The Surprise of His Life (29 page)
"No
apologies, baby. Now or ever. You're my girl. That's all that matters."
Thunder
crashed. Lightning flashed. Still they held to one another.
"Dean?"
The
voice was soft, sweet, and barely audible in the stormy night. Nonetheless,
Dean heard the calling of his name. He glanced up. Lindsey, too, had heard and
turned in her father's arms.
"Bunny?"
he called, obviously uncertain whether his eyes were deceiving him or not.
Bunny
stood only feet away. The rain had doused her hair and was tunneling through
her makeup, neither of which she seemed the slightest bit mindful of. The
uncertainty in her husband's voice was mirrored in her face. It was clear that
she didn't know how her presence would be received. Even so, she stood tall,
unbowed, capable of dealing with whatever happened. She was substance and no
longer shadow.
Unhurriedly,
Dean released his daughter and stepped toward his wife. She, too, started for
him, symbolically meeting him halfway. Without a word, she tumbled into his
arms.
Walker
saw tears of happiness rush to Lindsey's eyes and watched as she swiped them
away. When she turned her eyes on him, everything that had ever been wrong in
the world was suddenly righted, everything that had ever been cold was suddenly
warm. Heart-warm.
"See,
I told you," she whispered. "If you believe in miracles, they
happen."
The
only miracle Walker believed in at that moment was the miracle of love. On a
groan, he pulled Lindsey into his arms. As he held her, his heart made a
decision. Right or wrong, fair or unfair, he'd just decided their future.
Later
that night, all Gal-Tex rigs evacuated, the storm announced its intentions. As
unpredictable as ever, it turned toward Mexico, hitting land near Matamoros. No
one yet knew the full extent of the devastation, but early reports indicated
that property damage far outweighed loss of life. If so, their Mexican
neighbors had been lucky, Walker thought as he stood peering out his bedroom window
into the rain-damp night. The last few hours had reminded him of the
preciousness of life. Nothing else really matter.
Walker
grinned inwardly, thinking that he always managed to wax philosophical at a
quarter to one in the morning. Taking a sip of cold beer from the can in his
hand, he thought that he was also managing to be lonely. Damned lonely. At the
airport, he and Lindsey had had time only for a heartfelt embrace. Though it
had been one of the hardest things he'd ever done, he'd turned loose of her
with nothing more than the brushing of her lips with his. Dean had been
exhausted to the point of near collapse, and Lindsey had been needed to drive
both him and her mother home. To the house they'd shared together, Bunny had
insisted. Walker had done some insisting of his own. He'd insisted that Lindsey
stay with them. They needed to be a family again. He had told her that there
would be time for the two of them later.
He
wished now that he hadn't been so generous, particularly since his heart was so
full of feeling, particularly since there were so many things that he wanted to
say to her.
Checking
his watch, he saw that the minute hand had moved only slightly. It was now
twelve minutes until one o'clock. As though to mark the hour, lightning bolted
through the sky, a golden thread erratically woven into the blackest of velvet.
On a sigh, he took another drink of beer and wondered what Lindsey was doing.
He also wondered if he should crawl into the unmade bed behind him and try to get
some sleep. This last produced a quiet laugh deep in his bare chest. Sleep was
farther away than Lindsey's Timbuktu.
Lindsey.
How
he longed to hold her, kiss her, make love to her. How he longed to just be
with her. But he wasn't, and that was that, and he had the remainder of a long
night before him. Tomorrow. He'd see her tomorrow and—
The
pealing of the doorbell startled Walker, causing him to jerk his head in the
direction of the front room. A frown on his face, he moved silently from the
bedroom to the source of the sound. Which was once more invading the stillness
of the house. Whoever was ringing the doorbell was obviously impatient.
Impatient. As impatient as he? A thought—actually a wish—crossed his mind. Was
it even remotely possible that he knew who was standing at his front door?
"What
took you so long?" Lindsey asked the minute Walker opened the door. She
was cocked against the doorjamb, a pretty, come-hither smile crooking her moist
lips. Flagrantly, like the vixen she could be, she ran her eyes up and down the
man dressed only in jeans. She particularly admired his chest, which rippled
with muscles. Nothing in her appearance said that earlier in the day they'd
been at emotional odds. Nothing in her appearance said that the night before
she'd angrily fled his bed after accusing him of not being totally committed.
A
slow sexy smile sauntered across Walker's lips. "What's a lady doing
ringing a man's doorbell in the middle of the night?"
"Could
be the lady just misses the man," she said softly, and without a trace of
the smile.
Quicksilver.
She was like quicksilver, going from sexy to serious in heartbeats. His own
smile faded. "Gee, what a coincidence. The man was just missing the
lady."
"Was
he?"
"Uh-huh."
"Enough
to invite her in?"
"For
the night?" he asked, his heart beginning to pound, his temperature
rising.
Lindsey's
heart began to pound as well, and she could feel her body growing warm and
pliable. She had thought the drive to his house would last forever. Each mile
traveled, each block passed seemed to take her farther away instead of closer.
In fact, the night had dragged as no night in her life ever had. When it became
apparent that it was never going to end, when it was obvious that her parents
were so absorbed in each other that they wouldn't miss her, she'd slipped from
the house. She had to talk to Walker. Now. Tonight. She had to tell him that
she would stay in his life, "For however long you want," she heard
herself say in answer to his question.
Behind
her, rain fell in a now slow sheet, pummeling the roof, the concrete, with a
steady drizzling rhythm. The beat of the rain, combined with Walker's shallow
breathing and Lindsey's steamy look, produced syncopated notes that sounded
like jazz. A lover's jazz.
Walker
didn't know whether he pulled her into the house. Lindsey didn't know whether
she stepped in of her own volition. Whichever, Lindsey found herself pressed
against the closed door with Walker's mouth devouring hers. His hands, one
still holding the beer can, were braced against the door, while his body urged
itself into hers. He could feel her rain-damp clothes—jeans, cotton blouse,
even the lacy undergarments she wore beneath. Lindsey could feel his bare
chest, his tight pants, the desire he couldn't hide and which she didn't want
him to.
They
kissed over and over and over—warmly, wetly, wildly. Their mouths nipped and
bit, sipped and supped. Just when one seemed ready to end the kiss, the other
would begin it all over again. Gasping, both finally came up for air, though,
even then, they didn't pull their mouths from each other. They simply rested
bruised mouth against bruised mouth.
"I
think your beer is going to my head," Lindsey whispered.
Walker
grinned, providing a whole new set of tactile stimuli for Lindsey. "That's
exactly where I like it going. God, I've missed you!" he added, as though
just remembering the loneliness of minutes before.
"I've
missed you," she said. "God, I hate fighting with you!"
"Then,
let's not fight." He started to kiss her again, but Lindsey wriggled free.
"No,"
she said, "I want to talk before you completely intoxicate me."
"Okay,"
he said, feeling a little drunk himself—drunk with the nearness of the woman he
loved.
She
had stepped away from him, knowing that there had to be some distance between
them if she was to think straight. "I came here to tell you something, and
I want to say it now."
Walker
saw her uncertainty. The cocksureness she'd arrived with had vanished entirely.
"Then say it."
Now
that the moment had come, she wasn't sure where to begin. She'd rehearsed her
speech a dozen times, but now could remember only fragments of what she'd
planned. In the car coming over, it had all seemed so simple—just say what she
was feeling. Suddenly, with her future—their future—on the line, simple had
become complex. "I, uh, I think that Mother and Dad are going to try to
work things out."
It
wasn't what Walker had expected her to say, though he wasn't certain what that
was. Even so, the news was welcome. "I'm glad."
"Dad
told Mother about the... about the affair. And Mother told him that she already
knew about it. He told her that he'd gone crazy for a while, but that he
thought he was over it and that, if she wanted to, he wanted them to stay
together, to try to work things out."
"And
what did your mother say?"
"She's
taking him back, though she's insisting on his getting counseling with her.
She's also determined to go on to school as planned." Lindsey smiled.
"I think he's a little fascinated by this new woman he finds in Mother.
Alongside the familiar woman who depended on him, loved, cooked and cleaned for
him is now a woman who wants to belong to herself, as well."
"I
can understand the fascination of the two," Walker said. With her hair
pulled back in a ponytail, with the topic of her parents on her lips, Lindsey
looked young again, though only seconds before she'd kissed him like a mature
woman. This duality had once troubled him. He now just let himself enjoy it.
"I can understand," Walker repeated.
"Anyway,
this isn't what I wanted to talk to you about," Lindsey said abruptly,
obviously nervous about how to proceed.
"It
isn't?"
"No,"
she said, looking him square in the eyes. "I mean, it is and it
isn't." She sighed. "I'm doing a terrible job of saying this."
"No,
you're not. Just say it." At her hesitation, he repeated, "Just say
it, Lindsey."
"While
we were waiting to hear about Dad," she said, "Mother and I had a
talk, which was the whole point of bringing up Mother and Dad, I guess. She
told me that love wasn't always perfect, that you couldn't always get it the way
you wanted it, that sometimes... that sometimes you settled for what you could
get." What hadn't been said, but what Lindsey had heard her mother
silently saying was that women were the preservers of relationships. She still
heard the words singing in her heart.
Confused
up until this point, Walker thought he finally saw the purpose of the
conversation. "I see. And what are you willing to settle for,
Lindsey?"
Lindsey
licked her suddenly dry lips, swallowed, then said bluntly, "I'll take you
any way I can get you. If you don't want to marry me, that's fine. I can live
with that. What I can't live without..." Her voice lowered to a breathless
whisper. "What I can't live without is you."
The
words humbled Walker as he could never remember being humbled before. Setting
down the beer can, he stepped toward her and cupped her cheek with his palm. He
stared deep into her silver-blue eyes. "You'd do that? Stay with me under
those conditions?"
"Yes,"
she said frankly, feeling the coolness of his hand, the warmth of his body.
"You'd
give up wanting marriage?"
"I
wouldn't give up wanting it, or trying to persuade you, but I'd accept whatever
you were willing to give me."
"What
about children?"
She
shrugged. "I'll do what you want."
"And
what do you want?" he asked huskily.
"To
have your baby."
"Even
if we're not married?"
"I
don't care," she said, looking him square in the eyes. "People who
aren't married have babies all the time."
"And
you'd do that?"
"Yes,"
she said unflinchingly.
"Ah,
Lindsey," he whispered, lowering his head and kissing her gently.
He
then pulled her into his arms and held her. He knew that as long as he lived he
would remember the unselfishness he'd witnessed this night. If possible, it had
made him love Lindsey more. It had certainly awakened him to just how lucky he
was. It also convinced him beyond a doubt that earlier that night he'd made the
right decision.
"Lindsey?"
he whispered.
"Mmm?"
she asked dreamily, content only to be in the arms she'd so sorely missed.
"We
need to talk."
"We
just did."
"Oh,
no, babe," he said as he swung her into his arms and started for the
bedroom, "we've only just begun."
"Would
you
let me do that?" Walker said a year later as he and his wife were putting
the finishing touches to the bedroom they'd converted into a nursery.
Like
a mirror image, there was two of everything in the room—two cribs, two chests,
two hanging hampers stacked high with diapers. There was also an assortment of
woolly teddy bears, all waiting expectantly for the twins the doctor said
Lindsey was carrying. Twins. A boy and a girl, if sonography could be trusted.
At first, Walker had been shocked at the news, but then wondered why he had
been. Lindsey never did anything by half measure. Besides, she herself was so
full of life that it seemed only logical that she'd bear it in abundance.
"I'm
not helpless. I'm just pregnant," Lindsey said, trying to wedge her huge
belly close enough to a crib to hang a brightly colored mobile. When she
couldn't, she tried a new angle. This one didn't work any better.
"Yeah,
very pregnant," he said as he took the mobile from her hand. He stole a
quick kiss as he did so.
Lindsey
loved the feel of his mouth on hers. A year's worth of kisses had only made her
need them more, had only made her love him more. That she was his wife, which
he'd insisted upon her being the night she'd gone to him willing to sacrifice
whatever she had to to be a part of his life, always gave her pause, always
gave her the purest pleasure. She felt as if she were living a fairy tale, a
bona fide, happy-ever-after fairy tale.
"So
what do you think?" he asked, propping his hands on his hips and standing
back to view his handiwork.
Instead
of checking out the mobile, she gave her husband a thorough going-over. A pair
of glasses perched upon the end of his nose, and he could still predict weather
with his arthritic knee, which he gave in to on occasion and let Lindsey rub.
Those things considered, however, he'd never looked younger or better to her.
Or more relaxed and at ease with life. Even so, he swore that his hair was
grayer, the result of trying to keep up with his young wife. She swore that she
had trouble keeping up with him.
"I
think I love you," she said.
At
the sudden seriousness in her voice, he turned. And was once more struck by the
child-woman quality his wife possessed. Wearing jeans and one of his
long-sleeved white shirts, with socks and tennis shoes on her feet and her hair
sleeked back into a ponytail and caught with a scarlet ribbon, she looked like
a bright-eyed child. The enormity of her belly belied that youthfulness,
however, and Walker knew for a fact that she made love, and loved, like a
full-fledged woman. His woman.
Stepping
to her, he took her into his arms and, peering through the lenses of his glasses,
he found her eyes. They looked like sparkling diamonds. "Let me get this
straight," he said. "You're nine months pregnant with a man's
child—"
"Children,"
Lindsey corrected.
"...children
and you
think
you love him?"
Lindsey
could feel his hand at the small of her back— the aching small of her
back—urging her belly as flush against his as it would go. She could also hear
the teasing in his voice. Encircling his neck with her arms, she tilted her
head to one side and playfully said, "Well, it could be that if you kissed
me I'd know for sure."
Walker
fought a grin. "You think that would do it?"
She
shrugged coquettishly. "Maybe."
Lowering
his head, he kissed her forehead in a fashion that could only be called
fatherly.
"You're
going to have to do better than that," she said.
"How
about this?" he asked, kissing the tip of her nose.
"Not
much better," she said, twitching said nose like a bunny rabbit.
"This?"
he asked, dipping his head and nipping the side of her neck. His tongue made
little circles on her flesh, producing hot, tingly feelings that skipped across
her body.
"Now
we're getting somewhere."
He
nipped the other side of her neck. Bit gently. Then worried the lobe of her ear
with the same eager teeth. "Ah, yeah, now we're cooking, although—"
Before
she could say another word, Walker's mouth slid onto hers, silencing her to all
but a slow moan. Tightening her arms, she leaned into him. At the same time,
she parted her lips, encouraging his tongue to do the deliciously wicked things
it always did. His tongue did not disappoint her. It darted, dove, delved. In
seconds, both were breathing hard, so hard that Walker wrestled his mouth away
and rested his forehead against hers. Their breath commingled.
His
response to her never ceased to amaze him, just as her response to him never
ceased to amaze him. Hers was always so honest, so open, so freely given. He
could never remember—or rather chose not to remember—a time when she wasn't in
his life. He could, however, remember the loneliness that predated her. Because
of that, he could never take her for granted. Their marriage, simple and sweet,
marked the beginning of a new life for him. He would always be grateful that
Dean had given her away, symbolically saying that he accepted his daughter's
choice of a husband. In the end, he'd been willing to live by the creed he'd
once espoused; namely, that no third party could stand in judgment of what two
other people felt in their hearts. Both Bunny and Adam had had no problem with
the marriage. Adam even teasingly called Lindsey "Mom" on occasion.
"I
love you," Walker said seriously.
"I
love you," she answered back in kind. Suddenly, unexpectedly,
delightfully, she laughed. "I steamed your glasses."
"You
steam a lot more than my glasses," he answered on a growl, and pulled her
to him to prove his point.
"You're
just saying that because I'm such a dowdy little creature these days."
"You're
fishing for compliments."
"You
would, too, if you were the size of a football stadium."
"You're
gorgeous, from your curly little head right down to your curly little
toes."
"I
don't have toes. I don't have feet. At least, I haven't seen them in
weeks."
"You
have toes. You have feet. Trust me. I know. I put socks and tennis shoes on
them this morning."
"You're
just saying that."
"I'm
not."
"I'll
have to give up my ballet career."
"You
never had a ballet career."
"Oh,
well, how fortunate, because I'd only have to give it up."
Walker
grinned.
Lindsey
grinned. Her grin gave in, however, to a slight wince.
"Your
back?"
"Mmm."
"Does
it hurt worse?"
"Not
worse. It just hurts." For days there had been a mild ache that the doctor
had deemed normal. With the last twenty-four hours, however, the ache had
increased.
"You
don't think—"
"Walker,
you ask me every ten minutes if it's time. You're worse than Adam was waiting
for Grace to deliver. I'll let you know when it's time. Besides, it's day and
you said yourself that babies only come at night."
Lindsey's
suitcase had sat by the front door for days, not that that would do any good
when the time came, Lindsey thought, because Walker probably wouldn't even be
able to find the front door. Let alone his pants, car keys or wallet. He'd been
such a worrywart that he'd almost gotten kicked out of the birthing classes.
"Maybe
we should call the doctor," Walker said.
"Maybe
we shouldn't."
"I
think we definitely should stay in tonight."
"It's
Dad's birthday and Mom's gone to all the trouble of throwing a surprise
party."
"They'd
understand," Walker said, thinking how glad he was that Bunny and Dean
were working out their problems. In fact, they seemed happier than they ever
had. He knew that it hadn't been easy for Bunny to turn her eyes away from the
hurt he'd caused her. Divorce would have been easier, but Walker, like Dean,
had learned that Bunny Ellison was a gutsy lady. As for Dean, Walker knew that
he lived daily with guilt, knowing the heartache he'd caused. Walker knew, too,
that his friend was determined to make it up to his wife. As a token of good
faith, he'd sold the sports car, saying that he was too damned old for such
nonsense.
"I
know they would understand, but I want to be there."
"Okay.
But only if you lie down and rest this afternoon."
"Will
you lie down with me?"
"That
suggestion, as I recall, led to the state you're in," Walker said, running
his hands over her stomach. "Yeah," she said on a purr.
She
remembered vividly the rain-splattered afternoon in question, the afternoon
they'd drunk champagne and eaten strawberries and made repeated love. It had
been a lovely way to begin a family. But then, everything about being married
to Walker had been lovely, from the wedding, to the honeymoon in London—they'd
save Timbuktu for later, he'd promised—to moving into his house. That he'd once
shared the house with another woman in no way disturbed Lindsey. It was a house
that had known love. What better place to begin a new life? Besides, she'd
brought her collection of teddy bears and a bevy of other possessions that had
soon turned the house comfortably into hers. At present, her Winnie the Pooh
books lay cribside. She'd also found the book that Walker had once read to her.
Soon he'd once more read about kings and queens and simpler things.
True
to his word, Walker forced her to rest. An hour later, both lay on the bed, she
spooned against him, he gently rubbing her stomach. They had drifted in and out
of sleep, in and out of tender and not-so-tender kisses.
"Walker?"
she whispered at long last.
"Mmm?"
he mumbled.
"Are
you afraid?"
He
knew she was talking about labor, about becoming parents. "Are you?"
"Not
afraid," she answered. "Just a little apprehensive. I'm not sure what
to expect."
"Everything'll
be fine, Lindsey. I swear it. I'll be right with you." He stopped rubbing
her stomach and turned his attention to the small of her back when she grew
restless.
Pressing
her back against his hand, so he could find the right spot, she said, "I
know you will. And I'm really not afraid."
Walker
smiled. "Yeah, well, I guess I am a little bit. Being an older father is
nice—it comes at a time when you can appreciate things more. But I'm not blind
to the problems it creates. Subscribing to
Modern Maturity
and
Parents
Magazine
at the same time is a little weird."
"We
don't subscribe to either."
"You
know the point I'm making."
She
did. Of course, she did. And she didn't want to be flippant about his concerns.
She rolled toward him and raked back a swath of silver-tinted hair that had
fallen across his forehead. "You're vital. You're healthy. You'll be
around when they need you most. You'll be around to teach your son to play
football and to screen your daughter's dates—or vice versa. And as good a
father as you were the first time round, you'll be twice as good the second.
They'll adore their daddy.... Just like I do." Suddenly, she grinned, once
more her playful impish self. "Look on the bright side. We can have their
weddings catered by Meals On Wheels."
Walker
laughed and pulled her to him. It was then that she first noticed the little
niggling pains that shot through her lower stomach. She said nothing, though,
thinking that they would pass. And they did.
"You
okay?" he asked minutes later.
"Yeah,"
she said, struggling to sit on the edge of the bed. "I've got to shower,
though, if we're going to Dad's party."
"Want
some help?" Walker said, displaying his best leer.
At
the ringing of the phone, Lindsey said as she stood and waddled toward the
bathroom, "I'll hold the thought."
Reaching
for the phone, Walker said, "Hello? Oh, hi, Bunny. Yeah, getting ready
now. Yeah, sure, we'll bring our camera. No, no prob—" He stopped when he
saw Lindsey, who'd disappeared for a moment inside the bathroom, standing once
more in the doorway. A patch of clear liquid moistened the front of her jeans
and ran down one pants leg. She was also clutching her stomach.
"I,
uh, I think we're going to miss the party, after all," she said softly.
The
next thirteen hours were a blur to Walker—a happy, scary, wonderful blur. They
were filled with holding his wife's hand, of wiping perspiration from her
forehead, of telling her to push just one more time. He hadn't been present at
Adam's birth and, although he'd always known birth to be a miracle, he'd had no
idea of its magnitude. Nothing, except Lindsey's love, had ever touched him so
deeply. At exactly eight minutes apart, a sassy girl first, a bouncing boy
second, the twins were born.
Bunny
cried.