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“I never mentioned you to Olivia or anyone else.”
“That’s not what I’m asking.” He leaned on the counter as she circled to the other side. “Is that— Am I—” He dragged his fingers through his hair, muttered a curse and tried again. “Did we…?”
After studying him for a moment, she knew the answer he wanted. It was in his scowl, his clenched hands, the sinking feeling in her stomach. It was foolish to be disappointed. She was twenty-five, a woman on her own, about to become a single mother. There was no room in her life for daydreams or fantasies, no chance that a charming rogue might turn into her very own Prince Charming, no chance at all that something special could develop out of a one-night stand. Yes, he’d come back upon hearing that she was pregnant, but only because he wanted her to deny that he was the father.
“No,” she said softly, feeling the ache of the lie deep inside.
He looked startled, then relieved, then suspicious. “No what?”
“You’re not the father.”
“Who is?”
“That’s between my baby and me.”
His gaze narrowed, sending heat flushing through her face. “You’re lying.”
“I don’t lie.”
“Everything about the night you spent with me was a lie,” he said scornfully.
The heat intensified. Did the fact that it was a necessary lie count for anything? It was a simple truth that without the makeup, the clothes, the hair, she never would have found the nerve to walk into that bar. It was another truth that without the makeup, the clothes and the hair, he never would have looked twice at her.
She had desperately needed for someone to take a second look at her.
“It’s my baby, isn’t it?”
She thought of all the emotions she’d experienced since finding out she was pregnant. Shock. Panic. Dread. Fear. Heartache. And, finally, joy. She’d had such dreams, made such plans. She’d fallen in love with her daughter—she liked to think it was a girl—soon after learning of her existence. She couldn’t imagine anything more wonderful, any gift more precious, than the one she’d been given.
“Do you want a baby?” she asked, hearing the wistfulness in her voice. It would be an even more precious gift if he answered yes honestly and sincerely. Even if she was the last woman he would choose to play the role of mother, she would be forever grateful if he could truthfully say yes, he wanted their baby.
For a moment, he couldn’t say anything at all. He opened his mouth twice, then closed it again. Finally, with a stiffness that vibrated the air between them, he said, “It’s a little late to be considering what I want. This baby’s going to be here in two months, whether I want it or not.”
“But you don’t have to be here in two months.”
Once again she’d startled him. He blinked, then refocused on her as she continued.
“I do want this baby. It’s the best thing that ever happened to me. I want to change diapers and have 2:00 a.m. feedings and teach her to walk and talk and ride a bike. I want to be such a good mother that she’ll never miss having a father.” In spite of the awful examples her parents had set for her, she knew she could do it. She had more love to give than any little girl could ever need. She could easily be mother and father both, especially when the father she was replacing had no desire to be a father.
“So I’m not needed here. That’s what you’re saying.” Ethan heard the bitterness in his voice, felt it deep in his gut, but didn’t understand it. He should be grateful. She was offering him the opportunity to walk away and never look back. She didn’t want his name, his money or his presence. Hell, she didn’t want anything to do with him.
He should be used to it by now. He’d been living with it most of his life. His mother had loved him, but she’d loved Guthrie more. His father hadn’t loved him at all, and Guthrie had wished that he’d never been born. Now he was neither needed nor wanted in his kid’s life.
“You don’t want to be here,” she said quietly. “You don’t want to be a father.”
The truth, plain and simple. And not so simple. It was true that he’d never wanted kids—but that was speaking in terms of possibilities, prospects, somewhere down the line. This baby wasn’t a prospect. It—he or she—existed, a real, live part of him and Grace. It wasn’t fair to apply theoretical ideas to reality. Whether or not he wanted to be a father didn’t matter, because the simple fact was, in another eight weeks, he would be one. Wanting or not wanting couldn’t change that.
Realizing that his hand was cramping, he slowly eased his fingers flat against the counter. He didn’t know what to say. Obviously she would be happy if he accepted her offer to give up any claim he had on her baby and left town, but he knew instinctively that he would regret it if he did. Leaving would only prove that he was no better than his own father. Guthrie would never forgive him. His child would grow up to hate him. He’d have no choice but to hate himself.
And if he stayed? Maybe the kid would still hate him. He wasn’t exactly prime father material. He’d made too many mistakes, disappointed people too many times. No matter how hard he tried, he would never be a father to make a kid proud.
Across the counter, Grace shifted uneasily, drawing his gaze that way. She looked so different from before. Truth was, if he’d met her without meeting Melissa first, he wouldn’t have paid her any attention. He wouldn’t have sat down at her table, bought her a beer, asked her to dance. He certainly wouldn’t have taken her to the motel next door.
And it would have been his loss.
The hair that had been gloriously red and wild that night was really brown, pulled straight back from her face and braided to her waist. The brown eyes that had seemed so soft and hazy then had actually been unfocused. Judging by the thickness of the lenses in the glasses that kept slipping down her nose, she’d been damn near blind that night. That explained why she hadn’t run the other way when he’d approached her.
She wore no makeup, not even lipstick, and her dress was shapeless except where it draped over her belly on its way to her ankles. The sweater she wore over it was equally shapeless, with sleeves that fell three inches past her wrists.
She wasn’t pretty, and she wasn’t homely, either. She was just plain. And yet it had taken him mere seconds to recognize the lovely, sexy Melissa in her.
But Melissa, who had wanted him, didn’t really exist, and Grace, who did exist, didn’t want him. At all.
She fidgeted under his gaze, drawing the front edges of the sweater together and holding them with her arms folded tightly over her chest. “Listen, Ethan,” she said, and he recognized sexy Melissa in the way she said his name. “You came back, you did what was right. You can go now. I’ll convince Olivia and Shay they were wrong. No one will hold it against you. No one will ever even know.”
And because he was irresponsible, worthless, no good, that was supposed to satisfy him. It was supposed to ease his conscience, assuming he had one, and get him back on the road out of town.
He gazed away from her to the dusty plate-glass window that looked out on the parking lot and wondered if his mother had ever encouraged his father to go away and stay away. There was no doubt that Nadine had regretted her marriage to Gordon James. That last time he’d left, she’d waited only days—ten, maybe fourteen—to file for divorce, and though she’d never changed her name legally, she’d gone back to using Harris again. Being ten years old and stupid, he’d asked if he could use the Harris name, too. After all, they were a family, right? And families should have the same last name. But Guthrie had objected, and their mother had made some excuse about needing his father’s permission, and he’d known then that he wasn’t really part of the family.
Now it was payback time. He’d wanted to give up his father’s name, and now his own child was never going to be allowed to know his name. Grace and the baby were one more family that he wasn’t welcome in.
Unless he changed her mind. Unless he proved to her that he was fit to be a part of their lives. The hell of it was, he didn’t know that he wanted to be a part of their lives. He didn’t know if he could live up to the responsibility, or if he would run true to form, disappoint them and run away. Like he always did.
Hell, if he couldn’t trust himself to stick around, how could he ask her to?
He glanced at her but didn’t make eye contact. “I…I don’t think I can do that, Grace.”
He could tell by her voice and no more that she was alarmed. “Why not? You’ve been doing it for years.”
“I don’t know. I just can’t… This is different. Before it was always people I walked out on—adults who didn’t want me around, anyway. This is a baby—”
“My baby,” she interrupted sharply.
“And mine.” He felt the bitterness swell until it threatened to choke him. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone that. I’ll keep your little secret. But I’m not leaving. Not until I figure some things out.” Like what he wanted, and why, and whether he had a right to want anything at all.
He took a few steps toward the door, then turned back. “Olivia has offered me use of the cabin out at their place, if Guthrie doesn’t throw me out. I’ll be around.”
Before she could respond or react in any way, he turned and walked out.
So much for the creaking in Bill Taylor’s bones.
Grace stood at the window in her dark, still bedroom, wearing a nightgown of flannel and wrapped in a quilt, staring out into a quiet, cold and incredibly clear night. She should have been asleep hours ago, but her mind wouldn’t stop spinning long enough to let sleep creep in. She’d prayed for snow all the way home in the Blazer that served as Reese’s sheriff’s car, for the rare kind of blizzard that Oklahoma never saw that would bury her house to its eaves and leave her safe and protected from the world—from Ethan—until the spring thaw.
But there was no snow. No protection, either.
Expect the worst, her father had always preached, and you won’t be disappointed. Never trust anyone, never take chances, never count on someone doing what he should. She’d always thought it was a sad way to live, so sad that she’d gone a hundred and eighty degrees in the opposite direction. Her motto, since his leaving, had been simpler. Don’t Worry. Be Happy.
She’d thought years would pass before Ethan’s next return, had thought he’d never recognize her as Melissa, and even if he did, he would never have any interest in playing daddy to her child. After all, he was the irresponsible one, the immature one, the selfish one out for himself and to hell with everyone else. Like everyone else in town, she’d been so convinced of it that she almost felt cheated that the image wasn’t entirely accurate. He had a conscience. He felt some sense of obligation, some duty.
How long would it last? A few weeks? A few months or, heaven forbid, a few years? There was no way of knowing. Long enough, though, for everyone in town to guess the truth. Long enough to saddle her child with the burden of the James name, the James reputation.
Long enough to put Grace herself at risk. She’d proven her susceptibility to daydreams and fantasies. Lord knows, she’d lived enough of her life in them. She’d already proved her susceptibility to handsome con artists. Toss in the idea of creating a family—husband, wife, child, in-laws, nieces, maybe soon a nephew—and in a blink of an eye, she just might forget all about her hard-won independence.
But Ethan James wasn’t a family sort of man. He’d been running away from his own family for half his life. He wasn’t likely to accept any ties that might hold him down. Sure, he felt some sense of obligation, probably some unresolved issue from his abandonment by his own father, but it would never be enough to keep him here. At best, he’d stick around just long enough to screw up everything, and then he would leave Grace and their daughter to deal with it while he went on to greener pastures.
Sighing, she turned away from the window and faced her room instead. Until her father had found out she was pregnant and thrown her out, she’d slept every night of her life but one in this room. She’d huddled in the closet over there, hands over her ears, to block out the sounds of her parents’ fights. She’d curled up in the rocker and dreamed about catching the eye of someone at school. Boy or girl, it hadn’t mattered, just someone who would be friends with her and make her feel less desperately alone. She’d lain awake nights in that cramped little bed, lamenting the healthy, normal relationships missing in her life—the boyfriends, the dates, the little intimacies—and she’d wondered if anyone would ever truly love her.
Now, she thought, patting her stomach reassuringly, she had an answer.
And she had Ethan James to thank for it. Even if she did wish she had never seen him again. Even if some traitorous little part of her hoped to see him again and again.
Suddenly chilled, she returned to the bed, snuggled in under layers of blankets and closed her eyes for a series of deep-breathing exercises. She kidded herself that simply relaxing, resting and breathing were almost as good as sleep, which she certainly wasn’t going to get tonight. She was too wide awake, too worried.
But the next time she opened her eyes it was morning, and the sun was shining brightly in the east. Refusing to think about anything other than her normal routine, she got ready for work, cooked and ate her breakfast, then began dressing in the layers necessary for the walk to the store. It was just another day, she told herself. Like the last ninety or so, nothing special, nothing to be dreaded.
Maybe saying it made it real. Her walk was uneventful, even a bit boring. The usual vehicles were parked outside the Heartbreak Café, where Shay Rafferty gave her usual wave through the plate-glass window. Trudie Hampton called a hello as she unlocked the insurance agency door and commented on the cold temperatures and toes freezing off. The store looked exactly as it had when she left the day before.
Life hadn’t changed. It was ordinary. Routine.
Until 10:32 a.m., when Ethan walked through the front door.
She was busy with customers when the bell rang. She didn’t glance up. She didn’t need to, thanks to their murmured comments.
“Well, look at that. When do you suppose he came back?”
“Better question would be why do you suppose he came back.”
“Y’think Guthrie was expectin’ him?”
“Sure. Guthrie always expects trouble. ’Least, from that one.”
At that, Grace didn’t even try to resist looking at Ethan. He was in the last aisle before the far wall, pretending interest in a display of dead-bolt locks, his head ducked so that all she could see was tousled blond hair and a denim collar. No doubt he knew he had everyone’s attention. She hoped he was smart enough to stay over there until the others were gone, but she wouldn’t hold her breath.
She rang up the sale, took the cash, made the wrong change, then corrected it. She bagged the purchase in a sack large enough to fit it five times over, then dropped it on the counter instead of handing it to the customer. When they left, she straightened the few items on the counter, breathed deeply and straightened them again, then summoned the nerve to approach him. Before she’d taken three steps, he started toward her.
He was dressed much the same as the day before, but somehow he looked even better. Sometime in the last seven months she’d forgotten just how gorgeous he was. Looking at him now, she was amazed that she’d been able to catch his eye, even dressed up in Ginger’s flashiest clothes. He could have crooked his finger at any woman in that bar and she would have gone running, but he’d chosen her. The fake. The fraud.
He was disappointed that she wasn’t pretty. She’d read that in his expression yesterday. Part of her felt insulted. They were adults. They were supposed to prefer things like character, honesty and personality over good looks. And part of her couldn’t blame him. Was it so wrong to want the character, honesty and personality wrapped up in a pretty package? Would she honestly have been so quick to go to the motel with him that night if he hadn’t been drop-dead gorgeous?
Well…yes. But she’d been desperate, remember?
Finally he stopped on the opposite side of the counter. “Hey.”
“Hi.” Her gaze settled on his hands, resting on the scarred countertop. They were bigger, longer, than hers, but they could manipulate a deck of cards or remove a woman’s clothing with smooth, easy grace, never fumbling, never making a mistake. They were so strong, so certain of every move. And soft, like silk against her skin. Capable of seducing a never-been-kissed virgin right out of her clothes and her fears. Talented enough to make her thank him when it was over.
Her face grew warm, and she had to clear her throat before she could speak. “I take it Guthrie didn’t throw you out.”
“Only because Olivia talked him out of it. He knows better than to get on the wrong side of a woman who hasn’t seen her own feet in months.”
Grace’s smile was small and tentative. She liked Olivia Harris a lot, but that didn’t stop her from also envying her. Olivia had everything Grace had ever wanted. Her husband worshiped the ground she walked on, and no one could love her daughters more than he did. Their baby, due a month before hers, would receive a warm, loud and enthusiastic welcome into the world, and he—for Olivia insisted it was a boy—would know from his first breath how dearly loved he was.
On the other hand, Grace’s daughter would likely have no one but her, and she was no prize under the best of circumstances. Just ask Ethan.
Her smile fading, she turned away from the counter to the desk behind her. “I thought you might have left.” It was a lie, although she’d certainly hoped he would leave, taking her secret with him. She’d known it wasn’t likely, though. He hadn’t come from—well, wherever he’d come from, only to take off again immediately. That wasn’t the way he worked. According to rumor, he never left without stirring up trouble of one sort or another. This time that trouble would surely involve her.
Ignoring her comment, he looked around. “Do you work alone?”
“Yes.”
“Must be tough.”
She shrugged. “I’m a hard worker.”
“That can’t be good for…”
The baby, she silently filled in. Just say it. The baby. But instead he merely gestured toward her middle, as if the words were too difficult. Too damning. “Doc Hanson says I couldn’t be healthier. Callie agrees.”
“Who’s Callie?”
“My midwife.”
That brought his gaze to her face. “You’re seeing a midwife?”
Grace eased into the wooden chair behind the desk, propped her feet on the stool underneath the desk and folded her hands over her belly. “She’s going to deliver the baby.”
“Why not let Doc Hanson? He’s been doing it for fifty years.”
“Precisely why he’s not doing it anymore. He’s turned that part of his practice over to Callie.”
“So why not go to Tulsa or Oklahoma City?”
“Why would I do that when Callie is right here in town?” A scowl knitted her brows together. “She’s not some old granny that country folk turn to because they don’t know better or can’t afford a real doctor. She’s an R.N., a nurse-midwife. She practices in Doc Hanson’s clinic.” She paused before adding the one comment that would make a difference to him. “She’s delivering Olivia and Guthrie’s baby.”
It did make a difference. She could practically see the change in attitude. Oh, well, if Guthrie says it’s all right, then it must be all right. On the one hand, it annoyed her. It was her baby, her delivery, and if she said it was all right, it was. On the other, it was touching that, despite all the trouble between them, he obviously still had a great deal of respect for his brother.
But all that respect hadn’t stopped Ethan from fraudulently selling Guthrie’s ranch out from under him a year or two ago. Though the very idea of it was amazing, if pressed, she would have to admit that it was a good thing he had. Otherwise, he never would have developed a guilty conscience, he wouldn’t have come back last summer to undo his wrong, and he wouldn’t have been in that bar on her first night of freedom. She wouldn’t have such sweet memories, her friends, this business, the house or, most important, her baby. She owed a lot to his disreputable ways.
Still, “disreputable” didn’t come high on her list of qualities desired in her baby’s father.
Hands in his pockets, he came around the counter and circled the small space that served as her office. He glanced out the window at her view—the dock where customers backed up their pickup trucks to load lumber and wall-board—then thumbed through a catalog offering every hand tool known to man before finally speaking. “Tell me something. What was Jed Prescott’s little girl doing in that bar dressed like a—” He broke off, then substituted a less-harsh description, she suspected, than what had initially come to mind. “Like a woman looking for a good time?”
“If I’d gone in there dressed like this, I wouldn’t have gotten the same response.”
The hint of a smile crossed his face, then disappeared. She remembered his smiles best of everything about him. They’d come so quickly, so easily, from sweet, gentle smiles to broad, oh-so-cocky grins. She’d thought halfway through the evening how incredibly wonderful it was to spend time with a man who expressed pleasure so naturally. Her father was not a smiler. Living with him, she hadn’t been, either.
Finished with the office, he turned and leaned back against the counter. “No,” he agreed. “Going in looking like that—” once again he gestured toward her stomach “—would have scared all the men away, including me.” Crossing his ankles, folding his arms across his chest, he waited for the real answer to his question.
She considered ignoring it, and him. She had end-of-the-month invoices to prepare, a couple of orders to call in, tax records to update, inventory to finish. If she chose, she could find any number of excuses for not answering, and she couldn’t think of one single reason for telling him.
