Greg is right. Linda Rowan is a good woman and Bobby couldn’t have done better in the adoptive mom department. She not only raised an incredible man, but was the kind of mother who could make days like today possible.

As I listen to them quietly talk, a part of me wishes Linda was here to see this.

This would make her happy, too, I think.

I wonder if I can sneak a video without them noticing.

I slyly reach into my tote.

EPILOGUE

 

Seven years later

I hurry through the house to my parents’ backyard to find my dad surrounded by my brothers and sisters.

Jeez, Krystal looks agitated and annoyed, but then again this is her high school graduation trip before she moves to New York to attend Juilliard.

I avoid her stare, the angry sister stare, pinning me as I cross the patio.

Fine.

I’m late.

Deal with it.

It’s not like the plane is going to leave the airport without us, and if she had half a clue what a chore it was getting out of the house with a husband and two boys, she wouldn’t be so darn petty about waiting an extra twenty minutes.

Mom’s not even here yet.

See, I’m not late.

“Where’s Mom?”

My dad whirls toward me. “There’s my princess. Chrissie is still packing. We were starting to think you were going to cut out on us.”

I kiss him on the cheek. “I wouldn’t do that. I love our annual family trips. I’m sorry I’m late. I was sick all morning. I’m pregnant again.”

My dad’s jaw drops. “You’re joking, right?”

I shake my head. “No. Did a stick test. Pretty darn sure grandchild number three is on its way.”

Those black eyes burn. “Where the hell is that son-in-law of mine?”

“Well, that was a little mean, Alan,” I chide, mimicking my mom.

“What is wrong with that boy? You’ve just launched a start-up independent film company. That should be your focus. Two kids. Enough. Why can’t he listen?”

I bite back a smile and do a pout instead. “Well, that’s not the reaction I expected. And stop pretending you don’t like Bobby. I know that you do.”

Alan rakes a hand through his hair. “I’m not going to like him if he keeps this up.”

Krystal starts laughing. “You’re so ridiculous, Dad. A man with five kids can’t be critical of a man soon to have three. It doesn’t work that way.”

He gives Krystal the stare. “Stop. You girls are not allowed to gang up on me. Not when Chrissie is not here.”

She only laughs harder.

My dad searches the backyard.

“Where is Bobby?” Alan asks again.

I sink down on a chaise.

“He’s not coming. I told mom that a week ago. He left this morning with the boys for Lodi to see Greg. Bobby’s been learning about grapes. Making wine. The business. We’re thinking about starting a winery.”

“A winery?” More displeasure on my dad’s face. “Terrible idea. They bleed money. Only good for the tax advantage. Bobby is just full of winning ideas, now isn’t he?”

I pout again. “I think so. He married me.”

Alan’s gaze softens. “Yes, you are definitely a winning idea. Unfortunately, you were Bobby’s only winning idea.”

Krystal scrunches up her face. “I’m never getting married.”

Alan rummages in his pocket for his phone—no doubt to call Bobby—as he drops a kiss on Krystal’s dark curls. “Perfect. Now all I have to do is convince you not to go to Juilliard, stay home and study dance here.”

Krystal groans. “Will you leave off about Juilliard? Why do you have such a problem with me going there? It’s becoming unbearable you trying to change my mind. Why don’t you just tell me why you don’t want me to go?”

Jeez, did my dad’s face just flush?

“No reason,” he says quietly. “I just want you here.”

“Not buying it, Dad,” Krystal says pointedly.

He shrugs. “I don’t like the thought of you living in New York alone, Krystal. That’s my reason.”

I lock eyes with my sister, her expression mirroring mine. Alan’s cheeks reddening—a definite dead giveaway.

What don’t we know?

Chrissie rushes across the patio. “Alan, stop giving Krystal a hard time about Juilliard. We should both be thrilled she’s going there. And there’s only one you. There’s not a chance in the world our daughter is going to run into a guy like you there.”

My eyes widen in disbelief. “That’s why you’ve been so difficult about the Juilliard thing, Pop? You don’t want Krystal to live in New York because you’re worried she might meet someone like you? Like Mom did when she went for her Juilliard audition? Just for future clarification, would that be worse than marrying someone like Bobby?”

My dad’s expression is priceless.

Krystal and I explode into laughter.

Alan frowns. “Thanks a lot, Chrissie. Way to be a team player.”

Krystal exhales loudly. “Why don’t you ever set me up with any of Bobby’s hot surfing buddies? I’d like to find a guy like Bobby. I might be willing to stay in southern California for that.”

I slowly shake my head, smiling. “Sorry, Krystal. Not going to happen. There is only one Bobby and he’s mine.”

The End

Continue the Parker Family Saga with the next generation, Krystal, Ethan, Eric & Khloe.  Their books releasing 2016. For all my current and future releases visit my website:

http://susanwardbooks.com

Or like me on Facebook:

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Or Follow me on Twitter: @susaninlaguna

Enjoy one of my current contemporary romance releases:

Broken Crown

The Girl on the Half Shell

The Girl of Tokens and Tears

The Girl of Diamonds and Rust

The Girl in the Comfortable Quiet

The Signature

Rewind

One Last Kiss

One More Kiss

One Long Kiss

One Forever Kiss(Releasing Fall 2015)

Or enjoy one of my historical romance releases:

When the Perfect Comes

Face to Face

Love’s Patient Fury

Love me Forever: Releasing Fall of 2015

Enjoy Chrissie and Alan’s story from the beginning with   The Girl on the Half Shell , The Half Shell Series Book One:

The room is so quiet it is deafening.

I find Alan on his bed, casually reclined against a stack of pillows, dressed only in flannel pajama bottoms, and reading—of all things—the Wall Street Journal. There is a fire lit, the silver candlesticks flicker with flame, the bedcovers invitingly turned down as if in preparation for some sort of romantic scene. But he is focused on the Journal.

He doesn’t look at me and I feel stupid hovering by his door, so I start to wander around the bedroom, trying to still my frantic pulse. It’s a good thing that it’s an interesting room, otherwise my deliberate study would seem silly.

Even Alan’s bedroom is something I find weird and demands a certain amount of mental analysis. It looks like something from a nineteenth century English manor, elegant to the point of being almost a touch prissy. There’s an antique mahogany king-sized bed facing the fireplace; floral wingback chairs with pillows positioned before the hearth; and high-tech conveniences camouflaged in antique furniture. There’s a Monet on the wall; tall, polished sterling silver candlesticks; crystal; and fine, leather-bound, first edition books of classic literature. I sink down before a small, mahogany table where I find a stack of newspaper: Barons; the New York Times; the Washington Post; and the Daily Telegraph.

The warmth of the fire surrounds me like a caress, but I am quaking like a leaf. I wasn’t sure what Alan expected after he walked out of the kitchen. It would have been logical to assume that I would leave. But he knew I’d follow him. I don’t know why he’s ignoring me now. I look at the lit candlesticks—he wanted me to follow him.