Wild in the Moment (14 page)

“Well, of course you don't. But I figured you knew I was nothing like Jean-Luc. You would never worry that I was trying to buy your affection or trying to con you. Right?”

“Well, of course that's right, but—”

God, it felt good, hearing her say it. So he forged on, “So I knew you'd understand this was completely different. I'd never do anything to undermine that fierce pride of yours. I just honestly thought you'd need your own car if we were married.”

That vulnerable expression intensified times ten. She sucked in a breath, and then, as if she still couldn't get enough oxygen, sank on the far edge of the bed.

“You don't want to get married, remember? You can't seem to work with other people, you said. You'd given up on relationships, you said. It's not that you wanted to be alone, but you figured you were too ornery for anyone to survive living with you, you—”

“Yeah, I know what I said.” He crooked his finger, urging her to come closer. “But didn't you notice the strangest thing happening? That we were working together? Really well?”

“Well, I wouldn't say
really
well. I bossed you around that one day in front of your customer—”

“You did. And I was astounded how much I liked
that.” He crooked his finger at her again, since she still hadn't budged from the foot of the bed. “Who would have guessed it could be so much fun to work with someone else? Since I'm as mean as I always was, I realized the difference had to be you. You were the one who made it fun. And I figured if you could work with someone as pigheaded as me, marriage would be a piece of cake. You'd like it. We could have sex a couple of times every day. And we could eat together and work together and fight together. I could teach you to run a planer and a band saw. You could take me to a nude beach on the Riviera once a year. We could have kids. Have all our families together at Christmas. We could add and subtract from that general list, but doesn't it sound like a good basic plan?”

His Daisy didn't cry. Ever. But suddenly her eyes welled up and were glittering like crystals, making him pretty sure—not positive, but pretty sure—she thought it was a good basic plan. He started breathing again. His heart was still scared, but not as gut-scared, soul-scared, aching-scared as it had been the night before.

“But what about all those things you said, Teague—”

“We already talked about those. So how about if we talk about all the things
you
said?” Since she seemed to be frozen in place, he sat up, reached over and tugged her over the comforter to his side. And when she was there, on his down pillow, all tangled up in sheets and comforter, he pinned her down, first by kissing her left temple, then her left ear, then her left cheek…very, very tenderly. “You said White Hills made you feel stifled.”

“That used to be true,” she affirmed.

“So, just for the record, if it's still true, I don't give a damn if we live in Timbuktu.”

“I think right here in White Hills might just be perfect,” she said, and then closed her eyes, when he finished kissing the whole right side of her face and then honed in on her mouth. He had to linger over that kiss, because it wasn't funny, how afraid he'd been that he might never hold her again, that she would leave him, that it was an impossible dream that she could ever love him.

“You're not bored here?”

“I haven't had a second to be bored.” Her fingertips traced his jawline, and although he knew he was out of his mind with hope, he could swear he saw both lust and wonder in her eyes. “You know what? I used to think that the place you lived mattered. But the place isn't the source of excitement. You are, Larson.”

“Me? I'm as ordinary as they come. And that's an honest problem, I realize. You're exotic and rare and an orchid in every way. When I'm doomed to be nobody fancy.”

“Teague?”

“What?”

“I have a secret to tell you.” She motioned him just a little closer, which was a trick. When he obediently moved to accommodate her, she twisted until she was on top, and then exercised some kissing techniques of her own. She probably thought she had him pinned, which was certainly an illusion he wanted her to have, because he loved Daisy at her most dangerous. She kissed him and kept kissing him. Ardently. Winsomely. Sweetly. “You love me,” she told him.

“You think that's a secret? Hell, I've known that for ages.” He started unhooking the overalls. “I adore you, Dais. I love your fancy side and your practical side. Your elegance and your common sense. Your spirit.
Your pride. Your heart—and I promise, I'll spend a lifetime protecting that wonderful, giving, precious heart of yours.”

“Can I tell you another secret?”

“We have to keep talking?”

“Just for a little longer,” she promised him. “I just wanted to tell you…I love you. I never thought I'd find a man I could be honest with. A man I could trust. A man who didn't want a woman to walk in his shadow. I always thought I had to hide who I really was.”

He cut her off, not because he didn't want to talk to her for the next hundred years. But because she'd hit him where it counted.

She knew him. Really knew him. Knew about his dog, knew about his faults and weaknesses, knew things about him no one else did—and still loved him. It was what he wanted to give her for a lifetime, that total trust that she could be herself with him, that she was safe, that they'd protect each other through life's challenges.

Right then, though, he'd just as soon she didn't think he was
totally
safe. She could cope with a little danger. She liked a little risk. And as soon as he got the rest of her clothes off, he felt inspired to give her all the danger and risk she could handle—along with that other wild four-letter word. Love.

D
aisy tiptoed upstairs, where her sister's baby was sleeping in the old nursery. She found Rose awake. Not wide awake, but awake enough that she was surely justified in picking her up.

She crooned softly as she carried her niece over to the window overlooking the backyard. “I finally got you alone, didn't I, little one? How are you ever going to know that I'm your favorite aunt if everyone else always grabs you? But I've got you now, you darling…”

Below, the family party was in full swing. Daisy gave herself full credit for the reunion—it was her birthday today, August 31—but the day was just an excuse. As close as their family was emotionally, it had been years since they'd had a chance to really spend time together—much less at the Campbell family homestead.

Below, Cameron and Pete, her brothers-in-law, were
both holding spatulas in front of a flaming barbecue and looking bewildered. Pete's two teenage boys had gotten ahold of a hose, and were racing around, soaked to the bone. God knew how many dogs were chasing them. Hussy II fit right in with Camille's pack, but Daisy only recognized the shepherd and the bloodhound—the rest looked like the derelict rescue dogs they all were. Violet's cats were supervising the party from the cool, safe height of the shade trees.

Her gaze softened as she spotted her parents. Margaux was carrying another bowl outside—two picnic tables were set up and already sagging with food, a good thing since nothing coming off the grill had a prayer of being edible. Colin stepped up behind Margaux and swung her in a hug. The two looked at each other the same way they always had when they thought their three daughters didn't notice. Even after all these years, the love between them glowed like sunshine, silent, warm, healing.

“You know Grandma and Grandpa, don't you, Rose,” Daisy murmured. “Grandma always smells like lavender. And when you get a little older, she'll let you make cookies and all kinds of messes in the kitchen. And then Grandpa…oh, you're going to love Grandpa. You get just a little bigger, and he'll swing you up in the air and tickle you and make you laugh…”

She heard a footstep behind her and half turned.

“I wondered where you'd disappeared to—but it wasn't too hard to guess,” Teague said wryly.

Not that she was prejudiced, but her husband was the handsomest of all the men there, so tall and lean, so full of hell with those dark eyes and sexy smile. She smiled when he bent down to kiss her. “You surviving my family okay?”

“They're terrific.”

“You were worried?”

“How could I not be worried? I had visions of three more women just like you and the kind of father who thinks no man is ever good enough for his daughter.”

“Ha. My dad took one look at you and said I'd
finally
developed some judgment in men.” She added wryly, “Which was true. I'm keeping you, Mr. Larson, and that's that.”

“Yeah, well, I'm keeping you, Mrs. Larson, and that's
that.
”

She grinned, until the baby suddenly let out a small squall, as if offended to be ignored for so long. “You want to hold your niece?” she asked Teague.

“Not exactly. They're pretty scary when they're that little. Um…”

She didn't give him a choice, simply lifted the baby into Teague's arms. He looked alarmed for several seconds, but then Teague was complete mush in the heart area—which she knew. His arms instinctively snuggled the baby. Rose opened her eyes and blew a bubble for her uncle.

“I'm in love,” Teague admitted gruffly. “She's scary, mind you. But if ours is even half this beautiful, I'll be okay. I think. Possibly. Maybe.”

“Ours?” Daisy repeated.

His gaze shot to hers. “Did you think I wouldn't guess?”

“I'm not sure yet,” she whispered. “I haven't had the test. Haven't been to a doctor.”

“I'm sure. And I couldn't be happier, lover. A little scared, I admit it. But I can't think of anything I want in this life more than a baby with you.” Again he
leaned down to kiss her, this time a kiss of lingering tenderness that made her heart sing.

A clatter of footsteps running up the stairs interrupted them. “Hey, you two. Enough of the mush. My God, every time you turn around, someone's kissing in this family,” Camille complained. She was out of breath, just from climbing the stairs, but then she was already big as a tugboat and the baby wasn't due for two more months. She waggled her fingers. “Hand over my niece.”

“She doesn't want you,” Daisy told her. “She wants her favorite aunt. The one who's going to give her drums and cymbals and lots of noisy toys, right, pumpkin?”

“If you don't let me have a turn, Mom'll be up here, and you all know no one can get a baby out of her hands.”

“You've all had more time with Rose than I have,” Daisy argued.

“But I'm going to have the next one, so I need the baby-holding experience. Besides. I'm the youngest. And you two always let me have my own way, so I don't think you should start making exceptions now.”

“Of all the sissy, weak-kneed arguments,” Daisy began, but Violet interrupted.

“You two are going to make me cry. How many years has it been since we had a chance to bicker like this?”

They started laughing, even if their laughter turned just a little misty-eyed in the process…but then the baby let out a single soft wail. All three of them naturally quietened down as Violet took Rose to the rocker and started nursing her.

“She's so beautiful, Vi,” Daisy said softly.

“I know, I know. I feel so lucky.”

“We're all lucky. Five years ago we all seemed in so much trouble that I wasn't sure if any of us could find our way.”

Camille put a hand on her stomach. “Through thick and thin, I always knew you two would be there for me. And now I think back and realize how much we learned about love—real love, tough love, the kind of love that really lasts—from Mom and Dad.”

“Yeah, so did I,” Violet agreed. “I didn't see it at the time. Not until I met Cameron. But knowing the kind of love that really makes a difference—it started with all of us.”

Daisy found herself sitting on the windowsill, a smile on her face that refused to go away. It was so wonderful, to have her sisters and family together again. To see how Camille and Violet had moved on from such devastating blows to create stronger, better lives for themselves. To see them both so fiercely in love.

Her, too, she mused. She wasn't sure when Teague had disappeared, but knowing him, she could have guessed he'd give her some alone time with her sisters. Her gaze drifted to the yard below, where Teague was walking with her parents in the original lavender garden that Margaux had started as a young bride.

As if sensing her love, Teague looked up. He didn't interrupt his conversation with her parents…just looked at her.

And she just looked back. Her heart welled up with so much love she could hardly stand it. She loved that man—and she loved seeing him with her family.

They were all home. It didn't get better than this.