Red lily gt-3

by Nora Roberts

  She reached up, took off his sunglasses, looked into his eyes. “How about you?”

  “I’ve been taking it in. I love her, Mama.”

  “I know you do. Are you happy, Harper?”

  “I’m a lot of things. Happy’s one of them. I know this isn’t how you’d hoped I would do things.”

  “Harper, it doesn’t matter what I hoped or want.” Carefully she selected a blue aster, set it in the hole she’d already dug. Her hands worked, tucking it in, patting the earth as she spoke. “What matters is what you and Hayley want. What matters is that little girl, and the child you’ve started.”

  “I want Lily. I want to marry Hayley and make Lily mine, legally. I want this baby. And I know it might seem like I’ve just dropped a pill into a glass of water. Pow, instant family, but . . . Don’t cry. Please don’t cry.”

  “I’m entitled to cry when my firstborn tells me he’s making me a grandmother. I’m damn well entitled to a few tears. Where the hell is my bandanna?”

  He pulled it out of her back pocket, handed it to her.

  “I’ve got to sit all the way down a minute.” She plopped down on her butt, wiped her eyes, blew her nose. “You know this day’s going to come. From the moment you hold your child in your arms, you know. It’s not your first thought, even a conscious one, but it’s there, this knowledge that the thread’s spinning out. Life cycles. Women know them. And gardeners. Harper.”

  She opened her arms to him. “You’re going to be a daddy.”

  “Yeah.” Because he could, he always could, he pressed his face to the strong line of her neck.

  “And I’m going to be a grandmama. Two for one.” She drew back, kissed his cheeks. “I love that little girl. She’s already ours. I want you and Hayley to know I feel that way. That I’m happy for you. Even if you did manage to do this so the new baby arrives during our busiest season.”

  “Oops. Didn’t think of that.”

  “I forgive you.” She laughed, then pulled off her gloves so she could take his hands, flesh to flesh. “You asked her to marry you?”

  “Sort of. Mostly I told her she was going to. And don’t give me that look.”

  Her eyebrows stayed raised, her eyes steely. “It’s exactly the look you deserve.”

  “I’m going to take care of it.” He looked down at their joined hands, then lifted hers, one by one, to his lips. “I love you, Mama. You set the bar high.”

  “What bar is that?”

  He looked back up, into her eyes. “I couldn’t settle for anybody I loved or respected less than I love and respect you.”

  Tears swam again. “I’m going to need more than that bandanna in a minute.”

  “I’m going to give her the best I’ve got. And to start, I’d like to have Grandmama’s rings. Grandmama Harper’s engagement and wedding rings. You said once when I got married—”

  “That’s my boy.” With her lips curved, she kissed him lightly. “That’s the man I raised. I’ll get them for you.”

  ONE OF THE other things he’d never imagined was how he’d propose to a woman. To the woman. A fancy dinner and wine? A lazy picnic? A giant WILL YOU MARRY ME? on the scoreboard screen at a game.

  How weak was that?

  The best, he decided, was the place and the tone that suited them both.

  So he took her for a walk in the gardens at twilight.

  “I don’t feel right about your mother riding herd on Lily again. I’m pregnant, not handicapped.”

  “She wanted to. And I wanted an hour alone with you. Don’t—don’t go there. God, it’s getting so I can see what’s going on in your head. I’m crazy about Lily, and I’m not going to spend time telling you what’s so damn obvious.”

  “I know. I know you are. I just can’t settle into all this. It’s not like I went jumping into bed all over two states. But here I am, for the second time.”

  “No, this time is different. This is the first time. See that flowering plum?”

  “I can only tell—or tell sometimes—when they’re blooming.”

  “This one.” He stopped, reached up to touch one of the glossy green leaves. “My parents planted this right after I was born. We’ll plant one for Lily, and we’ll plant one for this baby. But see this one? It’s got nearly thirty years on it now, and they planted it for me. I always felt good about that. Always felt this was one of my places, right here. We’ll be making other places, you and me, but we’ll start here, with one that already is.”

  He took the box out of his pocket, watched her lips tremble open, her gaze shoot up to his face. “Oh my God.”

  “I’m not getting down on one knee. I’m not going to feel like an ass when I do this.”

  “I think it had something to do with him pledging his loyalty. I mean that’s why guys started the one-knee thing.”

  “You’ll just have to take my word on mine. I want this life we’ve started. Not just the baby, but what we’ve started together. You and me, and Lily, and now this baby. I want to live that life with you. You’re the first woman I’ve loved. You’ll be the last.”

  “Harper, you—you really do take my breath away.”

  He opened the box, smiled a little when he saw her eyes widen. “This was my grandmother’s. Kind of an old-fashioned setting, I guess.”

  “I—” She had to swallow. “I prefer the word classic, or heirloom. Or let’s get real, woo-hoo. Harper, Roz must—”

  “It was promised to me. Given to me to give to you, to the woman I want to spend my life with. I want you to wear it. Marry me, Hayley.”

  “It’s beautiful, Harper. You’re beautiful.”

  “I’m not done.”

  “Oh.” She gave a nervous laugh. “I can’t imagine there’s more.”

  “I want you to take my name. I want Lily to take my name. I want the whole package. I can’t settle for less.”

  “Do you know what you’re saying?” She laid a hand on his cheek. “What you’re doing?”

  “Exactly. And you better answer me soon, because I’d hate to spoil this romantic moment by wrestling you to the ground and shoving this ring on your finger.”

  “It’s not going to come to that.” She closed her eyes for a moment, thought of flowering plums, of generations of tradition. “I knew you’d ask me to marry you when I told you I was pregnant. You’re built that way, to do what’s right. What’s honorable.”

  “This isn’t—”

  “You had your say.” She shook her head fiercely. “I’m having mine. I knew you’d ask, and part of the reason I felt sick about all this was because I was afraid I wouldn’t know for sure. That you’d ask because you felt it was what you had to do. But I do know, and that’s not why. I’ll marry you, Harper, and take your name. So will Lily. We’ll love you all of our lives.”

  He took the ring out of the box, slid it on her finger.

  “It’s too big,” he murmured as he lifted her hand to kiss.

  “You’re not getting it back.”

  He closed his hand over hers to hold the ring in place. “Just long enough to have it sized.”

  She managed a nod, then threw herself into his arms. “I love you. I love you, I love you.”

  With a laugh, he tipped back her head to kiss her. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  SHE FELT A little awkward going in with Harper to make the announcement to his mother and Mitch, to have David serving champagne. She was allowed half a glass, and had to make due with that for both toasts.

  One on the engagement, and one for the baby.

  Roz gathered her into a hug, and whispered in her ear. “You and I have to talk. Soon.”

  “Oh. I guess so.”

  “How about now? Harper, I’m going to steal your girl for a few minutes. There’s something I want to show her.”

  Without waiting for a response, Roz hooked an arm through Hayley’s and led her out of the room and toward the stairs.

  “You giving any thought to the sort of wedding you want?”
>
  “I—no. It’s so much.”

  “I’m sure it is.”

  “Harper . . . he said something about getting married here.”

  “I was hoping. We could use the ballroom if you want something splashy. Or the gardens and terrace if you want something more intimate. Y’all discuss it and let me know. I’m dying to dive in, and I plan to be very opinionated, so you’ll have to watch me like a hawk.”

  “You’re not mad.”

  “I’m surprised you’d say such a thing to me.”

  “I’m trying to put myself in your place,” Hayley said as they climbed the stairs. “And I can’t quite get there.”

  “That’s because you’ve got your own place. I like having mine to myself.” She turned toward her wing.

  “I didn’t get pregnant on purpose.”

  At the entrance to her bedroom, Roz paused, looked Hayley squarely in her swimming eyes. “Is that what’s going on in your head? Me thinking this is calculated on your part.”

  “No—not exactly. A lot of people would.”

  “I’m pleased to say I’m not a lot of people. I’m also a superior judge of character, with only one major stumble in my illustrious career. If I thought less of you, Hayley, you wouldn’t be living in my home.”

  “I thought . . . when you said we had to talk.”

  “Oh, that’s about enough of this business out of you.” Roz walked over to the bed, opened the box that sat on it. She lifted out what looked like a pale blue cloud.

  “This was Harper’s blanket, what I had made for him right after he was born. I had one made for each of my boys, and they’re one of the things I saved to pass on. If you have a girl, you’ll use something of Lily’s or want something new and feminine. But I hope, if you have boy, you’ll use this. In either case, you should have this now.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  Roz held it against her cheek a moment. “Yes, it is. Harper is one of the great loves of my life. There’s nothing I want more on this earth than his happiness. You make him happy. That’s more than enough for me.”

  “I’ll be a good wife to him.”

  “You damn well better be. Are we going to sit down and have a cry now?”

  “Oh yeah. Yeah, that’d be good.”

  WHEN SHE LAY beside him in the dark, she listened to the steady, drumming rain.

  “I don’t know how I can be so happy and so scared at the same time.”

  “I’m right there with you.”

  “This morning, it felt like everything crashed down on my head, like a whole bookcase, and every book smacked me with the hard edge. Now it turns out it was flowers falling, and I’m covered in all these soft petals and perfume.”

  He took her hand, the left, the one where her thumb kept rubbing along her third finger. The ring was in its box on the dresser. “I’ll get it to the jeweler tomorrow.”

  “I don’t know how I’m going to feel about being married to somebody who reads my mind.” Then she rolled over onto him, tossed back her hair. “I think I can read yours, too. And it goes something like this.”

  She lowered her lips to his.

  Soft and smooth, that’s how she felt with him. Lovely and loose. And most of all, loved. Whatever tried to darken her heart, whatever brewed in the night, she could, she would, hold off and have this time with him.

  Safe, secure. Seduced.

  She could trust him to hold her, as he did now, with their bodies warm, their lips tender. She could trust herself to be strong with the taste of him teasing her tongue.

  They moved together, slow and easy, while the rain drummed musically on the stones of the terrace. Her heart drummed, too. Pleasure and anticipation. She knew him so well. Friend and partner, now lover. Husband.

  Overcome, she laid her cheek on his. “I love you, Harper. It seems like I’ve already loved you forever.”

  “We’ve still got forever.”

  He brushed his fingers over her face, her cheeks, her temples, into her hair. He could see her in the gloomy dark, the shape of her, the gleam of her eyes. Witchy and mysterious in this storm light, but nonetheless his. He could look at her and see the long roll of the future. Touch her, and know the simple beauty of the now.

  He sampled her lips, skin, the long line of her throat, the subtle curve of her breast. Her heart beat under it, steady as the rain. And quickened as his mouth possessed.

  Slowly, guided by her sighs, he took his hands and lips over her. The narrow torso, so white, so delicate in the dim light, and the jump of muscles as he passed, the quivers, told him she was roused.

  He laid his lips, gently, so gently, on her belly, and laid his cheek there just a moment, in wonder of what grew in her. Her hand brushed over his hair, stroked.

  “Its middle name has to be Harper,” she murmured. “Boy or girl, whatever we choose for the first name, it’s important we pass the Harper name on.”

  He turned his head to press another kiss over their child. “How about Cletis? Cletis Harper Ashby.”

  He fought to keep his lips from curving against her skin when her hand stilled. “That’s a joke, right?”

  “Little Cletis, or Hermione, if it’s a girl. You just don’t see enough Hermiones these days.”

  He kissed his way back up until his lips hovered over hers.

  “You’d be sorry if I fell in love with those names and insisted on them. Wouldn’t be so funny then, would it?”

  “Maybe Clemm.” He dropped little kisses at the corners of her mouth. “Or Gertrude.”

  Her fingers drilled into his ribs. “Looks like I’m going to have to be sure I’m the one filling out the birth certificate. Especially since I’m thinking we’ll stick with flower names. Begonia’s my personal favorite.”

  “But what if it’s a girl?”

  She grabbed both of his ears and pulled, then gave up on a laugh.

  And was laughing when he slipped inside her.

  SHE WAS SO warm, so content, snuggled up beside him, drifting off to sleep. The patter of rain was music, a lullabye to float away to dreams on.

  She imagined herself walking toward him, her long white dress shimmering in the sunlight, lilies, bold and red lying in the crook of her arm, like a child. He would wait for her, wait to take her hand, to make promises. Take the vows that meant forever.

  Till death do you part.

  No. She shifted with the quiver under her heart. She wanted no mention of death on the day they married. No promises tied to it.

  Death brought shadows, and shadows blocked the sun.

  Empty promises. Words spoken by rote and never meant to be kept. Clouds over the sun, and the rain turning her white gown to dull, dingy gray.

  It was cold, bleak. But there was such heat in her. Hate was a furnace, rage the fire that stoked it.

  How strange, how extraordinary that she should feel so alive, so viciously alive at last.

  The house was dark. A tomb. They were all dead inside. Only her child lived, and would always, ever. Endless. She and her son would live forever, be together until the end of days while the rest rotted.

  This was her vengeance. Her only task now.

  She had given life. She had grown it inside her own body, had pushed it into the world with a pain akin to madness. It would not be stolen from her. It was hers to keep.

  She would bide in that house with her son. And she would be the true mistress of Harper House.

  After this night, she and James would never be parted again.

  The rain drenched her as she walked, humming her tune as the hem of her soaked nightdress waded through mud.

  They would play in the gardens in the bright spring. How he would laugh. Flowers blooming, birds singing, only for them. Tea and cakes, yes, tea and cakes for her precious boy.

  Soon, very soon now, an endless spring for them.

  She walked through the rain, wading through the crawl of fog. Now and then she thought she heard some sound—voices, laughter, weeping, shouting.


  Now and then, she thought she saw some movement out of the corner of her eye. Children playing, an old woman sleeping in a chair, a young man planting flowers.

  But they were not of her world, not of the world she sought.

  In her world, they would be the shadows.

  She walked the paths, or trod over the winter beds, her feet bare and filthy. Her eyes mad moonbeams.

  She saw the silhouette of the stables. What she needed would be there, but so would others. Servants, rutting stablehands, dirty grooms.

  Instead, she tapped a finger on her lips, as if for silence, but a rolling laugh escaped. Maybe she should burn the stables, set a fire that would rise up in the sky. Oh, how the horses would scream and the men run.

  A toasty blaze on an ice-cold night.

  She felt that she could light fires with a thought. And thinking, whirled to face Harper House. She could burn it to ash with her mind. Every room bursting with heat. And he, the great Reginald Harper, and all who had betrayed her would perish in the hell she created.

  But not the child. No, no, not the child. She pressed both hands to her mouth, banished the thought before the spark flew. It was not the way for her son.

  He must come with her. Be with her.

  She walked toward the carriage house. Her hair, tangled around her face, dripped into her eyes, but she walked unhurried.

  No locks here, she thought at the wide doors. Who would dare trespass on Harper land?

  She would.

  The door creaked as she pulled it open. Even in the gloom, she could see the shine of the carriages. No dull wheels for the great master. Big, glossy carriages to carry him and his whore-wife, his mewling daughters, wherever they chose to go.

  While the mother of his son, the creator of life, drove in a stolen wagon.

  Oh, he would pay.

  She stood in the open doorway, swaying as her mind rolled in circles, buzzing rings of rage and confusion and terrible love. She forgot where she was, what she was, why. Then the purpose looped around once more.

  Could she risk a light? Dare she? She must, she must. She couldn’t see in the dark.

  Not yet.

  Though her fingers shook with cold as she lighted a lamp, she didn’t feel it. The heat still burned through her, and made her smile as she saw the hank of rope.