Miracle Baby (Harlequin American Romance)

by Laura Bradford

  Instead, she willed herself to pay close attention to the words that suddenly poured from her mouth. “Rory? I’m sorry about last night…about leaving a nice evening on such a negative note. But—” she swallowed as he sat up to look at her, momentarily throwing her off her game “—but mostly…I—I’m sorry for kissing you the way I did. I had no business doing that.”

  For a moment it was there in his eyes—a disappointment so raw, so vivid, that it nearly broke her heart. Then, just as fast as it appeared, it was gone, in its place a look so compassionate, so full of understanding and concern for her that she couldn’t speak another word.

  “I’m sorry, too. I should have known you weren’t ready.”

  She looked down at the precious pictures of her daughter. “I’ll never be ready,” she whispered.

  His hand covered hers and squeezed ever so gently. “You will be. One day. When the right man comes along. And you’ll know it when he does. He’ll make you laugh. He’ll give you hope. He’ll make you catch your breath. And he’ll creep into your thoughts when you least expect it. Because that’s what the right one does.”

  Make her laugh? Give her hope? Creep his way into her thoughts?

  She sucked in her breath as an unexpected realization struck. That was exactly the way she felt about—

  Rory.

  HE GRABBED FOR the journal as she leaped to her feet, her movement so sudden, so unexpected that it nearly knocked him off the bed. “Whoa. Did I say something wrong?” he asked, hanging on to the mattress with one hand and the journal with the other.

  She whirled around to face him, the silky straps of her pajama top slipping still farther down her shoulders.

  He swallowed. Hard.

  Even with that look of unexplained horror on her face, Maggie was still one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. And the red-rimmed eyes she’d sported when he’d first arrived? They just made him want to pull her close and protect her from all the hard parts of life.

  “I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” she said, her slipper-clad feet moving in the direction of the living room. “I—I’m not feeling very well right now.”

  “Are you sick?” he asked. Carefully, he placed the journal on the bed, then joined her in the main room. “It’s awfully cold in here and wearing those slippers on a cold wood floor certainly doesn’t help.”

  “My slippers are fine.” Her hands found her hips in record fashion.

  “Well, you must admit they’ve seen better days.”

  “You’re right. They have.”

  He cocked his head to the side and studied her, the double meaning behind her words not lost on him. “For now…maybe. But that doesn’t negate the fact that the floor is cold. And so is this whole room.” Bypassing her, he strode over to the fireplace and plucked a log from the holder. “Let me make a fire for you, okay? It’s the least I can do after barging in on you the way that I did.”

  “You were worried. I get that.”

  “Terrified is more like it.” He turned to face her one more time, felt his breath hitch at the unexpected look in her eyes. Not sure what to say, he dropped to his knees beside the grate and shoved a few logs into the hearth. “This’ll just take a minute. Then I’ll be out of your hair.”

  It’s not that he wanted to go, because he didn’t. But Maggie no longer wanted him there, he was certain. At least he had been until this moment.

  Suddenly he wasn’t so sure. Something about what he’d said had struck a nerve. Her reaction was quick and fleeting, but he’d seen it, plain as day. The problem was trying to decipher what it meant and how best to respond.

  It was a constant push and pull between his heart and his mind. One he’d experienced all night as he’d pretended to sleep. One minute he’d remember the kiss, his body reacting to the memory in undeniable fashion. Then, just as he’d start to get carried away, he’d remember the pain in her eyes as she’d pulled back.

  Maggie was hurting. A deep, penetrating hurt that had seeped into every facet of her life, essentially trapping her in a world from which there was no escape.

  What she needed was a life raft. Something to hang on to while she found her footing.

  He tossed some kindling onto the logs, then struck a long match, igniting the material with a flick of his wrist. Turning to face her, he offered what he hoped was a nonthreatening smile. “That should help warm things up in here.”

  “Thank you. But I’d still like to be alone.” She shifted from foot to foot, the sadness in her eyes almost more than he could bear.

  Throw her a life raft, dude.

  A life raft…

  “Wait! I have to give you something first.” He jogged toward the door and yanked it open, finding the box he’d intended to deliver sitting right where he’d left it when he opted to let himself into her suite with his master key. Lifting it off the floor, he retraced his steps into the living room. “This is why I stopped by. To give you this.”

  She looked from his face to the box and back again, curiosity pulling her eyebrows upward. “What is that?”

  “Just some stuff I found,” he lied. “Came across these things in one of the rooms I’m rehabbing. Thought maybe you could find a use for some of it.”

  “I don’t know, Rory. I don’t really need any extra stuff. I’m not sure how long I’m going to be staying here, anyway.”

  Ignoring the last part of her statement, he set the box on the coffee table and gestured to its contents. “Well, just take a look. If you want me to find another home for it, I will. In the meantime, though, I better give you your space.” He strode toward the open door, only to stop a few inches from his target. Glancing over his shoulder, he drank in one final look, his gaze lingering on the sleep-tousled hair that cascaded over her bare shoulders like a waterfall.

  “Again, I’m sorry for barging in the way I did,” he said, taking a final step toward the door. “I just had to know you were okay. And like you, I guess I’m letting my past dictate my present more than it should.”

  Chapter Ten

  Despite what she’d just said, Maggie knew she didn’t want Rory to go. Why else did her heart sink at the click of the door? Why else did she feel like running after him and begging him to stay?

  “Because you’re sick, that’s why,” she mumbled.

  She clapped a hand over her lips as her words registered. Was she? Was she truly having the nervous breakdown her uncle had predicted was on the horizon?

  No. She was just trying to find her way. And she would. Eventually.

  Eventually has to start sometime, Maggie.

  Closing her eyes, she inhaled the sound of Jack’s voice, willed it to give her the courage she needed to put one foot in front of the other. Yet, the face that propelled her to actually move from her spot belonged to someone else.

  It would start now. Slowly, she made her way over to the box Rory had left behind, the concern in his eyes and the tenderness of his touch playing in her mind as she lifted the flaps and peered inside. Basic wood frames in various shapes and sizes were neatly stacked along one side of the cardboard box. Along the other were bins—colorful plastic containers nested atop one another. She plucked out the top one and opened it to find an assortment of seashells and sand dollars. She grabbed the next few tubs, finding sequins, flat-back faux gemstones, beads and polished stones. The final container held a glue gun, spray adhesive, invisible thread and a large jar of beach sand.

  “Who on earth could have left this stuff behind?” she whispered. Leaning back against the sofa, she studied the treasure trove that now covered the coffee table, her creative juices flowing and her mind running in a thousand different directions.

  She grabbed a rectangular frame that was designed to house a five-by-eight-inch photograph, and looked at the various bins, her attention stolen by the one containing the seashells. With some beach sand, and a sand dollar or two…

  Her mind made up, she searched the room for an empty outlet, plugging the glue gun
into the first one she found. Next, she scooped up the supplies she needed and made her way over to the kitchen table, its clear surface a testament to the fact she’d eaten nothing more than apples since arriving.

  Well, apples and a Belgian waffle.

  And lasagna…

  She bit back the smile that came with both of those memories, and forced her attention onto the project in front of her, remembering to cover the table with a few old newspapers her uncle had left behind. Once her workstation was ready, she uncapped the can of adhesive and sprayed the whole front of the frame. When she was done she sprinkled on some of the beach sand, slowly transforming the basic wood frame into something much more.

  Next came the sand dollars. Maggie agonized over their placement until she was sure she’d found just the right spots, cementing her decision with the help of the hot glue. After applying the final shell into place, she scooted back in her chair and admired her work.

  “Not bad, if I say so myself.”

  This time she allowed the smile to come, to lift her mouth in a way that felt more than a little satisfying. She returned to the coffee table and selected a different frame, this time opting to use the invisible thread and bin of colorful beads.

  She sat there for hours, decorating one frame after the next until the original pile bore little resemblance to their former selves. When she was done, she simply looked around, a feeling akin to contentment settling over her.

  It had been years since she’d tackled a picture frame, even longer since she’d allowed herself to get so caught up by the process that a day would rush by, unnoticed. But once again, she had.

  And it felt good. Really, really good.

  “In time you’ll find a place to put the pain so you can let the joy take over.”

  She closed her eyes, thinking of Delilah’s words. Working on the frames, letting her creative energies out, had brought Maggie some joy.

  Glancing down at the last frame she’d completed, she knew exactly who should have it.

  “EXCUSE ME. Is Delilah in today, by any chance?”

  The fortysomething redhead looked up from behind the register and stared at Maggie as if she had two heads. “That’s kinda like asking whether McDonald’s has hamburgers.”

  Feeling suddenly foolish, Maggie clasped the handles of the gift bag tighter and shrugged. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. It’s only my second time in here. As an adult, anyway.”

  The woman’s expression softened. “Hey, don’t mind me. I was supposed to have the night off for a date. But the clown stood me up. So I figured I’d come in and make a little money instead.” Standing, the redhead extended her hand. “I’m Virginia.”

  “I’m Maggie. Maggie Monroe.” Shifting the bag, she shook hands with a smile. “Do you think I could have a moment with your boss? I have something I’d like to give her.”

  “Sure thing. But it could take a moment. She’s in back planning her pies for tomorrow.”

  “Her pies?”

  Virginia nodded. “The process is similar, I imagine, to the one scientists go through when they’re trying to figure out what gene to study next.” The woman stepped from behind the counter and indicated Maggie should follow. “So would you like to have a seat for a few moments? I could bring you something to drink while you’re waiting. Maybe a hot coffee or something?”

  “Make it a hot chocolate and you’ve got yourself a deal. It’s freezing out there,” she said, trailing the woman to a booth not far from the door.

  “Welcome to Lake Shire, Michigan.” Virginia stepped to the side, allowing Maggie access to the booth, and then plunked a menu down in front of her. “Just in case you’re hungry. You are in Delilah’s place, you know.”

  Maggie couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, trust me, I know.”

  Virginia looked over her shoulder before leaning close to Maggie’s ear. “If you ask me, her beef stew is the best thing on the menu. Well…that and the caramel pie.”

  Maggie’s stomach rumbled, an increasingly familiar sound she knew was a good sign. If nothing else, it meant the notion of food was no longer taboo.

  Virginia nodded knowingly. “I got you with the caramel pie, didn’t I?”

  “I think you did. Though, in all honesty, the mention of beef stew jettisoned me back to my grandma’s kitchen.” She tugged off her gloves and set them on the table, her attention momentarily diverted by the miniature Christmas tree poised on the ledge. The star ornaments that dangled from it branches held various sayings.

  Never stop dreaming.

  Reach for the stars.

  Hope.

  “That tree is my favorite. Not sure if it’s because it’s the newest of the bunch or because I like the little lift those words give me.” Virginia cleared her throat. “As for the stew…no offense to your grandma, but there’s no stew in this entire world that’s better than Delilah’s. Just doesn’t exist.”

  Maggie’s stomach rumbled again. On a whim, she pushed the menu back across the table, her mind made up. “I’ll take a small bowl of the stew.”

  “A small? You sure?” Scooping up the menu, Virginia conducted an all-too-obvious inspection of Maggie—from her ponytail to the dark denim jeans she’d tucked into soft leather boots.

  She nodded, wiggling out of her charcoal-gray parka as she did. “A small works.”

  “A small it is.” Virginia took a step back, then stopped. “And a hot chocolate, right?”

  “Right. And Delilah, too, when she’s free.”

  “And Delilah, too, when she’s free,” the woman repeated, before disappearing through a swinging door near the back of the diner.

  Once she was gone, Maggie looked back at the tree, her gaze settling on the last ornament she’d seen.

  Hope.

  “Hope,” she repeated to herself, the sound of the word making her sit upright. Hope was what she’d felt the last time she was here. Hope was what she’d felt while knitting alongside Delilah. And hope was what she’d felt while making the picture frames.

  The fact that two of the three were connected to Rory in some way made her pause before willing herself to read more of the ornaments.

  Hope is the spark that ignites dreams.

  She stared at the last one.

  Without hope there is no joy.

  Was that why she was finding it harder and harder to harness Natalie’s joy? Because she’d let hope die along with her daughter?

  The thought was sobering. And more than a little eye-opening.

  “Maggie, what a wonderful surprise!”

  Her head snapped upward. “Delilah, hi!”

  Wiping her hands on the cloth napkin wedged inside her apron strings, the robust woman with the warm eyes smiled from deep inside. “Hi, yourself. I hope you’re here to eat.”

  She laughed. “Actually, I wasn’t. But Virginia is rather persuasive.”

  Grinning broadly, Delilah slid onto the empty bench across from her. “And that’s exactly why I give her hours whenever she wants them. She’s good for the cash box.”

  “I can see that.” Maggie cast one more look in the direction of the little tree and its ornaments, and then placed the gift bag on the table. “I brought you something.”

  “Whatever for?” Delilah asked in surprise. “It’s not my birthday.”

  “It’s not supposed to be. This is for taking time out of your busy schedule to teach me to knit.”

  The woman reached for the bag and then stopped. “You took to it like a duck to water, from what I saw.”

  “We just practiced stitches.”

  “And then you made a scarf. A very good one.”

  She peered at her new friend. “How did you know I made a scarf?”

  Delilah pulled the bag closer. “Because he couldn’t have been any prouder. He showed it to practically everyone in the diner when he stopped by that afternoon. Heck, he even showed it off in the parking lot on the way to his truck.”

  Maggie felt her mouth gape open. “Rory did?”
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br />   “Did you make a scarf for anyone else?” Without waiting for a reply, the woman reached into the gift bag and pulled out the beaded frame, her own mouth dropping open. “Oh Maggie…it’s beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. Where on earth did you find this?”

  Shaking her head free of the sudden barrage of Rory-related images, she willed herself to follow the shift in topic. “I made it,” she said.

  Delilah looked up from the frame. “You made this?”

  She nodded.

  “Really?”

  She nodded again.

  “Maggie, I don’t know what to say!”

  “Don’t. It’s my way of saying thank-you. For teaching me something I’ve always wanted to learn.”

  “It was my pleasure.” Delilah turned the frame over and thrust it in her direction, followed by a pen. “Would you sign the back for me?”

  “Sign the back? Are you serious?”

  “It’ll be neat to say I knew you before you got all famous.”

  She couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of that statement. “Famous? It’s just a picture frame, Delilah.”

  “There’s nothing just about this, Maggie. You could make a lot of money with these kinds of things. Especially in a vacation town like this one.”

  “You really think so?” she asked, the woman’s words an echo of a sentiment she’d heard expressed in this very diner not more than three days earlier.

  “I really know so.” Delilah looked up as Virginia approached the table with Maggie’s stew. “Perfect timing. I have to get back into the kitchen and finish my pie choices.” She turned to Maggie. “Take your time with the stew. I’ll be back to visit in a few minutes.”

  Virginia set the bowl on the table in front of her. “Oh, my…that’s lovely,” she said as she pointed at the frame. “Where did that come from? I have to have one.”

  “Maggie made it. For me.”

  “You made this? Seriously?”

  Again Maggie nodded, an unfamiliar sense of pride enveloping her.

  “How much do you charge?”