Penelope (17 page)

“I don’t see me playing on it.” Her voice was cool as she rubbed her stomach.

Brock moved closer to the stairs where she’d perched herself over him. “How have you been feeling?”

Her brows narrowed and she glowered at him. “I was very much under the impression that you didn’t care much. I mean you left me right in the hospital.”

Okay, now he had to move to her. She couldn’t think he’d just walk out on her.

“We weren’t on the same page about things if I remember right. You seem to think that my saying I owe you meant I didn’t choose to be here.”

She pushed back her shoulders. “So you want to be here? I mean you want to give up your life to move to this little town?”

Brock began his climb up the few steps to stand level with her. “There’s more to it than that.”

She shifted from him slightly. “Really? Exactly how much more?”

There had been enough space between them he decided. He moved his hand to her hair and brushed it over through those blonde curls that hung from a tail behind her head. He’d missed the softness of them, those curls that usually framed that beautiful face.

“I have a place to live. I went back home and loaded up everything and brought it here with me. Even my parents’ couch.”

Her eyes widened and that was exactly the reaction he’d been looking for, so he continued.

“I secured a job and I’m even having a barbecue this weekend. I’d love for you to be there.”

Now the crease formed between her brows. “I’ve been invited to one.”

“Have you? By who?”

“Vivian.”

He smiled and rested a hand on her hip. “Yep. That would be mine.”

Penelope pushed her hands against his chest and took a step back. “She knew you were here and making some kind of residence?”

“Oh, they all knew. You just don’t want to accept that I’d like to be here by you.”

“Accept it? Look at me.”

“I haven’t been able to look away from you for months.” He moved in again. “Be at the barbecue. Be my date.”

“Date?”

“I’m not mixing words here. Penelope, I’m here to be with you.”

“But I’m not alone,” she said resting her hands on her stomach.

Brock moved in closer and rested his hands there too. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

There it was, the quiver in her lip. She was going to cry. And just as he’d planned he’d wrap her up in his arms and hold her until she stopped. So he did.

“Will you be there?”

Penelope nodded.

He pulled back and looked at her. “Okay then. I have to help him finish this. I hear you’re already getting enrollments.”

Penelope wiped her eyes. “Vivian said that. Some man brought in his daughters.”

“She invited him to the barbecue.”

“There’s something about him. I’ve never seen her go so soft.”

Brock laughed. He knew exactly what she was talking about. “I’d better get back. Will you have dinner with me?”

She looked away and then back at him. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Dinner?”

“No. Us.”

“Let’s start with dinner. It worked last week.”

She actually sighed with a smile and he took it as a good sign.

“Okay. I’m going to go finish the bulletin boards,” she said as she turned and walked back into the house.

Brock watched her. How was it possible he’d never wanted anything more than the woman who waddled away from him. Things wouldn’t be normal for them—ever. They’d have quite a story to tell that baby. And he planned to be there for that.

Air-conditioning was Penelope’s best friend, she had decided, as she brushed a curl from her eyes.

The little tables in the toddler room had all been set up and the tiny chairs pushed in. There was a rocking chair in the corner and a big round carpet with the ABC’s where the kids could sit. They’d had to put plumbing into the room for a sink and a water fountain at the kids’ level. And they all knew it was only a matter of time before they’d have to have more than a step up stool for the toilet. It would all come together.

They’d delivered the cribs for the nursery. They’d agreed on only a few infants, as there had to be a ratio between caretaker and baby that had to be met by law. Brock had promised he’d have the cribs assembled by Monday.

She rubbed her stomach as she looked at the little room which had once been a dining room and now would keep babies safe. Her baby would be there with her and he or she would be safe.

Before Brock even had made it through the back door she knew his scent and his walk. She hadn’t had to turn to see him coming toward her.

She closed her eyes as he stood next to her and looked at the pile of boxes he’d set there.

“I can’t believe this place is actually looking like a daycare center now. You girls did a good job.”

Opening her eyes, she turned to look at him—gaze at him. His dark wavy hair was damp with sweat. His dark skin was pink from the sun and a bead of sweat still threatened to slide from his sideburn down his jaw.

Brock turned his head and looked at her. “Why are you grinning?”

“Am I?” So she was. In that moment of feeling safe, knowing she’d be surrounded by babies, friends, and cocooned in the house that was given to them she felt no reason to further be standoffish to him. “I was admiring the view.”

That had his eyebrows rising. “But you’re looking at me.”

Things began to stir deep inside of her. She licked her lips and stepped toward him. “I happen to think you’re a very nice looking man.”

When he smiled that dimple came back and her knees went weak. “I won’t lie. I’m happy to hear you say that.”

“I haven’t been too nice lately.”

He turned fully to her and ran his hands down her arms until he captured her hands in his. “You have a lot going on. I don’t blame you.”

“I just haven’t been able to wrap my head around you wanting to be with,” she looked down at herself, “this.”

Brock unlocked his hands from hers and placed them on her belly. The baby wiggled inside of her as if he knew Brock was there.

“Whoa!” she sucked in a breath.

“She knows I’m here for her. Or he,” he added. “Penelope, let me be here for both of you.”

“I’m beginning to think I’d like that.”

“I hope in time you’ll more than like it.”

She rested her hands atop his. “Don’t you think it’s too fast? I only met you.”

“And how many actual days did you spend with your husband?”

That could have been an argument that had her spinning on her heels and running, but the truth had been spoken.

“You’re right. I have actually spent more time with you.”

“And I’m not going anywhere. Like I said, I have a house, a job, and a reason to stay.”

“I’m your reason?”

“Both of you are.”

That was all she needed. This man was of a special breed. She’d be an idiot to let him walk out of her life.

Penelope pressed against him and wrapped her arms around his neck. His hands came to her waist and she moved as close to him as she possibly could before she took his mouth with the purpose of letting him know exactly how happy she was.

It was crazy—just crazy. Her brief love and marriage to a man she didn’t know had resulted in giving her a baby, two sisters of the heart, and a man—a man she knew she was falling in love with.

When the front door crashed open they pulled apart. Vivian rushed in the door, the boxes of letters in her hands and the girls following quickly behind.

Tears streamed down her face as she hurried toward the back of the house. “Find something for them to do. Please, occupy them.”

Vivian rushed by them and both Penelope and Brock looked down at the girls who were obviously shaken.

“I hung a tire swing out back today. You girls want to go swing?” Brock asked and two little heads nodded. “C’mon.”

He gave Penelope’s hand a squeeze as he and the girls passed. Yep, he was a keeper.

Amelia was walking up the front steps of the house and Penelope moved quickly to the door.

“Have you talked to Vivian?” she whispered.

“No,” Amelia whispered back. “Why?”

“She’s in the kitchen. She just ran in here with those boxes of letters and she’s crying. The girls looked scared.”

Amelia’s eyes widened and she took Penelope’s arm and headed to the kitchen. They both knew the letters had been opened. They were all in for a lesson it seemed.

Vivian was at the table and hunched over the boxes. Her shoulders heaved as she cried.

Amelia and Penelope walked cautiously into the room.

“You opened them?” Amelia spoke first.

Vivian popped her head up and her eyes fixed on Amelia. “Did you really think I could ignore them?”

“No.” Amelia pulled out a chair for Penelope, motioned to her, and then took the chair closest to Vivian. “Did you read them all?”

“Yes,” Vivian cried and rested her head against Amelia’s shoulder.

Amelia patted her back and exchanged sad looks with Penelope. Vivian’s hard exterior had been shattered. A broken woman now sat in front of them.

When she caught her breath she sat up. Her eyes were swollen and red. Tears had stained her face and her hair showed signs of fingers having been raked through it.

“I sat down to just put them in order. I needed to see where they started.” She pulled out the first letter from the first box. “This was the first letter he wrote to me after I returned home and went on without him.”

Vivian handed the letter to Amelia, who read it and then passed it to Penelope.

It was awkward to look at Adam’s handwriting and know that he had written the letter. She’d never seen his writing.

There was a stabbing pain in her chest when she realized that she’d never received a letter from him. She’d never seen his writing and never knew what was really in his heart.

As she read the first letter she realized that back then love was in his heart. Pure love for this woman he’d grown up with and had fallen in love with.

The letter talked about how he missed her and wished she’d gone with him. He couldn’t wait until he was home and in her arms again. It talked about having kids someday and even mentioned that he’d like to fix up the yard to the house they’d bought and take down that big tree.

The baby gave Penelope an enormous jab from inside and she sat back in the chair to give him some room.

As Penelope finished the letter she batted her eyes and handed it back to Vivian.

“All of the letters are like that one for the first six months or so. Then he starts to question me. He wants to know why I don’t write to him. Why when he calls I’m so standoffish. By the second and third year the letters have no emotion to them. It’s almost as if he’s writing a journal entry.”

“Why write them then?”

Vivian dropped her shoulders and pulled out an envelope from the second box and handed it to Amelia.

Amelia looked inside and pulled out the contents. “He was sending you checks?”

Vivian nodded. “He hadn’t forgotten me. He wanted me to fix up the house. Once Emma was born he sent more.” The tears were back and Vivian sobbed. “He was trying to take care of us and he thought I’d forgotten about him.”

Amelia pulled her into her arms again and held her.

Penelope couldn’t help but cry. It was comforting to find out that the man she’d married wasn’t a complete bastard.

She rubbed her stomach and the baby moved against her touch.

Again, when Vivian could breathe and the tears had stilled, she pulled out more letters.

“Some of them apologize for the fights we had when he was home. In others he asks me why his mother is the only one sending him pictures of his daughter.”

“Why did she do this?” Amelia asked looking at the letters. “What could she have gained?”

Vivian looked through the boxes and pulled out another letter. “This one struck me as odd. After years of writing to me every day then every week the letters came only once a month with a short note and a check. But this one came and it was much longer.”

“He has something more to say?”

“He had a lot to say. It seemed as though he’d come into the knowledge that his father wasn’t his father.”

Penelope sat up straight. “Are you kidding?”

Vivian shook her head. “His mother had an affair and he was the product of that affair.” She sat back. “I told you if Frank Monroe made a promise he kept it no matter what. He raised Adam as his own.”

“That’s horrible,” Penelope’s voice had grown higher. “Who the hell does that woman think she is? The rules to life apply to everyone else? She thinks she can just do what she wants and it’s okay? Well it’s not! Adam’s father should have kicked her ass to the curb. The nerve of her to cheat a man like that and to lie to her son. And then to do this to you. You were never a threat to her. Just to her ego.”