If I Need You (If You Come Back To Me #5)

by BETH KERY

He nodded once, his expression tight, his gaze searching. He turned. Faith opened her mouth to halt him again, but uncertainty tightened her throat, silencing her.

  * * *

  The next day dawned even more brilliant than its predecessor. Faith peered out her bedroom window as soon as she arose. The leaves of the oak tree in the side yard had completely unfurled, looking brilliantly green against the backdrop of a cloudless, periwinkle-blue sky. A soft, mild breeze wafted through the window screen.

  When she opened her bedroom door, she paused on the threshold. She could hear the muted sound of Ryan moving around in the kitchen. A ridiculous thought occurred to her that she should go back in her room and close the door.

  It’s unlucky for the groom to see the bride before the wedding.

  Where in the world had that come from? Faith wondered in amused puzzlement. It wasn’t as if they were a real bride and groom, after all.

  She peered into the kitchen cautiously, breathing a sigh of relief when she saw that Ryan wore a gray cotton T-shirt along with his pajama bottoms.

  “Good morning,” she said, feeling shy for some stupid reason.

  He looked around, holding a pan lid in his hand.

  “Good morning. I made oatmeal. Hungry?”

  “I’m starving,” she admitted, entering the kitchen and opening the refrigerator. She pulled out a carton of orange juice and poured it into two glasses.

  “You never ate your salad last night,” he said. “No wonder you’re starved. Were you nauseated? Because of the baby?”

  “No. I think that’s mostly passed, thank goodness.” She returned the carton to the refrigerator and pulled out some English muffins. “I think I might have just been a little...keyed up.”

  “Nervous, you mean?”

  She paused in the action of forking apart a muffin. Ryan leaned next to the counter. It didn’t matter that he’d covered his museum-worthy torso with a T-shirt. He still looked roll-out-of-bed delicious.

  “Yes,” she admitted, dropping her gaze. “Aren’t you? A little?” She looked at his face again when he didn’t immediately answer.

  “I thought you were going to tell me last night that you didn’t want to go through with it,” he said starkly.

  “Oh...well, I was sort of having doubts last night. It’s kind of an unusual situation, isn’t it?” she asked, turning to put the muffins in the toaster.

  “It’s for the best. We have the baby to think about.”

  “I know.”

  A strained silence ensued.

  “Do you feel any different this morning?” he asked.

  She looked out the window on to the brilliant spring day. She gave him a small, sheepish smile.

  “This morning I’m feeling like...it’s an awfully pretty day for a wedding.”

  His face remained sober for a stretched moment.

  Then he smiled the sort of smile a woman remembers for a long, long time.

  * * *

  At ten forty-five that morning, Faith was cursing herself for not asking Mari or Jane or anyone to help her get ready. Yes, she knew very well that this was a marriage of convenience, so why in the world had she let Mari talk her into buying the highly romantic silk, strapless, vintage-inspired gown? She started to work up a sweat as she tried to zip it herself, and had to force herself to pause and take some calming breaths.

  Her face looked anxious in the reflection of the bathroom mirror. Her heart pounded in her ears. She hadn’t been anywhere near this nervous for her wedding to Jesse.

  If you don’t want to do it, don’t, a voice in her head said firmly.

  It was as if reminding herself that she had a choice helped to stabilize her faltering resolution. She was doing this for one reason—a good reason. The baby. It had nothing to do with how she felt about Ryan, or how he felt about her...or even how he didn’t feel about her.

  Surely she wasn’t so selfish as to deny her child the most secure future she could possibly grant it?

  She twisted the dress sufficiently to zip it and slid it back into place. She examined herself in the mirror. Maybe Mari’s advice had been perfect, after all. The vintage ivory color worked well with her skin tone. She wore her hair down and curled loosely. It spilled around her bare shoulders. She had a wrap, but thanks to the ideal spring day with temperatures in the mid-seventies, she wouldn’t need it. The intricate ruched detail around the bodice did a nice job of disguising her expanding breasts. The thing she loved most about the dress, however, was the flowing, light skirt. It made her feel airy and feminine and...

  ...very much like a bride.

  She felt every bit as jittery as a bride on her wedding day when she left her bedroom a moment later and walked into the living room. Ryan was waiting for her, his hands folded behind his back and staring out the front picture window on to the bright spring day.

  He turned. She froze.

  He wore his Air Force dress uniform, and he looked...amazing. The dark blue coat and trousers were perfectly tailored to his tall form. A matching bow tie, silver trimmed shoulder boards and sleeve braid added to his immaculate, elegant, yet utterly masculine appearance.

  She smiled.

  “I had no idea you were going to wear your uniform.”

  “I hope it’s okay.”

  “You look...fantastic.”

  “You look like something out of a dream.”

  Faith blinked. He’d sounded so quiet, so matter-of-fact, it took her a moment to absorb his compliment. She blushed.

  “Thank you.”

  “Just a second,” he said, walking toward the kitchen. When he returned, he held a gorgeous bouquet of white roses, pale orchids and sprays of apple and cherry blossoms. “Every bride is supposed to have flowers.”

  She accepted the bouquet. “Oh, thank you,” she said feelingly. “It’s gorgeous. When did you ever have time to get it?”

  “I picked it up this morning while you were in the shower. After I got my haircut,” he said.

  “It’s almost military short again.”

  “We’re not allowed to wear a dress uniform without a regulation haircut. Even as veterans,” he said, returning her smile. “Well? Are you ready to go?”

  Something new had joined her anxiety when she’d seen Ryan standing there in his dress uniform, so handsome, tall and proud. A fullness unlike anything she’d ever experienced in her life filled her chest cavity, making her feel breathless with anticipation, excited and thrilled to be alive.

  “Are you ready?” he asked quietly.

  Faith nodded, unable to pull her gaze off him. He touched the back of her waist and guided her out the door.

  Chapter Ten

  Faith gasped in pleasure when Ryan turned down the entrance drive to the McKinley Orchards. The lane was lined with brilliantly pink redbud trees in full blossom.

  “Oh, look. I’ve never seen anything so pretty in my life,” she said a few minutes later when Ryan opened the car door for her and she alighted. The garden and landscape blazed so bright with spring color, it was almost blinding to the eyes. Brilliant tulips lined the path to the café, but beyond their tame, orderly border, Clarisse and Nathan had let nature do the gardening. Amaryllis, begonia, bluebell and grape hyacinth waved in the gentle breeze. In the distance stood the groves of blooming fruit trees—fuchsia peach blossoms, snow-white apple and pear, lavender plum and pink cherry. The smooth blue sky and the ruffled, sparkling lake provided a soothing backdrop to the vibrant palette of color.

  She glanced at Ryan and they shared a smile.

  Several people were walking to greet them along the stone-paved path that led to the café. Mari looked like part of the landscape in a magenta-colored dress with her hair spilling around her shoulders. The tall, arrestingly handsome man with the golden-brown hair and
tawny skin who walked by her side must be Marc Kavanaugh. She recognized the sunburned, white-haired, thin man with a camera strapped around his neck as Nathan McKinley, the orchard owner. The man who brought up the rear of the party must be Father Mike.

  “Could you possibly have picked a more perfect day for this?” Mari enthused as she reached them, hugging Faith first and her brother second. She beamed at both of them as she stepped back. “Oh, my. You two are a picture.”

  “Lucky I’m ready to take one, then,” Nathan said, holding up his camera as Ryan shook hands with and greeted him, Marc and Father Mike. He introduced Faith to Marc and Father Mike.

  “It’s very nice to meet you. I’ve known Ryan and Mari since they were as tall as my knee,” Father Mike said, taking Faith’s hand. “As you can see, a lot has changed since then,” the priest joked, tilting his thumb at Ryan. The top of Father Mike’s head currently was even with one of Ryan’s silver shoulder boards.

  “Father Mike married us, too,” Marc said, taking Faith’s hand.

  Faith smiled tremulously. She’d worried before about the idea of having a priest marry them versus a justice of the peace. She understood from Mari that they had been brought up as Maronite Christians by their parents, who were very orthodox in their practice, even if Mari and Ryan had not remained strict adherents as adults. Having a priest marry them seemed so much more...binding than a justice of the peace, although Ryan had assured her that when it came to the law, which is why they were marrying, it made no difference whatsoever.

  She’d previously had those doubts.

  As she stood there at Ryan’s side with all those kind, smiling people, the spring day surrounding them like a blessing, she was glad they’d get married by an old family friend...a man of God.

  “Well, should we proceed?” Father Mike asked, waving toward the blossoming groves, a twinkle in his eye.

  “Absolutely,” Ryan said, his eyes on Faith, his gaze warmer than the sunshine. He held out his arm for her, and she took it.

  * * *

  Later she wished she could remember more details of the brief ceremony. It was as if the whole experience passed in a blaze of sensation: golden sunshine, brilliant blooms, the sweet scent wafting off the trees, the sound of the waves breaking on the beach in the distance...the warm, steady look in Ryan’s eyes as they repeated their vows. She recalled the cool sensation of the white gold on her skin as Ryan slipped the ring on her finger, the sound of Father Mike’s voice saying, I now pronounce you husband and wife. She remembered the radiant expression on Mari’s face as she looked on, tears spilling down her cheek.

  But she’d never forget the first time Ryan kissed her as her husband.

  His mouth felt warm and cherishing as it moved over hers. When they parted, a thrill of anticipation went through her when she saw the possessive gleam in his eyes.

  * * *

  Clarisse served them lunch on the terrace, where they sat in shade and looked out on to a sunny, sparkling Lake Michigan. Ryan hardly saw the view, however, as busy as he was touching Faith’s bare shoulder and staring. She looked more radiant than he’d ever seen her.

  He managed to tear his gaze off her for a split second and saw Marc looking at his wife, his head close to hers.

  “Do you remember the last time we sat at this table? You were pregnant then, too,” he murmured.

  “Of course I remember,” she said softly, exchanging a meaningful glance with her husband. “This place is charmed. That’s why I suggested it for you two.” She transferred her gaze to Ryan and Faith. Faith looked up at him shyly. He leaned down to kiss her mouth.

  “So you two plan to just return home after this?” Mari asked later, after they’d eaten the delicious cake Clarisse had prepared for them from scratch.

  Ryan cupped Faith’s shoulder in the palm of his hand and squeezed lightly. Was that a blush spreading on her cheeks as she toyed with her cake fork?

  “That’s right,” Ryan said. “I was wondering if I can have a word with you before we leave, Marc?”

  Everyone at the table stilled, but Marc looked the most stunned of all at Ryan’s request.

  “Sure,” Marc said. He took his napkin from his lap and pointed toward the picturesque stone path that ran between the lake bluff and the orchard. “Do you want to take a walk?”

  Ryan nodded, gave Faith a smile and one last squeeze of her petal-soft shoulder, and stood. Mari looked puzzled and a little worried about Ryan’s request to talk to Marc in private. He felt guilty about that and tried to give her a reassuring smile. His sister had put up with his unresolved issues with Marc Kavanaugh for too long, now.

  He and Marc walked for a ways in silence, finally pausing when they reached a low, circular stone wall that served as a lookout to the lake. They stood gazing out at the rippling, sun-dappled water.

  “I’ve been reading in the papers that the polls have you far ahead of your opponent for the senate race,” Ryan began. “It looks like we’re going to have a U.S. Senator in the family.”

  Marc made a doubtful noise. “Anything can change between now and November.”

  “It won’t,” Ryan said, sitting on the stone wall. “Remember when we were in high school, and I used to say you’d probably be president some day?”

  Marc gave a wry smile. “And you were going to be my Air Force One pilot.”

  “I still will be, if the need should ever arise,” Ryan said, grinning swiftly.

  “It won’t. I would never put Mari through that mess. This campaign has been hard enough on the family. I’ll go back to being a prosecutor after I serve my term,” Marc said.

  Marc spoke amiably enough, but Ryan noticed his slightly puzzled expression. He couldn’t understand why Ryan had called him out here for this little discussion.

  “I have something that I want to...confess, I guess,” Ryan said after a pause.

  “Okay,” Marc said slowly, his brows bunching together in consternation.

  He exhaled and looked out at the dancing water. “When Mari first told me she was pregnant with Riley, when I took her back to San Francisco with me, there were a few times that I encouraged her not to tell you she was going to have your baby.”

  Only the waves crashing on the beach broke the stony silence that followed.

  “She never agreed, of course. I know now that I was wrong to tell her that,” Ryan said. “I’m sorry.”

  “And you realize that because of your experience with Faith?” Marc asked. “You wouldn’t want to be cut out of the picture any more than I would have, would you?”

  “No,” Ryan said, meeting his onetime friend’s stare. Anger sparked in Marc’s blue eyes. “And in answer to your question about Faith, yes. That was part of why I wanted to bring up the topic to you today. But there’s more.”

  “Go on,” Marc said after a tense moment.

  “The accident happened a long, long time ago. In a different lifetime. I won’t lie that I’ve been angry and resentful about losing my parents. I took out a lot of my anger on you, but I know you didn’t deserve it. It hasn’t been fair, to you, or to Mari or to Riley.” He looked at Marc. “We used to be friends once. Good friends.”

  “The best,” Marc said grimly.

  He watched a wave break on a rock, sending up a tall spray.

  “You’ve made Mari so happy. More happy than she’s ever been in her life. I’ve considered Riley as my family, but not you,” Ryan stated baldly. He looked at Marc. “I want that to change. I want you to be a real uncle to my child, just like I am to Riley. I want us to be brothers. If you can see your way to forgive all my misplaced anger over the years, that is.”

  “Of course I forgive you. If you can forgive me in the same way,” Marc said.

  He stood and held out his hand. Marc shook it.

  “What’s family for, if no
t to forgive our worst faults?” Ryan asked with a small smile.

  “Exactly,” Marc agreed. He slapped Ryan’s upper arm. “Now, let’s get you back to your bride.”

  * * *

  “Ryan? Why did you want to talk to Marc earlier? You guys looked so serious when you left. And when you got back, you both seemed...relieved.”

  Ryan opened the front door for her. The house felt a little stuffy, so Faith flipped the air-conditioning on low. She turned to face Ryan.

  “I was saying something to him that I should have said a long time ago,” Ryan said, removing his coat. “I guess you could say that the specialness of the day sort of...popped it out of me.”

  The specialness of the day.

  His words reverberated in her brain. That, along with some other phrases that had kept reoccurring with alarming frequency as she’d sat by Ryan’s side during the lunch, exquisitely aware of his touch on her shoulder and arm. Phrases like, I, Faith, take you, Ryan, to be my wedded husband.

  Or Father Mike saying, an institution ordained by God, which is not to be entered into lightly or unadvisedly.

  Faith took a step toward him.

  “It was a special day, Ryan. I want to thank you. It...it couldn’t have been any lovelier if we’d planned it for a year.”

  He draped his coat on the back of a chair and stepped toward her, his eyes intense. “Did you really think so?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “You felt it, too?”

  She swallowed. She knew precisely what he meant. No matter how much she wanted to cling on to the comfort of a marriage of convenience, something larger than she’d expected had happened out in the orchard today. Call it the divinely inspired weather, or the fact that Ryan was the most handsome, dashing man she’d ever laid eyes on, or her own foolish heart, but the day would forever be treasured in her memory.

  “Yes,” she said softly. “I felt it.”

  He stepped closer to her. She looked up at him solemnly. He touched her cheek.

  “The day isn’t over yet. Let’s make it last, Faith.”

  She swallowed through a constricted throat. She knew exactly what he meant, of course. There was no other way to interpret the hot, possessive gleam in his eyes.