Miracle Baby (Harlequin American Romance) (7 page)

She stared at the book in her lap, the fine golden trim sparkling in the glow from the firelight. For more moments than were polite she said nothing, the thudding of her heart drowning out all thoughts except one.

Glancing up, she met Rory's eyes, her trembling mouth making it difficult to form the words she wanted to speak.

Slowly, his finger touched her lips. “You don't have to say a word, Maggie. The look in your eyes says it all.” He let his hand fall to his lap, his gaze never leaving hers. “And you are so very, very welcome. I hope you like it.”

“
Like
it?” she whispered as she looked from him to the book and back again. “Like it? I—I
love
it.”

The smile that swept across his face was impossible to miss. So, too, was the naked relief there. “How did you know?” she asked.

“It was the wish you shared this morning—about not wanting to forget.” He slung his arm over the back of the sofa, its proximity to her neck making her swallow. Hard.

She searched for something to say to distract herself from the sensations running along the tops of her shoulders. She was so very aware of Rory's nearness. And warmth. And confidence. And sweetness…

“I guess I'm hoping that by writing down some of your special memories, you'll have an additional way to visit them when you need to.”

“Additional?”

“The first place they are is in your heart and your mind. Writing them in this book just gives you one more place to go and remember.” He nodded while opening the book to the first page. “But what's neat about this journal is that there's a spot on each page where you can add a picture or a ticket stub or some other tangible item that goes along with your memory.”

She leaned her head back against the sofa, his strong arm offering a sense of safety she hadn't realized she needed until she felt it. “I remember the day I found out I was pregnant. I actually took a picture of the pink line.”

“The pink line?”

Turning her head, she gazed up at him. “I took one of those home pregnancy tests. No line, not pregnant. Pink line, pregnant.”

“Ahh. See, I've never had a child, so this is new to me.” He scooted a hairbreadth closer. “But that sure sounds like a great picture to include on the page where you recall that moment in your life.”

She closed her eyes, letting the past wash over her.

“Tell me more.”

Her eyes flew open. “You really want to hear that kind of stuff?”

“I'd love to.”

For the briefest of moments she hesitated, unsure whether his request was genuine or simply the words of a man who epitomized kindness. But in the end, she spoke.

“There was the first time I took her to the zoo. I knew it was silly to go. She was too little to have a clue about what I was showing her, but…well, I loved it. The weather was perfect—a gorgeous autumn day. And the animals were in their glory, running here and there in their habitats. I told her about every animal we saw and she cooed along as if she actually understood. Even though I know she didn't.”

Maggie's breath caught when she felt his hand on the side of her face. “Okay, so maybe she didn't understand the difference between an alligator and a crocodile…or even whether you were talking about the tree in front of her or the strange colored thing on the ground,” Rory replied. “But I bet she understood one thing.”

“What's that?”

“That she was with the one person who made her feel loved and safe and wanted. I'd coo about that, too.”

A lump formed in her throat. When Maggie said nothing, he continued, his hand dropping from her face to the book. “Do you have any keepsakes from that day? Like a ticket stub or a zoo map or something?”

She swallowed back the lump, tried to focus on something other than the void left by the movement of his hand. “I have a leaf.”

“A leaf?”

“A leaf,” she repeated. “It floated down from a tree near the prairie-dog exhibit. She watched it drift down until it landed on her coat. And when it did, she broke out into her very first smile.”

The corners of Maggie's mouth lifted upward as she returned to that day, the thought of her baby's first smile misting her eyes.

“If her smile was anything like yours, I'd want to remember it, too.”

The raspy quality of his voice made her look up, their gazes meeting in the firelight. “That first smile was like nothing I'd ever seen. It was the epitome of joy…and she spread it to me. Every single day of her much too short life.”

Rory's palm returned to her face, this time lingering on her cheek. “I can't imagine a better gift.”

She covered his hand with her own, blinking at the tears that burned her eyes. “There isn't.”

“Then savor it, Maggie. Don't let it slip away.”

Savor it….

Was Rory right? Was all her moping akin to letting Natalie's precious gift slip through her fingers?

“I know you're right, Rory. I do. I really, truly do. But there are times…times like yesterday at the diner…when I'm afraid that by moving forward I'm leaving them behind. And I can't do that. I
won't
do that.”

“Then don't. Keep them here—” his hand, still holding hers, lifted upward to her temple and then dropped to the center of her chest “—and here and—” he continued down to the book in her lap “—here.”

Her memory journal.

Aware of his hand in hers, she offered the words she'd been wanting to say since the beginning. Words that went far beyond a standard thank-you, just as his gift went far beyond a simple gesture.

“I don't know what it is about you that makes you so thoughtful and so giving. But it's special and it's unique and it's a blessing I didn't see coming. I slept today because I spent last night knitting. And that sleep was the best rest I've had in over ten months.”

“You're losing me,” he said, not unkindly.

“I'm sorry. It's just that I made an offhand comment about wanting to learn to knit, and poof! You made it happen. Then today…I share a new wish with you, and once again, poof! You find a way to make that wish come true, too. I almost don't know what to say—”

“Then don't,” he mumbled as he closed the gap between them, his lips finding hers and igniting a fire in her heart every bit as bright as the one crackling in the hearth.

 

F
OR SOMEONE WHO'D VOWED
not to do anything to scare her, he was sure doing a lousy job. Then again, based on the way her lips stayed on his, maybe he wasn't scaring her, after all.

But all he really knew was how good she tasted, how sweet she felt. Moving his hand to cup the back of her head, he kissed her with greater intensity, felt the way his body responded to the parting of her lips and the mingling of their tongues.

Her arms looped around his neck as the kiss deepened,
filling his body with warmth. It was like nothing he'd ever felt before and everything he wanted to feel again.

Breathing in the scent of lilacs and soap that seemed to cling to her hair, he became aware of a new taste…salt.

And as the taste finally registered, so, too, did the fact that her hands had left his neck and were now bracing against his chest, pushing him away.

He pulled back. “Maggie, what's wrong?”

“I—I can't do this. I can't. It's—” She stopped, her words morphing into a strangled cry that tore at his very soul.

“It's okay,” he whispered as he reached for her hands, only to have her pull them out of his reach. “You didn't do anything wrong.”

“I did
everything
wrong.”

“Tell me. Tell me what you did wrong, Maggie.” He watched helplessly as the tears streamed down her face until he thought he'd explode with the urge to kiss them away.

“They've only been gone a little while. I can't be doing…this.” She jumped to her feet and motioned toward the tree. “I can't be decorating trees, and celebrating holidays, and making wishes, and—” A strangled cry rose up where the rest of her sentence should have been.

But he didn't need the words to know what she'd been about to say. He could finish that sentence all on his own. “And what? Kissing me?”

She looked at the floor and nodded.

He stood in turn, reaching out for her hands only
to have her snatch them back. “Maggie, there's nothing wrong with decorating a Christmas tree or celebrating a holiday or making a wish. It's what people do. It's part of life.”

Her head snapped up. “You're right. It is. For people who
have
one.”

“And you have one, Maggie. And so do I. It's the difference between me and my brother, and you and your family. We're here—during the Christmas season—with an ornament designed to celebrate wishes.” He stepped closer, bridging the physical gap between them. “And the kiss? That happened because I feel something for you. And if the way you kissed me back is any indication, I think you feel something for me, too.”

For a long moment, she said nothing, her hooded expression holding few clues to her thoughts. When she finally spoke, however, she left little room for conjecture. “I know about life. I know that it can be wonderful and intriguing and the most amazing gift imaginable. But I also know it can be taken away without warning, shaking the ground under a person's feet for a very long time. I've lived that…
twice.
The first time, I learned how to get back on my feet, if for no other reason than to have another chance. This time, I'm trying to get back on my feet for an entirely different reason.”

“And what reason is that?” he asked.

“To exist. Because I have to.”

“That's it? You don't want to hope?”

She shrugged. “Why? So it can shatter my heart a third time?”

Raking his fingers through his hair, he searched for
something to say to make her realize the error in her thinking. “But, Maggie…don't you see it doesn't have to be that way?”

“For me it does.”

No matter what she tried, she couldn't get the memory of Rory's kiss out of her thoughts. Not pacing, not knitting, not reorganizing, not anything could make her banish that moment to a dusty corner where it belonged.

Plucking the silver frame from the table in the living room, she studied Jack's face. As handsome as her husband was, photographs never seemed capable of capturing his true essence. In the picture, the set to his jaw made him appear rigid and uptight, yet in real life that same expression had made him look determined. Likewise, his hair, which was groomed to perfection in the photograph, bore little resemblance to the way it looked when she mussed it with her hands.

Would a photograph do the ever-present sparkle in Rory's eye justice? And what about that feeling of safety and warmth he exuded? Could
that
be captured in a photograph? She considered the possibility for a split second before it was chased from her thoughts by guilt. What difference did it make how her uncle's employee looked in a picture? He really wasn't her concern.

In the photo, her precious angel was cuddled in Jack's
arms. In contrast to her husband, Natalie looked just as Maggie remembered. Content, peaceful, adorable and oh so very beautiful. Maggie felt a stinging in her eyes as she remembered the silly noise she'd used to elicit that smile on her daughter's face, and how lucky she'd been to keep the camera steady despite the exaggerated hiccup.

She traced the picture with her finger, touching her daughter's wispy hair and surprisingly deep dimples. It was pictures like these that made her hurt most—the ones she'd taken rather than been a part of. Before the accident, she'd treasured them as glimpses in time of the two people she loved most in the world. Since the accident, they made her feel isolated and alone, as if she was a spectator at an event that had been unexpectedly cut short.

But they were all she had now. The pictures and the memories she carried in her head and her heart…

She closed her eyes as she recalled the sensation of Rory's hand on her face, felt the tears forming as she remembered the way he'd moved down to her heart and then her lap. He meant well. He really did. But all his presence did was cloud her thoughts in a way she didn't need or want, reminding her of things she wasn't meant to have.

Setting the frame back on the table, she looked around the room, determined to stay focused on the people that mattered most. For a moment, she contemplated knitting once again, this time making a scarf for her uncle. But the pull simply wasn't strong enough.

No, she needed time with Natalie. Time with her sweet
face, time with her contagious smile, time with her precious little fingers and toes…

The journal.

Maggie spun around, hurrying toward her bedroom and the coat and purse she'd flung on the nightstand before dissolving into tears. There was a part of her that felt a little guilty for allowing such a wonderful night to become overshadowed by reality. But it was the other guilt—the all-encompassing guilt—that told her to let it go. The less she saw Rory O'Brien, the better.

She pushed her coat and purse to the side, but found nothing underneath. “Where on earth—” She stopped as thoughts of her sudden departure from Rory's home flooded her.

Uh-oh. She'd left her journal behind.

A wave of disappointment washed over her. She couldn't ask for it back without seeing him again. And
that
she couldn't risk.

She'd had her second chance in life.

And just like that, the memory of Rory's kiss was gone, in its place a sense of loss so profound she actually ached. She needed to
do
something, to spend time with her daughter….

The leaf.

Recalling their mommy-and-me outing to the zoo once again, she sat on the edge of the bed and reached for the memory box she'd set on the nightstand the evening she arrived at the inn. With careful hands she removed the lid and set it aside, her attention moving to the jumbled contents she hadn't had the heart to look at in entirely too long.

One by one she lifted them out, turned every item over and over in her hands, savoring the past.

A soft sound outside the door of her suite made her freeze. Her attention was diverted toward the living room as a white square slid across the floor.

Wanting to be alone with her memories, she considered ignoring it, the identity of the person behind it all but certain. But a letter or a note wasn't
him.
And the sooner she looked at whatever it was, the sooner she could get back to what really mattered.

Tentatively, she made her way over to the note. Reaching down, she snatched it off the floor and opened it, her eyes soaking in the masculine handwriting that was scrawled across the single sheet of paper.

An inexplicable shiver ran down her spine, leaving a sense of loneliness in its wake. There was no doubt about it, Rory was a nice man. A special one, even. But he couldn't be her concern. Not now. Not ever.

She read the letter once again, the loneliness morphing into a sense of purpose that propelled her toward the
front door. Sure enough, the leather-bound journal with gold trim was just where he had said.

Opening it, she allowed her fingers to flip through the pages, her mind filling in the blanks with the memories she wanted to record.

 

H
E TOSSED HIS KEYS
onto the end table and sank into the cushions of his couch. The urge to approach her in the hallway as she'd bent to retrieve the journal had been intense. But so had been the little voice that had warned him off.

It broke his heart to see Maggie allowing herself a moment of happiness, only to stamp on it with her own two feet, convinced that love and loss went hand in hand.

He understood it more than she realized. The feelings he struggled with where his brother was concerned weren't much different. Only instead of begrudging himself happiness, he blamed himself for things he couldn't undo.

Maggie, on the other hand, was a different story. It wasn't too late with her. She was hurting
now.
And he knew it. Her pain was raw and ever-present, just as Reardon's had been.

Glancing up at the tree, Rory gazed at the wishing ball, a symbol of hope calling to him like a beacon in a storm. He sat up straight, a swirl of ideas hitting him with a one-two punch.

“I can make seasonal wall hangings…and I've toyed with personalizing picture frames—you know, for special occasions.”

Doing things with his hands always made him feel productive, giving him an accomplishment to take pride in. It was at those times he was able to hold the guilt at bay and actually cut himself a break.

Perhaps the same would work for Maggie.

Which got him thinking. About a conversation he'd had at the gift shop where he'd bought the journal. The woman behind the counter had encouraged him to come back to take advantage of the sales related to her upcoming move out-of-state.

The shop had been busy, with customers standing in line to purchase a variety of items to better their life and their home. It was a perfect place for such a store, thanks to a high number of vacationers during the spring and summer months.

Was that something Maggie could do? Especially when she had the ability to make much of the inventory herself?

It was a solid idea, one that excited him more and more with each passing moment. But it was also an idea that needed Maggie's active participation, something he doubted he'd get without a fight.

Unless, of course, he shoved first and asked later.