The Best Is Yet to Come Read online

  "Yes. No wonder I couldn't hold it back." He smiled slowly, with sinful delight. "And you still don't know all of it."

  "I don't?"

  "Ivy, why did you tell me you couldn't get pregnant?"

  "Because I can't," she said sadly, her dark eyes searching his. "I never did with Ben. There's something, well, something wrong. Does it matter so much?" she asked plaintively. "You said it didn't, but…"

  He stopped swinging her and took her hands, gently pressing them to her flat abdomen. The look in his pale eyes was overwhelmingly tender. "Feel," he whispered.

  She didn't understand. Her expression said so.

  "The nausea," he said gently. "The drowsiness. Feeling tired. Hating the smell of bacon." He smiled tenderly. "I hate bacon. So does he." His hands pressed hers closer to her body. "We made a baby together in Paris, Ivy," he said softly, watching her eyes begin to dilate, her lips part on an astonished breath.

  Joy welled up in her like fire. She burst into tears and pushed herself close against him, shuddering all over as she clung to him, blind with ecstatic realization.

  "You really didn't know, did you, little one?" he asked at her ear, laughing with utter delight. His arms contracted. "So, yes, I'll marry you, Miss McKenzie. And it had better be quick, before you start showing."

  "I can't believe it," she moaned. "It's too wonderful. I never dreamed…" She drew back, her face worried. "But what if I'm not?"

  "What about that normal thing that women have once a month?" he asked, to test his suspicions.

  Her jaw fell. "Oh, my goodness. I thought it was all the excitement."

  His eyes had a devilish twinkle. "It was all the excitement," he said knowingly.

  She hit his chest gently. "I'll never live it down, if I am, and you knew before I did!"

  He chuckled. "No, you won't, that's for sure." He kissed her gently. "See a doctor. Get an appointment today," he said. "But whether you are or not—and I'm damned near positive you are—we're getting married. God, I love you!" he whispered fervently, and it was in his eyes, his face, in the arms that held her.

  "I love you, too," she whispered, drawing his mouth down to hers. "But, oh, I hope there's a baby."

  Chapter 11

  And there was a baby. Ryder drove her to the doctor's—his company doctor's office—and waited with her until they were worked in. It was really amazing to watch him invent excuses to get a quick appointment, she thought breathlessly. In less than an hour, the doctor had all but confirmed their suspicions and ordered tests to substantiate them.

  "I gather this is a wanted child," he murmured dryly when they were in his office waiting for the results of his examination, Ivy sitting and Ryder kneeling beside her, holding her slender hand tightly.

  "You don't know the half of it," Ryder said, his voice husky with feeling as he looked at Ivy, smiling when she blushed.

  "Well, I'll give you the name of a good obstetrician. You'll be needing prenatal care from now on. The tests are only going to confirm what I know from the examination, so we'll go ahead and set up the appointment." He looked at them over his glasses. "I gather this is one of those modern arrangements?"

  "Oh, we're not at all modern," Ivy assured him. "We're getting married."

  "You might explain to her what five years of abstinence , does to a man." Ryder grinned. "That's why she's pregnant before the ceremony."

  "Have you been away at war or something?" the doctor asked, chuckling.

  "In love with her, and she was out of my reach," he said, his expression poignant. "I've got her now, though. She'll never get away."

  "She'll never want to," Ivy assured him, oblivious to the doctor's very amused scrutiny.

  They waited until the next day, until the tests came back positive, as the doctor had said they would, to tell Jean.

  Ryder drove Ivy home from the office and led her into the living room, where one of Jean's soap operas was just going off.

  "We've got something to tell you," Ivy said.

  "I gathered that from all the nervous looks and evasions last night when I asked her why she was so restless," Jean said with amusement. "But I've already guessed, you know, and I'm sorry to steal your thunder. You're getting married, so congratulations are in order."

  "It's…a little more complicated than that, I'm afraid," Ryder said, and actually looked sheepish. He sat down beside Jean on the sofa and took her hand, so much like Ivy's, in his. "We're going to have a baby," he said, the awe and delight of the statement in his pale eyes, in his smile.

  "She can't," Jean explained. "Have babies, I mean."

  "She's pregnant, all the same," Ryder grinned. "We just got the test results from Dr. Jameson."

  Jean grabbed her chest. "Glory!" she burst out. "Oh, Ivy!" Her smile was astonished, radiant.

  Ivy joined them on the sofa, hugging her mother tearfully. "Isn't it incredible? All those years, and I never, and then the first time with Ryder…" She realized what she was saying and went scarlet.

  Jean looked from Ivy's red face to Ryder's red face and pursed her lips. "Paris?"

  "Paris," they sighed together.

  "You're not married!"

  "We got a license on the way home. We'll be married tomorrow. Okay?" he asked.

  Jean glowered at him. "I ought to smack both of you."

  "I love her," he said, glancing warmly at Ivy. "I waited five years to show her how much." He shrugged. "I showed her a little more graphically than I meant to."

  Jean didn't have an argument left. "If you waited five years, I can understand how it happened. My gosh, she walked around here turning green every morning at breakfast and I never even suspected, not even when she started going to bed with the chickens."

  "None of us suspected, me least of all," Ivy laughed. "Ryder told me I was pregnant. I had no idea what was wrong with me."

  Jean whistled. "You'll never live that one down. I can see you now, trying to explain it to your children."

  "One of my aunts had twins," Ryder murmured speculatively. "Are there any twins in your family?"

  "My grandmother had twins," Jean recalled. "Your great-uncle Harry and your great-uncle Todd," she reminded Ivy. "They aren't identical, but they're twins."

  "Twins would be lovely," Ivy sighed, smiling at Ryder.

  "Twins, triplets, whatever," he murmured. "I hope we don't die of it," he said slowly, searching her eyes on a soft sigh.

  "Die of what?" Ivy asked, smiling dreamily.

  "Happiness," he said.

  Jean laughed and hugged him. "I know exactly how you feel. Welcome to the family, son."

  They were married the following afternoon, and that night as Ivy lay in Ryder's arms in his own bedroom, she snuggled close and reflected on the wedding.

  "It was so lovely," she said. "All those flowers, and Eve for a bridesmaid and her children for flower girls."

  "And the most beautiful bride in the world." He bent and kissed her very gently. They were wearing nightclothes, tucked up together, but he hadn't made love to her and she was curious as to why.

  "You're very distant for a new bridegroom," she pointed out, smiling at him in the soft lamplight. "Aren't you the same man who was going to seduce me on an Indian mound just three days ago?"

  "Two," he corrected. "And, yes, I was. But you were tired after the ceremony and seeing Eve and Curt and the boys off at the airport."

  She turned and slid closer to him, one soft hand finding his flat belly and teasing the thick hair.

  He shivered and caught his breath.

  "I thought it was all an act," she breathed, and brought her mouth down on his bare chest.

  He guided her hand to his body and turned, sliding one long, powerful leg between both of hers. "Gently," he whispered through an anguish of need. "Gently. We have to remember our baby."

  "Yes." She kissed him back, adoring him, showing her love with all the tenderness she felt as he stroked her body and laced kisses over her taut, swollen breasts.

  She
'd never known that lovemaking could be so tender, or so profound. He measured his body to hers and aroused her softly, until she was trembling and clinging to him, and only then did he bring her hips to his and tenderly begin the sweet, slow process of loving.

  She felt the warm hardness of his body filling her, and she opened her eyes and looked into his, shivering with the achingly poignant hunger he'd aroused.

  His hand went to the base of her spine and he smiled through his own need as he began to bring her closer. She absorbed him with ease, and there was none of the discomfort he'd had to subject her to during their first time.

  "It doesn't hurt," she managed shakily.

  "It isn't supposed to." His mouth touched hers. "You were like a virgin in Paris. Now you're my woman completely. We fit together like a hand and a glove."

  Her breath caught at the analogy. He held her eyes and pushed softly, deeply, until he was as close to her as he could get. Only then did he pause and catch his breath before he began to move.

  It was unbelievable. She stared straight into his eyes the whole time, feeling his body brushing hers in a slow, tender rhythm, his hair-roughened chest and stomach a sweet abrasion against her soft skin. She touched his chest and felt the hardness of a flat male nipple wonderingly as the pleasure caught her unaware and suddenly jerked her in his arms.

  Her mouth opened on a low moan, her eyes clouded. He watched her with pure masculine triumph, feeling the pleasure build in her even as it built in him. He increased the rhythm and the pressure, holding her body where he wanted it with both hands at her hips, his voice coaxing, praising as she matched his urgent movements.

  The room swam around her. She heard the sound of flesh against fabric under them, the rough sigh of his breath as he moved harder, closer, the building groan that emanated from his broad chest as he started up the swift climb to fulfillment. She went with him, her own body lifted with pleasure as his deep movements suddenly unlocked her body and gave him total, absolute access to some hidden dark ecstasy. They seemed to throb as it culminated, clinging to each other in blind oblivion as heat burst in them and echoed in a feverish aching rhythm of pleasure.

  It was gone so soon, almost as soon as they reached it. She buried her face in his damp, shuddering chest and wept. "Why can't it last?" she moaned shakily. He understood. His mouth touched her hair, her damp forehead. "How could we live through it, if it did?" he whispered. "No, don't move," he breathed when she shifted. "Here." He rolled over onto his back, but without separating them. His hand at the base of her spine held her where they were locked together and his arms contracted, cradling her on his body. "All right?" he asked above her head. "Yes." She smiled against his chest and kissed it gently, the damp hairs tickling her nose. He was trembling faintly from the exertion, just as she was. "It's different, every time," she said. "It's supposed to be. After the baby comes, and you've re-covered, I'll teach you some other ways to do this." His hands caressed her smooth, bare back. "A few of them are pretty rough and demanding, so we'll save those until you aren't in this sweet condition."

  She lifted her head and looked into his pale, loving eyes. "Passion can be violent, they say. That's what I was always afraid of. But now it isn't scary anymore." She smiled and he relaxed, as if he'd been holding his breath. "I love loving you," she whispered. "Can we do it again?"

  He smiled slowly, wickedly. "I don't know. Can we?"

  She was learning things already. Secrets. She moved very delicately, first one way, then the other. Then she bent her head and bit him gently. Seconds later, his breath expelled in a rush and she smiled.

  "Yes," she whispered back, her eyes bright with feminine triumph. "Oh, yes, we can…!"

  The baby came a little over seven months later, and he wasn't twins, but as Ryder remarked, he sounded like them. They brought him home from the hospital and were immediately pounced upon by a radiant new grandmother who stared down at him in her arms and spent several long minutes trying to decide who he favored.

  "She'll come to the conclusion that he looks like her," Ryder whispered as they watched Jean with little Clellan Donald Calaway.

  "Yes, I know," she murmured, resting her head on his shoulder with a contented sigh. "We're rather superfluous, you know. We only had him for Mama."

  "I see what you mean." He looked down at her, searching her weary eyes. "I'll carry you up in a minute and put you to bed. It's been a long three days."

  "A wonderful three days," she replied, her heart in the eyes that adored him. "Are you really happy with me?"

  He touched her face with a hand that very nearly trembled. "You're everything," he said huskily. "The world."

  Love like that was a responsibility, she thought, watching him. But one she was willing to assume. She felt the same way about him. It wasn't until she'd seen his bedroom for the first time that she'd known how he felt. Once they were married, all the photographs of her came out of hiding. Those, and the painting that now hung over the mantel.

  Her eyes went past him to the fireplace, up to the beautiful oil painting of a young girl in a flowing pink dress, sitting in a patch of wildflowers, her long black hair windblown, her black eyes, like her pink mouth, smiling sweetly. He'd had it done secretly when she was eighteen, and if she needed any proof of how he felt about her, seeing that painting gave it to her. It was still overwhelming when she realized just how deeply, how desperately, he loved her.

  "It was my solace all those years we were apart," he said, following her gaze to the painting. "A very private memory of a day I took you and Eve walking, and you wore that dress. I fell in love with you then."

  "I fell in love with you about the same time. I'm sorry I was such a coward. I wasted years of our lives."

  "No. You used them, to grow up, to become mature, to learn what love really was. I'm sorry for the pain you suffered, but then, it's the bad times that make us the people we are, Ivy. No character ever got shaped by sun and smooth sailing all the time."

  She smiled. "I guess not. The main thing is that we're together now." She glanced toward Jean, who still held their son in her arms. "All this, and a baby, too. Talk about counting your blessings."

  "I couldn't begin to count mine." He pressed her cheek back against his chest and closed his eyes.

  "Nor I," she agreed softly.

  Across from them young Clellan opened his eyes and looked up at his cooing grandmother with wide blue eyes.

  "Why, I've decided who he favours," Jean exclaimed with a radiant smile. "He looks just like me!"

  The other two occupants of the room burst out laughing, and a puzzled grandmother shrugged with faint curiosity and ignored them. She was much too happy comparing her eyes to the baby's to wonder what they found so amusing, anyway.