His Baby Dilemma
His Baby Dilemma
Catherine Lanigan
Must they always be continents apart?Nobody expects Paris fashion designer Grace Railton to settle down in her Indiana town, least of all Mica Barzonni. Fifteen months ago, he turned to her for comfort and compassion following a farming accident that left him permanently injured. Then she returned to France and went silent on him.Until, suddenly, Grace shows up on his doorstep with life-altering news. Mica, a father? He’s barely learned to navigate his postaccident life. But this could be his chance to become the man he’s always wanted to be—the husband and father Grace and their baby son need. Now Mica just has to convince her to stay.
Must they always be continents apart?
Nobody expects Paris fashion designer Grace Railton to settle down in her Indiana town, least of all Mica Barzonni. Fifteen months ago, he turned to her for comfort and compassion following a farming accident that left him permanently injured. Then she returned to France and went silent on him.
Until, suddenly, Grace shows up on his doorstep with life-altering news. Mica, a father? He’s barely learned to navigate his post-accident life. But this could be his chance to become the man he’s always wanted to be—the husband and father Grace and their baby son need. Now Mica just has to convince her to stay.
“Grace,” Mica said with a sharp edge of irritation. “What are you doing here?”
Her heart slammed violently in her chest. Her hands were shaking. She had to do this quickly.
“I brought you something.”
“You what?”
Grace leaned into the back seat and unhooked the straps in the baby carrier, lifting Jules.
She straightened and shut the door with her hip. Mica stared at her and then at the baby. “Hold out your arm, Mica.”
He was speechless as she walked up to him, but he took Jules when she held him out.
“He’s yours, and it’s your turn to take care of him.”
Mica’s blue eyes blazed with mistrust and something akin to revulsion. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Does he look like a joke?”
“No.” His surprise and mounting anger hit her like shotgun pellets. Sharp, painful and deep. She’d thought she’d prepared herself for his reaction, but seeing Mica and remembering what it was like to be in his arms... Grace hated herself for being the bad guy. There wasn’t a single thing she’d done since last October that merited his trust, love or respect.
“I don’t have a son,” Mica said and started to hand the baby back to her.
“Yes, you do. This is Jules.”
Dear Reader (#u16093c9a-97f8-5f09-b2e5-858ed1874e7b),
Mica Barzonni never questioned his fate until an accident paralyzed his left arm. He’d always assumed he’d inherit his father’s successful farm. Despondent and frustrated, Mica wasn’t looking for love when Grace Railton came back to Indian Lake to help her aunt Louise at the ice cream shop. But he was looking for comfort.
It had been over a decade since the summer Grace lost her heart to Mica. She’d never forgotten the kiss they shared in his parents’ swimming pool. Mica didn’t remember much, except that Grace was a silly beauty pageant contestant. Now she’s an up-and-coming fashion designer in Paris. Little can distract her from her career. Except Mica.
After a romantic October in Indian Lake, Grace returns to Paris. And Mica doesn’t hear a word from her for fourteen months...until she shows up on his doorstep and shocks him to his soul.
She presents Mica with their son.
Mica is angry that Grace has kept six-month-old Jules from him, but now that he’s met his baby, he wants to keep him—forever. Grace is still looking for one thing and one thing only: Mica’s love.
I hope you like His Baby Dilemma. I must admit I had fun writing the comic scenes in this story. Not only has Mica never changed a diaper, but he must do it one-handed! As poignant as the love story between Grace and Mica is, there were strong moments of insight, even for me.
Please send me your thoughts and comments at cathlanigan1@gmail.com, follow me on Facebook and Twitter, @cathlanigan (https://twitter.com/cathlanigan?lang=en), or visit www.heartwarmingauthors.blogspot.com (http://www.heartwarmingauthors.blogspot.com).
Catherine Lanigan
His Baby Dilemma
Catherine Lanigan
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CATHERINE LANIGAN knew she was born for storytelling at a very young age when she told stories to her younger brothers and sister to entertain them. After years of encouragement from family and high school teachers, Catherine was shocked and brokenhearted when her freshman college creative-writing professor told her that she had “no writing talent whatsoever” and that she would never earn a dime as a writer. He promised her that he would be her crutches and get her through his demanding class with a B grade so as not to destroy her high grade point average too much, if Catherine would promise never to write again.
For fourteen years she did not write until she was encouraged by a television journalist to give her dream a shot. She wrote a six-hundred-page historical romantic spy thriller set against World War I. The journalist sent the manuscript to his agent, who then garnered bids from two publishers. That was nearly forty published novels, nonfiction books and anthologies ago.
This book is dedicated to my late husband,
Jed Nolan, my hero and best friend. I will love
you to the moon and back, and throughout all
the galaxies and universes.
Acknowledgments
This year has been a difficult one for many authors and editors. For the family of Heartwarming authors, we must say goodbye to our extraordinarily talented, warmhearted and savvy senior editor, Victoria Curran. Granted, she may not be part of our line any longer, but, Victoria, you will always be a part of my life and my future. For those authors like me who have been in this business, decade after decade, we’ve walked through these valleys and this I know...you are never alone. Editors are not simply work colleagues. For an artist, an author, an editor is part of our brain, heart and soul. It isn’t possible for me to put a part of my heart on a shelf and say, “Be seeing you.” Instead, I will say, “Let’s talk soon.”
To Claire Caldwell, there are no words to express my appreciation for your insights and my downright giddiness when we brainstorm and pull yet another story together. With each story, we have more and more fun. And that’s the way it should be.
To my agent, Lissy Peace, to whom I’ve been “joined at the hip” for over twenty years—it’s
been a ride!
Contents
Cover (#u5bdd104b-fe47-5817-840f-c96243da13b7)
Back Cover Text (#uda6679fe-ab4f-51ca-be24-32dfbe8d27e0)
Introduction (#u472f1785-f79c-5772-95cc-8ed035ccc08b)
Dear Reader (#u88050f03-43b2-58b8-9cf0-77df676d204e)
Title Page (#u10f07a4e-29e3-5ae1-878f-adf887a2ace3)
About the Author (#u7afdaff5-e271-57eb-802c-04f54fb0fe4e)
PROLOGUE (#u211292f6-b3a0-5585-99a5-5d48c323fb5e)
CHAPTER ONE (#u565ecd2e-250a-5291-88b1-93eda24dccc6)
CHAPTER TWO (#u5e8ffde7-529e-54cd-8700-e545183838af)
CHAPTER THREE (#ud809345a-7dd8-5087-8568-9f2b1140723d)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ub06994f4-f1f6-5aab-89d3-1167d55dac31)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u10536677-9fbc-568b-9b95-18eb67378e2e)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
PROLOGUE (#u16093c9a-97f8-5f09-b2e5-858ed1874e7b)
Fifteen months ago
GRUMBLING AT HER travel-weary reflection in her palm-sized mirror, Grace Railton used a cotton swab to clean away the mascara smudges under her eyes. Jet lag. No sleep and a seven-hour time difference between Paris and Indian Lake are not your friends, Grace. She peered into the mirror. Nope. Not by a long shot.
“Next stop—Indian Lake. Indian Lake!” the conductor announced as he trundled down the crowded aisle.
Grace inhaled—for courage or stamina, she didn’t know. Almost there.
“Indian Lake!” the conductor shouted again as he passed Grace’s seat.
Grace reached out to touch his sleeve. “Excuse me, would it be possible to get some help with my bags when we stop? I’ve been traveling for nearly fourteen hours and—”
“Not my job,” he barked back and started to move away.
Grace gripped his sleeve. “Sir. I’m most happy to pay for the service and I—”
“We don’t take tips.” He peered at her, taking in her clothing. “You’re not from around here.”
“I just flew in from Paris.”
“Let me guess. You’re the one with the huge bags blocking the exit?” He glared at her.
Grace wasn’t about to be shut down. “I only need help off the train.”
He continued to glower at her. Hard.
“Thirty dollars?”
“I’ll meet you by the door.” He looked down at her high-heeled boots. “Think you can manage the steps in those things?”
“I’ll be fine,” she assured him with a bright smile.
Grace wasn’t sure if the man was angling for more money or if he was criticizing her apparel. Either way, she’d gotten what she wanted out of the bargain. Her bags were overloaded and overweight—and for good reason. She would be staying in Indian Lake for over a month, helping her Aunt Louise at The Louise House ice-cream shop while she recovered from back surgery.
Aunt Louise’s request was one that Grace wouldn’t have dreamed of declining. Louise was the only family Grace had left. Grace’s father, Jim Railton, had died when she was very young and her mother, Amanda, had died the day after Grace’s high-school graduation.
However, Aunt Louise was always a prominent part of Grace’s life and all of Grace’s happy childhood memories featured Aunt Louise’s quirky presence.
Louise had always treated Grace as the daughter she never had, and because Grace had dreamed of a career in fashion design, Louise had insisted that only Parsons, one of the best design schools in the country, was good enough for her talented niece. Grace had already saved nearly half the tuition from her Junior Miss Illinois and Miss Teen Illinois pageant winnings. Since Grace had grown up in fashionable, urban Chicago, the competition for the crown was stiff, but her determination and talents had bloomed early. Louise had generously offered to cover the rest. Once she graduated, Grace had diligently sent Louise a check every month, though she’d never asked to be repaid. Grace was no longer in financial debt to her aunt, but she wasn’t sure she could ever repay the kindness and support Louise had given her over the years. Helping her at the ice-cream shop was merely a drop in the bucket.
The train rumbled past a riot of autumn-bronzed trees and rolling farmland, golden now with harvested corn shocks and soybeans. The land was serene and lush with abundance, and Grace realized she’d never quite felt the same about any other place. Not even the South of France, with its vineyards, cobblestone streets and outdoor cafés, held the allure for her that Indian Lake did.
Odd, it’s taken so long for me to return here.
The last time she’d been in Indian Lake she’d been two months shy of her sixteenth birthday. Her mother had still been alive. Grace had been the first runner-up in the Miss Teen Illinois contest. After winning the crown for Junior Miss Illinois in prior years, Grace was blindsided by her near miss. She’d been certain she would win. Her piano performance was impeccable. The gowns she’d designed and that her mother had helped her make were perfection. She’d delivered answers to the judges’ questions with insight and flawless diction. She should have won. But she hadn’t.
That summer was a turning point in her life. After that summer, Grace had altered her goal of becoming a model and directed her ambition toward fashion design. It had been a summer for growing up. That much was certain.
Grace ran her palm over the lapels of her jacket, making certain they lay flat.
Nervous habit, she groused to herself and dropped her hands. She’d worked hard on the design she was wearing. Her fingers traveled over the wool fabric she’d snagged at a bargain price from Johnstons of Elgin. The cashmere was from Nepal, but Grace believed the Scots knew how to weave it best. As comforting as her black jacket and slim skirt were, she was anxious.
She leaned her head against the hard seat and exhaled. She had to calm down.
“You coming back home?” the man across from her asked.
Grace had been so deep in thought, she’d barely noticed anyone else on the train at all.
“Yes. No. Yes,” she replied, looking at him. Attractive was an understatement. He was tall and trim in his well-tailored black business suit, white cotton shirt and conservative tie. The clothes were not expensive, off the rack. He had a good eye for putting himself together and watching his budget. She liked that.
His blue eyes danced and a wave of thick chestnut hair fell over his forehead.
“Can’t decide, huh? Think you’ll get off when we stop?” He smiled broadly.
He was observant. She had to give him that.
Grace couldn’t hold back her own smile. She was used to men striking up conversations with her in cafés. Trains. Airplanes. She’d worn a rhinestone crown since she was ten, and didn’t give it up until she was fifteen. Sometimes she thought men could still see the glimmer, even though the glamour and floodlights had faded for her long ago.
He leaned forward. Just a bit. Not so much that the gesture cut through her personal space. “Dylan Hawks.” He extended his hand and she took it.
“Hawks? I know that name. Are you related to Isabelle Hawks?” she asked.
“My sister,” he said, lifting his chin proudly. “She’s why I’m home for the weekend. Her bridal shower.”
“How nice.” Grace swallowed hard. She limited thoughts of brides to design projects, never imagining herself in that role. “I’m Grace Railton, by the way.”
“Pleasure.” He smiled and then continued. “It’s a big couples’ thing at our friend’s house. Mrs. Beabots.”
Grace’s spirits lightened. “I know her very well. She was practically my mentor.”
“Mentor?”
“It’s a long story,” Grace replied. After high school, Grace had left for New York and entered Parsons School of Design. While her friends went to parties, she drew, created and studied. When they went to Florida for Spring Break, she wrangled appointments with fashion house assistants and design team members. Over large lattes—which she bought for them—Grace picked their brains and soaked up information. In the summers, she took part-time internships on Seventh Avenue. She hadn’t cared how menial the job; she’d only wanted to learn. Like striving for one of her pageant crowns, she had to be the best.
She’d graduated at the top of her class and landed a summer internship at Tom Ford. Grace knew that the very best designers worked in Paris, and she’d believed that until she had a chance to prove her talent in the biggest and toughest arena in the world, she’d never be happy.
Aunt Louise had told Grace of Mrs. Beabots’s former life in Paris, where she had “done something” at Chanel, though no one in town was certain what, since Mrs. Beabots was as tight-lipped, as Louise put it, as the seal on a coffin. Grace had gotten to know Mrs. Beabots during her visits to Indian Lake in high school. Grace had taken an instant liking to the older woman and they shared an admiration for beautifully made clothes. Mrs. Beabots had eventually suggested Grace sketch the dresses she envisioned and send them to her. Grace did precisely that. Throughout high school and college, Grace had corresponded with Mrs. Beabots, sending drawings and photos of her designs. Grace had pleaded with her her aunt to enlist Mrs. Beabots’s help in making connections in Paris, and by that autumn after her college graduation, Grace was on a plane headed to Paris as an assistant to an assistant at Jean Paul Gaultier. Grace’s penchant for perfectionism had gotten her noticed within weeks and she had been challenging herself ever since. Now she was an independent designer with her own team, hoping they would be “brought on” to a top couture house. Under an iconic umbrella, they would have respect, clout and the freedom to create their own line of clothing and accessories, with Grace’s name and logo stamped on every ensemble. They would have security and respect. Fortunately, up to this point, her designs had sold enough to keep them all afloat. Barely.
No question about it. If not for Mrs. Beabots, Grace would not be anywhere near where she was now.
“So are you here for the party as well? Odd we haven’t met. I would remember you...” Despite racing through his questions, Dylan spoke with a dash of charm that was so light most would miss it. Grace did not.
“What a nice thing to say. Thank you. But no, I’m not invited to the party, though I knew Isabelle years ago.” She paused, her mind floating back to that summer, when all of Sarah Jensen’s friends hung out together. Barbecues. Slumber parties. Pool parties... Grace wrenched her thoughts back to the present. “Actually, I’m helping my Aunt Louise. Perhaps you know her. Louise Railton?”
He snapped his fingers. “The Louise House! An Indian Lake institution.”
Grace flashed him a grin. “I’ll tell her you said so.”
The train slowed as it neared the town. Blazing maple, oak and walnut trees hugged the crystal blue lake like bejeweled arms. White clouds scudded across the sky, the sun dazzling Grace’s eyes.
The train jerked to a stop.
“Indian Lake! Indian Lake!”
Adrenaline raced through Grace’s body as she shot to her feet. “We’re here!”
“So we are,” Dylan replied, putting his iPad in his briefcase. “It was nice meeting you, Grace.”
“I’m sure I’ll see you around town,” she said as she gathered her oversize black fringed purse and two large totes, one of which held her laptop, iPad and sketchbook.
“I’m not here all that often. I live in Lincoln Park and work in downtown Chicago. Prosecuting attorney. In case you wanted to know.”
A blush colored Grace’s face. “I apologize for my manners. My head’s been in another world...”
“I could tell.” His mouth quirked in an impish grin.
Dylan slipped out of his seat and walked away.
Way to go, Grace. Nice guy and you blow him off. When are you going to get a life? A real one? She slung her purse and one of the totes over her shoulder, then bumped her way down the aisle toward the exit.
Carefully, Grace negotiated the narrow metal steps down to the pavement. For the first time on her trip, she questioned the importance of her fashionable, but apparently impractical, boots.
The conductor waited until she disembarked before unloading her overweight bags. One by one, he slammed them against the concrete and then sneered at her. “What’ve you got in there? Rocks?”
“Vitamins.” She reached into her jacket pocket and withdrew the cash she’d agreed to pay him.
He touched his hand to the bill of his cap and hopped back up on the train. Grace yanked the long luggage handles out to their full length, hoisted one of the totes higher up on her shoulder and began pulling her load. She felt like a pack mule.
“Grace!” a woman’s voice called.
“Grace! You’re here!” a younger female voice shouted.
Raising her head, Grace saw Aunt Louise coming toward her, bent over a walker. With her was a blonde woman whose sparkling green eyes she’d know anywhere. Grace stood upright and let go of the suitcase handles. “Aunt Louise! And...Maddie? Maddie Strong?”
“Barzonni now.” Maddie beamed.
“Grace! Thank heaven!” Louise’s smile was nearly as bright as the sun. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Grace.” She held out her arms.
Grace couldn’t remember a more wonderful sight. For an instant, she regretted every minute she’d spent apart from her Aunt Louise. Her life in Paris seemed to melt away and all she felt was a rush of affection for her aunt, and nostalgia for this town and the summer long ago with the barbecues, the swimming pool...and Mica.
* * *
“I’VE MADE A lot of changes since you were here, Grace,” Louise said as Grace helped her into the shop.
Grace flipped the cardboard door sign to Open, then stood in the entrance, her eyes stinging with tears. “It’s just an old sign,” she whispered, tracing the crumpled edges of the sign she’d turned over years ago when it had been her job to help Aunt Louise open up and close. Just a sign. A battered, old, faded sign. And suddenly, it meant the world to her because it was part of her life with Aunt Louise.
“Grace?” Louise said.
“Sorry.” Grace sniffed. “I was making sure the lock was open.” She wiped away her tear.
“Sarah and the kids will be here anytime now. It’s Annie’s birthday, so they’ll want some of my newest creations.”
Louise moved her walker over to the chair she’d pulled up to the counter, where the old cash register still sat. It was a monster antique with tabs that would make a muscle-builder’s biceps flex, yet her aunt had refused to give up the old thing.
“I see you’re not computerized yet.” Grace chuckled.
Louise swatted the air with her palm and slapped her thigh as she eased into the chair. “Good heavens, of course I am. In the office. But out here, everyone likes reminders of a bygone era. They come here for this old register. That and the pumpkin-spice and gingerbread-nut ice cream I make every autumn.”
Grace’s heels clacked against the century-old walnut floorboards. She took off her jacket and hung it on a peg next to the wide window with the gold lettering announcing the seasonal offerings.
“I hate to have to thrust you right into work, Grace,” Louise said. “But it couldn’t be helped. Sarah and the kids...”
“Please, don’t apologize, Aunt Louise. I’ll be fine.” She shoved the sleeves of her black sweater to her elbows, revealing at least nine bracelets on each arm. She went to the sink and washed her hands. Under the counter glass was a group of photographs of the sundaes. “Let me study these for a sec.”
“It’s the Monster Mash they love. I serve it in those big round dishes. Six scoops of ice cream slathered in hot fudge with whipped cream piled eight inches high. It feeds four.”
“Thank goodness!” Grace laughed as the front door opened and nearly a dozen children rushed in. Maddie held the door as Sarah Jensen Bosworth walked in behind them. The kids raced to their favorite tables and picked up the menus, challenging each other as to who could eat the most ice cream.
Grace hugged Sarah and as much as she wanted to catch up, the kids were shouting out their orders and Maddie said she had to rush to get Louise to her rehab appointment.
“I’d better get to work,” Grace said.
“You haven’t had a chance to take a breath,” Maddie said. “Not even change or freshen up.” Maddie’s eyes traveled from Grace’s seven strings of pearls, crystals and gold ropes around the banded neckline of the black knit sweater, to her houndstooth wool pencil skirt and fringed black boots. “I wish I knew how to put something together like that.”
“Thanks,” Grace replied, basking in the twinkle of appreciation. “That means a lot to me. A lot.”
Maddie hugged her, then tilted her head toward Annie and Timmy Bosworth and Danny Sullivan, who were waving huge spoons up in the air. “They look like they’re about to revolt.”
“I’m on it.” Grace smiled and went straight to work scooping six kinds of ice cream into Monster Mash dishes.
After serving up over half a dozen massive concoctions, her hands sticky and nearly frozen, she lost track of time. She was halfway into the refrigerated bin, trying to dig out the last of the pumpkin-spice ice cream when she felt the counter reverberate.
“Where’s Louise?” a raw, deep male voice asked.
“She’s at the doctor.” Grace lifted her head and looked into the Mediterranean-blue eyes she’d never forgotten. Mica. Her heart stopped. She was staring, but she couldn’t help it. “Rehab. Her back...”
“I heard,” he said sharply. He peered at her, taking inventory. “You’re new here.”
He didn’t recognize her. She should have figured that one. Why would he remember her? She had changed a lot in twelve years. A whole lot.
With the force of a tsunami, the memory of the pool party at the Barzonni villa hit her. The “gang” had all been there...Sarah Jensen, Maddie Strong and all the Barzonni brothers—football star Gabe, horse-lover Rafe and Nate, who only had eyes for Maddie.
And then there was Mica. The most handsome of all the blue-eyed, black-haired, sun-bronzed boys.
Mica had exuded the kind of perfection Grace had been trying her whole life to achieve. He was strong, quiet and arrestingly handsome.
And after a game of swimming-pool volleyball, Mica had kissed her. She remembered the chlorine smell mixed with suntan lotion, the warmth of his lips on hers. It was a quick kiss. One without passion or longing, and yet, to this day, she’d never forgotten it.
Nor had she forgotten his disdain of her pageant life and his dismissal of her interest in fashion. He hadn’t been cruel, but he’d made it clear he thought her pursuits were worthless.
She hadn’t known how to stand up to him back then. He was three years older and as much as she had wanted to rebuke him, she’d felt there was truth to his arguments. He and his brothers worked from dawn to dusk on the farm. There was always back-breaking work to do and they did it gladly. Mica considered it a privilege to be a part of his father’s legacy.
At Parsons and later in Paris, Grace had learned that Mica was right about one thing: determination and perseverance were everything.
Mica Barzonni had changed her life back then, though he didn’t know that. Several times over the years, she’d thought about writing to thank him. But now she saw how truly inconsequential she’d been in his life. Obviously, he didn’t remember her in the least. He was a Barzonni, after all. He already had everything.
Even now, her heart hammered in her chest. Suddenly she was that teenage girl again, crushing on the boy in the pool. She hadn’t been in love; she’d been too young for love, hadn’t she? Mica had given her no indication that she was anything to him other than a pest. Except for that one kiss. She was only a girl he’d met one summer...a long time ago.
She stared back at him. He wore dusty jeans, a faded plaid shirt, an old wool vest that she would have trashed and scuffed boots with dirt clods clinging to the heels. There was an oil smudge on his forehead. He looked like he’d walked right out of the fields. His hand rested on the counter, where he’d dumped a big canvas sack.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Pie pumpkins for Louise. My mother said she called and needed them ASAP.”
“She didn’t tell me.” Grace added a final scoop to the sundae she’d been working on, but the dish was overloaded and another scoop fell out. She shoveled it back in and patted it down.
“You need some help there?” He smirked.
Grace stared at him. “I’m fine.” She plunged the dipper into the hot fudge and drizzled it over the ice cream. Glancing at the photo of the Monster Mash, she took a can of whipped cream from the under-the-counter refrigerator and pulled off the cap.
“You’re supposed to shake it up first,” Mica said.
“I know what I’m doing,” she snapped. Grace pressed the top and sprayed whipped cream all over the ice cream, the counter and onto Mica’s plaid shirt.
He groaned. “Yeah, right.”
“Sorry,” Grace said sheepishly, handing him a dish towel.
“You should’ve shaken the can,” he growled. “I would have thought Louise would hire someone with skills.”
Under Mica’s judgmental gaze, Grace felt as if she was fifteen again. Back when she’d just lost the crown and had felt terribly insecure. She’d given her heart away to Mica and he hadn’t known the first thing about her feelings. She’d kept silent. Well, not this time.
“If I want your advice, I’ll ask for it. Now, excuse me, please. I have to deliver this.” Grace carried her vastly imperfect Monster Mash to a table of four boys, who looked askance at the sundae. “I did my best,” she whispered to the kids. She handed them four spoons. “It’ll taste better than it looks.”
“Yeah,” Timmy said and gave her a thumbs-up. The kids dug in with audible glee.
When Grace turned around she noticed that Mica was now leaning against the counter, his hand on his hip as he watched every move she made. No beauty contest judge had ever scrutinized her so intently. She felt as if she still had whipped cream on her face or mascara smudges under her eyes. She should have checked her makeup before the kids arrived, but there hadn’t been time. Self-consciously, she touched her earrings. No. They were still in place.
All she could do was retaliate in kind. She let her gaze fall to his boots. She lifted the edge of her lips in a lopsided effort at a sneer. “You make deliveries here often?”
“I do now.”
“Then the next time you come, wipe your boots before you enter the shop. Saves me from scrubbing the floor.”
He straightened. “I remember you.”
“Oh, really?” Grace went behind the counter and took out another dish.
“You’re Louise’s niece. I didn’t recognize you without the rhinestone crown.”
Grace gripped the sundae dish to prevent herself from bouncing it off his thick skull. “And you’re Mica Barzonni.”
“Yeah. Well, tell Louise she can mail the check...for the pumpkins.”
“I will.”
He started to head for the door.
“Oh, Mica. Why don’t you stop off at the grocery store. Pick up some soap on your way out of town. Looks like you’ve run out.” She tapped her forehead.
He reached up to his forehead, rubbed it, then studied his greasy fingertips. He glared back at her.
Grace ground her jaw, picked up the ice-cream scoop and pitched it from hand to hand defiantly. One word. Try me, and I’ll really let you have it.
He spun on his heel and stomped out of the shop, leaving a clod of mud and grass on the floor.
“Ooooh!” Grace fumed, wishing she felt some relief from having had the last word.
Sarah rushed to her side. “Was that Mica? I wanted to say hi.”
“It was.” Every smug, judgmental inch of him.
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah.” Grace frowned. “You look surprised. Why?”
“Mica doesn’t come to town much. Especially since the accident.”
“What accident?”
Sarah paused. “You didn’t know?”
“Know what?”
“He was in an accident a few months ago that nearly killed him. He was working on his mother’s car and it dropped on him. He’s lost the use of his left arm. He keeps his hand in his jeans pocket so people don’t notice. If he seemed—”
“Arrogant as all get out?” Grace interrupted.
Sarah smiled. “Well, yeah. He’s always had that about him.”
“I would have thought he’d have grown up by now. Learned some manners. Do you remember when he used to call me silly because I was upset about losing Miss Teen Illinois? He didn’t get it. Those pageants were important to me and a huge part of my life back then. I thought I wanted to be a model, but then I realized my real talent was in fashion design. I was heartbroken that I didn’t win for a lot of reasons. That win would have given me a substantial scholarship to college. My mother didn’t have much money but my winnings all went in a back account for my education.”
“Did you ever tell him this?” Sarah countered.
“No...” Grace’s shoulders slumped. “I guess I was pretty harsh earlier. Aunt Louise owes him money for the pumpkins. I think I’ll deliver it in person.”
* * *
AFTER LOUISE RETURNED from rehab, Grace got a signed check from her and asked to borrow her car. Then she drove south to the Barzonni farm. It was one route she didn’t need a GPS to follow.
She rang the bell when she got to the house, but no one answered. She rang it four more times, but there was still no answer.
Remembering that the family often used the kitchen door, she walked around to the back and knocked. Still no answer. She looked down at the check Louise had written.
It was a flimsy excuse for her to be here, but Grace was ashamed of her remarks about Mica’s dirty boots and the grease on his face, and she wanted to apologize. She didn’t know why he rattled her cage the way he did, but he did.
She banged on the door. “Hello? Anybody home?”
“What do you want?” Mica asked, startling her as he came out of the apartment over the garage. He stood on the balcony, his right hand on the railing as he glared at her.
“I, uh, brought the check we owe you.”
“You could have mailed it,” he said, starting down the steps.
He came toward her, and Grace was certain that no male model, no Hollywood star, no European prince, was as drop-dead handsome as Mica Barzonni. His blue eyes seemed to be taking inventory of her every eyelash.
I didn’t even check my makeup before I left Louise’s! This jet lag is going to be the end of me.
“Here,” she said, thrusting the check at him as if it would singe her fingertips.
“Thanks.”
“Mica...” She cleared her throat. “I came out here because I owe you an apology.”
He stared at her, his expression unreadable. “No, you didn’t.”
“What?”
“You came out here because you found out about my acci— My arm. Who told you?”
“Sarah.”
“Good old Sarah. Well, you would have found out sooner or later. Everybody knows.”
“And they shouldn’t? Is it a secret?”
“I guess not. Still...”
“Still...what?”
“I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Why?”
“Because, little miss preteen, then I see the pity in their eyes like I see in yours. You feel sorry for me.” He shot the words at her with acidic bite.
Is he serious? “Actually, I don’t feel that way at all. In fact, Mica, I think you’re just as self-centered and arrogant as you were when we were kids.”
“I was never those things.”
“Fine. You are now.” She jammed her hands on her hips. “And another thing. My life has never been silly. Okay? I worked hard for everything I’ve accomplished.”
He took another step toward her, his face dangerously close to hers. “I seriously doubt that. You haven’t got the first clue what it is to work hard. This farm, this land and all it demands, is hard work. I suppose you still tromp around in a pink dress and smile and wink for some judges and you think that’s work? Get real.”
“That was a long time ago. And there was more to it than that.”
“You know what? I don’t have time for this. You live in your world. I’ll live in mine. Got that?”
“Got it,” she roared back.
“I think we’re done here. I’ll give my mother your check. She’ll be thrilled. Probably fly to Tahiti with all this money.”
“You’re a jerk, Mica Barzonni.”
The anger in his eyes died instantly, as if she’d doused the fire. His face softened and she felt he was seeing her for the first time. His eyes were imploring, seeking. “I’m sorry,” he said finally. “That was rude of me.”
Surprised at his apology, she stared at him for a long moment. She’d had her shields up and had been ready to wield a sword against him if need be. She held her breath, waiting for the next attack.
“I’m sorry, Grace,” he murmured. “I like your Aunt Louise a lot. She’s a nice lady. And I don’t know anything about you or what you’ve done with your life. Forgive me?”
“I do,” she replied softly, sensing his disappointment in himself.
He moved a step closer. “I don’t want to fight with you. Or anyone.” He touched his left arm. “It embarrasses me that I’m not...well, who I was.”
“Don’t say that. You’re Mica and that’s a good thing. At least I always thought so.”
He massaged his arm, then let his right hand drop.
“It had to be painful. Sarah said the car dropped on you.”
“Funny. A lot of it I don’t remember. But every hour of every day, I’m left with this reminder of my carelessness. It was so stupid,” he said angrily.
She reached for his hand, but didn’t touch him. He jerked away from her.
“See why I don’t like going into the details?”
“It’s upsetting.”
“More than you can imagine,” he replied.
“Then let’s talk about something else,” she said, smiling at him.
“Like what?”
“We have a lot of years to catch up on. I don’t know what happened to you. I mean, not about your accident. I remember you talking about engines and machines and the things you wanted to invent. Did you end up going to Purdue?”
“You remember all that?”
“I remember everything about you.” Her words came out as a whisper.
“I got my engineering degree,” he said, leaning closer.
“Mica, that’s wonderful. I’m proud of you.”
“Really?”
“Of course. I always wanted the best for you. I knew you’d succeed. You were so determined and focused as a teen.”
Confusion wrinkled his brow. “You thought that?”
“I did.” She couldn’t stop herself from smiling. “You see, I was paying attention.”
“I’m...I’m surprised.” He raked back a lock of hair. “You surprise me.”
“That’s a good thing, huh?” She felt a warm glow in her chest.
“Yeah,” he said, though he still didn’t smile. He glanced back toward the kitchen door. “Hey, I was just about to raid the fridge for dinner. Everybody went out to Gabe’s house—”
“And you didn’t go?” she interrupted.
“No, I don’t usually...”
“Why not?”
He placed his right hand on his left arm without looking at it. His eyes were focused on her. Grace liked the attention Mica gave her. A lot.
“I wasn’t up to it.” A dark shadow clouded his sky blue eyes.
Understanding cracked like a bolt of lightning across Grace’s mind. “Mica...are you asking me to dinner?”
He blinked as if he remembered where he was. Who he was with. “Yes. Yes, I am.”
“Great.” She beamed. “I’m starving. I spent the afternoon surrounded by sugar and ice cream and didn’t steal a bite for myself.”
He took two steps back. “This way.”
Inside the kitchen, he went straight to the large refrigerator and began withdrawing plastic covered bowls. “Manicotti. Salad. Mixed fruit. Ooh, and Mom’s herbed Italian bread.”
He spooned pasta onto two plates and put the first one into the microwave.
Once the food was heated, they sat at the kitchen table.
The garlic and basil aroma made Grace’s mouth water. She finished her pasta long before Mica. She looked up. He held his fork midmotion as if he’d forgotten to take a bite in the process of watching her.
“What?” she asked.
“You give hungry a new meaning.” He still didn’t smile, and only gave her that enigmatic, distant look that she’d always assumed to be arrogance.
She grinned, hoping to crack the wall of ice he kept around him. “I’d like to blame the jet lag, but the truth is...I eat like this too often. Definitely not healthy.”
“Why?”
“Because I work for six, maybe eight hours nonstop. I’m so immersed in my designs that I forget to eat. Or sleep.”
“It’s that way for you, too?”
She lowered her fork and wiped her mouth. She kept her eyes on his. “Uh-huh.”
“I thought it was just me. I thought it was depression from the accident.”
“Tell me how it’s been, Mica.”
She’d barely uttered the words and he started talking without taking a breath.
“It’s not the accident—the pain or even this bothersome rehab that’s so hard. It’s like every aspect of my life is withering away. One day I was the hero on the farm, able to fix every piece of equipment. I have more tools in the mechanical shed than they have at Home Depot. Whatever Rafe could do, I could do as well and faster. Once Gabe left, Mom was sure we’d have to cut back on production. But we didn’t. We simply went on.” He snapped his fingers. “Like that. Everything changed. Rafe and Mom want to replace me—”
“You can’t mean that.”
“They do.”
“But you’re Mica. You’re...”
“As insignificant as humanly possible,” he interjected, lowering his gaze.
Grace pushed her chair back and rose slowly. She placed her hands on either side of his face. “Look at me.”
“Grace, you don’t have to say anything. I...thank you for listening.”
“Shut up.”
She kissed him. It was more electric than she’d planned. She didn’t pity Mica. She didn’t think he was looking for a savior. She just wanted to know if what she was feeling right now was more than the vestiges of a teenage crush.
And it was.
If she were smart she’d leave. Walk away from him the way she had all those years ago. Except apparently she’d kept her emotions hidden back then. Even from herself.
She had to face it. She’d always been a fool for Mica.
And she didn’t care about anything except making this moment last.
When she pulled back, Mica gazed into her eyes and gave her a soft smile. “Grace.”
He stood and put his arm around her. She kissed him again, not daring to let him take the lead, afraid he might let his melancholy overcome him.
Though she could sense his strength, she also felt his lost sense of purpose. He was floundering, searching, and she wanted to be the rock in the rushing stream that he held on to.
I’m still in love with him.
He broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers. “You take my breath away,” he whispered.
“I could say that about you.”
“You mean that?”
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”
“Grace, I think we have a lot of catching up to do. It could take...well, a long time.”
“Mica...”
He pulled her hand to his lips.
“I’m only here for a month. Just to help Aunt Louise.”
“Then what?”
“I’ll go back to Paris.” He moved closer and she could feel his breath on her cheek. His eyes were unwavering, pinning her, and in that moment she felt the power that was Mica Barzonni. His right arm slipped around her waist and he drew her to him.
“I have to go back...”
“We’ll see about that.”
His lips on hers were nirvana. She was whisked away from the earth. Her heartbeat pounded in her chest and thrummed at her temples. The only sound she heard was Mica’s intake of breath and the deep resonating strains of her name coming from his throat. He kissed her as if he would never kiss her again. She nearly believed he was in love with her. For years she’d daydreamed that one day Mica would love her. This excruciatingly lovely kiss was perfect. It was everything she’d dreamed of and more.
He deepened the kiss and breathed her name again. “Grace.”
“Don’t talk. Just kiss me.”
Her skin tingled as their bodies melded into each other.
Through her hand on his nape, she felt strength surging through his spine and the taut muscles in his shoulders. She sank her fingers into his thick hair and held him. She wanted him to know that she didn’t want him to stop. She didn’t want this dream to fade.
At this moment, Grace believed that even she might find a happily-ever-after. That for her, the fairy tale was coming true.
CHAPTER ONE (#u16093c9a-97f8-5f09-b2e5-858ed1874e7b)
Present day
MICA HEARD IT from his sister-in-law, Maddie, who heard it from Mrs. Beabots, who got it straight from Louise Railton.
Grace Railton was back in town.
He didn’t know which emotion to pick first. Anger came to mind right off the bat, but it was quickly replaced with disappointment, hurt and curiosity.
“What’s she doing here?” Grace had made it pretty clear when she left town last year that Paris was the only universe she’d inhabit on a long-term basis. Indian Lake was too small for Grace, the beauty-pageant queen.
Mica stared at the tractor engine he was fixing, then tossed the wrench onto the tool bench with enough force to make the screwdriver beside it jump. Grace.
For over a year, he’d gone over every detail of his relationship with Grace, if he could even call it that. No matter how many times he rehashed the events of that whirlwind October, he came up with only one assessment: they were as mismatched as a tuxedo and a pair of cowboy boots.
If he was honest with himself, he’d known that since they were teenagers.
Grace and her mother had been obsessed with beauty pageants. Crowns and dresses—that was all she’d talked about back then. Unless she was criticizing everything he wore.
He hadn’t liked the way he reacted to Grace. She’d had some kind of lightning rod stuck to her spine that just made him want to strike. She’d needled him in a way he didn’t understand, always picking at what was wrong with him. Asking why he didn’t want more for himself than his life on the farm. Meanwhile, she’d talked about New York and Paris like they were Mecca, or the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. She’d made perfectly clear her opinions about Indian Lake and the people who chose to make it their home.
Which made it even harder to understand the intense month they’d spent together a year ago October. It had been like a switch had been flipped. She was focused on her career and when she talked about her designs, her eyes lit up like fireworks. There were times he thought he could listen to her and never tire of her enthusiasm. She was the kind of person who would always be vibrant. But Mica doubted if he’d ever know whether she had truly wanted him or had simply pitied him.
He traced the gouged edges of the old pair of pliers his father had used to repair their tractors, generators and trucks. Angelo had built this farm with his hands. Hands that never stopped working, and Angelo had taught all his sons to do the same.
Yet now, Mica only had one hand. He was never going to be the kind of empire builder his father had been. He had to find a new path. Since college graduation, he’d abandoned his engineering goals in order to help on the farm. Now the farm didn’t need him or want him. He had to find a way to translate his dreams from the drafting table and his computer into a working piece of machinery for people with disabilities.
Mica slumped against the workbench and looked across at the machinery shed, where he spent a great deal of his time lately. Tinkering. That was all he’d done in the past year or so. All he’d done since Grace left town.
Grace... He ran his hand through his hair. She’d emailed him once after she landed in Paris, telling him that her design team was further behind than she’d thought. They needed her. She’d be working 24/7 to pull off their spring line. He’d told her he understood. But he hadn’t. Week after week, he’d sent emails and left messages, but she never responded.
He ground his teeth. Her silence was like a brick wall falling on him. She wanted nothing to do with him. Maybe she hadn’t changed as much as he’d thought she might have during the month they spent together.
Her departure—and rejection—still bothered him, but Mica had had more important things to focus on in the past year. With a lot of rehab—and trial and error—he’d learned his way around his new life with only one working arm. He’d had to figure out how to dress with one hand, and even change the way he did chores around the kitchen. Every sandwich bag had to have a slider so he could put the bag on the counter and slide the top closed. No more jars. Pop tops for everything. Pots and pans were simple. He used one at a time. He chopped vegetables in a food processor or used a mandolin to slice them over a bowl. The majority of the time, his mother made plenty of food for him to warm in his microwave.
He couldn’t drive the tractor or change the baler. He was of no help to Rafe, so his brother had been forced to take on another hourly worker. When their father had died, Mica and Rafe had agreed to hire extra help. Now they needed even more.
The only work Mica had now was running errands for his mother.
The reality stung every day of his life, shutting out joy and any hope for happiness.
He ran his hand down his numb and limp left arm.
He wondered if he’d ever get used to the fact that his arm would never work again.
It had been a freakish accident that should never have happened, but it had.
Gina—his mother—had wanted to take her BMW to the shop, but Mica had been bored. He loved tinkering with the farm equipment, old cars, anything with a motor. He felt at one with engines, cogs, pistons and gears. Often, when there was nothing left to do in the shop, he would stay up late messing around with mechanical designs on his computer.
Mica had graduated from Purdue University in mechanical engineering, but for years, he hadn’t done much with his degree. He’d been needed on the farm. Farming was in his blood. He adored the land that grew acres of food every year. It was miraculous to him that after a killing winter blizzard, spring always came fresh and green and full of promise.
At least it had until the accident.
Spring meant planting season and every piece of equipment had to be tuned up and ready to run smoothly.
“It’s not even New Year’s and I’m feeling pressure already,” he growled.
He pushed himself away from the workbench and went over to the pickup he’d recently given an oil change. He closed the hood, then hit the automatic garage-door opener. He got in the truck and started the engine. He’d attached a spinner knob, used by many with physical disabilities, to the steering wheel to give him more leverage when handling the pickup. He’d bought it the day he’d gone to the DMV to have a Restriction C placed on his driver’s license, though he’d forgone the handicapped parking tag he’d been offered. Yes, he’d lost his arm, but he could still walk just fine, and for that, he was grateful.
Driving a tractor was entirely different from a pickup truck, in that it required strength and both hands. Driving over rugged farmland was complex, dodging dips, mud holes, bumps and gullies. It was difficult for him to handle the tractor, though he’d built the muscles in his right arm considerably over the past year to compensate for the loss of his left.
Often he toyed with the idea of voice-activated farm machinery. He could work the land as he had done before the accident if he could speak commands to the old Allis-Chalmers tractor.
Mica backed the truck out of the shed, pausing to look out over the snow-covered farm. New Year’s. Of course. Grace was here to be with her aunt Louise for the holiday. That made sense.
Sometimes, he was a little slow to see the obvious. Just because Grace had left him without any follow-up or follow-through was no reason to mistrust her. She’d told him that her world was Paris, fashion and her career. She’d never deviated from that. She’d been honest. He had to give her that.
Mica spotted Rafe in the flat soybean field, riding the sputtering and hitching old John Deere tractor toward the big barn. He wore a leather-and-sheepskin bomber jacket, a cowboy hat and a wide blue wool scarf around his neck. The brothers waved at each other.
Before the accident, Mica had wanted to purchase a new all-terrain truck for the farm to replace the John Deere. But now that Mica had been injured, he was glad they hadn’t spent the $300,000 on new equipment. The family had struggled through the past year, with Mica unable to pitch in. No one had wanted to hurt his feelings, and he appreciated that, but now it was nearly the new year and Rafe was talking about restructuring—and hiring new employees.
As he drove toward their Italian stucco villa, Mica realized he didn’t like change. He was still grieving his father’s death nearly three years earlier and he wasn’t quite used to the idea that Rafe was married. He and his wife, Olivia, had built their own house on the property. Olivia was a nice enough woman, Mica supposed. She and her mother owned the Indian Lake Deli and Olivia was a good cook, as good a pastry chef as his other sister-in-law, Maddie, and she was a talented photographer.
There actually wasn’t anything wrong with Olivia or Maddie, Nate’s wife, or Liz, who was married to his brother Gabe. Mica had just never been much of a people person.
Mica had always preferred his own company. Rafe had been closest to their father and that had been fine with Mica. Nate and Gabe were very close to their mother. And that was fine as well.
Mica was the loner. Even in high school, Mica had never participated in team sports. He preferred swimming...alone. Running...alone. Working...alone.
Maybe deep down he’d always been the brooding type, and the accident had simply sharpened that trait.
He pulled up to the house and parked the truck. Without thinking, he went to reach for the door handle with his left hand. Natural reflex. But nothing happened.
He smashed the truck’s door with his right hand, as if he could open it with sheer force. He kept banging until he hurt his thumb. “Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!”
How could he not have checked the jack when he raised the chassis of his mother’s BMW? Sure, it was the old jack his father had used for decades, but it had never caused any issues before.
The jack slipped. He’d heard the metal rubbing against the grooves of the jack throat. As soon as he registered the sound, he’d started to roll out from under the car, but he hadn’t been fast enough to spare his left arm and shoulder.
The chassis dropped on Mica. He’d tried to yell, but the weight of the car had crushed the air out of his lungs. The pain had caused him to pass out.
He’d woken up when the paramedics were hoisting him onto a gurney. Rafe and his mother were there, leaning over the stretcher.
Rafe, coming in from the fields, had found him unconscious under the car.
The doctor’s prognosis had been devastating.
Inoperable. Paralyzed. Those were the only words Mica had heard. The doctor had pushed rehabilitation to keep the arm from becoming fully atrophied. Mica had agreed with that, and for the first month, he’d actually believed he could will his arm to move again. He’d tried everything—even hypnosis—but nothing worked.
The second month, his depression had slid deeper into anger. He had begrudgingly and sarcastically continued with rehab, but he knew now that all the exercise in the world would never bring his arm back.
And then Grace had come into his life.
It was impossible not to think of kissing Grace and holding her each time her face flashed across his mind. That month she’d spent in Indian Lake had almost made him feel like himself again. She’d looked up at him with those intense blue eyes and he’d felt more alive and invigorated than he had since well before the accident, if he was honest.
Maybe it was a good thing she’d cut him off. He didn’t know exactly where to put all his emotions for Grace.
Mica got out of the truck and hit the remote to lock the doors. He stared at it for a moment. Why don’t they make these to open the door from the inside?
He tossed the remote up in the air and caught it. “Maybe I should do that.”
He walked to the back door that led to the kitchen.
“Mom, I got the truck ready to go for you. The tractor is nearly fin—”
Mica stopped dead in his tracks.
His mother had her arms around Sam Crenshaw’s neck and Sam was holding her close, closer than Mica had ever seen his father hold her. And then...she kissed him as if this was the last kiss of her life. Mica averted his eyes.
“Mom!” he shouted.
Slowly, Gina turned.
“Sam?” Mica spluttered. “Mind telling me what you’re doing to my mother?” Sam was Liz’s grandfather. He was some kind of in-law, but that didn’t give him make-out privileges with Mica’s mother.
“I was kissing her.”
“I see that.” Mica’s gaze shot to his mother.
Gina blushed, but she didn’t step out of Sam’s embrace. Though she politely moved a few inches from his chest. She was smiling. Her face glowed, and...was that a tear falling down her cheek?
“Mom?”
“Sam has just asked me to marry him, and I accepted.” She withdrew her left hand and twiddled her fingers at him. “Ring and all.”
“You’re not serious.”
Gina’s smile withered. In that instant, he realized he’d shot down her joy, killed it. But he didn’t care. A year ago, his world had turned black. It was filled with shadows, fear, doubt and pain. Now his world had shifted again. Rafe wanted to replace Mica, and now their mother was replacing their father. He didn’t like it.
His eyes tracked to Sam. “How long?”
“How long what?” Sam snapped, squaring his shoulders.
“How long have you been in love with her? Have you been planning this since my father was alive?”
“Mica!” Gina started toward him, but Sam took her arm and shook his head.
“You want the truth, Mica?” Sam asked.
“Yes, I do.”
“I’ve loved her since before she married your father. We were young then. She’d made a promise to him back in Italy and she honored that promise for over thirty years. I never came near her until after he died. I’m an old man. I may not have many years left, but she’s agreed to be with me for however long I stick around.”
Mica felt as if he’d been shot through the chest. He’d said he wanted the truth, but this was too much. His mother hadn’t loved his father? And all her life, she’d wanted someone else, but hadn’t done anything about it? What kind of sacrifice was that?
Maybe he’d inherited his penchant for withdrawal from her. Had she brooded over Sam like he brooded over the loss of his old life?
Mica took a step backward.
Gina moved toward him. “Mica, don’t be like this. Be happy for us.”
Mica stopped. “Be happy for you? What is that, Mom? Happy? How can I be happy about you or him or anything ever again?” He looked down at his arm. “No. I can’t be happy. Not for you or for myself.”
He turned on his heel and stormed away, slamming the door behind him.
CHAPTER TWO (#u16093c9a-97f8-5f09-b2e5-858ed1874e7b)
NEW YEAR’S WAS all about fresh starts. New goals. Rethinking life. At least that’s what Grace told herself to justify flying across the Atlantic at the last minute over the holidays.
Yet, here she was, sitting in her Aunt Louise’s car outside the Barzonni villa in the freezing cold. The afternoon sky was a slab of blue-gray pewter that was enough to depress the happiest of souls. It did nothing to bolster her courage.
She dropped her forehead to the steering wheel. “I’m out of my mind.” She balled her fist on her thigh. She had to do this. Had to. Tears stung her eyes, but she pressed her fingertips to the corners. She couldn’t let anyone see her crying. Especially not Mica.
She had to pull it together. She’d felt brave over the past year, but that didn’t come close to how heartrendingly brave she was going to need to be once she came face-to-face with Mica.
He’s going to hate me forever.
Oh, he’d wanted her on that golden October night over a year ago. Those days had been like a giddy ride on a Ferris wheel. She’d worked long hours for Aunt Louise at the ice-cream shop, while Louise went to rehab, saw her doctors and healed. She’d never known when she’d see Mica from one day to the next because they never actually made dates or scheduled dinners. He had simply showed up at closing time.
He had been battling anger and depression over his injury. She’d cut him a lot of slack, but still, his distance constantly warred with the magnetism between them.
Before the month she’d spent in Indian Lake, Grace had been attracted to Mica—intrigued by the memory of that day in the pool. Yet in the month they’d spent together, she’d grown to care about him. Deeply. She wasn’t sure he’d understood just how deeply. He hadn’t asked. Mica was a loner. “Aloof” didn’t begin to describe his attitude at times. He needed solitude to heal his psyche. Grace knew instinctively when to be with him and when to give him space. Yet she cherished every glimpse of him. Every breath and word he spoke. For her, there hadn’t been anything more important than simply spending an hour over a cup of coffee with Mica.
Looking back, the sharp blade of reality was that as much as she’d tried to show she cared about him, Mica had never said he cared about her. Never told her he loved her. Now that she thought about it, he’d never told her that he even liked her. All of which was a flimsy foundation for a relationship.
“Not that we even have one,” she grumbled. Grace couldn’t pin that one on Mica. She’d been the one to cut off communication.
She’d itched to send him an email, longed to hear his voice on the phone. But she’d had only one thing to say to him. And it was the one thing she couldn’t—wouldn’t—say.
I’m pregnant.
She had told herself over and over that he didn’t love her and only wanted her as a fling. She lived in Paris. He lived in Indian Lake. They were universes apart in just about everything.
A clean break was best, she’d thought. Then she’d thrown herself into her spring line.
Part of her had wanted to tell him—had insisted it was the right thing. She remembered the times she’d stared at her phone, punched in his number, then lost courage before the first ring. Lost faith that he would ever want her. As the months passed and her pregnancy progressed, their time together had started to seem like some strange dream. It would never work in the long run. It was easier, for both of them, this way. Finally, she had come to a decision. She would have her baby and never tell Mica. She was capable and responsible and she could raise her child while fulfilling her ambitions for her career. She could do anything.
So she’d thought.
A door slammed, startling her. Grace looked up, but the villa was still. The sun was fading behind a shield of dense, snow-filled clouds. The timer on the white lights in the doorway garland and shrubs tripped. Thousands of tiny lights turned the villa’s facade into a fairyland.
The sound must have come from somewhere else.
She drove around to the kitchen entrance, and there he was.
He was dressed in jeans, cowboy boots and a leather jacket over a cream-colored cable-knit sweater. His hair was a bit longer than the last time she’d seen him. The lights over the doorway had come on and glistened in his ink-dark hair.
He’d stopped halfway across the paved area between the kitchen and the stairway to his apartment above the garage.
He stared at the car disbelievingly.
She opened the door and got out. “Mica.”
“Grace,” he said with a sharp edge of irritation. “What are you doing here?”
Her heart slammed violently in her chest as she took a step back and opened the back door to the car. Her hands were shaking and she absolutely knew that all the blood had drained out of her body. She probably only had minutes to live. She had to do this quickly.
“I brought you something.”
“You what?” He took a tentative step forward.
She leaned down and unhooked the seat belt that secured their son in his infant car seat, then lifted him into her arms.
She straightened and shut the door with her hip. Mica stared at her and then at the baby. “Hold out your arm, Mica. I’ve brought you your son.”
Mica was speechless as she walked up to him. She shoved the baby to his chest.
“He’s yours, and it’s your turn to take care of him.”
Mica’s blue eyes blazed with mistrust and something akin to revulsion. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Does he look like a joke?”
“No.”
“Just hold him. He’ll grow on you.” She took a step back.
“Hold on.” His surprise and mounting anger hit her like shotgun pellets. Sharp, painful and deep. She’d expected this. She’d thought she’d prepared herself for his reactions, but seeing him and remembering what it was like to be in his arms... She hated herself for being the bad guy. There wasn’t a single thing she’d done since last October that merited his trust, love or respect.
She would have loved to run back to Aunt Louise’s and cry all night—all week. Instead, she stood her ground and steeled herself for what was to come.
“I don’t have a son,” he said and started to hand the baby back to her.
“Yes, you do. This is Jules.”
“Jules? What kind of name is that?”
“It’s French. His middle name is Michael. After you.”
Mica clenched his jaw as he looked down at the sleeping infant. “What’s his last name?”
Grace swallowed hard. Incredibly, she hadn’t thought about the name issue. “Railton.”
He plopped the sleeping Jules into her arms with enough force that Grace rocked back on her heels.
“So, if he’s my son, why didn’t you name him after me?” He drew in a long breath. “Don’t answer that. I’ll tell you why. I wasn’t there. I couldn’t sign papers. And I wasn’t there because you didn’t tell me you were pregnant. You didn’t answer my calls or emails. You vanished, Grace. Poof!” He jerked his chin back forcefully. His eyes were shooting barbs at her and she stood pinned to the spot, ready for the assault. She deserved it.
“I didn’t. I thought it best we never see each other again.”
“You decided,” he declared angrily.
“I did.”
“But here you are.”
“Yes. With Jules.” She looked fondly at the baby. “I need to talk to you about him...”
“You sure took your time, but I get that since you didn’t want to see me again. Have anything to do with me. A guy with one arm.”
Her stomach flipped. How could he think that? On the other hand, why not? She hadn’t given him a reason not to believe that. She hadn’t spoken to him at all. And now she was hurting him. Insulting him. And it couldn’t be helped. “Mica, I’m sorry, so very sorry, for not telling you about Jules. I was wrong and I deeply regret my decision. But it had nothing to do with your arm. I’m here because I can’t take care of him. You’re his father. I need you to take over. Just for a while.”
His words came out in a rush. “You want me to take care of a baby. That’s ridiculous. I only have one arm—”
“Which is in better shape than most men’s...even the ones with two working arms. Please—try to understand. I thought I could do this by myself, but I was wrong. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but we need to do what’s right for Jules. I have responsibilities...my team’s futures depend on me—”
“And Jules’s doesn’t?” he barked.
“Of course it does. That’s the point. I’m doing the best thing for him, bringing him to you. I’ve only got a small window of opportunity to make something extraordinary happen. I was nearly there a year ago when I came back here. How I pulled it out of the water after a month away, I’ll never know. But I did it. We didn’t get the notoriety I’d hoped for. My team members didn’t get internships at the big houses, but I did get noticed by Chanel. If I can pull this off this season, I’m in. And my future—Jules’s future—is secure. If I don’t make a huge splash, the houses will look for fresh blood. They’ll decide that I don’t have talent and they’ll move on. It’s now or never, Mica.”
He was silent.
“Mica, please. Please don’t hold my actions against our son. It’s not Jules’s fault that I hurt you—am hurting you.” As Grace finished she realized how high-pitched and desperate her voice had become.
Mica was unnervingly stoic. His face registered no response whatsoever, and she could only hope he was considering everything she was telling him. Maybe seeing her side of the situation.
“That’s why I have to leave Jules with you,” she continued. “I need to turn my full concentration on my work. The truly demanding days of his infancy are behind us. He’s sleeping nearly all the night. His colic is gone. He took the flight like a champ. I’m really proud of him.” She forced a smile at Mica, but when she looked down at Jules, her face softened. “I’ll miss you, little guy.”
“Then take him back to Paris.”
“What?” She met Mica’s steely blue gaze.
“I can’t take care of him,” he growled and leaned closer.
“It’s only two months, max. Till the end of the spring shows. You can do it.”
“Forget it. If you’d told me about him before he was born, then maybe I’d be better prepared to become a real father. I could have taken Lamaze classes with you. Gone to the hospital with you. Helped you when he had colic. But no. I was robbed of all that. I didn’t get the chance, Grace—because you kept him a secret.” He let out a bitter laugh. “Guess the joke’s on me, huh?”
“Joke?”
“Here’s the way I see it, Grace. First, you find out you’re pregnant but can’t stand the thought of telling me—the dad, the loser with no career and no prospects. Maybe that was your plan all along—use me, string me along so you could have a child all to yourself. Then this baby interferes with your precious career so you decide to pawn him off on me after all. Oh, I get your reasoning. What else do I have going on? I’m just slugging around backwater Indian Lake. Why wouldn’t I be available to take on a kid? Well, it’s not going to work, Grace.”
He whirled around and took off. Grace’s heart cracked. She’d made a mistake, yes, but she hadn’t used him. She’d given him a piece of her heart when she was fifteen and handed over the rest of it last October. Being with him had been bliss, and in those few, short weeks, she’d been happy. She couldn’t blame him for being upset with her, but this angry, judgmental, intractable Mica was not someone she wanted to know. His chastisement cut straight to her soul. She was left speechless.
He spun to face her again. “You must think I have a stupid streak a mile wide. I’m not falling for it, Grace. I’m not!” he shouted.
Grace’s mind went black as she faced the onslaught of his revulsion. Before she could gather her thoughts, the kitchen door opened and Gina walked out.
“What’s all the shouting I hear?” she demanded. Then she noticed Grace. Her smile was instantaneous. “Grace! How lovely to see...” Her gaze fixed on the bundle in Grace’s arms. “Grace?”
Sam Crenshaw stepped out behind Gina. “What’s going on?”
“Grace has come for a visit,” Mica growled. “But she’s just leaving. Aren’t you, Grace?”
Grace felt her heart land on the pavement. No amount of preparation could have helped her combat Mica’s anger.
True, Grace needed time to concentrate on her career, but she also loved her baby with all her heart. She thought she was doing the right thing. Jules needed to learn about his father and experience a father’s love, too. She couldn’t just up and move to Indian Lake, and until she and Mica could figure out some other arrangement, this was the best she’d been able to come up with.
In her daydreams, Grace had thought that once Mica saw how adorable Jules was, he’d love his son on the spot. That had happened to her. She’d expected Jules to bring out the other side of Mica—the one with the heart as big as the sky. This closed-off, defensive and antagonistic man appeared to want a war.
Well, she was here to fight for her future—and their son’s. Battle was easy. It was the heartache she hadn’t figured on.
Grace lifted her chin and walked over to Gina, still blinking back her tears. “Hi, Gina. I’m afraid I’m delivering a shock, but there’s no way around it.” She stood in front of Gina and Sam. “This is Jules. Mica’s baby.”
Gina’s mouth fell open.
Grace glanced at Mica, who shoved his right hand in his jeans pocket. He was silent.
“A boy?” Gina asked, reaching out to touch Jules’s sleeve.
Sam put his hands on Gina’s shoulders and leaned closer, his affection for her evident in his eyes and his gestures. “He looks just like you, Mica.”
“Sure he does,” Mica said bitterly, turning away from them to stare at the horse barn.
He was shutting her out—and his mother. That’s odd.
“How old is he?” Sam asked.
“Six months. He’s a very good baby.”
Gina raised her eyes to Grace. “You didn’t tell us.” She looked at Mica. “And you didn’t, either!”
“Gina,” Grace began sheepishly, “Mica couldn’t tell you because he didn’t know. I never said a word—until today.”
“He does look just like you did when you were a baby, Mica,” Gina said, ignoring Grace’s revelation. Without asking permission, she reached over and took Jules, cradling him in her arms. “It’s cold out here. I think we should all go inside and talk.”
Sam opened the door and stood back for Grace and Gina to enter. “I’ll make a fire.”
Grace turned back to Mica. “Are you coming?”
“No,” Mica said, then rushed up the stairs to his apartment.
“He’s had one too many shocks today,” Gina said.
Grace frowned. “You mean there’s more than finding out he has a son?”
“Yes. Now come on in. We have a lot to discuss.”
CHAPTER THREE (#u16093c9a-97f8-5f09-b2e5-858ed1874e7b)
THE WALLS OF Mica’s apartment were closing in on him. His heart was racing as if he’d just lifted the John Deere tractor off its tires with both hands. He couldn’t catch his breath.
A son?
When Grace had pulled up, he’d been caught between elation and shock. For a brief moment, he’d actually thought she’d come to back to see him. That she was back in town to stay. Back in his life.
He’d been a fool.
A baby. How had he missed that? He’d known something was wrong when Grace hadn’t answered his texts and emails, though he’d chalked it up to her busy career. And when she’d continued to ignore him, his hurt had turned inward. He should have seen her silence as the red flag it was. Should have pressed her, tried to find out what was going on.
But ultimately, she was the one who should have reached out.
Told him the truth.
And to think only this morning he’d considered her an honest person.
She was about as honest as a cat burglar.
That’s exactly what she is. She swoops into town, takes what she wants from me and leaves. Then, when that doesn’t work out for her, she flies in again and deposits her unwanted “mistake” on my doorstep.
She was a piece of work.
Mica rubbed the back of his neck. Grace had betrayed him in the worst way. As contradictory as his emotions were, he mourned the loss of those precious days in Jules’s life that he’d never get back. How had Mica spent those days? He’d been here, brooding, while his son was learning to smile, to roll over, experiencing so many things for the first time. Despite all he’d lost in the accident, Mica had held on to the dream of one day becoming a father. It had been his one remaining beacon of light.
At the same time, Mica was in no position to take care of a baby. Not yet. As the youngest of four, he’d never changed a diaper. Sure, he played with his nephew, Zeke, but when he got cranky or hungry, Mica handed the baby back to Gabe or Liz.
He raked his fingers through his thick hair, hoping to hold down the top of his head so he wouldn’t explode. Grace had to be out of her mind. None of this was logical. Was it?
He paced the room. His mother was right. Jules was one cute baby. And Grace had him dressed in a little navy jacket with a matching hat. Like he was a doll. Mica would have to find baby cowboy boots. They did make them for babies, didn’t they?
A baby. My son.
Suddenly, his anger deflated and the liquid steel that had been running through his veins dissipated. He collapsed into his recliner chair. “My baby.”
A few moments later, the door swung open. Grace stood in the doorway, hands on her hips and fire in her blue eyes. Her blond hair spread over her shoulders like a veil of gold. She was stunning. He was glad he was sitting down. The pain of her betrayal crept back onto his shoulders like an iron monkey.
“Grace,” he said with as little emotion as he could muster. It took all his self-control not to shut the door in her face. “I don’t want to see you. Or talk to you.”
“I get that.” She came in without an invitation and closed the door with a bit more force than he’d expected. “But that’s what I’m here for. To talk. All day and night and all week, until I have to go back.”
His eyes widened. “You’re only here for a week?”
“Nine days.”
“Well, isn’t that nice. What do you plan to accomplish in nine days?”
“It’s all I had.”
“And I have all the time in the world. It doesn’t work this way, Grace.”
“Well, Mica, that’s the reality. And I have to make this work. In nine days I intend to teach you everything you need to know about taking care of a baby. Feeding him, diapering, bathing him. Loving him.”
“What do you know about love, huh? From my perspective, I see dishonesty. Secrets. Hurting others for the sake of your precious career.”
She approached him. Her face softened, but he didn’t understand why. “I deserved that, Mica,” she said, her voice trembling.
“And more,” he muttered.
“Mica, please listen to me...” There was compassion in her tone, and though he was trying not to let her demeanor affect him, he was rapidly losing ground.
He rubbed his neck again. Something just wasn’t right. Was she acting a part? After all, she’d spent most of her life learning how to please the most critical judges. And he was sitting in judgment of her right now. His wariness was well-placed. “I suppose you’ve sucked my mother into your little scheme.”
“Scheme? You think Jules is part of some sinister plot? To what end? To cause you grief? More pain?” She walked toward him, gesturing with her hands. “Come on. I can take it. Give it to me. Tell me about how I’m intent on blowing up your engineering career. How I’m going to cause you to miss out on a sponsor you’ve been courting for the past year. I want to hear it,” she demanded. “Tell me how, exactly, I’m messing up your life.”
He let out a harsh breath. “Why are you really here, Grace? You want money? Because that’s the only reason I can come up with that makes any sense. You know perfectly well that I’m in no shape to take care of a baby.”
“You’re wrong on all counts. I don’t want your money or your family’s money, and there’s no scheme. All I want is for you to take care of Jules. Not forever. Just for two months or so. I need this time, Mica. I’m on the cusp of something so big, it will establish me in the fashion world. My career can only grow from there. I just need this spring show. Then I’ll come back and take Jules off your hands. You won’t have to worry. If it’s what you want, you’ll never see us again...” she said, trailing off.
“You could have hired a nanny to take care of Jules. Why me?”
Grace grabbed a chair from the little kitchenette table and sat across from him. She clasped her hands in her lap and looked at her thumbs as she worked them over each other. “Because you’re his dad. I’m here to tell you that I was wrong to keep Jules from you. I should have called you when I first found out I was pregnant.”
“Why didn’t you?” He swallowed hard. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.
She paused for a long moment, her hesitation causing her to look around the room. Was she searching for an excuse or for courage? Either way, she was holding something back. But what?
“I was afraid. I was in denial. I couldn’t believe it was happening. Then I was embarrassed. I was overwhelmed with work. My team depends so much on me. If I fail, they’ll all lose their jobs, and I won’t do that to them.” She touched her fingertip to the corner of her eye. “One day of delay in calling you became a week. Then a month. Then four, five months went by and I’d convinced myself I could do all this on my own. What I learned is that I’m not a superwoman. And I feel so guilty for not telling you. I wanted you to know about him.”
Mica listened stoically to her explanation, but he was racked by betrayal. Jules was his son, and he felt justified for every spark of anger he felt toward Grace. How dare she keep this secret? And then show up here, unannounced, and shove a baby at him. On top of all that, she intended to leave Jules here for months and then come back and take him away. Probably as soon as Mica had bonded with him.
“You are out of your mind,” he said slowly. “I’m not going to agree to any of this.” He shot to his feet, and stepped around her as she sat stone-still in the chair, her hands still in her lap.
He could smell her perfume as he walked past. He kept her in his sights as he went to the refrigerator and took out a beer. “No baby bottles in here. See? Not prepared.”
Grace’s lips had tightened into a narrow line that showed her determination and did nothing to mar her beauty. Or his absurd desire to kiss her. He shook his head to dispel the thought.
“Mica. Please try to understand. I want to help you.”
“I don’t need your help, Grace.”
She crossed her arms. “Apparently, you do because you’re not even trying to cooperate. Jules is your son. I need to show you how to take care of him so you don’t hurt him!”
“Oh, like I would stick him under a car and let it fall on him?”
“Stop being ridiculous!”
“Me?”
Her eyes narrowed into slits. “You know what, Mica? Your self-absorption is blinding you. If you’d only spend a few moments with him, you’d see how wonderful he is.”
“That’s not the issue. This isn’t about Jules, and you know it. It’s about you. You want to pawn him off on me so you can go back to Paris and your fancy career!”
“My career is what will feed and clothe and educate Jules for the rest of his life. I don’t want him to lack anything in the future. I want him to have a wonderful life. I want him to know his father.” Her voice cracked with emotion.
For a moment, Mica almost lost it. It took every ounce of his inner strength not to go to her, pull her to his chest and comfort her. Maybe kiss away her fears. But he didn’t. He was taking a stand. He had to. If he didn’t and he fell for her, he would lose all over again because Grace would never live in Indian Lake on the farm with him.
Besides, she’d made her priorities clear. She had no room in her life for him or their baby.
Grace went to the door and reached for the knob. Her hand was shaking. Had he done that to her?
“I’m going to get Jules and feed him. You have my cell number.”
She left, her footsteps pounding on the stairs.
His eyes lost focus as he stared at the closed door. How could he be responsible for taking care of a helpless baby when he could barely take care of himself?
CHAPTER FOUR (#u16093c9a-97f8-5f09-b2e5-858ed1874e7b)
GRACE FOUND GINA in the kitchen warming a bottle of formula in the microwave. Jules was sitting in an unfamiliar rocking baby seat on the kitchen counter. Sam was at the kitchen table going through Grace’s diaper bag.
“Found one,” Sam said, holding up a bib.
“Hi, honey,” Gina said, looking at Grace and then gesturing toward Jules. “I hope you don’t mind that we got him settled here. I have all sorts of baby equipment from when Liz got pregnant with Ezekiel. I can’t tell you how thrilled we are to have another grandbaby in the house,” she said, gushing. “Aren’t we, Sam?”
Okay. I’ve missed something, Grace thought as she looked from Gina’s beaming face to Sam, who was smiling far too brightly.
“We’re delighted.” Sam chuckled. “As far as I’m concerned, Zeke is grown up already. He’s over two now and talking up a storm.”
“I love babies. Adore them, really,” Gina said, taking the bottle from the microwave when it dinged. “That’s why I had four sons. And now, this little fella. It’s a miracle!”
Sam clucked his tongue. “Now, sweetie, don’t get carried away.”
Grace was sure her confusion showed on her face, but after sparring with Mica, she didn’t want to ruffle any more feathers.
“Oh, Sam,” Gina continued happily. “It’s just so wonderful to have a baby in the house.”
“Too bad Mica doesn’t feel that way,” Grace muttered.
“What are you talking about?” Gina asked, testing the temperature of the formula on her wrist. She picked up Jules and cradled him while he greedily went after the bottle.
Grace was surprised at how accepting Jules was of these strangers. He didn’t seem the least upset that Gina was holding him, nor did he flinch at the sound of Sam’s gravelly voice. “He doesn’t want anything to do with Jules,” she explained. “I’ve never seen him so angry.”
Sam swatted the air. “He’s not mad at you or the baby. He’s mad at us.”
“That’s right,” Gina said.
“Wait, what?” Grace stared at them. “Why would Mica be mad at you?”
Gina smiled softly at Sam. “We just got engaged. In fact, Mica...walked in on us in here right after I’d accepted Sam’s proposal. He wasn’t happy about that. He stormed out of here like we’d set him on fire. Then you drove up.”
“And hit him with my news.”
“Yes. Well, two life changes in a matter of moments would be hard for anyone, and he’s been going through a lot this past year.”
“He has, hasn’t he?”
“And I guess it’s even harder for him since he’s always been a loner. Living his life in his head. He has a lot of ideas about the machines he’d like to invent.”
“Has he invented anything?” Grace asked.
“Not that I know of. He’d have to patent them first and build a working model. He hasn’t done that kind of thing since college. And he spent so many years working the farm with his father and brothers. Then since the...”
“Accident?” Grace said, finishing for her.
“Yes,” Gina replied sadly, looking down at Jules. “Mica hasn’t done much of anything since then.” She sighed. “Jules is such a sweet baby. And handsome already. He has my eyes. All the boys do. Even Zeke.” Gina winked at Grace. “I’m very proud of that.”
“You should be,” Sam agreed.
Grace moved over to Gina and squeezed Jules’s foot. “Why would such happy news make Mica angry?”
“Jealousy,” Sam barked and went back to digging things out of the diaper bag.
“Oh, Sam. He’s just in shock is all. And then you told him you’ve loved me for over thirty years, that was double-shock. He’ll come around.”
“I’m not so sure,” Sam grumbled.
“This does explain a lot,” Grace said. “Not everything, but it helps. I can’t imagine him being mad at his own mother for long. He adores you, Gina. That much I know. But the rest of it is my fault. I didn’t tell him I was pregnant.”
Gina’s eyes held concern. “That is a situation. Why didn’t you?”
Because I’m not sure he cares about me. I’m terrified I was just a fling. “Shame. Denial. My career. A million and one things.”
“Excuses, you mean,” Gina said compassionately.
“Yes. Poor ones. I spent the first trimester basically in denial, and when I finally had to face the fact that I was going to have a baby, I had to make plans. I was in Paris. Mica was across an ocean. I didn’t want to mess up his life any more, considering how the accident affected him. I didn’t want him to feel responsible. And for a long time, I thought I could handle everything on my own.”
“Understandable,” Sam replied.
“Really?” Grace was surprised. Sam was the first person who had explicitly taken her side since this all began. So far, Mica was a write-off. Gina was withholding judgment, but Grace couldn’t expect her not to defend her son. And Grace’s team in Paris had been less than thrilled by the news. As her pregnancy progressed and she had to cut back on her hours in the studio, they reacted with hurt feelings and a sense of abandonment. That only intensified when she announced her trip to Indian Lake. They were as needy as children. But as much as they needed her, she needed them. They were her Paris family.
“Of course, dear,” Gina added, giving Grace another shock. “I can absolutely put myself in your shoes. You’re a long way from home. Coming back here to face Mica would take a lot of courage, not to mention the logistics.”
“Well, I say it’s time to move on,” Sam said.
“Sam’s right.” Gina took the bottle out of Jules’s mouth and put a clean dish towel over her shoulder before holding him against it and patting his back. Jules gave a huge burp and giggled. Gina nestled him back into the crook of her arm. “What an angelic face.”
“I think so, too,” Grace said. And every time I look at him I’m reminded of Mica. His father. The man I’ll always love.
Her phone pinged with a text.
I’m going into town. Don’t be here when I get back. Please.
They all heard the roar of the pickup as Mica spun the wheels on a patch of ice and backed down the drive.
Grace looked at Gina. “Mica’s really raw. And I’m just as upset. I should take Jules and go.” She reached for him but Gina turned away from her.
“Just a minute. Now, where are you staying? And when do I get to see this little guy again?”
“Gina...” Sam gave her a warning tone.
“Sorry,” Gina said. “But I just met him. I need details.”
“You have every right to know my plans. I’m staying with Mrs. Beabots. Her apartment is empty and Aunt Louise doesn’t have room for us. I’m here for nine days to acclimate Jules to Mica, and Mica to his son. Then I need to get back to Paris. I need to leave Jules with Mica for two, maybe three months until I can get my spring show under my belt. It’s a make-it-or-break-it situation. These months will determine the rest of my life!”
“Seems to me your son is determining your life,” Gina said.
Grace hung her head. “He is.” Then she met Gina’s eyes. “I don’t know how to explain this without coming off as selfish and self-centered, but I really do want the best for my boy.” Grace felt chills scamper down her spine and her eyes filled with tears. Ever since she’d left Indian Lake last time, waved goodbye to Mica, she’d been an emotional wreck. To be fair, she’d been pregnant most of that time. Still, these days, she cried at the drop of a hat. She told herself that it was hormones. Lack of sleep. But deep down, the truth was always there. It was all about Mica.
“And you honestly think you’re going to get Mica to care for Jules?”
“I was hoping he’d fall in love with him at first sight, but Mica is so closed off from us...now I wonder if it’s even possible.”
“Hmm. That is interesting, isn’t it?” Gina pondered as she handed Jules to Grace. “I think the best thing is to let Mica cool off, which he will, and then you need to put him through his basic training. He hasn’t the first clue about babies. As much as he loves Zeke, he had nothing to do with him when he was an infant. He likes him better now that he can talk.”
“So do I,” Sam joked.
“Oh, you!” Gina waved her palm at him. “Let’s get him bundled up. I’ll do what I can from this end to help you with Mica. Though right now, I’m about the last person Mica is going to listen to.”
“Yeah. I’m not sure either of us have much sway with him at the moment.”
Gina tapped her cheek with her finger. “Grace. Tomorrow, Sam and I are having a New Year’s Eve party and we’re going to announce our engagement. Please come and bring Jules. All your friends will be here and it will be a good time to show off Jules. Hopefully, when Mica sees everyone’s reaction to this little angel, his heart will soften.”
“Do you think so, Gina? After today, I’m wondering if that approach isn’t such a good idea.”
“He knows about the party. You’re my guest. He needs to face his responsibilities.”
Grace put Jules in his Bundleme as Sam replaced all her items in the diaper bag. Gina rinsed out the baby bottle and threw away the inner collapsible sack.
Grace said her goodbyes and accepted kisses from Gina and Sam...her son’s grandparents.
* * *
MICA HAD HOPED to avoid seeing Grace and the baby again by heading into town, but he hadn’t guessed Grace would stop at the Indian Lake Deli. Just his luck. And of course he’d been the one to tell her to leave the farm. Grace arrived twenty minutes after he put in his order and sat down.
When she walked in, he watched as people in line regarded her with awe. He’d been too overwhelmed earlier to notice her stylish, black wool coat, with its black faux-fur collar. She carried Jules in a baby carrier and had a black leather bag over her other shoulder. Everything about Grace was attention-getting.
But it was the way her blue eyes latched on to his from the moment she closed the door. Her smile was faint, but it was there, as if she was happy to see him.
He forced himself not to smile back, but nothing could harness the appreciation in his eyes.
She walked over to him. “Your mom was feeding Jules. Then I realized I hadn’t eaten all day.”
“My mom...”
“I’d left Jules’s bottles of formula in his diaper bag. Your mom and Sam got him sorted while we were...talking. All you do is heat it in the microwave. He likes it at forty seconds. Not too hot and not too cold.”
“Like Goldilocks.”
“Yeah.” She smiled. “It’s nice about the two of them.” Mica’s breath hitched in his chest. His mother and Sam were engaged. They’d been in love for decades. He wasn’t sure he’d ever come to terms with that. Yet Grace was immediately accepting of their relationship. Easy for her. It wasn’t her mother they were talking about. Grace’s mother was dead.
He felt a streak of guilt shoot down his spine. He should be grateful that his mother was still with him, but right now, all he felt was the bite of betrayal.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“They’re in love and should be together. Just because people get old, doesn’t mean they shouldn’t find companionship and someone to share their lives with.”
He leaned forward, his eyes blazing. “My mother was devoted to my father...”
“She was. But he died, Mica.”
“Stop talking, Grace,” he said lowly so as not to be heard by the others around them. “You don’t know anything about my family.”
“I know a lot about people,” she countered. “Apparently, more than you do.”
“Barzonni?” Julia Melton called. “Barzonni? You here?”
Mica turned. “We’re here.”
“Your order is up.”
Mica handed Julia cash and she rang up the sale. Mica was glad he had his back to Grace, so she wouldn’t see the confusion he knew was on his face. He’d just answered Julia in the plural, as if Grace and Jules were his family.
Mica was no family man. Or was he?
CHAPTER FIVE (#u16093c9a-97f8-5f09-b2e5-858ed1874e7b)
ONE OF THE things Grace loved about Indian Lake was how all Aunt Louise’s friends welcomed her with open arms. And as usual, Mrs. Beabots was the first to offer.
Grace owed Mrs. Beabots not only her first Paris connections, but now the use of the apartment in Mrs. Beabots’s Victorian mansion also. Grace had known she couldn’t possibly squeeze both herself and Jules into Louise’s one-bedroom apartment above the ice-cream shop. It had been fun to crash on the sofa when she was a teenager, but with a baby who sometimes didn’t sleep the whole night through, Grace didn’t think any of them would get much rest in such tight quarters. After all Aunt Louise had done for her, staying somewhere else was the least Grace could do.
Normally, Louise left for Florida each winter, but because of her back injury, she hadn’t gone the year before and had given up the house she’d been leasing then. The new people had rented it for the next three years at a higher fee. Louise feared that her Florida days were over.
Luckily, Mrs. Beabots hadn’t rented her upstairs apartment to anyone and she was delighted to have Grace and the baby staying with her.
Once Grace had unpacked and settled in, Mrs. Beabots invited her for afternoon tea. She’d already invited Louise, as well as Sarah, who lived next door. Sarah had given birth to a baby girl, Charlotte, only three days after Jules was born on July 1, and Grace was looking forward to having her friend so close by.
Jules was still napping when Grace headed downstairs at four, but because he was used to being transported from her Paris apartment to her studio, where designers shouted at each other over the cutting tables and sewing machines whirred, he could just about sleep through anything.
Grace put Jules, in his baby carrier, on Mrs. Beabots’s kitchen island just as Aunt Louise walked in.
Louise smiled at their elderly host. “I brought you a plate of brownies I made this morning.”
Mrs. Beabots grinned. “Those are the brownies for your brownie-nut-fudge ice cream, I presume.”
“They are.”
“How generous of you to share with us, Louise. We’ll put them out with the pecan and cranberry sandies I made. The tea is nearly ready. Sarah should be here any minute. I thought we’d sit in the front parlor. Luke put in a new heater for me out there and it’s quite toasty.” She winked. “The babies won’t get cold and we can watch the snowfall as the neighborhood Christmas lights come on.”
“Sounds lovely,” Grace replied, taking the china plate of cookies out to the front parlor as she hefted Jules’s carrier in her right hand. She set him on a red velvet Victorian chair. “Oh!” Grace exclaimed, spotting the skinny fir tree in the corner. “You have a Christmas tree out here.”
Louise placed the brownies on the coffee table. “Very pretty.”
“My big tree is in the library, as usual,” Mrs. Beabots explained. “But I spend so much time in here, reading and visiting, that it’s a shame not to have some of my favorite ornaments out to enjoy all the time.” Mrs. Beabots pointed to the tree. “All these are from Paris. Don’t you love the pink, gold and aqua? They were in vogue back in the sixties.”
“I’d love to hear more of your stories,” Grace said as the antique doorbell rang.
“That would be Sarah,” Mrs. Beabots said, placing the teapot on the coffee table. “I’ll be right back.”
“Uh-huh. Just in time not to disclose anything juicy about Paris or Coco Chanel, huh?” Grace teased.
Louise winked at her niece. “She’ll never spill.”
“Not even to me?” Grace asked.
“Never. Secrets are her passion. Along with these cookies.”
Sarah followed Mrs. Beabots into the room, holding a pink bundle. “Grace!” she squealed. “I’m so happy to see you!” She gave Grace a one-armed hug. “This is Charlotte. Annie’s on her way over. She had to walk Beau first. She’s dying to talk to you.”
“Goodness. I’m flattered, but why?”
“Oh,” Mrs. Beabots said impishly as she took Sarah’s coat. “You’ll see. She’s a million questions, that one. Tea, Sarah? You know you can have my mint-and-bourbon tea now that you’re not nursing.”
“True,” Sarah replied. “I’d love some tea.” She glanced at Grace. “Are you breastfeeding?”
“No. I had to go back to work five days after Jules was born. I took him to the studio with me, but formula let me be a bit more flexible with his feeding.”
“You’re kidding. They let you do that? Bring him in, I mean.”
Grace smiled. “Summer was a slow time for us and I’m the team leader. Though, once things ramped up in the fall, it was too hectic and Jules could feel my stress. I found a nanny, but she was clearly more interested in becoming a designer than she was in taking care of Jules. I was basically tutoring her while still doing the lion’s share of childcare.”
Sarah shook her head. “I can’t believe you got any work done at all! I’ve been able to take a longer mat leave, at least, but my whole day revolves around Charlotte. Sometimes I don’t even have time to eat, let alone do anything creative.”
Grace felt a rush of shame. The whole reason she’d come back to Indian Lake was that she couldn’t handle it all. How could anyone understand her motivation for leaving her baby here so she could continue her work half a world away? On the surface, she sounded like a heartless monster. She lifted her hand to Jules and let him curl his fingers around her forefinger. He smiled at her and when he did, the pacifier in his mouth wiggled and wobbled like it always did. Grace felt her heart tighten and then burst with love.
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Catherine Lanigan
Must they always be continents apart?Nobody expects Paris fashion designer Grace Railton to settle down in her Indiana town, least of all Mica Barzonni. Fifteen months ago, he turned to her for comfort and compassion following a farming accident that left him permanently injured. Then she returned to France and went silent on him.Until, suddenly, Grace shows up on his doorstep with life-altering news. Mica, a father? He’s barely learned to navigate his postaccident life. But this could be his chance to become the man he’s always wanted to be—the husband and father Grace and their baby son need. Now Mica just has to convince her to stay.
Must they always be continents apart?
Nobody expects Paris fashion designer Grace Railton to settle down in her Indiana town, least of all Mica Barzonni. Fifteen months ago, he turned to her for comfort and compassion following a farming accident that left him permanently injured. Then she returned to France and went silent on him.
Until, suddenly, Grace shows up on his doorstep with life-altering news. Mica, a father? He’s barely learned to navigate his post-accident life. But this could be his chance to become the man he’s always wanted to be—the husband and father Grace and their baby son need. Now Mica just has to convince her to stay.
“Grace,” Mica said with a sharp edge of irritation. “What are you doing here?”
Her heart slammed violently in her chest. Her hands were shaking. She had to do this quickly.
“I brought you something.”
“You what?”
Grace leaned into the back seat and unhooked the straps in the baby carrier, lifting Jules.
She straightened and shut the door with her hip. Mica stared at her and then at the baby. “Hold out your arm, Mica.”
He was speechless as she walked up to him, but he took Jules when she held him out.
“He’s yours, and it’s your turn to take care of him.”
Mica’s blue eyes blazed with mistrust and something akin to revulsion. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Does he look like a joke?”
“No.” His surprise and mounting anger hit her like shotgun pellets. Sharp, painful and deep. She’d thought she’d prepared herself for his reaction, but seeing Mica and remembering what it was like to be in his arms... Grace hated herself for being the bad guy. There wasn’t a single thing she’d done since last October that merited his trust, love or respect.
“I don’t have a son,” Mica said and started to hand the baby back to her.
“Yes, you do. This is Jules.”
Dear Reader (#u16093c9a-97f8-5f09-b2e5-858ed1874e7b),
Mica Barzonni never questioned his fate until an accident paralyzed his left arm. He’d always assumed he’d inherit his father’s successful farm. Despondent and frustrated, Mica wasn’t looking for love when Grace Railton came back to Indian Lake to help her aunt Louise at the ice cream shop. But he was looking for comfort.
It had been over a decade since the summer Grace lost her heart to Mica. She’d never forgotten the kiss they shared in his parents’ swimming pool. Mica didn’t remember much, except that Grace was a silly beauty pageant contestant. Now she’s an up-and-coming fashion designer in Paris. Little can distract her from her career. Except Mica.
After a romantic October in Indian Lake, Grace returns to Paris. And Mica doesn’t hear a word from her for fourteen months...until she shows up on his doorstep and shocks him to his soul.
She presents Mica with their son.
Mica is angry that Grace has kept six-month-old Jules from him, but now that he’s met his baby, he wants to keep him—forever. Grace is still looking for one thing and one thing only: Mica’s love.
I hope you like His Baby Dilemma. I must admit I had fun writing the comic scenes in this story. Not only has Mica never changed a diaper, but he must do it one-handed! As poignant as the love story between Grace and Mica is, there were strong moments of insight, even for me.
Please send me your thoughts and comments at cathlanigan1@gmail.com, follow me on Facebook and Twitter, @cathlanigan (https://twitter.com/cathlanigan?lang=en), or visit www.heartwarmingauthors.blogspot.com (http://www.heartwarmingauthors.blogspot.com).
Catherine Lanigan
His Baby Dilemma
Catherine Lanigan
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CATHERINE LANIGAN knew she was born for storytelling at a very young age when she told stories to her younger brothers and sister to entertain them. After years of encouragement from family and high school teachers, Catherine was shocked and brokenhearted when her freshman college creative-writing professor told her that she had “no writing talent whatsoever” and that she would never earn a dime as a writer. He promised her that he would be her crutches and get her through his demanding class with a B grade so as not to destroy her high grade point average too much, if Catherine would promise never to write again.
For fourteen years she did not write until she was encouraged by a television journalist to give her dream a shot. She wrote a six-hundred-page historical romantic spy thriller set against World War I. The journalist sent the manuscript to his agent, who then garnered bids from two publishers. That was nearly forty published novels, nonfiction books and anthologies ago.
This book is dedicated to my late husband,
Jed Nolan, my hero and best friend. I will love
you to the moon and back, and throughout all
the galaxies and universes.
Acknowledgments
This year has been a difficult one for many authors and editors. For the family of Heartwarming authors, we must say goodbye to our extraordinarily talented, warmhearted and savvy senior editor, Victoria Curran. Granted, she may not be part of our line any longer, but, Victoria, you will always be a part of my life and my future. For those authors like me who have been in this business, decade after decade, we’ve walked through these valleys and this I know...you are never alone. Editors are not simply work colleagues. For an artist, an author, an editor is part of our brain, heart and soul. It isn’t possible for me to put a part of my heart on a shelf and say, “Be seeing you.” Instead, I will say, “Let’s talk soon.”
To Claire Caldwell, there are no words to express my appreciation for your insights and my downright giddiness when we brainstorm and pull yet another story together. With each story, we have more and more fun. And that’s the way it should be.
To my agent, Lissy Peace, to whom I’ve been “joined at the hip” for over twenty years—it’s
been a ride!
Contents
Cover (#u5bdd104b-fe47-5817-840f-c96243da13b7)
Back Cover Text (#uda6679fe-ab4f-51ca-be24-32dfbe8d27e0)
Introduction (#u472f1785-f79c-5772-95cc-8ed035ccc08b)
Dear Reader (#u88050f03-43b2-58b8-9cf0-77df676d204e)
Title Page (#u10f07a4e-29e3-5ae1-878f-adf887a2ace3)
About the Author (#u7afdaff5-e271-57eb-802c-04f54fb0fe4e)
PROLOGUE (#u211292f6-b3a0-5585-99a5-5d48c323fb5e)
CHAPTER ONE (#u565ecd2e-250a-5291-88b1-93eda24dccc6)
CHAPTER TWO (#u5e8ffde7-529e-54cd-8700-e545183838af)
CHAPTER THREE (#ud809345a-7dd8-5087-8568-9f2b1140723d)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ub06994f4-f1f6-5aab-89d3-1167d55dac31)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u10536677-9fbc-568b-9b95-18eb67378e2e)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
PROLOGUE (#u16093c9a-97f8-5f09-b2e5-858ed1874e7b)
Fifteen months ago
GRUMBLING AT HER travel-weary reflection in her palm-sized mirror, Grace Railton used a cotton swab to clean away the mascara smudges under her eyes. Jet lag. No sleep and a seven-hour time difference between Paris and Indian Lake are not your friends, Grace. She peered into the mirror. Nope. Not by a long shot.
“Next stop—Indian Lake. Indian Lake!” the conductor announced as he trundled down the crowded aisle.
Grace inhaled—for courage or stamina, she didn’t know. Almost there.
“Indian Lake!” the conductor shouted again as he passed Grace’s seat.
Grace reached out to touch his sleeve. “Excuse me, would it be possible to get some help with my bags when we stop? I’ve been traveling for nearly fourteen hours and—”
“Not my job,” he barked back and started to move away.
Grace gripped his sleeve. “Sir. I’m most happy to pay for the service and I—”
“We don’t take tips.” He peered at her, taking in her clothing. “You’re not from around here.”
“I just flew in from Paris.”
“Let me guess. You’re the one with the huge bags blocking the exit?” He glared at her.
Grace wasn’t about to be shut down. “I only need help off the train.”
He continued to glower at her. Hard.
“Thirty dollars?”
“I’ll meet you by the door.” He looked down at her high-heeled boots. “Think you can manage the steps in those things?”
“I’ll be fine,” she assured him with a bright smile.
Grace wasn’t sure if the man was angling for more money or if he was criticizing her apparel. Either way, she’d gotten what she wanted out of the bargain. Her bags were overloaded and overweight—and for good reason. She would be staying in Indian Lake for over a month, helping her Aunt Louise at The Louise House ice-cream shop while she recovered from back surgery.
Aunt Louise’s request was one that Grace wouldn’t have dreamed of declining. Louise was the only family Grace had left. Grace’s father, Jim Railton, had died when she was very young and her mother, Amanda, had died the day after Grace’s high-school graduation.
However, Aunt Louise was always a prominent part of Grace’s life and all of Grace’s happy childhood memories featured Aunt Louise’s quirky presence.
Louise had always treated Grace as the daughter she never had, and because Grace had dreamed of a career in fashion design, Louise had insisted that only Parsons, one of the best design schools in the country, was good enough for her talented niece. Grace had already saved nearly half the tuition from her Junior Miss Illinois and Miss Teen Illinois pageant winnings. Since Grace had grown up in fashionable, urban Chicago, the competition for the crown was stiff, but her determination and talents had bloomed early. Louise had generously offered to cover the rest. Once she graduated, Grace had diligently sent Louise a check every month, though she’d never asked to be repaid. Grace was no longer in financial debt to her aunt, but she wasn’t sure she could ever repay the kindness and support Louise had given her over the years. Helping her at the ice-cream shop was merely a drop in the bucket.
The train rumbled past a riot of autumn-bronzed trees and rolling farmland, golden now with harvested corn shocks and soybeans. The land was serene and lush with abundance, and Grace realized she’d never quite felt the same about any other place. Not even the South of France, with its vineyards, cobblestone streets and outdoor cafés, held the allure for her that Indian Lake did.
Odd, it’s taken so long for me to return here.
The last time she’d been in Indian Lake she’d been two months shy of her sixteenth birthday. Her mother had still been alive. Grace had been the first runner-up in the Miss Teen Illinois contest. After winning the crown for Junior Miss Illinois in prior years, Grace was blindsided by her near miss. She’d been certain she would win. Her piano performance was impeccable. The gowns she’d designed and that her mother had helped her make were perfection. She’d delivered answers to the judges’ questions with insight and flawless diction. She should have won. But she hadn’t.
That summer was a turning point in her life. After that summer, Grace had altered her goal of becoming a model and directed her ambition toward fashion design. It had been a summer for growing up. That much was certain.
Grace ran her palm over the lapels of her jacket, making certain they lay flat.
Nervous habit, she groused to herself and dropped her hands. She’d worked hard on the design she was wearing. Her fingers traveled over the wool fabric she’d snagged at a bargain price from Johnstons of Elgin. The cashmere was from Nepal, but Grace believed the Scots knew how to weave it best. As comforting as her black jacket and slim skirt were, she was anxious.
She leaned her head against the hard seat and exhaled. She had to calm down.
“You coming back home?” the man across from her asked.
Grace had been so deep in thought, she’d barely noticed anyone else on the train at all.
“Yes. No. Yes,” she replied, looking at him. Attractive was an understatement. He was tall and trim in his well-tailored black business suit, white cotton shirt and conservative tie. The clothes were not expensive, off the rack. He had a good eye for putting himself together and watching his budget. She liked that.
His blue eyes danced and a wave of thick chestnut hair fell over his forehead.
“Can’t decide, huh? Think you’ll get off when we stop?” He smiled broadly.
He was observant. She had to give him that.
Grace couldn’t hold back her own smile. She was used to men striking up conversations with her in cafés. Trains. Airplanes. She’d worn a rhinestone crown since she was ten, and didn’t give it up until she was fifteen. Sometimes she thought men could still see the glimmer, even though the glamour and floodlights had faded for her long ago.
He leaned forward. Just a bit. Not so much that the gesture cut through her personal space. “Dylan Hawks.” He extended his hand and she took it.
“Hawks? I know that name. Are you related to Isabelle Hawks?” she asked.
“My sister,” he said, lifting his chin proudly. “She’s why I’m home for the weekend. Her bridal shower.”
“How nice.” Grace swallowed hard. She limited thoughts of brides to design projects, never imagining herself in that role. “I’m Grace Railton, by the way.”
“Pleasure.” He smiled and then continued. “It’s a big couples’ thing at our friend’s house. Mrs. Beabots.”
Grace’s spirits lightened. “I know her very well. She was practically my mentor.”
“Mentor?”
“It’s a long story,” Grace replied. After high school, Grace had left for New York and entered Parsons School of Design. While her friends went to parties, she drew, created and studied. When they went to Florida for Spring Break, she wrangled appointments with fashion house assistants and design team members. Over large lattes—which she bought for them—Grace picked their brains and soaked up information. In the summers, she took part-time internships on Seventh Avenue. She hadn’t cared how menial the job; she’d only wanted to learn. Like striving for one of her pageant crowns, she had to be the best.
She’d graduated at the top of her class and landed a summer internship at Tom Ford. Grace knew that the very best designers worked in Paris, and she’d believed that until she had a chance to prove her talent in the biggest and toughest arena in the world, she’d never be happy.
Aunt Louise had told Grace of Mrs. Beabots’s former life in Paris, where she had “done something” at Chanel, though no one in town was certain what, since Mrs. Beabots was as tight-lipped, as Louise put it, as the seal on a coffin. Grace had gotten to know Mrs. Beabots during her visits to Indian Lake in high school. Grace had taken an instant liking to the older woman and they shared an admiration for beautifully made clothes. Mrs. Beabots had eventually suggested Grace sketch the dresses she envisioned and send them to her. Grace did precisely that. Throughout high school and college, Grace had corresponded with Mrs. Beabots, sending drawings and photos of her designs. Grace had pleaded with her her aunt to enlist Mrs. Beabots’s help in making connections in Paris, and by that autumn after her college graduation, Grace was on a plane headed to Paris as an assistant to an assistant at Jean Paul Gaultier. Grace’s penchant for perfectionism had gotten her noticed within weeks and she had been challenging herself ever since. Now she was an independent designer with her own team, hoping they would be “brought on” to a top couture house. Under an iconic umbrella, they would have respect, clout and the freedom to create their own line of clothing and accessories, with Grace’s name and logo stamped on every ensemble. They would have security and respect. Fortunately, up to this point, her designs had sold enough to keep them all afloat. Barely.
No question about it. If not for Mrs. Beabots, Grace would not be anywhere near where she was now.
“So are you here for the party as well? Odd we haven’t met. I would remember you...” Despite racing through his questions, Dylan spoke with a dash of charm that was so light most would miss it. Grace did not.
“What a nice thing to say. Thank you. But no, I’m not invited to the party, though I knew Isabelle years ago.” She paused, her mind floating back to that summer, when all of Sarah Jensen’s friends hung out together. Barbecues. Slumber parties. Pool parties... Grace wrenched her thoughts back to the present. “Actually, I’m helping my Aunt Louise. Perhaps you know her. Louise Railton?”
He snapped his fingers. “The Louise House! An Indian Lake institution.”
Grace flashed him a grin. “I’ll tell her you said so.”
The train slowed as it neared the town. Blazing maple, oak and walnut trees hugged the crystal blue lake like bejeweled arms. White clouds scudded across the sky, the sun dazzling Grace’s eyes.
The train jerked to a stop.
“Indian Lake! Indian Lake!”
Adrenaline raced through Grace’s body as she shot to her feet. “We’re here!”
“So we are,” Dylan replied, putting his iPad in his briefcase. “It was nice meeting you, Grace.”
“I’m sure I’ll see you around town,” she said as she gathered her oversize black fringed purse and two large totes, one of which held her laptop, iPad and sketchbook.
“I’m not here all that often. I live in Lincoln Park and work in downtown Chicago. Prosecuting attorney. In case you wanted to know.”
A blush colored Grace’s face. “I apologize for my manners. My head’s been in another world...”
“I could tell.” His mouth quirked in an impish grin.
Dylan slipped out of his seat and walked away.
Way to go, Grace. Nice guy and you blow him off. When are you going to get a life? A real one? She slung her purse and one of the totes over her shoulder, then bumped her way down the aisle toward the exit.
Carefully, Grace negotiated the narrow metal steps down to the pavement. For the first time on her trip, she questioned the importance of her fashionable, but apparently impractical, boots.
The conductor waited until she disembarked before unloading her overweight bags. One by one, he slammed them against the concrete and then sneered at her. “What’ve you got in there? Rocks?”
“Vitamins.” She reached into her jacket pocket and withdrew the cash she’d agreed to pay him.
He touched his hand to the bill of his cap and hopped back up on the train. Grace yanked the long luggage handles out to their full length, hoisted one of the totes higher up on her shoulder and began pulling her load. She felt like a pack mule.
“Grace!” a woman’s voice called.
“Grace! You’re here!” a younger female voice shouted.
Raising her head, Grace saw Aunt Louise coming toward her, bent over a walker. With her was a blonde woman whose sparkling green eyes she’d know anywhere. Grace stood upright and let go of the suitcase handles. “Aunt Louise! And...Maddie? Maddie Strong?”
“Barzonni now.” Maddie beamed.
“Grace! Thank heaven!” Louise’s smile was nearly as bright as the sun. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Grace.” She held out her arms.
Grace couldn’t remember a more wonderful sight. For an instant, she regretted every minute she’d spent apart from her Aunt Louise. Her life in Paris seemed to melt away and all she felt was a rush of affection for her aunt, and nostalgia for this town and the summer long ago with the barbecues, the swimming pool...and Mica.
* * *
“I’VE MADE A lot of changes since you were here, Grace,” Louise said as Grace helped her into the shop.
Grace flipped the cardboard door sign to Open, then stood in the entrance, her eyes stinging with tears. “It’s just an old sign,” she whispered, tracing the crumpled edges of the sign she’d turned over years ago when it had been her job to help Aunt Louise open up and close. Just a sign. A battered, old, faded sign. And suddenly, it meant the world to her because it was part of her life with Aunt Louise.
“Grace?” Louise said.
“Sorry.” Grace sniffed. “I was making sure the lock was open.” She wiped away her tear.
“Sarah and the kids will be here anytime now. It’s Annie’s birthday, so they’ll want some of my newest creations.”
Louise moved her walker over to the chair she’d pulled up to the counter, where the old cash register still sat. It was a monster antique with tabs that would make a muscle-builder’s biceps flex, yet her aunt had refused to give up the old thing.
“I see you’re not computerized yet.” Grace chuckled.
Louise swatted the air with her palm and slapped her thigh as she eased into the chair. “Good heavens, of course I am. In the office. But out here, everyone likes reminders of a bygone era. They come here for this old register. That and the pumpkin-spice and gingerbread-nut ice cream I make every autumn.”
Grace’s heels clacked against the century-old walnut floorboards. She took off her jacket and hung it on a peg next to the wide window with the gold lettering announcing the seasonal offerings.
“I hate to have to thrust you right into work, Grace,” Louise said. “But it couldn’t be helped. Sarah and the kids...”
“Please, don’t apologize, Aunt Louise. I’ll be fine.” She shoved the sleeves of her black sweater to her elbows, revealing at least nine bracelets on each arm. She went to the sink and washed her hands. Under the counter glass was a group of photographs of the sundaes. “Let me study these for a sec.”
“It’s the Monster Mash they love. I serve it in those big round dishes. Six scoops of ice cream slathered in hot fudge with whipped cream piled eight inches high. It feeds four.”
“Thank goodness!” Grace laughed as the front door opened and nearly a dozen children rushed in. Maddie held the door as Sarah Jensen Bosworth walked in behind them. The kids raced to their favorite tables and picked up the menus, challenging each other as to who could eat the most ice cream.
Grace hugged Sarah and as much as she wanted to catch up, the kids were shouting out their orders and Maddie said she had to rush to get Louise to her rehab appointment.
“I’d better get to work,” Grace said.
“You haven’t had a chance to take a breath,” Maddie said. “Not even change or freshen up.” Maddie’s eyes traveled from Grace’s seven strings of pearls, crystals and gold ropes around the banded neckline of the black knit sweater, to her houndstooth wool pencil skirt and fringed black boots. “I wish I knew how to put something together like that.”
“Thanks,” Grace replied, basking in the twinkle of appreciation. “That means a lot to me. A lot.”
Maddie hugged her, then tilted her head toward Annie and Timmy Bosworth and Danny Sullivan, who were waving huge spoons up in the air. “They look like they’re about to revolt.”
“I’m on it.” Grace smiled and went straight to work scooping six kinds of ice cream into Monster Mash dishes.
After serving up over half a dozen massive concoctions, her hands sticky and nearly frozen, she lost track of time. She was halfway into the refrigerated bin, trying to dig out the last of the pumpkin-spice ice cream when she felt the counter reverberate.
“Where’s Louise?” a raw, deep male voice asked.
“She’s at the doctor.” Grace lifted her head and looked into the Mediterranean-blue eyes she’d never forgotten. Mica. Her heart stopped. She was staring, but she couldn’t help it. “Rehab. Her back...”
“I heard,” he said sharply. He peered at her, taking inventory. “You’re new here.”
He didn’t recognize her. She should have figured that one. Why would he remember her? She had changed a lot in twelve years. A whole lot.
With the force of a tsunami, the memory of the pool party at the Barzonni villa hit her. The “gang” had all been there...Sarah Jensen, Maddie Strong and all the Barzonni brothers—football star Gabe, horse-lover Rafe and Nate, who only had eyes for Maddie.
And then there was Mica. The most handsome of all the blue-eyed, black-haired, sun-bronzed boys.
Mica had exuded the kind of perfection Grace had been trying her whole life to achieve. He was strong, quiet and arrestingly handsome.
And after a game of swimming-pool volleyball, Mica had kissed her. She remembered the chlorine smell mixed with suntan lotion, the warmth of his lips on hers. It was a quick kiss. One without passion or longing, and yet, to this day, she’d never forgotten it.
Nor had she forgotten his disdain of her pageant life and his dismissal of her interest in fashion. He hadn’t been cruel, but he’d made it clear he thought her pursuits were worthless.
She hadn’t known how to stand up to him back then. He was three years older and as much as she had wanted to rebuke him, she’d felt there was truth to his arguments. He and his brothers worked from dawn to dusk on the farm. There was always back-breaking work to do and they did it gladly. Mica considered it a privilege to be a part of his father’s legacy.
At Parsons and later in Paris, Grace had learned that Mica was right about one thing: determination and perseverance were everything.
Mica Barzonni had changed her life back then, though he didn’t know that. Several times over the years, she’d thought about writing to thank him. But now she saw how truly inconsequential she’d been in his life. Obviously, he didn’t remember her in the least. He was a Barzonni, after all. He already had everything.
Even now, her heart hammered in her chest. Suddenly she was that teenage girl again, crushing on the boy in the pool. She hadn’t been in love; she’d been too young for love, hadn’t she? Mica had given her no indication that she was anything to him other than a pest. Except for that one kiss. She was only a girl he’d met one summer...a long time ago.
She stared back at him. He wore dusty jeans, a faded plaid shirt, an old wool vest that she would have trashed and scuffed boots with dirt clods clinging to the heels. There was an oil smudge on his forehead. He looked like he’d walked right out of the fields. His hand rested on the counter, where he’d dumped a big canvas sack.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Pie pumpkins for Louise. My mother said she called and needed them ASAP.”
“She didn’t tell me.” Grace added a final scoop to the sundae she’d been working on, but the dish was overloaded and another scoop fell out. She shoveled it back in and patted it down.
“You need some help there?” He smirked.
Grace stared at him. “I’m fine.” She plunged the dipper into the hot fudge and drizzled it over the ice cream. Glancing at the photo of the Monster Mash, she took a can of whipped cream from the under-the-counter refrigerator and pulled off the cap.
“You’re supposed to shake it up first,” Mica said.
“I know what I’m doing,” she snapped. Grace pressed the top and sprayed whipped cream all over the ice cream, the counter and onto Mica’s plaid shirt.
He groaned. “Yeah, right.”
“Sorry,” Grace said sheepishly, handing him a dish towel.
“You should’ve shaken the can,” he growled. “I would have thought Louise would hire someone with skills.”
Under Mica’s judgmental gaze, Grace felt as if she was fifteen again. Back when she’d just lost the crown and had felt terribly insecure. She’d given her heart away to Mica and he hadn’t known the first thing about her feelings. She’d kept silent. Well, not this time.
“If I want your advice, I’ll ask for it. Now, excuse me, please. I have to deliver this.” Grace carried her vastly imperfect Monster Mash to a table of four boys, who looked askance at the sundae. “I did my best,” she whispered to the kids. She handed them four spoons. “It’ll taste better than it looks.”
“Yeah,” Timmy said and gave her a thumbs-up. The kids dug in with audible glee.
When Grace turned around she noticed that Mica was now leaning against the counter, his hand on his hip as he watched every move she made. No beauty contest judge had ever scrutinized her so intently. She felt as if she still had whipped cream on her face or mascara smudges under her eyes. She should have checked her makeup before the kids arrived, but there hadn’t been time. Self-consciously, she touched her earrings. No. They were still in place.
All she could do was retaliate in kind. She let her gaze fall to his boots. She lifted the edge of her lips in a lopsided effort at a sneer. “You make deliveries here often?”
“I do now.”
“Then the next time you come, wipe your boots before you enter the shop. Saves me from scrubbing the floor.”
He straightened. “I remember you.”
“Oh, really?” Grace went behind the counter and took out another dish.
“You’re Louise’s niece. I didn’t recognize you without the rhinestone crown.”
Grace gripped the sundae dish to prevent herself from bouncing it off his thick skull. “And you’re Mica Barzonni.”
“Yeah. Well, tell Louise she can mail the check...for the pumpkins.”
“I will.”
He started to head for the door.
“Oh, Mica. Why don’t you stop off at the grocery store. Pick up some soap on your way out of town. Looks like you’ve run out.” She tapped her forehead.
He reached up to his forehead, rubbed it, then studied his greasy fingertips. He glared back at her.
Grace ground her jaw, picked up the ice-cream scoop and pitched it from hand to hand defiantly. One word. Try me, and I’ll really let you have it.
He spun on his heel and stomped out of the shop, leaving a clod of mud and grass on the floor.
“Ooooh!” Grace fumed, wishing she felt some relief from having had the last word.
Sarah rushed to her side. “Was that Mica? I wanted to say hi.”
“It was.” Every smug, judgmental inch of him.
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah.” Grace frowned. “You look surprised. Why?”
“Mica doesn’t come to town much. Especially since the accident.”
“What accident?”
Sarah paused. “You didn’t know?”
“Know what?”
“He was in an accident a few months ago that nearly killed him. He was working on his mother’s car and it dropped on him. He’s lost the use of his left arm. He keeps his hand in his jeans pocket so people don’t notice. If he seemed—”
“Arrogant as all get out?” Grace interrupted.
Sarah smiled. “Well, yeah. He’s always had that about him.”
“I would have thought he’d have grown up by now. Learned some manners. Do you remember when he used to call me silly because I was upset about losing Miss Teen Illinois? He didn’t get it. Those pageants were important to me and a huge part of my life back then. I thought I wanted to be a model, but then I realized my real talent was in fashion design. I was heartbroken that I didn’t win for a lot of reasons. That win would have given me a substantial scholarship to college. My mother didn’t have much money but my winnings all went in a back account for my education.”
“Did you ever tell him this?” Sarah countered.
“No...” Grace’s shoulders slumped. “I guess I was pretty harsh earlier. Aunt Louise owes him money for the pumpkins. I think I’ll deliver it in person.”
* * *
AFTER LOUISE RETURNED from rehab, Grace got a signed check from her and asked to borrow her car. Then she drove south to the Barzonni farm. It was one route she didn’t need a GPS to follow.
She rang the bell when she got to the house, but no one answered. She rang it four more times, but there was still no answer.
Remembering that the family often used the kitchen door, she walked around to the back and knocked. Still no answer. She looked down at the check Louise had written.
It was a flimsy excuse for her to be here, but Grace was ashamed of her remarks about Mica’s dirty boots and the grease on his face, and she wanted to apologize. She didn’t know why he rattled her cage the way he did, but he did.
She banged on the door. “Hello? Anybody home?”
“What do you want?” Mica asked, startling her as he came out of the apartment over the garage. He stood on the balcony, his right hand on the railing as he glared at her.
“I, uh, brought the check we owe you.”
“You could have mailed it,” he said, starting down the steps.
He came toward her, and Grace was certain that no male model, no Hollywood star, no European prince, was as drop-dead handsome as Mica Barzonni. His blue eyes seemed to be taking inventory of her every eyelash.
I didn’t even check my makeup before I left Louise’s! This jet lag is going to be the end of me.
“Here,” she said, thrusting the check at him as if it would singe her fingertips.
“Thanks.”
“Mica...” She cleared her throat. “I came out here because I owe you an apology.”
He stared at her, his expression unreadable. “No, you didn’t.”
“What?”
“You came out here because you found out about my acci— My arm. Who told you?”
“Sarah.”
“Good old Sarah. Well, you would have found out sooner or later. Everybody knows.”
“And they shouldn’t? Is it a secret?”
“I guess not. Still...”
“Still...what?”
“I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Why?”
“Because, little miss preteen, then I see the pity in their eyes like I see in yours. You feel sorry for me.” He shot the words at her with acidic bite.
Is he serious? “Actually, I don’t feel that way at all. In fact, Mica, I think you’re just as self-centered and arrogant as you were when we were kids.”
“I was never those things.”
“Fine. You are now.” She jammed her hands on her hips. “And another thing. My life has never been silly. Okay? I worked hard for everything I’ve accomplished.”
He took another step toward her, his face dangerously close to hers. “I seriously doubt that. You haven’t got the first clue what it is to work hard. This farm, this land and all it demands, is hard work. I suppose you still tromp around in a pink dress and smile and wink for some judges and you think that’s work? Get real.”
“That was a long time ago. And there was more to it than that.”
“You know what? I don’t have time for this. You live in your world. I’ll live in mine. Got that?”
“Got it,” she roared back.
“I think we’re done here. I’ll give my mother your check. She’ll be thrilled. Probably fly to Tahiti with all this money.”
“You’re a jerk, Mica Barzonni.”
The anger in his eyes died instantly, as if she’d doused the fire. His face softened and she felt he was seeing her for the first time. His eyes were imploring, seeking. “I’m sorry,” he said finally. “That was rude of me.”
Surprised at his apology, she stared at him for a long moment. She’d had her shields up and had been ready to wield a sword against him if need be. She held her breath, waiting for the next attack.
“I’m sorry, Grace,” he murmured. “I like your Aunt Louise a lot. She’s a nice lady. And I don’t know anything about you or what you’ve done with your life. Forgive me?”
“I do,” she replied softly, sensing his disappointment in himself.
He moved a step closer. “I don’t want to fight with you. Or anyone.” He touched his left arm. “It embarrasses me that I’m not...well, who I was.”
“Don’t say that. You’re Mica and that’s a good thing. At least I always thought so.”
He massaged his arm, then let his right hand drop.
“It had to be painful. Sarah said the car dropped on you.”
“Funny. A lot of it I don’t remember. But every hour of every day, I’m left with this reminder of my carelessness. It was so stupid,” he said angrily.
She reached for his hand, but didn’t touch him. He jerked away from her.
“See why I don’t like going into the details?”
“It’s upsetting.”
“More than you can imagine,” he replied.
“Then let’s talk about something else,” she said, smiling at him.
“Like what?”
“We have a lot of years to catch up on. I don’t know what happened to you. I mean, not about your accident. I remember you talking about engines and machines and the things you wanted to invent. Did you end up going to Purdue?”
“You remember all that?”
“I remember everything about you.” Her words came out as a whisper.
“I got my engineering degree,” he said, leaning closer.
“Mica, that’s wonderful. I’m proud of you.”
“Really?”
“Of course. I always wanted the best for you. I knew you’d succeed. You were so determined and focused as a teen.”
Confusion wrinkled his brow. “You thought that?”
“I did.” She couldn’t stop herself from smiling. “You see, I was paying attention.”
“I’m...I’m surprised.” He raked back a lock of hair. “You surprise me.”
“That’s a good thing, huh?” She felt a warm glow in her chest.
“Yeah,” he said, though he still didn’t smile. He glanced back toward the kitchen door. “Hey, I was just about to raid the fridge for dinner. Everybody went out to Gabe’s house—”
“And you didn’t go?” she interrupted.
“No, I don’t usually...”
“Why not?”
He placed his right hand on his left arm without looking at it. His eyes were focused on her. Grace liked the attention Mica gave her. A lot.
“I wasn’t up to it.” A dark shadow clouded his sky blue eyes.
Understanding cracked like a bolt of lightning across Grace’s mind. “Mica...are you asking me to dinner?”
He blinked as if he remembered where he was. Who he was with. “Yes. Yes, I am.”
“Great.” She beamed. “I’m starving. I spent the afternoon surrounded by sugar and ice cream and didn’t steal a bite for myself.”
He took two steps back. “This way.”
Inside the kitchen, he went straight to the large refrigerator and began withdrawing plastic covered bowls. “Manicotti. Salad. Mixed fruit. Ooh, and Mom’s herbed Italian bread.”
He spooned pasta onto two plates and put the first one into the microwave.
Once the food was heated, they sat at the kitchen table.
The garlic and basil aroma made Grace’s mouth water. She finished her pasta long before Mica. She looked up. He held his fork midmotion as if he’d forgotten to take a bite in the process of watching her.
“What?” she asked.
“You give hungry a new meaning.” He still didn’t smile, and only gave her that enigmatic, distant look that she’d always assumed to be arrogance.
She grinned, hoping to crack the wall of ice he kept around him. “I’d like to blame the jet lag, but the truth is...I eat like this too often. Definitely not healthy.”
“Why?”
“Because I work for six, maybe eight hours nonstop. I’m so immersed in my designs that I forget to eat. Or sleep.”
“It’s that way for you, too?”
She lowered her fork and wiped her mouth. She kept her eyes on his. “Uh-huh.”
“I thought it was just me. I thought it was depression from the accident.”
“Tell me how it’s been, Mica.”
She’d barely uttered the words and he started talking without taking a breath.
“It’s not the accident—the pain or even this bothersome rehab that’s so hard. It’s like every aspect of my life is withering away. One day I was the hero on the farm, able to fix every piece of equipment. I have more tools in the mechanical shed than they have at Home Depot. Whatever Rafe could do, I could do as well and faster. Once Gabe left, Mom was sure we’d have to cut back on production. But we didn’t. We simply went on.” He snapped his fingers. “Like that. Everything changed. Rafe and Mom want to replace me—”
“You can’t mean that.”
“They do.”
“But you’re Mica. You’re...”
“As insignificant as humanly possible,” he interjected, lowering his gaze.
Grace pushed her chair back and rose slowly. She placed her hands on either side of his face. “Look at me.”
“Grace, you don’t have to say anything. I...thank you for listening.”
“Shut up.”
She kissed him. It was more electric than she’d planned. She didn’t pity Mica. She didn’t think he was looking for a savior. She just wanted to know if what she was feeling right now was more than the vestiges of a teenage crush.
And it was.
If she were smart she’d leave. Walk away from him the way she had all those years ago. Except apparently she’d kept her emotions hidden back then. Even from herself.
She had to face it. She’d always been a fool for Mica.
And she didn’t care about anything except making this moment last.
When she pulled back, Mica gazed into her eyes and gave her a soft smile. “Grace.”
He stood and put his arm around her. She kissed him again, not daring to let him take the lead, afraid he might let his melancholy overcome him.
Though she could sense his strength, she also felt his lost sense of purpose. He was floundering, searching, and she wanted to be the rock in the rushing stream that he held on to.
I’m still in love with him.
He broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers. “You take my breath away,” he whispered.
“I could say that about you.”
“You mean that?”
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”
“Grace, I think we have a lot of catching up to do. It could take...well, a long time.”
“Mica...”
He pulled her hand to his lips.
“I’m only here for a month. Just to help Aunt Louise.”
“Then what?”
“I’ll go back to Paris.” He moved closer and she could feel his breath on her cheek. His eyes were unwavering, pinning her, and in that moment she felt the power that was Mica Barzonni. His right arm slipped around her waist and he drew her to him.
“I have to go back...”
“We’ll see about that.”
His lips on hers were nirvana. She was whisked away from the earth. Her heartbeat pounded in her chest and thrummed at her temples. The only sound she heard was Mica’s intake of breath and the deep resonating strains of her name coming from his throat. He kissed her as if he would never kiss her again. She nearly believed he was in love with her. For years she’d daydreamed that one day Mica would love her. This excruciatingly lovely kiss was perfect. It was everything she’d dreamed of and more.
He deepened the kiss and breathed her name again. “Grace.”
“Don’t talk. Just kiss me.”
Her skin tingled as their bodies melded into each other.
Through her hand on his nape, she felt strength surging through his spine and the taut muscles in his shoulders. She sank her fingers into his thick hair and held him. She wanted him to know that she didn’t want him to stop. She didn’t want this dream to fade.
At this moment, Grace believed that even she might find a happily-ever-after. That for her, the fairy tale was coming true.
CHAPTER ONE (#u16093c9a-97f8-5f09-b2e5-858ed1874e7b)
Present day
MICA HEARD IT from his sister-in-law, Maddie, who heard it from Mrs. Beabots, who got it straight from Louise Railton.
Grace Railton was back in town.
He didn’t know which emotion to pick first. Anger came to mind right off the bat, but it was quickly replaced with disappointment, hurt and curiosity.
“What’s she doing here?” Grace had made it pretty clear when she left town last year that Paris was the only universe she’d inhabit on a long-term basis. Indian Lake was too small for Grace, the beauty-pageant queen.
Mica stared at the tractor engine he was fixing, then tossed the wrench onto the tool bench with enough force to make the screwdriver beside it jump. Grace.
For over a year, he’d gone over every detail of his relationship with Grace, if he could even call it that. No matter how many times he rehashed the events of that whirlwind October, he came up with only one assessment: they were as mismatched as a tuxedo and a pair of cowboy boots.
If he was honest with himself, he’d known that since they were teenagers.
Grace and her mother had been obsessed with beauty pageants. Crowns and dresses—that was all she’d talked about back then. Unless she was criticizing everything he wore.
He hadn’t liked the way he reacted to Grace. She’d had some kind of lightning rod stuck to her spine that just made him want to strike. She’d needled him in a way he didn’t understand, always picking at what was wrong with him. Asking why he didn’t want more for himself than his life on the farm. Meanwhile, she’d talked about New York and Paris like they were Mecca, or the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. She’d made perfectly clear her opinions about Indian Lake and the people who chose to make it their home.
Which made it even harder to understand the intense month they’d spent together a year ago October. It had been like a switch had been flipped. She was focused on her career and when she talked about her designs, her eyes lit up like fireworks. There were times he thought he could listen to her and never tire of her enthusiasm. She was the kind of person who would always be vibrant. But Mica doubted if he’d ever know whether she had truly wanted him or had simply pitied him.
He traced the gouged edges of the old pair of pliers his father had used to repair their tractors, generators and trucks. Angelo had built this farm with his hands. Hands that never stopped working, and Angelo had taught all his sons to do the same.
Yet now, Mica only had one hand. He was never going to be the kind of empire builder his father had been. He had to find a new path. Since college graduation, he’d abandoned his engineering goals in order to help on the farm. Now the farm didn’t need him or want him. He had to find a way to translate his dreams from the drafting table and his computer into a working piece of machinery for people with disabilities.
Mica slumped against the workbench and looked across at the machinery shed, where he spent a great deal of his time lately. Tinkering. That was all he’d done in the past year or so. All he’d done since Grace left town.
Grace... He ran his hand through his hair. She’d emailed him once after she landed in Paris, telling him that her design team was further behind than she’d thought. They needed her. She’d be working 24/7 to pull off their spring line. He’d told her he understood. But he hadn’t. Week after week, he’d sent emails and left messages, but she never responded.
He ground his teeth. Her silence was like a brick wall falling on him. She wanted nothing to do with him. Maybe she hadn’t changed as much as he’d thought she might have during the month they spent together.
Her departure—and rejection—still bothered him, but Mica had had more important things to focus on in the past year. With a lot of rehab—and trial and error—he’d learned his way around his new life with only one working arm. He’d had to figure out how to dress with one hand, and even change the way he did chores around the kitchen. Every sandwich bag had to have a slider so he could put the bag on the counter and slide the top closed. No more jars. Pop tops for everything. Pots and pans were simple. He used one at a time. He chopped vegetables in a food processor or used a mandolin to slice them over a bowl. The majority of the time, his mother made plenty of food for him to warm in his microwave.
He couldn’t drive the tractor or change the baler. He was of no help to Rafe, so his brother had been forced to take on another hourly worker. When their father had died, Mica and Rafe had agreed to hire extra help. Now they needed even more.
The only work Mica had now was running errands for his mother.
The reality stung every day of his life, shutting out joy and any hope for happiness.
He ran his hand down his numb and limp left arm.
He wondered if he’d ever get used to the fact that his arm would never work again.
It had been a freakish accident that should never have happened, but it had.
Gina—his mother—had wanted to take her BMW to the shop, but Mica had been bored. He loved tinkering with the farm equipment, old cars, anything with a motor. He felt at one with engines, cogs, pistons and gears. Often, when there was nothing left to do in the shop, he would stay up late messing around with mechanical designs on his computer.
Mica had graduated from Purdue University in mechanical engineering, but for years, he hadn’t done much with his degree. He’d been needed on the farm. Farming was in his blood. He adored the land that grew acres of food every year. It was miraculous to him that after a killing winter blizzard, spring always came fresh and green and full of promise.
At least it had until the accident.
Spring meant planting season and every piece of equipment had to be tuned up and ready to run smoothly.
“It’s not even New Year’s and I’m feeling pressure already,” he growled.
He pushed himself away from the workbench and went over to the pickup he’d recently given an oil change. He closed the hood, then hit the automatic garage-door opener. He got in the truck and started the engine. He’d attached a spinner knob, used by many with physical disabilities, to the steering wheel to give him more leverage when handling the pickup. He’d bought it the day he’d gone to the DMV to have a Restriction C placed on his driver’s license, though he’d forgone the handicapped parking tag he’d been offered. Yes, he’d lost his arm, but he could still walk just fine, and for that, he was grateful.
Driving a tractor was entirely different from a pickup truck, in that it required strength and both hands. Driving over rugged farmland was complex, dodging dips, mud holes, bumps and gullies. It was difficult for him to handle the tractor, though he’d built the muscles in his right arm considerably over the past year to compensate for the loss of his left.
Often he toyed with the idea of voice-activated farm machinery. He could work the land as he had done before the accident if he could speak commands to the old Allis-Chalmers tractor.
Mica backed the truck out of the shed, pausing to look out over the snow-covered farm. New Year’s. Of course. Grace was here to be with her aunt Louise for the holiday. That made sense.
Sometimes, he was a little slow to see the obvious. Just because Grace had left him without any follow-up or follow-through was no reason to mistrust her. She’d told him that her world was Paris, fashion and her career. She’d never deviated from that. She’d been honest. He had to give her that.
Mica spotted Rafe in the flat soybean field, riding the sputtering and hitching old John Deere tractor toward the big barn. He wore a leather-and-sheepskin bomber jacket, a cowboy hat and a wide blue wool scarf around his neck. The brothers waved at each other.
Before the accident, Mica had wanted to purchase a new all-terrain truck for the farm to replace the John Deere. But now that Mica had been injured, he was glad they hadn’t spent the $300,000 on new equipment. The family had struggled through the past year, with Mica unable to pitch in. No one had wanted to hurt his feelings, and he appreciated that, but now it was nearly the new year and Rafe was talking about restructuring—and hiring new employees.
As he drove toward their Italian stucco villa, Mica realized he didn’t like change. He was still grieving his father’s death nearly three years earlier and he wasn’t quite used to the idea that Rafe was married. He and his wife, Olivia, had built their own house on the property. Olivia was a nice enough woman, Mica supposed. She and her mother owned the Indian Lake Deli and Olivia was a good cook, as good a pastry chef as his other sister-in-law, Maddie, and she was a talented photographer.
There actually wasn’t anything wrong with Olivia or Maddie, Nate’s wife, or Liz, who was married to his brother Gabe. Mica had just never been much of a people person.
Mica had always preferred his own company. Rafe had been closest to their father and that had been fine with Mica. Nate and Gabe were very close to their mother. And that was fine as well.
Mica was the loner. Even in high school, Mica had never participated in team sports. He preferred swimming...alone. Running...alone. Working...alone.
Maybe deep down he’d always been the brooding type, and the accident had simply sharpened that trait.
He pulled up to the house and parked the truck. Without thinking, he went to reach for the door handle with his left hand. Natural reflex. But nothing happened.
He smashed the truck’s door with his right hand, as if he could open it with sheer force. He kept banging until he hurt his thumb. “Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!”
How could he not have checked the jack when he raised the chassis of his mother’s BMW? Sure, it was the old jack his father had used for decades, but it had never caused any issues before.
The jack slipped. He’d heard the metal rubbing against the grooves of the jack throat. As soon as he registered the sound, he’d started to roll out from under the car, but he hadn’t been fast enough to spare his left arm and shoulder.
The chassis dropped on Mica. He’d tried to yell, but the weight of the car had crushed the air out of his lungs. The pain had caused him to pass out.
He’d woken up when the paramedics were hoisting him onto a gurney. Rafe and his mother were there, leaning over the stretcher.
Rafe, coming in from the fields, had found him unconscious under the car.
The doctor’s prognosis had been devastating.
Inoperable. Paralyzed. Those were the only words Mica had heard. The doctor had pushed rehabilitation to keep the arm from becoming fully atrophied. Mica had agreed with that, and for the first month, he’d actually believed he could will his arm to move again. He’d tried everything—even hypnosis—but nothing worked.
The second month, his depression had slid deeper into anger. He had begrudgingly and sarcastically continued with rehab, but he knew now that all the exercise in the world would never bring his arm back.
And then Grace had come into his life.
It was impossible not to think of kissing Grace and holding her each time her face flashed across his mind. That month she’d spent in Indian Lake had almost made him feel like himself again. She’d looked up at him with those intense blue eyes and he’d felt more alive and invigorated than he had since well before the accident, if he was honest.
Maybe it was a good thing she’d cut him off. He didn’t know exactly where to put all his emotions for Grace.
Mica got out of the truck and hit the remote to lock the doors. He stared at it for a moment. Why don’t they make these to open the door from the inside?
He tossed the remote up in the air and caught it. “Maybe I should do that.”
He walked to the back door that led to the kitchen.
“Mom, I got the truck ready to go for you. The tractor is nearly fin—”
Mica stopped dead in his tracks.
His mother had her arms around Sam Crenshaw’s neck and Sam was holding her close, closer than Mica had ever seen his father hold her. And then...she kissed him as if this was the last kiss of her life. Mica averted his eyes.
“Mom!” he shouted.
Slowly, Gina turned.
“Sam?” Mica spluttered. “Mind telling me what you’re doing to my mother?” Sam was Liz’s grandfather. He was some kind of in-law, but that didn’t give him make-out privileges with Mica’s mother.
“I was kissing her.”
“I see that.” Mica’s gaze shot to his mother.
Gina blushed, but she didn’t step out of Sam’s embrace. Though she politely moved a few inches from his chest. She was smiling. Her face glowed, and...was that a tear falling down her cheek?
“Mom?”
“Sam has just asked me to marry him, and I accepted.” She withdrew her left hand and twiddled her fingers at him. “Ring and all.”
“You’re not serious.”
Gina’s smile withered. In that instant, he realized he’d shot down her joy, killed it. But he didn’t care. A year ago, his world had turned black. It was filled with shadows, fear, doubt and pain. Now his world had shifted again. Rafe wanted to replace Mica, and now their mother was replacing their father. He didn’t like it.
His eyes tracked to Sam. “How long?”
“How long what?” Sam snapped, squaring his shoulders.
“How long have you been in love with her? Have you been planning this since my father was alive?”
“Mica!” Gina started toward him, but Sam took her arm and shook his head.
“You want the truth, Mica?” Sam asked.
“Yes, I do.”
“I’ve loved her since before she married your father. We were young then. She’d made a promise to him back in Italy and she honored that promise for over thirty years. I never came near her until after he died. I’m an old man. I may not have many years left, but she’s agreed to be with me for however long I stick around.”
Mica felt as if he’d been shot through the chest. He’d said he wanted the truth, but this was too much. His mother hadn’t loved his father? And all her life, she’d wanted someone else, but hadn’t done anything about it? What kind of sacrifice was that?
Maybe he’d inherited his penchant for withdrawal from her. Had she brooded over Sam like he brooded over the loss of his old life?
Mica took a step backward.
Gina moved toward him. “Mica, don’t be like this. Be happy for us.”
Mica stopped. “Be happy for you? What is that, Mom? Happy? How can I be happy about you or him or anything ever again?” He looked down at his arm. “No. I can’t be happy. Not for you or for myself.”
He turned on his heel and stormed away, slamming the door behind him.
CHAPTER TWO (#u16093c9a-97f8-5f09-b2e5-858ed1874e7b)
NEW YEAR’S WAS all about fresh starts. New goals. Rethinking life. At least that’s what Grace told herself to justify flying across the Atlantic at the last minute over the holidays.
Yet, here she was, sitting in her Aunt Louise’s car outside the Barzonni villa in the freezing cold. The afternoon sky was a slab of blue-gray pewter that was enough to depress the happiest of souls. It did nothing to bolster her courage.
She dropped her forehead to the steering wheel. “I’m out of my mind.” She balled her fist on her thigh. She had to do this. Had to. Tears stung her eyes, but she pressed her fingertips to the corners. She couldn’t let anyone see her crying. Especially not Mica.
She had to pull it together. She’d felt brave over the past year, but that didn’t come close to how heartrendingly brave she was going to need to be once she came face-to-face with Mica.
He’s going to hate me forever.
Oh, he’d wanted her on that golden October night over a year ago. Those days had been like a giddy ride on a Ferris wheel. She’d worked long hours for Aunt Louise at the ice-cream shop, while Louise went to rehab, saw her doctors and healed. She’d never known when she’d see Mica from one day to the next because they never actually made dates or scheduled dinners. He had simply showed up at closing time.
He had been battling anger and depression over his injury. She’d cut him a lot of slack, but still, his distance constantly warred with the magnetism between them.
Before the month she’d spent in Indian Lake, Grace had been attracted to Mica—intrigued by the memory of that day in the pool. Yet in the month they’d spent together, she’d grown to care about him. Deeply. She wasn’t sure he’d understood just how deeply. He hadn’t asked. Mica was a loner. “Aloof” didn’t begin to describe his attitude at times. He needed solitude to heal his psyche. Grace knew instinctively when to be with him and when to give him space. Yet she cherished every glimpse of him. Every breath and word he spoke. For her, there hadn’t been anything more important than simply spending an hour over a cup of coffee with Mica.
Looking back, the sharp blade of reality was that as much as she’d tried to show she cared about him, Mica had never said he cared about her. Never told her he loved her. Now that she thought about it, he’d never told her that he even liked her. All of which was a flimsy foundation for a relationship.
“Not that we even have one,” she grumbled. Grace couldn’t pin that one on Mica. She’d been the one to cut off communication.
She’d itched to send him an email, longed to hear his voice on the phone. But she’d had only one thing to say to him. And it was the one thing she couldn’t—wouldn’t—say.
I’m pregnant.
She had told herself over and over that he didn’t love her and only wanted her as a fling. She lived in Paris. He lived in Indian Lake. They were universes apart in just about everything.
A clean break was best, she’d thought. Then she’d thrown herself into her spring line.
Part of her had wanted to tell him—had insisted it was the right thing. She remembered the times she’d stared at her phone, punched in his number, then lost courage before the first ring. Lost faith that he would ever want her. As the months passed and her pregnancy progressed, their time together had started to seem like some strange dream. It would never work in the long run. It was easier, for both of them, this way. Finally, she had come to a decision. She would have her baby and never tell Mica. She was capable and responsible and she could raise her child while fulfilling her ambitions for her career. She could do anything.
So she’d thought.
A door slammed, startling her. Grace looked up, but the villa was still. The sun was fading behind a shield of dense, snow-filled clouds. The timer on the white lights in the doorway garland and shrubs tripped. Thousands of tiny lights turned the villa’s facade into a fairyland.
The sound must have come from somewhere else.
She drove around to the kitchen entrance, and there he was.
He was dressed in jeans, cowboy boots and a leather jacket over a cream-colored cable-knit sweater. His hair was a bit longer than the last time she’d seen him. The lights over the doorway had come on and glistened in his ink-dark hair.
He’d stopped halfway across the paved area between the kitchen and the stairway to his apartment above the garage.
He stared at the car disbelievingly.
She opened the door and got out. “Mica.”
“Grace,” he said with a sharp edge of irritation. “What are you doing here?”
Her heart slammed violently in her chest as she took a step back and opened the back door to the car. Her hands were shaking and she absolutely knew that all the blood had drained out of her body. She probably only had minutes to live. She had to do this quickly.
“I brought you something.”
“You what?” He took a tentative step forward.
She leaned down and unhooked the seat belt that secured their son in his infant car seat, then lifted him into her arms.
She straightened and shut the door with her hip. Mica stared at her and then at the baby. “Hold out your arm, Mica. I’ve brought you your son.”
Mica was speechless as she walked up to him. She shoved the baby to his chest.
“He’s yours, and it’s your turn to take care of him.”
Mica’s blue eyes blazed with mistrust and something akin to revulsion. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Does he look like a joke?”
“No.”
“Just hold him. He’ll grow on you.” She took a step back.
“Hold on.” His surprise and mounting anger hit her like shotgun pellets. Sharp, painful and deep. She’d expected this. She’d thought she’d prepared herself for his reactions, but seeing him and remembering what it was like to be in his arms... She hated herself for being the bad guy. There wasn’t a single thing she’d done since last October that merited his trust, love or respect.
She would have loved to run back to Aunt Louise’s and cry all night—all week. Instead, she stood her ground and steeled herself for what was to come.
“I don’t have a son,” he said and started to hand the baby back to her.
“Yes, you do. This is Jules.”
“Jules? What kind of name is that?”
“It’s French. His middle name is Michael. After you.”
Mica clenched his jaw as he looked down at the sleeping infant. “What’s his last name?”
Grace swallowed hard. Incredibly, she hadn’t thought about the name issue. “Railton.”
He plopped the sleeping Jules into her arms with enough force that Grace rocked back on her heels.
“So, if he’s my son, why didn’t you name him after me?” He drew in a long breath. “Don’t answer that. I’ll tell you why. I wasn’t there. I couldn’t sign papers. And I wasn’t there because you didn’t tell me you were pregnant. You didn’t answer my calls or emails. You vanished, Grace. Poof!” He jerked his chin back forcefully. His eyes were shooting barbs at her and she stood pinned to the spot, ready for the assault. She deserved it.
“I didn’t. I thought it best we never see each other again.”
“You decided,” he declared angrily.
“I did.”
“But here you are.”
“Yes. With Jules.” She looked fondly at the baby. “I need to talk to you about him...”
“You sure took your time, but I get that since you didn’t want to see me again. Have anything to do with me. A guy with one arm.”
Her stomach flipped. How could he think that? On the other hand, why not? She hadn’t given him a reason not to believe that. She hadn’t spoken to him at all. And now she was hurting him. Insulting him. And it couldn’t be helped. “Mica, I’m sorry, so very sorry, for not telling you about Jules. I was wrong and I deeply regret my decision. But it had nothing to do with your arm. I’m here because I can’t take care of him. You’re his father. I need you to take over. Just for a while.”
His words came out in a rush. “You want me to take care of a baby. That’s ridiculous. I only have one arm—”
“Which is in better shape than most men’s...even the ones with two working arms. Please—try to understand. I thought I could do this by myself, but I was wrong. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but we need to do what’s right for Jules. I have responsibilities...my team’s futures depend on me—”
“And Jules’s doesn’t?” he barked.
“Of course it does. That’s the point. I’m doing the best thing for him, bringing him to you. I’ve only got a small window of opportunity to make something extraordinary happen. I was nearly there a year ago when I came back here. How I pulled it out of the water after a month away, I’ll never know. But I did it. We didn’t get the notoriety I’d hoped for. My team members didn’t get internships at the big houses, but I did get noticed by Chanel. If I can pull this off this season, I’m in. And my future—Jules’s future—is secure. If I don’t make a huge splash, the houses will look for fresh blood. They’ll decide that I don’t have talent and they’ll move on. It’s now or never, Mica.”
He was silent.
“Mica, please. Please don’t hold my actions against our son. It’s not Jules’s fault that I hurt you—am hurting you.” As Grace finished she realized how high-pitched and desperate her voice had become.
Mica was unnervingly stoic. His face registered no response whatsoever, and she could only hope he was considering everything she was telling him. Maybe seeing her side of the situation.
“That’s why I have to leave Jules with you,” she continued. “I need to turn my full concentration on my work. The truly demanding days of his infancy are behind us. He’s sleeping nearly all the night. His colic is gone. He took the flight like a champ. I’m really proud of him.” She forced a smile at Mica, but when she looked down at Jules, her face softened. “I’ll miss you, little guy.”
“Then take him back to Paris.”
“What?” She met Mica’s steely blue gaze.
“I can’t take care of him,” he growled and leaned closer.
“It’s only two months, max. Till the end of the spring shows. You can do it.”
“Forget it. If you’d told me about him before he was born, then maybe I’d be better prepared to become a real father. I could have taken Lamaze classes with you. Gone to the hospital with you. Helped you when he had colic. But no. I was robbed of all that. I didn’t get the chance, Grace—because you kept him a secret.” He let out a bitter laugh. “Guess the joke’s on me, huh?”
“Joke?”
“Here’s the way I see it, Grace. First, you find out you’re pregnant but can’t stand the thought of telling me—the dad, the loser with no career and no prospects. Maybe that was your plan all along—use me, string me along so you could have a child all to yourself. Then this baby interferes with your precious career so you decide to pawn him off on me after all. Oh, I get your reasoning. What else do I have going on? I’m just slugging around backwater Indian Lake. Why wouldn’t I be available to take on a kid? Well, it’s not going to work, Grace.”
He whirled around and took off. Grace’s heart cracked. She’d made a mistake, yes, but she hadn’t used him. She’d given him a piece of her heart when she was fifteen and handed over the rest of it last October. Being with him had been bliss, and in those few, short weeks, she’d been happy. She couldn’t blame him for being upset with her, but this angry, judgmental, intractable Mica was not someone she wanted to know. His chastisement cut straight to her soul. She was left speechless.
He spun to face her again. “You must think I have a stupid streak a mile wide. I’m not falling for it, Grace. I’m not!” he shouted.
Grace’s mind went black as she faced the onslaught of his revulsion. Before she could gather her thoughts, the kitchen door opened and Gina walked out.
“What’s all the shouting I hear?” she demanded. Then she noticed Grace. Her smile was instantaneous. “Grace! How lovely to see...” Her gaze fixed on the bundle in Grace’s arms. “Grace?”
Sam Crenshaw stepped out behind Gina. “What’s going on?”
“Grace has come for a visit,” Mica growled. “But she’s just leaving. Aren’t you, Grace?”
Grace felt her heart land on the pavement. No amount of preparation could have helped her combat Mica’s anger.
True, Grace needed time to concentrate on her career, but she also loved her baby with all her heart. She thought she was doing the right thing. Jules needed to learn about his father and experience a father’s love, too. She couldn’t just up and move to Indian Lake, and until she and Mica could figure out some other arrangement, this was the best she’d been able to come up with.
In her daydreams, Grace had thought that once Mica saw how adorable Jules was, he’d love his son on the spot. That had happened to her. She’d expected Jules to bring out the other side of Mica—the one with the heart as big as the sky. This closed-off, defensive and antagonistic man appeared to want a war.
Well, she was here to fight for her future—and their son’s. Battle was easy. It was the heartache she hadn’t figured on.
Grace lifted her chin and walked over to Gina, still blinking back her tears. “Hi, Gina. I’m afraid I’m delivering a shock, but there’s no way around it.” She stood in front of Gina and Sam. “This is Jules. Mica’s baby.”
Gina’s mouth fell open.
Grace glanced at Mica, who shoved his right hand in his jeans pocket. He was silent.
“A boy?” Gina asked, reaching out to touch Jules’s sleeve.
Sam put his hands on Gina’s shoulders and leaned closer, his affection for her evident in his eyes and his gestures. “He looks just like you, Mica.”
“Sure he does,” Mica said bitterly, turning away from them to stare at the horse barn.
He was shutting her out—and his mother. That’s odd.
“How old is he?” Sam asked.
“Six months. He’s a very good baby.”
Gina raised her eyes to Grace. “You didn’t tell us.” She looked at Mica. “And you didn’t, either!”
“Gina,” Grace began sheepishly, “Mica couldn’t tell you because he didn’t know. I never said a word—until today.”
“He does look just like you did when you were a baby, Mica,” Gina said, ignoring Grace’s revelation. Without asking permission, she reached over and took Jules, cradling him in her arms. “It’s cold out here. I think we should all go inside and talk.”
Sam opened the door and stood back for Grace and Gina to enter. “I’ll make a fire.”
Grace turned back to Mica. “Are you coming?”
“No,” Mica said, then rushed up the stairs to his apartment.
“He’s had one too many shocks today,” Gina said.
Grace frowned. “You mean there’s more than finding out he has a son?”
“Yes. Now come on in. We have a lot to discuss.”
CHAPTER THREE (#u16093c9a-97f8-5f09-b2e5-858ed1874e7b)
THE WALLS OF Mica’s apartment were closing in on him. His heart was racing as if he’d just lifted the John Deere tractor off its tires with both hands. He couldn’t catch his breath.
A son?
When Grace had pulled up, he’d been caught between elation and shock. For a brief moment, he’d actually thought she’d come to back to see him. That she was back in town to stay. Back in his life.
He’d been a fool.
A baby. How had he missed that? He’d known something was wrong when Grace hadn’t answered his texts and emails, though he’d chalked it up to her busy career. And when she’d continued to ignore him, his hurt had turned inward. He should have seen her silence as the red flag it was. Should have pressed her, tried to find out what was going on.
But ultimately, she was the one who should have reached out.
Told him the truth.
And to think only this morning he’d considered her an honest person.
She was about as honest as a cat burglar.
That’s exactly what she is. She swoops into town, takes what she wants from me and leaves. Then, when that doesn’t work out for her, she flies in again and deposits her unwanted “mistake” on my doorstep.
She was a piece of work.
Mica rubbed the back of his neck. Grace had betrayed him in the worst way. As contradictory as his emotions were, he mourned the loss of those precious days in Jules’s life that he’d never get back. How had Mica spent those days? He’d been here, brooding, while his son was learning to smile, to roll over, experiencing so many things for the first time. Despite all he’d lost in the accident, Mica had held on to the dream of one day becoming a father. It had been his one remaining beacon of light.
At the same time, Mica was in no position to take care of a baby. Not yet. As the youngest of four, he’d never changed a diaper. Sure, he played with his nephew, Zeke, but when he got cranky or hungry, Mica handed the baby back to Gabe or Liz.
He raked his fingers through his thick hair, hoping to hold down the top of his head so he wouldn’t explode. Grace had to be out of her mind. None of this was logical. Was it?
He paced the room. His mother was right. Jules was one cute baby. And Grace had him dressed in a little navy jacket with a matching hat. Like he was a doll. Mica would have to find baby cowboy boots. They did make them for babies, didn’t they?
A baby. My son.
Suddenly, his anger deflated and the liquid steel that had been running through his veins dissipated. He collapsed into his recliner chair. “My baby.”
A few moments later, the door swung open. Grace stood in the doorway, hands on her hips and fire in her blue eyes. Her blond hair spread over her shoulders like a veil of gold. She was stunning. He was glad he was sitting down. The pain of her betrayal crept back onto his shoulders like an iron monkey.
“Grace,” he said with as little emotion as he could muster. It took all his self-control not to shut the door in her face. “I don’t want to see you. Or talk to you.”
“I get that.” She came in without an invitation and closed the door with a bit more force than he’d expected. “But that’s what I’m here for. To talk. All day and night and all week, until I have to go back.”
His eyes widened. “You’re only here for a week?”
“Nine days.”
“Well, isn’t that nice. What do you plan to accomplish in nine days?”
“It’s all I had.”
“And I have all the time in the world. It doesn’t work this way, Grace.”
“Well, Mica, that’s the reality. And I have to make this work. In nine days I intend to teach you everything you need to know about taking care of a baby. Feeding him, diapering, bathing him. Loving him.”
“What do you know about love, huh? From my perspective, I see dishonesty. Secrets. Hurting others for the sake of your precious career.”
She approached him. Her face softened, but he didn’t understand why. “I deserved that, Mica,” she said, her voice trembling.
“And more,” he muttered.
“Mica, please listen to me...” There was compassion in her tone, and though he was trying not to let her demeanor affect him, he was rapidly losing ground.
He rubbed his neck again. Something just wasn’t right. Was she acting a part? After all, she’d spent most of her life learning how to please the most critical judges. And he was sitting in judgment of her right now. His wariness was well-placed. “I suppose you’ve sucked my mother into your little scheme.”
“Scheme? You think Jules is part of some sinister plot? To what end? To cause you grief? More pain?” She walked toward him, gesturing with her hands. “Come on. I can take it. Give it to me. Tell me about how I’m intent on blowing up your engineering career. How I’m going to cause you to miss out on a sponsor you’ve been courting for the past year. I want to hear it,” she demanded. “Tell me how, exactly, I’m messing up your life.”
He let out a harsh breath. “Why are you really here, Grace? You want money? Because that’s the only reason I can come up with that makes any sense. You know perfectly well that I’m in no shape to take care of a baby.”
“You’re wrong on all counts. I don’t want your money or your family’s money, and there’s no scheme. All I want is for you to take care of Jules. Not forever. Just for two months or so. I need this time, Mica. I’m on the cusp of something so big, it will establish me in the fashion world. My career can only grow from there. I just need this spring show. Then I’ll come back and take Jules off your hands. You won’t have to worry. If it’s what you want, you’ll never see us again...” she said, trailing off.
“You could have hired a nanny to take care of Jules. Why me?”
Grace grabbed a chair from the little kitchenette table and sat across from him. She clasped her hands in her lap and looked at her thumbs as she worked them over each other. “Because you’re his dad. I’m here to tell you that I was wrong to keep Jules from you. I should have called you when I first found out I was pregnant.”
“Why didn’t you?” He swallowed hard. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.
She paused for a long moment, her hesitation causing her to look around the room. Was she searching for an excuse or for courage? Either way, she was holding something back. But what?
“I was afraid. I was in denial. I couldn’t believe it was happening. Then I was embarrassed. I was overwhelmed with work. My team depends so much on me. If I fail, they’ll all lose their jobs, and I won’t do that to them.” She touched her fingertip to the corner of her eye. “One day of delay in calling you became a week. Then a month. Then four, five months went by and I’d convinced myself I could do all this on my own. What I learned is that I’m not a superwoman. And I feel so guilty for not telling you. I wanted you to know about him.”
Mica listened stoically to her explanation, but he was racked by betrayal. Jules was his son, and he felt justified for every spark of anger he felt toward Grace. How dare she keep this secret? And then show up here, unannounced, and shove a baby at him. On top of all that, she intended to leave Jules here for months and then come back and take him away. Probably as soon as Mica had bonded with him.
“You are out of your mind,” he said slowly. “I’m not going to agree to any of this.” He shot to his feet, and stepped around her as she sat stone-still in the chair, her hands still in her lap.
He could smell her perfume as he walked past. He kept her in his sights as he went to the refrigerator and took out a beer. “No baby bottles in here. See? Not prepared.”
Grace’s lips had tightened into a narrow line that showed her determination and did nothing to mar her beauty. Or his absurd desire to kiss her. He shook his head to dispel the thought.
“Mica. Please try to understand. I want to help you.”
“I don’t need your help, Grace.”
She crossed her arms. “Apparently, you do because you’re not even trying to cooperate. Jules is your son. I need to show you how to take care of him so you don’t hurt him!”
“Oh, like I would stick him under a car and let it fall on him?”
“Stop being ridiculous!”
“Me?”
Her eyes narrowed into slits. “You know what, Mica? Your self-absorption is blinding you. If you’d only spend a few moments with him, you’d see how wonderful he is.”
“That’s not the issue. This isn’t about Jules, and you know it. It’s about you. You want to pawn him off on me so you can go back to Paris and your fancy career!”
“My career is what will feed and clothe and educate Jules for the rest of his life. I don’t want him to lack anything in the future. I want him to have a wonderful life. I want him to know his father.” Her voice cracked with emotion.
For a moment, Mica almost lost it. It took every ounce of his inner strength not to go to her, pull her to his chest and comfort her. Maybe kiss away her fears. But he didn’t. He was taking a stand. He had to. If he didn’t and he fell for her, he would lose all over again because Grace would never live in Indian Lake on the farm with him.
Besides, she’d made her priorities clear. She had no room in her life for him or their baby.
Grace went to the door and reached for the knob. Her hand was shaking. Had he done that to her?
“I’m going to get Jules and feed him. You have my cell number.”
She left, her footsteps pounding on the stairs.
His eyes lost focus as he stared at the closed door. How could he be responsible for taking care of a helpless baby when he could barely take care of himself?
CHAPTER FOUR (#u16093c9a-97f8-5f09-b2e5-858ed1874e7b)
GRACE FOUND GINA in the kitchen warming a bottle of formula in the microwave. Jules was sitting in an unfamiliar rocking baby seat on the kitchen counter. Sam was at the kitchen table going through Grace’s diaper bag.
“Found one,” Sam said, holding up a bib.
“Hi, honey,” Gina said, looking at Grace and then gesturing toward Jules. “I hope you don’t mind that we got him settled here. I have all sorts of baby equipment from when Liz got pregnant with Ezekiel. I can’t tell you how thrilled we are to have another grandbaby in the house,” she said, gushing. “Aren’t we, Sam?”
Okay. I’ve missed something, Grace thought as she looked from Gina’s beaming face to Sam, who was smiling far too brightly.
“We’re delighted.” Sam chuckled. “As far as I’m concerned, Zeke is grown up already. He’s over two now and talking up a storm.”
“I love babies. Adore them, really,” Gina said, taking the bottle from the microwave when it dinged. “That’s why I had four sons. And now, this little fella. It’s a miracle!”
Sam clucked his tongue. “Now, sweetie, don’t get carried away.”
Grace was sure her confusion showed on her face, but after sparring with Mica, she didn’t want to ruffle any more feathers.
“Oh, Sam,” Gina continued happily. “It’s just so wonderful to have a baby in the house.”
“Too bad Mica doesn’t feel that way,” Grace muttered.
“What are you talking about?” Gina asked, testing the temperature of the formula on her wrist. She picked up Jules and cradled him while he greedily went after the bottle.
Grace was surprised at how accepting Jules was of these strangers. He didn’t seem the least upset that Gina was holding him, nor did he flinch at the sound of Sam’s gravelly voice. “He doesn’t want anything to do with Jules,” she explained. “I’ve never seen him so angry.”
Sam swatted the air. “He’s not mad at you or the baby. He’s mad at us.”
“That’s right,” Gina said.
“Wait, what?” Grace stared at them. “Why would Mica be mad at you?”
Gina smiled softly at Sam. “We just got engaged. In fact, Mica...walked in on us in here right after I’d accepted Sam’s proposal. He wasn’t happy about that. He stormed out of here like we’d set him on fire. Then you drove up.”
“And hit him with my news.”
“Yes. Well, two life changes in a matter of moments would be hard for anyone, and he’s been going through a lot this past year.”
“He has, hasn’t he?”
“And I guess it’s even harder for him since he’s always been a loner. Living his life in his head. He has a lot of ideas about the machines he’d like to invent.”
“Has he invented anything?” Grace asked.
“Not that I know of. He’d have to patent them first and build a working model. He hasn’t done that kind of thing since college. And he spent so many years working the farm with his father and brothers. Then since the...”
“Accident?” Grace said, finishing for her.
“Yes,” Gina replied sadly, looking down at Jules. “Mica hasn’t done much of anything since then.” She sighed. “Jules is such a sweet baby. And handsome already. He has my eyes. All the boys do. Even Zeke.” Gina winked at Grace. “I’m very proud of that.”
“You should be,” Sam agreed.
Grace moved over to Gina and squeezed Jules’s foot. “Why would such happy news make Mica angry?”
“Jealousy,” Sam barked and went back to digging things out of the diaper bag.
“Oh, Sam. He’s just in shock is all. And then you told him you’ve loved me for over thirty years, that was double-shock. He’ll come around.”
“I’m not so sure,” Sam grumbled.
“This does explain a lot,” Grace said. “Not everything, but it helps. I can’t imagine him being mad at his own mother for long. He adores you, Gina. That much I know. But the rest of it is my fault. I didn’t tell him I was pregnant.”
Gina’s eyes held concern. “That is a situation. Why didn’t you?”
Because I’m not sure he cares about me. I’m terrified I was just a fling. “Shame. Denial. My career. A million and one things.”
“Excuses, you mean,” Gina said compassionately.
“Yes. Poor ones. I spent the first trimester basically in denial, and when I finally had to face the fact that I was going to have a baby, I had to make plans. I was in Paris. Mica was across an ocean. I didn’t want to mess up his life any more, considering how the accident affected him. I didn’t want him to feel responsible. And for a long time, I thought I could handle everything on my own.”
“Understandable,” Sam replied.
“Really?” Grace was surprised. Sam was the first person who had explicitly taken her side since this all began. So far, Mica was a write-off. Gina was withholding judgment, but Grace couldn’t expect her not to defend her son. And Grace’s team in Paris had been less than thrilled by the news. As her pregnancy progressed and she had to cut back on her hours in the studio, they reacted with hurt feelings and a sense of abandonment. That only intensified when she announced her trip to Indian Lake. They were as needy as children. But as much as they needed her, she needed them. They were her Paris family.
“Of course, dear,” Gina added, giving Grace another shock. “I can absolutely put myself in your shoes. You’re a long way from home. Coming back here to face Mica would take a lot of courage, not to mention the logistics.”
“Well, I say it’s time to move on,” Sam said.
“Sam’s right.” Gina took the bottle out of Jules’s mouth and put a clean dish towel over her shoulder before holding him against it and patting his back. Jules gave a huge burp and giggled. Gina nestled him back into the crook of her arm. “What an angelic face.”
“I think so, too,” Grace said. And every time I look at him I’m reminded of Mica. His father. The man I’ll always love.
Her phone pinged with a text.
I’m going into town. Don’t be here when I get back. Please.
They all heard the roar of the pickup as Mica spun the wheels on a patch of ice and backed down the drive.
Grace looked at Gina. “Mica’s really raw. And I’m just as upset. I should take Jules and go.” She reached for him but Gina turned away from her.
“Just a minute. Now, where are you staying? And when do I get to see this little guy again?”
“Gina...” Sam gave her a warning tone.
“Sorry,” Gina said. “But I just met him. I need details.”
“You have every right to know my plans. I’m staying with Mrs. Beabots. Her apartment is empty and Aunt Louise doesn’t have room for us. I’m here for nine days to acclimate Jules to Mica, and Mica to his son. Then I need to get back to Paris. I need to leave Jules with Mica for two, maybe three months until I can get my spring show under my belt. It’s a make-it-or-break-it situation. These months will determine the rest of my life!”
“Seems to me your son is determining your life,” Gina said.
Grace hung her head. “He is.” Then she met Gina’s eyes. “I don’t know how to explain this without coming off as selfish and self-centered, but I really do want the best for my boy.” Grace felt chills scamper down her spine and her eyes filled with tears. Ever since she’d left Indian Lake last time, waved goodbye to Mica, she’d been an emotional wreck. To be fair, she’d been pregnant most of that time. Still, these days, she cried at the drop of a hat. She told herself that it was hormones. Lack of sleep. But deep down, the truth was always there. It was all about Mica.
“And you honestly think you’re going to get Mica to care for Jules?”
“I was hoping he’d fall in love with him at first sight, but Mica is so closed off from us...now I wonder if it’s even possible.”
“Hmm. That is interesting, isn’t it?” Gina pondered as she handed Jules to Grace. “I think the best thing is to let Mica cool off, which he will, and then you need to put him through his basic training. He hasn’t the first clue about babies. As much as he loves Zeke, he had nothing to do with him when he was an infant. He likes him better now that he can talk.”
“So do I,” Sam joked.
“Oh, you!” Gina waved her palm at him. “Let’s get him bundled up. I’ll do what I can from this end to help you with Mica. Though right now, I’m about the last person Mica is going to listen to.”
“Yeah. I’m not sure either of us have much sway with him at the moment.”
Gina tapped her cheek with her finger. “Grace. Tomorrow, Sam and I are having a New Year’s Eve party and we’re going to announce our engagement. Please come and bring Jules. All your friends will be here and it will be a good time to show off Jules. Hopefully, when Mica sees everyone’s reaction to this little angel, his heart will soften.”
“Do you think so, Gina? After today, I’m wondering if that approach isn’t such a good idea.”
“He knows about the party. You’re my guest. He needs to face his responsibilities.”
Grace put Jules in his Bundleme as Sam replaced all her items in the diaper bag. Gina rinsed out the baby bottle and threw away the inner collapsible sack.
Grace said her goodbyes and accepted kisses from Gina and Sam...her son’s grandparents.
* * *
MICA HAD HOPED to avoid seeing Grace and the baby again by heading into town, but he hadn’t guessed Grace would stop at the Indian Lake Deli. Just his luck. And of course he’d been the one to tell her to leave the farm. Grace arrived twenty minutes after he put in his order and sat down.
When she walked in, he watched as people in line regarded her with awe. He’d been too overwhelmed earlier to notice her stylish, black wool coat, with its black faux-fur collar. She carried Jules in a baby carrier and had a black leather bag over her other shoulder. Everything about Grace was attention-getting.
But it was the way her blue eyes latched on to his from the moment she closed the door. Her smile was faint, but it was there, as if she was happy to see him.
He forced himself not to smile back, but nothing could harness the appreciation in his eyes.
She walked over to him. “Your mom was feeding Jules. Then I realized I hadn’t eaten all day.”
“My mom...”
“I’d left Jules’s bottles of formula in his diaper bag. Your mom and Sam got him sorted while we were...talking. All you do is heat it in the microwave. He likes it at forty seconds. Not too hot and not too cold.”
“Like Goldilocks.”
“Yeah.” She smiled. “It’s nice about the two of them.” Mica’s breath hitched in his chest. His mother and Sam were engaged. They’d been in love for decades. He wasn’t sure he’d ever come to terms with that. Yet Grace was immediately accepting of their relationship. Easy for her. It wasn’t her mother they were talking about. Grace’s mother was dead.
He felt a streak of guilt shoot down his spine. He should be grateful that his mother was still with him, but right now, all he felt was the bite of betrayal.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“They’re in love and should be together. Just because people get old, doesn’t mean they shouldn’t find companionship and someone to share their lives with.”
He leaned forward, his eyes blazing. “My mother was devoted to my father...”
“She was. But he died, Mica.”
“Stop talking, Grace,” he said lowly so as not to be heard by the others around them. “You don’t know anything about my family.”
“I know a lot about people,” she countered. “Apparently, more than you do.”
“Barzonni?” Julia Melton called. “Barzonni? You here?”
Mica turned. “We’re here.”
“Your order is up.”
Mica handed Julia cash and she rang up the sale. Mica was glad he had his back to Grace, so she wouldn’t see the confusion he knew was on his face. He’d just answered Julia in the plural, as if Grace and Jules were his family.
Mica was no family man. Or was he?
CHAPTER FIVE (#u16093c9a-97f8-5f09-b2e5-858ed1874e7b)
ONE OF THE things Grace loved about Indian Lake was how all Aunt Louise’s friends welcomed her with open arms. And as usual, Mrs. Beabots was the first to offer.
Grace owed Mrs. Beabots not only her first Paris connections, but now the use of the apartment in Mrs. Beabots’s Victorian mansion also. Grace had known she couldn’t possibly squeeze both herself and Jules into Louise’s one-bedroom apartment above the ice-cream shop. It had been fun to crash on the sofa when she was a teenager, but with a baby who sometimes didn’t sleep the whole night through, Grace didn’t think any of them would get much rest in such tight quarters. After all Aunt Louise had done for her, staying somewhere else was the least Grace could do.
Normally, Louise left for Florida each winter, but because of her back injury, she hadn’t gone the year before and had given up the house she’d been leasing then. The new people had rented it for the next three years at a higher fee. Louise feared that her Florida days were over.
Luckily, Mrs. Beabots hadn’t rented her upstairs apartment to anyone and she was delighted to have Grace and the baby staying with her.
Once Grace had unpacked and settled in, Mrs. Beabots invited her for afternoon tea. She’d already invited Louise, as well as Sarah, who lived next door. Sarah had given birth to a baby girl, Charlotte, only three days after Jules was born on July 1, and Grace was looking forward to having her friend so close by.
Jules was still napping when Grace headed downstairs at four, but because he was used to being transported from her Paris apartment to her studio, where designers shouted at each other over the cutting tables and sewing machines whirred, he could just about sleep through anything.
Grace put Jules, in his baby carrier, on Mrs. Beabots’s kitchen island just as Aunt Louise walked in.
Louise smiled at their elderly host. “I brought you a plate of brownies I made this morning.”
Mrs. Beabots grinned. “Those are the brownies for your brownie-nut-fudge ice cream, I presume.”
“They are.”
“How generous of you to share with us, Louise. We’ll put them out with the pecan and cranberry sandies I made. The tea is nearly ready. Sarah should be here any minute. I thought we’d sit in the front parlor. Luke put in a new heater for me out there and it’s quite toasty.” She winked. “The babies won’t get cold and we can watch the snowfall as the neighborhood Christmas lights come on.”
“Sounds lovely,” Grace replied, taking the china plate of cookies out to the front parlor as she hefted Jules’s carrier in her right hand. She set him on a red velvet Victorian chair. “Oh!” Grace exclaimed, spotting the skinny fir tree in the corner. “You have a Christmas tree out here.”
Louise placed the brownies on the coffee table. “Very pretty.”
“My big tree is in the library, as usual,” Mrs. Beabots explained. “But I spend so much time in here, reading and visiting, that it’s a shame not to have some of my favorite ornaments out to enjoy all the time.” Mrs. Beabots pointed to the tree. “All these are from Paris. Don’t you love the pink, gold and aqua? They were in vogue back in the sixties.”
“I’d love to hear more of your stories,” Grace said as the antique doorbell rang.
“That would be Sarah,” Mrs. Beabots said, placing the teapot on the coffee table. “I’ll be right back.”
“Uh-huh. Just in time not to disclose anything juicy about Paris or Coco Chanel, huh?” Grace teased.
Louise winked at her niece. “She’ll never spill.”
“Not even to me?” Grace asked.
“Never. Secrets are her passion. Along with these cookies.”
Sarah followed Mrs. Beabots into the room, holding a pink bundle. “Grace!” she squealed. “I’m so happy to see you!” She gave Grace a one-armed hug. “This is Charlotte. Annie’s on her way over. She had to walk Beau first. She’s dying to talk to you.”
“Goodness. I’m flattered, but why?”
“Oh,” Mrs. Beabots said impishly as she took Sarah’s coat. “You’ll see. She’s a million questions, that one. Tea, Sarah? You know you can have my mint-and-bourbon tea now that you’re not nursing.”
“True,” Sarah replied. “I’d love some tea.” She glanced at Grace. “Are you breastfeeding?”
“No. I had to go back to work five days after Jules was born. I took him to the studio with me, but formula let me be a bit more flexible with his feeding.”
“You’re kidding. They let you do that? Bring him in, I mean.”
Grace smiled. “Summer was a slow time for us and I’m the team leader. Though, once things ramped up in the fall, it was too hectic and Jules could feel my stress. I found a nanny, but she was clearly more interested in becoming a designer than she was in taking care of Jules. I was basically tutoring her while still doing the lion’s share of childcare.”
Sarah shook her head. “I can’t believe you got any work done at all! I’ve been able to take a longer mat leave, at least, but my whole day revolves around Charlotte. Sometimes I don’t even have time to eat, let alone do anything creative.”
Grace felt a rush of shame. The whole reason she’d come back to Indian Lake was that she couldn’t handle it all. How could anyone understand her motivation for leaving her baby here so she could continue her work half a world away? On the surface, she sounded like a heartless monster. She lifted her hand to Jules and let him curl his fingers around her forefinger. He smiled at her and when he did, the pacifier in his mouth wiggled and wobbled like it always did. Grace felt her heart tighten and then burst with love.
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Catherine Lanigan
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: Must they always be continents apart?Nobody expects Paris fashion designer Grace Railton to settle down in her Indiana town, least of all Mica Barzonni. Fifteen months ago, he turned to her for comfort and compassion following a farming accident that left him permanently injured. Then she returned to France and went silent on him.Until, suddenly, Grace shows up on his doorstep with life-altering news. Mica, a father? He’s barely learned to navigate his postaccident life. But this could be his chance to become the man he’s always wanted to be—the husband and father Grace and their baby son need. Now Mica just has to convince her to stay.