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“What?”
“Dalton, you don’t have to get so angry.”
“I’m. Not. Angry.”
She stared at him, wearing a stricken look. He felt like the overbearing ass she no doubt considered him. And then she said, with measured calm, “I’m just saying he was only trying to help me, that’s all. But you’re right. Ryan isn’t the baby’s father. Because, well, you are.” And then, out of nowhere, she pushed herself to her feet. “And I think I’ve said what I came here to say.”
“Wait a minute.” He glared up at her. “You’re leaving?”
“Yes.”
“You can’t leave yet. We’re not through here. Sit back down.”
She ignored his command and pulled a card from the pocket of her jacket. “Here. Address, phone numbers. It’s all there. In case you... I mean, you know, should you choose to get in touch with me after this.”
“After this? But we’re not finished.”
“Maybe you’re not, Dalton. But I am. This wasn’t easy. I’ve had enough for one day and I want to go home.”
“But—”
“Please. Take the card.”
He felt at a disadvantage, sitting there while she hovered above him. So he stood. She shoved the card at him again. He gave in and took it. Not that he needed it. He knew where she lived and he had all her numbers. The detective had provided all that. And Dalton had held on to the information, though he’d told himself he would never make use of it.
They stared at each other. He needed to keep her there until he could manage to collect his scattered wits. But he just wasn’t dealing. His usually sharp mind felt dull as a rusty blade.
She said, “Well, goodbye, then.”
His knees feel strangely rubbery. A baby. It was his baby she was having. Not that other guy’s. His baby. And she wasn’t married, after all.
And for all those months, he hadn’t had a clue. Because she never bothered to tell him. Until now.
He couldn’t decide if he was furious with her—or just desperate to know that she and the baby were both all right. She did look a little tired. There were shadows beneath those amazing eyes.
He asked, “Are you okay? The baby...?”
“Fine. Truly. We’re both fine—and look. You just give me a call, anytime.”
“Give you a call,” he repeated numbly.
“Yeah. When—and if—you’re ready to, um, talk it over.”
“But didn’t I just say I want to talk it over now?”
She gave a fierce little shake of her head. “Not now. Uh-uh.”
“Why not?”
“I just...I need a little space, okay?”
“But—”
“I have to go, Dalton.”
And with that, she turned and left him standing there. He wanted to go after her, to grab her and pull her back. But he didn’t.
He just stood there by the bench, his mouth hanging open, watching her walk away.
* * *
Telling Dalton Ames that she was having his baby? Hardest thing Clara had ever done.
He’d seemed so angry. So stiff and pulled-together, wearing a gorgeous, perfectly tailored suit and Italian shoes, looking like the stuffed-shirt older brother of the amazing, tender, attentive man she’d known for those magical two weeks on the island. She’d barely kept herself from demanding, Who are you and what have you done with the Dalton I knew?
Twice during the drive home from Denver, Clara pulled off the road, certain she was about to throw up. The baby, not happy at all with the adrenaline cocktail surging through Mommy’s system, kept kicking her. Somehow, though, she managed to make it home to her sweet little blue, maroon-trimmed Victorian on Park Drive in Justice Creek without losing her lunch.
It was after seven when she walked in the door. She knew she should eat, so she heated up some leftovers, poured a glass of juice and forced down a few bites of yesterday’s chicken and a mouthful or two of seasoned rice. That was all she could take. She dumped the rest, rinsed the plate and stood at the sink staring out at her side yard, knowing she really, really needed to talk to a friend.
She’d kept it all to herself for much too long now. Even though her relationship with Dalton had been nothing but a foolish fantasy, it had only seemed right that she should face him, let him know that there would be a child and she was keeping it, before discussing the matter with anyone else.
So okay. She’d done what was right.
And now she needed support. She was calling in a good friend and telling all.
She considered calling Ryan. He’d been right there for her when she had no idea what to do next. He’d tried so hard to help her.
But come on. The last thing Rye needed now was her crying on his shoulder about some guy he’d never even met. Especially after everything she’d already put him through.
No. At a time like this, a woman needed a girlfriend. Her closest girlfriend.
So Clara called her favorite cousin Rory, aka Her Highness Aurora Bravo-Calabretti. Rory might be a Montedoran princess by birth, but at heart she was totally down-to-earth, someone you could trust with your deepest, saddest secrets. Rory lived with Ryan’s older brother, Walker, at Walker’s ranch, the Bar-N.
Once she’d made the call, Clara went out and sat on the front porch to wait.
Twenty minutes later, Rory pulled up to the curb. She jumped right out, ran around the front of her SUV and hurried up the front walk. “Clara? What is it, darling? Are you okay?”
Clara rose and held out her arms. Rory went into them. They hugged good and tight, Clara’s big belly pressed hard against Rory’s flat one, and Clara whispered, “Ice cream. Chocolate Chunk Gooey Brownie.”
Rory said, “I’m in.”
So Clara led her inside and dished up the treat. They sat at the breakfast nook table. They’d each polished off half a bowlful before Rory asked, “So?”
And Clara took another creamy, chunky chocolaty bite, savoring the goodness of it, getting another shot of the comfort a girl can only get from a killer dessert, before she confessed, “Today I told my baby’s father that he’s going to be a dad.”
Rory stopped with a bite of ice cream halfway to her mouth. She dropped the spoon back in her bowl. It clattered against the side. “Get off the phone.”
“I did. I really did.”
“Was it...?”
“Awful. It was awful. He was like some stranger. It was so bizarre. I kept wanting to ask him what he’d done with the man I knew—or thought I knew.”
Rory pushed back her chair and circled the table to kneel at Clara’s feet. “Give me your hands.” She took them and gave Clara’s fingers a comforting squeeze. “You are not only my favorite cousin in the whole world—you are the kindest, warmest, most supportive, loving friend around. Plus, you’re totally hot.”
Clara let out a laugh that sounded a lot like a sob. “Right. Just look at me. A human beach ball. Smokin’.”
“Pregnant or not, doesn’t matter. Either way, you are hot. If he treated you badly, it’s his loss. You have a big family and they all love you, not to mention a large number of good friends. You need to remember that you are not alone, that you only have to call, anytime, day or night, and I’m here—and so is everyone else who adores you.”
Clara shut her eyes for a minute. When she felt reasonably certain she wasn’t going to burst into tears, she said, “I love you.”
Rory squeezed her fingers again. “Love you, too. A lot.”
“Now, go finish your ice cream before it’s all melted.”
Rory rose and went back to her chair. They both ate more of the to-die-for dessert. Finally, Rory said, softly, “I have to ask...”
“Go ahead.” Clara gave her a wobbly little smile.
“I mean, is this it, then? Am I here because you’re finally going to tell me how it all happened?”
Clara pushed her bowl away. “Yeah. This is it.”
“Dear Lord. I need more ice cream. You?”
“I’ve had enough. But help yourself.”
So Rory got up and got more—including another giant scoop for Clara, who insisted she didn’t want it, but then picked up her spoon again and dug right in.
Rory said, “All right. I’m ready.”
Where to even begin? “Remember when I went on that two-week Caribbean vacation last August?”
Rory was nodding. “Of course. Your thirtieth birthday getaway. I kind of suspected it might have happened then.”
“You know how I was feeling then...”
“I remember. You were talking about burnout, that all you did was work. You really needed that vacation.”
Clara had opened her restaurant, the Library Café, almost six years before. The café was a success by any standards. And she’d put in a whole bunch of seven-day workweeks to make it so. “I wanted a little glamour and pampering, you know? I wanted to reward myself for a job well done.”
Rory suggested softly, “And maybe a little romance, too?”
“Oh, yeah. I had this fantasy that I might end up meeting someone amazing.”
“And indulging in a crazy, fabulous tropical affair?”
“Exactly.”
“And so your fantasy came true.”
Clara smiled, feeling wistful. “That’s right. I met him the first night. His name is Dalton. Dalton Ames. And just the sight of him—he’s tall and fit, with black hair and piercing blue eyes. I felt like the heroine of the juiciest romance novel you ever read. I mean, you know how I am. You joke that I’m hot and all. But come on.”
“Clara.” Rory licked her spoon. “You are hot. Accept it.”
Clara pulled her bowl back in front of her and took another melty, chocolaty, amazing bite. “ I don’t feel hot. I feel like I’m the solid one, the level-headed one. The family peacemaker. Guys tend to like me as a friend.”
“A hot friend.”
A snort of laughter escaped her. “Stop.”
“Seriously, Clara. I know whereof I speak.”
Clara purposely did not roll her eyes. “Anyway, when Dalton looked at me...I cannot tell you. It was like a sizzling shiver went all through me. He saw me as hot, I could see it in those heart-stopping baby blues of his. The sexual chemistry was immediate, unexpected—and like nothing in my life before. We danced and flirted. He said he was from Denver.”
“Ah. Both of you from Colorado.”
“Yeah.” Seriously, what an idiot she’d been. She ladled on a little irony. “Like it was meant to be.”
“Don’t make less of it,” Rory chided. “I can tell from the way you talk about him that it was beautiful and special, that you felt a real connection with him.”
“Ha.”
“Tell me the story, Clara—and stop judging yourself.”
Clara sighed. “He told me the trip was a getaway for him, that his work was demanding and he wanted a chance to live in the moment for a change.”
“Just like you.”
“Um-hmm. I told him that I was ready for an adventure, to live out a fantasy, to forget reality for a while. He said that sounded great to him.”
“Okay, now I’m wondering...”
‘What?”
“You weren’t suspicious that it was all just a little too perfect?”
Clara shrugged. “Yeah. But only a little. The resort was like a tropical fairy tale, the beaches pristine, miles and miles of gleaming white sands. Not a cloud in the sky and the ocean went on forever. It all seemed so magical. And then I met this dreamboat of a man. I was kind of swept away—but at least I did have sense enough to ask him if he had a wife at home.”
“Good for you. And?”
“He said he was recently divorced—and then he wanted to know if I had someone special. I told him there was no one. And then, feeling beautiful and wanted and thrilled to be getting a taste of exactly what I’d been dreaming of, I went to his suite with him and spent the night.”
“Bold.”
Even with all that had happened since then, the memory of that first night—of all the nights on the island—remained wonderfully sweet. “I thought so, yes. And it was the best, that night with him, better than anyone or any time before. In the morning, we agreed to spend the next two weeks together. We decided we would live completely in the now and not talk about our ‘real’ lives. And when the fantasy was over, we would go our separate ways.”
Rory was chewing her lower lip. “Reality always intrudes, though, doesn’t it?”
