Just then, two shrieking boys, followed by one babbling baby rushed into the room with cries of, “Daddy!”
Clearly, she was an unwanted female presence.
Until Brand raised his head on the way out of the room, boys under each arm, “Stay for dinner again?”
###
“I didn’t mean for you to cook dinner again.” Brand collapsed on the wicker porch swing next to Sarah, leaving the boys to play in the sprinkler under their watchful eyes.
Twilight was falling, making the moment seem romantic. Except for the screaming.
“It’s okay. I put the roast in earlier so there wasn’t much left to do.”
He rolled his head on the back of the seat and look at her. His gaze felt palpable. She kept her eyes on the boys playing.
“It’s a big deal to me. Just like the coffee. The boys need more home-cooked meals and I’m not much of a chef.”
“I’m not either. I just found a recipe and followed the directions.”
“Mmm. You seem to be good at that. Following directions. I noticed you kept number five on my list. Keep the boys safe and happy.”
“There wasn’t a number five on your list.” She knew, because she’d gone back to the list of instructions several times, wondering if she’d missed something. “And they weren’t exactly happy.”
“Happy enough.”
“What about your happiness?” she asked, feeling braver than she had the first day when she’d knocked on his door. “Who worries about that?”
He considered her question seriously, head tilted to one side while he watched the boys. “I guess the honest answer is ‘no one.’”
She really wanted to touch him. Just a hand on his arm like she’d done last night, but she clutched her hands in her lap, unsure if he’d want that.
“Do you think that’s healthy? What if you get burned out?”
He leaned his elbows on his knees, pressing both index fingers against his lips. “I don’t have all the answers, Sarah. I just try to get by one day at a time.”
She inhaled deeply. Now or never. “Have you ever consider, erm… remarrying?” It wasn’t exactly the question she wanted to ask, but it was close.
His blue eyes flickered up to meet her gaze, which he held for so long she lost her breath.
“I have, but…”
Sarah caught her exhale.
“I couldn’t consider anyone unless my boys loved her as much as I did.”
DAY 16, AFTERNOON.
ATTEMPT 3.
“You’re not my mommy!”
Sarah flinched at Jerry’s defiant proclamation. The boy must have sensed the flash of hurt that passed through her, because he went on.
“You can’t tell me what to do.”
Sarah inhaled on a prayer for patience, which she sorely needed today. “I know I’m not your mommy, but I am in charge. That means you have to do as I say.”
She took hold of the now-screaming boy’s arm and propelled him down the hall to his room.
“Five minutes in time out,” Sarah said, voice firm.
She desperately needed a time out of her own.
For the last two weeks, the boys had run her ragged during the day. But each day was worth it when Brand came home and they all ate together. She’d been making inroads with Josh and Jamie. Last night both younger boys had snuggled on her lap for their bedtime story.
Only Jerry remained aloof. Today he’d been downright insubordinate.
And this morning she’d received a call on her emergency phone. Only two clients – two high-paying clients – had that number. She’d been trying to call Mr. Smith back all day, but each time something had interrupted her. Maybe now that Jerry was contained in his room and the other two boys played quietly in the living room…
Sarah sidled into the nook in the hallway, dialing her phone. She leaned her head against the cool wall, enjoying the warm wood floors on her bare feet. She loved this house. Loved the boys, even Jerry and his challenging ways. Loved Brand…
“Hi, Mr. Smith,” she said when her client picked up. “Sorry I haven’t gotten back to you yet.”
At that moment, Josh came barreling out of the living room, holding up a singing bear. And Jerry ran down the stairs, toward her, screaming.
Brand rounded the corner from the kitchen. He must’ve arrived early from work. “What’s going on?” he demanded.
A squawk came from the telephone, held out from Sarah’s ear.
She burst into tears.
For one moment, Brand looked panicked, but then he took charge.
“Jerry, Josh, living room,” he ordered. He took Sarah’s phone from her nerveless fingers. “She’ll call you back,” he said into the receiver before snapping it shut.
Sarah tried to turn her face away, so he wouldn’t see her silly tears, but Brand simply took her into his arms, tucking her head against his shoulder. “Ssh.”
His hand rubbed circles on her back. Nice.
When Sarah felt more in control of herself, she reached up to wipe the wetness from her cheeks, and Brand stepped back.
“Okay?” he asked.
“Mmm.” She would be, when she got over the humiliation of breaking down in front of Brand and the boys. She never cried.
“Sorry,” she muttered, keeping her gaze down.
“I’m just surprised you’ve lasted this long without breaking down. Dealing with three boys will do that to you.”
She looked up, smiled wryly. Thankfully, he didn’t seem too spooked by her tears. “Thanks, I think.”
Palm open for her phone, she said, “I need to call my client back. I think he had an emergency this morning. I just hope it wasn’t anything big.”
Brand showed her into his office – his sacred room where the boys weren’t allowed to visit. Fortunately Mr. Smith had grandkids and was very understanding. His problem was an easy fix she was able to solve on the phone.
When she finished her call, she went searching for Brand. She found all three boys in the kitchen with their father, Josh and Jamie at the table with snacks, while Brand had pulled Jerry aside and knelt in front of him. They appeared to be in serious conversation, so Sarah hung back just outside the kitchen doorway.
“Were you misbehaving for Miss Sarah today?”
Jerry stared at the floor, lips formed in a stubborn pout.
“Jerry.”
Sarah was constantly amazed at Brand’s patience. She’d never seen him lose his temper with the boys.
“Don’t you like Miss Sarah?”
Jerry’s lower lip began to tremble.
“Doesn’t she treat you good? Cook good food for you? Take you to your soccer games? Make cupcakes for your church class?”
“Yes!” The boy burst out. “But she’s gonna leave. I heard you say she’d only here for awhile. I don’t want her to go!”
Sarah couldn’t stop herself. She rushed into the kitchen and Jerry ran into her outstretched arms. She peppered kisses on his cheeks and forehead.
“My sweet boy,” she said, holding Brand’s gaze over the top of Jerry’s head. “I’m not going anywhere.”
DAY 16, EVENING.
FINAL ATTEMPT.
Sarah smoothed her blue skirt and white blouse with her clean hand, the other holding a spoonful of Jamie’s baby food, mashed green peas.
“I’m just gonna do it,” she told her captive audience. Jamie in his high chair.
“Do what?”
She shrieked and whirled, hand going over her heart. “Brand! Don’t sneak up on me.”
He raised his brows. “It’s my kitchen.”
Jamie cackled from behind Sarah, Jerry and Josh grinned from their places at the table.
“See, the boys all agree. Now, what is it you’re gonna do?”
Sarah squared her shoulders. “Ask you a question.”
Jamie gasped and, distracted, Sarah turned to the boy, only for him to sneeze. All over her.
Silence fell on the kitchen.
Sarah looked down to see her pretty white shirt had been splattered with the peas Jamie had been eating.
She laughed, and after a startled moment, all the Turner men joined in.
Brand ran water over a dishcloth and moved to wipe her cheek, which brought him close enough to kiss. If she were of a mind to do that.
“For a second there, I thought you were gonna cry,” he teased.
She rolled her eyes. “If you would’ve come in five minutes later this afternoon, I would’ve had everything under control.”
He tapped her nose with his finger. “I don’t doubt it.” His expression turned serious. “I appreciate you. You’re doing a fine job with the boys.”
“Well. Good. I think you should marry me and keep me around forever.”
The corner of his mouth quirked up in a grin that set her heart to pounding.
“You do, huh? Boys, what do you think?”
“Yeah!” Jerry shouted. Josh and Jamie caught his excitement and started yelling too, though Sarah doubted they knew what was going on.
Brand brought his mouth to her ear to be heard over the noise. “Sure you want this crazy life forever?”
She beamed up at him. “Yep.”
He kissed her to seal the deal.
THE END.
KATE’S VALENTINE
A Choose-Your-Own-Romance Story
By LACY WILLIAMS
PART ONE
Four oh two.
Brody flicked the curtain back in place, cutting off his view of the white truck with the logo of the pool care company painted on its side. And the woman with the blond ponytail inside.
He could count on Kate. She always arrived Wednesdays between three-fifty and ten after four.
And never accepted his invitations to stay for a few minutes and have a drink. Coffee, lemonade, water. She’d turned them all down, always offering the excuse that she had to stick to her schedule. Always softening the excuse with a smile, one that charmed his socks off.
But today he wasn’t going to offer her something to drink. Today he was going to ask her out.
Maybe.
Brody released the handbrake on his wheelchair and maneuvered through the house. The tile floors common to this area of Florida were easy enough to navigate, and it hadn’t taken long for him to rearrange the furniture once he realized the wheelchair was going to be a permanent fixture in his life.
Two years after the accident, just in time for Valentine’s Day, he was finally getting his confidence back. Mostly.
He paused just inside the double sliding-glass doors that led to the patio and pool area. He glimpsed Kate’s slim figure rounding the house to where the hot tub controls were located. The old Brody wouldn’t have hesitated to ask Kate on a date. She was everything he’d liked. Beautiful. Most of the time she wore her long blond hair in a neat ponytail or braid. Her blue eyes were filled with warmth and often, humor. She was quick to smile.
The post-accident Brody noticed the quiet strength that permeated her attitude. And the changed—hopefully, improved—Brody also noticed her fearless mentions of her church family, her faith.
It was funny how the things he valued had changed along with his body in two short years. From shallow to what really mattered. Coming face-to-face with your own mortality could do that to a man.
Brody inhaled deeply and slid the door open. Kate looked up from where she crouched next to the pool, a warm smile lighting her eyes.
He could do this. Maybe.
“Hey, Mr. F—I mean, Brody.” Her cheeks pinked. He’d been asking her since her third appointment to call him by his first name.
“New wheels?”
He glanced down at his chair. “Yeah. Therapist says I can use this all-terrain chair anywhere. Grass, gravel. I’m really hoping to get down to the beach, but we’ll see…”
It was the thing he missed most about his loss of mobility. Having to be carried out like a child just to touch his toes to the waves was worse than dreaming about surfing, his favorite pastime. He needed to get back to the water. Had to…
“So you’re… erm, practicing?”
Brody jerked back to the conversation, silently berating himself. Today was not the day to lose his train of thought!
“Yeah. Therapist recommended I get used to the chair’s movement in a familiar environment.”
She nodded and “hmmed” as she extracted the little tube that would show the chlorine levels in his pool. He hoped he wasn’t boring her. If he couldn’t make it through one conversation to ask her out, how could he expect her to believe he’d be a charming dinner companion?
His hands started to sweat.
“Listen, Kate. I was wondering… umm…”
Does Brody ask Kate out? GO TO PART 2
Does Brody wait for next time? GO TO PART 3
PART TWO
Kate flipped her ponytail over her shoulder and looked up at Brody as he hesitated.
She hadn’t heard him sound so uncertain since the first time she’d encountered him after his accident. Brody was a take-charge kind of guy, even without the use of his legs. Someone she could admire.
She wiped her chlorine-wet palm on her uniform khaki shorts and straightened the collar of her red polo. Wished she wasn’t quite so aware of how she looked.
Okay, so she had a huge crush on Brody! Where he’d been tall and fit before the car crash, now his shoulders and upper arms were defined through his t-shirt. She knew he worked his legs as well, even though he couldn’t stand.
His dark curls and ebony eyes had been haunting her dreams for months.
Too bad he was way out of her league.
She’d been born into a middle class family, but things had changed when her father had left. Kate’s mom had done the best she could, but without any education or work history, supporting two kids meant she’d had to work three jobs for them to get by.
Kate had grown up mothering her younger brother, something he still complained of, until she’d gotten her first job at age fourteen.
Then her mom had gotten sick. Really sick. Cancer. And Kate dropped out of high school to take over as provider for the family.
She couldn’t regret it, not when her mom was still alive and ornery. Even if it did mean Kate was still working her way through night school at age twenty-five.
But it was a little hard to bear when she was faced with a man she’d love to invite to her mom’s for Sunday lunch. One who was a wildly successful author, had two degrees hung on his office wall, and whose eyes sparkled with intelligence.
Way out of her league.
Kate finished the pH test and stood up.
“Sorry,” she said, face blazing. “I kinda wandered off there. Did you want to ask me something?”
“Yes. Umm…” Brody closed his eyes for a brief moment, almost as if he was bracing himself for something. “Would you have dinner with me this weekend?”
Does Kate agree to the date? GO TO PART FIVE
Does Kate decline? GO TO PART SEVEN
PART THREE
Was that an engine? Brody shifted in his wheelchair, half-hidden behind a bush in his neighbor’s yard.
A glance through the almost-bare branches showed his across-the-street neighbors approaching their home. Brody hoped the person he waited for arrived soon—it was getting dark and he didn’t want his neighbors thinking he was crazy.
Even if he was loitering in their yard.
He had to find out if Kate was his delivery fairy. People from his church had brought home-cooked meals once he’d come home from the hospital, but they’d tapered off after a couple of months. All except Thursday nights. An anonymous donor continued to drop off meals—lasagnas, chicken casseroles, even a delicious rack of ribs once—but he’d never been able to catch the culprit in the act. The meals always showed up on his front step between five and six pm, usually boxed.
And something Kate had let slip last week—a comment about a Thursday afternoon appointment—had made him suspicious that
his delivery fairy might be her.
So now he’d been hiding behind this bush for nearly an hour and he was starting to feel foolish. What if he secret benefactor wasn’t Kate, but an elderly widow from his church? If it was so important for the person to preserve their anonymity, maybe there was a good reason.
But he really wanted it to be Kate. He’d chickened out on asking her out for a date last week, but he was determined to ask her to stay and share the meal with him. If it was Kate.
What if it wasn’t?
Waffling, Brody started to wheel himself down the sidewalk toward his home; he was half-exposed when a familiar white pickup crawled to a stop two houses down.
Kate’s truck.
She got out, blond hair tumbling loose around her shoulders. A pair of dark jeans hugged her slender hips as she hustled over the grass to deposit a cardboard box—his dinner—on the step. She didn’t wait around, was hurrying back to her truck when Brody realized she was going to get away if he didn’t do something.
He had two choices. He could ease back behind the bush and she’d never know he’d seen her. Or he could catch up to her and persuade her to share dinner with him.
Does Brody catch up to Kate? GO TO PART FOUR
Does Brody wait for next time? GO TO PART EIGHT
PART FOUR
Kate froze with her foot on the truck’s brake pedal and her hand on the gearshift.
Was that…? It was.
Brody wheeled his chair right down the center of the residential street toward her.
Had he seen her make the food delivery? His waving arm and wide smile certainly indicated he’d seen something. Embarrassment swamped her. She felt a little like a teen spying on the object of her secret crush.
For a moment she considered stomping on the gas and racing away, but that wouldn’t solve anything.
Happily Ever Afters Guaranteed Page 5
