My Way Back to You (Harlequin Large Print Super Romance)

by Pamela Hearon

  “Jeff, I’m pregnant. With your baby. Again.”

  The sounds didn’t bounce off the membrane but bored through it as if secured to the bit of a hand drill. Round and round, they ground through bone and fluid and gray matter, reaching the very center of his thinking process. Logic and emotions caught together and whirled into a conglomerated mass that congealed at the back of his tongue and rendered him unable to produce intelligible speech.

  He took a large gulp from his glass, his eyes never leaving hers, giving her time to laugh...and tell him she was only joking. He watched her hand reach for her water.

  No wine. Water.

  This was no joke.

  The drink unlocked his tongue to some degree. “Pregnant.”

  She nodded. “With your baby.”

  “Again.” He set the drink down, not trusting his hold.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, and her chin quivered, strangely juxtaposed against the steady directness of her gaze.

  “Don’t be. Sorry, I mean. Not ‘Don’t be pregnant.’” He scooted toward her and took her hands. They were cold and sweaty. Trembling. Or was that his? “Oh, my God, Mags. Oh. My. God.” He breathed in but couldn’t seem to force air past the area around his collarbone. He reached to loosen his tie, then realized he wasn’t wearing one. “I can’t believe this.” The next breath seeped deeper into his chest, to the crawl space around his heart. “We’re going to be parents again.”

  “You’re not angry?”

  “No.” He shook his head and scattered his emotions into manageable piles. “Shocked. Worried. Mystified.” He felt the tremulous smile playing at the edges of his mouth, waiting for permission to show itself. “Thrilled. Determined. Blessed. Not angry.” He watched her shoulders slump and realized how high with tension she’d been carrying them since she arrived. “How long have you known?”

  “The day I called you, I’d been to the doctor and found out for sure. But I’d known for about a week before that. I skipped my period, which is rare for me. And I’d done a home pregnancy test.”

  He held his arms out to her, and she leaned into him willingly, sighing deeply as he enfolded her. Another sigh shuddered against him and morphed into a soft sob.

  He tightened his hold. “Don’t cry.” She shook against him harder. “Shh. This isn’t something to cr—” Panic stabbed his heart. He grasped her arms and pushed her away to an arm’s length, maintaining his hold. “How do you feel about it? You’re not thinking about...” He swallowed, unable to say the word.

  She gave a long blink as she shook her head. “No. I want the baby. I’ve just been so worried about what your reaction would be.”

  The panic left him with a whoosh, and a new emotion rushed in to fill the vacant gap. He sprang to his feet, pacing, unable to remain still. “I’m going to be a father again! Oh, my God.” His fisted hands flew into the air in a gesture of triumph that felt better than a hundred holes in one. Memories of Russ flooded his brain, sweeping him back across the years on a wave of joy. Another boy? Or maybe a girl this time? He pressed his thumb and finger against his eyes to squeeze away the threatening tears.

  Another wave brought another emotion that threw him onto the opposite shore, and he saw himself sitting in Russ’s bedroom looking through a photo album in which he was conspicuously absent.

  The image twisted his insides like they’d gotten caught in a wringer.

  He brought his pacing to an abrupt halt and stooped beside Maggie. Resting his elbows on his knees, he took one of her hands in both of his. “I don’t want to be an absentee father, Mags. Not this time. I want my child with me here—all the time.” He gave her the most imploring look he could muster. “Move out here. We’ll raise this one together.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  MAGGIE’S HEAD SPUN at Jeff’s suggestion.

  “Me? Move out here?”

  He nodded, his beseeching eyes pinning her with his unrelenting gaze. “It would be perfect. We could get you a place right here—in this building. I know of several that are empty.”

  “No.” Her mind wouldn’t even allow her to address the idea. “I’ve got the salon. The house.”

  “Sell them.” He stood and started pacing again, running his hands through his hair and behind his neck. “Use the money to buy into a salon out here. I’ll be able to help you out financially—and I can take care of all the baby’s expens—”

  “No!” Maggie surged to her feet. He would not take over and plan her life. “It’s not just a house and salon back there, Jeff. It’s my life. It’s everything.”

  He came to her. Bracing his hands on her shoulders, he leaned down and looked at her. “But you could start a new life here. It would be good for you. I mean, Taylor’s Grove is a nice town, but there’s a whole world out there, Mags. You always loved when we visited here...”

  His look and his touch sent a warm sensation spiraling through her and caused her heart to skip a beat. She fought to think clearly. “But those were visits. I love Kentucky. It’s home. It has seasons.”

  “But you love summer. And it’s always summer here—in some form.” He grinned, obviously thinking he was winning her over.

  She pulled out of his grasp and turned her back on him, suddenly frightened by the powerful hold this man had on her. His arms came around her from behind, his mouth close to her ear. “We’ve joked about being exes with benefits. It would be so great to be able to have you close. We could continue to explore this...this renewed attraction. We care for each other, Mags. If we lived closer and had more time together...”

  My heart would be putty in your hands in no time flat.

  “...maybe we could give ourselves another chance t—”

  “To fail?” She broke from his embrace and spun to face him, arms firmly locked across her chest.

  His hands settled on his hips. “We might not fail.”

  “I’m not into taking chances anymore, Jeff. Not with a baby to think about.” She raised an eyebrow. “But if you want to have more time in this child’s life, you could move to Taylor’s Grove...or Paducah. Of course, that would’ve been an option the first time around, too.”

  The flash of pain in his eyes told her the remark landed well. For the second time in her memory, she saw defeat shadow his face. The first had been the night they’d decided divorce was the only option.

  “I can’t leave the dealership, Mags. Too many people depend on me. Mom and Dad. Chloe.”

  Having seen Chloe that afternoon, she knew he was telling the truth. His family needed him. On the other hand, she could do fine by herself... Her arms dropped limply to her sides as the smugness and anger drained from her. They were at an impasse. With a nod of understanding, she crossed to him and took his hands. “Yes, you have your hands full here. I didn’t realize how much until this afternoon.”

  He shrugged and for the better part of a minute they stood in amiable silence.

  His chest rose and fell as prelude to his comment. “We’ll figure something out.” He drew her into a hug.

  She nodded, unable to speak around the emotion clogging her throat as she imagined once again going through the agony of waving goodbye to her child at the airport as he or she left for the holidays or the summer...all those lonely times ahead when he or she would be away.

  “Russ turned out fine. We can do it again,” she whispered at last, and heard him sigh deeply in response.

  He leaned back to look at her. “Does he know?”

  She shook her head. “I haven’t told him yet. Haven’t told anyone. I thought you deserved to be the first to know.”

  He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and gave her a little smile. “I appreciate that. When do you think we should tell him?”

  We?

  Her heart skipped at the thought that he wanted to be part
of the announcement.

  “I’d planned to tell him when he comes home at Thanksgiving. I want to do it in person. This news just doesn’t jibe with a phone call.” She laid out the plan she’d already made. “I’ll probably just barely be showing by then, so I’m hoping with the right clothes, I can keep it a secret that long. If anybody notices the weight gain...well, nobody but Mom would say anything. We can tell Russ—and then everybody else?”

  “That would be great.” The warmth in his smile made her a little giddy. “I’ll get online after we eat and buy my tickets.”

  The intercom on his door buzzed. “I hope you’re hungry,” he said as he moved to answer it.

  Nerves had kept her from eating much all day, and nausea had taken care of what little she’d consumed. “I’m starved,” she admitted.

  “Good.” He clapped his hands together. “Because we’re about to have a meal that will start Junior craving the finer things in life.”

  No, the finer things in life would be a mom and dad living together in a loving relationship.

  The thought pinched her heart...and she pinched her mouth shut.

  Some circumstances in life couldn’t be helped. You just had to make the best of it.

  And a long-distance relationship was the best either of them had to offer.

  * * *

  JEFF SLIPPED SILENTLY from the bed, leaving Mags sleeping, peaceful and sound.

  The beef bourguignon had been delicious, but it wasn’t sitting well in his stomach. Nothing was sitting well, as a matter of fact. Not dinner. Not wine. Certainly not the plans he and Mags had discussed.

  He slid the door open and stepped out onto the balcony. The lights of the city drowned out all except the brightest stars, but a half-moon was shining, and it gave him something to focus on while his mind searched for an answer to this dilemma.

  He was being given a second chance at fatherhood. His heart swelled with happiness. The one bright star in his life was Russ, and now he would have another. Did two constitute a constellation? He smiled to himself and took a seat to bask in that for a moment, stretching out in the chaise Jennifer had used for nude sunbathing. He hadn’t sat in it for quite a while, and the faintest scent of her perfume mixed with coconut oil still wafted up from the cushion. His jaws tightened involuntarily.

  A few years ago, he’d been so sure Jennifer was The One. She’d seemed to enjoy Russ’s Christmas visit, lavishing him with attention and gifts for the two weeks he was with them. But then summer had come and when Russ’s two weeks stretched into two months, she’d become a different person. Not The One by any stretch of the imagination.

  The One would be someone who would love his children—the plural form of the word warmed him all over—as if they were her own. But a woman like that was hard to find. And apparently thinking he’d found her didn’t necessarily mean he’d actually accomplished the feat. Sometimes it took years to know for sure.

  He was thirty-eight, for God’s sake...had already wasted precious years.

  While other guys his age were settled and living the life he wanted, being a part of the game—wife, kids, stability—he sat on the bench, waiting to be called into action.

  And now, the cycle was starting all over.

  He closed his eyes, imagining how it would be this time around—and the images churned the beef bourguignon like a wind over the ocean. He was headed for tumultuous seas if he didn’t handle things differently this time.

  Being an absentee father? Having only two-and-a-half months of his child’s life each year? And that wouldn’t start until the child was old enough to travel alone. The first few years—the formative time when he needed to establish his relationship—there would be even less time than he’d had with Russ.

  That was unacceptable.

  The whole damn, freaking situation was unacceptable!

  He pushed from the chair and leaned over the balcony railing, taking deep breaths until his nostrils were totally cleansed of the scent of the wrong woman.

  Head cleared, he turned and gazed through the door at Mags—the mother of his children. Both of them. Getting the same woman pregnant twice—surely the universe was trying to tell him something. And, if not the universe, surely the pounding of his heart was making him acknowledge what he already knew.

  Mags was the right woman. The One. The person who would love and care for his children like no other could. The one who would put them first in her life until the day she died.

  He cared for her deeply. Loved her. And she loved him, too. He felt it in his heart, read it in her eyes. They were getting along really well—if eight days together was any indication.

  They needed to be together, needed to raise this child together. They deserved this, and the child deserved this. But the daunting task before him was convincing Mags he was right.

  He slipped quietly into the bedroom and back into bed.

  She turned to him in her sleep, snuggling against him as he slid one arm under her neck and the other across her hip.

  He nestled his nose into her hair and breathed in the light, fresh scent of her cologne, letting it fill his head and heart.

  Like a magic potion, the scent seeped into his soul, lightening his mood with the hope that tomorrow he would find a way to make his vision of their future together a reality.

  * * *

  MAGGIE COULDN’T HOLD back the laugh as she took the bouquet from the delivery guy, and he answered with a grin of his own.

  “Not that it’s any of my business,” he said. “But from the looks of things, I’m thinking congratulations might be in order?”

  “Yes, they are. Thank you.” The clear vase held a dozen roses—six pink scattered among six blue, with a large, double-colored bow adorning the front.

  “Well, take care.”

  “I will, thanks.”

  As he moved away, she closed the door and set the bouquet on the dining table, admiring the gorgeousness and sniffing carefully. With Russ, smells had often triggered her morning sickness.

  Two tiny clothespins—one pink, one blue—fastened a card to the ribbon. She unclipped it and moved into the living room space, gaining some distance from the flowers just in case the scent got to her.

  The message on the card was simple. Mags—thank you.

  She blinked back the tears. Since calling Jeff last week, she’d been over the scenario of telling him the news so many times, it had bordered on obsession. But never had she imagined the totally positive and supportive behavior he’d exhibited. Coming here to tell him had been the right decision—even though she’d had to do it on the sly. And waiting to tell Russ together was the right thing, too. They needed to make this as much a family deal as they could, considering they weren’t really family in the normal sense of the word.

  Her stomach tightened ever so slightly so she moved onto the shady balcony off the living room—away from the aromatic bouquet—and stretched out on the chaise.

  Before leaving for work that morning, Jeff had insisted on throwing away the cushion from the chaise on his bedroom balcony. She didn’t know what that was about. It looked fine to her, but he’d said it was worn-out and had offered to switch this cushion to that chair. She was glad she’d told him not to bother. Part of her time had been spent at the pool in the sun earlier in the day, and now she had a couple of hours to relax in the shade, feeling much more at ease than she deserved to, considering her circumstances.

  She closed her eyes and imagined Russ’s many possible reactions when they told him.

  A buzzer sounded, and she jerked to a sitting position. Oh, good Lord, she’d fallen asleep! She was meeting Jeff at the restaurant when he got off work in a little over an hour—and she still needed to shower and wash her hair.

  She hurried to the intercom. “Yes?”

  “Delivery for
Maggie Wells.”

  Her breath caught at the name. “Y-yes. Bring it up.” Although she’d kept the Wells name until she’d married Zeke, after his death she’d gone back to Russell. Maggie Wells was someone from a different life altogether. Hardly a resemblance remained to connect her with who she’d been then.

  This delivery person, a young woman, gave her a cheerful greeting when she opened the door, handed her a gaily colored gift box in lime green with a festive lemon-yellow ribbon and bow, bade her adieu and hurried away.

  A shifting of the weight indicated more than one item inside as she carried the box back to the master bedroom. No card on the outside this time.

  But only one person would’ve called her Maggie Wells.

  An odd sensation passed through her, and she plopped down on the bed, suddenly not trusting her legs. She eyed the box sitting on her lap with its pretty wrappings. There was nothing sinister about it, so why were her fingers trembling as they grasped the ribbon? Why the hesitation to open it?

  She set it to the side and walked over to the balcony, stepping out into the sunshine and fresh air. A few deep breaths cleared away the misgivings and convinced her the rise in her hormone level was intensifying everything.

  Making her a little crazy.

  She grinned and shook her head. She’d been through this before, but now she was forewarned and could keep it under control.

  She went back to the box and gave the ribbon an unceremonious yank. It slid smoothly away, and she lifted the lid and cautiously peered inside. Sure enough, there were several layers separated by orange tissue paper. She took the box that lay on top and slid it out of its velvet enclosure. The box was long and narrow. Jewelry maybe? A bracelet? A surprised gasp exploded from her lips.

  Nestled inside was a cartridge writing pen, heavy and ornate. The top was black encrusted with silver filigree. The bottom was solid black except for one word—Mags—engraved delicately in silver. Three cartridges lay inside the box—black, steel gray and gold. She replaced the pen in its box and set it on her lap.