by Beth Andrews
“It’s the voice of a man whose wife walked out on him.” Aidan’s expression was grim. “And because he chose not to go after her.”
CHRISTMAS MORNING, J.C. and most of the other congregation joined in as the First Presbyterian’s choir sang “Joy to the World” at the end of the church service. She snuck a glance down the wooden pew, past her parents and Grandma Rose, to where Liz and Carter stood sharing a songbook. They’d arrived just before services started, harried, windblown and flushed. And obviously very much together.
As J.C. watched, Carter bent his head and whispered in Liz’s ear. She smiled, then caressed her husband’s cheek with her fingertips.
J.C. jerked her gaze back to the songbook in her hand but the words blurred. Maybe this loneliness was her penance for coveting her sister’s ex.
Or maybe she’d just been simply foolish to fall in love with someone as lost and damaged as Brady Sheppard.
The song ended and as usual, her family was one of the last to leave, thanks to Grandma Rose being in no particular hurry to get out of the pew. How it could possibly take someone so long to put on a coat, button it, pull on some gloves and dig her house keys out of her purse—because God forbid she’d have to stand outside her own front door searching for her keys—J.C. had no idea. All she knew was that by the time her grandmother was ready to go, the church was half-empty.
J.C. followed her family out of the pew. Her parents walked down the aisle with their closest friends, Sandy and Dan O’Brien, while Carter escorted Grandma Rose.
Leaving Liz standing in the aisle waiting for her. J.C. considered exiting from the other end of the pew, even took a step in that direction before sliding her purse strap over her shoulder and moving forward.
Liz’s smile was bright, her eyes uncertain. “Merry Christmas,” she said, hugging J.C.
Though it was petty—petty and immature and not in the Christmas spirit at all—J.C. kept her arms at her sides. “Merry Christmas.”
Liz’s smile faltered. She cleared her throat then swept her gaze over her sister. “Wow, you look really…”
So help her, if Liz said tired or commented on the dark circles under her eyes or the pallor of her skin, J.C. was going to hit her with a hymnbook.
“Pretty,” Liz decided.
“Thank you.” The baby moved—he’d been rolling around like mad in there all morning—and J.C. rubbed her stomach. “I take it everything’s all right with you and Carter?”
Liz glanced over at her husband, who was waiting patiently for Grandma Rose to finish her conversation with the minister. “I wouldn’t go that far, but we’re trying. We…” Fidgeting with the buttons on her coat, Liz lowered her voice. “We’re going to look into couples’ counseling after the holidays.”
“That’s good,” J.C. said, meaning it. She stepped into the aisle, forcing Liz to hastily move out of the way. “I hope…I hope you two work things out.”
She walked toward the double doors. The church had cleared out quickly. The kids were itching to change out of their fancy clothes and play with the toys they’d unwrapped earlier. The adults were either hurrying from one relative’s house to another’s or racing home to start Christmas dinner. Her parents were probably speeding home themselves to host their annual Christmas brunch at noon.
She’d planned to attend. Had told herself she was tough enough to survive a couple hours surrounded by family and friends. But now she was panicked at just the thought of acting as if everything were okay.
She’d go back to her apartment. Once there, she’d call and tell her parents she wasn’t feeling well and wouldn’t make it to their party.
“Jane, wait,” Liz called, stopping J.C. before she reached the doors. “I…I want to apologize for what happened the other day. For the things I said.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Liz’s eyes filled with tears. “How can you say that? I was…horrible. What I said about Brady…” She swallowed convulsively. “About him not wanting anyone but me…”
“All you said was the truth.”
Liz opened her mouth. Then shut it as she looked over J.C.’s shoulder, her eyes widening slightly. “No,” she said, “I don’t think that was the truth at all.”
A ripple of awareness washed over J.C. Holding her breath, she turned slowly. And there he was—Brady Sheppard, leaning against the door, looking as sullen and dangerous and lost as he had on the day of Liz’s wedding.
Except…he wasn’t looking at Liz. No, he was looking at…her. Even when Liz brushed past him and walked out the door.
J.C.’s mouth went dry. Shock held her immobile as he straightened and strode toward her, his step purposeful despite his limp. He looked…well…he looked awful. As if he’d slept in his clothes—or hadn’t gone to bed yet. His hair waved in disarray, his eyes were bloodshot and the thick stubble on his cheeks and chin did nothing to soften the harsh lines of his face.
He didn’t stop until he was so close she had to tip her head back to meet his eyes.
“You’re not at your apartment,” he rumbled.
She blinked. Blinked again. “No. I’m not.”
“You didn’t stay there last night.”
She gaped at him. “How do you—”
“I waited for you.”
She remembered the other times he’d waited. Thanksgiving night. At the doctor’s office for her appointment. “You…you waited all night?” He nodded curtly. “I…stayed over at my parents’ house. They didn’t want me to be alone.”
“When you didn’t come home I thought…” He looked away. “I thought I’d lost you. For good. Tell me I haven’t. Tell me I’m not too late.”
Shaking her head slowly, she backed away. But for each step she took, he followed.
“I’m not doing this,” she said, her voice trembling when she’d meant to sound confident. Angry. Damn it, she was angry. And way too raw to give him even the slightest opportunity to hurt her again.
“Please.” He reached out as if to touch her face but she jerked her head back. “Please,” he repeated, curling his fingers into a fist. “Just let me explain—”
“Explain what, Brady? You’ve made it perfectly clear you don’t anything to do with me or our baby. Oh, or maybe you’d like to tell me how you’d rather be with Liz, but hey, I’ll do in a pinch, right? And if it’s dark enough and you pretend real hard,” she said, her voice cracking, “you can convince yourself you’re really with her.”
“Jane…no…God, I didn’t…” He looked stunned. “You know that’s not true. I made love to you that night. You’re who I want.”
“It’s too late.”
She started to walk away.
“I love you, Jane.”
She stumbled and turned around, her eyes wide. “Don’t say that,” she snapped.
“It’s the truth. I love you.”
“You love Liz.” She hugged her arms around herself. “You’re always going to love Liz.”
“I’m always going to care about her, but I don’t love her. I’m not in love with her. Not anymore.” He stepped toward J.C. “You were right. I couldn’t see what had gone right in my life.” Another step. “You, Jane. You and our baby are what’s right.”
She began to shake. “No.”
He regarded her gravely. “What I said that morning after we made love…what you heard…” He blew out a shaky breath. “I was scared. Afraid of my feelings for you. I didn’t know what to do with them. They were…too much. Too soon. I wanted to control them because so many parts of my life were out of my control.”
“Stop. Please…” Her voice was raw. Her breathing shallow. “I can’t do this again.”
“You said you and the baby didn’t need me,” he said, relentlessly, stubbornly, as he closed the remaining distance between them. He gently lifted her chin. “You may not need me, but I need you. Both of you.”
Afraid to believe, she searched his eyes. Joy and love, so much love for him, welled inside her and the tears s
he’d tried to hold back rolled down her cheeks.
“Don’t cry,” he said raggedly, wiping her face, his touch unsteady. “It rips me up when you cry.”
Throwing her arms around him, she pressed her face into his neck. She inhaled his familiar, comforting scent. He stilled for a moment, then with a groan, wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, holding her so tightly, she couldn’t breathe. She clung to him harder.
“Thank you,” he murmured. “Thank you.”
He pulled back and kissed her, his lips warm, his mouth coaxing. When he straightened, he cupped her face in one hand, his thumb caressing her jaw. His other hand went to the soft swell of her stomach, his fingers spread wide. “Tell me.”
Because he still seemed so unsure, so nervous, she kissed him. Then smiled. “I love you, Brady.”
He nodded and she felt some of his tension drain away. “I love you, Jane Cleo,” he said, his voice husky.
And then—disheveled, contented and, if she wasn’t mistaken, mended—Brady Sheppard smiled. At her.
EPILOGUE
One month later
ABOUT A MILE AWAY from the turn to the Diamond Dust, Brady took a right down a narrow lane.
“Where are we going?” J.C. asked from the passenger seat as he passed two houses—one on each side of the road—and pulled to a stop in front of a large, well-maintained farmhouse where the street ended. “Brady, what’s going on? You know how your mom gets if we’re late for lunch.”
Lunch with his mom, Al and Aidan had become a weekly Sunday event. Things were still…tense…with J.C.’s family, and he doubted he and Carter would ever be more than stiffly polite to each other, but J.C. and Liz seemed to be making inroads.
He unclenched his hands from around the steering wheel. “We’ll be there on time. I…” His throat was dry. “I want to show you something.”
Grinning, she rolled her eyes. “Like I haven’t heard that line before.”
When he couldn’t return her smile, hers slid away.
“You okay?” she asked, laying a hand on his arm. “Do you need to do some breathing exercises?”
“I’m fine.” He squeezed her hand. “I’m not having an…an episode.”
He’d been seeing a therapist for the past three weeks who’d officially diagnosed him with PTSD—post-traumatic stress disorder. And while he couldn’t say he was thrilled with the diagnosis or having to spill his guts every week in his therapy session, the techniques he’d learned for dealing with his memories, stress and flashbacks were helping.
“Come on,” he said, then hurried around the car, opened her door and pulled her to her feet.
She laughed but followed him to the wooden porch. He dug a set of keys out of his pocket. Her eyes widened. “What are you doing? Who lives here?”
“It’s empty,” he said, pushing open the door and tugging her into the wide foyer. He swallowed. “Want to look around?”
“Uh…sure.”
Holding her hand, he led her up the stairs, turned left and walked into a large room with deep burgundy walls and white trim. “Master bedroom,” he said, repeating the information the Realtor had given him, “complete with walk-in closets, bath and a balcony.”
“It’s very…pretty,” she said, looking at him as if he’d recently suffered a head injury.
“Two more bedrooms up here.” Spinning her around, he walked down the hall and into the room on the right—this one smaller and painted a sunny yellow—only to walk right out again and into the third bedroom at the back of the house. He opened the door at the end of the hall. “Closet.” Gestured toward the final door. “Bathroom.”
By the time he’d gotten her back down the stairs she was silent and his knee was aching.
“Foyer,” he said as they passed the tiled entryway again. “That’s the family room.” He pointed to the large room off the foyer, then, knowing where he wanted the tour to end, he went the way they came, pointing at rooms as they walked. “Another bedroom or office, half bath, dining room.”
Finally, his heart pounding, they reached the last room. “This is the kitchen.”
“Yes,” J.C. said, tugging free of his hold, her brow furrowed. “I can see that.”
He waited as she slowly walked around, checking out the stainless-steel appliances, granite counters and built-in pantry.
“Well?” he asked, his voice a low growl when she remained silent.
She leaned back against the sink and crossed her arms. “Well what?”
He ground his teeth together. “Do you like it?”
“The kitchen?”
“The house.”
She shrugged. “Yes.”
He narrowed his eyes. Yes? That was it? “The asking price is for the house plus ten acres. And since it’s been on the market for over a year, the owners are ready to make a deal.”
“Well, if I was in the market to buy a house, that would all be good to know.” Smiling, she straightened. “You ready to go? I’m starving,” she added as she walked toward the door. “Do you think your mom made that potato soup I like?”
“I’m in the market.”
Almost to the door, she turned slowly. “Excuse me?”
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m in the market to buy a house. To buy this house.” She regarded him steadily. Sweat formed at the nape of his neck, a bead of it sliding down between his shoulder blades. “I want to buy this house for you and the baby. For…us.”
“Why?”
“Because I love you,” he ground out, crossing to her. “And you love me.”
“Yes, I do.” She tipped her head to the side, looking so serene and so damn beautiful, he caught his breath. “I want you to ask me,” she said softly.
His chest tight, he pulled a ring box out of his pocket and opened it. “It was my great-grandmother’s,” he said of the round diamond set in a platinum scrolled band.
“It’s beautiful.” She kept her hands clasped in front of her. She met his eyes. “But I’m still waiting for you to ask me.”
“I can’t kneel.”
“No.” Her eyes glistened. “I don’t want you to. I just want the words.”
“Jane Cleo Montgomery,” he said quietly, taking her left hand and sliding the ring onto her finger, “I love you. I want to make a life with you and our baby.” He kissed her hand, then looked into her eyes. “Will you marry me?”
“Yes,” she whispered, linking her fingers through his. She cleared her throat. “Yes, Brady. I’ll marry you.”
Humbled, grateful, he pressed his lips against hers. Her mouth softened. He lifted his head and grinned. “I know you’re anxious to get to lunch, but what do you think about christening the house before we go?”
She laughed and linked her arms around his neck. “I think that’s the second-best proposal I’ve had today.”
ISBN: 978-1-4268-7524-3
A MARINE FOR CHRISTMAS
Copyright © 2010 by Beth Burgoon
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