BILLIONAIRE FOR KEEPS: Book 3 (Point St. Claire, where true love finds a way) (6 page)

Griffin was wearing a track in the carpet, pacing around the cottage living room like that. Back at the café, Vanessa had decided that they’d needed to talk. But clearly, asking him back here had been a mistake.

“I just need to get one thing off my chest,” he said, stopping in front of her. “Then I’ll back off. Totally. If that’s what you want.”

“That would be appreciated.”

“I didn’t ask you out to dinner that first night for any reason other than I wanted to.
Me
. No one else.”

“Just convenient that becoming Ronan’s son-in-law came with inheriting a company you’d wanted for years. But you can’t dis a good Plan B. Getting Toomey Constructions at a reduced price
and
without tying any knots.”

“First of all, yes, Ronan wanted to see you happy. Second, he never suggested I pursue you. Third, your father practically begged me to buy that company.”

“Practically
begged
?”

“You’ve said yourself. Construction is not your thing. It’s your father’s. It’s
mine
. Ronan knew he was a candidate for another heart attack.”

“Something else he kept from me.”
But obviously not from you.

“If worse came to worst,” Griffin went on, “he didn’t want you stuck with falling share prices, dirty face offs between managers, having to accept an offer below what that company is worth.”

“So he went behind my back.”

“For god’s sakes, Nessa, can’t you give your old man that much? He worked his whole life to build that place up, and he did it for his family. He was too smart to risk it all at the end.”

She let out that breath in an agitated huff. “You still don’t get it. It’s not what Dad did. It’s
how
he did it.” He’d kept secrets. About his health. About Griffin.

Now Griffin closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose before trying again. “Let’s get this into perspective. You suddenly cast me out of your life for reasons I’m still not certain of. If you had known that Ronan wanted to sell his company to me, you’d have demanded he find another way. And Ronan wanted― No, damn it, he
deserved
to do it
his
way.”

“Even if it meant lying to my face.”

“Ronan wanted to
protect
you.”

Argh
. He was driving her crazy. Something else was driving her nuts, too. Claws on glass. Incessant scratching. 

She flung open the glass doors and the cat hurried in. When it twined around her legs, she picked it up, snuggled it under her chin and, closing her eyes, wished this all away.

She found her calmer center and asked, “Is that all?”

“No. That’s not all.”

He scooped the cat from her arms, dropped it to the floor then held her shoulders and searched her eyes with a determination―a
pleading―
that almost broke her. They’d been the perfect couple. She’d adored everything about him. And a dejected stupid part of her wanted to believe he’d loved her, too.

But Griffin had never said the words. And even if he had…

She shrugged away, swept up the cat again while Griffin set his fists low on his hips.

“Can’t we get past this?”

“Why?”

His brows dipped together. “Because if you weren’t so damn stubborn you could admit that we’re good together. Have been from the start. This is killing me, Nessa.” His hands dropped to his sides. “I miss you so much.”

Vanessa bit back the tears. Suddenly she was so tired.

“What do you want, Griffin?”

“I want
you
. Just you. Nothing else. No interruptions. No diversions. I want to get back to our lives, exactly like it was before.”

Her stomach somersaulted as she nodded. Even smiled.

“I’m sorry.” She really was. But, “That’s not enough.”

Not anymore.

The clock on the mantle was the loudest Vanessa had ever heard. Didn’t help that the room was cluttered. Stuffy. That her host had the exact same unusual gray eyes as Griffin. Only older.

And sadder.

Maureen Hayes indicated Vanessa should take a chair next to the mantle, and that clock, while she picked up her knitting and started to pearl so fast, her fingers and yarn were a blur. She didn’t even need to look. 

“You were a girlfriend of Giffy’s?”

Vanessa paused. Did she say
Giffy?
She cleared her throat. “Your son and I had a relationship.”

“So handsome and focused. I’m glad it worked out for him. His education. Boston. It’s too quiet here for a boy like mine.”

“I used to spend summers here with my family when I was young.”

“You remember our Bait and Tackle shop? Giffy kept it running after his father finally left.”

“Griffin told me.” That clock suddenly sounded even louder, so Vanessa spoke louder, too. “He and his dad didn’t get on so well?”

“His father was a skunk. I told Giffy he needed to be different. Make better choices even if they seemed hard at the time.”

“Like leaving your husband instead trying to make it work?”

Maureen’s needles stopped clicking. “Stanley never wanted to be a father. Said that right from the start. I kept hoping and praying coz that’s what a girl in love with a baby on the way does. Hope and pray. Pray and hope.” The needles clicked again. “That’s your problem, isn’t it? That’s why you’re here.”

Vanessa froze. Maureen couldn’t know.
No one
knew.

“Giff never hated his father,” Maureen went on. “He loved him. Idolized him. Time and again that SOB let his son down. Ever since, Giff’s been determined not to turn out the same.
Overcompensation
―that’s the word. You ask my son to do something, consider it done and dusted.”

Vanessa found a smile. “He is very…persistent.”

Maureen whipped her knitting around and started a new row.

“I could knit all day long,” she said. “Evenings, too. Dog coats. Sweaters. Socks. Bonnets and booties.” When Vanessa stiffened, Maureen paused and then set down her needles. “You have to tell him.”

When the older woman’s gaze dropped to Vanessa’s belly…well, what was the point in pretending?

You have to tell him.

Vanessa nodded. “I know.”

She could already see the look on Griffin’s face. Hear him say they would work it out. And they would. But that didn’t automatically mean marriage. How could it when one person didn’t trust the other?

“No matter what happens between you and my son,” Maureen said, leaning forward in her chair, “I’m not going anywhere. I always wanted a daughter.” Her gray eyes sparkled as she smiled. “A grandbaby, too.”

Tears came to Vanessa’s eyes.

That’s what she’d come here to hear.

*

Back at her cottage, Vanessa poured some milk and then heard that now familiar scratching. Sure enough, her white cat was there again out back. Like before, she dragged the door open. The cat padded in.

Back in the kitchen, she poured a saucer of milk and the cat dived in.

Crouching down, Vanessa rubbed between the soft ears, around its neck. No collar. No home?

“But you’re not skin and bone. You must have a family somewhere. Or maybe you just go from door to door.” She kept rubbing and decided. “Wanna bunk here for a while? There’s plenty of milk.”

The cat looked up, licked its frothy chin and meowed for the first time.

Vanessa smiled. “Okay. Roomies it is.”

The cat curled between her legs.

“And a name...” It came to her in a blink. “How’s Missy?”

The cat meowed again, louder this time.

She walked out into the living room. As soon as she sat on the couch, Missy leaped up onto her lap. Filing her fingers down her new friend’s back, thinking about Maureen Hayes’ admission and support, Vanessa asked, “Tell me, Missy, how do you feel about babies?”  

A week later, Vanessa woke up with a start.

She sat bolt upright in bed, flung around a startled glance. A snow white blob, Missy Cat, was nestled at the bottom of her bed. The laptop sat open on the side-table where she’d left it around midnight. The TV certainly wasn’t on.

And yet, there that sound was again. Unmistakable. So out of place.

When the third
neigh
filtered in, Vanessa flung back the covers, strode to the window, opened the shade. Then she clapped a hand over her brow at the same time her jaw dropped to the ground. Meanwhile, Missy had deigned to join her. She curled around Vanessa’s ankles and leapt up onto the window ledge. Then she arched her back and hissed till there was nothing left in her feline lungs.

The horse outside was white, too. Colorful flowers were braided in its mane. The tail was… Of course, bright blue. If this wasn’t a dream, there could be only one explanation.

There he was now.

Griffin came into view, carrying a bale of hay. He dropped it on the lawn and patted the horse’s neck while it snuffled in and started to munch. Then he caught sight of Vanessa and sent a salute.

Okay. She knew what this was about. And a part of her was touched. Another part remembered the receipt she’d found on her father’s desk for that extravagant saddle. She’d never confronted either man about the discovery. She was too embarrassed for having been suckered in.

Through the opened window, she called out, “I’m not allowed a fairytale horse in my backyard.”

“I checked. You’re allowed.”

She grabbed a robe and joined him outside. The horse stomped a hind hoof, shook its blue tail.

“You’ve obviously gone to lot of trouble, but…”

He took the piece of straw from his mouth. “Too corny?”

“We’re not kids anymore.”

Funny, but this minute, those words made even more sense to her than perhaps they did to him. It really was time to grow up. Face what had to be faced and get it sorted.

Vanessa took his hand, led him toward the back landing. They sat side by side on a step.

“Griffin―”

“Wait. I need to say something first.”

She sat back. “Okay.”

“It’s stupid. Really. But I want you to know…the saddle, the blue saddle with all those glittering stones…”

She was listening. “What about the saddle?”

“Ronan gave me the idea.”

She kept a straight face. “Oh, he did.”

“We were having coffee a week after that auction. He’d made a sizeable donation and I wanted to thank him personally. Anyway I was telling him the story about you losing that toy saddle all those years ago. How I’d wanted to find it for you and but never did. The place where he bought his model boats did all kinds of custom made stuff. He phoned and I spoke to the store that morning.” His lifted his gaze from his gym shoes to her eyes. “And, well, that’s my confession. We did collaborate on that one.”

Vanessa seriously didn’t know what to say. Except maybe the truth.

“I found the receipt on my father’s desk. I saw that interaction playing out differently.” Like a manoeuvre meant to hook and rope her in.

She could still choose to see it that way, but something far more important needed addressing.

“My turn,” she said. “I want you to take a deep breath.”

He sucked in, held it. “Okay.”

“I’m pregnant.”

That breath came out in a rush at the same time he tipped back and his elbows caught his weight on the higher step behind them. He sat there looking at her for what seemed an eternity, not blinking, not moving. She had thought he’d had a brain seizure or had simply turned to stone when he finally shifted to scratch his head hard and fast.

“We’re having a
baby
?”

“Early days yet.”

“How early?”

“Four months.”

“You knew all that time…on the day your father passed away? Why didn’t you say something?” He gripped her shoulders hard before obviously reconsidering and readjusting the hold. His voice was suddenly threadbare. “You’ve been going through this on your own?”

“That’s why I’m taking time off. My doctor said I should take it easy for a while.”

“Absolutely. I mean, what can I do?” He nodded, smiled, although it was strained. “Besides the obvious.”

“The obvious being…?”

“A baby needs his father.”

“I agree.”

His chest expanded and he nodded. “Okay. So, we’ll make it a low-key affair. No fuss. What’s important is keeping you healthy. Both of you safe.”

“There isn’t going to be a wedding. You said yourself. You’re not ready for parenthood. I can’t do anything about that. It’s happening, ready or not. But I don’t want…” She rephrased. “We don’t need to get married because it’s the right thing to do.”

“Contradiction right there. Because it
is
the right thing to do.”

“It wasn’t for your parents. Isn’t for a lot of couples who would be better off co-parenting rather than rushing into something that feels…forced.”

He looked so confused. “But I love being with you.”

“That’s different to
till death us do part
. Ask your mother.”

He flinched before his jaw jutted. “I’m not Stanley.”

“I know. You’re a person who makes his own choices.” She added, “So am I.”