Beside a Dreamswept Sea (39 page)

“Because I love the M and M’s?”

“Partly.”

“Is that why you’re settling for so little yourself?”

What did she mean, so little? She offered a lot. More than he dared to expect much less to hope for; certainly far more than he’d ever had. “I don’t understand.”

“You ask for so little and yet offer so much. You’ll care. You’ll protect. You’ll trust. You’ll be honest and faithful and ask me nicely for what you want. Yet you’re asking me for so little. Don’t you realize that half the women in New Orleans would love to give you more? Everything?”

He had no idea what to say, so he said nothing.

“So why don’t you want more? Why are you willing to settle for so little?”

She didn’t see the truth, or didn’t want to see it. And if he pointed it out to her, there was no way she’d marry him. But he could answer her. “Because knowing my wife loves the M and M’s and cares for me, that’s not a little, Cally. To me, it’s a lot. More than I’ve ever had in my whole adult life. But even more so, I can’t see me married to any one of those women and being content. I can see me being content with you.”

“For how long? Will it be enough tomorrow? The day after that? Ten years from now? Twenty?” Agitated, she swiped her hands down the thighs of her jeans. “What about after Lyssie’s grown and out on her own and it’s just you and me? Will you be content then?”

“The way I see it, we have options.”

“So you won’t be content then.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“What are you saying, Counselor?”

“That life just doesn’t issue guarantees. But with what we’ve got, we can grow together, and then this scenario of discontent won’t be an issue.” He tapped the toe of his loafer with the tip of his cane. “I don’t think this contentment bit is the real question here, though. I think it’s your backdoor way of asking me if I want more kids.” He lifted his gaze to hers. “Am I right about that?”

She answered with a question of her own. “Do you?”

“Evidently. We made love three times without protection.”

The color drained from her face. “Oh, God. We did.”

It hadn’t occurred to her, either. “It wasn’t deliberate.”

“No. No, it wasn’t. We didn’t think. I didn’t . . . think.”

“I didn’t, either. It’d been a long time since we’d had to think and we hadn’t planned—”

“When did this occur to you?” Her eyes reeked of suspicion.

“This morning at breakfast. That’s another reason I sacrificed pride this morning. To apologize. I promised to protect you, and I didn’t. But if you did get pregnant, I won’t lie and say I’m sorry. I wouldn’t be sorry, Cally.”

Her jaw fell open. “You want more kids?”

“Only if you do, and only if they’ll be treated—”

“Don’t even think it.” Her voice went rock hard. “If we marry, then I marry you and the M and M’s. They’ll be my kids too and there’ll be no difference. If I couldn’t swear that to you and to myself, I’d never consider your proposal.”

“I know that down deep.” She wanted to adopt them. Would forbid the word “stepparent” to be spoken in their home. “Just tag it as a fatherly instinct that insists on being voiced.”

Her expression softened. “Rest easy, Counselor. Your Miss Tate loves the M and M’s totally and completely.” She held up a hand. “But I draw the line at the battleaxe.”

“Understandable.” He grinned, wanting to kiss her just for that.

“I hoped it would be.”

“So, are we agreed? You’ll marry me, then?” His heart nearly halted its beats and his armpits went damp.

“I need a little more time. This is a big step and, if I make the wrong decision, then too many innocents get hurt.”

How could he fault her for not wanting to hurt him or the kids? He looped his arms over her shoulders, then pecked a kiss to her lips to show her he understood. “Don’t make me wait too long, hmm? It’s sheer hell.”

“I know it is, and I’m sorry. But I want this to be right for all of us, including you. You deserve so much good. And I need to know in my head and heart that you’ll get it.”

He smiled at her. “You’re exactly what I need.”

She smiled back.

Stunning. A knot swelled in his throat. If he’d been wearing a tie it’d have choked him to death. Talking past it, his voice came out gruff. “Answer me soon.”

“Soon,” she promised, and accepted his kiss.

Lost in a sensual haze, they walked back to the inn, hand in hand.

In the mud room, Cally hung her jacket on a peg beneath the Welcome Friends sign. Bryce hooked his on the one next to it. She liked the look of that, their sleeves touching. She didn’t like liking it, but she liked it. A lot. “You’ve got mud on your cuff.”

He shrugged.

She inwardly smiled. A couple weeks ago her stuffed-shirt counselor would have been miffed about the dirt. Now, it was no big deal. She hated loving that, too. Her list was growing lengthy.

He held open the door leading into the kitchen, and she walked through.

Mrs. Wiggins stood in the kitchen, her hand raised to slap Jeremy.

Cally saw red. “Don’t you dare hit him!” She stormed over, snatched Jeremy up, planted him on her hip, then pivoted so she stood between him and Mrs. Wiggins. He looked scared to death. “You okay?”

He nodded, on the brink of tears.

Cally cradled his head to her shoulder, rubbed his tiny back, and glared at the battleaxe. “You will never raise a hand to him, to any of the kids again. Not ever.”

Wiggins went as white as the curtains and her voice chilled to ice. “Miss Tate, I’ll thank you not to interfere. I understand your relationship with Mr. Richards, but my instructions on disciplining the children are explicit—”

“And you can stuff them right up your left nostril. Whatever Jeremy has done, he doesn’t deserve to be slapped. I will not stand by and see you do it. Mrs. Richards, God rest her soul, is dead. I hate it for Suzie and Lyssie and Bryce and mostly for Jeremy, because you have so little tolerance for anything he does. And I even hate it for you. But hating it doesn’t change the facts. The woman is dead, and your days of hiding behind her instructions to stay on Jeremy’s back are over. I’m sick of it. God knows Jeremy’s sick of it. And it ends right now. You’re fired, Mrs. Wiggins.”

“I don’t work for you. You can’t fire me.” She glared at Bryce. “She can’t fire me.”

Cally held her breath. So did Miss Hattie, who had come in during Cally’s tirade, paused at the back door, and now stood with her eyes squeezed shut, mumbling something at the ceiling. Cally screwed up her courage and then looked at Bryce. He seemed stunned and damned angry. Whether at her or at Wiggins, Cally didn’t know. And right now, she didn’t give a flying fig. He’d best remember his promise to not challenge her authority with the kids. Of course, if he didn’t back her in this, he wouldn’t be breaking his promise because it was the battleaxe, not the kids, she was challenging. But if he didn’t back her, then God help him. If he tolerated that woman slapping Jeremy, Cally’d never marry him. Never in a million years. And she’d make his life a living hell.

“Well?” Mrs. Wiggins urged Bryce, looking far too confident for Cally’s comfort.

Bryce looked at Jeremy, clinging to Cally’s shoulder for dear life. He wasn’t crying, though. Not a single tear. At Cally, shooting visual daggers his way, warning him he’d better not cross her on this. At Suzie, who stepped to Cally’s side, her jaw tense and her eyes saucer-wide. Cally slipped an arm around her, drew her closer. At Miss Hattie, who looked alert and attentive, not bothering to pretend ignorance this time, but closing her expression to unreadable, keeping her thoughts to herself. And, finally, he looked at Mrs. Wiggins. Her strained expression had her tight skin stretched over her bones. Frosted to the gills. He didn’t trust himself to speak.

“Mr. Richards!” Mrs. Wiggins stomped her foot. “I insist you set her straight on this.”

“I fully support Cally’s decision, Mrs. Wiggins. You’re fired.” He’d have fired the woman himself, but Cally had beaten him to it. Though it raised a whale of a problem, he felt good about that.

The woman’s jaw dropped open. “You can’t be serious!”

“I most certainly am serious.” He gentled his tone for the kids. They still looked terrified. “If you think past your indignation, you’ll realize this is what you’ve wanted for a long time. You only stayed for Meriam. In fact, I’ll bet you’ve already prepared your Thanksgiving resignation, haven’t you?”

Looking guiltier than sin, the woman lowered her gaze.

“You always deliver it immediately following breakfast, so everyone is upset at what should be a festive dinner. You’re not a mean woman, Mrs. Wiggins. So why do you think you do that?”

“Because I’m tired of raising children!”

“I know. And I thank you for the sacrifices you’ve made for mine. But Cally’s right. I can’t have you slapping Jeremy. It’s time for you to go on with your life.”

“Very well.”

Miss Hattie, who was the only person in the room who appeared calm and sedate, unclipped her earring. “I’ll book your flight, Mrs. Wiggins. Jimmy will take you to the airport.”

“Thank you, Hattie.” Mrs. Wiggins announced her intention to return to the Carriage House to pack her bags, then left the kitchen, looking more relieved than upset.

Cally smoldered. “I owe you one, Counselor.”

“No you don’t.” He owed her. And he didn’t regret his decision—the battleaxe’d had to go—but if Cally refused his proposal now, he’d be in a helluva fix.

Jeremy smothered Cally in a bear hug. Over his shoulder, Cally sent Bryce a look of gratitude, and picked up on his worry. The reason for it hit her right between the eyes.

She’d fired the only constant in the M and M’s lives.

“Oh, God, what have I done?”