Meet Mr. Prince / Once a Cowboy...: Meet Mr. Prince

“Don’t think you can?”

“I believe I have another engagement.” Despite everything, she couldn’t bring herself to outright lie to him. “I’ll have to check my calendar after I get home.”

“If you have another engagement, break it. I really want you to be with me at that dinner, Corny.”

“I—” Where’s your backbone? Just say no.

“Please, Corny. I haven’t seen nearly enough of you lately.”

“And whose fault is that?” she retorted before she could stop herself.

“I realize it is my fault, but I’m trying to rectify that. C’mon, say you’ll go. I really want to see you.”

Cornelia could feel herself weakening, and it infuriated her. Why did she find it so hard to refuse him? He was entirely too sure of himself. Break it, indeed! And yet, despite all this, she sighed and said, “Oh, all right, Harry. I’ll go with you.”

“That’s my girl. We’ll pick you up at seven.”

Cornelia shook her head as she disconnected the call. She was spineless. Yet she couldn’t help remembering a night long ago when she had said no to Harry. And who knows how different all their lives might have been if she’d said yes instead.

We were too young, and I was afraid. And when I was finally ready to say yes, it was too late. He’d moved on with wife number one, and then George and I fell in love. After that, all of our lives continued in different directions from the way I’d first imagined they’d go.

She was so lost in the memory of that fateful night when she was only seventeen, a memory she rarely indulged, that she very nearly ran into a young mother exiting Nordstrom while juggling a toddler, a big black umbrella and several packages.

“Sorry,” Cornelia apologized, holding the door open for her.

“No problem,” the harried young woman said.

No problem, Cornelia thought, ducking inside to avoid having to open her own umbrella, for it had just begun to rain. The young woman was right. Some things weren’t worth getting rattled over.

I must stop thinking about the past. What happened, happened. And despite Harry’s cluelessness and Georgie’s stubbornness and my occasional aches and pains, I have no real problems. My life turned out the way it was supposed to turn out.

Her momentary twinge of nostalgia and regret evaporated as she walked briskly into the store.

“Daddeeeee!”

Zach grinned as Emma, his three-year-old, raced down the hall and launched herself at him as he entered their spacious eleventh-floor apartment near Lincoln Center. Was there any feeling as wonderful as this? he thought as he lifted her up and she twined her dimpled arms around his neck.

“Hello, sweetness,” he murmured.

“Mr. Prince. You’re home early.” This observation came from Fanny, his fifty-something housekeeper, who had followed Emma into the foyer.

Zach kissed his daughter, relishing the sweet, littlegirl smell and the softness of her skin. “I decided everything on my desk could wait till Monday.”

It had taken nearly two years for him to stop dreading that first few minutes after arriving home, minutes in which the awareness of Jenny’s absence would strike him yet again, minutes when he’d thought the hollow ache in the vicinity of his heart would never go away. But he was finally adjusting to the fact that she was gone, that cancer had taken his beloved wife at a too-young age and he had been left to raise their three children alone.

He knew he would always treasure the memory of Jenny and he would always miss her, but now he also knew he was going to be okay, because he was finally beginning to think about the future instead of constantly mourning the past.

“And how was your day?” Fanny asked. Her hazel eyes were warm as they studied him.

What would he do without Fanny? He couldn’t even imagine. She was more than a housekeeper, even though that’s how they both referred to her. In many ways, she reminded him of his mother in the manner that she looked after him and his children.

“It was good,” he said. “Got a lot done. But I sure am glad to be home. Where are the other two?” Glancing at the grandfather clock that graced the foyer, he saw it was a few minutes before five. Katie, his ten-year-old, and Jeremy, seven, normally were home from school by four.

“Katie’s at Madison Werner’s house. They’re working on a science project together. She’ll be home at six-thirty. And your sister came by to take Jeremy skating. She said she’d have him back by nine.”

“I wanted to go skating,” Emma said, her blue eyes clouding. “But Jeremy said I’m too little! I’m not too little, Daddy.” Her voice rose in volume with each word.

Sensing a full-blown tantrum brewing, Zach said, “Of course you’re not too little, sweetheart. We’ll go skating Sunday afternoon. How’s that?”

“To Rocky Center.”

“This time I think we’ll go to the park, honey. The rink at Rockefeller Center is too crowded.”

Emma’s frown deepened. “I don’t care! I wanna go to Rocky Center.”

Suppressing a grin, Zach lowered his daughter to the floor. “Tell you what, pumpkin, we’ll decide on Sunday.”

“I’m not a pumpkin!”

Zach could no longer prevent a smile. “You’re my pumpkin.”

Not to be sidetracked from her grievance, Emma put her hands on her hips and deepened her frown. “Jeremy can’t go skating with us. Just girls.”

“Today was just-boys day,” Fanny explained sotto voce.

Zach knew without further explanation that Sabrina had probably been trying to make Emma feel better after Jeremy’s taunt about her being too little, so she’d made the remark about boys only. Zach didn’t blame his twin for not wanting to take Emma along today. Sabrina’s Tommy was eight, and he and Jeremy were best buddies. Emma’s presence would have put a damper on their fun together. Besides, his youngest daughter had to learn she couldn’t do everything her older siblings did.

“You know,” Zach said carefully, “I think it would be more fun for all of us to go skating on Sunday. Then we can show Jeremy just how big you are. Wouldn’t you like that?”

Emma stamped her foot. “No! I don’t want Jeremy to go.” She pronounced his name Jare-mee, with two syllables.

Man, she wasn’t going to give an inch. “Yes, you’ve made that very clear,” he said dryly. Well, he’d just have to hope she had a short memory, because skating was one thing they could all do together as a family. And because Emma was so young, it was tough to find activities that worked for everyone.

“I hate Jeremy,” she muttered. “He’s mean.”

“Emma …”

His youngest glared at him.

“Jeremy is your brother. You don’t hate him. You’re mad at him right now, and that’s okay. You can be mad if you want to be. But I don’t want to hear you saying you hate him. I don’t want to hear you saying you hate anyone. We don’t hate people in this house.”

For a moment, Zach was afraid she would defy him and say it again. She certainly looked like she wanted to. And then what would he do? Of his three children, Emma was the most stubborn and the most difficult to sway. Father Bested by Three-Year-Old, he thought, seeing the headline in his mind.

Why didn’t anyone tell you how hard it was to be a parent? He wished he’d understood just how hard while Jenny was still alive, because he should have gotten down on his knees and thanked her every single day for the wonderful job she was doing.

“Mr. Prince?”

Zach had almost forgotten Fanny was still standing there.