His Baby Dilemma

“Where’s Louise?” a raw, deep male voice asked.

“She’s at the doctor.” Grace lifted her head and looked into the Mediterranean-blue eyes she’d never forgotten. Mica. Her heart stopped. She was staring, but she couldn’t help it. “Rehab. Her back...”

“I heard,” he said sharply. He peered at her, taking inventory. “You’re new here.”

He didn’t recognize her. She should have figured that one. Why would he remember her? She had changed a lot in twelve years. A whole lot.

With the force of a tsunami, the memory of the pool party at the Barzonni villa hit her. The “gang” had all been there...Sarah Jensen, Maddie Strong and all the Barzonni brothers—football star Gabe, horse-lover Rafe and Nate, who only had eyes for Maddie.

And then there was Mica. The most handsome of all the blue-eyed, black-haired, sun-bronzed boys.

Mica had exuded the kind of perfection Grace had been trying her whole life to achieve. He was strong, quiet and arrestingly handsome.

And after a game of swimming-pool volleyball, Mica had kissed her. She remembered the chlorine smell mixed with suntan lotion, the warmth of his lips on hers. It was a quick kiss. One without passion or longing, and yet, to this day, she’d never forgotten it.

Nor had she forgotten his disdain of her pageant life and his dismissal of her interest in fashion. He hadn’t been cruel, but he’d made it clear he thought her pursuits were worthless.

She hadn’t known how to stand up to him back then. He was three years older and as much as she had wanted to rebuke him, she’d felt there was truth to his arguments. He and his brothers worked from dawn to dusk on the farm. There was always back-breaking work to do and they did it gladly. Mica considered it a privilege to be a part of his father’s legacy.

At Parsons and later in Paris, Grace had learned that Mica was right about one thing: determination and perseverance were everything.

Mica Barzonni had changed her life back then, though he didn’t know that. Several times over the years, she’d thought about writing to thank him. But now she saw how truly inconsequential she’d been in his life. Obviously, he didn’t remember her in the least. He was a Barzonni, after all. He already had everything.

Even now, her heart hammered in her chest. Suddenly she was that teenage girl again, crushing on the boy in the pool. She hadn’t been in love; she’d been too young for love, hadn’t she? Mica had given her no indication that she was anything to him other than a pest. Except for that one kiss. She was only a girl he’d met one summer...a long time ago.

She stared back at him. He wore dusty jeans, a faded plaid shirt, an old wool vest that she would have trashed and scuffed boots with dirt clods clinging to the heels. There was an oil smudge on his forehead. He looked like he’d walked right out of the fields. His hand rested on the counter, where he’d dumped a big canvas sack.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“Pie pumpkins for Louise. My mother said she called and needed them ASAP.”

“She didn’t tell me.” Grace added a final scoop to the sundae she’d been working on, but the dish was overloaded and another scoop fell out. She shoveled it back in and patted it down.

“You need some help there?” He smirked.

Grace stared at him. “I’m fine.” She plunged the dipper into the hot fudge and drizzled it over the ice cream. Glancing at the photo of the Monster Mash, she took a can of whipped cream from the under-the-counter refrigerator and pulled off the cap.

“You’re supposed to shake it up first,” Mica said.

“I know what I’m doing,” she snapped. Grace pressed the top and sprayed whipped cream all over the ice cream, the counter and onto Mica’s plaid shirt.

He groaned. “Yeah, right.”

“Sorry,” Grace said sheepishly, handing him a dish towel.

“You should’ve shaken the can,” he growled. “I would have thought Louise would hire someone with skills.”

Under Mica’s judgmental gaze, Grace felt as if she was fifteen again. Back when she’d just lost the crown and had felt terribly insecure. She’d given her heart away to Mica and he hadn’t known the first thing about her feelings. She’d kept silent. Well, not this time.

“If I want your advice, I’ll ask for it. Now, excuse me, please. I have to deliver this.” Grace carried her vastly imperfect Monster Mash to a table of four boys, who looked askance at the sundae. “I did my best,” she whispered to the kids. She handed them four spoons. “It’ll taste better than it looks.”

“Yeah,” Timmy said and gave her a thumbs-up. The kids dug in with audible glee.

When Grace turned around she noticed that Mica was now leaning against the counter, his hand on his hip as he watched every move she made. No beauty contest judge had ever scrutinized her so intently. She felt as if she still had whipped cream on her face or mascara smudges under her eyes. She should have checked her makeup before the kids arrived, but there hadn’t been time. Self-consciously, she touched her earrings. No. They were still in place.

All she could do was retaliate in kind. She let her gaze fall to his boots. She lifted the edge of her lips in a lopsided effort at a sneer. “You make deliveries here often?”

“I do now.”

“Then the next time you come, wipe your boots before you enter the shop. Saves me from scrubbing the floor.”

He straightened. “I remember you.”

“Oh, really?” Grace went behind the counter and took out another dish.

“You’re Louise’s niece. I didn’t recognize you without the rhinestone crown.”

Grace gripped the sundae dish to prevent herself from bouncing it off his thick skull. “And you’re Mica Barzonni.”

“Yeah. Well, tell Louise she can mail the check...for the pumpkins.”

“I will.”

He started to head for the door.

“Oh, Mica. Why don’t you stop off at the grocery store. Pick up some soap on your way out of town. Looks like you’ve run out.” She tapped her forehead.

He reached up to his forehead, rubbed it, then studied his greasy fingertips. He glared back at her.

Grace ground her jaw, picked up the ice-cream scoop and pitched it from hand to hand defiantly. One word. Try me, and I’ll really let you have it.

He spun on his heel and stomped out of the shop, leaving a clod of mud and grass on the floor.

“Ooooh!” Grace fumed, wishing she felt some relief from having had the last word.

Sarah rushed to her side. “Was that Mica? I wanted to say hi.”

“It was.” Every smug, judgmental inch of him.

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah.” Grace frowned. “You look surprised. Why?”

“Mica doesn’t come to town much. Especially since the accident.”

“What accident?”

Sarah paused. “You didn’t know?”

“Know what?”

“He was in an accident a few months ago that nearly killed him. He was working on his mother’s car and it dropped on him. He’s lost the use of his left arm. He keeps his hand in his jeans pocket so people don’t notice. If he seemed—”

“Arrogant as all get out?” Grace interrupted.

Sarah smiled. “Well, yeah. He’s always had that about him.”

“I would have thought he’d have grown up by now. Learned some manners. Do you remember when he used to call me silly because I was upset about losing Miss Teen Illinois? He didn’t get it. Those pageants were important to me and a huge part of my life back then. I thought I wanted to be a model, but then I realized my real talent was in fashion design. I was heartbroken that I didn’t win for a lot of reasons. That win would have given me a substantial scholarship to college. My mother didn’t have much money but my winnings all went in a back account for my education.”

“Did you ever tell him this?” Sarah countered.

“No...” Grace’s shoulders slumped. “I guess I was pretty harsh earlier. Aunt Louise owes him money for the pumpkins. I think I’ll deliver it in person.”

* * *

AFTER LOUISE RETURNED from rehab, Grace got a signed check from her and asked to borrow her car. Then she drove south to the Barzonni farm. It was one route she didn’t need a GPS to follow.

She rang the bell when she got to the house, but no one answered. She rang it four more times, but there was still no answer.

Remembering that the family often used the kitchen door, she walked around to the back and knocked. Still no answer. She looked down at the check Louise had written.

It was a flimsy excuse for her to be here, but Grace was ashamed of her remarks about Mica’s dirty boots and the grease on his face, and she wanted to apologize. She didn’t know why he rattled her cage the way he did, but he did.

She banged on the door. “Hello? Anybody home?”

“What do you want?” Mica asked, startling her as he came out of the apartment over the garage. He stood on the balcony, his right hand on the railing as he glared at her.

“I, uh, brought the check we owe you.”

“You could have mailed it,” he said, starting down the steps.

He came toward her, and Grace was certain that no male model, no Hollywood star, no European prince, was as drop-dead handsome as Mica Barzonni. His blue eyes seemed to be taking inventory of her every eyelash.

I didn’t even check my makeup before I left Louise’s! This jet lag is going to be the end of me.

“Here,” she said, thrusting the check at him as if it would singe her fingertips.

“Thanks.”

“Mica...” She cleared her throat. “I came out here because I owe you an apology.”

He stared at her, his expression unreadable. “No, you didn’t.”

“What?”

“You came out here because you found out about my acci— My arm. Who told you?”

“Sarah.”

“Good old Sarah. Well, you would have found out sooner or later. Everybody knows.”

“And they shouldn’t? Is it a secret?”

“I guess not. Still...”

“Still...what?”

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Why?”

“Because, little miss preteen, then I see the pity in their eyes like I see in yours. You feel sorry for me.” He shot the words at her with acidic bite.

Is he serious? “Actually, I don’t feel that way at all. In fact, Mica, I think you’re just as self-centered and arrogant as you were when we were kids.”

“I was never those things.”

“Fine. You are now.” She jammed her hands on her hips. “And another thing. My life has never been silly. Okay? I worked hard for everything I’ve accomplished.”

He took another step toward her, his face dangerously close to hers. “I seriously doubt that. You haven’t got the first clue what it is to work hard. This farm, this land and all it demands, is hard work. I suppose you still tromp around in a pink dress and smile and wink for some judges and you think that’s work? Get real.”

“That was a long time ago. And there was more to it than that.”

“You know what? I don’t have time for this. You live in your world. I’ll live in mine. Got that?”

“Got it,” she roared back.

“I think we’re done here. I’ll give my mother your check. She’ll be thrilled. Probably fly to Tahiti with all this money.”

“You’re a jerk, Mica Barzonni.”

The anger in his eyes died instantly, as if she’d doused the fire. His face softened and she felt he was seeing her for the first time. His eyes were imploring, seeking. “I’m sorry,” he said finally. “That was rude of me.”

Surprised at his apology, she stared at him for a long moment. She’d had her shields up and had been ready to wield a sword against him if need be. She held her breath, waiting for the next attack.

“I’m sorry, Grace,” he murmured. “I like your Aunt Louise a lot. She’s a nice lady. And I don’t know anything about you or what you’ve done with your life. Forgive me?”

“I do,” she replied softly, sensing his disappointment in himself.

He moved a step closer. “I don’t want to fight with you. Or anyone.” He touched his left arm. “It embarrasses me that I’m not...well, who I was.”

“Don’t say that. You’re Mica and that’s a good thing. At least I always thought so.”

He massaged his arm, then let his right hand drop.

“It had to be painful. Sarah said the car dropped on you.”

“Funny. A lot of it I don’t remember. But every hour of every day, I’m left with this reminder of my carelessness. It was so stupid,” he said angrily.

She reached for his hand, but didn’t touch him. He jerked away from her.

“See why I don’t like going into the details?”

“It’s upsetting.”

“More than you can imagine,” he replied.

“Then let’s talk about something else,” she said, smiling at him.

“Like what?”

“We have a lot of years to catch up on. I don’t know what happened to you. I mean, not about your accident. I remember you talking about engines and machines and the things you wanted to invent. Did you end up going to Purdue?”

“You remember all that?”

“I remember everything about you.” Her words came out as a whisper.

“I got my engineering degree,” he said, leaning closer.

“Mica, that’s wonderful. I’m proud of you.”

“Really?”

“Of course. I always wanted the best for you. I knew you’d succeed. You were so determined and focused as a teen.”

Confusion wrinkled his brow. “You thought that?”

“I did.” She couldn’t stop herself from smiling. “You see, I was paying attention.”

“I’m...I’m surprised.” He raked back a lock of hair. “You surprise me.”

“That’s a good thing, huh?” She felt a warm glow in her chest.

“Yeah,” he said, though he still didn’t smile. He glanced back toward the kitchen door. “Hey, I was just about to raid the fridge for dinner. Everybody went out to Gabe’s house—”

“And you didn’t go?” she interrupted.

“No, I don’t usually...”

“Why not?”

He placed his right hand on his left arm without looking at it. His eyes were focused on her. Grace liked the attention Mica gave her. A lot.

“I wasn’t up to it.” A dark shadow clouded his sky blue eyes.

Understanding cracked like a bolt of lightning across Grace’s mind. “Mica...are you asking me to dinner?”

He blinked as if he remembered where he was. Who he was with. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

“Great.” She beamed. “I’m starving. I spent the afternoon surrounded by sugar and ice cream and didn’t steal a bite for myself.”

He took two steps back. “This way.”

Inside the kitchen, he went straight to the large refrigerator and began withdrawing plastic covered bowls. “Manicotti. Salad. Mixed fruit. Ooh, and Mom’s herbed Italian bread.”

He spooned pasta onto two plates and put the first one into the microwave.

Once the food was heated, they sat at the kitchen table.

The garlic and basil aroma made Grace’s mouth water. She finished her pasta long before Mica. She looked up. He held his fork midmotion as if he’d forgotten to take a bite in the process of watching her.

“What?” she asked.

“You give hungry a new meaning.” He still didn’t smile, and only gave her that enigmatic, distant look that she’d always assumed to be arrogance.

She grinned, hoping to crack the wall of ice he kept around him. “I’d like to blame the jet lag, but the truth is...I eat like this too often. Definitely not healthy.”

“Why?”

“Because I work for six, maybe eight hours nonstop. I’m so immersed in my designs that I forget to eat. Or sleep.”

“It’s that way for you, too?”

She lowered her fork and wiped her mouth. She kept her eyes on his. “Uh-huh.”

“I thought it was just me. I thought it was depression from the accident.”

“Tell me how it’s been, Mica.”

She’d barely uttered the words and he started talking without taking a breath.

“It’s not the accident—the pain or even this bothersome rehab that’s so hard. It’s like every aspect of my life is withering away. One day I was the hero on the farm, able to fix every piece of equipment. I have more tools in the mechanical shed than they have at Home Depot. Whatever Rafe could do, I could do as well and faster. Once Gabe left, Mom was sure we’d have to cut back on production. But we didn’t. We simply went on.” He snapped his fingers. “Like that. Everything changed. Rafe and Mom want to replace me—”

“You can’t mean that.”

“They do.”

“But you’re Mica. You’re...”

“As insignificant as humanly possible,” he interjected, lowering his gaze.

Grace pushed her chair back and rose slowly. She placed her hands on either side of his face. “Look at me.”

“Grace, you don’t have to say anything. I...thank you for listening.”

“Shut up.”

She kissed him. It was more electric than she’d planned. She didn’t pity Mica. She didn’t think he was looking for a savior. She just wanted to know if what she was feeling right now was more than the vestiges of a teenage crush.

And it was.

If she were smart she’d leave. Walk away from him the way she had all those years ago. Except apparently she’d kept her emotions hidden back then. Even from herself.

She had to face it. She’d always been a fool for Mica.

And she didn’t care about anything except making this moment last.

When she pulled back, Mica gazed into her eyes and gave her a soft smile. “Grace.”

He stood and put his arm around her. She kissed him again, not daring to let him take the lead, afraid he might let his melancholy overcome him.

Though she could sense his strength, she also felt his lost sense of purpose. He was floundering, searching, and she wanted to be the rock in the rushing stream that he held on to.

I’m still in love with him.

He broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers. “You take my breath away,” he whispered.

“I could say that about you.”

“You mean that?”

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”

“Grace, I think we have a lot of catching up to do. It could take...well, a long time.”

“Mica...”

He pulled her hand to his lips.

“I’m only here for a month. Just to help Aunt Louise.”

“Then what?”

“I’ll go back to Paris.” He moved closer and she could feel his breath on her cheek. His eyes were unwavering, pinning her, and in that moment she felt the power that was Mica Barzonni. His right arm slipped around her waist and he drew her to him.

“I have to go back...”

“We’ll see about that.”

His lips on hers were nirvana. She was whisked away from the earth. Her heartbeat pounded in her chest and thrummed at her temples. The only sound she heard was Mica’s intake of breath and the deep resonating strains of her name coming from his throat. He kissed her as if he would never kiss her again. She nearly believed he was in love with her. For years she’d daydreamed that one day Mica would love her. This excruciatingly lovely kiss was perfect. It was everything she’d dreamed of and more.

He deepened the kiss and breathed her name again. “Grace.”

“Don’t talk. Just kiss me.”

Her skin tingled as their bodies melded into each other.

Through her hand on his nape, she felt strength surging through his spine and the taut muscles in his shoulders. She sank her fingers into his thick hair and held him. She wanted him to know that she didn’t want him to stop. She didn’t want this dream to fade.

At this moment, Grace believed that even she might find a happily-ever-after. That for her, the fairy tale was coming true.

CHAPTER ONE

Present day

MICA HEARD IT from his sister-in-law, Maddie, who heard it from Mrs. Beabots, who got it straight from Louise Railton.

Grace Railton was back in town.

He didn’t know which emotion to pick first. Anger came to mind right off the bat, but it was quickly replaced with disappointment, hurt and curiosity.

“What’s she doing here?” Grace had made it pretty clear when she left town last year that Paris was the only universe she’d inhabit on a long-term basis. Indian Lake was too small for Grace, the beauty-pageant queen.

Mica stared at the tractor engine he was fixing, then tossed the wrench onto the tool bench with enough force to make the screwdriver beside it jump. Grace.

For over a year, he’d gone over every detail of his relationship with Grace, if he could even call it that. No matter how many times he rehashed the events of that whirlwind October, he came up with only one assessment: they were as mismatched as a tuxedo and a pair of cowboy boots.

If he was honest with himself, he’d known that since they were teenagers.

Grace and her mother had been obsessed with beauty pageants. Crowns and dresses—that was all she’d talked about back then. Unless she was criticizing everything he wore.

He hadn’t liked the way he reacted to Grace. She’d had some kind of lightning rod stuck to her spine that just made him want to strike. She’d needled him in a way he didn’t understand, always picking at what was wrong with him. Asking why he didn’t want more for himself than his life on the farm. Meanwhile, she’d talked about New York and Paris like they were Mecca, or the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. She’d made perfectly clear her opinions about Indian Lake and the people who chose to make it their home.

Which made it even harder to understand the intense month they’d spent together a year ago October. It had been like a switch had been flipped. She was focused on her career and when she talked about her designs, her eyes lit up like fireworks. There were times he thought he could listen to her and never tire of her enthusiasm. She was the kind of person who would always be vibrant. But Mica doubted if he’d ever know whether she had truly wanted him or had simply pitied him.

He traced the gouged edges of the old pair of pliers his father had used to repair their tractors, generators and trucks. Angelo had built this farm with his hands. Hands that never stopped working, and Angelo had taught all his sons to do the same.

Yet now, Mica only had one hand. He was never going to be the kind of empire builder his father had been. He had to find a new path. Since college graduation, he’d abandoned his engineering goals in order to help on the farm. Now the farm didn’t need him or want him. He had to find a way to translate his dreams from the drafting table and his computer into a working piece of machinery for people with disabilities.

Mica slumped against the workbench and looked across at the machinery shed, where he spent a great deal of his time lately. Tinkering. That was all he’d done in the past year or so. All he’d done since Grace left town.

Grace... He ran his hand through his hair. She’d emailed him once after she landed in Paris, telling him that her design team was further behind than she’d thought. They needed her. She’d be working 24/7 to pull off their spring line. He’d told her he understood. But he hadn’t. Week after week, he’d sent emails and left messages, but she never responded.

He ground his teeth. Her silence was like a brick wall falling on him. She wanted nothing to do with him. Maybe she hadn’t changed as much as he’d thought she might have during the month they spent together.

Her departure—and rejection—still bothered him, but Mica had had more important things to focus on in the past year. With a lot of rehab—and trial and error—he’d learned his way around his new life with only one working arm. He’d had to figure out how to dress with one hand, and even change the way he did chores around the kitchen. Every sandwich bag had to have a slider so he could put the bag on the counter and slide the top closed. No more jars. Pop tops for everything. Pots and pans were simple. He used one at a time. He chopped vegetables in a food processor or used a mandolin to slice them over a bowl. The majority of the time, his mother made plenty of food for him to warm in his microwave.

He couldn’t drive the tractor or change the baler. He was of no help to Rafe, so his brother had been forced to take on another hourly worker. When their father had died, Mica and Rafe had agreed to hire extra help. Now they needed even more.