Roxanne Claire - Barefoot by the Sea

Tessa pushed up. Any minute a young mother would appear to limit the rockrose theft, so she wanted to assure them they could take all they wanted. The blooms were plentiful, doubling sometimes overnight, and the pink flowers made lovely little hair decorations for the girls.

But no mother came around from the villa side, so Tessa set down her basket and took off one gardening glove, using her bare hand to brush the dirt from her knees as she eyed the tiny tourists. Very tiny, if she could tell from this distance. Mere toddlers, scampering around, snagging more flowers, the music of their high-pitched voices ringing across the open fields.

She took a few steps, waiting until she got closer to call out to them, careful not to startle them.

As she got about twenty feet away, she could see they were not even five, a boy and a girl whispering as they picked the lower half of one hedge completely clean of fuchsia flowers.

“We have about five million!” the little boy called out. “Is that enough?”

Tessa laughed softly. “That’s probably enough.”

The girl turned then, her eyes widening as Tessa approached. Suddenly, she shook her head ferociously and grabbed the boy’s arm, turning him so he could see Tessa.

“It’s all right, honey,” Tessa assured her, holding up her hand in greeting. “I’m the gardener and you can take some flowers.”

They both stared at her.

“Is your mommy here?”

The girl’s eyes widened and the boy shook his head.

“Daddy?”

Another shake.

Tessa reached them, taking in their porcelain white skin, free of a single freckle. Snowbird babies, she thought, on a winter Florida vacation.

“Are you with a grown-up?” she asked gently.

The little girl turned to the other boy, clearly a brother, and whispered in his ear. He nodded, listening before meeting Tessa’s gaze. “Can she have the flowers?”

Tessa’s heart folded a little. “Of course.”

The girl shook her head, blue eyes flashing, and then whispered again, clutching his arm.

“Okay,” he said, calming her. Looking at Tessa, he said, “She wants you to know they’re a gift.”

“For your mom?” she asked.

“For you.” The man’s voice, soft and low, came from behind the hedge, startling her and making the children turn.

“Is this our lady, Ian?” the boy called out.

The words jumbled for a moment, not making any sense.

Had he said…Tessa put a hand over her chest, as if that could contain her heart and catch her breath. Ian?

“I believe it is our lady.” He stepped out from behind the thick hedge, slowly enough so the sunshine poured over him and highlighted his tentative smile. His hair was cut much shorter, his face shaved clean, but his eyes were as blue as—as the two sets staring at her.

“Oh, yeah. This is most definitely our lady.”

She was dreaming. Dizzy, dazed, and dumbstruck.

The boy elbowed the girl. “Em! Now, like we practiced?”

She took a slow step forward, lifting a fistful of flowers, her creamy cheeks deepening with color as she looked right at the ground.

“Hello, pretty Tessa.” Her voice was little more than a breath of sweet air, but it was enough to practically do Tessa in.

“Oh…” With shaking hands, Tessa reached for the offering with her ungloved hand, all blood and reason draining from her head. “Hello.”

The boy got next to her. “She’s Emma. I’m Edward.”

And I’m speechless. Tessa blinked and finally let her gaze settle on the man, who walked up behind them, putting his hands on their shoulders.

“I’m Ian Browning,” he said softly, the British accent as mesmerizing as the smile on his lips.

She couldn’t speak. Her mouth opened, but nothing would come out.

The little girl leaned over to whisper to her brother again.

“She wants to pick those yellow flowers,” he said, pointing at a row of hibiscus.

“Of course,” Tessa said.

The kids took off, each one taking a different path around her as they tore to the trees.

She took a slow breath and stared at the man in front of her. “I don’t understand this.”

“Neither do I.” He took a step closer, nothing but warmth and love in his eyes.

“But…” All the questions welled up inside her. Why was he here? With his children? Openly calling himself Ian Browning and speaking in his native accent? But she couldn’t form a single question, because he was so close all she could do was look. And when he reached for her gloved hand, all she could do was let him take it and when he leaned close, all she could do was close her eyes and brace for impact.

“I don’t understand how I could even imagine a life without you.” He breathed the words into her ear. “And now I don’t have to.”

“John…”

He inched back. “Ian.”

“How is that possible?”

A high-pitched squeal came from the kids, making them both turn to see them running wild around a lemon tree, Emma’s curls flying and Eddie’s legs whirring.

Ian pulled her closer as he looked from the kids to her. “They’re mine.”

She laughed. “I assumed as much.”

He shook his head. “No, I mean they’re really mine. To keep and raise out in the open.”

Joy flooded her, like warm rain from her head to toes. “I’m so happy for you.”

He brushed her hair off her face with one hand, still holding her other. “Bloody hell, I missed you, woman.”

More joy cascaded. No, not joy. Love. A straight-out, full-on, explosion of true love. “How is it that you are out here in the open air, being…you? What happened?”

He sighed. “Lightning struck twice.”

She shook her head, confused.

“The Vane brothers were killed in a prison riot,” he explained. “They’re dead, the gang’s finished, and no one on this sweet earth is trying to hunt me down.”

She took a moment to let that sink in, but it would take longer. Maybe a year. Maybe a lifetime. “Except me. I called Henry,” she admitted.

“You did?”

“There was no answer.”

“Probably because he was with me and thought it was a—why did you call?”

“Just to tell you…” Childish laughter rang again and she couldn’t help but turn and look at them. “They’re beautiful.”

He just smiled. “I know. And you’re going to love them.”

She already did. But, deep inside, she fought the sensation, terrified to get too hopeful. “How could everything change that easily?”

“Nothing was easy,” he assured her. “I had Henry on my side, though, and we fought, cajoled, begged, convinced, and finally charmed our way into getting me this far.” He kissed her forehead. “I wasn’t going to live without you. Or them.”

“Ian, look! Lemons!” The boy’s voice rose with excitement. “Can I pick one?”

“Of course,” Tessa called back. “He’s all better?”

“Completely.” Ian beamed at them. “They’re a little confused by the whole thing, but think I’m a new foster parent. I’m calling them the names they’ve grown up with and hoping to ease them into the truth as they get older. But now? I just want to love them.”

“Of course.” She stole another look, her heart swelling. “How could you do anything but?”

“Emma’s having a hard time adjusting. She’s shy and won’t talk to anyone but Edward and a few stuffed animals.”

Sympathy swamped her. “She needs—”

“A mother.” He took one step closer and put his hands on her shoulders. “They both do. A sweet, nurturing, tender mother who can teach them about potatoes and flowers and seashells and love.”

Oh. She closed her eyes, full of a sensation she’d never, ever known before. Now this…this was the way she always imagined she’d feel the day she found out she was going to have a baby. Utterly at peace and in love.

“They need to love you the way I do,” he whispered. “The way I will for the rest of my life.” He tightened his grip. “That’s why we’re here,” he said. “To get you.”

Oh, God. “And go…somewhere?”

“A few places, but no more hiding,” he assured her. “First, we’re going to find that white-haired mayor.”

“Lennox?”

He nodded. “We have a—no, sorry, I have a piece of paper to sign.”

The marriage certificate. “You still need that?”

“I still want that. Don’t you?”

More than anything. She nodded.

“Then we’re going to fly by Ottawa to finalize some custody paperwork which will ensure that Emma and Eddie are ours.”

Ours. Her heart squeezed. “And then?”

“A trip to London, I think.”

“London?”

“My parents want to meet you and, of course, see the kids. I have a few other things I’d like to do there, but mostly see the people I left behind.”

“And then…where?” New Zealand? Timbuktu? What did it matter if they were—

“Right here, of course. A resort in paradise, which happens to be the closest thing to heaven on earth I can imagine.”

“Here?” She put her hands to her mouth, the earthen smell on the glove invading her head, making her dizzy with joy. “You’ll live here in Barefoot Bay?”

“We’ll live here.” He lifted her gloved hand and very slowly pulled it off, one finger at a time. She thought he would kiss her knuckles as he had the first time they stood in this garden together, but he reached into his pocket instead.

“To beginnings, pretty Tessa.”

She laughed. “I’ve heard this the last time you stripped my glove off and started courting me.”

“Not this.” In his other hand, he held a blindingly bright diamond ring, the stone catching the sun and stealing her breath. “You haven’t heard this.”

“No,” she managed to say. “I don’t think I have.”

He slipped the ring on her finger and closed his hand around hers. “This is real, Tessa. Real life. Real love. Marry me and let’s be a real family of four.”

“Actually…” She looked at the ring, then him, everything blurred by joy and hope and a sense of completion as palpable as the budding life around her. Stepping back, she took his hand and placed it on her stomach. “There are five of us now.”

He drew back, his eyes wide, his lower lip quivering in disbelief. “Tessa.” He barely whispered her name. “Are you sure?”

She reached up and touched his cheek, the diamond on her hand as lovely as the tears in his eyes. “I’ve never been so sure of anything in my whole life.”

“Well…how are you? Is everything good? Are you okay…I mean, is everything…”

“I’m fine.” She laughed at the stuttering of a stunned new father. “I’m perfect.”

He folded her into his arms, lifting her off the ground for a kiss. “You sure are, pretty Tessa. You are perfect.”

And so, it seemed, was her life.

The Vixen of Vacation Vows

Blog Post—August 12

The maid of honor was a dead woman.

The bouquet was a squirming baby.

And the place was so littered with eye-candy, a girl could get whiplash from checking out the groomsmen.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me back up, loyal followers, and explain why I chose to blog about the wedding I just attended in the most dreamy spot called Barefoot Bay.

Do you remember almost a year ago when I visited a Moroccan-inspired resort on the Gulf Coast of Florida? I had been invited for what was, admittedly, a “soft” opening, as they say. Soft? This was more like the squishy underbelly of a fat cow. Gooey like the dozen eggs I dropped in the grocery store parking lot. Limp like that guy I…never mind, you get the idea. They made some beginner’s blunders and I let them have it, V3-style. (Slice and dice with a dash of vitriol and sarcasm.) I left the Casa Blanca resort quite underwhelmed, despite the lovely ladies who run the place and their high, high hopes.

Well, what a difference a little time makes!

It wasn’t easy to get me to go back (there are thirteen thousand destination-wedding resorts in the world and only one Vixen to critique them for you, kittehs!) but some quite influential friends plied me with…er, twisted my arm. The lovely folks at AABC (that’s the American Association of Bridal Consultants, not the a-alphabet) convinced me to attend a wedding as a VIP guest and what an affair it was! I must share all I experienced that day for it was a wedding like no other. Well, it was like many others. Two people got married. They seemed frightfully in love. The sandy stage was draped with pearls and lace and all manner of white stuff.