Storybook Dad (Harlequin American Romance)

by Bradford, Laura

  She didn’t need his touch. She didn’t need him, period.

  “I assume that’s the paperwork Stan said he’d send over?” She pointed to the envelope under Mark’s arm, and then reached for it at his nod. “I’ll look it over, sign what needs to be signed and have Trish bring it by the foundation before week’s end. Will that work?”

  He relinquished his grasp on the packet and nodded. “Uh…yeah. That should be just fine.”

  “Well, then, we’re done here, yes?” Without waiting for a response, she wrapped her fingers around the edge of the door and tried to push it closed. But when it was just shy of the click, Mark pushed it back open.

  “Emily, please. We need to talk about it.”

  “I’m sure the paperwork is self-explanatory. If I hit a snag, I’ll call the office.”

  He moved his hand from the door to her cheek. “No. We need to talk about what happened the other night. With us.”

  She covered his hand with hers and closed her eyes for a moment, her heart in a losing battle with her head. “There is no us, Mark. Now go home. Be with Seth.”

  “But—”

  Fighting back tears, she kept her voice as steady as possible when she said, “I’d ask you to give him a hug for me and tell him once again how glad I am he’s safe and sound, but I also know you don’t want me tarnishing his world with my sickly presence.”

  Again, she tried to close the door. And again, Mark stopped it with his hand.

  “Please, Emily. I need to talk to you. For me and for Seth.”

  * * *

  HE SUPPOSED HE SHOULD look around, maybe comment on the framed photographs or various knickknacks he couldn’t quite make out from his spot on her living room sofa, but Mark couldn’t.

  Not yet, anyway.

  All that mattered at that exact moment was finding a way to explain himself and his actions in a way that would wipe the hurt from her big brown eyes once and for all.

  “I didn’t shut down on you yesterday morning because I didn’t care, or because I’d gotten what I wanted and I was done with you.” He leaned forward and studied her, her defensive posture alerting him to the battle he had ahead. “Please tell me you know that, Emily. Please.”

  When she didn’t respond, he continued, his desire to cross the space between them and pull her into his arms almost more than he could handle.

  Take it slowly, buddy…

  “You touched something inside me the first moment I laid eyes on you in that orienteering class. It was like someone opened the curtains on my world for the first time in over a year.” He saw her swallow, and knew he had her ear, if nothing else. “I guess you could say that part was all physical attraction, and maybe you’d even be right. I mean, look at you! You have the most expressive eyes and breathtaking smile I’ve ever seen. I’d be a fool if I didn’t notice that, Emily. I’d be a fool, too, if I didn’t find the way your hair curls around the edges of your face sexy as all get-out. And I’d be a blind fool if I couldn’t see how unforgettable your body is.”

  A hint of red tinged her cheeks and he felt his body react almost instantly. “But it wasn’t just a physical reaction. I’ve seen attractive women before—they’re on virtually every corner, if you’re of a mind to look. But that initial reaction to you was different, and I’m not sure how, exactly, to explain it beyond that. And then you started talking, and I found myself getting excited about things. Important things like life…and living.”

  “I’m glad my class impacted you like that,” she whispered.

  He dropped his hands to his thighs and stood up, his attention trained on the woman seated on the other side of the room. “It wasn’t the class that impacted me like that, Emily. It was you.

  “It’s one of the reasons I took Seth fishing that night. Because I needed to clear my head. I’ve only been a widower for six months now, Emily. Six months. What kind of heel can have feelings like that for another woman within six months?”

  He was mentally chastising himself for the way his voice was growing raspy when she finally looked up, her eyes fixed on his. “And then there you were…as gorgeous and fun as you’d been in the classroom and in the woods, and you were making my son smile.”

  Running a hand across his mouth, Mark tried to rein in the emotions that threatened to annihilate the courage that had him talking in the first place. “It wasn’t an I’ll-smile-because-Daddy-just-told-me-a-silly-joke smile or a hooray-we’re-having-ice-cream smile, Emily. It was a real one—the kind I haven’t seen on his face in far too long.”

  “I got as much from Seth as he got from me that night,” she finally said. “He made me smile a real smile, too.”

  “A real smile?” Mark repeated.

  She uncrossed her arms and laced her fingers together, twisting them ever so slightly. “Ever since I was diagnosed six months ago, I feel like everyone is always looking at me funny—my mom, Kate, Trish…My clients don’t know, of course, but that’s a different relationship, anyway. But with Seth, it was like he saw me. The real me. The me that even I was beginning to doubt was still there.”

  Mark took a tentative step forward and gestured to the vacant space on the sofa beside Emily. “May I?”

  A pause gave way to the faintest of nods.

  “It all came crashing down, though, on the way home in the car after pizza. Suddenly that smile on Seth’s face was gone, and in its place was worry.” Shifting his body, Mark reached for her hand, then stopped, uncertain. “Seth is only four, Emily. Four. He’s not supposed to worry about anything beyond which kind of milk he wants, chocolate or regular, and which crayon will make his latest castle the most glittery. Yet there he was, sitting in the backseat…worried about you.”

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

  Pushing aside any residual hesitation, Mark took her hand and squeezed it gently. “No, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t call and explain when I decided to bail on the rock climbing because of my own hang-up. But I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was protecting my son from another broken heart.”

  Emily tried to pull her hand away, but Mark held on tight. “That’s what I don’t get,” she stated. “How was rock climbing with me going to break Seth’s heart?”

  “I saw the worry on his face after spending only two, maybe three hours with you. Can you imagine the concern he’d have for you after really getting to know you?”

  At the understanding in her eyes, Mark continued, his voice breaking once again. “I promised Sally I would look after Seth. That I would do everything in my power to keep him happy and safe. And the way I was seeing it at the time, allowing him to get close with someone I knew to be sick would be like purposely ignoring that promise.”

  “But I’m not going to die from this, Mark. I may not ever show any outward signs that anything’s wrong at all.”

  “I know that now. But even so, there’s also a possibility that you could be in a wheelchair in five years. Such a fate for someone as active as you would be awful. Seth is the kind of kid who feels that. Truly feels that.”

  The slump of her shoulders told Mark she understood.

  “But when I saw you again after we didn’t show up for the lesson, and we spent all that time together at Kate’s, and then later on the climbing walls at your office, it was like I’d forgotten all the reasons I had to stay away from you. And when we made love…in my bed…I was whole again. Until Seth called, anyway. And that’s when I remembered that my job, my promise, has m
e being a father first.”

  “And so you put up a wall,” she mused.

  “Yeah, I put up a wall.” Taking hold of her other hand, Mark slowly lifted it to his lips and brushed a kiss across her fingertips. “But Seth and Kate made me see that that wall isn’t just holding back potential hurt and pain, it’s also holding back any chance at true love. For me and for Seth.”

  Mark watched as Emily closed her eyes and worked to steady her breathing, his own hitching in response when she finally looked at him again through tear-dappled lashes. “True love?” she rasped.

  “True love.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Emily wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around Mark and shed the happy tears that were making it difficult to see.

  This man loved her. Loved her so much that he was willing to take a chance with his heart and that of his son’s.

  On her.

  She’d dreamed of a moment like this for more than half her life. Yet now that it was here, she knew it couldn’t be. Not for her, anyway.

  To let Mark and his son love her would be unfair.

  Slipping her left hand from his, she wiped a finger beneath her eyes, dislodging all tears. “I appreciate what it must have taken for you to come here and say these things to me. And I’m touched. I truly am. But I don’t want a relationship, with you or anyone else.”

  He pulled her hand from her face and held it tightly, scooting closer as he did. “Look, I know I was a jerk, Emily. But I was wrong. I know that.”

  “Maybe you were, maybe you weren’t. But as for you and me, it’s not going to happen.” She hated how cruel she sounded, but it needed to be said.

  This time, when she pulled her hands away, he let them go, the bewilderment in his face impossible to miss. “Emily. I don’t get this. I’m telling you I love you. I want you to be a part of Seth’s and my future.”

  She drew back. “Your future?”

  “Of course. What do you think I’ve been trying to say?”

  Silence fell between them as she let his words sink in, their meaning, their sincerity making her wish things were different. That she was different. But she wasn’t.

  She pushed herself off the couch and wandered over to the fireplace, where the countless photographs lined the mantel. There was the picture of her and Kate on a river in Tennessee, the look of horror on her friend’s face as they paddled through rapids a stark contrast to the grin on Emily’s face. There was the photograph she’d taken while rappelling down a rock wall in Montana. And the gag one Kate had framed of Emily’s hair after a week of survival camping in the Colorado Rockies.

  Each picture represented a milestone along her path to fulfilling some of her biggest dreams. No, there weren’t any wedding poses or cute babies smiling out from any of the frames, but that was okay. In just over thirty years, she’d accomplished more of her dreams than most people did in a lifetime.

  “You’re in need of a few new pictures, don’t you think?”

  She spun around to find Mark standing not more than a foot away. “Excuse me?”

  “You missed a picture in your office and, because of that, you’re missing a few here.” He motioned toward the photographs in front of them and smiled. “Fortunately for you, I have one of them with me.”

  Unsure of what he was talking about, she followed him over to the packet she’d set on the coffee table, and watched as he opened the back flap, withdrawing an all-too-familiar, golden-hued paper.

  Emily lifted her hands. “How did you get that?”

  Holding the whimsically illustrated page next to his face, he flashed his best knee-weakening smile. “Notice the hair?” He pointed from the prince’s head to his own. “Do you see the color?”

  “It’s Milk Chocolate,” she whispered.

  “Uh-huh…” He pointed to his own hair once again, before drawing her attention back to the picture. “And the eyes? What were those? Royal something or other?”

  She swallowed and shook her head. “Ocean Wave Blue.”

  “Ocean Wave Blue, eh?” He smirked. “Uh-huh. Got those, too, don’t I? And if you use just a little imagination, you’ll see that my muscles aren’t so far off, either.” He hooked an arm upward and flexed his biceps, eliciting a laugh from her.

  When her laughter began to fade, he grabbed her hand once again. “I can be this guy, Emily. I can be your prince. I just happen to have a second, and far cuter, prince in tow. That’s the only difference.”

  Oh, how she wished that were true.

  Wriggling her hand free of his, she took the drawing and turned it so he could see the whole picture. “But that’s not the only difference, Mark. Not by a long shot.”

  “Then help me see what I’m missing,” he pleaded.

  She smacked her free hand against the other figure depicted there. “She’s different!”

  “Not really.” He stepped forward and, reaching out, captured a piece of Emily’s hair between his fingers. “Same blond locks, just a little shorter.” He released it and brushed the back of his hand down the side of her face. “Eyes are just as big and brown as ever. Though you left off one of my favorite parts when you opted not to draw in your freckles.”

  She closed her eyes against a burning that had nothing to do with happiness and everything to do with the fact that her heart was breaking over the one dream she knew she couldn’t have, no matter how desperately she wished otherwise. When she opened them again, she saw the face of a man who’d spent the past thirty minutes being honest about his feelings. The least she could do was do the same.

  “I’m not talking about the stuff you can see. I’m talking about the stuff you can’t.”

  “Like what? Because I can’t see your spirit in this drawing, but it’s plain as the nose on my face. And I can’t see inside your heart in this, either, but I saw it when you made Seth feel special on the beach, and at the pizza parlor later that same night. And I felt it when we were together at Kate’s barbecue, and when we held each other after we’d made love.”

  “Stop!” she shouted. “I’m not talking about that kind of stuff. I’m talking about being a burden.”

  He held up his palms. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. A burden? A burden to whom?”

  “To you, to Seth, to anyone who signs on to spend their life with me.” She allowed herself one more glance at the drawing she’d been so proud of twenty years earlier, and then tossed it into the hearth, to be burned on the first cool night. “I may not die from this disease, but I might very well be in a wheelchair or wasting away on a couch, making you feel as if you can’t enjoy your life or Seth’s because you’re stuck at home taking care of me. And then what kind of life will you have? What kind of life will Seth have?”

  “Emily, hold on a minute. Wasn’t it you who said you might live out the rest of your days as if nothing was wrong with you?”

  “Might is the key word, Mark. Might. That’s not enough of an assurance for me.”

  “And if the worst case happens, I’ll take care of you. I’ll carry you to the car so we can go for a drive. I’ll carry you up the side of a mountain so we can have a picnic with a view. I’ll carry you to bed so I can make love to you and then hold you all night. And I’ll do all of those things because I want to.”

  “Carry me?” she spit. “Carry me? Oh, no…” She crossed the living room with quick, even strides and stopped just shy of the front door. “A very wise man recently told me something that will stay with me forever. He said we come int
o this life alone, and we’ll leave it that way, too. So living it that way from point A to point B really isn’t such an awful thing.”

  “Awful? Maybe not. But sad? You bet it is.”

  She felt the sting in her eyes and knew it wouldn’t be long before tears made it past her lashes. “He’s not sad. He’s determined. Like me.”

  “Maybe he is. And if he is, then good for him. But being determined and allowing yourself to love and be loved aren’t mutually exclusive things, Emily. Sure, you made all those pictures on your office wall come true on your own. That’s awesome. But is there any reason those same dreams couldn’t have come true with a supportive partner by your side? I don’t think so. And if that supportive partner can step in and make things a little easier along the way, is that so wrong?”

  “Maybe I want to do it by myself.”

  “Do you?” Mark pressed. “Do you really? Because I don’t think you do—”

  She opened the door and stepped to the side to indicate her desire for him to leave. “I won’t push this disease off on anyone else. It’s mine to live with, not yours.”

  After several long moments, Mark joined her by the door, the determination in his eyes taking her breath away. “Love isn’t a burden, Emily. It’s a journey. Through good times and bad. And I for one would rather have five minutes of wonderful than a lifetime of nothing special.”

  She brought her hand to her mouth in an effort to stifle the sobs that were building. “I never wanted to be carried through life. I wanted to be the perfect wife, the perfect mother.”

  “And being in a wheelchair negates that?”

  “When your child wants to play with blocks and you have to watch from five feet away, yes. When you want to make your husband his favorite dinner, but can’t because the ingredients you need are too high for you to reach from a seated position, yes. When you can’t walk your child to the bus stop, hand in hand, on his first day of school, yes.”