Happy Holidays - The Pregnancy Negotiation Part 17

Whit couldn't believe she had left. And worse, she hadn't bothered with a face-to-face goodbye. Obviously he had taught her some tactics he'd never intended. Run when the going gets tough.

He had to admit he'd been guilty of that on more than one occasion, except that when he'd left for Boston he hadn't been running away. For the past five days he'd done nothing but think about running back home to her. And now she was gone.

But he did know the reason for the hasty departure even though the note only said, "I can't do this." The negative pregnancy test sitting next to that brief missive said it all. He just didn't understand why she'd given up so quickly. Or maybe he did-she'd thought about their relationship, about his reputation, and, as he had feared, decided he wasn't worth the effort.

If only he'd come home immediately from the airport that morning, he might have stopped her. Instead, he'd spent the afternoon making a few phone calls and arrangements for the surprise-a surprise that he' d hoped would convince her they belonged together. Not just to make a baby but for life.

Whit balled up the note and tossed it into the trash, along with the test. He wasn't going to let either stop him from his goal. He would find Mallory and he knew exactly where to look.

Making his way into the den, he picked up the phone and ignored the flashing message indicator. He could check those before he left, but right now he needed to make another important call.

Mallory's mother picked up on the second ring with a less-than-cheerful, "h.e.l.lo."

"Lucy, it's Whit. Is she there?"

"Oh, Whitty, what happened? She's so upset but she won't talk to us."

"I'll be there as soon as I can get there." Considering rush-hour traffic, it wouldn't be soon enough. "But don't tell her I'm coming."

"What's this all about?"

"I'll explain later." And hopefully his explanation would come with a good ending to the whole scenario.

After hanging up the phone, he accessed the voice mail, hoping to hear Mallory's voice. But the first message was delivered by one crotchety paralegal.

"Roz, here. Just wanted to let you know that Mrs. McMillan called. That P.I. worked wonders. Not one but two mistresses. She said the mister has decided not to pursue custody after all. And d.a.m.n, I was just sharpening my knife. See you tomorrow."

Knife? Whit didn't have time to ponder that before the second and final message began. He listened to it once, then listened to it again because he wasn't certain he'd heard correctly. After he confirmed he had in fact gotten it right, he punched the off b.u.t.ton and fought the burn of panic and a fear like he'd never known.

He needed to be with Mallory in the worst way, but first he needed information. And after he returned the call, he would find her, come h.e.l.l or high water. Come what may.

Mallory needed another box of tissue. Crying buckets wasn't normal for her at all, but then she'd only been this sad one other time in her life. She figured Whit had already arrived home to find she'd packed up and left. He'd probably found the note and the pregnancy test. She expected he might call, or maybe he already had. She'd given her parents strict instructions that she didn't want to talk to anyone, and if that had been Whit on the phone, then they'd honored her wishes, G.o.d love them. Of course, she would have to eventually talk to him and tell him why she'd decided to leave. Her reasons had all seemed valid at the time. Now they seemed a lot like excuses. She'd lived her life by lists for the past two weeks, yet she didn't have any how-to on how to deal with her heart.

But she couldn't ignore that she was in love with him. She also couldn't up and ask Whit for a commitment. She'd foolishly done that once with another man, with disastrous results. Yet she knew deep down that Whit wasn't Jerry. Everything her ex-husband had lacked, Whit had in spades. The only thing they shared was their love of women, but when she weighed that aspect, she had to admit Whit hadn't been on one date since she'd moved in. In fact, he hadn't even received any phone calls from females, at least not that she'd been aware of. But none of that would matter if he didn't view her as more than a friend, and a temporary lover, like all the rest of the women in his life. And even if he did have deeper feelings for her, she might never be able to give him a baby. Would that be fair?

The rap at the door startled her so much that she nearly vaulted off the bed. If Whit had arrived, what would she say? No matter how much she'd rehea.r.s.ed it, the words stuck in her throat.

"Mallory, can I come in?"

Not Whit. Her father. "Sure." She could use a broad shoulder to cry on, even if it wasn't her shoulder of choice at the moment. But Dermot O'Brien was a master when it came to comforting distraught children.

She swiped at her face, trying to erase her tears but to no avail when her dad entered, joined her on the edge of the bed and took her into his arms. She cried quietly against his chest, letting all the misery and confusion out until she'd sufficiently dampened the front of his shirt.

Pulling away, she wiped at her face and muttered, "I'm sorry."

"No need to be sorry, darlin'." He looked at her with his father's eyes and patted her back with his father's touch. "But I would like to know what's got you in such a state."

She sniffed and sobbed. "It's complicated, Daddy. I've just made a few mistakes and I don't know how to rectify them."

"You could start by talking to the young man standing in my living room. I'm not sure which one of you looks worse even if he's not gone into a crying jag. Yet."

Mallory's eyes went wide. "Whit's here?"

"Yes, he is, and he says he has to see you."

She lowered her gaze to her joined hands. "I'm not sure that's a good idea right now."

Dermot tipped her chin up and smiled. "Yes, my darlin' daughter, it is a very good idea. You must work these matters of the heart out with the one you love."

"I didn't say I love him."

"You didn't have to say it. I see it in your eyes. I saw it the night you were here for Logan's party. It's in his eyes, too, as apparent as the foam on a good mug of draft." Mallory laughed, but it died quickly. "It doesn't matter if I love him. I might not be able to give him what he needs.""Sure you can, darlin.' He would be blessed to have you.""I might not be able to give him a baby."She looked up to see her father's frown. "Why would you think that?""I've known for a while now. It's a long story, and I'm too drained to go into it now. It just wouldn't be fair to deny him that."

"Darlin', it wouldn't be fair for you not to give him the chance to make that decision. Children areblessings, but love is the greatest gift. You could have that with Whit."Mallory felt the need to cry again and halted the tears with the last of her waning strength. "Whit hasn't said he loves me."

"Ah, but he does. He always has. And I've always expected him to live up to the promise he made me years ago."

"What promise?"

He pulled her close to his side. "When you were about fourteen, he told me that he would marry you one

day. Then he went to college and you settled in with that Jerry. What a jammy client that one was."

Every now and then, Mallory was thrown by her father's Irish slang. This was one of those times. "What's a jammy client?""A cla.s.s A fool. As useless as a cigarette lighter on a motor bike. Whit's not a fool, my darlin'. He's a fine fellow, and he will make you a good husband."

Ha! Mallory couldn't imagine Whit even considering being a husband, no matter what her father had said.

Promises made over fifteen years ago would be long forgotten. She plucked at a thread on the comforter to avoid his scrutiny. "He hasn't proposed, Daddy. I'm not sure he will."

"You will never know that for sure unless you hear him out." Dermot lifted her chin and thumbed away

another tear. "Now do your old da a favor. Go in there and listen to that boy." Taking her hands, he

pulled her to her feet. "Your ma and me will leave you to your privacy."

Mallory smiled around her sudden wariness. "Okay, I'll go talk to Whit. But don't get your hopes up about the marriage thing."

Her father's grin widened. "Well, darlin', sometimes it's hope that gets us through the rocky road of life.

And sometimes your old da knows best."

Mallory hoped he was right, that maybe Whit did want more than a baby from her. And that hope sent her out the bedroom door to face the man she loved.

Whit sat on the O'Briens' front porch steps like some pimply-faced kid waiting to take his best girl on a first date. But what he could face in the near future was unquestionably adult, not adolescent. When the door opened behind him, he stood and turned, hands jammed in his pockets and a stellar knot in his gut. He half expected to see Dermot coming out of the house to hand him an apology for Mallory's refusal to see him. But it was Mallory walking through the door, hesitating only a moment. And Mallory, doing the unexpected, sprinting down the stairs and right into his arms.

She buried her face in his shoulder and he realized she was crying, something else he hadn't expected. Her body shook in his arms and that made him ache in the worst way.

After a moment, she lifted her head, her heart in her beautiful green eyes. "Whit...I'm so, so sorry," she said, her words barely discernable due to her sobs.

He framed her face in his palms and kissed her cheeks. ""Hey...hey. It's okay, babe."

"No, it's not."

"It will be, I promise." He looked over her head to see Dermot standing at the door, giving him a thumb' s-up. "Let's go for a drive."

She swiped at the moisture beneath her eyes. "Where?"

"Some place we can talk."

Wrapping one arm tightly around her waist, Whit guided her to the truck, opened the door and helped her in. Normally she would protest the gesture, but it seemed as if she relied on him for even the simplest of things. He rounded the hood and slid inside, taking one last glance at the house to find Lucy had joined her husband on the front porch. They both looked hopeful, and Whit hoped like h.e.l.l he didn't disappoint them. Or Mallory.

"I want you next to me," he told her, indicating the s.p.a.ce now separating them.

She complied and even allowed him to belt her in. When she laid her head on his shoulder, he pulled away from the curb and took her hand, holding it tightly as if he believed she might jump out of the truck. A pretty d.a.m.n illogical thought, but he wasn't into logic right now. What he felt defied logic. Helpless and hopeful and anxious.

As they traveled to their destination, Mallory didn't ask again where they were going, as if she trusted him to take care of her. If only she could trust him enough to know that all he wanted was to make things right between them. Make things better. He would know soon enough, he decided when he pulled into the drive of the house.

Only then did Mallory straighten and say, "Where are we?"

"You'll see." Whit got out of the truck and helped her out, taking her by the hand and leading her up the path to his dream, and that held true in more ways than one, if she agreed to his plan.

Once inside, he turned her around and stood behind her, his arms wrapped securely around her. "I designed this house, Mallory. I helped frame it with my own hands. This is where I've been when I've come home late. Not with another woman."

She looked back at him. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I wanted to surprise you. And maybe I just had too much pride."

"Who are you building it for?" He heard a hint of hope in her tone, and that made him smile.

"At first I planned to have it as my showcase home," he said. "But I've recently realized I wasn't building it for the general public. Or even for me." He tightened his hold on her. "I've been building it for you."

"For me?"

"Actually, for us." He turned her around to face him, kept her close to him. "I love you, Mallory. I have for years."

Her eyes misted again. "I love you, too, Whit. You're my best friend."

He fought a round of frustration. "I don't love you only as a friend, Mallory. I love you like any man in his right mind should love you." He swallowed hard. "G.o.d, do I love you."

A single tear drifted down her cheek and he thumbed it away. "I love you, too, Whit. In the same way."

Whit released the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "Marry me, Mallory O'Brien."

"But-"

He pressed a finger against her lips. "No buts. Just yes. I want to hear you say yes."

She tugged his hand away. "I have to say this first. What if we never have a baby? What if I can't have a baby? Would you still want me then?"

"Mallory, let me tell you a little story. Back when we were still basically kids, I actually told your dad I was going to marry you."

She sent him a shaky smile. "I know. He told me that earlier."

But her dad hadn't told her the rest because he hadn't known. No one had known. "At that time, I think I saw it as my duty to protect you, just like your brothers had. But when I had to sit in that church pew on the day that you married that jerk and watched you vow to love him until death do you part, I realized I should've been the one standing there. I should've been kissing you to seal that vow and making love to you every night. Instead, I went about my life, settling into a routine of casual s.e.x and empty relationships. I didn't know why until now."

He cradled her face in his palms and leveled his gaze on her. "Because there hasn't been a woman who could measure up to you. And I'm not going to wait until I find myself watching you marry someone else again. I want to hear you say those vows to me, and I want to say them to you. From this point forward, forsaking all others. Baby or no baby."

She smiled through a fresh flow of tears. "Who would have thought you would be such a romantic guy?"

"You ain't seen nothing yet. But you will, when you tell me you'll marry me."

Her smile brightened her beautiful face. "Well, since I can't stand the suspense, I guess I will marry you then."

Pulling her completely into his arms, Whit kissed her long, kissed her hard, kissed her with a love he never would have thought possible. After he reluctantly eased away from her sweet lips, he took her hand again and led her on the grand tour of the house in progress, explaining all the rooms and their functions, leaving the best for last. Before he opened that door, he moved behind her and shielded her eyes with his palms. "Just remember, it's not finished yet because the decor is going to be up to you. But I did have a little something brought in for this occasion. Keep your eyes closed until I say when."

After opening the door, he nudged her inside and said "When."

She opened her eyes wide and pointed. "What is that?"

Whit grinned. "Well, that explains a lot, Mallory. If you don't know what a bed is, then I guess that's why we've never been in one."

She gave him a withering look. "I know it's a bed, but why is it here when there's no carpet on the floor?"

He strode into the corner of the room and snapped on the lone floor lamp, the only light since the light fixtures were missing. Then he walked to the foot of the four-poster bed and pointed at the floor, housing the red monstrosity. "We do have a rug."

Mallory laid a hand over her mouth then laughed. "My favorite rug!"

"Yeah, but we're not going to make love on it tonight."