Miracle Road

He tore his attention away from Hope. “Say the prayer?”

“No. I’ll ask Zach to lead us in our blessing. I’d like you to share your father’s favorite Thanksgiving saying.”

“That’s a nice way to remember a loved one at a holiday,” Celeste observed.

Yes, Lucca realized. It was. He cleared his throat and quoted not the Bible, nor an ancient philosopher, but the humorist Erma Bombeck. “‘Thanksgiving dinners take eighteen hours to prepare. They are consumed in twelve minutes. Halftimes take twelve minutes. This is not coincidence.’”

As one, Tony, Gabi, and Max said reverently, “Amen.”

And so, the first Thanksgiving dinner at Aspenglow began with laughter and a prayer.

Lucca kept a close eye on Hope. She took tiny little helpings and picked at those, eating just enough so that his mother wouldn’t be insulted or get her feelings hurt. But she engaged in conversation, mostly with Richard and his daughter-in-law, and as the meal went on, he noticed that she did relax. Once that happened, he was able to unwind and enjoy his meal, too.

The food was delicious, as always. Not for the first time, he wondered how it was that the culinary gene had managed to skip his sister entirely. He asked the question aloud, and Gabi threw a roll at him. Little Claire’s eyes grew round as saucers. She’d relaxed, too, he realized when he heard her chatting with his mother, and, he was glad to see, with Hope, too.

Well, that’s a positive development. Claire was a cute kid. The Steeles were nice people. Richard’s kids obviously thought well of him and, upon seeing that, the last of Lucca’s reservations about the man melted away.

When he’d eaten his fill, he sat back in his chair and observed the people around him. This truly was a day for Thanksgiving. I am so blessed. I have such a great family. And Hope … I can’t give her Holly, but I could give her this. She could be part of it. I could give her a family.

Would she marry me?

As the question popped into his mind, he reached for his wineglass at the same time Hope picked up her water. That’s when Claire Steele asked, “Do you have a daughter, Ms. Montgomery?”

Hope’s arm jerked. Lucca’s wineglass tipped. Ruby red liquid went flying onto Hope’s white shirt and across his mother’s peach-colored tablecloth. The crystal glass smashed against the floor.

Hope jumped to her feet. “Oh. Oh. I’m sorry. I’m just so sorry.”

“My fault,” Lucca said. “Sorry, Mom.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Maggie insisted. “My mother always said that a stained tablecloth was a sign of a good meal.”

“I’ll get some paper towels.” Hope hurried toward the kitchen as his mother said, “Lucca, the broom and dustpan are in the mudroom.”

“Yes, ma’am.” But the broom wasn’t in the mudroom where it belonged, and it took him a few minutes to find it. When he returned to the dining room, Hope wasn’t there. “She left,” Gabi told him. “She said she wasn’t feeling well.”

“I’ll go check on her,” he said as he quickly swept up the broken glass.

Celeste shook her head. “Sit down and have your pie first, Lucca. The girl needs some time to think.”

Think about what, he almost asked. Her earlier words echoed in his mind. What am I going to do? I don’t deserve a second chance. As he tossed the broken glass into the trash bin, he put together the clues. He didn’t have to ask. He was pretty sure he knew.

She’s pregnant.

He needed to sit down before his knees gave out and he fell down, so it only made sense that he do it at the table. When his mother put thin slices of his three favorite pies on a plate in front of him, it only made sense that he eat them. Then, since it was his and Tony’s turn for Thanksgiving kitchen patrol, it only made sense that he show up for duty so that he didn’t get his ass kicked by the sibling who’d be called upon to fill in for him.

After all that, considering the task that lay before him, it only made sense to raid his mother’s liquor cabinet, pour three fingers of scotch, and sit outside to sip his liquid courage for a bit.

Pregnant. He could be wrong, but he didn’t think so. His gut told him otherwise, and as stuffed as he was from Thanksgiving dinner, the message had to be strong to get through.

They hadn’t used protection their first time together. She was pregnant. She wasn’t happy about being pregnant. Holy hell, this was going to be tricky.

He’d just thought about marriage for the first time today. He hadn’t told her he loved her. She certainly hadn’t said those words to him. But Lucca was old-fashioned enough that when the woman he loved was carrying his child, he wanted to marry her. Make a family with her.

He recalled her words to Celeste. She didn’t deserve to be a mother. She couldn’t do this. Hope was scared to death. That was understandable. He was scared spitless himself. And he’d never had a child before, much less one who’d been kidnapped.

What if Hope was too frightened to go through with the pregnancy? He didn’t know her views on abortion. They’d never discussed it.

Well, this was a discussion that had to take place immediately. He wanted this baby. He wanted her. He would have them both. Lucca knew how to win, and win he would.

He polished off his scotch, went back inside to make his excuses to his family, then left Aspenglow Place determined to expand the number of Romanos by two.

A short, brisk walk later, he rapped on Hope’s front door. She didn’t answer. He didn’t let that stop him. He tried the knob, expecting to find it unlocked. It was. Roxy met him as he stepped inside, and without thinking about it, Lucca bent and scooped the little dog up into his arms. He scratched her behind her ears as he went looking for Hope.

He found her in her bedroom standing beside her window and gazing out at a snowcapped Murphy Mountain, her eyes red, her cheeks stained with tears. She looked heartbreakingly beautiful, he thought. Then he noticed that she was standing with her hand placed protectively over her lower belly, and in that moment, his worst fears dissipated. This was not the stance of a woman considering aborting her child.

Joy washed through him like a sunshine-warmed stream, filling up spaces inside him that had been dark too long. Strategic thinking cautioned him to keep that to himself for now. Roxy wiggled in his arms, so he set her down. “You ate and ran.”

“Yes. It was rude of me, but I had to change my shirt.”

He dropped his gaze pointedly toward the wine stain on her front, then looked her straight in the eyes. “Is there something you need to tell me, Hope?”

She sank down onto the floor, sitting cross-legged, and pulled Roxy into her lap. The mutt lifted her head and licked Hope’s face.

Since his knees weren’t all that steady, either, Lucca crossed the room and sat on the floor beside her. “You’re upset.”

“Almost every day when the weather was nice, I took Holly to play in a park near our condo. She made friends with a group of children whose moms brought them at the same time. One of the little boys came to the park one day wearing a superhero cape, and soon every child on that playground was wearing one. Holly wanted a purple one. Purple was her color. We went to the fabric store and she picked out the fabric herself, then sat beside me while I sewed it.”

As her hand repetitively stroked Roxy from head to tail, Hope closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall. “When it was finished and I held it up for her to see, she truly beamed. I had never seen her so excited about anything. Not even Christmas morning. Of course, we had to go immediately to the park. Do you know what she did the first thing?”

“What did she do, honey?”

“She climbed up onto a picnic bench, spread her arms, and said, “Look, Mommy. I’m going to fly!” And then she jumped off. It was only a few feet and it certainly wasn’t the first time she’d launched herself off into space by any means. But watching her, I could see disaster happening. Another little girl—a toddler—ran right into her path, and I couldn’t do anything to stop it. I felt sick.” A tear slipped from beneath her lashes to roll silently down her cheek. “I feel the same way now.”

Lucca resisted the urge to touch her. “Was Holly hurt?”