Authors: Justine Dare Justine Davis
“There are a few admirable ones, too,” Kendall said. “Worth passing on.”
She held the book out to him. He took it with a hand that was surprisingly steady. But his eyes never left her face.
“I’d have to find a woman crazy enough to . . . want to help me with that.”
“Why don’t you look in the book,” she said softly, reaching out to open the cover. “You just might find her in there.”
He lifted his other hand and closed the book. “I don’t need to look. I’ve found her. I just don’t know if she’s crazy enough.”
“Why don’t you ask her?”
He took a deep breath and winced. He shut his eyes. For a long moment he didn’t say anything. Then he whispered, “Because I’m afraid of the answer.”
“You don’t trust her, then.”
His eyes flew open. “No! I mean . . . yes. I do. I trust her. As much as I . . . love her.”
“That’s all she needed to hear,” Kendall whispered.
His eyes searched her face, as if he was still afraid to believe. “You . . . mean it?”
“I love you, Jason. You’re stubborn, you have a lot to learn about love and trust, and you’re going to make my life crazy . . . but I always hated being bored.”
Jason swallowed heavily. “Then I’ll have to make sure you never are.”
“I’ll hold you to that, Jason Hawk.”
And this time, when she called him by the name he had once despised, Jason gave her a smile that made her melt inside. She bent to kiss him, and he lifted a hand to cup her face. And the book slipped to one side, falling open to the page chronicling the marriage of Jason Hawk and Kendall Chase.
And the not very startling observation that Hawks bred true.
Epilogue
“I THINK YOU NEED to look at this,” Kendall said.
“Now?” Jason said in disbelief. He couldn’t look at anything. He couldn’t even move.
But then, he never could after his wife got through with him, and tonight had been no different than any night in the past year; the echoes of his explosive climax were still making him shudder. She’d told him he had a lot to learn, and she’d proceeded to teach him in very short order. And a lot of that teaching had been done right here, in this bed, where she’d shown him just how wrong he’d been all these years. Where she’d taught him to bare more than just his body to her; she’d taught him to bare his soul. And he’d learned that the more he gave, the more he got back; what Kendall gave him was more than he’d ever imagined possible.
“Yes, Jason,” she said with a teasing laugh. “You need to look now.”
He moved, paused to nuzzle her breast and press his lips to a nipple still taut from his earlier caresses, then managed to lift his head to look at her.
His eyes narrowed when he saw she was holding the book. He hadn’t seen it in a while. They’d packed the book in with Kendall’s belongings when she’d moved to Seattle, and he hadn’t seen it again until the day they’d gotten married, when she had quietly brought it out to show him the now completed story, and that the skipped page before it was no longer empty. He hadn’t been shocked at all at the picture, in the same style as all the others, that had appeared. He’d simply nodded, thinking it a perfect likeness of Kendall, who’d looked nothing short of radiantly beautiful that day, and shook his head in amazement over the image of himself, and how exactly it resembled that of Joshua Hawk.
He slowly reached to take the book from her now. It was odd, he thought, that he didn’t feel that rush of warmth now when he touched it. Or perhaps not; perhaps it was that his life had changed from the cold, empty thing it had been, had become so warm, so comforting, so welcoming, that he didn’t notice any difference anymore.
He ran his hand over the heavy leather binding. After the wedding, he hadn’t looked at the book again until they’d moved into the island house they’d picked together, an expanse of wood and glass on the waterfront of Puget Sound, with a skyline view of the city. They’d put it on a shelf then, by itself except for their wedding photograph, not quite a shrine but close enough.
It was soon overlooked amid the joy they found in their new life together, the demands of Jason’s business, and the pressure of Kendall running Hawk Industries until the board voted on a new CEO, since Alice had died of a heart attack shortly after being sentenced to prison for her attempt to purchase Jason’s death. She’d tried to buy her way out of it by giving evidence against the man she’d hired, but he had already negotiated a deal that had gotten him reduced charges while sealing Alice’s fate; Kendall remembered with grim acknowledgment what he’d said about what happened to employers who’d turned against him.
One thing Jason had learned early was that his wife rarely did anything without reason. So now he glanced from her face to the book, then back again.
“Why do I have to look at it now?”
“Because,” she said softly, “pretty soon you won’t be able to.”
His forehead creased. “Won’t be able—”
It hit him then, with the force of a blow. He stared at her for a long moment before he could get out a faint “Kendall?”
She smiled, a smile unlike any he’d ever seen from her before, a soft, warm, caressing smile that held all of her love and a world of promise. A smile that brought back what she’d once told him.
When the first child assures the continuation of the Hawk bloodline, the family tree records the birth, and the book vanishes. Until the next time there is only one Hawk left alive in the world.
“You . . . we . . . ?”
She nodded.
“Oh, God.”
He’d wanted this so much he’d been afraid to admit it, afraid to even mention it. When their first anniversary had gone by, he’d almost resigned himself to the knowledge it wouldn’t happen; they’d given up taking precautions months before. Kendall had merely said it would happen when he was ready, when he’d learned enough, and not before. She sounded utterly positive, as if she had some inside knowledge.
And perhaps she had, he thought now, glancing at the book.
“Better than a pregnancy test,” she said cheerfully, as if she’d read his thoughts.
He found himself responding to her tone, grinning back at her. “I won’t even ask if you’re sure.”
“It’s never been wrong,” she said, laying her hand atop his on the book. “Oh, and by the way, it’s going to be a boy. Sorry if you wanted to be surprised.”
A tiny flicker of regret nudged him, that there would be no gray-eyed little girl to watch grow up. At least, not yet. But then the joy bubbled through, and his grin widened. A son. A son who would be wanted and loved and encouraged. A son to be given what he’d never had, and what had been taken from Kendall far too soon.
“What shall we name him?” she asked.
Jason blinked. “Hey, I just found out he exists. Don’t be asking me technical questions already.”
Kendall giggled. He’d never imagined he would find something like that little sound so precious. But it was, as was everything about the woman who had changed his life, who had taken a man with a bitter heart and a soul of stone and shown him the way home.
“Unless,” he said, turning his hands upward to capture hers, “you want to call him Aaron.”
Kendall’s eyes widened. “You . . . you would do that?”
He held her gaze, then nodded. “If you wanted it.”
With an expression full of wonder, she reached out and brushed her fingers over the stubborn lock of hair that kicked forward over his forehead. “You have come a very long way, Mr. Hawk.”
“You made me want to make the trip.”
She blinked rapidly, and for a moment he thought she was going to cry. But then she smiled, a wide, loving smile that was so joyous it made him want to grab her and make long, sweet love to her all over again.
“I think I have a better name for your son,” she said softly.
“What?” he asked.
“Joshua.”
Jason stopped breathing for a moment. The rightness of it, the perfection of it, hit him instantly. He hauled Kendall into his arms, trying to show her with a shower of kisses and hugs what he couldn’t get past the lump in his throat.
And for an instant, in some tiny corner of his mind that wasn’t completely eclipsed by the feel of his wife in his arms, a vivid image of Joshua Hawk appeared. Gone was the rueful understanding in his eyes, missing was the quiet, supportive empathy.
Joshua Hawk was laughing.
The End
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About the Author
“Some people call me a writer, some an author, some a novelist. I just say I’m a storyteller.
”
—Justine Dare Davis
Author of more than sixty books, (she sold her first ten in less than two years) Justine Dare Davis is a four-time winner of the coveted RWA RITA Award, and has been inducted into the RWA Hall of Fame. Her books have appeared on national best seller lists, including
USA Today
. She has been featured on CNN, taught at several national and international conferences, and at the UCLA writer’s program.
After years of working in law enforcement, and more years doing both, Justine now writes full time. She lives near beautiful Puget Sound in Washington State, peacefully coexisting with deer, bears, raccoons, a newly arrived covey of quail, a pair of bald eagles, and her beloved ’67 Corvette roadster. When she’s not writing, taking photographs, looking for music to blast in said roadster, or driving said roadster (and yes, it goes very fast), she tends to her knitting. Literally.
Find out more at her website and blog (where she posts some of those photos) at:
justinedavis.com
Facebook at facebook.com/JustineDareDavis,
(Which also gets photos) or
Twitter at @Justine_D_Davis
Which mostly gets odd observations, favorite quotes, interesting links, and the occasional question flung into the ether.