She grabbed a turtleneck from another drawer and tugged it on over her head as she ran down the stairs. Opening the door with one hand, she reached for her coat with the other.
“That was fast. Thank you so much, Kirst – Sandy!” She stopped and stared at her friend. “What are you doing here at this hour?”
“I’ve been thinking about it and I’ve decided you’re wrong. You’re not doing the right thing.” Sandy brushed past her, unbuttoning her coat. “Go get dressed. If you hurry, you can catch him before he goes through secur – wait. You are dressed. But how did you know I was coming?”
“I didn’t.” Gwyn slid her arms into her coat. “I decided I was wrong too.”
“Well, it’s about bloody time.”
Gwyn took the keys from the hook by the closet door and picked up her purse from the bench. “Kirsten’s on her way over – can you stay until she gets here?”
“Of course – but exactly how many babysitters did you call?”
Gwyn paused in her search for gloves. “One, of course. Why?”
“Because I know Kirsten, but I don’t know her.” Sandy pointed out the door.
Gwyn peered at the dripping wet girl on the porch. Even if her face hadn’t been plastered all over the local news for the last week, she would have recognized her anywhere. With those eyes, she looked exactly like her father.
She set her purse down again. “Amy?”
“Mrs. Jacobs, I know this must be a surprise, but I’ve been thinking all day and all night and I can’t help but feel this is all my fault and I could never forgive myself if you let Gareth go because of me and I think you’d be making a terrible mistake and won’t you please go after him?”
After that number of words strung together in a single breath, Gwyn could do little more than gape in astonishment at her unexpected visitor.
“Please?” Amy whispered.
A throat cleared in the shadows beyond Amy’s shoulder. Gwyn sought the source of the sound, her gaze coming to rest on a petite blonde folding down an umbrella.
“Catherine Carlson,” the woman said, holding out her hand. “Amy’s mother. She woke me a half-hour ago and explained everything on the way over. Apparently she holds me at least partly responsible for the mess between you and Gareth. For the record, I think she’s right – both about me being responsible and about you going after him.”
Gwyn automatically shook hands, unable to formulate even a murmured hello. Amy stumbled through an explanation of having always relied on public transport and never bothering to get her driver’s license as the reason for dragging her mother into her relationship-rescue efforts. Beside her, Sandy stuck out a determined hand for her own introduction.
“Sandra Masters,” she said. “Gwyn’s friend. And her babysitter, if I can get her out the door.”
Amy looked stricken. “But where are you going?”
“Yes,” Kirsten’s voice joined in with a yawn as she climbed onto the porch, shaking raindrops from her umbrella. “Where are you going at this unearthly hour?”
“To the airport,” Sandy said briskly. She handed Gwyn’s gloves and a plaid umbrella to her and steered her out the door. “The roads are awful, so drive carefully, but hurry. You’ll have to catch him before he goes through security.”
Gwyn glanced at her watch. Four thirty-five.
Sandy smiled reassurance. “You’ll make it,” she promised. “Now go.”
“The kids – ”
“Will be fine. If they wake up, they can join the party. Ladies, who wants coffee?”
And just like that, Gwyn found herself driving through the pouring rain to the airport with a four-thirty a.m. coffee klatch going on in her house.
Chapter 45
Gareth slouched against the passenger door of Sean’s car, his elbow resting at the base of the window, fingers absently tracing his bottom lip. Rain sheeted against the window, distorting the view flashing past.
She hadn’t called.
He hadn’t really expected her to – or at least, he hadn’t thought he expected it – but he had hoped. Now the reality of her silence wedged like a brick beneath his ribs, making his every breath ache. Bloody hell, how he’d hoped. He’d waited until the last possible second before leaving Sean’s apartment – waited and hovered by the phone, but to no avail.
He rubbed his hand over gritty eyes. Even now, he couldn’t believe it was over. Couldn’t believe Gwyn had convinced him at last that this was what she wanted; that it was for the best. With every fiber of his being, he’d wanted to deny her words, to show her how very wrong she was.
But her desire for safety was so strong that it overshadowed everything else in her life, including him, and her simple, unequivocal “I want my life back” had been his final undoing. He just hadn’t been able to find the elusive argument to her twisted logic.
Gareth scowled at his reflection. Perhaps he’d been attempting the impossible all along. Maybe no logic even existed to counter the illogical. Maybe he’d just gone about the whole thing the wrong way.
A soft grunt of surprise escaped him.
“Something wrong?” Sean asked from the driver’s seat beside him.
“I’m not sure.” Gareth re-wound his thought process and played it over again in his mind. Was it possible? Could that really be the solution? Could it be that simple?
Gareth shifted in his seat and stared at his cousin. “Sean, how do you handle a complete lack of logic?”
“In an argument, you mean?” Sean shrugged. “I don’t.”
“But what if you want to win the argument?”
“It depends on how important winning is, I suppose. And how sure I am that I’m right.”
“You’re very sure. And you need to win.”
“Actions speak louder than words, cuz,” Sean said matter-of-factly. “And it took you long enough to figure it out.”
Gareth sighed. He really hated when Sean made those cryptic little remarks that seemed to have nothing whatsoever to do with the conversation.
“Figure what out?”
“That you won’t convince her with words. Or by giving up.”
Gareth glowered at his cousin. “And you didn’t share these words of wisdom with me before because - ?”
Sean snorted. “Let’s just say Gwyn hasn’t been the only one suffering from a certain amount of illogic.”
Taking a deep breath, Gareth counted to ten. Then to ten again. “Turn the car around.” he said. “I’m not going to the airport.”
“I know.”
“I – you know?”
“Mm. Another thing I was waiting for you to figure out.”
Gareth peered out into the rain-lashed, still-dark morning, taking real note of his surroundings for the first time. “We’re in Aylmer.”
“A block from Gwyn’s. I looked up her address this afternoon.”
Gareth struggled with conflicting desires to both hug his cousin and slug him. Before he could decide which action to take first, Sean pulled up on the street behind two other vehicles in front of Gwyn’s brightly lit house.
“Does your girlfriend always throw parties at five in the morning?” He slipped the car’s gear shift into park.
“Not that I’m aware of.” Gareth’s gaze settled on the empty driveway and his stomach sank. “Especially when she’s not home.”
Sean switched off the engine. “Well, we might as well see what’s going on.”
Mayhem, thought Gareth as Gwyn’s door swung open and a crowd of faces stared at him in dismay. That’s what was going on.
“You can’t be here!” a distraught Sandy squealed at him, very nearly dancing a jig on the spot. “You’re supposed to be at the airport!”
“Gareth?” a familiar voice asked with equal distress.
“Amy?” He stared at his daughter in bewilderment. “What are you doing here?”
“I brought her,” his ex-wife informed him coolly, balancing a scowling Nicholas on her hip. “The question is, what are y
ou doing here?”
“Catherine! What the hell is going on?”
And why was Nicholas staring at him with such a fierce expression?
A cacophony of voices followed, each so loud and excited he didn’t have a hope of picking out just one. He exchanged bemused looks with Sean, then held up both hands.
“Quiet!” he bellowed.
Instant silence reigned.
“Thank you.” He looked around the expectant faces and pointed to one. “You. Kirsten, isn’t it?”
Gwyn’s babysitter nodded.
Gareth took a deep breath, did his best to rein in his growing impatience, and grated, “Where the bloody hell is Gwyn?”
Kirsten looked at the watch on her wrist and stifled a yawn. “Halfway to the airport, probably.”
“Halfway – why?”
“Why do you think, you bloody dense oaf?” his ever-proper ex-wife asked. She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “She went to stop you from getting on the plane.”
He couldn’t help it. He gaped. “She what?”
“Go after her!” Amy’s voice urged.
“He’ll never make it,” someone else said.
More voices chimed in, their volume surging again.
“Maybe he should stay here – ”
“Maybe he’ll meet her halfway back – ”
“Maybe we could call the airport and ask them to page her – ”
The voices faded to meaningless noise as Gareth struggled to absorb the news. Gwyn had gone after him. She wanted to stop him. She’d changed her mind. She was at the airport.
And he was here.
His hand shot out and grasped Sean’s arm. “We have to go after her.”
But his cousin shook his head. “You’ll never make it. By the time we get there, she’ll be on her way back. You’re better off waiting for her here.”
“That will take forever.”
“It’ll take less time than driving out to the airport and back,” Sean pointed out. Then, with a mock-innocent grin, he added, “Besides, just think how fast time will pass with all these people to keep you company.”
Gareth stared again at the expectant faces, now joined by Maggie and Katie. He could handle the kids, he thought, but the others?
“Maybe you’d all like to go home?” he suggested hopefully. “You could still catch some sleep…”
“And miss the outcome?” Sandy demanded. “Not on your life.”
The others’ heads nodded agreement. With a sigh, Gareth resigned himself to his temporary fate. A tug on his pant leg drew his attention. He looked down into Maggie’s face and then dropped onto a knee beside her.
“Hey, Magpie, how are you doing?”
“Fine, thank you.” She stuck the tip of a finger into her mouth and leaned against his shoulder, regarding him curiously.
“What?” he asked.
“Are we having a party?” she asked.
“I don’t think so, sweetheart. At least, not yet. Maybe when your mum gets home we can think of something to celebrate.”
She nodded, then looked around as her brother placed his lips close to her ear and whispered something. Nicholas stepped away again, carefully staring at the floor, and Maggie turned back to Gareth.
“Nich’las wants to know if he still has to punch you in the nose.”
With a superhuman effort, Gareth swallowed his laughter and regarded her solemnly. “You tell Nicholas,” he said, “that I don’t think physical violence is any longer necessary.”
Maggie frowned in confusion at the lengthy sentence.
Gareth smiled. “No, love,” he said. “He doesn’t have to punch me anymore.”
Chapter 46
She’d missed him.
All that soul-searching, all that effort, all those people in her house rooting her on…
And she’d missed him.
Gwyn stared up at the departure screen. She’d made it to the airport in what she’d thought was record time and had camped out beside the security gate, certain she’d catch him before he passed through. Before he boarded. Before he left.
She’d stood, dripping onto the polished floor, drawing suspicious looks from security staff, anxiously scanning the faces of the passengers. She’d remained when the final boarding call came for his flight, and while the last few stragglers passed through the gates and disappeared.
Gareth hadn’t been among them.
Somehow, in spite of her efforts, he’d made it through the gate before she’d arrived. Disappeared into the belly of the airport where she couldn’t follow, couldn’t explain, couldn’t tell him how wrong she’d been.
And now the departures board blinked a cool green blink that said his plane was gone. On time. In spite of the weather. And she didn’t have a phone number for him, and she didn’t know his cousin’s last name, and she couldn’t ever reach him again -
And he would never know that she’d changed her mind.
***
Gwyn paused before opening the door, bracing to meet the crowd that waited for news on the other side. She could handle the questions, but the inevitable sympathy…
That might be another matter altogether.
Maybe they’d understand she needed some time and space. Maybe they’d look at her, instinctively grasp what had happened, and just leave without comment. Maybe.
Pushing open the door, she stepped into the front hall – and utter chaos.
“What happened?”
“Where have you been?”
“We were worried sick!”
“What took you so long?”
She stared in confusion at the faces confronting her, not one of them showing the kind of curiosity – or the compassion – that she’d expected.
“I was at the airport,” she said, thinking that they needed reminding for some bizarre reason, “trying to find Gareth. But I missed him.”
Saying it out loud brought a new, fresh pain and she caught her breath sharply. “I missed him,” she said again, whispering this time. “He’s gone.”
But instead of the offered arms or condolences that she decided might not be so bad after all, a fresh babble broke out among the gathered company.
And then, through the clamor of voices, her name. Softly spoken in deep, rich, unmistakable tones. Gwyn started. She stared.
One by one, the others quieted. One by one, they smiled and moved aside and departed in the direction of the kitchen, towing a protesting Nicholas with them past the figure standing halfway down the hall. Until no one stood between her and –
“Gareth?” she whispered, staring in disbelief. “But you’re on a plane to L.A. I couldn’t stop you.”
“On the contrary, you couldn’t make me go.”
“I – I couldn’t?”
He shook his head. “I decided you were wrong after all.”
“You did?”
“I decided,” he continued, beginning that slow, measured advance that always wreaked such havoc with her nervous system, “that if it takes the rest of my life, I will somehow convince you to trust me.”
She took an involuntary step back, coming up against the front door someone had closed. Gareth stopped a scant few inches away. He braced his right hand against the door beside her head, his left hand on the other side. A familiar, sweet ache began low in her belly. She breathed in his scent. Minty, musky, all male.
“I’m not Jack, Gwyn.”
“I know.”
“Say it,” he demanded.
“You’re not Jack,” she whispered.
Gareth’s mouth, so near her own, curved with grim satisfaction. She lifted her gaze to the banked fire glowing in the depths of his eyes.
“You’re Gareth Connor,” she said. “The man I love. The man I trust.”
Gareth drew a ragged breath.
“God – you so very nearly convinced me – ”
She put her hand to his mouth, stopping his words. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I was afraid – not just for the kids, but for
me, too. I couldn’t face losing you – ”
“So you sent me away?” he asked dryly. He took her hand in one of his and pressed his lips to her palm. “I was so tied up inside over hurting you that it almost seemed logical,” he admitted. “I just wanted to make it better for you.”
“You did,” she said. “You came back.”
His gaze darkened. “And I will never, ever leave.”
Gwyn shook her head. “I don’t need promises, Gareth – ”
“Perhaps not, but I need to make them. I love you, Gwynneth with two n’s, and I will not leave you, do you understand?”
Her breath caught in her chest. She nodded. “I understand,” she whispered.
“Good,” Gareth growled, tipping her face up to his. “And now that we’ve cleared that up – ”
“Mommy?” Nicholas’ voice queried politely.
Gareth went rigid against her. He sighed. “Or perhaps not.”
He turned his head, tipped his chin down, and regarded her son with a wry patience she admired tremendously, given her own desire to scream.
“Yes, Nicholas, we’re kissing,” he said. “Or trying to.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“Of course it wasn’t.” Gareth shot Gwyn a long-suffering look. Removing his hands from her hips, he stepped away with a muffled groan. Then he turned his full attention to the little boy. “Right then. How can we help you?”
“Katie says you and Mommy are in love.”
Gareth quirked an eyebrow at her. “Ever notice how your eldest always seems to be the instigator behind these interruptions?”
He slid his hands into his pockets, leaned against the wall beside the living room doorway, and regarded Nicholas with utmost seriousness. “What exactly is your question, Nicholas?”
“If you are in love, does that mean we’re getting married?”
Gwyn caught her breath, heat rising from her neck to scorch her face. “Lord, Nicholas,” she groaned, “how in the world do you come up with these things?”
“Katie told me to ask!” her son replied indignantly.
Gareth chuckled and shot her an I told you so look, then turned his attention back to Nicholas. “Do you think we should get married?”
Nicholas eyed him. “If we do, can I have two bedtime stories and watch cartoons before school?”
Gwynneth Ever After Page 22
