With a much lighter step, he sauntered down the stairs and followed Jack through the loud, hectic kitchen. The scents of ham and fresh-baked rolls filled the air. He breathed in the delicious smells, his mouth watering.
“Stay here. I’ll go see what’s happening,” Jack said, leaving the house through the back door.
Braham grabbed a ham biscuit off a tray on the counter while he waited, and ate it in two bites, then wolfed down a second and a third to the disapproving glare of the caterer.
“My God. I don’t believe it.”
Braham turned his head in the direction of the voice coming from the hall leading into the kitchen. There was something familiar about it, but the man weaving his way around the cooks and coming in Braham’s direction wasn’t anyone he recognized. He only knew a handful of people anyway. The red-haired man, sporting a two-day beard, was tall and lean, but several inches shorter than himself. The man must have mistaken Braham for someone else.
He extended his hand, but the welcoming gesture was at odds with his twisted smile. “I’m Ken Thomas. It is you, isn’t it? McCabe, right?”
Braham nodded with dawning recognition of the name, if not the face.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes.” Ken’s gaze traveled down to Braham’s midsection, then back to his face. “Last time I saw you, you were recovering from a bullet in your belly. When’d you… arrive?”
Braham shrugged. “Thirty minutes ago.”
Doctor Thomas crossed his arms and glared. “It takes a lot of nerve to keep a woman waiting for more than three years.”
Braham grimaced, scratching his chin. “I told her not to, but I’m grateful she did.”
“You don’t deserve her.”
“I won’t argue with ye.”
“She never stopped believing in you.”
“She never should have started.”
“I should punch you.”
Braham spread his arms at his side, opening his body for another punch from one of Charlotte’s protectors. “Go ahead. I deserve it. David already has—twice.”
The doctor rubbed his knuckles. “Lucky for you, I’m a healer, not a fighter.”
The door swung open and Jack entered the kitchen. “Oh, hi, Ken. When did you get here?”
“Just walked in and saw Braham. How’s Charlotte taking the news?”
“She doesn’t know yet. The photographer is placing everyone for a group shot with Stormy’s Sun. We need to get in place before Braham comes out. The photographer knows he’s coming, so he’ll be taking pictures.”
“Okay.” Ken slapped Braham on the shoulder. “She’ll be glad to see you.” Ken left the house, whistling.
“There’re two dozen of Elliott’s friends out there,” Jack said. “They’ve all heard about you and will want to meet you. You can do it later. Charlotte’s waited a long time. Take her upstairs. No one will bother you there. Give me thirty seconds to get in place.” Jack blew out a breath. “I can’t believe you’re finally here.” He gave Braham a hug. “Love ya, man.”
Braham calmed himself and kept his breathing slow and deep. His eyes stayed fixed on the open door as he counted. When he reached sixty, he strode out toward the paddock. The heavy wool of his kilt swished about his legs with each easy stride.
A beautiful chestnut with white stockings stood in the center of a group of people. Braham scanned the crowd, searching for Charlotte.
Then a child’s voice piped, “My daddy.”
There was some murmuring, and people looked around.
“It is too my daddy. Look. Let me down. I gotta hug him right now.”
Braham glanced in the direction of the child’s voice and spotted a small blond-haired lad, wearing a blue shirt, tan pants, and a navy jacket, running toward him with open arms. The odd moment caused Braham’s heart to kick up with an extra-hard thud. He blinked, looking at a miniature of himself. The lad ran straight to him with his little arms raised.
“Pick me up. I want to kiss you, Daddy.”
Braham hoisted up the lad, who immediately gripped his little arms around Braham’s neck and kissed his lips with a warm, wet smack. “Love you, Daddy.”
The words rang in Braham’s heart, and tears welled at the sight of his son—a child conceived in a moment of deepest desire.
Braham’s heart beat wildly as he searched the crowd for Charlotte. The sun glared down on a stunningly beautiful woman chasing after the lad with long, shapely legs. Her curls blew wildly about her face, and a short dress, matching the blue of her eyes, molded to the luscious curves of her body.
Charlotte came to a sudden, breathless stop. Her head cocked, staring at him in utter disbelief through tear-filled eyes. Then the most radiant smile he’d ever seen brightened her rosy-cheeked face.
Braham knelt on one knee, his kilt swirling around him, his son in his arm. He held out the sapphire ring and said, “I love ye, Charlotte. Will ye marry me?”
She dropped to her knees, tears streaming down her face.
“Will ye accept this ring now with my promise to love ye and our children? To protect ye and our children, and live here and now with ye for the rest of my life?” His heart stopped beating while he waited for her answer.
“I…will marry you.”
She held out her hand and, with his heart crashing happily around in his chest, he slipped the cherished ring on her finger.
“I marry you, too, Daddy.”
Braham pulled Charlotte into the curve of his arm and kissed her. The kiss moved like a warm blossoming light from the center of his heart to the center of forever.
Lincoln patted Braham and Charlotte’s cheeks. “I want to kiss Daddy, too.”
Charlotte smiled into Braham’s eyes. “Kiss your daddy, Lincoln. He’s finally come home.”
100
MacKlenna Farm, Lexington, Kentucky, Present Day
Late on Derby night, after everyone had gone to sleep, Elliott sat up in bed studying a family tree. Meredith had received a one-inch stack of documents from her research
