Then she got up from the couch, crossed to the door, and clicked the lock. As she turned back to face him, her fingers began opening the buttons on her pajamas.
He rose to his feet. A moment later his suit coat hit the floor.
Her pajama top fell open as she came toward him. She looped her arms around his neck, kissed him, the sweetest kiss of his life, full of passion and promise and the love he’d been looking for since he was born. But when their lips finally parted, she looked troubled again. “There’s more.”
“I sure as hell hope so,” he murmured, caressing the small of her back, just under her pajama top.
“No, not that.” She rested her hands on his shirtfront. “Once I stopped being furious with you long enough to realize that you really did love me, I had to figure out a way to get your attention.”
He understood. “It’s all right, sweetheart. I know you’re not pregnant.”
But that didn’t seem to satisfy her. “I came up with a plan. Temple and Max agreed to help me kidnap you, and-”
“
She looked suddenly smug. “We could have done it, too.”
“The point is”-she tugged on one of his shirt buttons-“about me being pregnant…”
“I intend to take care of that real soon, but please don’t lie to me again.”
She opened one of his buttons and then another. “The thing is… I really wasn’t feeling well, so I started counting, and then I went to the doctor, and then…”
He stared at her.
Her mouth dissolved in a soft smile. She lifted her arms and cradled his face in her hands. “It’s true.”
Epilogue
LUCY RESTED HER HEAD AGAINST Ted Beaudine’s broad shoulder and gave a contented sigh. “Who’d have imagined after all we went through that we’d end up together like this?”
“Life works in mysterious ways,” he said.
It was late May, the three-year anniversary of their almost wedding, although that wasn’t why they’d all gathered at the lake house, which gleamed with a fresh coat of bright white paint and sparkling navy shutters. Instead they were celebrating Memorial Day weekend and the beginning of another summer.
Toby and two of his teenage friends dashed after Frisbees, with Martin loping at their heels. One of Bree’s nephews chatted awkwardly with Lucy’s youngest sister, while Tracy and Andre looked on in amusement. Lucy gazed at Ted’s clean-shaven jawline. “No offense, but I’m so glad I’m not married to you.”
“None taken,” he replied cheerfully.
In the distance, she could hear the faint sound of hammering. In another month, the roomy log buildings would be finished and ready for their first set of campers. “Frankly, I don’t know how Meg does it,” she said. “Living with your perfection has to be tough on someone like her.”
Ted nodded somberly. “It’s a burden, that’s for sure.”
She smiled and gazed across the yard toward the new barbecue pit, where her parents were chatting with a slightly awestruck Temple and Max. “Being married to Panda is a lot easier,” Lucy said.
“I’ll have to take your word for it,” Ted replied. “He kind of scares me.”
“He does no such thing, but I’m sure he’d take that as a compliment.”
Ted squeezed her shoulder. “It’s good we weren’t this comfortable with each other when we were engaged, or that wedding might really have happened.”
They both shuddered.
Meg and Panda came toward them. Who could have imagined that her surly bodyguard would have turned into such an exemplary husband?
Because Meg had been a terrible influence on Ted, he planted a kiss on top of Lucy’s head just to see if he could make trouble. That backfired, however, because Lucy liked to cause trouble, too. “Your husband is hitting on me,” she called out to her best friend. “By the way, how does it feel to be his second choice?”
Meg offered up her smart-aleck smirk. “I could totally have had Panda if you hadn’t pulled your disappearing act. He was definitely coming on to me the night of your so-called rehearsal dinner.”
“Well… You did look hot that night,” Lucy agreed while Panda and Ted swapped glances that declared them both the most fortunate and the most put-upon of spouses.
“It’s weird,” Meg said. “We should so be married to each other’s husbands.”
This time all four of them shuddered.
“I’ll tell you what’s weird.” Bree came up next to them, Mike at her side, a sleeping baby tucked in the Snugli he wore as proudly as an athletic jersey. “The four of you. I’ve never seen such strange relationships. Mike, aren’t they all a little weird.”
“Now, Bree… Some people might say that about us.”
“You’re too good to be true.” Bree gave him a private smile that locked out the rest of the world.
Toby peeled away from his friends. “He’s not that good. He got into my M &M’s stash last night.”
Mike grinned, grabbed Toby around the neck, and gave his head a gentle knuckle rub without disturbing Toby’s baby brother. “You need to find a better hiding place, son.”
In the past three years, Toby had shot up ten inches, and girls had started calling the house, which drove Bree crazy. But Toby had his head screwed on remarkably straight for a fifteen-year-old, and Lucy wasn’t worried.
Between babies and blossoming careers, they’d experienced so many wonderful changes in their lives. But there had been difficult times, too. Lucy still grieved the loss of her grandfather Litchfield, and Bree had miscarried early in her first pregnancy. Fortunately, the joyous birth of Jonathan David Moody a little over a year later had eased the pain.
One of the changes that had most shocked everyone except Lucy had been Panda’s decision to hire more employees so he could go back to school for a counseling degree. He now took only the security jobs that kept him near home and devoted the rest of his time to the more important work of helping other wounded warriors get their lives back, something he discovered he had a talent for.
Lucy found that motherhood meshed well with her growing writing career. She was a natural storyteller with an inherent ability to make the lives of the kids she helped come alive. She’d just started her third book, this one focusing on the eighteen- and nineteen-year-olds who’d aged out of foster care and had no place to go. She’d also become the go-to authority on at-risk children, which made her a popular guest on television news and talk shows. At the same time, she continued to work one-on-one as a volunteer at a Chicago drop-in center so she didn’t lose touch with the work she loved the most.
Other than their family, the biggest project she and Panda had undertaken was the island summer camp they’d nearly finished building on the land where Panda had once had his brooding place. The camp would allow siblings who’d been separated in foster care to spend a few precious weeks together every summer. It would also serve as a retreat for troubled veterans and their families as they struggled to find a new normal in their lives. Panda and Lucy understood exactly how many difficulties they’d face dealing with so many kids and adults in crisis, but they’d hired some extraordinary people to help out, and neither of them was afraid of a challenge.
The camp was being funded by the Litchfield-Jorik foundation, whose assets had grown substantially after Lucy turned over a large portion of the money she’d inherited from her grandfather. “There goes our yacht,” Panda had said when the paperwork was finished.
But between his business and Lucy’s writing career, they were financially comfortable, and neither of them had any interest in a more luxurious lifestyle. Nor did their imp of a daughter, who was perfectly happy clomping around in whatever pair of shoes her parents had left out.
Panda’s bodyguard instincts kicked in seconds before Lucy’s maternal ears perked up. “I’ll get him,” he said.
Lucy nodded and headed instead for their two-year-old daughter, who was gleefully attempting to snatch a bedraggled stuffed dinosaur from a loudly protesting miniature replica of Ted Beaudine. Panda reached the screen
