A Husband's Regret (The Unwanted Series)(58)

"Oh my God." Bryce leaped to his feet and swung Bronwyn up into a hug.  "That's fantastic news, sweetheart." He dropped her back onto her feet  and gave her a quick, concerned once-over. "What did the doctor say? Is  everything okay?" he asked worriedly.

I'm healthy as a horse. Baby's due in about seven months' time. Just before Christmas.

"You always know just what to get us for Christmas," he teased.

"I try my best." She shrugged modestly.

God, he loved her so much. They had remarried nearly five years ago,  less than a month after his proposal. Their marriage, even now, was  filled with surprise after surprise. He wanted to create amazing  memories with spontaneous trips to Europe when she wasn't busy with  work, hot-air-balloon rides, flowers, jewelry, and toys for Kayla. And  even more disastrous romantic meals that he had cooked himself. In the  interests of self-preservation, Bronwyn had enrolled him in a Cordon  Bleu cooking course. He'd had minimal success in the class. Now, instead  of merely burning steaks, he burned things like glazed duck and stuffed  pheasant. He pretended not to notice his wife and daughter's exchanged  grimaces when they knew that he would be cooking dinner. He was damned  determined to conquer the cooking thing. He couldn't imagine not  succeeding at it . . . okay, so it was taking him a little longer than  he'd anticipated-years really-but he knew that he could do it.

Bryce absolutely doted on his "girls" and loved spoiling them, and  Bronwyn had stopped protesting at the extravagance when she had seen how  much pleasure he got out of his surprises. He couldn't imagine his life  without them and was grateful every day for the miracle that had been  granted to an undeserving man like him.

"You're amazing," he murmured, sitting back down behind his desk and  dragging her into his lap. He was well on his way to showing her just  how amazing he thought she was when the study door was flung open  unceremoniously, and their daughter dashed into the room. Oliver, their  excitable and yappy little red miniature pinscher, followed her into the  room. Kayla was still wearing her school uniform, and her braid was an  unraveling mess that created a halo of escaped hair around her gamine  little face.

"Guess what?" she asked breathlessly, so used to seeing her parents snuggling that she didn't even pause on her way to his desk.

"What?" Bronwyn asked with a grin.

"Ms. Williams gave me two gold stars today!" the little girl boasted, practically bouncing up and down in excitement.

"She did?" Bronwyn smiled, signing at the same time so that Bryce could follow the conversation.

"That's fantastic, munchkin," Bryce said. He had his head on Bronwyn's  shoulder and one hand protectively tucked against her flat stomach.  "What for?"

I got ten out of ten for my spelling and for my math, she signed a mile a minute, her little hands practically a blur.

"Wow, I think that calls for a celebration, don't you?" he asked them  indulgently, and Bronwyn nodded, knowing that he meant to celebrate more  than Kayla's gold stars. Naturally they wouldn't tell Kayla about the  baby for a while. She would be an unholy, impatient little terror if she  found out and then had to wait months before the baby was born.

"It's definitely cause for celebration," Bronwyn agreed with a smile.  "Kayla, go and have a bath and put on your prettiest dress, we're going  out to dinner."

"Really?" Her beautiful blue eyes shone with pride and her parents  nodded. She squealed in excitement and careened back out of the room  with Oliver racing out after her.

"Thank you," Bryce whispered quietly, and Bronwyn craned her neck to meet his eyes.


"For?" she asked.

"Everything," he said expansively before elaborating. "For the small,  everyday things and the huge, life-altering things." His eyes went  misty, and he blinked in embarrassment. When he was able to see her face  clearly again, she was smiling luminously. He watched her hands and her  face as they spelled out her inevitable response, the one that never  failed to bring a lump to his throat and tears to his eyes.

There's the man I married.