The MacGregor Brides (34 page)

“You don’t even know.” Wanting it over, she swiped at tears even as they fell. “You don’t even know. Oh, go away. I don’t want you here when I’m making a fool of myself.”

“I’ve seen you make a fool of yourself before. I don’t mind, usually. Come on, Jules.” He leaned down, intending to pat her head or her shoulder. And found his mouth homing in on hers. Before he knew what he was doing, he was sitting and pulling her onto his knees and holding her close. “God, I missed you. I missed you.”

Her hands were in his hair. “Did you?”

“Yeah, I did.” He rested his brow on hers. “Are you done?”

“Mostly. I guess I’m sorry I spilled your beer.”

He wondered what there was about the pair of them that she could make him smile at such a moment. “You guess?”

“Well, you made me mad. So it was as much your fault as mine.” She answered his smile with a watery one of her own. “But I’ll have your suit cleaned for you.”

“Want me to take the pants off now?” He saw, with fresh surprise, her lip quiver and her eyes fill. “I was only joking.”

“I know. It’s all right. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” She brushed her fingers under her eyes again and climbed off the bed to go to the mirror. “Public scenes and tears weren’t part of the deal,” she said briskly, and began, once again, to repair her makeup. “We have a mutually agreeable physical relationship, and a friendship of sorts. No point in spoiling it by getting sloppy.”

He tucked his hands into his pockets, watching her swipe color onto her cheeks. “What do you
mean by sloppy?”

“Overemotional, I guess. Must be the holidays. I’ve been a little unsettled recently.”

“Tell me about it,” he muttered, and her eyes narrowed.

“Which means?”

“Look, it’s New Year’s Eve. I don’t want to end the year fighting with you.”

“Why not? We do it so well.”

“Then why’d you stop for so long? The last few weeks—except for the day you left for Hyannis—I couldn’t get a rise out of you with a forklift. All of a sudden you’re agreeing with everything I say, cooking me dinner, practically bringing me my pipe and slippers.”

“And you object to that?” Insulted, she whirled around. “I went to a lot of trouble to be nice to you, and now you throw it back in my face. Well, you don’t have to worry, because I won’t bother to be nice to you anymore.”

“Thank God.”

“And I won’t be around, anyway,” she finished in a rush, “because I’m selling the house and moving to D.C.”

“The hell you are.”

“You can’t stop me. I don’t want to live here. I don’t know why I let you talk me into doing so many of the changes you suggested. I don’t know why I let you do things your way.”

“Because it was the right way, and that’s the way you wanted it, and I’ll be damned if you’re selling this house.”

“You can buy it yourself if it means so much to you.”

“Fine, name your price. But if you think for one minute you’re moving out—”

“I’m not staying. I can’t.”

“You’re not going.”

They were all but nose-to-nose now, panicked and furious. Their voices rose to shouts, but it still took several minutes before either of them heard the other say three particular words, since they said them simultaneously—

“I love you, and I’m not staying here and being unhappy.”

“I love you, and you’re not going anywhere without me.”

She blinked. Cullum stepped back.

“What did you say?” he demanded.

“I didn’t say anything. What did you say?”

“You said you loved me.”

She tried to swallow, but her heart was stuck hard in her throat. “That’s what I thought you said. Did you mean it?”

“What if I did?” He spun away to pace. “Damn woman’s always talking so much you don’t know what you’re saying back when you say it. What if I do love you?” he shot out in exasperation. “What are you going to do about it?”

Why, he was perfect, Julia thought. Absolutely perfect for her. “Ask you to marry me.”

He stopped pacing to stare at her. At first glance, she looked remarkably cool and unruffled. But he knew her, knew where to look, and her eyes were dark and wet. “What?”

“You heard me, Murdoch. Do you want to or not?”

He walked to her again, and in a moment, in the silence, they both began to grin. “I’ve got a ring in my pocket.”

“You do not.”

“Bet?”

She angled her head. “Let me see it.”

“It was my mother’s.” He took out the box, flipped open the lid. “It’s not a diamond, but you like colored stones better anyway.”

“Oh, Cullum.” She lifted her gaze to his. “You really do love me.”

“I said I did. If you’d said it first, weeks ago like I wanted you to, we’d have saved a lot of time.”

“You were supposed to say it first. Why the hell do you think I cooked dinner for you so many times?”

“Jules, believe me, nobody who wasn’t crazy in love with you could have eaten any of those meals.”

She tried to be insulted but ended up laughing. “If you ask me to marry you, I’ll never make another pot roast.”

“You already asked me, but under the circumstances, that’s a deal.” But when he reached in his pocket and took out his watch, she shifted impatiently.

“What are you doing? Can’t you do this right?”

“I am doing it right. It’s eleven-forty-five. Fifteen minutes till midnight. I’ll just fix that.” He turned the stem until the second hand hovered at twelve, then took her hand.

“That’s cheating.” She beamed at him. “I do love you, Cullum.”

“You’re what I’ve wanted without even knowing it.” He touched one of her stray curls. “We made this house together.”

“No.” She closed her hand over his. “We made this home together. I couldn’t live here without you.”

“I want to end the year and begin it, right here with you.” He brought their linked fingers to his lips. “We’ll make a hell of a team.”

“I’m counting on it.”

“Marry me, Julia.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” she said, and kissed him.

From the Private Memoirs
of
Daniel Duncan MacGregor

I’ve a head for business, a skill for the art of the deal. My life has been a rich one. I’ve worked hard, and I’ve gambled. I’ve won and I’ve lost. Business—the making of money—is a pleasure to me.

But family is God’s reward.

Strip every penny from my pocket, and leave me my family and I will die a wealthy man.

When I started these memoirs I had hopes and plans, schemes some might say—and what the devil do I care what people say?—for my family.

Well, I’ve done what I set out to do. Laura is a happily married woman, a beautiful mother. She and Royce are making a good life for themselves, and for my precious young namesake, Daniel MacGregor Cameron. Oh, there’s a lad, a bright, sturdy lad. Good blood. Strong stock.

Nothing pleases me more than seeing how Royce dotes on the boy—or how Caine delights in being a grandfather. And he and Royce are as thick as thieves. It’s a fine friendship they’ve made out of their love for Laura.

Of course, I had no doubt of it.

Gwen and her Branson are expecting a child any day now. She frets a bit, I know, about taking time off from her duties at the hospital. But Anna is the first to tell her that she can have both her career and a family, and do a magnificent job with both.

Branson fusses over her—wouldn’t leave her side to tour for his book. I’d have been tempted to take a strap to him if he had. And did it make any difference? Hah! It was a bestseller the minute it came out of the pipe. He’s a good storyteller that lad. Kept me up half the night reading about his murdering woman doctor and his cagey detective playing cat and mouse, falling in love. Who’d have thought she’d end up killing herself at the end rather than taking the life of the one man who’d touched her dark and troubled heart?

Ah, well, love matters most after all.

Now my Julia and her Cullum are making their life in the home they built together on Beacon Hill. They still scrap like terriers—and I’d worry if they didn’t. There’s such passion between these two—a perfect match and I don’t mind saying so. I expect to hear there’s a baby on the way soon.

And if I don’t, I’ll want to know the reason why.

She made a magnificent bride, tall, stately, elegant—and there was a moment, when she stepped beside Cullum, took his hand and their eyes met. They grinned at each other, wide and happy, with laughter all but bubbling out. A moment, I could feel my heart swell with joy—and with pride for having brought it about.

Now the MacGregor veil is packed away and waiting. But I’ve no intention of letting it lie in its box for long.

It’s time my grandsons started doing their duty. I’ve given them time to ripen a bit. A man needs some years and some experience under his belt before he takes a wife and starts a family.

But let’s face it, I’m not going to live forever. So far I’ve been subtle with Mac—him being the oldest of my boys. But does he take the hint? Hah. Well, we’ll just have to give him a few heftier nudges.

I’ve done well by my first three girls, but I’m not one to sit on my laurels for long. I’ll see the rest
of them wedded, and the circle completed before my time is up.

That’s a promise, on the word of Daniel MacGregor.

If you liked
The MacGregor Brides
, look for the other novels in the MacGregors series:
Playing the Odds
,
Tempting Fate
,
All the Possibilities
,
One Man’s Art
,
The Winning Hand
,
The MacGregor Grooms
,
The Perfect Neighbor
, and
Rebellion & In from the Cold
, available as eBooks from InterMix.

Keep reading for a special excerpt from the newest novel by Nora Roberts

THE WITNESS

Available April 2012 in hardcover from G.P. Putnam’s Sons

June 2000

Elizabeth Fitch’s short-lived teenage rebellion began with L’Oreal Pure Black, a pair of scissors and a fake ID. It ended in blood.

For nearly the whole of her sixteen years, eight months and twenty-one days she’d dutifully followed her mother’s directives. Dr. Susan L. Fitch issued
directives
, not orders. Elizabeth had adhered to the schedules her mother created, ate the meals designed by her mother’s nutritionist and prepared by her mother’s cook, wore the clothes selected by her mother’s personal shopper.

Dr. Susan L. Fitch dressed conservatively, as suited—in her opinion—her position as Chief of Surgery at Chicago’s Silva Memorial Hospital. She expected, and directed, her daughter to do the same.

Elizabeth studied diligently, accepting and excelling in the academic programs her mother outlined. In the fall, she’d return to Harvard in pursuit of her medical degree. So she could become a doctor, like her mother; a surgeon, like her mother.

Elizabeth—never Liz or Lizzie or Beth—spoke fluent Spanish, French, Italian, passable Russian and rudimentary Japanese. She played both piano and violin. She’d traveled to Europe, to Africa. She could name all the bones, nerves and muscles in the human body and play Chopin’s Piano Concerto—both One and Two—by rote.

She’d never been on a date or kissed a boy. She’d never roamed the mall with a pack of girls, attended a slumber party or giggled with friends over pizza or hot fudge sundaes.

She was, at sixteen years, eight months and twenty-one days, a product of her mother’s meticulous and detailed agenda.

That was about to change.

She watched her mother pack. Susan, her rich brown hair already coiled in her signature French twist, neatly hung another suit in the organized garment bag, then checked off the printout with each day of the week’s medical conference broken into subgroups. The printout included a spreadsheet listing every event, appointment, meeting and meal scheduled with the selected outfit, shoes, bag and accessories.

Designer suits and Italian shoes, of course, Elizabeth thought. One must wear good cut, good cloth. But not one rich or bright color among the blacks, grays, taupes. She wondered how her mother could be so beautiful and deliberately wear the dull.

After two accelerated semesters of college, Elizabeth thought she’d begun—maybe—to develop her own fashion sense. She had, in fact, bought jeans
and
a hoodie
and
some chunky heeled boots in Cambridge.

She’d paid in cash, so the purchase wouldn’t show up on her credit card bill in case her mother or their accountant checked and questioned the items, which were currently hidden in her room.

She’d felt like a different person wearing them, so different that she’d walked straight into a McDonald’s and ordered her first Big Mac with large fries and a chocolate shake.

The pleasure had been so huge she’d had to go into the bathroom, close herself in a stall and cry a little.

The seeds of the rebellion had been planted that day, she supposed, or maybe they’d always
been there, dormant, and the fat and salt had awakened them.

But she could feel them, actually feel them sprouting in her belly now.

“Your plans changed, Mother. It doesn’t follow that mine have to change with them.”

Susan took a moment to precisely place a shoe bag in the pullman, tucking it just so with her beautiful and clever surgeon’s hands, the nails perfectly manicured. A French manicure, as always—no color there either.

“Elizabeth.” Her voice was as polished and calm as her wardrobe. “It took considerable effort to reschedule and have you admitted to the summer program this term. You’ll complete the requirements for your admission into Harvard Medical School a full semester ahead of schedule.”

Even the thought made Elizabeth’s stomach hurt. “I was promised a three-week break, including this next week in New York.”

“And sometimes promises must be broken. If I hadn’t had this coming week off, I couldn’t fill in for Dr. Dusecki at the conference.”

“You could have said no.”

“That would have been selfish and shortsighted.” Susan brushed at the jacket she’d hung, stepped back to check her list. “You’re certainly mature enough to understand the demands of work overtake pleasure and leisure.”