“Maybe you should take on a protégé? Someone you could mentor to step into the globetrotting thing?”
“That’s a really good idea.”
They shared a smile. She had compelling eyes that hid nothing from him. He found it incredibly easy to become lost in her chocolate gaze.
“I’ve never been to Denver, but from what I know of Colorado, it sounds wonderful. And as far as having a base of operations here, we can live at my place. Us and Goober. It’s perfect. He can be outside. There’s plenty of room once I clear away my clutter. No sense in wasting money or real estate.”
“Who owns your place?”
“I don’t think I even know whose name is on the deed. It’s been in the family for generations. If I didn’t need it, I’m afraid the beautiful old place might sit empty.”
The sweep of her long lashes distracted him when she lowered her eyes and gave a self-conscious shrug that contradicted the self-assured ballbuster he’d known her to be.
“It’s just a suggestion. I know it’s old and probably a shithole by Lloyd standards.”
“Are you kidding?” he asked with a laugh. “Wait till you see Mom’s place. My folks bought this sprawling nightmare of hodge-podge styles because it seemed lonely. I’m not shitting. That’s the way she tells the story!” he emphatically told her. “And guess what? There’s an equally sprawling mess of greenhouses in the backyard.”
Jen gasped, and her eyes grew large. “Your dad? How wonderful.”
“So, um, speaking of Mom and the house.”
She came to him and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist. “Relax. I’m letting you off the hook because I like you so much.”
“Seriously?” he asked. “So does that mean I don’t have to come up with a raft of bullshit about this dinner with Mom event?”
“This one time, Imma give you a pass. But you have to promise that from here on out, you let me deal with Constance Nelson Lloyd.”
“And her evil, shit stirring twin?” he joked.
“Her too.”
Ryan considered the very deliberate way she delivered her statement. “Is that a thing? When the son’s wife runs the interference now? I could get used to that.”
“Enjoy it and then keep this in mind. You’ll have a mother-in-law to schmooze for the rest of your life. It works out, don’t you think?”
“Are we really going to do this, Jen? You’re not just playing, are you, babe, because I’m serious as a heart attack.”
“You haven’t shown me the upstairs yet.”
His eyes narrowed, and he searched her face, but she was the picture of innocence.
“You want a house tour? When I asked a serious question.”
He wasn’t sure what to do when she pushed away and started walking. “Upstairs, I assume?” she asked while pointing at the stairs.
She was halfway to the top when she turned around and made a face. “Are you seriously just going to stand there when I’m trying to find a bedroom?”
“The bedrooms are upstairs,” he mumbled.
She skipped back down the stairs and took his face in her hands.
“Oh, my god. You and John share more than a last name. Are all the Lloyd men this thick? Ryan. A bedroom. Why? A bed. Caught up with me yet?”
“Oh,” he mumbled when it finally dawned on him what she was doing.
She took his hand and started back up the steps. “It’s okay. I’ll find a bed. You just follow along.”
The whole thing was so funny he started howling with laughter.
Chapter 15
John kept looking for help from Samantha as he navigated the weirdness of Chelsea confronting them over the breakfast table about why he was suddenly so chummy with her mom.
He wished it was earlier—when he’d risen an hour before her and had watched while she slept. After the chair rodeo, they’d gone to bed only to make love again deep in the night. Samantha was a generous lover who held nothing back. He found her joyful spirit intoxicating. Her desire to share his pleasure made his soul soar.
But now in the harsher light of day, they were facing a new reality. One where the rest of the world gained access to their private happiness. Starting with Chelsea.
His nerves were so tight, he worried something would snap.
At first, Samantha tried to make it seem as though him appearing for breakfast was an everyday thing. Chelsea regarded them with the curiosity he expected of a kid her age.
She was making him sweat bullets.
At the kitchen table, they went through a strange pantomime that began with Chelsea inspecting him like an on-the-case FBI agent. By reflex, he touched the knot of his tie as though it was a magic shield.
John sought Samantha’s eyes when it became apparent that seven-year-olds were immune to that sort of stuff.
“Um, sweetie. Did you remember to put the book you were reading last night in your backpack?”
Chelsea dropped the piece of bacon she’d been munching onto her plate and brushed her fingers with a napkin.
“Mom, relax. I’ve got this.”
He reached for his coffee in time to hide the smile that was dying for a home on his face. It sure did seem to him as though making her mom sweat a few bullets was also on Chelsea’s agenda. Thank god, the kid’s friendly fire wasn’t just directed at him.
That didn’t mean he was prepared when her head turned, and she met his gaze with wide-eyed skepticism.
“Oh, wait,” she mumbled. Then she brightened. “Are you picking Mom up for work? Is that why you’re here?”
Samantha almost knocked over a juice glass, and John was certain his eye was twitching.
“Um.” Yeah. That was all he had. Real eloquent, you dumb shit.
Reacting like she’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar, Samantha cleared her throat and gave her daughter a smile.
“Actually, Chels. Mr. Lloyd, um, John ... is here as my friend.”
She was ramping up for a speech when the kid cut her off.
“Is this a sleepover? Jody’s mom has sleepovers all the time. Mrs. Porter has a lot of boyfriends.” Chelsea shrugged, but her obvious disapproval shook him up.
“What?” Samantha barked. “No. Most certainly not. Sleepovers? No.” She shook her head emphatically, but all her daughter did was put off an unconvinced vibe.
He weighed in rather glumly. “Your mother does not do sleepovers.”
Undeterred, the way-too-observant kid offered scenario number two.
“So … you’re hooking up? Is that it?”
Samantha reacted with both outrage and shock.
“Hook up? Sleepover? What are you talking about? And where the hell did you learn these things?”
Chelsea smirked and delivered a zinger before shutting them both down with her final words.
“No swearing at the breakfast table, remember?” Her head swiveled back and forth once between him and her mother, and then she said, “Jeez, Mom. I’m seven, not five.”
Then she shrugged like none of it was a big deal and attacked a piece of toast smeared with strawberry jam.
“It’s cool if you wanna hook up. You’re okay,” she said directly to him.
He chuckled. This was a new wrinkle! “Do you know what the word clarify means?” he asked.
“Sure,” Chelsea said with a giggle. “It means an adult thinks a kid is stupid.”
Samantha dropped her face into her hands and groaned. He wanted to high five the kid—but hesitated because he wasn’t sure if it was appropriate—and then figured, fuck it, and held up his palm.
Her little hand smacking his was the coolest thing ever.
He relaxed and sat back. The kid had every right to rake him and her mom over the coals. Draining his coffee, he looked at Sam and shrugged.
“Chels,” she stammered to begin. “I want to explain something about me and John.”
“Mom,” she grunted through a mouthful of crumbs and jam. “I’m not dumb. You talk about him all the
time. Mr. Lloyd did this. Mr. Lloyd said that. And then you started calling him John.” She rolled one shoulder and giggled. “That’s how this stuff works, right?”
“Well,” Sam murmured. He watched as she touched her blazing red cheeks. “Yes, it is. I guess. I don’t know, really. But sweetie, I wanted you to know right away that I’m in love with him and …”
He jolted upright in his seat. “Hold up! What did you say?”
She smiled at him and winked. His heart filled with happiness. She’d waited until Chelsea was present to say the words out loud. He felt nothing but admiration and respect for the mother and was overcome with love for the woman.
Chelsea perked up. She must have sensed the change in tone.
“So anyway, we, um, well, we thought we would get married and … “
“Married?” Chelsea squealed. “For real?”
John saw his opening, and he took it.
“Now, slow down,” he said to Sam. Reaching for the hand wearing his ring, he kissed her fingers and gave a little squeeze.
“I asked your mom to marry me last night, and I gave her a ring, but it’s not official. Not yet.”
“Why not?” Chelsea asked.
He sat back, slid a hand into his pocket, and took out his wallet. From a slot in the billfold, he pulled out a gold necklace with a tiny diamond-encrusted heart. Samantha looked like she might cry when he scooted the chair back so he could get on one knee.
“Chelsea, I love your mom very much. I think she’s the bravest and coolest chick ever!”
The awestruck seven-year-old giggled and nodded her agreement.
“And I told her that I wanted to be a part of your life so we can be a family. The three of us. Your mom and me and you.”
He held up the necklace. “With this little heart, I’m making a promise, Chelsea. To you as well as your mom. If you’ll have me, I want to take care of you both and”—he swallowed and took a deep breath—“be your dad.”
“Mom!” Chelsea screamed. “Really?”
“Yes, sweetie. For really real. A family. Mom, dad, and bratty kid.”
“Oh, Mr. Lloyd,” Chelsea said through unexpected tears.
He jumped in and said the words he had on his tongue. “If it’s too early for Dad, please call me John.”
Chelsea looked at him—looked at her mom—looked at the necklace—and then at her mom once more. She scrubbed a hand across her eyes to wipe away the tears and nodded.
“I’ve never had a dad. He’s dead and everything.”
“He was a great guy, Chelsea, and we’re never going to forget him, okay?”
The hesitation was killing him, but Sam appeared serene and calm, so he took his cues from her. “Shall we be a family?” she asked.
Chelsea surprised him by wiggling off her chair, hugging her mom, and then hugging him.
He clasped the necklace around her dainty throat. Then he kissed her on both cheeks and smiled broadly.
“Now it’s official!”
They whooped and hollered like mindless idiots exchanging lots of hugs and laughs. Quite a few promises too. He told Chelsea she was gaining a grandmother who liked shoes. Samantha explained she planned to stay home and be a full-time mom.
It was an overload of joyful exuberance.
When it was time, he and Sam walked hand in hand with Chelsea to the corner bus stop. After the yellow beast pulled up and the other kids clambered aboard, Chelsea hung back. When there was nothing left to do except board, she stopped on the first step, turned, and said, “Bye, Mom. Bye, Dad.” Then she giggled and scrambled onto the bus, leaving them standing there stunned.
A man who appeared no less than a mirror image of George Clooney adjusted his tie and chuckled. “I have to tell you, Ryan, that I think your dad would find this situation most amusing.”
“Which part?” he asked. “The suddenness or the undeniable fact that I’m marrying up?”
Jenna laughed at his jest and poked him in the ribs. “Scruffy rogue. I can’t believe you’re wearing that for our wedding.”
Judge Winborn’s broad smile made Ryan smile too. The guy had been besties with Greg Lloyd, so it seemed perfect to ask the man—who also happened to be his godfather—to invoke his judicial authority so he and Jen could be husband and wife. It was classic two targets and one stone as he was a dad substitute and the best man too.
“Afraid you’ll just have to get used to it, my dear,” the judge said to Jen. “Both of Greg’s sons inherited something from their dad. For John, it’s a brain that races a million miles an hour and his love of facts. In Ryan’s case,” he said with a chuckle, “he got the nature boy genes. And with it the sartorial habits of a Sherpa on vacation. He’s just like his dad. Never met a suit and tie he wouldn’t scowl at.”
“I suppose that explains this ... whatever,” Jen said with a smirk while her hands gestured at his outfit.
“Aw, come on,” Ryan groused. “It’s not that bad. This shirt was made specially for me.”
“Would it have killed you to shave?”
“She has you there, son.” The judge snickered.
“I didn’t have time because someone”—he smirked with both pointer fingers directed at his bride—“rushed me out of the house so she could raid her closet for this dominatrix outfit.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my suit,” Jen snapped.
He enjoyed poking fun at her because she got so playfully salty about everything he said.
“How do you breathe in that thing?” he asked.
Ya just hadn’t really lived, he thought, until your bride flips you off while a judge stands there and laughs like hell.
“Listen up. I’m fine with shackling you two together, but give me the 411 on your mom and her crazy sister. Why aren’t they here? And John? I insist on full disclosure because, frankly, Connie scares the shit out of me. It’s bad enough she’s in cahoots with my wife all the damn time, so please don’t set me up for a Nelson twins smackdown.”
“Uncle Howie will have your back. I gave him a heads-up.”
Jen’s brows shot up. “Er, um, huh?”
“Insider info, babe.” Giving her a cheeky grin, he explained how things worked. “Nobody handles those two better than Howie Brewster. Sometimes, he’s the only one who can get his wife and my mom under control. John and I go to him whenever we need a mediator. Or a cleanup crew.”
The judge slipped on his suit coat and assumed a lofty air. “All true. Howie’s the master of disaster. But when are you telling your mom what you’ve done?”
“Tonight,” Jen explained. “She’s demanding her sons show and tell.”
Barking with laughter, the judge gave a thumbs-up. “Show and tell. Good one.”
He motioned to them and pointed at a spot next to a window seat. When he and Jen clasped hands and moved into position, Ryan felt the warm rays of the sun shining on them like a spotlight.
His bride’s face reflected her inner strength, and her eyes twinkled with happiness. He’d just been yanking her chain about the suit she wore. It was perfect.
In a hue she insisted was called bambino pink, the two-piece outfit had a feminine flair despite the rather formal cut.
Ryan thought bambino pink was just a clever way of describing a really, really pale suggestion of color. The outfit had a bridal vibe that accented her beautiful hair and chocolate eyes.
Yep. He was definitely marrying up.
“Okay,” the judge said. “Details. Are there rings?”
“Two,” Jen interjected.
“His and hers.” Ryan laughed. “The jeweler had a rehearsed sales pitch.”
“All right, kids. Last chance to stop this madness.”
Jen looked at him and smiled a little before the grin became a long-suffering and very playful sneer.
“Let’s just do this. The clock is ticking, Judge Winborn, and my parents can count.”
“Ah,” he groaned with real surprise. “Now, I get it. Explains the suddenness.”
Ryan had to laugh. “Don’t fall for her innocent act, Judge. And there is nothing sudden about this. After all, we’ve had a couple of years’ worth of foreplay.”
“Are you going to marry me or not, Ryan?”
“Definitely marry. Do your thing, Judge.”
Forty-five minutes later, they were fall down laughing on a city sidewalk, showing off their shiny new rings and tossing one-liners back and forth like old pros.
“Call John,” she insisted. “He’s probably wondering where the hell I am.”
He chuckled and whistled for a cab. “He’s with Samantha. I called earlier while you were changing. Tonight is going to be way interesting.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, Mrs. Lloyd, that you called out for today. We have a marriage to consummate. And don’t worry about my brother. If I’m reading the tea leaves correctly, he and Samantha have a little surprise of their own on the agenda for tonight.”
They got in a cab, and she gave the driver directions.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“To the Love Grotto.”
He stared a minute and then burst out laughing. “The what exactly?”
“It’s an adult store,” she whispered like a prim debutante. “They have a honeymoon special. A kit that their website says no newlywed should be without.”
He lowered his tone and aimed for serious. “I take it you did some research.”
“Yes, I did,” she told him. “And not only that, I downloaded a coupon. Twenty percent off any purchase.”
She downloaded a coupon? Dear sweet baby Buddha. She was fucking perfect.
“I think I might throw up.”
The smile he had going on his face deepened when he laughed.
“Don’t laugh,” his fiancée snarled.
John wiped the foolish grin from his face but hung onto it in his mind. Samantha was a jumble of nerves, and he’d laughed because, in a way, he understood how she was feeling.
Enduring (Family Justice Book 8) Page 64
