Miracle Baby (Harlequin American Romance) (4 page)

The last thing she wanted was for that to change. Not now, anyway.

“So, as you can see, having breakfast with you has nothing to do with babysitting and everything to do with my own selfish motives.”

“And wishes?” she teased, as a burst of warmth spread throughout her body at his welcomed reassurance.

Dimples formed in his cheeks as he met her eyes across the table. “And wishes.”

“You wanna know something?” The question surprised her as it left her mouth.

“Absolutely.”

“I'm not sure it was an actual wish. It was really more of a promise to myself…but just this morning, before I came down to apologize, I made a pact with myself to eat something real for breakfast. And—” she gestured at her plate “—I did.”

He studied her intently, an act she was surprised to realize didn't bother her at all. When he finally spoke, his voice was gentle. “It's like I said. A wish doesn't always have to be a monumental, life-changing thing. It can be something small, something simple. The key is appreciating it when it comes true.”

Unable to think of what to say, she simply nodded.

He pointed at his chest and continued, his strong voice almost melodic to her ears. “I know it's probably hard to imagine, but I used to wear a tie to work. My wish, though, was to work with my hands. There was something about returning things to their original beauty that called to me when I wasn't much more than twelve.”

“I like to make things,” Maggie blurted, shocked by the admission. Sure, she'd always liked crafts and making things to brighten a home, but to say it out loud?

“Like what?”

“I don't know. It's probably silly.”

“Making things with your hands doesn't sound silly to me.”

“Well, I can make seasonal wall hangings…and I've toyed with personalizing picture frames—you know, for special occasions.” She leaned her head against the booth, the once familiar tug of a smile lifting her mouth. “I've even sold some of my things at a few craft shows over the years.”

“Ever think about opening an actual shop?”

Had she? All the time. It was one of her daydreams as a little girl, one that returned periodically in adulthood. Now, though, she simply shook her head. Really, what was the point in saying or doing otherwise? It had been nothing more than a dream—one that belonged to a different time in her life.

“You should. That kind of thing would be a hit around here.”

She balanced her chin on her knuckles. “I remember this little craft shop in Missouri. I stumbled across it during an outing into the country. The owner had such a variety of things for sale and people were buying them left and right.”

“And how would you stack up?”

“Pretty well except for the fact I don't know how to knit.” Maggie stared off into the distance, surprised how clearly she recalled everything about that craft shop. “I've wanted to learn ever since.”

The thump of Rory's hand on the table pulled her back to the present. “Well, see? There you go. You've got yourself a wish.”

“A wish?”

“That's right. Wanting to do something can most definitely qualify as a wish.”

He popped the last bite of waffle into his mouth as she took in his strong jawline, the spots in his cheeks where dimples formed when he smiled and the faint lines that graced the outer corners of his eyes. There was something about Rory O'Brien that made her relax. Something that made her think she could actually do
more than just exist through the day, as she had since Jack and Natalie…

Jack and Natalie.

Reality hit like a splash of ice water and she sat up in panic. Somehow, some way, time had passed without so much as a thought or a memory…

“Maggie? You okay?”

She yanked open her purse, fished around inside until she found a twenty-dollar bill and thrust it in his direction, his look of surprise barely registering. “I have to go back.
Now.
”

“Now? Why?”

“Because I'm fooling myself with this whole baby-step nonsense. It's either got to be one or the other,” she said as tears welled in her eyes.

“One or the other? I don't understand.”

“It's been an hour, Rory. A whole
hour.
”

“Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know you had somewhere to be.” He waved aside the money as he scooted out from the booth. “Did you forget an appointment?”

“No. I forgot
them.
”

It took every ounce of willpower not to bust her door down and pull her into his arms, her gut-wrenching sobs on the other side twisting his stomach into knots. But she'd been adamant he leave.

Her pleas to be alone were still running in a continuous loop in his mind, warring with the urge to play knight in shining armor. For the life of him Rory couldn't understand what he'd done to change her beautiful, albeit tentative, smile into a look of complete and utter sadness the likes of which he never wanted to see on her face again.

He racked his brain for anything that could offer an explanation for the sudden shift in Maggie's mood, but he came up empty. One minute she'd been wistfully happy and the next…

“I forgot them.”

Leaning his head against the oak panel, he closed his eyes against an image of the woman whose sobs seeped through the gap beneath the door. All he'd wanted to do when he invited her to breakfast was give her a distraction and him some extra time with the woman whose
face had drifted in and out of his dreams all night long. Yet somehow he'd made things worse for her.

“I forgot them.”

He sucked in a breath as her words came back to him yet again, the pain with which they were spoken mirrored by the agony in her eyes. Maggie was in a bad place and it was killing him not to be able to help.

Unable to handle her sobs any longer, he wandered down the hallway and into the room where they'd sat together just two hours earlier. How could they have gone from something resembling banter to this?

The key to that was in the silver cradle and the scar on Maggie's arm. That much he knew. It was just the what, how and why that had him in the dark—crucial pieces in the puzzle that was Maggie Monroe.

He grabbed his tool belt from the lumber pile where he'd left it, and secured it around his waist. As he lifted the hammer from its holder, he glanced down at the package that was responsible for placing the woman down the hall in the center of his thoughts.

He sat down beside the box and removed its lid. Light reflected off the silver ball, making it shimmer against the pillow of red velvet that lined the box.

A soft whistle escaped his lips.

Doug Rigsby sure knew how to pick a beautiful gift. But as pretty as the ornament was, the notion behind it made it even more special.

“Wishes,” Rory whispered. “Who doesn't like to make wishes?”

The question was barely out before he found an answer.

Maggie.

But why? Wishes were like dreams. They gave a person hope—something to reach toward. She knew the importance of hope. It had turned her life around once already. So why couldn't she see its power now?

When he'd been no more than six years old he'd wished for his own tool set. When he'd been a teenager he'd wished for a truck while all his male classmates dreamed of Mustangs. And even when he'd been stuck behind a desk in corporate hell, the notion of one day being able to do what he truly wanted had kept him going.

Wishes made life's steps lighter. So why did Maggie dislike the notion of making a wish? Especially when she obviously had some.

Such as learning to knit.

“Learning to knit,” he said aloud. “She wants to learn to knit.”

Maybe it wasn't the wish itself that Maggie shied away from so much as the fear of it not coming true.

Feeling the corners of his mouth beginning to inch upward, he pulled his cell phone from the back pocket of his jeans and scrolled through his saved numbers, stopping on a familiar name.

 

O
NE BY ONE SHE PLACED
each tissue-wrapped ornament into the box, her tear-induced hiccups nearly drowning out the slight rustle they made as the stack grew higher and higher. She'd tried, she really had. But it was simply too hard.

She wanted to move forward, wanted to make her
family proud, but not this way. Not by layering new memories over the top of treasured ones.

Besides, Christmas was about family. And without Jack and Natalie, she had no family.

Wiping her hand over her burning eyes, she surveyed the room one last time. She had them all—the first Christmas ornament she'd shared with Jack after their wedding, the Snoopy computer ornament she'd given him after he landed his dream job, the miniature craft-basket ornament he'd given her on their second Christmas together and the assortment of homemade ones they'd brought from their respective childhoods.

It was hard to believe it was only a year ago they'd last hung them. Especially when she had trouble remembering certain particulars, such as which carols had been playing in the background, and the kind of flavored hot chocolate Jack had liked best.

“Peppermint,” she whispered with a slight smile. Suddenly, the previous year slipped away and images flooded her mind of the day they'd tugged their tree through the door and set about the task of decorating it for the family of three they'd become.

More determined than ever to keep from clouding her past with the present, Maggie grabbed hold of the tape gun beside her foot and ran it across the top of the box. It didn't matter that the tree her uncle had left for her was bare. She was the only one there, wasn't she? And besides, the solitary star she'd managed to secure to the top was kind of pretty all on its own.

Like a wishing star shining in the night sky.

A
wishing
star.

Scooting the box to the side, she rocked back on her heels and looked up at the delicate star on the very top of the tree. For as long as she could remember she'd loved making wishes. On birthday candles, on pennies thrown into fountains, on shooting stars…

Those wishes had brought her Jack. And when the time was right, Natalie.

Now, Maggie had no more wishes left. Unless wishing for another day with them could truly happen.

But what if Rory was right? What if wishes could also apply to smaller things? Things a person wanted to do or accomplish? And if he
was
right, perhaps her desire to make her family proud could be a wish—one she'd realized, at least on a small scale, just a few hours earlier when she'd eaten her first real meal in more months than she could count.

Breakfast isn't enough, Maggie.

Shaking her head at the voice in her head, she blinked against the brightness of the star. “It's a step, Jack. And for now it has to be enough.”

A strange sound made her turn just in time to see a mint-green envelope appear beneath the door and slide across the hardwood in her direction.

“What on earth?” she mumbled as she grabbed hold of it. The sight of her name written in a masculine scrawl made her breath hitch. Turning the envelope over, she allowed her fingers to linger on the sealed flap for just a moment before giving in to curiosity.

Carefully, she slid the matching green paper from the envelope and unfolded it, to find a nine-word sentence that caught her by surprise.

Redeemable for one FREE knitting lesson in your home.

She rubbed her right and then her left eye before reading the words once again.

Redeemable for one FREE knitting lesson in your home.

“A knitting lesson?” she whispered. “What on—”

A soft knock made her look up, the green stationery clutched in her hand. “Yes?” she called in confusion.

“Maggie? It's Delilah.”

Delilah?

“I met you, or rather, met you again, earlier this morning. I was the crazy woman who badgered your eating companion.”

Maggie rose to her feet and approached the door, a multitude of questions swirling in her thoughts. Yanking it open, she came face-to-face with the woman from the diner. “Wow. H-hi. Wow. This is certainly a surprise.”

Delilah's graying head bobbed ever so slightly as a smile revealed the faintest hint of a dimple in her left cheek. “I imagine it is. But I've never been known for my predictability. Except with my cooking, of course.”

There was something about this woman that called to Maggie, something so open, so real it was hard to ignore. Maybe it was the happiness she exuded via the laugh lines that framed her friendly eyes. Maybe it was the way she'd stopped at every booth that morning, treating each and every customer as if they were part of her family. Maybe it was the way she had noted Maggie's lack of weight, yet hadn't hounded her with unwanted advice and disapproving comments.

“Breakfast. This morning. It was delicious. It helped me—” Maggie shifted from foot to foot as she searched for just the right words “—take a step I needed to take.”

If her words were cryptic, the woman didn't let on. “I'm glad. And I hope you'll come back again. And bring that big galoot with you.”

“Big galoot?”

“Rory.” Maggie couldn't help but laugh as the woman continued. “From the time he first marched into my diner with a plastic hammer in one hand and a block of wood in the other, he had me captivated. Why, that young man had the most flawless manners of any child I'd ever seen, and boy, could he talk your ear off. There he'd be, pouring syrup over his pancakes and chatting up a storm while Reardon simply sat there, listening. Two peas in a pod they were. Though how they came from the same pod was always a mystery. Woo-wee, those boys were different. Different as night and day. While Rory was always making things with his hands, Reardon was lost in the pages of a book. While Rory had an appetite that never quit, Reardon would push his food around his plate, hoping no one would notice he hadn't eaten. But I noticed. I always noticed those boys. Except when it…” Delilah suddenly went quiet. “Would you listen to me go? Seems I've got a little chatterbox in me, too.”

“It helps drown out the silence.”

Delilah cocked her head and studied Maggie as understanding dawned in her pale green eyes. “The silence is painful at times, isn't it?”

Maggie swallowed with difficulty. “It can be,” she whispered.

“Then how about we set that off to the side for a little bit and try something new.”

She felt her brows furrow. “Something new? I don't understand.”

Lifting a basket into the air, Delilah jutted her chin in the direction of Maggie's left hand. “I'm here so you can redeem
that.
”

“I don't—” She stopped, looked down at the paper still clutched in her hand. “You mean this is from you?”

The woman shook her head.

“Then how did you know—wait!” Maggie felt a flutter in her chest as the pieces fell into place. “Rory sent you, didn't he?”

“He said you've always wanted to learn to knit. And since I love to knit almost as much as I love to cook, he thought I could help you with—”

“With my
wish,
” she finished, her words barely audible amid the sudden acceleration of her heart.

Realizing Delilah's gaze was still locked on her face, Maggie forced her mind away from the swirling emotions in the pit of her stomach and back to the woman in front of her. “You don't have to do this. Really. I know you must be busy at the diner.”

“That's what employees are for, dear. And besides, how often does a person get to play fairy godmother in their lifetime?”

Fairy godmother…

“Though, technically, I think that title belongs more to Rory than it does me.”

Rory…

“So, would you like to bring some chairs out into the hallway or would you prefer to work inside?”

The woman's words finally registered, as did Maggie's lack of hostess skills. “Oh. Oh, I'm sorry. Please…please come in.” Stepping to the side to allow the woman entry into her suite, she rushed to offer an explanation for their less than tidy surroundings. “You'll have to excuse the boxes. I was just—”

“Decorating?” The woman stopped in the center of the living room and smiled up at the bare branches of the tree. “I finished mine just last night. And I did a good job, if I do say so myself. Though if I don't quit buying new ornaments every year, I may need a third tree.”

“A third tree?” Maggie echoed.

“A third tree. I love decorating. I love the way it transforms the house into this magical place where hope is as ever-present as the pine needles I'll be sweeping up on a daily basis over the next four or five weeks.”

“Hope?”

Delilah nodded. “For something better. Richer.”

Maggie felt her shoulders slump. Maybe that's why she couldn't decorate. Because she'd already
had
better. In fact, she'd had the best.

Forcing her thoughts from the realization that threatened to zap her energy, she motioned toward the sofa. “Can I get you an apple? Or a glass of water?”

“That would be wonderful, but only if you join me.”

“Oh, I'm fine. I had a really big breakfast.”

Delilah tsked softly under her breath. “That was hours
ago, dear. Besides, once we start knitting you'll lose all track of time. Trust me on this.”

Maggie considered protesting, but opted instead to retrieve two apples and two glasses of water from the kitchen before claiming a spot on the sofa beside the woman. “It was really nice of you to come here.”

“I'd do anything for Rory. Especially something that means as much to him as this apparently does.”

She felt her face flush. “I didn't ask him to do this.”

The woman set the basket between them and began pulling items from it onto her lap. “I know. In fact, Rory made that perfectly clear when we talked earlier. But he wanted to do this. For you.”

“But I—”

Delilah's plump hand closed over hers and squeezed. “You want to learn to knit, yes?” Maggie nodded.

“Then let's learn, shall we?”

Blinking against the familiar tears that were there for unfamiliar reasons, she nodded once again.

And so she learned. About yarn, and knitting needles, and the proper way to hold her hands…

Little by little she surrendered to the process—to the feel of the yarn at her fingertips, to the thrill of learning something new, to the excitement that came with watching each step turn into something real.