First Comes Love

Because she could think of no reason on earth why Will Darrow would come calling at her house, unless it was because he had finally heard talk about her imaginary pregnancy. And realizing that Will must be thinking it was true—why else would he have come over?—Tess felt the heat of a blush creep from her breasts up to her face. Then again, she always blushed when she saw Will—or even thought about him, for that matter—so why should this episode be any different?

Maybe, she thought, it was different now because deep down she’d always hoped that someday she would get pregnant and that when she did, Will Darrow would be the father of her child. That would of course be—at least in her fantasy—because he was her husband, too. And that would of course be—likewise at least in her fantasy—because he had fallen head over heels in love with her.

Hey, it was her fantasy. She could make it as outrageous as she wanted to. And having Will Darrow fall in love with her? Well, things didn’t get much more outrageous than that. He still ruffled her hair whenever her saw her. Ruffled. Her. Hair. Oh, yeah. That was always a precursor to romantic love. To Will, obviously, she would always be ten years old.

Involuntarily—and hopefully surreptitiously— Tess scanned her visitor from head to toe. She couldn’t help herself—she didn’t get that many chances to scan him up close this way. Even though he had been her oldest brother’s best friend since childhood, these days, she saw very little of Will. One might have thought—might have hoped—that seeing so little of him would cause her childhood crush on the guy to finally go away. Instead, that old saw about absence making the heart grow fonder had come way too true. Because Tess’s heart—among other body parts—was very fond of Will Darrow.

Always had been.

Always would be.

Then another thought struck Tess. If Will had heard about her “condition,” then Finn had probably heard by now, too. And if Finn had heard…

Oh, boy.

She didn’t even want to think about the rampage that must be going on down at Slater Dugan’s Irish Pub. No wonder Will was at her front door. He was probably looking for bail money.

At thirty-six years old, Finn Monahan was a fine, upstanding citizen and a bastion of the community, a complete 180-degree version of the quintessential bad boy he’d been in his youth. Until someone threatened or bad-mouthed a member of his family. Or, even more unforgivable, said a cross word about Violet Demarest, who didn’t even live in Marigold anymore, not since she’d married and moved away, but whom Finn had elevated to a pedestal—nay, an altar—a lo-o-o-o-ong time ago.

But whenever one of those two things happened, then Finn Monahan could be counted on to revert right back to the surly adolescent of two decades ago, the one who was always ripe for a fight. There was no question that talk of his little sister getting knocked up would put Finn in a rare—and very bad—humor.

“Is he in jail again?” Tess blurted out before she could stop herself.

It made for a less-than-welcoming greeting, she knew, but that was the first thought that went through her head when she saw Will. Oh, all right, the second thought that went through her head when she saw him. The first thought had been what it always was—that he looked really, really yummy.

His blue eyes were complemented by a blue chambray work shirt that was nearly the same color, and by blue jeans that were lovingly faded and torn at one knee. His overly long, black hair had been ruffled by the late-evening breeze, and the swiftly setting sun lit silver and orange fires ablaze amid the highlights. A day’s growth of dark beard shadowed the lower half of his face and throat. Anyone else might find him menacing or intimidating. Tess just found him adorable.

But the last time she’d seen Will alone at her front door this way, it was because he’d come to tell her that Finn had been arrested for throwing a chair through the front window at Slater Dugan’s Irish Pub. That actually would have been one of Finn’s lesser offenses, if it hadn’t been for the fact that Dennis Matheny had been sitting in the chair when it went through the window. But Dennis had asked for it—he’d called Violet Demarest the Whore of Babylon, right to Finn’s face. Hey, Dennis was lucky Finn hadn’t fulfilled his childhood fantasy of becoming an astronaut by sending him straight into orbit.

At hearing Tess’s question, Will, who had been looking very uncomfortable when she’d opened the door, now looked very confused. Well, he still looked very uncomfortable—which was pretty much how he always looked whenever he saw Tess, doubtless because he knew what a raging crush she’d had on him since she was ten years old—but he looked confused, too.

“Is who in jail?” he asked.

“Finn,” she clarified. She still couldn’t shake the notion that her big brother had done something stupid in response to very real allegations about her very nonexistent pregnancy. “What’s he done?” she asked further. “He hasn’t hurt anybody, has he? Dugan’s Pub is still standing, isn’t it?”

Will narrowed his eyes in even deeper confusion. “Finn’s fine,” he said. “I mean, I guess he is. He was fine when I saw him this afternoon. Pretty much,” he qualified mysteriously.

In spite of the mystery, Tess breathed a sigh of relief. Good. Maybe Finn hadn’t heard, after all. Actually, come to think about it, none of her brothers seemed to have heard about her rumored condition, because none of them had contacted her. Of course, Sean was out of town, and Rory was in deep research mode these days. Connor would just naturally ignore anything he heard through the grapevine, but Cullen usually bought in to talk. And Finn…

Well, Finn always knew what was going on in Marigold. So if Finn hadn’t heard, then maybe things weren’t as bad as Tess thought. And if Finn hadn’t heard, then Will probably hadn’t, either, in which case she was worrying for nothing. Except for the fact that the man she’d had a raging crush on since she was ten years old was at her front door, and she was standing there in her jammies, yammering incoherently at him.

Oh, but hey, other than that…

“Um, then…what are you doing here?” she asked him.

He went back to looking merely uncomfortable and didn’t meet her gaze. But then that was hardly surprising. Will Darrow hadn’t met her gaze squarely since…

Well, Tess couldn’t really remember the last time he’d met her gaze squarely. Certainly not in the four years that had passed since she’d returned to Marigold after graduating with her master’s in education from Indiana University. Her mother and father had thrown her a graduation party the month before they’d moved down to Florida, and Will, of course, had attended. At one point Tess and Will had ended up alone in the kitchen of this very house, and she—after having a little too much of her mother’s infamous Pink Parisian Punch—had breathlessly blurted out something about how she’d always had such a raging crush on Will.

She had been mortified after doing it, of course, but she’d figured Will would just laugh off the comment and go back to the party and totally forget about it in five minutes’ time, because he’d never taken her seriously. But Will hadn’t done any of those things.

Except, evidently, take her seriously.

Because, much to her amazement, he’d blushed like a schoolboy, had stammered something unintelligible and had bolted for the back door. He’d fled the party completely and hadn’t returned, and ever since then he hadn’t been able to be around Tess without seeming—without being—extremely uneasy.

Me and my big mouth, she thought now, not for the first time. Had it not been for her imprudent revelation about the raging crush thing, she might still be able to harbor it in secret, and Will would be less hesitant to be around her. As it was, whenever they had family gatherings—and family gatherings always naturally included Will—he managed to stay in one room while she was in another. Or, if they were forced to be in the same room, he made it a point to keep them on opposite sides at all times. Tess was almost never close enough to him to actually touch him.

But she was now.

Because now he stood just over the threshold, scarcely two feet away. Now, had she a mind to, she could reach right out—and up—to cup his cheek with her palm. Now, had she a mind to, she could push herself to tiptoe and brush her lips over his. Now, had she a mind to, she could hurl herself shamelessly into his arms and wrestle him to the ground and have her way with him.

But of course, she’d never have a mind to do that. Not while he was in the immediate vicinity, at any rate.

“I’m here,” he said, reminding her that she had asked him a question that required an answer, “because I promised your brother I’d come over and talk to you.”

“Why doesn’t he come over and talk to me himself?” she asked, thinking it a very good question. Unless…

Will closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again, and, as always, Tess marveled at how blue they were. “He was afraid if he came over to talk to you himself, he wouldn’t do any talking. He’d just do a lot of exploding.”

Uh-oh. That didn’t sound good. That sounded like… “He’s heard about my condition, huh?”

Will went a little gray at the question. “Yeah. He’s heard about you being pregnant.”

It took Tess a moment to realize how badly she had misspoken, then, “No!” she shouted, more loudly than she had intended. “That’s not what I meant. I’m not pregnant.”

Will gaped at her. “Tess, you just admitted it. And everybody knows about it, so you might as well stop denying it.”

She shook her head vehemently. “I did not admit it. I just misspoke. I’m not pregnant. I’m not.”

Will, however, didn’t look anywhere near convinced. Then again, why should he? she thought. The Marigold grapevine had spoken. The announcement might as well have been engraved on stone tablets and presented by a burning bush.

“Tess, you don’t have to keep denying it. Nobody thinks any worse of you,” he told her. “Everybody just wants to help. That’s why I’m here, too.”

“You’re here to keep my brother from sending my couch through my living room window,” she corrected him.

He shrugged conspicuously. “Yeah, well…that, too.”

“It’s not true, Will,” she said, even though she could see quite plainly that the denial would be pointless. “I’m not pregnant. I’ve had the flu. I would never… I couldn’t possibly… There’s no way I’d…” She gave up when she realized she wasn’t finishing a single thought.

Will, however, continued to gaze at her with what she could only liken to pity. “Finn knows, too,” he said again, unnecessarily. “He was in a state the other day, when he found out, let me tell you. I managed to convince him to give it a few days before he spoke to you, to cool off. Then I convinced him to let me come over and do the talking instead.”

“Why?” she asked warily.

“Because he hasn’t cooled off,” Will said simply. “Sean still doesn’t know, because he’s still in Indianapolis, and I don’t think Rory’s heard, because he’s been holed up at the library all week, and you know how he gets when he’s in Deep Thought—he doesn’t hear anything anybody says. But Connor and Cullen are looking to kick some butt. It’s not an easy thing, keeping your brothers at bay, Tess. They made me promise to report back as soon as I talk to you. But they realize they can’t be reasonable about this right now. So they’re letting me mediate.”

“Even Connor believes it?” Tess asked incredulously. “But he never believes anything he hears on the grapevine. He’s the last great skeptic.”

“Hey, the evidence speaks for itself.”