herself to living the rest of her life alone. Even if Connor did not love—would never truly love her—surely a marriage founded on mutual respect, affection and their love for Liam beat the prospect of life alone, hands down? Besides, being perfectly honest with herself, Jaina knew now that if Connor took Liam from her she would miss both of them.
Chapter Nine
When Pearl informed Connor that Judge Thompson’s secretary had lost his petition for adoption he slammed down the phone. He could have Pearl run off another copy, but it was too late to get Judge Thompson’s signature now. The old fellow and his wife would be leaving for Europe this afternoon to celebrate their fiftieth anniversary.
Fifty years with the same woman. Connor found it hard to believe any man could put up with a woman that long if they were all like Thompson’s secretary. And they surely all seemed to be.
Well, that wasn’t entirely true. There was Jaina….
His own parents had stayed together until their deaths, but he doubted they’d been happy in their nearly thirty-year marriage. Quite the contrary. They tolerated each other, and it was obvious to anyone with eyes and ears. Why couldn’t they have been more like the Thompsons? Even a cynic like Connor could see that those two old people loved each other like crazy, and after half a century together yet!
Would he be a cynic still if he had a woman like Jaina at his side? If he had someone like her encouraging him, supporting his decisions, being a true helpmeet?
Connor blinked and forced himself to focus on the matter at hand. He glanced at his watch. It wasn’t even eleven yet. He’d done the elderly gent a wagonload of favors; surely the man wouldn’t object if Connor dropped by to get the required signature. He had to at least give it a try.
He depressed the intercom button on his phone. “Pearl…you saved my adoption petition on disk, didn’t you?”
“Course I did.”
“Change it to today’s date, will you? And print out another copy.”
“Don’t worry, boss,” she replied breezily. “I’ll get right on it.”
She had the document ready for his approval in less than five minutes. And five minutes after that, Connor was in his car, headed for the judge’s house.
John Thompson lived in an old, established community on the outskirts of town. Elegant and stately, his house was emblematic of his lifestyle, complete with wrought-iron gates, manicured lawns, ornate flower beds. Connor parked in the circular redbrick driveway and headed for the front entrance.
“Well, if it isn’t Connor Buchanan.”
A quick look around told Connor the source of the deep baritone had originated from the rose garden. “Judge Thompson,” he said, smiling and extending his hand. “All set for your trip?”
“I should hope so,” the older man said, stuffing his pruning shears into a back jeans pocket. In a conspiratorial whisper, he added, “Millicent has had this thing planned for a decade!” Pumping Connor’s arm vigorously, he said, “Good to see you, son. What brings you here?”
Connor held up the manila envelope that bore his petition for adoption. “I need your signature on this. I wouldn’t bother you at home…especially not today…but…”
The judge ran a hand through his thick white hair. “C’mon, let’s step inside, get out of this heat,” he suggested.
As he followed Thompson into the house, Connor had to admit that the elderly fellow amazed him. Pushing eighty, the judge walked ramrod straight and quick as a man of forty. In every courtroom in the tristate area, he’d earned a reputation for having a mind sharper than a new-honed blade, and it didn’t appear to be growing any duller with age. Connor had heard it said that what a man becomes in his old age is determined by the wife he’d chosen when he was young. If there was any truth to the old adage, Judge Thompson had chosen well.
“Now then,” Thompson said once they’d settled in the library, “what can I get you? A glass of lemonade? Some iced tea?”
“Nothing, thanks.” He slid the petition from the envelope. “I know you’re busy, getting ready for the—”
“Nonsense,” the judge interrupted, smiling. “There’s nothing to do but call a taxi to take us to the airport.” He held a forefinger in the air. “You’re forgetting…I’m married to a woman who believes organization and planning are next to Godliness!” He clapped his hands together once. “Well, son,” he said, settling into a buttery black leather recliner, “what can I do for you?”
“This petition for adoption we discussed last week…”
Thompson’s brow furrowed. “It isn’t like you, Buchanan, to say you’re going to get right on something and then procrastinate. Especially something as important as—”
&nbs
p; “You don’t have to tell me. Your Mrs. Miller has already raked me over the coals for my shoddy work.”
He held up a hand as if to silence Connor. “My Mrs. Miller? She doesn’t get upset over… Wait. Let me guess. Dorothy misplaced it, didn’t she?”
Connor averted his gaze.
And the judge sighed. “She means well, but I’m afraid Dorothy isn’t the crackerjack secretary yours is.” He relieved Connor of the envelope. “So tell me, how’d you get such a gem, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Just lucky, I guess.”
“Please, please, take a load off,” Thompson insisted, pointing at a matching recliner. Settling gold-framed half glasses on his patrician nose, he began perusing the document. “You’re still determined to go ahead with these proceedings, I see.”
“Yessir, I am.” Connor’s brows drew together slightly. “You don’t agree?”
“I wouldn’t say that. But I’ve done a bit of digging myself,” he said as he thumbed through the papers. “This Chandelle woman who has your great-nephew… She’s got quite a history, doesn’t she?”
Connor swallowed. “Well, that’s the way it appears at first glance, but…”
Thompson peered over his spectacles to say, “If the D.A. had brought a case like hers before my bench, I’d have laughed him out of the courtroom. It’s as obvious as the nose on my face that the man was stockpiling guilty pleas to secure his own job.” Thompson shook his head. “I hate to see injustice done. You’d think after all these years, I’d be inured to it, wouldn’t you?”
Thompson had earned a reputation for being a straight shooter. It wasn’t easy being forthright and honest in a world of loopholes and nepotism; if Connor could retire with a record like the judge’s, he’d consider himself fortunate.
Thompson sat taller in his chair, aiming his clear blue gaze directly at Connor. “Are you a God-fearing man, Buchanan?”
The question rocked him. “Why, yes, I am. Why do you ask?”
“Most natural question in the world,” the other man observed, “considering what you’re proposing to do.”
