Annie's Song (3 page)

“Heaven above.” She lowered her head to his shoulder. “You certainly know how to humble.”

“That was not my intention. This was: you are important to me. I am willing to wait until Zach accepts my presence in your life.” He settled her to the sand, long fingers closing around her hand. “And there is no expiration on that. Take as long as you need, as long as he needs. Though I would prefer sooner rather than later.”

His smile made her ache. His words eased the weight on her heart.

“I’ll work on it. Now, Jinn, since you paid for a meal we didn’t eat, the dinner we do eat is on me.” She raised her hand before he could argue. “How does a steak dinner shared in the back of my shop sound?”

“The twelve ounce porterhouse from Billie’s Pub?” He bent over her hand, kissed her palm. “I knew there was a reason I loved you.”

“My boys and their meat.” Still in turmoil from his kiss, she freed her hand, picked up her shoes. “If we hurry, there may still be some of her apple pie left.”

She laughed as he grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the boardwalk. They stopped long enough for her to slip on her shoes. She didn’t bother with her hair; the evening damp had its way with her waves, and nothing short of a full dunking would calm them.

“Claire.” Marcus cradled her cheek, those beautiful gold-laced green eyes studying her. “We will make this work. Whatever it takes, we will be a family.”

She closed her eyes, felt his lips brush over hers. Family.

The one thing she always wanted.

The one thing she never thought she would have.

SIX

A
nnie rolled over, blinking at the morning sunlight streaming in through the window. Sunlight—

She sat, nearly blinded by the bright room. And bolted across the room as the now familiar nausea clutched her stomach.

Crouching over the toilet, she threw up, dry heaves cramping her muscles. Strong hands closed over her shoulders, held her until she found control of her body. Gasping, she stretched out on the floor, cold from the tiles seeping through her pajamas, soothing her overheated skin. Eric leaned over her, pushed tangled curls off her cheek.

“Not fish this time,” he said. She shook her head, miserable. “I’m going to have the concierge find a doctor—”

“No,” she whispered, flinching at her raw voice. “Let me just rest. If it’s the flu, I’ll know in a few hours—”

“And if it’s not? I won’t take the chance, Annie.”

“Please.” She hated doctors—hated the thought of them, ever since a cold, clinical surgeon informed her that her parents were dead, in a tone that could have been ordering takeout, for all its concern. “If I’m not better by tonight, I’ll see a doctor. You go—don’t miss the bus tour because of me.”

Eric helped her up, guided her to the bed and helped her settle, tucking her in like a child. “I’ll have the front desk send up some medicine. Don’t you leave this room. That’s not negotiable. I’m not taking the bus tour without you, but I will leave for a while, to let you get some sleep.” His lips brushed her forehead. “You’re not feverish.” He stood, relief on his face. Pushing one hand through his sun streaked hair, his voice moved into lecture mode. “Drink fluids, take your medicine, and stay in bed, Annie. You need to rest.”

“Aye, captain.”

He flashed a smile, brushed a kiss over her cheek, and left her alone.

She curled up on her side, her stomach aching and hollow. Just the thought of food made her nauseous. Though she thought she could manage a little water. The pretty crystal carafe on the nightstand was in easy reach. Carefully, she sat, poured half a glass of water and took an experimental sip. It stayed down, felt good on her raw throat.

Until these bouts of nausea, she’d been fine. Better than fine, with two weeks of nothing but Eric and the day’s plans to ponder over, to enjoy. It felt like it had been years since she had such a long stretch of drama-free time. Not that she was complaining—it was an exhilarating way to live. And exhausting.

She would have to recharge like this every once in a while, because she didn’t plan on missing out on any of Claire’s adventures—even if it was the wild ride of raising a teenage boy who had once been a rogue angel.

Now if she could just shake this bug, she and Eric could—

She stilled as a horrible thought burned into her mind.

No . . . God, no—I can’t be . . .

Mentally, her throat dry, she counted back the days, the weeks to her last period. She was never regular, so missing a month wasn’t cause for a flaming panic party. It had been—God, she couldn’t remember.

“Bring on the panic party,” she whispered.

Climbing out of bed, she dressed as fast as she could, praying she wouldn’t run into Eric outside. She would head away from the high street, hit the chemist on the next street over, and slink back here. If he beat her back, she’d just lock herself in the bathroom until she knew.

Once the idea that she could be pregnant took hold, it burned out every other thought. She didn’t even remember her path to the chemist, and lost all awareness of her surroundings. Until she stood in front of the shelf, staring at the assortment of pregnancy tests.

It was too soon. She wasn’t ready—God, was Eric ready? She didn’t even know if she had what it took to be a mother.

Please, I can’t be—not yet—

Cutting off the pointless repetition, she grabbed three different tests and stood in line to check out, trying to look as unconcerned as possible. And she managed, until she set them on the counter, and the cashier started to gush.

“You’ll be knowing the truth in just minutes with these—quality tests.” Winking, she rang them up, then handed over the bag that thankfully concealed them. “Take yourself back to the mister, let him share the joy. The best to both of you, lass.”

The woman’s final words, spoken with such warmth, eased Annie’s desire to crawl quietly out of the store. More than every step she’d taken, every wild denial that tried to blast out the thought, this stranger’s quiet blessing drove home the truth she already knew.

She left the store, took in a deep breath, and started back toward the hotel. Every detail, from the brightly painted storefronts, to the people hustling around her, was sharp, clear, and so full of life. She wanted to cry, to marvel, to be in awe of the possibility that she, Annie Sullivan, could be like the woman walking along the sidewalk, holding the hand of a beautiful little girl, smiling at her bright chatter.

Heart pounding, she made her way to the hotel, both relieved and disappointed that Eric wasn’t there. She locked herself in the bathroom, broke open the first test, read the instructions, peed on the stick, and huddled on the edge of the bath tub, staring at the small square, waiting for her life to change.

The two pink lines lodged her breath in her throat. She shook the stick, hoping it would change, wanting it to stay. Both lines stuck, mocking her attempt to change the truth. Not satisfied, she took the second, then the third.

And found herself, huddled on the floor, staring at the line of test sticks, each one happily informing her that yes, she was pregnant! Congratulations!

She lowered her head to her knees, tears stinging her eyes. And heard the door to the room close, announcing Eric’s presence.

“Annie?” Footsteps approached the bathroom. “Are you okay, sweetheart? I brought some soup—the hotel owner’s wife heard you were sick, and brought it over herself. Annie?” The door latch jiggled. She pulled herself up, sat on the tub. “Unlock the door, Annie, you’re making me nervous.” Using the wall, she stood, still lightheaded, but no longer nauseous, and flicked the door lock. She was sitting on the tub again by the time Eric opened the door. “What are you . . .”

His voice faded as he looked at the floor. She watched his gaze move from the pile of torn boxes, to the neat line of test sticks, and finally, to her.

“The answer is yes.” She stood, panic roaring back through the shock. “You got me pregnant.”

He looked at her, then down at her still flat stomach. “Pregnant.”

“Yes, pregnant—expecting, with child, baby on board. Oh, God.” She lowered herself to the edge of the tub, covered her face. “I’m pregnant, Eric.”

He touched her wrist, his voice quiet, raw. “You’re sure?”

“Last I checked, the damn tests rarely make a mistake—especially three times in a row.”

“We’re going to have a baby.” She peeked through her hands, terrified of what she would see. The smile that lit up his face shook her. He cradled her face, kissed her, so tender, so gentle, tears stung her eyes. “I love you, blondie.”

“Good thing, because now you’re stuck with me.”

“Both of you.” He laid his hand on her stomach. “God, Annie—I thought you were dying. You scared the hell out of me these last few days.” He kissed her again, then knelt in front of her, touching her stomach. “Hey, there. I’m your daddy.” She smiled down at him, tears filling her eyes. “Welcome to the world, little one.” He kissed her stomach. She slid her hands into his hair, hoping their child would inherit the thick, sandy waves instead of her wild curls. She wouldn’t wish those on her worst enemy. His hands moved up, caught her hips, eased her down until she sat in his lap. He wrapped his arms around her, and buried his face in her hair. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

“You’re not mad.”

Leaning back, he met her eyes. “Why would I be mad? I love you, Annie, and we wanted children—”

“Yeah. Someday. Not today.”

He smiled. “I don’t think it’s going to happen today.”

“Smartass.” She laid her head on his shoulder, gingerly touching her stomach. “I don’t know if I’m ready—or if I’m even cut out to be a mother. I had the greatest mom in the world, but I never had her patience, her kindness, her ability to cut through the bullshit I threw at her—”

“Annie.” Laughter edged his voice. “You just described yourself.”

“Are you kidding me? I have so little patience I can hardly stand myself sometimes—”

He laid one finger on her lips. “I’ve watched you maneuver Mildred at the store, without so much as losing your smile. She would test the patience of a saint. And you’re beautiful to watch with Zach. He adores you—and our kids will adore you, as much as I do.”

“Damn.” She slid her hands up his chest, one finger tracing the design on his sweater. “I wanted to be mad at you. My so-sexy-it-was-going-to-make-your-jaw-drop gown isn’t going to fit. Not that I can wear it, since it’s at the bridal shop, waiting to be fitted, and I decided to have an impromptu wedding in a foreign country.”

“I don’t care what you’re wearing—though I’d like to see that dress,” he winked at her, “before it doesn’t fit.”

“I was wrong.” She pushed at his chest, trying not to smile. “You’re just an ass.”

Laughing, he gathered her up, nuzzled her neck. “How about a nap, mama-to-be?”

The enormity of it left her breathless, but energized.

“No—I need to move. Can you give me an hour? I need to absorb this.”

“Sure.” Helping her up, he kept his arm around her, escorted her out of the bathroom and to the door, grabbing her blue leather jacket off the coat rack. “We’ll need to make some decisions when you come back.”

She halted, her jacket only half on. “You mean about telling people?”

“That, and the wedding, to start. If you want to wait until after . . . we can talk about it when you get back.” That hesitation clearly told her he didn’t want to wait.

She shoved her other arm in her jacket and brushed hair off her forehead. “Okay—I have more to think about than I thought.” She smiled, shaking her head. “And with that pithy statement, I’m out of here.”

Eric stopped her, framed her face with his hands, kissed her. “If you’re up for it, we’ll celebrate when you get back.”

She nodded, her throat too tight to get any words through, and wandered out of the hotel. Turning right, she walked down the alley next to the hotel, and out to the patchwork fields behind it.

Before she realized where she wanted to go, she was heading for the standing stones she read about in the paper. Most of them still stood, casting shadows on the grass. On this rare sunny day, they were bathed in the clear yellow light, looking otherworldly in the wind blown field, surrounded by bleating sheep. She and Eric had been so busy with other sites, she hadn’t had the chance to visit them until now.

She stopped in between two of the leaning stones. They were at least ten feet high, and oddly graceful, smoothed and shaped by centuries of wind and weather—

“Jeez—where did that come from?” She wasn’t fanciful—hell, even her approach to witchcraft was practical. Eric, she thought. Eric made her believe in pretty much everything.

As she stood still, one hand on the surprisingly warm stone, she felt the ley lines that supposedly ran across this entire part of the country, humming under her feet.

She felt it, and couldn’t deny it. This place held magic. Powerful magic, that pulled her in, called to her own power. As she let the silence surround her, she felt her sapphire ring warm against her finger. After the last few years as Claire’s friend, standing in the middle of the impossible, she thought she couldn’t be surprised by anything.

But the south of England surprised her—with its long stretches of green field, populated only by sheep, cows, and the occasional farmstead. There were postcard perfect villages, where they’d been welcomed with a warmth she didn’t expect, and the soft, quiet beauty of the land. She’d never seen anything like it, and it took her by surprise, again, every time she ventured out. It also soothed, in a way she didn’t expect from anywhere but her beloved beach at home.

She needed that sense of peace now, her thoughts crashing against each other. Still a little shaky, she leaned against the stone, one hand on her stomach.

“God,” she whispered, staring at the ground. “How am I going to do this?”

Torn grass caught her eye. She followed it—and anger gave her a boost of adrenaline when she saw the damage.

“Damn stupid asshat. How could they do that?”

She made her way to the standing stone, now at a dangerous angle. The paper said that archaeologists were on their way to assess and help repair the damage done to the circle. They obviously hadn’t come yet.