One to Take (Stuart & Mariska): Sexy Cowboy (One to Hold Book 8) (18 page)

L
ane’s
little voice is the first thing I hear when I walk in the door. “Daddy tooted!” he shouts from the kitchen. Slayde’s loud laugh from the living room is the next thing I hear.

“Not Daddy. It was Mommy,” Patrick says in a very serious tone. “She has this tummy problem called
lactose intolerance
.”

“Patrick Knight!” Kenny’s muffled shout comes from somewhere in the back of the apartment.

Lane shakes his little towhead. “It was you, Daddy. Mommy’s not even here.”

I can’t help laughing, which I immediately regret.

“Oh, you know what?” Patrick’s voice is grave. “It was Aunt Mare Mare. Look.”

He points at me, and my eyes go wide. “Patrick!”

“What?” He laughs, those naughty hazel eyes sparkling.

“Mare Mare!” Lane jumps down and runs to me full speed.

I drop to a squat and hold out my arms to catch him, but he’s grown quite a bit in the few months since I’ve seen him. When he hits me, we both fall back on the floor laughing.

“You’re so strong!” I cry, rolling to the side and pushing up, my arms around Kenny’s little boy.

He’s on my lap, sticking his fingers into my hair. “Mare Mare! Your hair is gone!”

“What do you think?” I turn my head to the side, and he feathers his fingertips through the ends. “Like it?”

“You look like some lady…” His big blue eyes, the only physical trait he got from my best friend, are full of wonder.

“What lady?” I lean forward to scrub his cute little nose with mine.

“Some nice lady.”

That makes me laugh, and I haul him up as I stand, carrying him in my arms. “You’re almost too big for me to carry!” I cry.

“I am too big,” he says, very serious. “Lainey says so.”

“Hey, girl.” Patrick steps around to give me a hug. “You should be one of those James-Bond secret-agents. You are seriously rocking this new look.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I tease, wrinkling my nose. “I’m some nice lady.”

Before I move away, he pulls me close. “I’m sorry about what happened. I wish we could have been there for you.”

Pain echoes in my chest, and I blink down, fighting back a sudden rush of tears. “Thanks.” Clearing my throat, I shake my head.

“Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to kill the mood.”

“No! It’s sweet. I mean, it’s very thoughtful. It’s… just still so fresh.”

His strong arm is around my shoulders, and I’m engulfed in a warm hug. “Honestly, I don’t know what to say. I wouldn’t wish that on anybody.”

Reaching up, I hold his arm, allowing myself to relax into his hug. I remember what Sylvia said about him as a little boy. “Thank you so much,” I say against his chest.

“If you need anything, just let me know.” He gives me a little pat before releasing me. As he does, his eyes rise over my head. “Hey! You made it.”

When I turn around, my chest squeezes as Stuart walks in the door. He’s dressed casually in jeans and a tan long-sleeved shirt, and his hair is messy. My fingers tingle with wanting to smooth it.

“Hey, bro,” Patrick holds out his hand, and Stuart clasps it. They even pull into a brief shoulder-hug.

My eyes blink wide at their greeting. Stuart and Patrick are notorious for bickering and not getting along. I can’t imagine what happened to change things… other than our recent experience.

Slayde is on his feet and in the kitchen clasping hands with Stuart. “I didn’t know you were driving in.”

“Patrick called this morning,” Stuart’s low voice goes straight to my core, and I turn to the bar, placing my hand on my stomach. It’s an unexpected response. I haven’t felt desire for anyone since the accident, but looking over my shoulder, my insides heat up fast when his smoky hazel eyes meet mine.

“Mariska,” he says with a little nod.

“Hi,” is all I can manage. My cheeks flush as his text from last night burns in my memory.
I love you.

Thankfully, Kenny comes jogging from the back room into the kitchen. “Well, hello!” She rises on tiptoes to hug Stuart and then skips over to hug me. “Sorry, I was looking for one of Lane’s trucks. He was crying for it, but I guess he forgot with everyone here.”

As if on cue, Lane comes running through the crowd of grownups with a toy airplane in his hand making bubbly engine noises.

“Lane, did you give Uncle Stuart a hug?”

He freezes in his tracks and looks up, up, up to his uncle. “Did you bring your horse?”

Stuart grins and scrubs his little head. “I had to leave Ranger in Montana this time.”

Lane’s little shoulders droop. “I wanted to ride your horse again.”

“It’s true,” Patrick says, scooping his son up in his arms. “He’s been talking about riding horses with you since last Christmas. You made a big impression.”

“Well, maybe when I’m back in Montana, you can come and stay with me a few days.” Stuart pats his little back, and Lane’s head pops up.

“Okay!” he shouts, and Kenny laughs.

“So, dinner!” she says. “Slayde has steaks marinating. We have baked potatoes, and I snapped the ends off a bunch of asparagus. Mariska, open the wine, and we can sit outside on the patio!”

“You got it!” I circle the bar and grab the corkscrew.

“I can help with that.” Stuart walks over to where I’m standing. “How’s it going?”

“Good,” I say nodding quickly, trying to cover the blush on my cheeks. I’m acting like a nervous schoolgirl, which is silly, considering we were engaged.

“You look good. I really like your hair.” He gives me that sexy grin, and my hands fumble with the wine bottle.

“This thing is always slippery,” I mutter.

Large hands cover mine, and he takes the bottle and corkscrew from me. “Let me.”

“Thanks.” I turn quickly, and make my way toward the balcony before I embarrass myself.

Slayde is bent down beside the grill preheating the coals, and Kenny and Patrick are nearby discussing Lane and preschool. Their apartment is on Tom’s River as well, and I go to the railing to look out and inhale a calming breath of air. The brackish scent of the water reminds me of summer camp.

The glass door flies open and Lane grabs Kenny’s hand to drag her inside. Patrick follows them, and when I look over my shoulder, I find Slayde watching me from where he’s crouched by the grill.

“You doing okay?” he says, and I can tell by his expression he knows something’s up.

“A little flustered, I guess.” Then suddenly I remember. “I heard back from Dr. Endicott!”

“Oh, yeah?” He gives the coals a poke before standing and walking to me. “What did he say?”

“He said based on his old notes, he couldn’t confirm his original diagnosis. He suggested I have more tests if I’m worried.”

“Are you?”

Looking back across the lake, I scan the line of the horizon as I think. I think about everything I’ve said and what I know, how I feel. “I don’t know,” is the best I can do. “It depends on how much I can believe about my past and life and the way things ought to be…”

“If it helps, I believe in you. Kenny does, too.”

Gratitude swells in my chest. “It does. Thank you.”

Kenny and Patrick return at that point, followed by Stuart, and we spend the next few hours talking and catching up. Kenny has Lane on her hip, and he gives me his sweet baby version of Patrick’s naughty smile.

“Mare Mare pretty.”

“You’re going to have your hands full when he starts school,” I laugh, touching his little nose.

“I already do!” she groans.

Slayde and Stuart chat like old friends. They’ve been getting to know each other very well in the Princeton office, from what I can tell, and they swap stories of crazy phone calls and unexpected packages.

“It’s like something you’d see in a movie, but worse,” Slayde says, shaking his head. “I never expected her to send me her panties. They weren’t even evidence.”

“Who sent you her panties!?” Kenny’s outraged, and Slayde pulls her to his chest.

Patrick laughs. “Oh, man. Cut and run. Witnesses like that never lead anywhere good.”

When it’s finally time to say goodnight, Lane is asleep on Slayde’s chest, and Kenny is making up the spare room for Patrick. Stuart follows me to the door. We’ve been exchanging warm glances and smiles all evening, but it’s the first time we’ve been semi-alone since he arrived.

“I have something to give you. If it’s okay, I’ll follow you back to your apartment.”

A million possibilities flood my mind, but what strikes me most is I’m not opposed to any of them. “Okay,” I say, giving him a little smile.

We say goodnight, and he follows me out, all the way to my apartment in his truck. When we reach my door, he hesitates.

“I don’t want you to think I’m crowding you. I just don’t want you to have to read this alone.”

My brow lines.
Not what I expected
. “What is it?”

“Let’s go inside.”

Inside the kitchen, I flick on the overhead light, and he takes a thick envelope out of his coat pocket.

“After your accident, the hospital did a full battery of tests to be sure you hadn’t sustained a concussion or any other type of head injury. They sent the results to your old address.”

Hearing him say “your old address” feels wrong to me. I hold the envelope a moment looking at my name and the condo address. It’s where I should be, where Stuart is. I don’t pursue that train of thought. Rather, I slide my finger under the flap and rip the envelope open. Pulling out the heavy paper, my brow lines as I scan the writing.

“I don’t know what this means,” I say, trying to decipher the medical jargon.

“Here.” He takes it from me. “I’ve had to look at these before on cases.”

He’s quiet as he reads, and I watch his green-hazel eyes move rapidly. His brow is lowered, and I notice he’s had a haircut. The little bend of curls around his ears that made him look a bit like Patrick are now gone. I couldn’t help also noticing tonight how much Lane resembled his uncle. It sent my mind down the rabbit hole of wondering what his little boys would look like.
Our little boys…

“It’s good news,” he says, looking up and catching me in my daydream.

My cheeks pink, and I blink quickly to the papers. “What is it?”

“It basically spells out all the different tests they ran, the CT scan… You passed them all with flying colors.”

“That’s good, I guess?”

“It means your brain function is normal and healthy.” He waits as those words sink in.

“They tested it… Why?”

He reaches out to smooth a loose curl off my cheek. “When you fell, they worried you might have a concussion. The doctor was concerned about your occipital lobe. He said it was all routine tests.”

Stepping back, I turn to the living room. I never made it to this room in my efforts to change everything. My mountain of books is still overflowing from the bookcase, and Ganesh is still holding a tray with even more. My beaded lamp is on the end table, and the jewel-toned cushions are all over the place.

“My brain is healthy,” I whisper, looking around.

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Mariska.” It’s that strong, confident voice I’ve always loved.

Dropping my chin, I wrap my arms around my waist. It’s a gesture I seem to be repeating a lot lately, only this time, not a second passes before another set of arms wraps around me over them, strong and tight. My back is against Stuart’s chest, and his face is in my hair.

Love filters through my veins like warm honey. I’m in Stuart’s arms. I’m safe and secure and not alone. The hollow ache of emptiness in my chest floods with hope and joy and most of all renewed love for this man.

“Mariska,” he says against my neck, and chills race across my skin. “I told you I’d wait. I’ll go if you want me to leave—”

“No!” I turn in his arms. We’re chest to chest, and I’m holding his biceps. “I want you to stay.”

Our eyes mix and mingle, and all the words we need to say to each other and all the words we want to say to each other hang around us in the air as we hold each other’s eyes. His gaze drops to my lips, and I feel them throb with desire to kiss him. I don’t have to ask. Full lips cover mine in a rough, possessive caress. A little moan slips from my throat as my arms go around his neck. His strong hands are on my waist, moving to cover my lower back, and I pull my body flush against his.

Our mouths move together in desperate kisses, tasting the sweet tang of wine and water, a little salt and the sweet berry of my lip gloss until at last we hold each other, breathing fast, shimmering in this moment of reunion.

“I love you,” he says, warm breath whispering across my shoulder.

“I love you so much,” I say in response, and his arms tighten.

“I’ve been waiting to hear you say that.” Stepping back, he lifts my fingers to his lips, a tickle across the back of my knuckles. “Come with me.”

He starts to lead me toward the bedroom, but as we pass the little studio, I stop. “Wait!” I open the door and turn on the light. “I want to show you something.”

Following me inside, he exhales a chuckle at all the sketches of him leaned against the wall, but when he sees where I’m headed, the room grows quiet.

My abstract painting of the little angel girl dancing as her wings grow sits on the easel finished. For a moment, I can only look at it, stunned by how closely it resembles my vision. The yellow paint mixed with white makes the canvass seem to glow as if lit from within. It feels mystical to me now, spiritual.

Stuart steps in front of me, reaching out as if to touch it, then pausing above her face. “She has your hair.”

Grief twists in my chest, but at the same time, it’s a good thing. We’re here in this place of healing. It’s where we needed to meet long ago, sharing this loss that hurt us both so very deeply.

“She has your eyes,” I say, watching him study the painting.

His hand goes behind his neck—a gesture I’ve only seen him do a few times under extreme stress. His face is lined, and I see the pain in his eyes.

Reaching for his elbow, I pull his arm down and guide his hand around my waist. I slip my arms around his and bury my face in the warmth of his chest.

He holds me, and in that moment, I feel his incredible strength slip. I feel his muscles collapse, and I close my eyes. I’ve come through this pain. My painting helped me release it. Now it’s his turn.