The Jock (23 page)

"So
Marc," Granddad Willy began as he scooped out a helping of his wife's
mashed potatoes and gravy onto his plate, "I understand you're an
accountant, son."

"Yes
sir, I am."

"Good
field?"

Marc
grinned engagingly. "Monetarily, yes. Unfortunately, it's also quite
boring."

The
guests at the table laughed. Sam gave Marc a good-natured slap on the back.
"To be honest, Willy, Marc and I are talkin' 'bout openin' up our own
restaurant when my contract with the Crusaders is up."

Willy
grunted. "Ain't that what all retired ball players do, son?"

Sam
smiled, unashamed. "Yep. I'm thinkin' so." He held his hands out,
palms up, as if surrendering to the inevitable. "Who am I to alter
tradition?"

Verlene
chuckled. The Jones family matriarch looked radiant tonight in her red and
green outfit that matched her husband's. But whereas Granddad Willy's holiday
ensemble, which consisted of green trousers and a red tee-shirt that read,
Come
sit on Santa's lap
, made him look like a perverted caricature of Santa
Clause, Verlene still managed to reek of elegance. "Who indeed. What sort
of a restaurant are you two boys planning to open up?"

Sam
squirmed restlessly in his seat. He and Marc had only discussed the
preliminaries, so he hadn't yet mentioned any of this to Gwenyth. Sam could
only hope that his wife would be supportive instead of feeling slighted in the
decision-making process. He cleared his throat. "Well to be honest, this is
all in the rough draft stage, but since Marc and I are both fans of archeology,
we were thinkin' 'bout somethin' along those lines."

Gwenyth's
fork came to a halt halfway in between her plate and her mouth. "No
kidding? You've never mentioned this to me before."

To
Sam's relief, his wife's reaction was one of interest instead of anger. He let
out a breath he hadn't been aware of holding in. "Like I said, Cupcake,
it's still in the plannin' stages. I didn't want to say anything about it until
we had more to go on."

Gwenyth
waved that statement away with a flick of her wrist. "Don't be silly. Tell
us what the two of you are thinking about."

Candy
glanced up from the rather serious job of buttering a roll. "Yeah Sam,
tell us."

Harry
scratched his chin. He absently noted that Monique was cutting up his ham into
bite-sized pieces for him to eat before he turned to Sam and Marc and inclined
his head. "I might be interested in getting in on this. Lord knows I need
something to fall back on."

Gwenyth
giggled. "True. It's not like my brother has a steady job. Every two
years, he faces getting the boot."

Sam
grinned. Gesturing toward Marc, he indicated that the floor was all his.
"You tell 'em."

Apparently
delighted with the topic, Marc proceeded to enlighten the group with an excited
air about him. "It's true that a lot of ball players open up restaurants,
but those pubs tend to be sports bars. Well not us. We are going to open up a
bar and grille with the theme being—are you ready for this? Dead
civilizations!"

The
table grew quiet. There was an embarrassed pause before the silence was broken.

"What
are you boys sayin'? Willy asked. "The waitresses are gonna be walkin'
around dressed as pharaohs, or wearin' togas, or somethin'?"

"No
we're not sayin' that at all!" Sam countered defensively. "Well,
maybe we are. Is that such a bad idea?" he asked combatively.

Gwenyth
swirled apple juice around in her cup as she considered that. "Perhaps
not," she said thoughtfully. "I admit that the idea takes some
getting used to, but let's face it, part of owning a successful establishment
these days comes from being able to stand out from everybody else."

"True."
Harry seconded that notion with a nod of his head. "The more I think on
it, the more I know I want in on this." His eyes lit up with a boyish
excitement. "Even the rooms could be different themes."

Marc
smiled, his own sense of excitement showing. "An Egyptian room, a Greek
room..."

"A
Roman room," Sam added.

"You
could build by the beach," Candy enthused.

"This
is
Florida," Verlene gracefully intoned, "tackier things have
been done."

Gwenyth
grinned at her husband, her dimples popping out seductively. "Tourists
love tacky, Sam."

Sam
shook his head and laughed. "Believe it or not, we don't want to be tacky.
We were thinkin' of havin' the eatin' rooms in different themes, but the
waiters and waitresses would be dressed up like explorers, not wearin' togas or
anything like that."

Willy
harrumphed, but admitted the idea had possibilities. "Y'all have a long
while to work out the particulars, but it does sound like a plan."

The
group talked enthusiastically about the tentative restaurant while Gwenyth
worried her bottom lip. She wondered how Sam would take to the idea of
fatherhood now that he apparently had other things he wanted to do when he
retired. After all, she could hardly take a baby on a photo shoot. Would Sam be
willing to watch their unborn child at his restaurant? Briefly succumbing to a
newfound hesitancy to tell him her news, Gwenyth mustered her courage and
plowed full speed ahead. "I have an announcement to make."

The
table's guests stopped what they were doing and regarded Gwenyth speculatively.
She swallowed nervously, noting that even mousy little Monique had looked up
from her rather adorable task of tucking Harry's napkin onto his lap. Sparing
the gathering one last glance, Gwenyth turned in her seat and smiled serenely
at her husband. She didn't see any point in dragging the pronouncement out.
"I'm pregnant."

Forks
clanged against plates as they dropped from stunned hands. Laughter and
energetic "congratulations" rose throughout the room. But Gwenyth had
eyes only for Sam. Biting down hard on her lip, she watched the expressions
that passed over his face as if in slow motion. First there was shock, then
surprise, and if her senses didn't fail her, Gwenyth was certain she was now
looking at elated happiness.

"Gwen,
are you serious?" Sam clutched his wife's hand in his own and squeezed it.
"We're gonna have a baby?"

Gwenyth
nodded up and down, smiling brightly.

"I'm
gonna be a daddy?" Sam lilted out shrilly, his eyes exultant. "A
father?"

She
nodded again.

Verlene
dabbed at her watering eyes, then did the same for her husband. Clutching
Willy's hand in her own, she waited to see her grandson-in-law's reaction. It
wasn't long in coming.

Sam
jumped up out of his seat with a whoop, plucked his wife up out of hers, and
swung her into his arms with a laugh. "A baby! We're gonna have a
baby!"

The
Treviannis heard the cheers and the laughter and they knew that their family
and friends were nearly as excited as they were, but they had eyes only for
each other. "This won't get in the way of your restaurant plans?"
Gwenyth asked hesitantly.

"Are
you kiddin', woman?" Sam hooted. "My babies go where their daddy
goes!"

Tell
me you love me, Sam.
"I've
made you happy then?"

"I'm
the happiest man alive."

But
do you love me?
"Really?"

"Really,
Cupcake."

Sam
pulled his wife closer into his side as he accepted the toast Harry was making
for them with a jubilant expression arresting his features. Gwenyth offered him
a tentative smile in return, wishing she could feel as wonderful about this as
her husband obviously was. Sam Trevianni might not find anything amiss about
bringing a baby into the world when he wasn't capable of verbally expressing
his love for another human being, but Gwenyth Jones Trevianni certainly did.

* * * * *

Sam
just couldn't stop grinning. He realized he was no doubt smiling like a
simpleton, but he couldn't seem to help himself. He was going to be a father, a
real live, honest to goodness daddy. He couldn't remember ever being happier.

Sam
strolled into the living room with two logs under his arms, whistling an
animated Harry Connick Jr. tune. The living room was the only area of their new
house that didn't still have boxes piled up all over the place, so he and
Gwenyth had opted to spend the night together in a sleeping bag before the
fireplace. Sam smiled in anticipation of what was going to transpire in that
very sleeping bag once he got the fire blazing.

"It's
a cold Florida night tonight, Cupcake. The thermometer out back reads 42
degrees." Sam threw the logs onto the fire and watched the flames of the
already kindled wood begin to lick at the new ones. Satisfied, he turned around
to regard his wife. "Cupcake?" His muscled thighs squatted down to
where Gwenyth sat, staring into the flames. "What's wrong, baby?"

Gwenyth
blinked a few times in rapid succession, as if she hadn't been aware of the
fact that Sam was in the room talking to her. Not ready to discuss her
thoughts, she smiled up at him instead. "Nothing." She shook her
head. "Nothing at all."

Sam
didn't buy her smooth dismissal for a New York minute. Grunting, he reached out
for her small hands and warmed them with his two large ones. "Don't give
me that, Gwenyth Marie. Now tell me what's botherin' you." Suddenly
worried that she didn't want to carry their baby, his throat went dry.
"You do want to have our little one, don't you, Gwen?"

Gwenyth
snapped out of her dismal thoughts and scowled at her husband. "Of course
I do!"

Sam
released an audible breath. He was glad to hear his wife's heated denial, but
he also wanted to get to the bottom of whatever it was that was bugging her.
"Baby, you've been quiet ever since you announced the fact that you're
pregnant. What's wrong? And don't insult my intelligence by tellin' me
nothing
because I know that's a lie." He squeezed her hands reassuringly, then
added, "so tell me."

Gwenyth
mentally counted to ten. She absolutely did not want to have this conversation.
She did not want to tell her husband that she was worried about their baby's
emotional health before he or she was even born. On the other hand, Sam looked
truly worried, and she didn't want that either. She did love her husband, even
if the stubborn man refused to acknowledge that he felt the same way about her.
"Are you going to tell our child that you love it, or will you just expect
it to know?" she asked quietly.

Sam's
eyes widened considerably. Suddenly, he felt nervous. "Come again?"

Gwenyth's
hands balled into fists as she thrust them to her sides. She'd already taken
the cat out of the bag, so to speak, so there was little use in backing away
from the conversation now. "A baby needs to hear that they are loved, Sam.
Will you tell our son or daughter how much they mean to you, or will you refuse
to share those feelings with them, the same as you refuse to share them with
me?"

Sam
flinched at Gwenyth's accusatory tone. She had the right of it, he knew, for
they'd been married almost two months and he'd yet to say the binding words to
her. Why that was, he had no idea. Oh, he'd been cautious in the beginning, not
wanting to verbally relinquish all claims to his heart until he knew for
certain that Gwenyth felt the same way about him as he felt about her, but he'd
figured out that she did weeks ago.

A
fact that never failed to amaze Sam. He had flown the coop and stayed out of
Gwenyth's life for ten years, then sauntered back in as bold as he pleased. He
had coerced and manipulated his wife into speaking her vows at the altar, yet
he was as sure of her love now as he was certain that the sun would rise
tomorrow morning.

Sam
released Gwenyth's hands in favor of scratching his chin. He took in his wife's
expression—a curious mixture of resignation and fury—and felt his stomach flip
over. What a coward he had been! And now when he wanted to shout it to the
heavens that he was in love with his wife, he was afraid Gwenyth would think he
was saying it only because of the baby they'd made together and not because he
genuinely felt it. "Cupcake, we need to talk."

Gwenyth
unballed her hands, then folded her arms under her breasts and nodded.
"Okay, so talk."

"It's
not easy for me to admit when I'm wrong, Gwen, but I'm admittin' it here and
now. I was wrong." Sam took a deep breath, expelled it, and plowed on.
"If you even get it in your mind that I'm sayin' what I'm 'bout to say
because of our child, then I'm goin' to turn you over my knee and spank you
because that's not the case."

Sam
unfolded Gwenyth's arms from her chest and picked each hand up for a quick, but
meaningful kiss. "I love you, Gwenyth Marie Trevianni. I've loved you
since I was a boy, I never stopped lovin' you all those ten years while we were
apart, and I'll go on lovin' you for the rest of my life." Sam squeezed
her hands as if afraid to let go. His eyes begged her, pleaded with her to
understand. "Please tell me you believe me, Gwen. I love you so much,
baby. I've been a fool and I know it, but I'm a fool who loves you."