Blazing Bedtime Stories, Volume IX: The EqualizerGod's Gift to Women

by Rhonda Nelson;Karen Foley

  “My family was at fault. My grandfather— We owed them—” He couldn’t finish any argument because he knew none of them were valid. John was right, he thought, sagging with the realization.

  It had been for Marion. For the very reasons his friend had pointed out.

  John winced at him. “Ordinarily, you’re a pretty sharp guy and you know I love you like a brother, so I’m going to tell you something that you should know, but probably don’t believe yet.”

  Still shaken, Robin looked up at him.

  “You are nothing like your grandfather and will never be in danger of becoming like him.” He grinned suddenly. “You’re your father’s son, Robin. Gavin’s. Not Henry’s.” He snorted. “Hell, I question if Gavin was even Henry’s. There were rumors—” He stopped short and shook his head.

  Robin’s gaze sharpened. “Rumors? Rumors about what?”

  John hesitated, shook his head. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “No,” Robin said. “Whatever it is that you haven’t told me should have been said a long time ago. What?” he persisted. “What rumors?”

  John studied him for a long, considering moment. “My grandfather seemed to think that Henry was sterile. But rather than admit it and appear ‘less of a man,’ he blamed your grandmother. He’d told her that he picked her up out of the gutter and could put her back again if she didn’t produce a child. The implication was that he didn’t care how she gave him that child. And your dad bore a marked resemblance to a handsome Air Force pilot who was on the Atlanta scene in the early sixties.” John paused. “Dad’s got pictures of him.”

  Robin swallowed, stunned. “Why are you just telling me this now?”

  “Because it’s never been important before,” John said. “I don’t want you to make a mistake because of some misguided notion of ‘bad blood.’ Assuming that it’s even true,” he added. “It’ll be up to you whether or not you investigate.”

  It would certainly explain a lot, Robin thought. The contempt, the apathy with which Henry treated him. His grandfather wanted an heir, not a son.

  Robin didn’t give a damn about an heir…but a son? A daughter? With Marion. His own family. It was a heady thought, one that took root and grew into a yearning he would have never expected so swiftly. They hadn’t used any protection, though she’d mentioned that she was on birth control. Had it not been for that, she could be pregnant right now, her belly growing ripe with his seed.

  “You okay?” John asked.

  Robin shook himself. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said. “It’s a lot to take in.”

  “Let me know if you want to see those pictures. You can decide for yourself if there’s a resemblance.”

  “Thanks, I will.”

  John turned to leave and Robin stopped him.

  “John?”

  He paused and shot him a look.

  Robin swallowed awkwardly, then grinned. “I would most definitely open some sort of memorial in your honor. Probably a hot dog stand or an ice cream truck,” he added. “But something.”

  John grinned. “Name your firstborn after me,” he said, feigning humility. “That’s all I ask.”

  Robin laughed. “Sorry, Little Sherwood sounds like a tree.”

  “Smart-ass.”

  But John Gavin Sherwood had a nice ring to it.

  And speaking of rings, he had an appointment with a jeweler. He wasn’t wasting any more time. He wanted Marion. He wanted to marry her and have babies. He wanted to fight with her, then have make-up sex, then even more sex. He wanted to watch her blink the sleep from her eyes in the morning, listen to the even sound of her breathing as she slept beside him at night. He wanted to serve her breakfast in bed and buy her presents just because.

  He just wanted her. And it was about time that he told her that.

  * * *

  JUSTINE BUZZED HER OFFICE. “Marion, Henry Sherwood is on line one,” she said, her voice uncertain and curious.

  Marion felt her eyes widen. Henry Sherwood? Why was he calling her? She hadn’t heard from that old man in years, not since he’d personally walked through their cottage with them and deducted every door ding and bit of chipped paint—normal wear and tear on a place he’d never kept up—from her mother’s last paycheck.

  For one heart-stopping instant, she was afraid something had happened to Robin. But she quickly discarded that idea. It had been John who’d called when Robin had been injured in Iraq, not Henry. So what in the hell had prompted him to get in touch with her after all these years.

  With a sense of resignation and dread, Marion finally decided she wasn’t going to get the answers to that question without talking to him. She sighed, braced herself, then picked up the phone.

  “Marion Cross.”

  “Cook’s Daughter? Is that you?” the thin voice demanded.

  Her teeth immediately went on edge. “This is Marion Cross, if that’s who you’re looking for.”

  He grunted. “I suppose it is,” he said. “Do you know who this is?” he asked, as though she should know, a classic intimidation tactic.

  She wasn’t impressed and she wasn’t an impressionable young girl anymore, either. She played dumb. “My secretary said you were Henry Sherwood. Is that not correct?”

  “Yes, it is,” he snapped. “You know what I mean.”

  “Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Sherwood? Do you need medical assistance?”

  “I’ve got my own nurses,” he bellowed. “I don’t need your charity or that rag-tag team of so-called professionals you’ve got there on staff.”

  Marion stilled and bit the inside of her cheek until it hurt. “If there is a point to this call, Mr. Sherwood, then I suggest you make it. I’m busy.”

  “Fine,” he snapped. “Stay the hell away from my grandson, Cook’s Daughter. You’re not our kind of people. You don’t belong in our world.”

  The dart didn’t penetrate, but stung all the same.

  Furthermore, Marion didn’t know what was more alarming, that he knew she’d been seeing Robin—no doubt the old man had been paying someone to watch his grandson and report back—or that he seriously thought she wanted to be part of “his” world. She knew she didn’t belong in his world—there were very few people who did, thank God—but it annoyed her that she’d allowed him to undermine her sense of insecurity.

  “You’re opinion is noted and rejected. Now if that is all, I’ve got things I—”

  “No, it’s bloody well not all,” he exploded. A variety of machines started going off, dinging in the background and she heard someone tell the old man that he had to calm down. “Don’t touch me!” he yelled. “I’m fine, damn you!”

  “Goodbye, Mr. Sherwood.”

  “I’ll disinherit him,” he shouted before she could disconnect.

  Marion paused, stunned at the threat. “I won’t leave him one red cent if he sees you again. He’s the last of my line and this is his heritage. I won’t see him flush it away on the help’s daughter. Break it off with him,” he said, gasping for breath. “Or on your head be it.”

  He hung up on her.

  Justine stood in the doorway, her face a mask of concern. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “You’re white as a sheet. Is it Robin? Is he okay?”

  Marion absently shook her head. “No, no, he’s fine. It’s nothing like that.” She sat woodenly, shocked to the soles of her feet that anyone could be so manipulative, so evil. She told Justine what he’d said.

  Her assistant’s fake eyelashes rose to her eyebrows. “He wouldn’t do it,” she said, her voice not as sure as the words she uttered. “Don’t let that mean-spirited old bastard come between you and Robin. That boy is in love with you and has been for a long time,” she said. She rolled her eyes. “Hell, you and him were the only ones who didn’t know it. It was obvious to everyone else around here.”

  Robin was in love with her? Marion shook her head. “I don’t think so, Justine. We’ve got a history, that’s all.”

  “Y
ou’ve got more than a damned history—you’ve got chemistry. The very air vibrates around the two of you,” she said, almost enviously. “And have you seen the way he looks at you? Like you’re the sun and the moon and the stars all rolled into one?”

  Did he look at her that way? Marion wondered. Could he really be in love with her?

  Justine nodded knowingly. “Go ahead and doubt me,” she said. “But that old bastard wouldn’t have called here if he didn’t believe it. Why would he, if you weren’t a threat?”

  Marion’s heart galloped in her chest and her stomach dropped. Robin? In love with her? She knew he cared for her. After this past week, there was no denying that. She could feel it when he touched her, saw the stark longing in his gaze when he looked at her. But love?

  “You love him, don’t you?” Justine prodded, determined to excavate all of Marion’s feelings.

  “I—”

  Justine stood abruptly, seemingly at her wit’s end. “Oh, for the love of all that’s holy. Admit it, would you! Just admit it! You love him. I know you love him, John knows you love him, all the nurse and doctors and patients here know you love him. You love him, Marion!”

  “Yes!” she exploded. “Yes, of course I love him, dammit!” she cried, bolting from her chair, as well. “Who wouldn’t love him? He’s wonderful. He’s good and decent and generous. He’s clever and funny and hot,” she added as an aside. “Have you seen that ass? Sweet heaven, it’s a work of art.”

  “He’s definitely got a fine ass,” Justine concurred, her lips twitching with humor. She looked immensely proud of herself. She cleared her throat, then walked to the door, which had been left ajar. “By the way, Robin’s here to see you,” she said, ducking out quickly.

  Marion gasped, belatedly realizing what her secretary had just done. Predictably, to her immense mortification, Robin appeared in the doorway, his hazel eyes twinkling with humor and satisfaction.

  “You like my ass, huh?” he teased, the wretch.

  “That’s all you got out of that exchange?” she asked, her face flaming with embarrassment. There was no turning back now. It was out there. In the open. Her feelings. For him. There was no falling on her sword for his inheritance now, either. No doubt he’d heard all of that, as well.

  He strolled forward, rounded her desk and sat on the edge next to her. “I might have heard you say that you loved me,” he said, his sinfully sculpted mouth curled into that lopsided smile she loved. It was wicked, irreverent. Hot.

  She swallowed, unable to look at him. He tipped her chin up with his finger, forcing her to meet his gaze. “They’re all right, you know,” he said. “I do love you. I always have. I don’t know how I could have missed it, how I couldn’t have known.” A rueful smile tugged at his lips. “But sometimes it’s the most obvious things that end up overlooked, right?”

  Her eyes watered, emotion clogged her throat, and elation and despair simultaneously—impossibly—haunted her. “Oh, Robin, what are we going to do?” she asked hopelessly.

  He reached into his pocket and withdrew a box, then carefully opened it, his big hands shaking slightly.

  Oh! He wasn’t— He couldn’t— She gasped, covering her mouth with her hand.

  “Well, I was kind of hoping we’d get married,” he said. “It’s about time, don’t you think?” He grasped the ring—a vintage square-cut diamond in a simple platinum setting that was perfect, just perfect—and took her left hand in his. “What do you say, Marion? Do you want to spend the rest of your life with me? Will you let me love you? Let me make you happy?”

  Tears streamed down her face and she shook all over. “Henry will disinherit you,” she wailed. “You heard the call. He’ll cut you off. You’ll l-lose e-everything. And it’ll be m-my f-fault.”

  He smiled indulgently at her, his heart in his eyes, the love she’d seen all along but never accepted reflecting back at her. “In the first place, that’s not true. I’ve already inherited my father’s portion, so that’s not an issue. I’m in no danger of ruination, no matter what Henry says.” He frowned. “And there’s a very real possibility that Henry isn’t really my grandfather, but that’s a conversation for a different day.”

  She blinked drunkenly. “What?”

  “The point is,” he pressed, “that I would let it all go in a heartbeat because I’d be the poorest rich man on the planet without you, Marion. You’re what matters, understand? Just you.”

  Justine heaved a huge, exasperated sigh from the hallway. “Marion, say yes,” she wheedled. “Just say yes.”

  Robin grinned and shot a look toward the door. “I got this, Justine.”

  Marion sniffled. “My mother will flip out, “she warned him. “She’ll be horrible.”

  He grinned, then chewed the inside of his cheek. “Do you really care?”

  “Not in the least,” she said, laughing through her tears. “But you’ve got to stop trying to pay for your grandfather’s sins, Robin,” she said. “What happened to Michael was awful, a tragedy. But it wasn’t your fault.” Her voice hardened. “And you’re nothing like your grandfather.”

  “You’re the second person to tell me that today,” he told her.

  “Who was the first?”

  “John.”

  “Smart guy, John,” she said, savoring the sight of him. Eating him up with her gaze. Let me love you. Let me make you happy. Her head spun merrily.

  “He wants us to name our firstborn after him.”

  She laughed and rolled her eyes. “He would.”

  He squeezed her hand. “You still haven’t answered me, Marion.”

  She peeked up at him beneath lowered lashes. “Ask me again. I want to do this right.”

  “Tell me you love me,” he said. “I heard it, but you didn’t say it to me.”

  She reached up and cupped his cheek, tracing his dear face with her fingers. “I love you, Robin. Always. You really didn’t know, did you?”

  “I’d begun to hope,” he said with a small shrug. His gaze tangled with hers once more and the love and affection she saw in those hazel eyes would have sent her to her knees if she hadn’t already been sitting down. “Marry me, Marion,” he breathed. “Be my bride.”

  “I will,” she said, laughing happily as he slid the ring onto her finger. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close as happiness blazed through her. “You were right,” she said.

  “I usually am,” he teased. “You should file that away for future reference. I suspect it’ll come in handy.”

  She rolled her eyes, framed his face with her hands and kissed him.

  He drew back. “For the sake of argument, though, what was I right about this time?”

  Her eyes twinkled. “You are stubborn.”

  A dark chuckle rose from his throat, and he lifted his shoulders in a helpless shrug. “I warned you.”

  She grinned. That he did.

  Epilogue

  Nine months later…

  JOHN SLUNG AN ARM AROUND Gage’s shoulder and nodded significantly at the baby currently nestled in Robin’s arms. “Proof positive that birth control isn’t infallible,” he told him. “Remember that, my man.”

  Gage blushed to the roots of his hair and grinned.

  Marion gasped in outrage. “John, that’s inappropriate,” she scolded. She looked at Robin and gestured toward their guests. “Robin, say something. Can’t you do anything about him?”

  Robin merely grinned innocently. “I’ve never been able to in the past,” he said. “I don’t know why you think he’d start listening to me now.”

  Truthfully, he didn’t think he needed to interfere with John and Gage at all. What had begun as a simple solution to a big problem had morphed into a bond between the two that no one had expected. Gage respected John, honored his rules and trusted him. And John clearly adored the boy. It was a bro-mance made in heaven. When Gage’s mother had passed away, the boy had moved in permanently with John. He was enrolled in school, in honor’s classes, no less, and fi
nally had a little meat on his bones.

  Robin had given his wife the Maid Marion Safe House as a wedding present. She’d turned the running of the clinic over to Justine and had taken over the Safe House herself. The house was more than a bed—it was an apartment, a fixed space for residents—with a community kitchen that was always open, a big great room with lots of seating. There was also a library and a computer lab, and Marion arranged to have different skilled education classes on site on a regular basis. She was a wonder, his wife, and the residents adored her.

  As they should, because she was perfect.

  For him, anyway.

  Despite his earlier opinion about men and pink houses, he’d offered to move in with her and give up Cottonwood so that she could be closer to the safe house, but once they’d realized a baby was imminent, she’d said the farm was the best place to raise a family.

  Henry Sherwood, despite his threat, hadn’t disinherited Robin when he’d married Marion, and the full scope of his fortune was left to Robin upon his death. They sold the estate and split the money between the clinic and the safe house.

  A blood test confirmed that Henry wasn’t Robin’s biological grandfather.

  After additional investigation, neither was the Air Force pilot.

  The secret of whoever had fathered Robin’s dad had evidently gone to the grave with his grandmother.

  And, more than likely, with his grandfather, as well.

  As Marion had predicted, her mother hadn’t approved of their relationship. Though they’d invited her to the wedding, the invitation went unanswered and she didn’t attend. While admittedly it had disappointed her, Marion knew that she’d done her part to repair the relationship and her mother simply hadn’t wanted to heal the breach. So she and Robin moved forward, determined to build their own family.

  His gaze dropped to the tiny bundle currently resting in his arms and a lump lodged in his throat. His child. Their baby. His chest ached with happiness.

  “Well?” John asked, smiling hopefully. “What’s the verdict? What have you decided to name the little one?”