Reid's Runaway Bride

Turning, Daisy took a good, long look at her younger niece, Megan. And her heart melted into a big, wet puddle. Megan’s doe-brown eyes and fine light blond hair reminded Daisy of the girls’ mother. Sweet and fragile and innocent beyond words.

“Morning, Megan,” she said brightly. “And yes, I’m your aunt Daisy.”

“I don’t remember you.” Then, shyly dropping her gaze, Megan said, “But I sleep with the doll you gave me for Christmas almost every night. I named her Holly.”

“Holly is a wonderful name, and I’m happy you like her so much.” Crossing the room, Daisy kneeled in front of the little girl and resisted the almost overwhelming desire to pull her close for a hug. “It’s okay that you don’t remember me. You were only two the last time I saw you. But I’m glad we can be together now, and I promise we’ll have lots of fun.”

Long lashes blinked. Ever so slowly, Megan raised her chin until her eyes met Daisy’s. A small, hesitant smile appeared. “I like fun. Erin does, too.” And then, as if worried that Daisy might not know—or remember—who Erin was, she said, “Erin is my sister. She’s seven. I’m five. And she has hair that looks like yours.”

“Does she?” Daisy knew this, of course, as Parker sent a photo of the girls with his Christmas card each year. “The red hair comes from your grandmother. My—and your daddy’s—mom. Just like your beautiful blond hair comes from—”

Uh-oh. Was it taboo to mention Bridget? She glanced toward Reid, hoping he’d give her some type of a signal, but his attention was focused on Megan.

“My mommy,” Megan elaborated, her voice carrying a note of pride. Sadness, too, but that was natural. “I...I don’t remember her much. But Daddy says that all the time about my hair.”

Daisy’s throat closed in emotion. “Yes, that’s what I was going to say. That you remind me of your mother,” she said gently. “Ready for breakfast?”

Before Megan could reply, Reid—who had quietly watched their exchange while sipping his coffee—asked, “Is this a color day, peanut?”

A curious question. Just one more to ask later. And, not that she’d admit this, but her few seconds of talking with Megan had made it all-too-obvious how badly Daisy required Reid’s input. She was even...grateful for any help he was willing to give. Now, more than ever, it seemed essential that she didn’t screw this up.

Megan wrinkled her nose in thought before giving her head a decisive shake no.

“Well, then. A rainbow day it is,” Reid said easily. “Why don’t you run upstairs and get your sister while your aunt and I serve breakfast?”

“Okay.” Megan started to reach for Daisy and then stopped, as if unsure. Daisy opened her arms and waited, sensing the decision needed to remain in Megan’s hands. One second passed. Two seconds. Three... And then, all at once, the little girl pushed herself forward and hugged her tight. “I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered before letting go.

“I’m glad I’m here, too.” After Megan dashed out of the kitchen in search of her sister, Daisy said, “That went better than I expected. She’s a sweet little thing, isn’t she?”

“Yup, she is.” Reid began setting the table. Taking his lead, Daisy removed the baking dish of French toast from the oven. A few minutes of not-too-awkward silence ensued. Once he’d poured the orange juice, he said, “You were good with her, Daisy. And...well, I’ve reached a decision I feel is only fair to share with you.”

“Um. Thank you.” An unexplainable shiver of apprehension and foreboding brought a coating of goose bumps to Daisy’s arms. “What decision might that be?”

“Well, it’s like this,” Reid said in a slow and purposeful cadence. “I walked in here this morning all set to make the best of this situation, and there you were, hunkered over the coffeepot in that flannel getup you’re wearing. And I was smacked with a...profound realization.”

Heat, instant and intense, appeared dead-center in her stomach. “Profound?”

“Significantly so.” Facing her, Reid gently tipped her chin so that she had no choice but to look into his eyes. “To me, anyway.”

Trouble. “Are we speaking of the coffee?” she asked, going for brevity. “Because while I agree that the first cup in the morning is important, to call it profound is—”

“No, honey. Not the coffee.” While he spoke, he traced her lips with his fingers as if he’d done so every day for years on end, eliciting another series of shivers. From the touch itself, yes, but also from the waves of desire traveling through. “This is about us, Daisy. You and I.”

She tried to think. Lord, did she try. “Our past? We can have that conversation. I mean, now probably isn’t the best time, with the girls and breakfast and—”

“We will. But no, this isn’t the right time.” His voice held assurance. Confidence. “I’m speaking of now, not our past. And, sweetheart, you should know that in my opinion we—meaning you and I—are not done.”

“Is this another game?” Swallowing, hard, she pulled herself free. “If so, I’m not interested in games, Reid. I told you last night that I’m here for Parker and my nieces, not to...not for any other reason.”

“I’m not playing a game.”

“Then what is this about?” Her heart hammered against her breastbone and her mouth went dry. “Because if you’re alluding to—”

“Now see, that is exactly what I’m not doing.” An easy, carefree grin lit his countenance. All innocence and charm. “My goal here is to be very clear about my intentions.”

“And those intentions are...what?”

“The same as they were seven years and nine months ago.” Determination firmed his jaw, straightened the line of his mouth. “If you recall, you mentioned in your goodbye letter—you know the one, from our wedding day?—that you still wanted to marry me, just not on that day.”

Where could he possibly be going with this? “I thought we established that this wasn’t the proper time to have this conversation. But yes, I...wrote something along those lines.”

“Good, glad you remember.” He leaned against the counter in a too-casual-to-be-truly-casual pose. “You also stated that you hoped—if fate was on our side—we might have a second chance at forever,” he said, his tone quiet. Focused. “Do you recall those sentiments, as well?”

“Um...I...yes, but—” Syllable by syllable, his words crashed into her brain with the force of an out-of-control semitruck. “Why are you asking these questions?”

“Because what that letter boils down to is a contract. At the very least, a promise from you to me.” Satisfaction and pleasure whooshed into his expression, his eyes, his very being. “You owe me a wedding, Daisy. And I plan to collect.”

“Wh-what?” Huh-uh. Impossible. She’d heard him wrong. “I owe you what?”

“A wedding, Daisy. Our wedding.”

“Is this a joke?” she asked, finding her voice. “Has to be a joke, right? Because no man anywhere would decide to marry a woman he hasn’t seen for eight years.”

Not to mention, marrying the woman who’d left him standing at the altar.

“Oh, I’m not joking.” Reid pushed himself off the counter and strode to the large calendar hanging on the opposite wall. “How does April sound to you?” he asked, flipping the pages as he spoke. “Though, Cole and Rachel’s wedding is the nineteenth. Is March too soon? Probably. I’d like Parker to be there. I suppose we could shoot for May again, but—”

“Payback? Is this a form of retribution?” When he didn’t respond, when he did nothing but stare at her in a mix of pleasure and confidence, her knees wobbled enough that she had to move to one of the kitchen chairs to sit down. “What’s the punch line, Reid?”

“Love,” he said simply.

“Do you realize how insane you sound?”

“Marriage.”

“Delusional, too. And there isn’t any way I’m buying in to—”

“Maybe even a few children down the road.” He let go of the calendar and took the chair next to Daisy. “I’ve always thought three kids was a nice, round number. What do you think?”

Love. Marriage. Children. Everything she’d once wanted with this man. Everything she’d once ran away from. Everything she’d long since decided wasn’t for her.

“You can’t really expect me to believe that you’re serious. And...and this isn’t funny,” she said, speaking slowly and clearly. In order to get through that megathick skull of his. “You’re joking. Or playing a game. Or you’re out for revenge. Or—”

“None of the above,” Reid said firmly. “I’m not only serious about this, Daisy, I’m committed. Guess I’ll be working on proving that to you.”

She had more to say. Much, much more, but the sounds of two little girls running down the stairs made any further discussion impossible. He was joking. He had to be joking.

But what if...what if he wasn’t?