THE KNIGHT AND MAGGIE'S BABY by Lisa Mondello
Blurb:
Sometimes fate needs a little help…
Jonah Wallace knows what it’s like to grow up without
love. Despite having more money than the
Queen of England, his childhood was cold and stale as he grew up in boarding
schools. He’s dedicated his life to
helping homeless and displaced children find the love and support they need by
creating the Haven House Foundation, work that resulted in him being knighted
by the Queen.
Now that he’s living in America, his work is going along
just fine…until his grandfather gives fate a little nudge by insisting he take
a wife before he can inherit.
Coffee shop owner, Maggie
Bonelli, is pregnant and the baby’s dad has gone AWOL. She knows too well the pain of growing up
without a daddy. So when Jonah Wallace
comes into her shop proposing marriage for a year, she takes him up on his
offer, even if it’s only for a year.
Live in a mansion and give her baby a name and a daddy to call his/her
own. But can they keep their perfect
arraignment strictly business…or will fate’s helping hand bring them love at
last?
Chapter One:
There were more
digits in his bank account than most corporate portfolios saw in a lifetime of
business. But right now, for the second
time in his life, Jonah Wallace had empty pockets.
As a flurry of
people swirled around him, he stood on the crowded Harvard Square sidewalk,
roasting in the blistering sun, contemplating his options, such as they
were. Dragging a deep breath of humidity
into his lungs, he decided it was no use.
He was going to have to swallow a mammoth lump of pride to get out of
this pickle.
The first time
he'd been forced to admit his failings he'd been thirteen, alone, and on the
run. He had made an oath then it would
be the last time he found himself in such a scrape. The fact that he was standing there
penniless, wearing a satin-lined tuxedo in the middle of an August steam bath
of an afternoon, the sun unmercifully beating him into the concrete, only
magnified his current predicament.
How had he managed to let this happen again?
A taxi horn
whined loud and long at his back, signaling the driver's unrest over the hordes
of people jaywalking through the Square.
Every one of them was in a hurry to go somewhere. At this time of the day, they were probably
all heading home, which was where he intended to go.
But first...
He dragged his
gaze back to the coffee shop door. It
was his last hope. Tugging on his bow
tie to give him some needed room, he reasoned the fastest way to make it home
and deal with his disastrous day would be to swallow what was left of his
stolen pride.
That is if he
didn't choke on it first.
As his hand
connected with the door handle, the heated metal bit into his palm. Jonah yanked open the door in front of which
he had just spent the last ten minutes standing, hoping there was no one other
than the owner inside. If he had no
choice but to grovel, he'd prefer it be without audience.
As he swung
through the doorway, the cool air from the air conditioning bathed his face,
giving him immediate relief from the heat.
He drew in a
deep breath to gather some courage and scanned the empty diner as his eyes
adjusted from the sudden change of light.
The room smelled of sugar and cinnamon and gravy. A strangely appealing combination, he
thought. But at this point, anything was
appealing. His stomach protested loudly
at the scent of food assaulting his nostrils.
Yeah, he was starving, but first things first.
Jonah had never
stepped foot inside the small coffee shop, despite the fact that he practically
lived at his office, located just across the street, for the past three
years. The diner was compact; just a few
booths lined the outer-glassed wall. A
few more tables with red and white checked vinyl tablecloths occupied the
center of the room. It reminded him more
of something he'd see in the North End of Boston rather than Harvard Square.
Clusters of
white spotlights shone against the brightly colored walls, and it took a moment
for his eyes to register the color fully.
Behind the counter were rows of parfait cups lying upside down on a
glass shelf along with glasses and dinnerware.
A picture on
the wall by the kitchen door caught his attention. Since the restaurant was empty, he took a few
steps toward the counter for a better look.
The photo was of two women, one elderly and one much younger, maybe even
in her early teens, standing on the sidewalk from which he'd just come, arm in
arm, smiling affectionately. Draped
around the frame was a tiny cross of gold on a delicate chain.
A swish of cool
air blew into the room. Instinctively,
he glanced up toward the source. That's
when he noticed the woman standing in the kitchen doorway, one arm on the door,
the other in the pocket of her apron.
She let go of the door and breezed into the dining room, slipping a psychedelic
purple pencil from her apron pocket, and reaching for a small notepad at the
same time.
“You caught
me. I was just about to close up the
shop early. I think the heat has been
keeping people away.”
Her voice was
smooth as velvet and her smile seemed genuine, not just pasted on for
show. Her rich dark hair was pulled back
tight into a ponytail, resistant tendrils curled around her face, framing high
cheekbones.
The woman
motioned with her hands toward the vinyl-covered stool at the counter. “You can sit wherever you’d like.”
“I'm not here
to eat. I was hoping I could ask a bit
of a favor.”
She stopped
short, a slow grin lifting the corners of her lips. Not the genuine smile of courtesy. This one was different, a hint
of...something, perhaps mixed with a bit of surprise. Jonah wasn't quite sure.
“You're not
from around here, are you?” she said, fiery blue eyes wide with interest. They were uniquely lit, not just by the
canned lights positioned on the ceiling above her, but with gold streaks set
into their deep sapphire color.
“Well, actually
yes. My office is in the building just
diagonal from you.” Jonah motioned out
the window toward the street and beyond the honking horns and bumper-to-bumper
late afternoon traffic. When he looked
back, her gaze was fixed on him.
Her eyes
widened, twinkling with a hint amusement.
She flipped an errant lock of hair that had fallen from her ponytail
neatly behind her ear and just stared at him.
“You may work
in town, but I know for sure you're not from around Cambridge, Massachusetts.”
Jonah glanced
down at his black tuxedo as he slid into the stool by the counter, brushing his
hand absentmindedly across the smooth, clean Formica countertop.
“I know I look rather odd given the fact that
it's about a thousand degrees outside.”
“One hundred
and two if you want to be technical,” she said, cutting in. She thumbed back to the double doors at the
end of the counter. “I had the radio on
in the office.”
Jonah pulled at
the collar of his wilting white tuxedo shirt until the top button popped
free. “It feels every bit of it,” he
said, forcing a smile.
And it was
getting a whole lot hotter. It had
already turned out to be the worst day of his life. Making a fool of himself couldn't possibly
make it any worse.
As Jonah drew
in a deep breath, he watched the smile play at the corner of the waitress's
mouth. Her full lips were bare of color,
and he wondered if she'd chosen not to wear any lipstick or if working a full
day and conversing with customers had chewed off what color she'd applied
earlier. His mind instantly pictured her
full lips in ruby to compliment her dark hair.
He silently
berated himself for thinking along those lines.
If the day had gone as planned, he'd be on a flight to Australia with
his new wife at his side.
The best laid
plans...
“Well,
regardless of where you're from, you look a little lost,” she said. “I don't see many tuxedos here at the Coffee Drop. Everyone who's been in here today was wearing
shorts and shirts that barely meet proper dress code.”
“The
clothes. Is that what gave me away?”
“Actually, it
was your accent,” the woman said, dropping the notepad on the shiny counter
top.
Heat crept up
his skin from beneath his collar. He'd
naturally assumed she'd been referring to his clothes when of course, his
British accent would be a dead giveaway no matter what he was wearing. All he'd managed to do is draw more attention
to himself.
“Now, since
you've already informed me you're not here to eat, how about a coffee? I have to warn you though. Despite the name, I don't serve any of the
fancy stuff here. No special blends, no
cappuccino or espresso delights. No
latte or chai. Only thing on my menu is
old fashioned regular and decaf.”
It was now or never.
“I'm afraid I
don't have...” He shook his head. It was never a good day for humiliation and
it was something he didn't do well even if it was. If Catherine had at least left him with his
keys when she fled the courthouse, none of this would be happening. “Never mind, it doesn't really matter.”
She appeared
completely oblivious to his bumbling.
“Oh, that extends to iced coffee, too.
Given how oppressive it is outside, I'm sure you'd prefer that over
something hot.”
She turned and
pulled a clean white coffee filter from a plastic bag tucked to the right of
the coffee machine and proceeded to make a pot of coffee.
“No, that won't
be necessary...” As she turned around,
Jonah took the opportunity to glance at her nametag. “Maggie.
Yes, what I really wondered is whether I could use your telephone.”
She stopped
spooning coffee into the filter and propped her slender hip against the
counter. She stated the obvious. Obvious to anyone who'd stepped one foot on
either side of the coffee shop door.
“No cell phone?”
“It’s in my
other coat, I’m afraid.”
“There are pay
phones lining Harvard Square.”
“I know.”
He dipped his
head, embarrassment burning its way to the surface of his cheeks more than the
blazing sun he'd escaped outside. If
only he hadn't agreed when Catherine insisted they take the car instead of
having his driver take them to the airport after the ceremony. Unfortunately, when she walked out on him
moments before the ceremony began, she'd taken flight with his car and luggage
as well. Since the clerk at City Hall
was less than thrilled with the idea of allowing him to call his driver from
her phone, given the scene that had erupted in the City Hall lobby, he'd taken
the next step and pulled out his pockets.
Only to trip
over them.
“I don't have
any change and...I'm afraid I'm without my billfold at the moment as well.”
Her eyes grew
impossibly wide, the fine features of her face registering panic. “Oh, I see,” she said, quickly lifting an
empty cup from beneath the counter and placing it in front of him as if she
were suddenly on automatic pilot.
“Are you
hurt? Do you need some water or--”
He shook his
head.
“I can call the
police for you. Are you sure you weren’t
hurt?” She was already heading toward
the kitchen when he realized she had misunderstood.
“I wasn't
robbed,” he called out to her.
“You
weren’t? You don't need to call the
police?”
He let out a
staccato breath and shook his head.
With a slow
gate, Maggie quietly walked back to the counter and resumed the task of filling
the coffee filter with coffee grounds.
She popped the filter into place and turned on the coffee machine before
swinging around to him again.
“I must admit
I'm a bit confused now.”
“Look, it's a bit of a long story. I would have preferred using my office phone,
which, as I said earlier, is just across the street-”
“Let me
guess. You don't have your keys to the
building with you, either, right? And
there’s no one there to let you in?”
“I gave them
all the afternoon off.”
“Oh, how nice
of you.”
He shook his head, wishing to God he'd wake
up and this nightmare of humiliation would be over. It had been bad enough when he was thirteen
and discovered on the run from the London boarding school he'd attended. Now nearly twenty years later, he wished the
tile floor would open up and swallow him whole.
“I just need to
use your phone to call for a ride.”
She
nodded. “From the look on your face,
this looks like it's one heck of a story.”
“You have no
idea,” he grunted.
Maggie raised
her eyebrows. “People tell me their
troubles all day over a coffee and pie.
Take a load off. I’m all ears.”
He was just
about at his wits end when he saw the corners of her full lips tilt up to a
teasing grin. “Look, this has been a
horrific day and... I'll reverse the
charges.”
She smiled
again. This time it was full blown and
when the light twinkle reached her eyes, he knew he was home free.
“Follow
me. The phone is just on the other side
of the swinging door. Careful it doesn't
hit you in the butt when you walk through.
The coffee will be ready in a few minutes. I just have to finish up in the back office
so if it's not done brewing by the time you are off the phone, help
yourself. And to a piece of pie from the
desert tray, too. I left a clean dish on
the counter.”
“Thank
you. You're an angel.”
“No, I'm just
the owner of this coffee shop.” She
stabbed a pointed finger at him and tossed him an irresistible crooked
grin. “But don't you dare breathe a word
to anyone that I'm a softy or I'll go broke passing pie out to every sorry-eyed
college student who walks through that door.”
“It’ll be our
secret.”
As he followed
her through the double swinging doors to the phone, she smiled back at him, and
then walked into what looked like a supply closet at the far end of the
kitchen.
If the day had
gone as planned, he'd be married to Catherine by now. He'd be on an airplane, sitting in first
class, heading to Australia for a three-week honeymoon he hadn't wanted to go
on in the first place. All his problems
would be over. Not only would he have a
wife, but he'd have his car, his keys, his wallet...
And his pride.
* * *
Maggie tucked
the bank slip in the moneybag and zipped it closed with a trembling hand. She'd already finished tallying up today's
register totals and counting the money in the drawer when her tall, dark and
sinfully handsome stranger waltzed into the Coffee
Drop. As she straightened up her
desk, her mind kept wandering to the gorgeous Englishman with the adorable
accent now eating blueberry pie at her counter.
Who would have ever thought a sensible girl like her would go weak in
the knees over a few well strung out syllables?
She pulled at
the waistband of her skirt and grimaced at the sudden tightness. Okay, so she never thought that a levelheaded
girl like her would end up pregnant before marriage either. But there you have it. She’d done a lot of praying from the time
she’d found out about her unplanned pregnancy and made her peace that with
God’s guiding hand, she was on track again.
She was determined to do right by her child.
She snapped the
light switch off in her office and closed the door, giving the kitchen a last
once over in conjunction with a silent reprimand. It would do no good to berate herself any
more than she had over the last few months for being so careless. Regrets over the past took too much time and
energy, and she didn't have any spare energy to waste on self-deprecation.
Money bag in
hand, she peeked through the glass window of the kitchen door into the dining
area out of habit to make sure no one was on the other side before she swung
through.
There he
was. He sat at the counter hunched over
a blue stained plate that had a bite or two of pie left. Not many men could fill out a tuxedo the way
this man did. He almost looked too tall
to sit on the stool. His dark hair was
cut short, but the ends still curled around the nape of his neck, most probably
from being out in the heat in that tux.
Maggie fanned
her face with her hand, telling herself she was just sympathizing with the
man. But she knew she was lying to
herself. She'd seen many people come and
go in her coffee shop, but none of them gave her a jolt of lightning with just
one look like he did.
He glanced up
at her as she pushed through the swinging doors.
“What's your
name?” she asked. She sounded a little
breathless, even to herself and all she was doing was talking to a handsome
stranger. Maybe the heat was getting to
her, too.
Deep cobalt
eyes smiled up at her and pulled her into his gaze. It wasn’t the heat. She was
breathless. And over a guy!
Geesh. She had no business being attracted to this
man, or any man for that matter in the condition she was in. She sucked in a deep breath and reached for
the coffee pot, which was just about done brewing.
“My name?”
“You know my
name. It seems only fair that I know
yours.”
“Oh,
right. Jonah Wallace and this blueberry
pie was the best I've ever had in my entire life. Did you make it yourself?” He clanked the fork on his empty plate.
She shook her
head. His compliment was probably just
general small talk, but it flattered her just the same. She liked pleasing her customers. And as her grandmother always said, there was
no better way to get a man’s attention than by plying him with good food.
“Anything is
good when you're hungry. You ate that
piece of pie like it was the first thing you had all day.”
He glanced away
and appeared to be thinking, and then he chuckled. It was the first time she'd heard his
laugh. It was rich and full of character
like the tone of his voice. And it was
nice. Too nice.
“Oddly enough,
it was,” he said. “I don't usually leave
the house without breakfast but it's been a...”
“Horrific
day. I know, you told me,” she finished
for him. “As flattered as I am, I can't
accept the compliment for the pie, though.
Virginia, my morning manager, does all the baking.”
“Then I'll have
to make it a point to stop in and pay her the compliment in person.”
“I’m sure
she’ll appreciate it.”
Mr. English
would be paying the Coffee Drop
another visit. She wasn't quite sure why
that pleased her so. Maybe because men
in general weren't on her list of priorities for the coming year, possibly not
for a long time to come.
He'd said he
worked across the street but she didn’t recall ever seeing him before. Sure, there were thousands of people who
worked in the square. And yes, he stood
out now wearing a tuxedo on the hottest day of August like a big pumpkin at an
Irish festival. But Maggie had the
feeling even in simple casual wear Jonah Wallace would stand out among a crowd
of men. He had a presence that commanded
attention and that was rare. At least
among the men she'd known in her life.
Oh, dear Lord,
please give me strength.
Maggie fidgeted
with the zipper of the moneybag. “I take
it your ride will be coming soon?”
“Yes, I can't
thank you enough for the use of your phone.
If it wasn't for your kindness, I'd still be baking in the sun.”
“It was my
pleasure. I hate to throw you out of the
air conditioning and onto the street, but I do have to lock up here and make
the bank before it closes. I'd be more
than happy to give you an iced coffee to go while you wait for your ride.”
He slid off the
stool and dabbed his mouth with a napkin.
Instinctively, she took the dirty plate from the counter and slipped it
into the gray tub filled with soapy water under the counter.
“You've been
more than gracious. I don't want to keep
you. But I'm afraid I won't be able to pay
the check until--”
Maggie waved
him off. “Don't worry, it's on the
house.”
“You're very
kind,” he said in a low voice that stirred something deep inside her. “But I've never left a bill unpaid in my
life. I don't intend to take advantage
of your generosity now.”
He dipped his
gaze, hiding from her view the most incredible blue eyes she'd ever seen, as if
he were embarrassed. She was sure that
was the case. She'd had her share of
Dutch treat dates for the brief time she'd attended Boston University, but
she'd bet this week's register tally that Jonah had never allowed a lady he was
with to go Dutch.
She couldn't
help but chuckle. “It's just a cup of
coffee and some pie. In some parts of
the world people call that being neighborly.”
Jonah stared
blankly, and then his eyebrows knitted together.
She pointed to
the building across the street. “You
said your office is in that building.”
His lips
stretched into a slow grin. “I guess
that would make us neighbors then.”
“Exactly. So, don't worry about it. Where I come from we look out for our
neighbors.”
“And where do
you come from, Maggie?”
His question as
well as the genuine interest in his eyes caught her by surprise. This man was an enigma for sure. But it didn't take much to figure out they'd
lived their lives worlds apart. Not just
geographically, but socially. Despite
not having two nickels to rub together at the present moment, Maggie could tell
this man was from money. Either that or
he was a good impersonator.
“Across the
Charles River,” she said. Not quite the
other side of the track, but far enough to make their differences evident. He was money, she wasn't. End of story.
She locked the
door behind them and walked out into the sunshine of Harvard Square, wilting
immediately under the cruel sun. The
choking smell of fuels and garbage from a nearby trashcan made her stomach
roll. Every little smell seemed
magnified lately, just like this sudden attraction to a stranger.
Hormones. That's what this is, Maggie decided
instantly. Not that she'd had this kind
of reaction since she found out she was pregnant two months ago, but she'd
never liked the combination of pickles and chocolate sauce either and that had
been a regular treat of late.
“Thank you
again, Maggie. I didn't catch your last
name.”
“Bonelli.”
Jonah gripped
her hand. She was struck by how small
her hand felt in his stronger one, how snug his fingers curled around
hers. Safe and strong. For a moment, she found herself drawn even
closer to this stranger. Abruptly, she
snatched her hand away.
“It was nice to
meet you Maggie Bonelli. You've made an
otherwise rotten day...almost bearable.”
“I'm just glad
I could help. Make sure you stop by
again.”
She turned and
walked next door to the bank, muttering to herself she shouldn't look back at
Jonah Wallace. And she didn't. She made her deposit and decided her day had
already been too long.
* * *
“Congratulations,
Sir. How was the--” his driver said,
opening the door to the back seat of his shining black limo.
Jonah put up
his hand. “Hold that thought,
Michael. Did you remember to bring the
petty cash for me?” he asked, tossing the tuxedo jacket to the leather seat.
“Yes, Sir. It's in the--”
Rummaging
through the console deck, he found his wallet and his spare set of keys.
“I have it,
thank you. Be right back.” Twisting around, he walked back the way he’d
just come.
He slammed the
back door of the limo just as he saw Maggie push through the bank door, and
walk out into the heat, moving in the opposite direction.
A few quick
strides through the crowd and Jonah fell into her stride.
“I want to
thank you again for your kindness.”
With the sound
of his voice, Maggie did a double take, and stopped walking. His heart did a flip-flop as she peered up at
him with wide eyes like she had inside the coffee shop.
“Didn't we do this already?” she asked, her
brow crinkling slightly.
“Yes, but I see
that you're still here and I've retrieved my billfold--”
As he held the
leather billfold up for her inspection, she laughed. Little beads of sweat were already forming on
her forehead and matting stray ringlets of hair to the sides of her face.
“You have a
hard time letting people help you, don't you?”
He lifted a
shoulder. “I'm use to taking care of
things myself. I don’t think you full
appreciate how unusual today was for me.
I'm grateful for your help.”
Shaking her
head, she said, “It was a cup of coffee and a phone call. You're making too much of this. “
“Don’t forget
the pie. And I’m really not. I'd been to three other shops in the square
before I came through your door. No one
so much as offered up a smile. With you,
at least I got a bite to eat while I waited.”
She rolled her
eyes and grinned, pursing her lips.
“It's genetic. I'm a softy. So was my grandmother.”
She continued
walking again, this time passed him, and dropped her bag on the wooden bench in
front of the bus-stop sign. She glanced
back once, just to see if he was going to follow? He took it as an invitation. She glanced down the street toward the shiny
black limousine that was now double parked outside her coffee shop.
She nodded
toward the limo. “Yours?”
“My ride,
thanks to you.”
She tried her
best not to look impressed, but he could see that she was. He was used to it, but not many people were
used to having a chauffeur at will. He
generally didn't ask Michael to take him anywhere but formal functions. He'd hired him mainly for his housemaid,
Mary, since she detested driving in the city on her own.
“If your friend
doesn't want a parking ticket, I suggest he pull into a parking space...or
two. The meter maid can be scary, I
hear.”
“I'll have to
remember that.” He glanced up at the
bus-stop sign and then back at her. “Can
I give you a lift?”
Maggie pulled
at the waistband of her skirt. The white
cotton top that she'd seemed cool enough wearing inside the coffee shop was now
clinging to the swells of her breasts, compliments of the heat and
humidity.
“That won't be
necessary.”
“It's no
trouble, really.”
She let out a
quick breath and looked around at the people walking up and down the sidewalk,
until her gaze settled back on his face again.
“Look, you seem
like a nice man and all. But I don't
make it a habit of getting into cars with strange men I've never met before?”
“I'm not a
strange man.”
She tilted an
eyebrow as her eyes drifted down to his tuxedo.
“Right. The clothes again.” He motioned back to the diner with his
hands. “What was it you said earlier
about being neighborly? We’ve just
shared coffee and pie together. You
could hardly consider us strangers anymore.”
Maggie
chuckled, covering her mouth with her hand to hide her laughter. He liked the sound of her laugh, musical and
sweet.
“Every day
people come into my shop.”
Nodding, he
said, “I see your point. These days you
can never be too careful.”
“Exactly. Thank you for the offer. That’s really sweet of you. But the bus will be here shortly.”
Jonah turned
and started toward the limousine, then abruptly stopped and angled back. He didn't know why this should mean so much
to him. It wasn’t just her kindness that
had him making the extra effort. He’d
met many selfless people working with the Foundation for Young Wanderers. Something told him Maggie was a woman with a
heart of gold and perhaps saw little back.
Now that he
knew she'd been working directly across the street from him, he knew he could
see her at the coffee shop again. He
would see her. Something inside him told
him it was a certainty.
He wasn't a
gambling man by nature, but he decided to go for broke.
“Still, it is
August and I hear the busses don't always run on schedule. The limo is air conditioned.”
Maggie eyed him
speculatively, but didn't say a word.
“I promise to
be a perfect gentleman and sit tight on my side of the seat. Scout's honor.”
She pursed her
lips, grinning as she had before, making his heart hammer in his chest.
“You were never
a boy scout.”
“Correct, but
one good deed does deserves another, wouldn't you say?”
“I suppose,”
she said quietly, glancing back at the limo, then at her coffee shop.
“If you accept
my offer, you'll be home in no time. Or
you could spend the next fifteen minutes to however long it takes for the bus
to arrive roasting in this heat. And
then of course, because the busses are usually crowded, another fifteen or more
minutes standing with aching feet on a sweaty bus after a long day of--”
She tossed him
a wry grin. “You're pulling out all the
stops, aren’t you? All this for a lousy
cup of coffee and a piece of pie?”
“Air
conditioning,” he said, smiling devilishly, knowing that would be the catalyst
to push her over the edge to accepting.
She heaved a
sigh and then laughed, pointing a finger at him. “If my feet weren't killing me so
much... You drive a hard bargain, Mr.
Wallace.”
He gestured to
the car with both hands, a grin of satisfaction stretching across his
face. “Right this way.”
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