The Heavenly Surrender (20 page)

Genieva saw the look of wonderment passing between Travis and Brenna before her mother gasped, exclaiming, “Cover your eyes, Maureen!” as she put a hand dramatically to her throat. Maureen only continued to stare in dazzled amazement, and Genieva closed her own eyes, letting her head fall back against Brevan’s powerful shoulder—her hand lacing fingers with his that lay on her abdomen. For all that he viewed her as a burden, he would protect her. He would not let her be taken back to Chicago.

Genieva opened her eyes to find her father still standing before her, a look of defeat and guilt mellowing his features.

“I’m happy here, Father. For the first time in my grown-up life, I’m happy. Doesn’t that mean anything to you? Don’t you care about me and what I
need?” Reaching out, she took Maureen’s hand in her own as she stepped out of Brevan’s protective embrace. Smiling at her sister, she said, “Don’t do it to Maureen either, Father. I beg you. Don’t give her the need to run from you like I did.”

Maureen smiled at her elder sister and returned the comforting squeeze of her hand. Drawing in a breath, she turned Genieva’s hand over in her own and studied it carefully. “Nieva! Your hands! They’re so roughened and dry!”

“They’re working hands now, Maureen. It’s fine,” Genieva assured her, studying her own hands with a measure of disappointment.

“They work to make a home and a man happy in it, lass,” Brevan said to Maureen. He took Genieva’s hands in his own. “They’re skillful, hard workin’,” he whispered. He slipped Genieva’s hand beneath his shirt then—moving it slowly over his warm skin and chest. “And they feel good here.” Genieva smiled at the two sets of eyebrows arching once more on the faces of Brenna and Travis.

“Oh, my! Oh, my!” Genieva’s mother whimpered, fanning herself fiercely with one hand as she witnessed the brazen caress. Genieva nearly giggled out loud as her mother began to sway back and forth slightly—her other hand going to her forehead.

Genieva’s own hand prickled with excitement at the feel of Brevan’s skin and muscle beneath her palm. She silently scolded herself for letting the simple touch affect her so completely.

“
Now,” Brevan began, addressing her father as he dropped Genieva’s hand, “ya’re more than welcome to stay here with us…for a visit, if ya like. All of ya…Mr. Bankmans, Mrs. Bankmans, and wee little sister too.” His voice was stern as he continued, “That is…assumin’ ya’ve accepted the situation and settled yar mind where Genieva’s concerned.”

Genieva watched with great trepidation as her father’s chest rose and fell heavily with withheld anger. Her mother frowned—silently pleading with him, as Maureen only continued to stare, dumbfounded, at Brevan.

“Have you the room?” Genieva’s father asked. “The house looks small from without.”

“You and yar wife can stay in me sister’s old bedroom. It’s the nicest, it is. We’ve got a spare next to that one for the lass. Genieva and I have our own. Ya’re welcome in me house…as long as ya accept that this is my house. Mine and Genieva’s,” Brevan answered.

“Oh please, Evert. She’s our daughter,” Genieva’s mother whispered.

Genieva watched her father’s face hopefully. After all, they were her family—for all their faults, she loved them. She could hope for nothing more from them than forgiveness and understanding.

“
Very well. We’ll stay the day and one night,” Evert Bankmans agreed. “But I’ve got to get back to Chicago immediately.” Going to Genieva, he took her by the shoulders and glared harshly at her. “I’ll accept this, Genieva, and deal with it the best I am capable. I don’t, however, approve of what you’ve done.”

“Choosing my own course, being that it was correct and legal, Father…was right for me. Brevan is more of a man than Andre Stewart could even fathom. I want a full life,” Genieva explained.

“If you’ll be excusin’ me now,” Brevan muttered, striding toward the front door—and, no doubt, escape. “I’ve got a full day’s work to be finishin’ in an hour’s time before the sun sets itself.” He let the screen door slam behind him as he left.

“Oh, yes,” Brenna said, fairly leaping to her feet. “Travis and I have ever so much to do yet in the day, we do.” Offering her hand to Genieva’s mother, she quickly shook hands with the woman. As she took Travis’s arm, leading him toward the door, she winked at Genieva.

“It was mighty nice meeting you folks,” Travis said, shaking Evert’s hand. He tipped his hat at Genieva before he and Brenna followed Brevan out of the house.

“He is magnificent!” Maureen sighed, walking to the window and watching Brevan saunter toward the barn.

“
He is not a horse, Maury,” Genieva reminded. “And he’s married.” For all the love Genieva held for her sister, she was not blinded by her sweet beauty. Maureen was an incurable flirt—even with men who weren’t overpoweringly attractive the way Brevan was. She felt very uncomfortable suddenly being witness to her sister’s obvious infatuation with Brevan.

“Well, I’m glad he’s gone,” Genieva’s mother commented, putting an arm around Genieva’s shoulder. “He’s terribly large…and quite frightening. Is he as violent as he appears, Genieva? I’ve heard tell of the Irish temperament.”

“He’s no brute, Mother. He’s an extraordinary man,” Genieva replied—thoughtful.

“What next?” Brevan grumbled to himself as he stormed into the barn. “I’ve got me a whole crew of irritatin’ relations now.” As he began to toss the hay into the feeding troughs with a pitchfork, his mind repeated the conversation with the Bankmans.

He’d gone into the kitchen for a glass of milk that morning—wondering where Genieva had run off to, for she was nowhere to be found. As he sat in his house relaxing for a brief few moments in the day, there came a knock on the door, and he’d opened it to find Genieva’s family staring at him—mouths gaping open in surprise.

Brevan had been instantly furious with his wife—for she had never made mention of her family to him. Furthermore, as her father began to relate the reason for their unexpected visit and Brevan learned that Genieva was to have wed some wilty, choirboy type in Chicago, he was more agitated. Yet he’d bound his temper and waited patiently for Genieva to return from wherever it was that she’d gone off to.

Brenna and Travis had arrived shortly after the Bankmans, and Brevan was forced to endure nearly an entire half an hour listening to their polite and insincere conversation. He spoke hardly a word himself—only listened as Genieva’s babbling sister related the circumstances in Chicago that had apparently caused Genieva to flee.

When Genieva did return, looking at her family as if they were the angels of death sent to take her, Brevan learned all the more of Genieva’s arranged marriage. It became clear to him then why such a completely adorable woman would accept a marriage and situation offered by a stranger living nearly as far away from Chicago as possible. This angered him even more—that a parent would force a child into such an unhappy life. Brevan knew that were he ever to have children, he would let them make their own path—prayerful and hoping they would be good and happy adults.

These thoughts brought his mind to settling on the farce he had concocted to convince Genieva’s father of the seriousness of her having married. A child? Whatever had made him think of Genieva carrying his child? He surely never intended for her to do so. Never! Why, that would entail…

“
Ya’re losin’ yar brain, ya are, Brevan McLean,” he mumbled to himself. Still, an image of a small girl with his wife’s color-shifting eyes and freckled nose kept presenting itself to his mind’s eye.

He paused in pitching the hay. Leaning on the fork’s handle, he thought once again of Genieva’s eyes. He chuckled at the thought of the deep brown hue they assumed when her temper was provoked—of the near emerald green shade they blazed each time her jealous nature was uncovered. He winced as he thought of the grayish blue tint clouding her eyes each time she felt pain or deep sorrow. He inwardly chastised himself, knowing that at times he had been the cause of this color manifesting itself. An arrogant smile spread across his face then, as he remembered vividly the violet color her eyes had sparkled the few times he had held her in his arms and kissed her. Definitely the violet—that was certainly his favorite color of Genieva’s eyes.

He felt his masculine pride welling in his chest as he thought then of the way Genieva’s body had melted to his when he’d taken her in his arms to defend her only moments before. Chuckling, he resumed his efforts in the barn, mumbling under his breath, “Well, at the least their bein’ here should provide some entertainin’ situations.”



It was late afternoon before Brevan entered the house again. Genieva had endured several more arguments with her father and endless other comments from her sister about Brevan’s profound good looks. Thus, she was immensely relieved to see him walk into the kitchen—for his entrance ended all conversation.

He smiled at Maury and her mother and went to where Genieva had three loaves of bread dough rising on the stovetop.

Genieva saw Brevan approach the loaves and, going to stand next to him, warned, “Just one
pinch.” Genieva had learned that not only did Brevan dip his fingers into cake batters and cookie doughs—he was destructive to bread loaves as well. There were many times she would come in to check on the rising bread only to find it looking like a hen had been pecking at it.

“One pinch?” he asked, raising his eyebrows in daring.

“One pinch, Brevan,” Genieva repeated. To her horror, he shrugged his shoulders and quickly pinched her smartly on the seat of her skirt. “Of the bread dough, Brevan!” Genieva scolded. “Of the dough!” He shrugged and winked slyly at her before pinching off a large piece of dough from one of the loaves and walking casually to the other side of the room.

“Oh, my! Oh, dear,” Abigail gasped, as she began to swoon and fan herself once more. Genieva looked to her sister. Maureen was simply crimson with delight at what she had just witnessed. Genieva bit her lip to hide the amused smile forming on her own face. The expressions of her family, save the angry one of her father, were completely amusing.

“Would yar sister be wantin’ to help me milk the cows then, Genieva?” Brevan asked. “It would seem they missed bein’ milked this mornin’.”

“Let her go, Abigail. We don’t want Maureen
bolting from her responsibilities,” Evert said pointedly to Genieva.

Maury giggled and linked her arm through Brevan’s, leading him toward the front door. “I’ve never been on a farm before, Brevan,” she told him, flashing a dazzling smile.

“Really now?” Brevan asked as they left.

Genieva went to the window and watched them for a moment. After putting the loaves of bread to bake in the oven, she excused herself and left the house, making her way toward the barn. As she approached, she could hear Maury talking to Brevan, and she quickened her step, for she recognized the intonation in her sister’s voice at once.

Enraged, Genieva opened the barn door and stepped in to see Brevan sitting on the stool milking one of the cows. Maury was bent over him, leaning as close to his face as she could conceivably be—trying to appear interested in the milking process.

“
Are you quite finished, Brevan?” Genieva asked, trying her best not to snap out the question. “Dinner’s nearly ready.”

“Oh, Nieva,” Maury giggled, “do you actually do this most of the time?”

“Yes, Maury. Milking has to be done every day. Why don’t you go in and ask Mother to check my bread for me?”

Maury smiled at Genieva and nodded. She was nearly to the house when Brevan stood up from the milking. Instantly, Genieva glared at him, turning briskly on her heels and heading for the house.

“Here now, lass,” Brevan said, catching hold of her arm and turning her to face him, “there’s nothin’ to be gettin’ yar skirt all wrinkled about.”

As Genieva looked up at him, the emerald green of her eyes caused his eyebrows to arch in surprise. “Flirting! Shamelessly flirting with my own sister! And in the barn of all places!” she shouted in a whisper, glancing around to be certain no one was about.

“Me? Flirtin’ with that wee, silly lass?” Brevan defended. He chuckled, amused. He continued, “Genieva McLean, I would no more flirt with yar shallow-minded sister than I would a dead woman!”

“I heard you,” Genieva argued.

“Ya heard her, Genieva. Not me. Think back on it now,” Brevan reminded.

Genieva continued to breathe angrily—now humiliation accompanied her irritation—for she realized he was correct. Brevan had said nothing improper to Maureen.

“She’s a watchin’ us now, she is,” he whispered then.

“Where?” Genieva asked, turning to look around.

“Aaahhh! Don’t look about, lass. We’ll let her think she’s not bein’ seen. And we’ll teach the bitter pill a lesson, too, we will,” Brevan whispered as he pulled Genieva’s body snugly against his own.

“What…what do you mean?” Genieva stammered—thoroughly unnerved by the sensation of astounding elation that traveled through her body at his touch.

“Don’t be lookin’ like ya’re not wantin’ me attentions, lass. She’ll be on to ya then,” Brevan whispered as he pulled her even tighter against his body. “Let yar arms go ’round me shoulders,” he instructed. As Genieva did let her trembling hands lock at the back of his neck, Brevan said, “Ya see now, that be lookin’ a bit more believable.”