Expecting a Miracle

Lauren reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. That made it twice this morning that she’d touched him. Twice that such benign contact had zapped Gavin with all the force of a lightning bolt.

“If it were just me,” she said, “I wouldn’t worry so much. But with the baby?” She shook her head and her eyes turned bright.

“You’re going to be fine. Both of you are going to be fine.” He turned his hand over so that he could hold hers. She looked radiant. Sitting across from him, wearing a pair of shorts that showed off her trim legs, she looked lovely and…sexy.

Gavin swallowed. Was it okay to think of a pregnant woman as sexy?

Especially this pregnant woman?

Dear Reader,

I firmly believe that good things can come out of bad situations. Lauren discovers this when she decides to leave a loveless marriage to make a better life for herself and her unborn child.

I loved watching Lauren Seville develop her backbone page after page. Of course, Gavin O’Donnell recognizes her strength long before she does. In fact, it’s one of the reasons he falls in love with her.

I hope you enjoy Lauren and Gavin’s story. And may you, too, find a silver lining in all your dark clouds.

Best wishes,

Jackie Braun

Jackie Braun

Expecting a Miracle

Jackie Braun is a three-time RITA® Award finalist, a three-time National Readers’ Choice Award finalist and a past winner of the Rising Star Award. She worked as a copy editor and editorial writer for a daily newspaper before quitting her day job in 2004 to write fiction full-time. She lives in Michigan with her family. She loves to hear from readers and can be reached through her Web site at www.jackiebraun.com.

“There’s something inordinately sexy about a man who is as good with his hands as he is quick with his mind.”

—Jackie Braun, Expecting a Miracle.

For Will, our unexpected miracle

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

LAUREN Seville pulled her car to the side of the road and stepped out. The summer day was gorgeous, the sky impossibly blue and bright with sunshine. Standing in front of a picturesque pasture in rural Connecticut, she breathed in the mingled scents of wildflowers and listened as the birds chirped and chattered overhead. Then she bent at the waist and retched into the weeds.

The day might be gorgeous, but her life was as unsettled as her stomach at the moment. She was pregnant.

Long ago—long before she’d met and married investment broker Holden Seville and had embarked on a career as the Wife of a Very Important Man—doctors had informed Lauren that she would never conceive. Now, four years into a marriage that had proved as sterile as she’d believed herself to be, she had.

She straightened and stroked her still-flat stomach through the lightweight fabric of her sundress. The news, received just two weeks earlier, still filled her with elation, awe and a sense of anticipation. She was nearly three months into what she considered a miracle.

Her husband did not share her joy about the baby. In fact, quite the opposite.

“I don’t want children.”

She could still hear the cold dismissal in his tone, but his words were hardly a news flash. He’d made that fact perfectly clear when he’d proposed marriage one year to the day after their first date. Children were disruptive, messy and, most of all, needy, he’d said. They were an improper fit for the career-and-cocktails lifestyle Holden enjoyed and planned to continue enjoying.

Lauren didn’t share his view, but she hadn’t argued it at the time. Why bother when the point was moot? Or it had been.

A fresh wave of nausea had her bending over a second time.

“Oh, God,” she moaned afterward, staggering back a few steps to lean against the passenger side of her car.

How foolish she’d been to hope that her husband’s rigid opinion would soften now that the deed was done. It still came as a painful shock to discover that he wanted it undone.

“End your pregnancy,” he’d told her. Your pregnancy. As if Lauren was solely responsible for her state. As if he had no tie—by blood or otherwise—to the new life growing inside of her.

He’d finished his ultimatum with: “If you don’t, I’ll end our marriage.”

So, a mere twenty-four hours after refusing, Lauren found herself standing alone on the side of a country road gazing at a pasture, feeling queasy, exhausted and longing for the comfort of the king-size bed in their Manhattan apartment. She would go back eventually. She’d left with nothing but her purse and painful disillusionment. But she wasn’t going to return until she had formulated a plan. When she faced Holden again she would do so with dignity, with her hormone-fueled emotions under check. This time she would offer him a few terms and conditions of her own.

“Hey, are you all right?”

The deep voice startled Lauren. She swung around in time to see a man jogging toward her from the farmhouse just down the road. Good Lord. Had he seen…everything? Embarrassment turned her cheeks hot and she couldn’t quite meet his gaze.

“I’m fine,” Lauren called.

She pasted on a smile and headed around the car’s hood, all the while hoping he wouldn’t come any closer. But he continued down the road in a long-legged stride that brought them face-to-face before she could open the driver’s-side door of her Mercedes and get inside.

Doing so now would be rude. Lauren was never rude. So she remained standing, lips crooked up in the same polite smile that had gotten her through many a tedious dinner party with her husband’s work associates.

“Are you sure?” the man asked. “You still look a little pale. Maybe you should sit down.”

Lauren pegged him to be in his midthirties and physically fit, if the nice sculpting of his tanned arms was any indication. He was average height with tousled, mocha-colored hair that the breeze teased into further disarray.

“I’ve been sitting. Well, driving.” She waved a hand down the road in the direction she’d come. “I just stopped to…to…to stretch my legs.”

“Right.” Kind eyes studied her a moment. “Are you sure I can’t get you a glass of water or something?”

“Oh, no. But thank you for offering.”

It was a programmed response and so it slipped easily from her lips. She was used to lying about her feelings, subjugating her needs and putting a positive spin on everything. She’d done that growing up so as not to upset her workaholic parents’ hectic timetables. She’d done that as a wife, putting Holden and his demanding career first. But she’d been driving for more than two hours with no particular destination in mind. She had no idea how long it would be before she reached the next town. At the moment the undeniable truth was that she had to use the bathroom and would trade her Prada pumps for a good swish of mouthwash.

So, before she could change her mind—again—she said primly, “Actually, I would appreciate the use of your…facilities.”

“Facilities.” She thought he might grin. But he didn’t. He swept a hand in the direction of his house and said, “Sure. Right this way.”

As they walked toward the farmhouse, he rested his hand on the small of her back, almost as if he knew she wasn’t quite steady on her feet. The gesture struck her as old-fashioned, gentlemanly almost. It seemed a little odd coming from a guy who was wearing a T-shirt whose logo was too faded to be readable and a pair of jeans stained on the thighs with various hues of paint.

She chided herself for judging him based on appearances alone. Lauren knew better than anyone that looks could be deceiving. She’d met enough designer-dressed phonies over the years. People who said all the appropriate things, supported all the right causes and knew which fork to use for their salads, but it was for show. She could spot them easily enough. It took a fake to know one.

Did anyone know the real Lauren Seville?

That thought had her remembering her manners. “I’m Lauren, by the way.”

He smiled and a pair of dimples dented his stubble-covered cheeks. “Nice to meet you. My name’s Gavin.”

When they reached the house, he guided her up the steps to the porch and held open the front door for her. Curiosity had her glancing around when she entered his house. Beyond the foyer, the living room was bare of furniture unless one counted the sawhorse set up next to the fireplace.

“Are you working here?”

“Why do you ask?” But he laughed then. “Actually, I own the place. I’m in the middle of some pretty aggressive renovations.”

“So I see.”

He settled his hands on his hips and glanced around, looking satisfied. “The kitchen’s coming along nicely and the bedroom on this floor is done. I’m just finishing up the crown molding in here. I’m debating whether I should stain it or paint it white. Same goes for the mantel I made. What do you think?”

That threw her. Gavin barely knew her and yet he was asking her opinion. “You want to know what I think?”

He shrugged. “Sure. Fresh eyes. Besides, you look like someone with good taste.” His gaze skimmed down momentarily, his expression frank and appreciative, but hardly leering. It left her feeling ridiculously flattered.

And flustered. “You built the mantel too, hmm? You’re very good with your hands.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Heat prickled Lauren’s skin. Hormones, she decided. Fatigue.

Gavin cleared his throat. “The bathroom is down that hall, first door on the right.”

“Thanks.”

As she walked away, he called, “Ignore the mess. I’m in the middle of rehabbing that room, too.”

He wasn’t kidding about the mess. Shattered tiles from the walls lay in a heap in one corner and the light fixture was a single bare bulb that hung from a wire protruding from the ceiling.

Lauren stepped to the pedestal sink and turned on the faucet, half expecting to see the water come out brown. But it was clear and cool and it felt gloriously refreshing when she splashed some of it on her face. Though she wasn’t one to snoop, desperation had her opening his medicine cabinet in search of something to help rid her mouth of its foul taste. She sighed with relief when she found a tube of toothpaste. She squeezed some onto her index finger and used it as a makeshift brush. When she joined Gavin on the porch a few minutes later she felt almost human again.

He was seated on the swing at the far end, a bottle of water in each hand and a cell phone tucked between his shoulder and ear. When she stepped outside, he ended his call, maneuvered the bottles so he could clip the phone back onto his belt and stood.

“Feeling better?” he asked as he handed Lauren one of the waters.

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Good. Have a seat.” He swept a hand in the direction of the swing he’d just left.

It looked comfortable despite its worn cushion. Comfortable and inviting, much like the man himself. More than anything she wanted to sit. Lauren shook her head. “I really should be on my way.”

“Why? Are you late for something?” he asked.

“No. I just…I don’t want to put you out. I’m sure you have better things to do.”

“Nothing pressing. Well, the house. There’s always something to do here.” Gavin laughed. “But it’ll keep.” When she hesitated, he added. “Come on, Lauren. Join me. Consider it your good deed for the day. Once you go I’ll have to get back to work. I’d appreciate the break.”

“Well, in that case…” She smiled, and though it wasn’t like her at all to spend time with a strange man in the middle of nowhere, she sat on the swing.

It creaked softly under her weight. She allowed it to sway gently. Wind chimes tinkled in the breeze. The sound was pleasing, peaceful. It took all of her will-power not to sigh and close her eyes.

Gavin settled a hip on the porch railing, angled in her direction. “So, where are you headed, anyway? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Lauren uncapped the water and took a sip. “I don’t have a destination, actually. I’m just out driving.”

“It’s a nice day for that.”

“Yes.” Because he was studying her again, she glanced away. “It’s lovely around here.”

“You should have seen it in the spring when my orchard was in bloom.”

“Orchard?”

“Three acres of apple trees,” he said, pointing behind her.

She turned for a better look and could just make out some of the golf-ball-size green apples that had taken the blooms’ places. Lauren had always lived in the city, first in Los Angeles and now in New York. She’d never called the countryside home. Even vacations had been spent in urban settings…Paris, London, Venice, Rome. But something about this place was vastly appealing. Peace, she thought again. Ten minutes on Gavin’s front porch had had the same effect as an hour with her masseur.

“Have you lived here long?” she asked.

“No. I bought the place last year.” He sipped his water before adding, “After my divorce.”

“Sorry.”

“No need to be. I’m not.”

The reply was quick and matter-of-fact, but Lauren thought she detected bitterness. She wasn’t sure what else to say so she settled on, “I see.”

Gavin didn’t seem to be expecting any sort of response. In fact, he changed the subject. “I like challenges, which is one of the reasons I bought this place. A few months after I began working on it, though, I got tired of commuting out from the city on the weekends. So, I decided to take an extended break from my job and I moved here.”

She couldn’t imagine Holden taking a break, extended or otherwise, from his job. Her husband ate, slept and breathed the stock exchange. Even their vacations rarely saw him out of touch with his office. It struck her then that even if he changed his mind about the baby she’d still be a single parent for all intents and purposes.

“You’re frowning,” Gavin said.

“Oh, sorry. I was just thinking about…” She shook her head. “Nothing.” Then, because he was still watching her, she said, “So, you lived in New York?”

He sipped his water. “For the past dozen years.”

She couldn’t quite picture him there amid the skyscrapers, bustling pedestrians and heavy traffic. Though she barely knew him at all, he looked like a man who enjoyed wide-open spaces and the quiet that went with them. Places such as this. And though Lauren had always been an urbanite, she could understand why.

“I live in New York,” she said.

“You’re not from there originally, though, are you?”

She blinked. “No. I’m a West Coast transplant. Los Angeles. How could you tell?”

Gavin studied her. He hadn’t expected that answer. Something about Lauren seemed too soft, too uncertain for city life. Her looks certainly fit, though. He allowed his gaze to take another discreet tour from her perfectly coiffed hair to the heels of her fashionable pumps. He’d seen plenty of women who looked just like Lauren parading into Manhattan’s private Colony Club or exiting their stretch limousines in front of the posh apartment buildings on Park Avenue. Still…

“You don’t seem like a New Yorker,” he said at last.

She surprised him by replying, “I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

“I’m not a native, either,” he admitted. “I was born and raised in a little town just outside Buffalo. Does it still show?”

“Not really.”

But he thought she was being polite. He supposed given the way he was dressed and where they were sitting, her opinion made perfect sense. Perhaps she would see him in a different light if he was wearing one of the suits he’d picked up on his last trip to Milan and they’d bumped into one another at the Met. For one strange moment he almost wished that were the case. It had been a long time since he’d enjoyed the company of a woman.

“Do you like New York?” she was asking.

It seemed an odd question, but Gavin answered it anyway. “I loved it at first.” He sipped his water and allowed his mind to reel backward. The place had been so exciting in the beginning and he’d just made a killing with his first big real estate deal. “What about you? Do you like it?”

She seemed to hesitate, but then she replied, “Yes. Of course. What’s not to like? It has all of those wonderful restaurants, endless entertainment opportunities and incredible cultural attractions.”

The response struck him as something she’d read in a tourism brochure rather than a heartfelt assessment. He eyed her curiously for a moment before nodding in agreement.

The conversation lapsed, but the interim was peaceful rather than strained. The swing creaked rhythmically, helping to fill the silence, and the wind chimes offered an abstract melody as the breeze ruffled the leaves of the big oak trees that shaded the better part of the front lawn.

He thought he heard Lauren sigh, which he took as a good sign. The woman was wound tight and clearly in need of relaxation. Gavin knew the feeling. Not all that long ago, he’d been that way, too.

“So, what made you decide to move here?” she asked after a while.

“I was looking for a slower pace.” Which was true enough. He’d been working sixty, sometimes even seventy hours a week. He’d been on fire and then. “I burned out, big-time.”

He couldn’t believe he’d just shared that with someone—and a virtual stranger no less. Hell, he’d glossed over the truth with most of his family.

“This is definitely slower,” she said. “It’s a good place to think.”

Gavin had done plenty of that. “Exactly.”

“There’s no traffic at all, no blaring horns, no choking exhaust. No…urgency.” Her tone sounded wistful and sincere, as if something about her current situation made her appreciate the bucolic setting and the sluggishness that went with it almost as much as he did.

It prompted him to ask, “So, are you looking for a place in the country?”

“Me? No. I…” She shook her head, but then asked, “Why? Do you know of a place nearby?”

“This one will be on the market when I finally finish with it. But at the rate I’m going now, it probably won’t be ready for a good year or so.”

Her brows shot up in surprise. “You’re going to sell it?”

“Sure. That’s what I do for a living, more or less.” The more being that usually the real estate he acquired was much larger and worth millions of dollars. The less being that he delegated the physical restoration and remodeling work to others.

“So, this is just a job?” She sounded disappointed.

Gavin shrugged. “I guess you could say that.”

Lauren flaked peeling paint off the armrest of the swing. She sounded wistful again when she said, “It seems more like a labor of love.”

Labor of love? He’d considered the physical work to be therapeutic, wearing out his body so that his mind would shut down and take unpleasant memories with it. But now, as Gavin thought about the crown moldings, the mantel and the satisfaction he’d gleaned from crafting them, he decided that maybe Lauren was right. Still, he would be selling the house when he finished. He’d never planned to make this his permanent address. At some point he needed to return to New York and to Phoenix Brothers Development, the company he owned with his brother, Garrett. He couldn’t hide in Connecticut forever, avoiding well-meaning friends and family, and foisting his responsibilities at Phoenix on others.

“So, you’re not in the market for some real estate?” he asked.

Lauren frowned and her gaze slid away. “Actually, I am.” She motioned toward the house. “But my needs are a little smaller than this house and a little more, well, immediate.”

Smaller. The description was hardly what he’d expected to hear. More immediate. An idea nudged him. An outrageous idea. Gavin ignored it.

“Are you…relocating?” He nearly said running. Why did that word seem a better fit?

“At least temporarily. Yes.” Her head jerked in an emphatic nod as if she’d just reached a decision. “Do you know anything that might be available around here?”

“In Gabriel’s Crossing, you mean?”

“Gabriel’s Crossing.” Her lips curved as she repeated the town’s name, and Gavin got the feeling that before he’d said it Lauren hadn’t actually known that’s where she was.

That outrageous idea nudged him with a little more force. “Maybe.”

“Is it nearby?” she asked.

“Very. There’s a cottage about fifty yards behind the house. It’s adjacent to the orchard, with great views out all of its windows. I lived in it myself before the rewiring of this place was complete.”

“And it’s for rent?”

It hadn’t been. In fact, before this moment, Gavin had never entertained the idea of taking on a tenant. He certainly didn’t need the income or, for that matter, the hassle. But he nodded. Then he felt compelled to point out, “It’s not very big.”

“It doesn’t need to be big.”

He glanced at Lauren’s pricey clothes and Park Avenue appearance. The entire cottage could fit inside the master suite of his apartment back in New York. He’d bet the same could be said for hers. And so he added, “There’s not much closet space.”

He was sure that bit of news would scuttle the deal. He almost hoped it would. He was being impulsive again. It was a trait that had all but doomed him in the past. But the lack of closets didn’t appear to have any impact on Lauren’s enthusiasm. Her expression remained a beguiling mix of hope and anticipation.

“Do you think I could see it?”

“You’re interested?” Heaven help him, but Gavin knew he was, and it had nothing to do with a rental agreement. The woman was beautiful, enigmatic. He wouldn’t mind unveiling some of her secrets.

For the first time since her arrival, his gaze detoured to her left hand. A set of rings encircled her third finger, and a whopper of a diamond was visible. Married. He nearly snorted out a laugh. That’s what I get for rushing ahead without thinking things through.

Now if she took Gavin up on his hasty offer to rent the cottage, he would have a couple of lovebirds nesting within shouting distance of his house. Probably just as well, he decided, dismissing the spark of attraction. He wasn’t in the market for a relationship. He hadn’t been since his divorce. And although he missed certain aspects of female companionship, overall he didn’t regret his decision one bit.

“I believe I am interested,” Lauren said after a long pause. Her lips curved in a smile, and one of those aspects he had missed presented itself. “Do you think I could see it right now? I mean, if you can spare a little more of your time.”

Gavin managed a grin as he straightened. “Sure. As I said, I’ve got nothing pressing at the moment.”

Lauren stood in the middle of the cottage’s main room. It was small—although the word cozy seemed a more apt description—and empty, except for some dusty storage boxes that Gavin assured her would be removed. She could picture an overstuffed chair and ottoman in front of the window that faced the orchard, and maybe a small writing desk in the vacant nook below the stairs. They’d already looked at the bedroom in the loft. It would be a tight fit, but it could accommodate a dresser and queen-size bed, as well as a changing table and crib.