The Surprise of a Lifetime

by Emilie Richards

  What if Devin wasn’t home, after all? What if he didn’t want to see her?

  The taxi slowed to a near halt. “I don’t know if we’re going to make it, miss,” the driver said. “It looks like they’ve got the road blocked ahead.”

  “No!” Robin peered out the windshield and saw what the driver meant. There were wooden barriers equipped with reflectors across the road.

  “Happens sometimes when the roads get too slick. Too bad. We’re not that far.”

  “How close are we?”

  “Three, four minutes. You could walk it in ten.”

  The taxi slowed to a stop. The road was wide enough to turn around, although Robin certainly didn’t want to watch as the driver got that close to the mountain’s edge. She quickly considered her alternatives. She could go back into town and find a hotel. Then tomorrow she could call Devin directly or call his attorney, explain where she was and ask him to have Devin call her. Devin could send someone to get them.

  If he still wanted them.

  She didn’t think she could wait that long to find out. “Is it just along this road?”

  “Straight up the road. I been here before. There’s an iron gate on the left.”

  “I can’t carry my luggage.”

  “I’ll take it back with me, if that’s what you want. I’m going home anyway. I can leave it in the cab. I’ll bring it up first thing in the morning if the roads are clear.”

  Robin trusted him. And she had nothing with her that was valuable, anyway. “Can you wait while I put the baby in his snowsuit?”

  “I can wait.”

  Minutes later she was heading into the snow, Nich­olas tucked firmly against her hip. The fussing had stopped the instant they left the taxi. He was exhausted from the trip, but the snow was a new pleasure. She didn’t know how long he would be contented, but at least he was snug and warm. The snowsuit was one Devin had sent him from a catalog, and it was filled with down.

  She was wearing ankle-high boots with heels that dug into the snow and helped speed her on her way. But when she’d made her decision, she hadn’t considered that ten minutes straight up the road meant exactly that. The road was steep, and the air was thin as well as cold. Nicholas was not a small burden. She was tired almost immediately.

  For a moment she considered going back. She turned to look for the cab. Through the snow she could still see lights, but they were rear lights. And as she watched, they grew dimmer.

  She had nowhere to go but up. Her choice had been made.

  “Okay, St. Nick,” she murmured. “I’m game if you are. We’re on our way to see Daddy.”

  “Da!”

  She smiled in spite of herself. Then she said a short prayer that Devin and Nicholas would someday forgive her for what she had done. She had never been a coward, but Jeff’s death had changed her, and not for the better. Afterward she had told herself that life was short and it was important to live it joyfully. But the real lesson she had learned was fear. Fear of pain, fear of taking chances, fear of falling in love again and losing.

  She started to hum. She had gone a hundred yards be­fore she realized what she was humming. It was the lullaby that Devin had often sung to Nicholas, the one he was using in “Heartland.”

  “Remember that?” she asked Nicholas. He held out his mittened hand to catch snowflakes.

  She had a long steep road ahead of her. This wasn’t going to be an easy hike. But suddenly Robin didn’t care. She was glad she had left the warmth and safety of the cab. Glad she was out in the middle of a snowstorm. She was going to be fine. She and Nicholas were going to be fine. They were going to find Devin. She was going to take the biggest chance of her life and win.

  “We’re going to make it, Nick,” she said. “You, me and Daddy. We’re going to make it!” She whirled around as Nicholas squealed with delight. Then she continued up the road.

  * * *

  “I know you said you didn’t want to be bothered.” Mrs. Nelson spoke from a crack in Devin’s studio doorway that was just wide enough to reveal her worried face.

  “That doesn’t seem to have stopped you,” Devin said. But he smiled as he did. Mrs. Nelson, the housekeeper, had only been at her job for three months, and he knew that she still expected him to behave with complete disregard for her feelings. He had yet to make inroads into her ste­reotypes about rock musicians.

  “A woman named Judy McAllister’s on the telephone. She says she has to speak to you now. I looked on your list, and she’s—”

  “I’ll take it. Thank you.”

  Five minutes later Devin pulled on the last of his winter gear. His feelings were in such turmoil that he had buried them deep inside him. He didn’t have time to feel anything.

  “I’m going out for a while,” he yelled to Mrs. Nelson, as he started toward the front door. No one else was around, even though there were several members of his band stay­ing at the house, as well as the small staff that worked under Mrs. Nelson’s supervision.

  Mrs. Nelson appeared from the next room and blocked his path. “Mr. Fitzgerald, it’s snowing hard out there. Too hard to be driving down the mountain.”

  Perhaps she was loosening up after all. Devin spared the housekeeper the ghost of a smile. She was a thin woman, easy to sidestep. “My son and his mother are on the way up from the airport. I’ve got to be sure they’re all right.”

  “Your son?” She broke into a wide, atypical grin. “Your little boy?”

  “That’s the one.” He looked beyond the door, through the glass that constituted the front of his home. Robin would not like this house. It was like living in a fishbowl, even though there were no neighbors in sight.

  But maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe she was just bringing Nicholas to see him. Maybe she was planning to leave again. Judy had been strangely silent about Robin’s state of mind or future plans.

  The world outside was the winter wonderland that song­writers extolled and small children adored. Devin was less enthusiastic. Judy had seen a weather report, and that was the reason she had called. Robin’s flight had arrived in Col­orado Springs. Judy knew that from a call to the airline. But Robin hadn’t been in touch with her since arrival. Judy was sure that Robin would have called by now if she’d taken a hotel in town for the night. And since Robin wasn’t with Devin, Judy was afraid she and Nicholas might be on the way to his house, snowstorm or not.

  Devin started toward his car, a Cherokee like the one he parked and drove in Ohio, like the one in which Nicholas had very nearly been born. Surely Robin wouldn’t be fool­ish enough to rent a car and drive unfamiliar roads during a heavy snowfall. But would she have been able to convince a taxi to bring her here?

  He only knew one thing to do. He had to drive down the mountain and look for her, keeping his eyes open all the way. The road was treacherous in a storm, and even the best driver might end up abandoning his car to find help. The snow seemed to fall faster as he settled himself in the driver’s seat and jammed his key into the ignition.

  Robin was on her way. Nicholas was on his way.

  And Devin was on his way to find them.

  * * *

  “Just a little farther,” Robin murmured to no one in par­ticular. The only person who might have heard her words was sound asleep against her chest. Nicholas, warm and snug in his down suit, had finally given in to exhaustion.

  She had been hiking for more than ten minutes. Twenty minutes, at least, and maybe thirty. She had considered all the possibilities. Either the taxi driver had miscalculated or misrepresented the distance, or she had missed the iron gate.

  She wasn’t worried, although she was growing tired. She was in no danger of wandering off the road. The snow wasn’t thick enough to obscure landmarks, and although the area was remote, she was sure there would be houses up ahead. Even if she didn’t find Devin’s house, she would find shelter. She and Nicholas were in no danger of freez­ing to death.

  She wasn’t worried, but she was sorry the night was turn­i
ng out this way. She wanted to see Devin right now. She wanted to tell him that she loved him, had loved him from the start. She wanted to tell him that she would brave any­thing for them to be together. Her days of cowardice were over. She would walk through a fiery furnace for him—for them.

  Or a blizzard.

  The road made a sharp turn, and she dug in her heels and rounded the corner. She was almost afraid to look up ahead now. She wanted so badly to see Devin’s gate that she was afraid she might manufacture one in her mind. She shaded her eyes with her hand and peered into the darkness.

  No gate was in view, but a car lay nose down in a ditch just ahead, a Cherokee just like the one that Devin drove.

  Nicholas took that moment to cuddle deeper into her arms. She gripped him tighter and started forward. Ten yards from the car, she gave her first shout.

  “Is anybody in there?”

  Nicholas stirred in her arms again and opened his eyes. He began to whine. “Sorry, partner,” she said, “but we’ve got to find out.”

  Nicholas began to whimper in earnest, but she pushed on. “Hey, is anybody in there?” she shouted again. The car wasn’t badly mired. It looked as if one good yank from a tow truck would set it on the road again. She doubted that any­one inside had suffered more than a bruise or two. She was almost on top of the car when a man’s voice sounded from inside.

  “You picked a hell of a time for another reunion, Robin.”

  She gulped in snow and a huge breath of freezing air. “Devin?”

  The driver’s door scraped against the side of the bank, but it opened far enough for Devin to squeeze through. He shook his head, as if to clear it, then leaned—or fell—back against the Cherokee. “At least I’m not in the throes of labor.”

  She had never seen a more welcome sight. He was bur­ied in winter wear, layers of wool and leather, but she couldn’t have been happier to see him if he had been naked in front of her in a very warm bedroom. She tried a smile but didn’t know if she succeeded. “I’m sorry about the tim­ing, but when I make up my mind to do something, I don’t fool around.”

  “Is that so?”

  She wished she could see his face clearly, but the snow was falling too fast for that. She didn’t know what he was thinking or feeling. She could only go on faith. “Any chance you could come up here so I don’t have to shout?”

  “Say whatever you’ve come to say.”

  Her courage nearly failed her. There was no welcome in his voice. Nothing but caution.

  “I’ve got Nicholas with me.”

  Devin was silent—an act of great valor, she supposed, under the circumstances.

  “I love you,” she said. She cleared her throat and said it louder. “I love you, Devin. And I want us to be a family, to make whatever compromises we have to make together. I want you to help me raise Nick. I want to have more chil­dren with you.” She hesitated. “And I want to get out of the snow. I’ve had enough of ditches and blizzards. Do you think we could move someplace warm? Like Tahiti?”

  He didn’t answer. The sound of her words died, and he just stood silently.

  “I’m so very sorry,” she said.

  For a moment she thought she’d lost it all. Then he was scrambling up the bank and gathering her and a wide-awake Nicholas into his arms. “I knew you were coming.” His voice was husky with emotion. “Judy called. I just didn’t know why.”

  “I’m here because I’ve been such a fool. Can you possi­bly forgive me?”

  He kissed her hard as Nicholas swatted at him in wel­come and babbled happily.

  Despite what she’d said, it felt right to be outside in the snow together. But it would always feel right to be together, no matter where they were. Robin cuddled into Devin’s arms and held him tightly with her own. Life came with no guarantees, but she could be sure of two things. She and Devin loved each other, and they loved their son. They were already a family. A very lucky family indeed.

  * * * ​* ​*

  If you enjoyed this story,

  don’t miss USA TODAY bestselling author Emilie Richards’s next novel,

  A Family of Strangers,

  about a woman desperate to prove her older sister’s innocence

  when she is accused of murder,

  coming soon from MIRA Books.

  Keep reading for a sneak peek!

  CHAPTER ONE

  What do alligators dream about?

  I was four years old when I asked my sister that question. Wendy was home from college, introducing Bryce Cartwright, her future husband, to our parents. I liked him because Wendy seemed happy whenever he was in the room. The day we talked about alligators she seemed intrigued by my question.

  “Fish,” she said at last. “They dream about fish. Everything dreams about something smaller and weaker, whatever they don’t have to be afraid of. Otherwise they’d never get any sleep.”

  “Sometimes I dream about alligators.” I had lowered my voice in case my mother was lurking nearby. “Scary alligators.”

  “Then you’ll have to grow up to be bigger than one.” She lowered her voice, too. “Until you do, sleep with the light on.”

  Since our no-nonsense mother, Arlie Gracey, had already told me there were no alligators in the house, I knew she was unlikely to cooperate. But that night after Mom left me in darkness, my sister slipped into my room with a new night light. When she plugged it in, the friendliest possible alligator grinned, and light beamed through a mouth not large enough to nip a finger. I was only four, but I never forgot the way Bryce smiled from the doorway as Wendy tucked the covers around my shoulders.

  “See how much bigger you are than a silly old alligator, Ryan Rosie? Now you can dream about fish, too.”

  Wendy had assumed our mother would never throw away any gift she gave me. And she was right. The gator glowed for years until I was no longer afraid of the dark and dreamed of other things.

  I know Wendy remembers that night, because for my last birthday she gave me an alligator clock. The smiling gator, two tones of bright green, clutches a fish—definitely smaller and weaker than he is—while another fish swings back and forth, waiting for his turn to be eaten.

  Now, above my desk, the poor doomed fish was lulling me into memories of my sister. I had just consulted the clock—which routinely gains one minute per hour—because ten minutes ago, Wendy had texted me.

  Privat call soon. B reddy. No 1 else.

  As instructed, I was waiting, even though a party was getting started in the common area behind my shabby little duplex in Delray Beach, Florida. When the text arrived I’d been enjoying a frosted mug of Cigar City Jai Alai and a plate of Sophie Synecky’s grilled pierogies and kielbasa.

  Now Sophie came inside to find me.

  My duplex is tiny, which is why the crew for Out in the Cold, the podcast I’m lucky enough to produce and host, was celebrating outside after fighting for space in my cramped living room for two hours. My office is the smallest bedroom of two. With my desk, a chair, shelves and files, there’s hardly room for air, but that never stops Sophie from barging in.

  “Crew meeting was adjourned, Ryan. Work’s over for the day and tomorrow’s Sunday.” Sophie is Out in the Cold’s administrator, researcher and co-producer. She’s three sizes larger than she wants to be, and her long blond hair is turning gray, another attribute she dislikes but chooses not to address. Today she was wearing a voluminous flowered tunic over skintight white leggings. We both thought she looked fabulous.

  “I’m expecting a call,” I said. “It’s personal.”

  As I spoke the photo on my computer screen changed. A shot of my sister and me in bathing suits, arms around each others’ waists, filled the space. There we were, me, short at five-foot-four, curling dark hair, squinting into the sun with my dimples in plain view, and Wendy, towering over me at five-foot-nine, her straight blond hair hanging over one shoulder, a smile lighting her face. Even the sun’s glare couldn’t stop Wendy from looking her best.


  Looking at it now I remembered the coconut and lime scent of our sun screen, and later that evening, our mojitos. I remembered the sun on my shoulders and the air-conditioned bar where we went to get away from our parents. Wendy and I spent so little time together that those moments are etched in my memory.

  Sophie always needs to know more. “Is the call about your father?”

  I gave her “the look” which should have stopped her, but didn’t. Her eyes lit up. “A man? Somebody I’ve met?”

  I pointed to my office window, more like a porthole, where I could just see a frisbee sailing back and forth in front of the communal laundry room. “The party’s going to fade unless you get out there. You’re the only one who can convince them to eat too much.”

  She made a noise low in her throat. It was the one she made when she conducted preliminary interviews for our podcast and didn’t believe the answers she was being fed.

  Of course Sophie had many ways of getting to the truth. Now she pulled out guilt, a tool she manipulated with the precision of a top chef’s boning knife. “It’s not every week we get nominated for an award.”

  “Which is another reason you should be outside keeping energy high. That’s a naturally suspicious bunch. Pretty soon they’re going to come looking.”

  She gave up, something she never does on phone calls, and after she removed my clock from the wall and reset the time, she left me to wait alone.

  The party, originally planned as a casual passing of cheap champagne around my living room, had morphed into a barbecue. This was all to the good. Something a bit more raucous was fitting for the year’s final meeting of the talented crew that had created the first season of Out in the Cold.

  Our podcast’s stated mission was to take one cold case per season, warm it up again and bring it to the attention of the authorities. Apparently we hadn’t done badly, which is why the meeting had turned into a celebration. Three days ago we had been nominated for a Webby for best documentary.