Cathryn. Shannon Waverly

started to protest but heard a click, followed by the insulting buzz of disconnection. Anger bubbled inside him. He wanted to hurl the phone across the room. Instead, he quietly dropped the receiver into its cradle and fought back the tightening in his throat.

      Of all the ironies. After a lifetime of wanderlust and womanizing, he’d finally decided to settle down, and the mother of his child didn’t want him. Far worse, she didn’t want him anywhere near his child. He supposed there was a strange justice in the situation. He was reaping his due rewards.

      But, hell, he didn’t have to like it, he thought, surging out of the chair. He didn’t have to settle for it, either. Fathers had rights. He’d take legal steps, and when his offspring came into the world next August, he was going to be right there to say, “Hey, son or daughter, this is your old man looking at you.”

      He sank to the chair again, dropping like a popped balloon. Bad choice, bringing in lawyers and demanding rights. That road led to bitterness, spite and fighting back. And maybe she’d win. He had to remember what he wanted—to be a vital, ongoing part of his child’s upbringing—and the best way to do that was to convince Jenny to marry him. And who knew, maybe he could. He’d convinced a lot of women to do a lot of things they’d never dreamed of doing before.

      Tucker didn’t have a clue how he intended to accomplish this, but he would. He had to. For the first time in his life, he had something worth fighting for.

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHOCOLATES. A five-pound box of chocolates. This wasn’t the gift Cathryn expected from her husband. Staring at the plastic roses that adorned the red-satin cover, she felt her smile crumble.

      “Happy Valentine’s Day,” Dylan said, setting the heart-shaped box on her dinner plate and hurrying to his place at the head of the table. He was the last member of the family to sit. He had tumbled into the house forty minutes later than promised and had still wanted to shower. The stroganoff noodles had congealed into a big sticky pasta ball, and the green beans almandine had gone limp. Not quite the perfection Cathryn had been aiming for.

      “Th-thank you,” she replied with forced cheer. Maybe the earrings were coming later, during dessert, or after the kids went to bed. Sure. That was it. After the kids were asleep. Dylan had bought her a special gift and obviously meant to create a special moment when he gave it to her. The chocolates were just a front.

      She opened the accompanying card and nodded with a knowing smile. It was a simple generic greeting, not the gorgeous card with the touching verse she’d found at the bottom of the file drawer. But, of course, that would come later, too.

      “Thank you,” she said again. “It’s very pretty.” She gazed at her husband across the candlelit table. He seemed bemused, his eyes fixed on the centerpiece. “Dylan?”

      His head jerked up. “Huh?”

      She chuckled. Sometimes he was worse than the kids. “Thank you.”

      “Oh.” He waved his hand dismissively. “My pleasure.”

      “Can I have some?” Justin asked, eyeing the box lasciviously.

      “Hey!” Bethany complained. “You’ve got your own chocolates.”

      “So do you, and I bet you want some of Mom’s too.”

      “Whoa!” Dylan called. “Bring it down a notch.”

      Cathryn pulled her red linen napkin from a ring made from construction paper decorated with glittery stick-on hearts. Beth’s contribution to the table. “Of course all of you can have some of my candy. Tomorrow. Any more sugar today—beyond dessert, of course—and you’ll be swinging from the curtain rods.”

      Cory apparently found this funny and laughed. Milk came snorting out his nose.

      “Eeiuw. Gross.” Bethany scooted as far away from him as she could.

      Cathryn gave her brood a glare of mock impatience. “All right, settle down. It’s time to give thanks.”

      Bottoms wiggled on chairs, throats were cleared, and a semblance of order descended.

      “Thanks” was a casual ritual at the McGrath house, an observance more conversational than prayerful. During thanks, they passed food, dug into meals, and sometimes strayed off subject. But Cathryn didn’t mind. It worked. She could see a sense of gratitude taking root in her children, a mindfulness of the small blessings in their lives. With such an attitude, they’d be able to find happiness anytime, anywhere, no matter what calamity befell them.

      “I’m thankful I got a seventy-five on my math quiz today,” Justin said, the first to volunteer. With a sheepish grin he confessed, “I didn’t study.”

      Dylan growled at him scoldingly.

      Chewing a slice of cucumber, Bethany mumbled, “I’m grateful Jason Toomey stopped chasing me in the schoolyard.”

      “Yes, we’re all grateful for that,” Cathryn agreed, as she passed the basket of rolls.

      Cory pushed his glasses up his nose. “I’m thankful for all the cards I got today in school.”

      Cathryn’s heart went out to her middle child—her Charlie Brown. Had he thought he wouldn’t get any?

      “And I’m thankful for this table,” Dylan said. “The food, the flowers and decorations, everything. It’s wonderful, Cath. As usual.”

      “Yeah. Thanks, Mom,” Justin said, and the other kids chimed in.

      “Your turn, Mommy.” Beth was the only one who still called her Mommy.

      Cathryn had been so busy listening to others, she hadn’t really thought about her own contribution. Off the top of her head she said, “I’m thankful that I have such a thankful family, even when I serve pasta that needs to be cut with a chain saw.”

      Everyone laughed and then settled into serious eating, and it was a while before Cathryn thought about the earrings again. Almost simultaneously she thought about having another child. The two ideas had become entwined. She and Dylan didn’t need another child. Neither did the overpopulated planet, which was Dylan’s strongest argument.

      But maybe another child needed them.

      Of course! They could adopt. She’d propose the idea tonight. How could Dylan object?

      That night before going to bed, Cathryn showered, donned her prettiest nightgown and spritzed on Dylan’s favorite perfume. But when she waltzed into the bedroom, her husband was sprawled across three-quarters of the bed, already asleep. Swallowing her disappointment, she reasoned that falling asleep had been unintentional and surely he’d appreciate being roused.

      She sat on the bed and gave Dylan’s shoulder a gentle shake. Nothing. She bounced and jiggled the mattress, which earned her a dull moan. She turned on the radio and flicked the light, but the only response that elicited was a mumbled, “For Crissake, Cath, knock it off,” before Dylan dropped deep into sleep once again.

      With dismay pressing heavily on her, Cathryn slipped into bed and pulled the blankets to her chin. Where were her earrings? she implored the enshrouding darkness. Where was her mushy card? And what about the talk she’d hoped to have about another baby—to say nothing of the lovemaking she’d anticipated all week long?

      Maybe tomorrow, she thought, sighing downheartedly. Putting off the surprise until the day after Valentine’s would be odd, but obviously Dylan had his reasons.

      But the next day dawned, and Cathryn got the kids off to school, and she and Dylan attended Walter Lang’s funeral, and the likelihood of his presenting her with a belated Valentine gift grew more and more remote. During brunch at the Lang house afterward, she overheard him saying that as soon as he got home, he planned to change out of his suit and go scope out a new project.

      Maybe tonight, Cathryn thought, struggling to keep her optimism buoyant.