His Baby Dream (Safe Harbor Medical)

by Diamond, Jacqueline

  Then he’d called and emailed, trying to get together. She’d assumed he only meant to smooth things over in the short run, before letting her down easy, as if such a thing were possible.

  Today at the hospital, she’d seen him watching her. When she slipped out, Harper had expected him to follow, and been troubled that he didn’t, despite the fact that she’d intended to brush him off.

  How ridiculous. She was acting like a teenager. Trying to protect myself, just as her brother had said, but family tendency or not, she loved Peter. He deserved a chance to show that he loved her.

  If he confirmed her fears, she’d survive. It was a risk worth taking.

  With that resolution, Harper reclaimed the phone and resumed her conversation with her brother.

  Chapter Eighteen

  That afternoon was the first time Peter brought silk flowers to the cemetery. They lasted longer than fresh, a prospect that had always deterred him because it would imply that he meant to visit less often.

  A half-dozen rows off, someone had erected a large floral display at what he presumed was the site of a scheduled burial, but no one had arrived yet. Standing on the clipped green expanse near Angela’s plaque, he was grateful for the absence of other visitors.

  He was alone. They could talk.

  “I’m not abandoning you,” he told Angela as he settled the bouquet of peach-colored roses and white calla lilies in the new vase. His wife would have loved these hues. Peach had flattered her pale complexion and hazel eyes. Today, her features stood out in his mind because he’d been watching a DVD of her.

  She wasn’t an angel figurine or a vague, floating memory. She’d been a real woman who’d died much too young, at twenty-nine.

  “There’s a special place in my heart that will always belong to you,” Peter told her. “You were my first love. But I have to move on.”

  He’d wept during the video of their wedding and other happy occasions. Then, after it ended, he’d yielded to memories of her last days, which until now he’d tried to think about as little as possible. There were no photos, intentionally, and he’d told himself it was kinder to picture the healthy, vital Angela, not the suffering cancer patient.

  But he’d suppressed those images for his own sake, he realized.

  In the final months, his health and strength had contrasted painfully with her frailty. Frustrated, he’d tried to use his strength to save her. He’d researched and applied to clinical trials under way in Southern California, driving her to test facilities as long as she was able, but either she hadn’t fit the parameters or they’d been too early or too late. Time had run out. If only he’d worked harder, scoured the internet and flown her to another state...

  Peter shook his head. Most likely, he’d have accomplished nothing except to increase Angela’s suffering. Her disease had caught them both by surprise, with its hideous onslaught and rapid progression. It was no one’s fault.

  Last night, he’d finally acknowledged what bound him so tightly to his late wife: not the sweet ties of romantic love, but useless, unreasonable guilt.

  “I love someone else,” he told Angela. “Not more than you and not less. I don’t even know if Harper loves me back, but I’m ready to say goodbye to you on this earth.”

  A lump in his throat blocked further words. He had nothing left to give.

  On the driveway, a car stopped near his. A middle-aged couple in dark clothing emerged. The family for today’s burial, perhaps. Peter’s heart went out to them. He hoped they were burying someone who’d succumbed after a long and fulfilling span of years.

  The kind of long, fulfilling life he hoped to lead with Harper.

  Regret and sorrow held him in place a moment longer, but he heard more cars pulling up. With a bittersweet mixture of regret and relief, he turned away. As he walked, he seemed to feel Mia’s little hand in his, comforting him.

  With a burst of determination, he decided to stop at a special place on the way home. Then he’d take his chances with the living, breathing woman he loved.

  * * *

  SHE SHOULD HAVE CONTACTED Peter in advance, Harper thought as she rang his doorbell for the third time. How silly to expect him to be sitting at home on a sunny Saturday. He might be coaching students, or out for a run on the beach, or grocery shopping.

  She’d decided this morning to stop by, skipping awkward explanations over the phone. Luckily, he’d included his street address on his email to the agent.

  She’d appealed to her neighbor Caroline for emergency babysitting. The young woman had reacted with an immediate yes, claiming Mia would be a big help to her and her mother in making persimmon jam.

  “Our tree’s overloaded,” she’d said. “The more hands, the faster it’ll go. Relax and have fun, whatever you’re doing.”

  “Just visiting a friend,” Harper had replied. “I owe you a favor.”

  “Not at all,” Caroline had said. “There’s one condition, though.”

  “What’s that?” Harper had asked, more out of curiosity than because of any reluctance.

  “You have to take home half a dozen jars. There’s always far more than we can use.”

  “You bet.” Mia would be thrilled to eat jam she’d helped prepare.

  Harper stepped back for another look at the cottage’s fairy-tale-style gingerbread trim and latticed windows. Suppose Peter was in the backyard? But venturing into the side yard to peer over the fence would mean spying on him.

  Instead, she took out her phone. Might as well try to reach him wherever he was, and ask when he’d be available. She didn’t have to admit that she’d foolishly rushed over, unannounced.

  Her finger was hovering over his contact number when his van pulled into the driveway. Well, that settled that, she mused with a touch of embarrassment, and put away the phone.

  As Peter got out, uncertainty clouded his expression. “Did we have an appointment?”

  “No. I’m being pushy,” Harper said.

  The edges of his mouth twitched. “Push all you like.”

  As Peter cut across the lawn to her, she caught her breath. How touchable and solid he looked, and how well she remembered the curve of his mouth as it claimed hers.

  Harper nearly reached out for a hug, until she spotted the small sack in one of his hands. The other held his keys. She could picture them fumbling, dropping things and generally entertaining any neighbors who might be watching.

  “Glad to see you aren’t tied up, after all,” he said.

  “Tied up?”

  “You said you were busy today,” he reminded her.

  “Oh, uh, my plans changed.” That was true, as far as it went.

  “So you came over...?” he prompted.

  “Yes, but I thought you were out,” she said. “And you were. But now you’re home. Which is good. Unless you’re busy.” Oh, Harper, stop yammering.

  “Nope.” He unlocked the door.

  Inside, dust and traces of a flowery perfume tickled her nose. Harper sneezed.

  “Catching a cold?” Peter asked.

  “I’m fine.” But she wasn’t. In dismay, Harper stared at the large display cabinets, their doors open and shelves half-empty. Clean spaces showed where items had been removed, no doubt similar to the figurines and decorative plates still in evidence. On the carpet, wrapped objects filled cardboard boxes, with rolls of bubble wrap and empty boxes waiting.

  This wasn’t the house of a man undecided about his plans. “You’re moving already.” Her voice quavered.

  “What? No.” Peter’s keys rattled. He stuck them in his pocket.

  Harper frowned at the disordered living room. “What’s all this, then?”

  “There’s a store called A Memorable Decor that will take this stuff on consignment,” he explained. “I plan to don
ate the proceeds to cancer research.”

  Generous, and sensible. “That way you don’t have to move this across the country,” Harper concluded. “I love that store, by the way.”

  “I should have offered you these things,” he said.

  “No, thanks.” She tilted her head. “They aren’t my style.”

  “They aren’t mine, either.” He seemed to be searching for words. “Hold on a minute.”

  Peter ducked into the hallway, returning a moment later with a large windowed box containing a wedding dress. “The proprietor offered to sell this for me, too, but I’d rather donate it. I found an organization that gives gently used bridal gowns to the families of marines.” Camp Pendleton, a major marine training base, was located just south of Orange County.

  “How lovely.” Harper wrapped her arms around herself. “I gave away my wedding dress. I’m sure Mia will want to pick her own.”

  “No doubt.”

  The room fell silent. They’d never been at a loss for words before, Harper realized. “I guess I’m interrupting your packing.”

  “Not really,” Peter said. “I was hoping to see you.”

  Harper dredged up her excuse for coming. “I brought my latest shots of hummingbirds. Maybe we could propose a second book after we finish this one.”

  “I’d like that very much. But first...” He touched her arm lightly and drew back. How strange to be shy with each other, after they’d made love with such urgency, Harper thought. “Come outside with me for a minute.”

  “Sure,” she said. He must want to show her the yard. Was he redoing that, too?

  Still carrying the small sack, he guided her through the house. It was slightly larger than her rental, with appealing feminine touches everywhere except the rear bedroom, which had been converted to a den. From the hall, Harper noted the dark desk, padded chairs and small TV set. “That must be your retreat.”

  “It is,” he confirmed. “Although I expect to hang out more in the front room once it’s furnished with a large-screen. Maybe one as big as yours.”

  “Sean bought that.” Wryly, she added, “I don’t plan to donate it to charity, however.”

  “That would be criminal,” he retorted. “Unless you could borrow it back during football season.”

  “You mean ice-skating season.”

  “That, too.”

  Emerging into the backyard, Harper caught her breath at the beauty of the design. A meandering walkway led between gorgeous roses in shades of white, pink, coral and red. White alyssum edged the beds. A honeysuckle-draped arbor led to a gazebo shaded by an orange tree.

  “It’s gorgeous.” She inhaled the scents of roses and mint, grateful for the fresh air after the dusty house. “How can you bear to leave this place?”

  “It isn’t the place that matters.” Peter’s voice rasped with an unfamiliar hoarseness.

  “I suppose not.” A whoom drew Harper’s attention to a tiny jewel-colored bird hovering at a trumpet-shaped honeysuckle blossom. “You don’t need a feeder. This is a natural hummer habitat.”

  “I could add a feeder, too. Then we’d have even more of them.”

  We? She kept sensing an undercurrent of tension in Peter. Was that due to her barging in unannounced? But he’d said he wanted to see her. “I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you. I may have jumped to conclusions about your plans.”

  “Apparently so.”

  “I’m willing to listen, if you’re willing to talk,” Harper said.

  He hesitated. “Actions speak louder than words.”

  Was he upset with her? “I don’t understand.”

  He indicated a white wrought-iron bench. “Mind having a seat?”

  She complied, finding the bench comfortable despite its hard surfaces. Belatedly, she wondered if she should have checked for dust, but soiled clothing was the least of her concerns.

  Peter glanced at the sack. It was elegant, silver foil stripes alternating with textured white. Fancy chocolates? Harper wondered. But that would hardly account for his nervousness.

  “Brace yourself,” he said.

  “I’m sitting down,” she reminded him.

  “I guess that was more for my benefit than yours,” he said with an apologetic smile, and then he did something extraordinary.

  He went down on one knee.

  * * *

  PETER DIDN’T REMEMBER being anywhere near this anxious when he proposed to Angela. His heart hadn’t stuck in his throat, and his pulse hadn’t sped as if he’d just run a mile. Of course, he hadn’t been worried that she might reject him, either.

  Seeing Harper in his house had transformed it into a place of new possibilities where they could raise Mia and their baby or babies-to-be, sharing decisions, supporting and encouraging each other. He needed her, and loved her so much that he couldn’t imagine her not feeling the same way.

  But there were, as Mia might say, no guarantees.

  Still, she’d come here, and there she sat, awaiting his next words with her lips parted and her eyes bright. What a unique spirit she had, this woman who had healed Peter’s heart.

  From the sack, he retrieved a velvet box and lifted the hinged lid. Sunlight caught the diamond, awakening its brilliant clarity along with the gleam of sapphires on either side. He wished he’d prepared more carefully for this moment. And that he saw more in her face than simple astonishment.

  Go for it. “Harper, will you marry me?” Peter asked.

  She swallowed.

  He let his thoughts spill out, unguarded. “I love you. Let’s make a home, you and me and our children. You can pursue your photography. I’ll handle the baby care. Well, as much as possible. And, um—” what had he left out? “—we can exchange the ring if you’d prefer a different one.”

  He hadn’t spoken eloquently, but he’d been honest. Was it enough?

  “The ring’s exquisite.” Her chest rose and fell. “But I know how much you want to move back East to be with your family. It might be hard on Mia to leave her friends....” The tip of her tongue flicked over dry lips. “Oh, heck, what’s so terrible about starting over?”

  “We’ll stay here.” Peter had no qualms on that score. “The point is to surround the baby with a loving family. If you’ll marry me, we’ll do that.”

  She leaned forward, her fingers tracing his jawline. “But your job’s making you miserable.”

  “There are other schools in Southern California,” he said. “And till I find the right one, I can put up with teaching P.E.”

  “What about your parents?”

  “They’ll adjust.” Peter gave a dry chuckle, still uncertain of her response. “When—if—we get married, do you suppose we’ll debate everything?”

  “We do both have strong personalities,” Harper said. “Is that a problem?”

  “Not if you’re saying yes,” he answered, and rubbed his cheek against her hand. “Frankly, I like hashing things out. That way, we reach solutions that suit us both.”

  “I love you, Peter.” Harper’s forehead touched his. “The answer is yes.”

  Around them, the world buzzed and hummed with joy. How lonely he’d been these past two years, and how easily Harper had lifted that burden.

  He was going to be her husband. And Mia’s father. And they were having a baby, too. Incredible.

  Peter kissed her lightly, which was the best he could manage from this position. Then he sat beside her and slipped the ring onto her finger. It was a little loose, but fixable.

  Harper nestled against him. “There’s a basketball court,” she said.

  “What?” Peter wondered if he’d misheard.

  Her laughter tinkled through the air. “Around the corner of the house. I couldn’t see it before.”

  Now he understood. “I’m
full of surprises.”

  “You are, indeed.” Harper slid her arm around his waist, and they kissed again, for a long, thrilling time.

  When they reluctantly broke off, she said, “It might seem a little strange.”

  “What might?” Peter asked, too delirious to think straight.

  “There seems to be a trend toward pregnant brides.” She released a mock sigh. “But in our case, we’re having a baby that I’m not carrying. How will that look? Will we be snubbed by wedding planners?”

  “You could wear a padded pillow.”

  “I just might.” Harper rested her head on his shoulder. “Mia will love being a flower girl.”

  He wrapped his arm around her. “I hope she’ll love having a daddy.”

  “More than you can imagine.”

  Peter could imagine it. With Harper in his arms, he could imagine a lot of things.

  Most of all, a future full of happiness.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Are you ready?” After applying her lipstick, Harper peered from her bathroom to see Mia twirling in front of the bedroom’s full-length mirror. Her daughter had changed from new jeans and a top into the dress she’d worn to Stacy’s wedding. “Honey, that’s too fancy for lunch.”

  “It isn’t lunch, it’s high tea!” the little girl protested.

  If Harper raised a fuss, it would only delay them further, she supposed, and Peter was due to arrive any minute. “All right. Let me brush your hair.”

  Mia held still. Knowing she had at best thirty seconds before her daughter started fidgeting, Harper ran her own brush through the little girl’s pixie cut. It was adorable. How could anyone not fall in love with this child?

  Considering the neglectful treatment she received from Sean’s mother, Harper knew the answer to that. She just didn’t like it.

  In this case, though, the grandparents were strangers. It would be unreasonable to expect instant bonding. Still, surely they would put up a good pretense for Mia’s sake.

  Barely had the brush stopped moving than the little girl darted out of the room. All morning, she’d been working on a new minibook featuring pictures of her stuffed animals. She probably wanted to tweak that and print it out again.