Читать книгу The Baby Season - Alice Sharpe, Alice Sharpe - Страница 11

“Duck,” Jack said as he entered the courtyard through his bedroom door, Ginny on his shoulders. Ginny giggled as she lowered her head, and once outside, Jack paused for a moment to scan the few faces that had already gathered. No Roxanne.

Good. He wished she had quietly accepted his offer of an out-of-the-way room until Oz got back to her. He toyed around with the idea of having Carl drive her into town, to the motel, where she would be out of sight, out of reach, but he needed Carl here. It’s just that he didn’t want to see Roxanne Salyer again.

That was the biggest lie he’d told himself in months, and he knew it. The truth of the matter was that he was aching to see her. He could tell himself it was to check on her sunburn, but again, that was a lie. He just wanted to see her, that was all. Cleaned up, he wondered if she’d look all professional like a big-city television producer. Maybe she’d lose that waiflike appearance the desert had forced on her. Maybe she’d be so different that he could find a way to forget he’d ever met her.

After all, she wasn’t his type.

Only, what type was she? Sure, her looks were different than the kind of woman who usually got under his skin. But what did looks have to do with anything?

The purely male part of him knew looks had a lot to do with everything. Not just height and weight and coloring, but that inner something that glowed in some women, that seeped through their every little pore and made them iridescent.

Even if their pores were clogged with desert sand?

Even then. Some women had it. Roxanne had it.

Jack mentally slapped himself upside the head. He was thinking like a fool. Still, he couldn’t imagine his ex-wife, Nicole, taking the time or trouble to track down a family friend unless there was something in it for her.

Family meant everything to him. Perhaps it came from being an only child, raised out on a ranch, away from town, with parents who doted not only on him but on each other. Some of Jack’s first memories were of being about Ginny’s age, sitting in the saddle in front of his dad, his mother on her own horse. They’d head up to the mountains where there were a zillion places to picnic with a view as big as the world. Or so it seemed to him.

This memory always flooded him with emotion as it was on this very ride, years later, that his mother’s horse had bolted, then stumbled, throwing her to the rocky ground. She’d died within hours. Jack was eight years old at the time, but he could still remember the numbing grief.

Eventually, however, life on the ranch had resumed its contented pace mainly because of Sal. She’d started working at the Wheeler place as a housekeeper. After his mother died, she’d become more important.

After losing his wife, Jack’s father had rededicated himself to his role as town doctor. Jack had decided early on to follow in his father’s footsteps. He’d envisioned the two of them practicing side by side, and they had for a few years until a stroke claimed his dad. Still, smack in the middle of his career, Jack felt with all his heart that he was doing what he was meant to do.

That and being a good father. Being a father counted—he would always be important to Ginny, she would always be important to him. Man/woman relations, marriage—now that was a different matter. Relationships changed. Nicole had changed.

The marriage should have worked; that’s what never ceased to amaze him. Nicole had grown up on the other side of Tangent. He’d known her for years, thought he knew all about her. They were both products of the same culture, with family roots stretching deep down in the same sandy soil. This should have made for a happy union.

He now understood that Nicole had decided he was her best bet for escape.

Truth of the matter was that neither one of them had leveled with the other. He’d taken it for granted she understood he was a man who was doing exactly what he wanted to do. He’d ignored the signs of her restlessness, of her darting interests and longing for wild escapades. If he thought about it at all, he chalked it up to spirit, reminiscent of his mother.

By the time their differences surfaced, Nicole was pregnant. Jack suggested counseling but capitulated when she refused. And after Ginny was born, he decided he would do everything in his power to make Nicole happy and thus keep his family together.

She decided she wanted to try sculpting, so he’d built her a studio away from the house as requested. Then, at a fund-raiser for the hospital, she met an avant-garde artist gaining fame with movie stars and politicians alike, and demanded having her portrait done. He’d moved heaven and earth—to say nothing of a hefty chunk of change from savings into checking—to engage the fellow. The rest, as they say, is history. The only good thing to come from those four years was Ginny.

Lifting her down from his shoulders, he kissed his daughter’s golden head. She was growing up so fast. Sometimes he had to remind himself not to hold on too tightly.

“Watch your pretty dress,” he told her as her feet hit the bricks. He knew it was a stupid remark; he didn’t give a damn about the dress. What he wanted to say was: Be careful. Don’t hit your head. Don’t scrape your bare knees. Don’t let anyone break your heart.

She caught sight of one of her little buddies, and scooted away without a backward glance.

The door opposite him opened, and for a second, his heart leapt into his throat. Roxanne. But it was Sal who emerged into the courtyard, her wizened face preoccupied. When Jack smiled at her, she lowered her eyes and glanced away.

Slightly alarmed, he strode toward her, absently acknowledging greetings. “Sal?”

Reluctantly it seemed, she turned to face him.

“Sal, what’s wrong?” She was pale and trembling and he reached for her wrist. His first thought was her heart. She’d had trouble the year before, even had a stint in the hospital. “Are you okay?”

“Fine, fine,” she sputtered, pulling her hand away.

“But—”

“Stop playing doctor,” she demanded, visually summoning her reserves. Sal Collins was a strong woman. She didn’t like to be coddled, and Jack knew from a lifetime of experience, if she didn’t want to talk about something, then she wouldn’t. For instance, before she’d come to live with his family, she’d been married and had a baby but lost both. She’d never mentioned them to him. Not a word. Jack had only found out the year before when Sal became ill and he dug up old records.

However, she wasn’t the only stubborn one living at the Wheeler ranch. “Not until you let me take your pulse.”

She extended her wrist and managed a smile. “Honestly.”

Her heartbeat seemed normal enough and there were color spots appearing on her cheeks as Jack’s actions began to draw attention. Her skin wasn’t clammy.

“People are looking,” she whispered.

“Any pain in your chest? Shortness of breath? Dizziness?”

“No, no and no. Let go of me.”

“Okay, but I’m keeping my eye on you,” he said, leaning down to brush her forehead with a kiss.

Sal patted his cheek before withdrawing to a wooden bench. She was well liked and immediately surrounded. Only his two elderly spinster aunts kept their distance. Jack looked around to find Ginny, saw her and three other children sizing up the presents and smiled to himself.

He glanced at Sal again, relieved to see she was returning to her old self. Whatever had upset her apparently was passing. With the arrival of more guests, he devoted himself to mingling and chatting, but each time a door opened, he held his breath.

Amid the ribbing and the laughing, he found himself wondering what had happened to Roxanne.

He was visiting with one of his favorite patients and her husband when Roxanne stepped into the courtyard. For an instant he didn’t hear a word of their conversation.

Nicole had loved to make an entrance, arriving in a flutter of flowing clothes, in a cloud of floral perfume, her laughter as big as she was tiny, like an exotic bird a man wanted to capture in his hands.

Tall and slender, long hair loose on her shoulders, Roxanne looked…well, real. Moving with the grace and ease that were undoubtedly the by-products of good health and regular workouts, she found her way to a quiet edge of the garden, off to the side and not in the center. She was shy, he realized, ill at ease amid so many strangers. Her oval face was devoid of makeup, even lipstick. Her skin was oddly striped with sunburn and—get this—she didn’t seem to care!

She was prettier than Nicole had ever been, he realized with a start. Or maybe she wasn’t quite as pretty. Maybe that was it. At any rate, he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

Roxanne fidgeted with the concho belt as she watched Jack approach. For a second, when their eyes first met, she could have sworn he’d almost looked pleased to see her, but the moment passed so quickly, it might never have happened.

He didn’t look angry—he just looked overwhelmed. It was a look she was coming to recognize.

“This is quite a party,” she said, deciding to take the upper hand. Ginny and a few other children wound their way in and out between the adults, a couple of whom were holding infants. Chatter and music competed with the soft sound of falling water. A haze of smoke in one corner announced the barbecue, and delicious odors permeated the air, making Roxanne’s empty stomach growl. Carl roamed the courtyard with a tray of appetizers.

Roxanne was aware of a bevy of raised eyebrows and wondered if Jack’s friends were curious who the stranger was. One woman in particular, the pregnant redhead Jack had been talking to, seemed especially curious.

Roxanne wished she could make an announcement: “My car’s broken down!” she’d say. Then she could try again with Sal.

“That’s Nancy Kaufman giving you the once-over,” Jack said.

“She’s pretty. Pregnant, too. As a matter of fact, I see quite a few of your friends are wearing maternity smocks. Has everyone here just given birth or become pregnant?”

“Not me. Not my two elderly aunts over by the fountain, the ones waving their hankies at you.”

Roxanne waved back. “You know what I mean,” she said. “Grace and Nancy are pregnant, as are those three women sitting under an umbrella, and at least one of your horses. There are babies everywhere—in their father’s arms, in slings, in strollers, not to mention the kittens and puppies and Goldy’s foal.…It’s like an epidemic.”

He smiled, perhaps for the first time. It was genuine and dazzling, and Roxanne felt her throat constrict at the pure beauty of it. “They don’t have babies up in Seattle?” he said, his lips still curved and so appealing.

“No. We have bypassed the whole pregnancy thing up in the great Northwest. You Southerners keep moving up, we don’t need to replenish the population from our own stock.”

“I’ve heard about you people and your regional biases,” he said.

She laughed.

“Nancy is our local celebrity,” he added. “She runs the radio station in Tangent.”

“I interned at a radio station back in my late, great college days. I can’t believe that Tangent actually has one.”

“It’s pretty amazing, isn’t it? We have to drive almost twenty miles to a hospital, but we have a radio station. A very small one, mind you, but nevertheless…well, go figure. Anyway, I told her about you, and she said she’d like to meet a big-time television producer.”

“So would I,” Roxanne said.

With a lazy gaze, he added, “You look very, very nice.”

“Thanks,” she murmured, unsure how to return the compliment without drooling all over him. Gone was the sexy, hot cowboy with the surly brow and the impatient manner. This was the refined doctor, his brown hair glistening with health in the late-day sun, his face cleanly shaved, a soft gray shirt tucked into darker gray slacks. He smelled divine—masculine and clean, a combination of soap and desert heat. This man was just as desirable, she decided, perhaps more so.

He looked as though he had something on his mind but wasn’t sure how to go about saying it.

“Ginny is an adorable little girl,” Roxanne said as Sal and Grace tied a blindfold around the child’s head. They twirled her around before arming her with a tail to pin on a paper donkey. Ginny was wearing a fluttery yellow dress, little golden curls kissing the back of her fragile neck. She looked sweet enough to eat with a spoon.

What a thought!

“She’s a great kid,” Jack said, his voice softening as it always seemed to do when he spoke about his daughter. “She can hardly wait until it’s time to open the presents. Do you remember being that young?”

“I didn’t have birthday parties,” Roxanne said softly.

“None?”

“Well, when I got older, two girlfriends came over and we slept in my grandmother’s attic. Does that count?”

“Did they bring gifts?”

“I think so.”

“Then it counts.”

She would have happily spent the rest of the afternoon gazing up into his eyes, but she was suddenly aware they were attracting more than a few pointed glances. She said, “Jack, I don’t mean to alarm you, but everyone is staring at us.”