Reid's Runaway Bride

A new rush of fear hit Daisy. How was she supposed to provide the security her nieces were sure to need when she’d spent so little time with them?

One way or another, she’d have to figure it out.

She also hadn’t thought about what it would be like to breathe in the same air as Reid Foster, to look into his sinfully dark eyes or to listen to the slow, deep, evocative cadence of his voice again after so freaking long. Any of those occurences might prove to be her undoing.

“Everything will be fine,” she said, forcing firmness into her tone. “Parker will make a full recovery. The girls and I will get to know each other. I’m their aunt, so they’ll love me. Of course they will! And seeing Reid again won’t be easy, but I’ll survive.”

Her dog, a rescue whippet whose brindle coat held varying shades of white, fawn and gray, whined plaintively from the backseat in a definite plea to get out of the car.

“Soon, Jinx,” Daisy said in a soothing voice. “We’re almost there.”

Due to her shock at Parker’s accident and her hurried departure, Daisy had forgotten to mention that she was bringing Jinx with her. Hopefully, neither of the girls was afraid of dogs, because she refused to kennel Jinx for however long her stay might last.

Whippets—a medium-size breed that originated from greyhounds—were intensely devoted to their owners, and since Jinx was a rescue dog, building the trust between them had taken close to six months. Not bringing her along was out of the question.

The GPS announced that Daisy had arrived at her destination. Slowing to a crawl, she located the proper house and parked the car as close to the side of the road as she could. She pulled in a fortifying breath and gave herself a few minutes to gather her bearings while staring at her brother’s home. Between the darkness and the blowing snow, she couldn’t see much, but the outside light was on, casting a friendly glow. A safe haven.

For now, at least.

Parker had stated that a few of his neighbors were pitching in until Daisy could take over, so she guessed the girls were safely tucked in for the night at one of the other houses dotting the street. She’d see them tomorrow. Her brother had also promised to have someone leave a key under the porch mat, so Daisy would have access to the house. She prayed he hadn’t overlooked this not-so-small detail, otherwise, she’d be back on the road, searching for shelter.

“Well, Jinx,” she said. “I guess we’re here.”

And, because there was nothing left to do other than go inside, Daisy leashed and picked up her dog, grabbed her overnight bag—the rest of her luggage could wait until morning—and pushed her way through the whipping snow toward the welcoming light.

“Ready or not,” she whispered into the howling wind, “here I come.”

* * *

Exhaustion, pure and complete, seeped through Reid Foster’s body. He leaned against the wall in the Lennoxes’ upstairs hallway, let out a bone-weary sigh and hoped the girls were as sound asleep as they’d appeared. The prior week and a half had taught him that one or the other—sometimes both—would fall victim to unquenchable thirst within minutes of their bedroom light going out. Sometimes, they just wanted another hug.

Either way, he figured he’d wait right here for a bit. Just in case.

Erin and Megan were scared, and rightly so. They’d already lost their mother, had already learned that even parents can get hurt, or sick, and go away forever. His heart wouldn’t allow him to do anything other than care for them the best he could. Most days, that meant rushing from work to pick them up and bring them home, so they could exist in familiar surroundings, with their toys and their own beds to sleep in.

But Lord, he was tired.

During the winter months, his job as a ski patroller often demanded extended hours filled with physically draining, challenging work. Toss in the care and well-being of two frightened children, along with visiting Parker whenever he could, and Reid was running fairly scarce on energy. Especially tonight.

With forewarning of the storm, which was now raging outside, and completing the necessary preparations, work had started early and ended late. When he’d arrived at the next-door neighbor’s house to collect the girls, he noticed they were more high-strung than normal. Soon enough, Reid discovered that they’d watched some tearjerker of a family movie about several children who were unexpectedly orphaned.

The neighbor had clued in to Reid’s disapproval and had apologized, stating she hadn’t realized the plot of the movie until the girls were engrossed. At that point, she felt she would’ve done more damage by not allowing them to finish watching it. Reid didn’t know about that, but the next hour of the evening had then been filled with one question after another.

Seven-year-old Erin, the elder of the two, who looked to be growing into a near replica of her aunt Daisy—both in personality and, other than the color of her eyes, appearance—had asked who would take care of her and Megan if their daddy died like their mommy had?

Initially, Reid was at a loss. Honesty, he decided, was the best route, so he’d—once again—explained that all indications stated that Parker was out of danger and on the road to a full recovery. And he was, though from what Reid understood, Parker had another surgery facing him, followed by months of physical therapy.

Five-year-old Megan hadn’t said a word, just sat there and watched Reid with her sad, fearful brown eyes. She’d looked so lonely that he’d picked her up and put her on his lap, where she snuggled against his chest and gripped his shirtsleeve as if it were a life preserver.

Refusing to let the rest of her question go, Erin had jutted out her chin—a mannerism that, again, had Daisy written all over it—and asked, “But if something happened to Daddy, who would take care of us? I don’t want to be in a f-foster home.”

Damn that movie. “Sweet pea, that would never happen,” Reid had said, and he’d meant it, but the truth was that he had no idea what Parker’s plans were if such a crisis ever occurred. He could, however, guess at the likeliest candidates.

He started with Parker’s parents, Charles and Clara Lennox, who had retired to Florida several years earlier, and then moved on to the girls’ maternal grandparents, who lived in Boston. While he knew Erin and Megan had a good relationship with both sets of their grandparents, neither answer fully satisfied the elder Lennox daughter.

With a quietly contemplative expression, she’d asked, “What if they can’t? Who then?”

Reid had fumbled for a second before naming their aunt Daisy, not fully believing that Parker would trust the care of his daughters to someone who was a virtual stranger, but unable to latch on to another person that would make sense.

Saying Daisy’s name aloud—something he rarely did—caused him a fleeting spasm of pain, of loss...a little bewilderment, along with a good, solid dose of anger.

At Daisy, for not giving them a chance before taking off. At himself, too, for keeping silent on the very same news that had sent her running. He should’ve told her the truth about her paternity when he learned of it, and not decided to wait until after they were married.

Perhaps if he had, she would’ve leaned on him, trusted in him and their relationship, instead of bolting and never looking back. To this day, she had no idea that he could have saved her from her mother’s ill-timed confession. No one, not even Parker, knew about the argument he’d overheard between Clara and Charles Lennox the week before the wedding.

That was a secret he still kept.

So, yeah, he’d kicked himself over his misguided actions. But he couldn’t undo them. And Daisy had made the decision to leave him and their future without so much as a conversation. In his estimation, that made both of them wrong and neither of them blameless.

But Reid was a practical man, and as the years had piled up on one another, he’d learned to keep the past where it belonged. Mostly, this mindset had proven successful.

Mostly wasn’t always, though, so mentioning Daisy as a possible guardian for the girls evoked the same mixed bag of reactions he’d become resigned to dealing with. As usual—at least for the last long while—those feelings dissipated as abruptly as they’d appeared, and Reid had returned his focus to the little girl on his lap and the one standing directly in front of him.

“Listen to me, angel,” he’d said, purposely speaking in a slow and authoritative voice. “I will never let you live in a foster home. I will always be here for you and your sister.”

Erin’s pinched expression softened slightly. “Do you promise?”

“I promise.”

That had done the trick, and shortly, the three were crowded around the tiny table in the girls’ bedroom, having a tea party with their favorite stuffed animals. After which, he’d prepared dinner, and the rest of the evening had flown by with various activities. The highlight, of course, was speaking with their father, and the promise that they should be able to visit him soon.

Baths and tickling and bedtime stories—three of them—followed. Both girls had seemingly drifted off toward the end of the last, and Reid had tucked them in, kissed them on their cheeks and gone into the hallway to stand guard.

Deciding enough time had passed to believe they were good and truly out, Reid pushed himself off the wall and yawned. He’d straighten the kitchen, since he hadn’t after dinner, shower and see if he could stay awake long enough to catch the news. Or...hell, maybe he’d skip all of it and just hit the sack, try to get up early enough to—

Muffled sounds that couldn’t be what he thought drifted up the stairs from the living room. A barking dog? In the house? Had one of the girls turned on the television when he hadn’t noticed? Had to be that, because he remembered locking the front door. Still, he took the stairs two at a time, and when he reached the landing, every damn hair on his arms stood up straight.

He didn’t need to take another step to recognize the low, sultry voice emanating from around the corner. It didn’t matter how many years had passed, that voice had been branded into his brain for all eternity. Without a doubt, Daisy Lennox—the woman he’d once envisioned spending the rest of his life with—had come home.

Dumbfounded, Reid froze and...just listened. She crooned to what he assumed was the dog he’d heard, saying something about kibble and a fresh bowl of water. One by one, each of his senses went on high alert, and his earlier mixed bag of emotions returned with a bang.

Part of him wanted to walk into the living room, pull her into his arms and take up where they’d left off—no questions asked. The other part wanted to go upstairs and hightail it out of a bedroom window, just so he’d never again have to look her in the eyes.

The first idea was foolhardy and beyond ludicrous. The second was gutless and as impossible as the first. Even if behaving cowardly were in Reid’s DNA, he wouldn’t sneak off while the girls were sleeping. He wouldn’t disappear on them, now or ever. With or without a letter.

To Reid’s way of thinking, that left him with a solitary option: man up and announce his presence, remain polite and calmly let Daisy know—since he had to assume her arrival was due to learning of Parker’s accident—that he had everything under control.

Shouldn’t take much to get her to leave, and this time, he’d be relieved—hell, happy—to send her on her way. Right. She’d be gone within two days. Certainly no more than three.