скачать книгу бесплатно
Until last night. When she’d not only been tempted, she’d done it.
The shower was blessedly hot, and she stayed in it for a long time. Getting dressed afterward wasn’t fun, given that she didn’t have clean underwear and had to put on an evening gown and high heels. She’d have killed for coffee and breakfast to settle her stomach, but no way was she going in a restaurant dressed like this, advertising that she’d had a hard night. She could order from room service… But that seemed silly. She’d be home in forty-five minutes.
With no brush, either, all she could do was loosely braid her wet hair. Her evening bag…she spotted it lying atop the dresser, next to a TV schedule and some local promotional brochures. Her keys had fallen to the floor for some reason, and as she bent to pick them up she saw her lipstick, too. She grabbed the purse and straightened, stuffing the lipstick inside as she turned for the door. Moira had no idea where the room key was and didn’t care. At last, gingerly, she picked up the business card with the short note written on the back. A painful lump seemed to form in her chest.
Why can’t we have more than one night? But she wouldn’t call him. He’d made clear his limitations. If he wanted to, he could find her.
Moira dropped the business card in her purse and let herself out of the room. All she wanted was to get to her car, preferably unseen, and go home.
Then she would try to understand why she’d so foolishly gotten naked with a stranger, however kind and sexy he was.
But she knew, of course: her feelings had been hurt and she’d needed consolation. Foolish was the word for it, Moira thought, blushing as she crossed the hotel foyer under the gaze of a woman behind the front desk. And risky. That was another word for having sex with a stranger.
Except, he hadn’t hurt her, and she knew he’d used the condom. Because he’d remembered, not because she had. She’d been lucky. Done something dumb, and escaped any of the myriad possible consequences. She should be old enough not to have to learn a lesson this way, but apparently she wasn’t.
Moira got into her car and momentarily laid her forehead against the steering wheel.
I learned. I did.
Time to go home and… No, she wouldn’t wish Will Becker would call. Instead, she’d do her best to forget last night ever happened.
THE SECURITY LINE at the airport lay just ahead. This early in the morning, it was short. He’d have plenty of time for breakfast and coffee once he got through it.
Will had intended to take an airporter to SeaTac, but Sophie insisted on driving him. During the past week, he’d signed over the title to his pickup to Jack and piled a few plastic tubs filled with his possessions in the basement of the family home. This morning, he had taken one last look at his bedroom, stripped of personality, and felt something unexpected: grief. He was saying goodbye to his entire life to this point. He had grown up in this house, played with plastic dinosaurs on the floor of this same bedroom, fought later with his stepmother over how clean he had to keep it. Sneaked a high school girlfriend in here and had sex with her after his parents were in bed and asleep. Returned the one summer after his freshman year in college, swearing that it would be the last time he’d work for his father, the last time he’d swing a hammer.
Then he’d come home to stay after his parents died. He’d never considered moving into the master bedroom, which was still empty. It was stupid, really, with Jack, Sophie, Clay and him all here, all in small bedrooms designed for children. He hoped, if and when Clay got married, that he’d have the sense to overcome the past and make the house his. Really his.
Something Will hadn’t done, in part because he hadn’t wanted the house, or the company, and he sure hadn’t wanted to be a twenty-year-old stand-in father of three, responsible for the financial and emotional well-being of his young sister and brothers.
And now, he thought, standing in SeaTac airport at the crack of dawn, he was done with all of it.
He turned to face his sister. “Thanks for bringing me.”
Sophie was the shrimp of the family, and still stood five foot ten. “Somebody had to see you off,” she insisted.
“Yeah.” He grinned at her. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t approve of, okay?”
Her brown eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Will!” she wailed. “I’m going to miss you!”
His arms closed fiercely around her. “Damn it, Soph. I thought we had this goodbye crap out of the way.”
She shook her head hard. “I know it doesn’t make sense, when I’ve been away at college the last four years, but…you were always here. And now you won’t be.”
“I’m sorry,” he heard himself say. “Do I still need to be?”
She shook her head again, then pulled back to give him a watery smile. “Of course you don’t. I’m being silly. It’s just…I’ll miss you, Will. I’m glad you’re going. I know how much you need this. How much you gave up for us.”
He scowled. “Don’t start with that. I did what I had to do. I have no regrets.”
Her smile became more genuine. “Yeah, sure you don’t. Just, um, have a fabulous time, okay? And email.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He kissed her wet cheek. “I love you, Soph. I won’t disappear, I promise.”
“Okay.” She sniffed and swiped at damp eyes. “I’m going. You don’t need this. Just…take care.” She gave him one more fervent hug, then hurried away.
He watched her go, not looking back, and remembered taking each of his siblings to college to start their freshman years. Helping them haul their stuff into dorm rooms, wishing he was the one there to stay, then driving away with the feeling that a big hole had opened in his chest. Except for the envy he hadn’t been able to help, he’d been all parent, a little shocked to find out how much he was going to miss first Clay, then Jack, then Sophie.
By the time Sophie started her freshman year, Clay was home again and working with Will. Unlike Will, he had loved the summers he’d worked construction. It seemed to be in his blood. He’d learned the business eagerly and had a natural air of authority.
Will shook himself now, surprised again at how alone he felt. Glad he was, but a little sorry all the same. Maybe he should have expected these mixed emotions, but hadn’t. He’d expected to be celebrating this morning.
He went through security, taking out his laptop, putting his shoes on the conveyor belt, having to go back and empty the change out of the pockets of his pants. Then he put himself back together and headed for the closest place to have breakfast.
Although he’d brought the morning Times to read while he was eating, Will found himself thinking instead about his redhead. He kept thinking he should have tracked her down and called her. Maybe she felt fine about making love with him, but maybe she didn’t. He hated to think she was embarrassed.
He wished…oh, damn, he wished he’d met her at another time and place. That he’d been able to call her the next day and ask her out to dinner. Let her know that she could be special to him, not merely a chance to get his rocks off.
Face it, he thought harshly; that’s all she’d been. And she deserved more.
He’d feel worse if he was sure saying “Thanks, but no thanks,” would have been the right thing to do. Will was still afraid that would have hurt her, that she’d been emotionally fragile enough to need a man to want her.
And maybe he was trying to excuse himself for taking what she offered because he wanted to, whether it was a crappy thing for him to have done or not.
He hoped she didn’t give the jackass another chance if he came begging.
Forget it, he told himself, frowning as he rose to walk to the gate. There was nothing he could do now. This was his new beginning. He should be rejoicing.
Too bad he wasn’t already in Harare, instead of facing thirty-six hours on airplanes and airport layovers in Frankfurt and Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. He hoped like hell the promised aisle seats materialized; he was way too big a man to spend that many hours cramped between other passengers or at the window.
Half an hour later, his flight was called. Thinking, Here goes nothing, he took out his boarding pass and joined the line. But he was still picturing an apple-cheeked, freckled face with pretty lips and green eyes when he wedged himself into his airline seat and buckled the belt.
CHAPTER THREE
STANDING ATOP THE ROUGH concrete foundation, Moira studied the completed framing of the building that would house doctors’ offices and an outpatient surgical center.
“Looking good,” she told Jeb Morris, a contractor with whom she’d worked before. These visits were almost a formality with Jeb; he knew enough to spot problems before they tripped him up. And he maintained high standards.
A short, stocky man with a close-cropped beard, he pushed his hard hat back, his gaze resting on her. “Everything okay, Moira?”
She looked at him in surprise. “Sure. Why do you ask?”
He shook his head. “You seem distracted today.”
Moira forced a smile. “I guess I am. Just things on my mind. Sorry, Jeb.”
“Hey, no problem. I’ll walk you to your car.”
Because she was visiting several sites today, she’d worn her clunky work boots, jeans and a green flannel shirt over a T-shirt, in case the day got warmer. It was May, tulips were in bloom, but the morning had been chilly.
She was trying very, very hard to think about the job site and the wiring and electrical and plumbing that would soon go in, about spring flowers and how she was meeting Gray and Charlotte for lunch later. Gray Van Dusen was her partner in Van Dusen & Cullen, Architects, and her best friend in the world. Charlotte had quickly become almost as good a friend.
Moira was doing her best to think about anything and everything except the fact that she was almost positive her period was late. At least a week late. Maybe ten days. She didn’t keep exact track, so she wasn’t sure. But…it should have come and gone.
Sickening fear rose from her belly to swell in her chest, as it did every time she let this worry creep through her defenses. She felt Jeb’s scrutiny and made a point of smiling again and asking about his oldest son, who was a senior in high school waiting to hear which colleges had accepted him.
Jeb’s face brightened. “Didn’t I tell you? He received early acceptance to Stanford. Can you believe it?” He wore a goofy grin. “My kid, going to Stanford.”
She laughed. “Your kid, your tuition bills.”
That didn’t wipe the smile away. “Worth every penny.” He slapped the top of her car. “Take care, Moira.”
“Yeah, thanks, Jeb.” She put the key in the ignition and closed the door as he walked away. Not wanting him to turn back and see her sitting here, she reversed then drove across bumpy ground toward the street. Meantime, her stomach churned.
Was it too early for a pregnancy test?
Once out of sight of the construction, she pulled to the curb and set the car in Park. Still holding on to the steering wheel for all she was worth, Moira let the fear wash over her. It sensitized her skin, set her to rocking, made her pant.
How could this be? He’d used the condom. She knew he had, saw him put it on.
Yes, but condoms had a failure rate a whole lot higher than birth-control pills. Which she wasn’t on. Hadn’t wanted to start until she was sure her relationship with Bruce was moving to that point.
She’d had sex once. Once! And they’d used a condom. Even if it had failed—had a hole, or leaked, or whatever went wrong—a woman shouldn’t get pregnant the one and only time she’d had sex in over ten years. Wasn’t there some justice, somewhere, that would keep her from being punished so severely for her foolish need to prove she was desirable?
And to make matters worse, she wasn’t even convinced she’d proved that much. Yes, he’d made passionate love to her. He’d said the right things. He’d touched her with such care, such longing, and his eyes had darkened to near black when he thrust into her. But…he had also left the minute she fell asleep, simply stole away.
And even though he’d said it would be only the one night… A part of her couldn’t help wondering why. Why, in the three weeks that had passed since then, he hadn’t made the effort to find out who she was, hadn’t called. She would have been easy to find, Moira knew, with her flaming red hair and freckled face. They’d known people in common; all he would have had to do was make a phone call or two.
But he hadn’t done that.
Please don’t let him be married, she prayed. Don’t let him have lied. I’d hate to have to live with that. Especially now, especially if…
If she was pregnant. Moira bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.
What would she do if she was pregnant? Would she track him down and tell him?
Still rocking herself, she thought, No. If this was anyone’s fault, it was hers. She’d asked him to make love to her. The condom was hers, so she couldn’t even blame him for using a defective one. He’d warned her that the one night was all he could offer, and she’d agreed. How could she now contact him and say, “Hate to tell you, but you’re going to be a father, so how do you feel about paying child support for, oh, say, the next eighteen years?”
That wasn’t the deal they’d made.
My fault, my risk.
And—oh, Lord—she didn’t know if she could face him anyway. Maybe the standards she’d grown up with in Montana were dated, but the closest she’d come to shaking them was sleeping with her college boyfriend. Having too much to drink followed by a one-night stand… She shivered. She’d all but begged him to have sex with her.
Moira was whimpering now, the fear swamping her. She felt like a drowning victim, going down for the last time, desperate for a hand to reach for her. But there wasn’t one. Wouldn’t be one. If she made Will Becker take responsibility, all she’d be doing was dragging him under with her.
It was a long time before she felt able to drive again. She’d made one decision: she would wait another week before she bought a home pregnancy test. Heck, maybe her anxiety was holding off her period. A watched pot never boils, after all. And…really, was there any advantage to knowing for sure this early? Abortion wasn’t an option for her, she knew that. She wanted to have children. She’d always assumed she would be married by the time she had a baby, that there would be a father in the picture, too, but hard reality was that she was thirty-four years old. Maybe she should be grabbing at any chance to have a family, even if it wouldn’t be the ideal one.
Moira wished she wasn’t supposed to meet Gray and Charlotte. Hiding her distress would be hard. And the truth was, if she really was pregnant, carried the baby to term and kept him or her to raise, Gray would pay some of the price, too, however unfair that was.
When he got the idea of running for mayor of West Fork, they’d had a long talk. He wasn’t married then, hadn’t even met Charlotte, so it was only the two of them making the decision. The mayoral job wasn’t full-time, or he wouldn’t have considered it. But he’d have to cut back substantially on how many architectural commissions he took. Unless they wanted their revenue to decline substantially, Moira would be carrying more than her share of the work.
She’d liked what he wanted to accomplish for this town that was now home for both of them, and understood why it mattered to him. Understood more, probably, than he’d be comfortable realizing. Gray was usually closemouthed about his deepest motivations, but they had been best friends in college. There’d been a couple of times when he’d had too much to drink and had told her things he had probably regretted—assuming he’d remembered the next day.
She knew he had had a twin brother who died in an accident when the two boys were ten years old. They had been riding bikes together, racing down a hill. Garret had pulled ahead, just a little. He slammed into the side of a car passing on the street that intersected the foot of the hill. Gray shot past the rear bumper. A split second one way or the other and it would have been different. Garret might have been fine and Gray dead. Or both fine. Garret went into a coma and never came out before dying two days later. In their grief, Gray’s parents pulled away from each other and ultimately divorced, his mother moving to Portland, his dad to Boise. They’d left behind the small-town life that in later years came to seem idyllic to Gray, who had also had to cope with the realization that he was a constant, aching reminder to both of his parents of the son they’d lost.
In coming to West Fork, Gray was trying to recapture everything he had lost. She knew that, and feared it was impossible, but had agreed to open their architectural firm here anyway. To her surprise, he seemed to have found what he was looking for. The satisfaction of shaping the town to suit himself, a woman to love, the start of a family.
But Moira wasn’t going to be able to keep her end of the agreement. Would she even be able to work full-time when she got near the end of her pregnancy? Didn’t most new mothers have to take some time off? And then, how many hours a day could she bear to leave her baby in day care? There was no way Gray would be able to continue serving as mayor, not if Van Dusen & Cullen, Architects, was to survive.
And that made her feel horribly guilty.
Fortunately, if she was quiet during lunch, neither Gray nor Charlotte seemed to notice. They talked some about their current projects, some about Charlotte’s pregnancy, which was starting to show, and some about Charlotte’s twin sister, Faith, who had recently married West Fork Police Chief Ben Wheeler and who was also thinking of starting a family.
Call her pathetic, but it made Moira feel even lonelier to imagine Charlotte and Faith both pregnant at the same time as she was, but the two of them having men who loved them and worried about them and hovered over them. While all Moira was doing by getting pregnant was screwing up her life.
Worry about it when you’re sure, she told herself.
A WEEK LATER, MOIRA BOUGHT a pregnancy test at a pharmacy in Everett where nobody knew her, and decided to wait until after dinner to use it. She should be hungry, but wasn’t. A part of her knew it wasn’t only anxiety, that the lack of appetite and faint queasiness of the past few days shouldn’t come as any surprise.
She peed on the stick, then sat on the edge of the bathtub waiting, staring at it. Maybe the watched pot wouldn’t boil. If she didn’t take her eyes off it, didn’t blink….
But she couldn’t help blinking, and the blue color first tinted the slot, then brightened.
Oh, God. Oh, God.
All of her fear poured back. She dropped the stick in the wastebasket and bent forward, holding herself as tight as she could as a hundred different emotions eddied and tumbled like flood waters, almost more than her body could contain.
In the end, all she could think was, I’m pregnant.
And now she had to live with it.
“LUNCH?” MOIRA SAID. “Um…sure. Now?”
Oh, heavens. She’d done her best in the two months since she realized she was pregnant to…not avoid Gray, how could she when they were partners and friends? She saw him every day, and she had dinner with him and Charlotte at least once a week. But she had tried not to spend time alone with him, not to let conversation become really personal. It hadn’t been as hard as she’d have thought. Mostly in the office they talked business, exchanged ideas, looked over each other’s preliminary sketches and made suggestions, offered solutions to jobsite problems. Lunch for Gray was usually fast food or a deli sandwich, snatched between city hall and their architectural office or a job site.
But today, he’d appeared earlier than she had expected him, and now stood in the doorway waiting.
“If not now, when?” he asked with his usual good humor.
She saved her CADD drawing and closed out the program, then took her purse from the bottom drawer of her desk. Gray stood back to let her out the door, then flipped the sign to Closed.
“The Pea Patch?”
“Fine.” Perfect, in fact. The small vegetarian restaurant used only organic, healthful ingredients, exactly what a pregnant woman should be eating. Gray had probably taken to eating there with Charlotte.
He didn’t say much during the short drive and found parking right in front. The main street of West Fork probably hadn’t changed much since the 1950s, with false-fronted buildings and small, locally owned businesses. The Pea Patch was relatively new, of course, as was the antiques store beside it, but the barbershop and hardware store could have starred in a Norman Rockwell painting. One of Gray’s goals had been to maintain the old-fashioned atmosphere of downtown and keep people shopping here.
Moira ordered the day’s special, a bowl of split-pea soup and a half sandwich, Gray a burrito. He glanced at her sidelong when she asked for a juice instead of the latte that had been her habit.
