Gwynneth Ever After

by Linda Poitevin

  “You look completely done in,” he said, his voice gruff. “Let me stay and get Nicholas ready for you. I assume Katie can get herself ready?”

  “Yes, but – ”

  “You’re going to be up most of the night, remember? You may as well take advantage of me while you can.”

  At his choice of words, Gwyn’s eyes flashed up to meet his, but the expression there seemed quite benign. Feeling like Maggie’s “effelant” had migrated to her stomach, along with a great many of its friends, she asked, “Are you sure?”

  “Of course. You get Maggie into a tub, and Nicholas can show me the routine.”

  “All right. Thank you.” She meant it from the bottom of her heart, and his smile told her he knew that.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Gwyn paused in the kitchen doorway. “Oh, and Gareth?”

  He turned.

  “He gets one story,” she said. “Not three. And yes, he has to brush his teeth, and no, he can’t sleep in his clothes so he can be ready early in the morning to watch cartoons.”

  “Are you telling me your son is a con artist?”

  “Yes.”

  He chuckled. “Gotcha. Do you want me to get Katie moving, too?”

  “Tell her she has fifteen more minutes.”

  Chapter 12

  Gwyn sat on the closed toilet seat, watching Maggie swim “like a mermaid” in the bathtub. Chin propped in hand and elbow resting on knee, she listened to the sounds drifting to her from down the hallway. It felt so odd, sitting here while someone else tended her child–

  No, that wasn’t quite true. Many times Sandy or another friend had pitched in with the kids’ evening routine, and she’d listened to them without this strange hollowness beneath her ribs. This was different.

  Maggie drew her attention to her swimming attempts, and Gwyn dutifully watched and praised. But her attention again, drawn by the voices from Nicholas’ room. The high-pitched giggles and shrieks of her little boy mingled with the deep tenor belonging to Gareth.

  She sucked in a quick breath. That was it. Nicholas had never had a man ready him for bed before. Sandy’s husband, Rob, had played ball with him in the back yard or taken him fishing on occasion, but he’d never participated in the more intimate family routines. No man ever had. Gwyn’s dates had been rare at best, had never amounted to anything approaching serious, and had never, ever touched her children’s lives.

  Nicholas laughed again. Her heart constricted.

  Katie came in to brush her teeth, pausing to give her an enormous hug.

  Gwyn returned the gesture in surprise. “What was that for?”

  “You looked sad,” Katie said. “I wanted to make you happy.”

  “I’m not sad, sweetie,” Gwyn denied, with a tiny laugh. “I have you and Maggie and Nicholas. How could I possibly be sad? But thank you for the hug anyway.”

  …you and Maggie and Nicholas…

  But never any man. She’d been so busy protecting her children that she’d never stopped to consider that she might have deprived them, too. Until now.

  “Right, here’s another one for teeth,” Gareth said, making an appearance in the bathroom doorway with a giggling, pajama’d Nicholas slung over his shoulder. “Where shall I dump him?”

  “In the baftub!” Maggie shouted, joining in her brother’s laughter.

  Gareth glanced at Gwyn. “I see the oatmeal bath is working magic,” he observed.

  He swung Nicholas off his shoulder and set him on a stool beside Katie, who handed him his toothbrush.

  Gwyn pulled herself together, tucking her thoughts away until she could take them out and examine them again later. When it was safe to do so. When Gareth was gone.

  “It generally does, as long as they remain in it. And as long as the spots are in the right places. Poor Katie had most of hers on her face – they were a little hard to soak in a tub.” She grimaced at the memory.

  “Don’t most kids get this at the same time as their siblings?” Gareth asked. “Weren’t the twins born yet?”

  “Yes, but they were only a few months old, and they managed to avoid it. At the time, it was a blessing. It was my first year on my own. I’m not sure I could have handled all three.” Gwyn tapped Nicholas on the shoulder and held out her hand for his toothbrush. He handed it over obediently and opened his mouth for her to continue the brushing job.

  She looked up at a suddenly quiet Gareth and found his dark brows almost converged over his nose.

  “What?” she asked.

  He shook his head, the frown clearing. “Nothing,” he said.

  But he somehow managed to give her the impression of the exact opposite.

  She went back to brushing Nicholas’ teeth, acutely aware of Gareth’s eyes following her every movement. Katie finished her own teeth, dropped her brush into the holder on the counter, and sidled past Gwyn. She paused to drop a kiss on top of Maggie’s head.

  “’Night, Mags. Hope you’re better soon.” She looked hopefully at Gwyn. “Can you still read me a story, Mommy?”

  “Of course, sweetie. We’ll read the next chapter.” Gwyn watched her trot off with a wide, happy grin, then glanced at Gareth.

  “Harry Potter,” she explained. “Sandy gave it to her for her birthday and we’re almost done. All right, bud,” she said to Nicholas. “You’re done. Rinse and spit, then have a drink.”

  Nicholas complied, then turned to Gareth. “Ready!” he announced, sliding his small hand into the man’s. “We can read the Grinch.”

  Gareth looked doubtful. “Isn’t it a bit early for Christmas stories?”

  Gwyn laughed. “Are you kidding? We read that one year round. You ought to try it on a sticky July afternoon.” She leveled a severe look at her son and reminded him, “One story, Nicholas. And no hassling Gareth.”

  To the sounds of Gareth’s deep voice drifting in from the twins’ room, Gwyn dried off Maggie, slathered her spots with calamine lotion, then dressed her in fresh pajamas. Together, they tiptoed into the bedroom, finding Katie drawn there as well, and settled onto Maggie’s bed to listen to the rest of the story, brought to magical life in a way that Gwyn had never achieved.

  The story ended, and Gareth looked up at them all from the rocking chair, his eyes twinkling. “What’s this, an audience?”

  “We couldn’t help ourselves,” Gwyn said. “That was marvelous.”

  “You were even better than Auntie Sandy,” Katie told him.

  “High praise indeed,” Gwyn said. “Sandy has been the world’s best storyteller around here for years.”

  Gareth chuckled. “My agent will be pleased to know I’m making a reputation for myself.” He looked down at Nicholas, nestled into the crook of his arm, and handed him the book. “I think this makes it your bedtime, my friend.”

  Nicholas took the book and slid off Gareth’s lap. He cast a sly, pleading glance at Gwyn. “Just one more?” he asked.

  Gwyn raised an eyebrow. With a defeated sigh, her son crossed the room to replace the book on the shelf. Minutes later, both he and Maggie were tucked into bed, and Gwyn began the final kiss-and-hug routine.

  Or what used to be the final one.

  Tonight, as she leaned over Maggie, her daughter whispered a request in her ear. Gwyn smiled past a lump in her throat.

  “I’ll ask,” she said. She looked over at Gareth, waiting in the doorway. “Maggie would like to know if she could please have a kiss and a hug from you, too.”

  Gratified surprise flickered across Gareth’s expression and he detached himself from the door post.

  “I would be honored,” he said. He duly delivered a kiss-hug to first Maggie, and then at Nicholas’ demand, to him as well, before joining Gwyn at the door again.

  She pulled the door partway closed, reminded Maggie to call her if she woke up, and turned to find Gareth leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. Her heart skipped a beat, then, when she met his dark gaze, skipped several more. Visions of their parting s
cene the night before danced through her head. She smoothed damp palms against her skirt.

  “How long do you think she’ll sleep?” Gareth asked, nodding towards Maggie’s door.

  “If I’m lucky? An hour or two. I’ll just keep giving her baths as she needs them, and then bring her into bed with me when I come up later.”

  “You’re going to be tired tomorrow.”

  “Nothing I haven’t been before, I can assure you,” she said dryly. “Parenthood and exhaustion are synonymous, didn’t you know?”

  A shuttered expression crossed Gareth’s eyes, so fast it was gone before she really had time to register it. He changed the subject. “How are Nicholas and Katie getting to school in the morning?”

  “My neighbor is chauffeuring Nicholas to and from kindergarten for me, and Katie’s friend’s mother will pick her up on their way.”

  “Good.” He nodded, seeming satisfied that she’d covered all the bases. “Are you ready for a cup of tea or something?”

  The or something held distinct appeal, but Gwyn managed to hold her tongue. “I’d love a cup of tea, but are you sure you have time? I don’t want to keep you if you have other plans.”

  “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

  Heat crept across Gwyn’s cheeks. “Of course not. I just thought – I meant – ”

  “You tuck Katie in. I’ll put on the kettle.”

  She was only too happy to make her escape.

  Chapter 13

  Gareth watched a wisp of steam drift from the kettle. On the counter beside the stove, a tray stood ready. He sent it a baleful glance. Sugar, milk, spoons, teapot…and one cup.

  One, because he still held the other in a death grip while common sense wrestled romantic fancy.

  One, because no matter how much he wanted to stay, he shouldn’t. Should never have come here in the first place. He rubbed his stubbled jaw with one hand and scowled at the offending mug he held in the other.

  What in the hell did he think he was playing at here, anyway? Why couldn’t he just be sensible and walk away? Breaking promises to Catherine, keeping secrets from Gwyn…

  He raked his hand through his hair.

  It wasn’t as if he hadn’t met attractive, sexy, intriguing women before, because he had. Many of them. Some had been mistakes from the very start, some had made a deeper impression than others…

  A metallic hiss vibrated through the copper kettle on the stove, and steam wisped from its spout.

  But none had been like Gwyn.

  None had surprised him with a quirky honesty as enchanting as it was refreshing. None had made him, with a simple note of weariness in her voice, want to drop his own life so that he could make hers a little easier. None had made all his complications fade away with nothing more than her smile.

  And none had ever made him stand in a kitchen debating the addition of a second cup to a tea tray.

  He hefted the cup in his hand. Well, Connor? You know you want to…and you know you shouldn’t. What’s it going to be?

  Things would be so much simpler if he could just be honest with Gwyn. But he’d given his word to Catherine to keep Amy a secret until Amy herself decided to make their relationship public. With so much at stake, he would not – could not – break the first promise, however indirectly made, he’d ever given his daughter. Not for anyone.

  So, did he put this second cup on the tray, continue to deceive Gwyn for the moment, see where this spark led, and hope that she understood when she eventually found out? Or did he turn around, walk away, keep his promises intact, and, for the rest of his life, wonder what if?

  Gareth sighed. Bloody hell. When he put it like that…

  He set the cup on the tray.

  ***

  For the second evening in a row, Gwyn’s belly twisted into knots as she descended the stairs. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so distracted. Lord, she’d stumbled so many times over reading to Katie that her poor daughter had finally heaved an exasperated sigh, taken the book out of her hands, and told her they’d continue tomorrow.

  Not even the resulting guilt had stilled her thoughts of Gareth.

  He waited for her in the sitting room. A tea tray sat on the wooden trunk, her CD of Bach’s violin concertos played quietly in the background, and Gwyn’s stomach did three complete flips before she even stepped down into the room.

  He looked up from a magazine as she walked around the trunk to join him on the couch. “Break time?”

  “Until the next round,” Gwyn agreed. She motioned at the tray. “Thank you for making the tea.”

  “You’re welcome. I won’t stay long, I know you have work to do tonight.”

  “Not nearly as much as I’d have if you hadn’t taken over the kids.” She perched on the edge of the couch, her hands alternately pleating and smoothing the fabric of her skirt. “You’re very good with them, you know.”

  “And they’re very good kids,” he returned lightly. He leaned forward and lifted the teapot from the tray. He poured a little into one of the mugs. “Strong enough for you?”

  Gwyn nodded. He filled her cup, added the bit of milk she requested, and passed it to her. Stirring it, she watched him pour his own. Curiosity finally got the better of her.

  “Do you have any of your own?”

  Gareth raised a dark eyebrow. “Any what?”

  “Kids. You’re so natural with them, I thought maybe…” she trailed off.

  Gareth’s hand hovered over his cup for an instant, holding a teaspoonful of sugar. Then he dumped the white crystals into the milky liquid and stirred. “I’ve never considered myself much in the way of father material,” he said brusquely.

  Surprise made her speak honestly – and without thinking. “Are you kidding? You’d be wonderful!” It occurred to her how her words might sound, coming from a single mother, and she felt her face heat up. “That is – I mean – ”

  Gareth slanted her a crooked, reassuring smile. “I know what you mean. And thank you.”

  The strains of Bach floated into the awkward silence between them. Gwyn rested her elbows on her knees and cradled her cup in her hands.

  “Can I ask you something?” Gareth’s voice sounded studiously casual.

  Gwyn stilled. So they’d come to the personal things at last, had they? She sipped her tea. Well, she supposed she’d started it.

  “Of course.”

  “Where is he now?”

  She didn’t pretend not to understand. “Somewhere on the planet, one would presume,” she said, her voice devoid of expression.

  “He doesn’t see the kids?”

  “Jack isn’t what anyone would consider much in the way of father material.”

  “What happened?”

  Gwyn sent him a sidelong glance.

  “You don’t really want to hear the sordid details of my life, do you?” she asked, in a dry attempt at levity.

  Gareth’s eyes flicked to meet hers, brooding and intense. “Humor me.”

  She held his gaze a moment, then looked down into her cup again. “Jack decided he couldn’t handle the responsibilities of being a father. He went out to get milk one night, a week after Nicholas and Maggie were born, and called three days later to tell me he wouldn’t be coming home again.”

  Gareth frowned. “You must have had problems before that.”

  She snorted softly. “To this day, I can’t remember the slightest warning sign. We had the usual arguments, but I thought things were pretty normal. He was thrilled when Katie was born – took her everywhere with him. And when we found out I was expecting twins, he called everyone he knew to tell them the news. Apparently once they were born, however, he panicked. He said he could have handled one child, maybe even two. But three – especially with twins – were more than he could deal with.” She took another swallow of tea and tried again to lighten the conversation. “See? I told you that you didn’t want to hear the details.”

  Gareth ignored her attempt. “Does he ever ask
to see them?”

  “He did once, about a year after he left. My lawyer notified him that I was seeking sole custody and the next day he turned up on the doorstep with his new girlfriend. She wanted to see the kids for herself before they decided whether or not he should sign the papers.”

  Gareth muttered a harsh expletive. Gwyn shot him a wicked grin.

  “Not to worry,” she said. “Nicholas had the flu that day. He threw up all over the girlfriend’s designer suit the minute she picked him up. Two days later, Jack signed over custody.”

  A muscle flexed in Gareth’s tight jaw. “He was an idiot,” he said bluntly.

  Gwyn’s fingers tightened on her cup. She didn’t reply.

  “It must have been hard on the kids.”

  The comment sounded harsher than she might have expected, as if it had been torn from him against his will, and Gwyn sent him a curious look.

  “Maggie and Nicholas never knew him,” she pointed out. “But it was hard on Katie. It was three years before she stopped asking when he was coming home.” She paused, feeling her throat close. She hadn’t been down this road in a long time, she reflected, and for good reason. “She thought she’d done something wrong – something to make Daddy angry. She cried herself to sleep for months. I think I could have ripped him apart those nights.”

  She swallowed the lump that accompanied the memories. Stop, she told herself. You’ve said too much already.

  But Gareth’s questions hadn’t finished.

  “What if he wants to come back into their lives one day?” He turned to look at her, his eyebrows a single dark slash above his flat gaze. “Will you let him?”

  A question she’d asked herself many, many times. And one she’d been so very, very glad she hadn’t yet had to answer.

  She thought of her daughter’s tiny body shaking with sobs, and the times that she’d had to leave her little girl to weep alone at night while she’d tended the needs of newborn twins. Tears blurred her vision, threatened to overflow. She blinked them away angrily, appalled at her weakness.