Page 85 of Forsaken Trail (Runaway 4)

I shook my head. “No.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t love her.”

Aria’s mouth fell open. “What?”

“My parents. My grandparents. They didn’t hug me. They didn’t tell me they loved me. I watch you and Clara together and it’s . . . I never had that. When I was a kid, my birthday meant a mountain of gifts, all wrapped and purchased by my mom’s assistant. The nanny watched me open them. When I turned sixteen, my grandfather had a car sent to my school. They bought me things.”

“That’s not love, Brody.”

“Isn’t it? Because that’s the only kind of love I know.”

Aria shifted, sitting up straighter. “Not anymore.”

“No.” Not anymore. I tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I love you. Damn, but I love you, woman.”

“And that’s why you buy me things.”

I nodded. “That’s why I’ll try to stop.”

She stared at me, those mesmerizing eyes glassy with tears. “I love you too.”

I closed my eyes and let the words sink past the skin and into my heart. Had anyone ever told me they loved me? I think Heather had, probably before she’d asked for something. Maybe my mother, a long, long time ago.

They’d been empty words.

From Aria, they were magic. They were the future.

I leaned down, dropping my forehead to hers. “It was never about the baby.”

“Sure it was.”

“No.” I shook my head. “I fell in love with you the moment you stole that vase of flowers.”

“They were really pretty flowers.” She let out a quiet laugh and the sound filled my chest so full I could barely breathe.

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sp; “I love you,” I whispered.

“You said that already.”

“It’s worth repeating.”

She took my face in her hands, her thumbs stroking my beard. Then she pulled my lips down to hers, kissing me with so much tenderness and promise, I knew that for the rest of my life, I’d hold on to her. Above all else, Aria was the endgame.

“Take me home,” she said against my mouth.

“I’ll go find the doctor.”

An hour later, after one last check from the doctor and a string of nurses bearing pamphlets on pregnancy—the Welcome hospital was nothing if not thorough—Aria was home. Clara had ridden to the shop with Marty to pick up the Cadillac.

“I think I’m going to lie down.” Aria yawned as I led her inside.

“Good idea. Your bed? Or mine?”

“Mine’s closer.”