Читать книгу Gavin's Child - Caroline Cross - Страница 9

The storm broke as Annie started for work.

Car keys in hand, she stood on her small covered porch and watched as the wind sighed through the gnarled trees that lined the dusty street. A faint drumroll of thunder echoed through the artificially early twilight, only to fade away as the first raindrops began to fall, rich with the scent of sun-baked evergreen.

She lifted her face to the breeze. It had been unseasonably hot all week. She let her eyes drift closed, the better to savor the cool wash of air that ruffled her hair and tugged at her clothes. While she no longer minded working nights, had even convinced her body it was okay to sleep from first light to mid-morning, she didn’t think she’d ever get accustomed to life without air-conditioning.

A rueful smile lit her face. Watch out, Annelise. Your silver spoon is showing.

She sighed. Time and past, to get going. Clia would no doubt have her head if she were late.

The first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was the truck.

Big and black, its headlights gleamed in the murky light as it rolled down the street, slowing and speeding up in a way that suggested its driver was reading house numbers as he drove.

As simply as that—with an instinct she didn’t question—she knew.

Gavin.

Annie had been expecting him for more than a week, ever since their disastrous encounter in the grocery store. In some ways his arrival was a relief. At least now the waiting would be over. She would see him again, and the confrontation she’d dreaded for three long years would become a thing of the past. No longer would she struggle with the guilt, the regret, the host of what-might-havebeens.

No longer would she have to look into Sam’s precious little face and wonder if she’d compromised his future to survive her past.

At least now, she would know.

In the street, the pickup stopped altogether, then slid in against the curb with a throaty rumble. The headlights winked out; the engine fell silent. Raindrops spattered, sizzling as they struck the hood.

Oddly calm, Annie watched as the door swung open and Gavin climbed out. He hadn’t changed, she thought with that strange sense of detachment. Last week in the store she’d been so overwhelmed at the sight of him she hadn’t really seen him.

But now…Dressed in boots, jeans and a navy T-shirt, he was all man, from his hard thighs and narrow hips to his wide shoulders and strong, chiseled features. The wind snatched at his hair, tumbling the thick, inky strands across his forehead. Even from where she stood, the blue of his eyes was startling.

He started up the slight slope of her ragged lawn. His long legs made short shrift of the distance, and it was only a handful of seconds before he halted at the foot of the stairs. His gaze was shuttered as he looked up at her, taking in her work uniform of black slacks, white blouse and braided hair.

“Annie.” He inclined his head a scant quarter inch.

Pain shot through her hand. She glanced down, bemused to see she had a stranglehold on her keys. Perhaps she wasn’t so calm, after all. “Hello, Gavin.” She forced her fingers to relax.

A faint smile twisted across the achingly beautiful curve of his mouth. “You don’t look very surprised to see me.” His eyes were as hard as ice chips.

Her courage almost deserted her then. “Liam Corson called me. He said you’d been making inquiries.” Corson had been her father’s attorney. “I—I thought you might come.”

He raised one straight black brow. “And?”

“And I guess you’d better come in.” She crossed the few feet to the door, opened the screen and got her key in the lock, only to falter as she heard his footsteps coming up the stairs.

Goose bumps prickled across her arms. To her horror, her hand began to shake, and the lock, always temperamental, refused to budge.

“Here.” His voice sounded in her ear. She froze as he moved up behind her, unknowingly sheltering her from the wind. He reached for the key, so close she could feel the heat from his skin and taste his scent on her tongue.

And as quickly as that, she was caught in a flood of memories; of waking to the slow caress of his workroughened fingers; of the melting pleasure she’d found in his powerful arms; of the deep, urgent murmur of his voice filling the night…

Annie. Look at me. Look at me while I love you, baby. See how perfect we fit together—

The door swung open.

Annie fled inside. Pulse racing, cheeks burning, she crossed to the battered old highboy set against the wall to the right. She dropped her car keys and pocketbook next to the diminutive chiming clock that had been her mother’s and switched on a small ginger jar lamp. Then she hurried across the room and turned on the larger lamp that sat on the end table next to her yellow-and-white sofa and the bentwood rocker—as if the light could banish the specters of her past.

All the while she was acutely aware of Gavin, who stood in the shadows inside the entry, silent and watchful.

Panic welled inside her. She couldn’t do this, she thought wildly. She’d been a fool to ever think she could match his calm, his control, his icy lack of emotion—

Stop it. With a slight shudder, she clamped down on the flow of negative thoughts and instinctively fell back on the endless drills in deportment that had filled her teenage years. While the Brook School for Girls hadn’t taught the proper etiquette for dealing with an estranged husband who’d broken one’s heart, Miss Kesson had repeated countless times that good manners were always a lady’s best line of defense.

Annie was no longer certain she qualified as a lady, but the reminder served to steady her. “Why—why don’t you come in and sit down?”

He didn’t move. “You live here?”

The disbelief in his voice puzzled her, and then she understood. The little house was certainly nothing like her father’s sprawling Denver compound, or even the deluxe town house she and Gavin had shared in the ritzy suburb of Bretton Hills. There was just the one room, with a pair of doors on one side that opened into her and Sam’s bedrooms, a bank of windows on the other side, and an archway at the back that led to the kitchen and bathroom.

Still, in many ways it was the first real home she’d ever known. And except for the handful of months that had comprised her marriage, the time she’d lived here since Sam was born had been the happiest period of her life.

She stood a little straighter and retreated further into formality. “Yes, I live here. Please, sit down, Gavin. I need to make a phone call, and then I’ll be right with you.” With that she escaped into the kitchen to call work.

Annie punched in the number she knew by heart, then braced herself.

A woman’s brassy contralto answered at the other end of the line. “Yo?” she said irreverently.

Annie sagged with relief. “Nina? It’s me.”

There was a pregnant silence. “Shoot. Don’t tell me. Your car broke down again. I’m going to personally murder that son of mine—”

“No, no. The car’s fine. Really. It’s just—something’s come up. Can you tell Clia I may be a few minutes late?”

“Well, I can try. But I’ve gotta warn you, she’s on a real tear tonight. Unless you’re being held hostage by terrorists—which, by the way, would be considerably less scary than making her angry—you’d better get your fanny in here ASAP.”

Annie’s stomach sank. “Okay. I’ll do my best.”

“Good. I’ll see you shortly. Oops—gotta run. The Wicked Witch is coming this way.”

The line buzzed in Annie’s ear. She replaced the receiver, trying not to think about how much she needed her job as she walked back into the living room.

There was no relief to be found there. On the contrary; it was like going from the frying pan into the fire. Gavin stood in Sam’s darkened bedroom doorway, a small, slightly shabby teddy bear clutched in his hands. The look on his face stopped her in her tracks.

“The boy—your son…his name is Sam?” he said carefully.

She swallowed. “Yes.”

“How old is he?”

“He was two on January the second.” It was a year to the day after they’d been married; less than seven months after the Colson gates had slammed shut, destroying their marriage.

“So…” He glanced down at the stuffed animal. “He is mine, isn’t he, Annie?”

He didn’t mean the teddy bear, and she knew it. Just as she suddenly understood that, despite the stillness of his posture, the blankness of his expression, the lack of inflection in his voice, he wasn’t nearly as indifferent as she’d supposed.

Yet it never occurred to her to lie. Not because she still cared about him, she was quick to reassure herself. Other than a knee-jerk response to his undeniable physical attractiveness, she didn’t have any feelings left for him at all. Not after what he’d done…

No; she was doing this for Sam.

No matter what she felt, her child deserved a chance to know his father.

“Yes, Gavin.” Outside, the breeze had died down; her voice seemed to hang in the sudden silence. “Sam is your son.”

His head jerked up. A tremor went through him. Something flashed in his eyes, something fierce and primitive. In the next instant his control disappeared like smoke in a hurricane. “Why? Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” he. demanded harshly. He closed the distance between them in two explosive strides, not stopping until the toes of his boots struck the ends of her tennis shoes. “What were you trying to do—pay me back for calling it quits?”

“No!” He was so close she had to crane her neck to look up at him. “No, of course not!”

“Then what?”

She told him the only part of the truth she could. “You made it clear you didn’t want a wife. I didn’t think you’d want to be bothered with a child!”

“Yeah?” His face worked as he stared down at her. “Well, you thought wrong! Dammit, Annie, if I’d known you were pregnant, it would’ve changed everything!”

Even though it was what she’d expected he’d say, it hurt.

Yet it was a survivable pain, she realized slowly. Three years ago it would have destroyed her, but not now—not after everything else she’d been through.

She lifted her chin and gave an eloquent shrug. “I’m sorry.”

“Damn you.” Gavin wheeled away and stalked over to one of the windows, where he braced a hand against the sash and stood staring out at the deepening twilight.

She sighed, but her voice when it came was level. “I didn’t do it to hurt you.” To be honest, she hadn’t known she could hurt him. “All I can say is that it’s in the past. We have to go on from here.”

The cotton-covered muscles in his back flexed. “Yeah? That’s easy for you to say. You haven’t missed out on your kid’s entire life.”

A half dozen retorts trembled on her tongue, chief among them a pointed reminder of where he’d been the past few years. But she swallowed it and the others, afraid to tread any deeper into the past. This was hard enough as it was. “So what is it you want?”

He turned, his blue eyes hard. “What the hell do you think?”

“I don’t know,” she said truthfully.

“I want to be a part of my son’s life.”

Annie bit back an automatic refusal, determined to remember her vow to put Sam’s interests first. Still, now that the moment was at hand, it wasn’t quite so easy to say the words that would allow Gavin access to her child. She took a deep breath. “All right,” she said finally. “I’m sure we can work out some sort of schedule for you to visit—”

“Visit?” He shook his head. “No. I’ve already missed too damn much. I’m not missing any more.”

Her breath froze in her lungs. “Then what?”

“Hell, I don’t know!” He looked around, as if the answer could be found lurking in the corners. A curious expression suddenly moved across his face. “Where is he, anyway?”

“Sam?” The clock struck six, its muted chime marking off the hours. Her heart sank. She was now officially late. “He’s at the sitter’s.”

Gavin frowned, as if only now registering the significance of having encountered her earlier out on the porch. “Why? Did you just get home from somewhere?”

She pinched the bridge of her nose, then dropped her hand. She hadn’t even worked her shift, and already she was exhausted. “No, I was just going out. As a matter of fact, I’m late. Do you think we could table this until tomorrow?”

“No.”

A small spark of desperation flared inside her. Though she didn’t think Clia would fire her just for being late, she didn’t want to find out. She couldn’t afford to lose her job. “Please. It’s clear we’re not going to settle anything tonight.”

“The answer’s still no.”

“But why?”

He smiled, completely without humor. “Why do you think?”

It took her a moment to correctly interpret the distrustful look in his eyes. She sighed. “You think. If I were going to take off, I would’ve done it a week ago. I swear I’ll be here tomorrow. Maybe by then we’ll both be calm enough to talk this through and decide what’s really best for Sam.”

Amazingly, the mention of their son’s welfare did the trick. The suspicious gleam in his eyes flickered out, although his expression remained cool and probing. He searched her face. “What time tomorrow?” he asked finally.

The breath she hadn’t known she was holding sighed out. “How about noon?” This wouldn’t seem like such an ordeal after a few hours sleep, she told herself firmly. They would be able to work something out, something adult and civilized.

“The boy—Sam—will he be here?”

“Of course.”

He continued to give her the same piercing stare before he nodded abruptly. “All right.” He started for the door, only to rock to a stop after a few feet and look back at her over his shoulder. “But I’m warning you, Annie. Don’t even think about running. Now that I know about my son, I’d find you.”

With that he turned and slammed out the door.

Annie stood staring after him, not certain what she wanted to do more—yell, plead, throw something, or sink to her knees and cry until she didn’t have any more tears.

In the end she did none of those things. She didn’t have time for histrionics. Instead she grabbed her things, turned out the lights and ran for her car.

The Palomino Grill was located off Interstate 25, at the end of the freeway ramp that led to the little town of Mountainview. It was open around the clock and looked considerably better at night than during the day.

Its floor plan was simple. Booths lined three of the four walls, tables dotted the center space, and an open-ended counter with padded swivel stools stretched the length of the kitchen. An old manual cash register topped a glassfronted counter that was filled with the usual assortment of gum, candy and antacid tablets. Garish red-and-black carpeting, sun-faded red curtains and a jukebox crowned with a decade-old display of dusty plastic geraniums completed the decor.

Annie was an hour and a half past the end of her regular shift when she dropped the tray of dirty dishes. There was a ringing crash, interspersed with the tinkle of breaking glass and the clatter of bouncing cutlery.

It might not have seemed so bad if it hadn’t been the second tray she’d dropped that night.

Or if she didn’t suddenly have an overwhelming urge to cry.

But it was and she did. To her horror the room began to blur, while a lump the size of one of Sam’s Nerf balls bloomed in her throat.

Mortified, she stooped down, righted the tray and blindly began to pick the silverware out of the debris, stubbornly blinking back tears. She hadn’t suryived the past three years just to fall apart over a bunch of broken dishes, she told herself.

The reminder helped. But not nearly as much as the irreverent female voice that sounded above her head a few minutes later. “Wow. Two trays in one shift. It’s gotta be BFS.”

Annie glanced up at her friend, Nina. “What?”

“You know. BFS.” The other waitress wiggled her fingers. “Butterfinger syndrome. Occupational hazard of waitresses, data processors and brain surgeons. Of course—” she bent down, scooped up the remaining pieces of silverware and whisked away the tray “—as far as that last group goes, the consequences tend to be an eensy-weensy bit more serious.” She gave Annie a meaningful look. “Know what I mean?”

Annie stared at her thirty-something friend, looking past the rose tattoo on Nina’s wrist, the improbable burgundy hair and the triple-pierced ears, to the sympathetic hazel eyes. A grateful if shaky smile spread across Annie’s face. “I guess that does put it in perspective.”

“You betcha.” Nina set the tray aside and offered her a hand.

Annie took it. To her surprise when she looked around, she saw that the diner was empty, except for Big Bob, the night cook, and Leo, the dishwasher, whom she could see through the pass-through to the kitchen. “Where’d everybody go?”

Nina shrugged. “You should’ve dropped the dishes sooner. I think you scared the last group off. They lit out a few minutes ago.”

“Clia’s going to kill me.”

Nina looked at her curiously. “Clia, my pretty, slithered onto her broom and went home hours ago. Furthermore, what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

“She’ll know,” Annie said firmly, “because I’ll tell her.”

Nina groaned. “I swear, Annie, you make Dudley DoRight look like a piker.” She disappeared through the swinging doors into the back, only to reappear seconds later, broom and dustpan in hand. She thrust the latter at Annie and began to sweep. “You really need to work on your attitude,” she said without missing a beat. “Try thinking about it this way. Clia owes you for agreeing to stay until Char and May show up.”

“She owes you,” Annie said. “I was late, remember?”

Nina rolled her eyes. “Get a grip. At least you called. And it was probably only the third time you’ve been late in two years. Those two haven’t been on time once in the past two months. And I, for one, am getting damn tired of covering for them.”

As if on cue, the bell above the door jangled. A trio of burly truck drivers came in, closely followed by the pair of giggling blond twins who worked the graveyard shift.

“Finally,” Nina said. She took the dustpan out of Annie’s hands, gave her a quick once-over and pointed toward the far booth. “Go. Sit. We need to talk.”

“But—”

“I’ll be right there.” Not waiting to hear any further protest, she marched away, dumped the broken dishware into the trash and went to have a little talk with their blond co-workers.

She joined Annie a few minutes later. “Honest to God, those two make Jenny’s gerbil look like an intellectual.” Jenny was the second of Nina’s three children; she had one from each of her marriages. “Here.” She handed Annie a steaming cup of coffee, set her own on the table and slid onto the seat. “You look like you could use it.”

“Thanks.” Annie dredged up a tired smile. “Does that mean I look as bad as I feel?”

“Ha. You couldn’t look really bad if you worked at it. But you’ve jumped like a scalded cat every time anyone’s so much as hiccuped tonight. It doesn’t take one of those brain surgeons to figure out something’s wrong.”

“Oh.”

Nina grimaced at the carefully neutral answer, twisted sideways and stretched out her legs on the seat with a sigh of pleasure. “So. Are you going to tell me what’s going on? Or am I going to have to pry it out of you?”

Annie rolled the cup between her hands and considered her answer.

When she’d left Denver three years ago and started driving north, she’d been numb, so overcome by the events of the preceding months she hadn’t been able to think past escaping the city where her entire world had collapsed. During the previous year she’d graduated from an exclusive Boston college, returned to Colorado after a fourteen-year exile and been swept off her feet by the man of her dreams. She’d gone from being her wealthy father’s golden princess, to Gavin’s prized possession, to being a twenty-three-year-old orphaned ex-debutante with five thousand dollars to her name, no marketable skills, a husband who didn’t want her and a baby on the way.

In the back of her mind she’d had a vague plan of starting over somewhere like Montana or Idaho. Instead the muffler had fallen off her car after a mere forty-three miles, stranding her in Mountainveiw, and she’d simply been too overcome to move on.

Yet she hadn’t given up entirely. The child stirring inside had refused to let her. For the first time ever, somebody had been depending on her. Annie had been determined not to let that small, precious somebody down.

Somehow she’d found the energy and strength to rent her little house, to husband her limited financial resources through the remainder of her pregnancy, to make it alone through the long, scary hours of childbirth. Three months later she’d found her way to the Palomino, determined to do whatever she had to, to support her new little family.

Beyond the bare particulars, she hadn’t talked about her past to anyone. At first because it was too painful. And then because she’d put it behind her.

Or so she’d thought.

She looked over at Nina’s expectant gaze and realized she was finally going to have to say…something. She sighed, trying to decide where to start. “I ran into Gavin in the grocery store last week,” she said finally.

“Gavin?” Nina’s blank look spoke volumes.

“My husband. Sam’s father.”

“You mean, you really are…married?”

It was Annie’s turn to look startled. “For heaven’s sake, Nina.” She glanced from her friend to the heavy gold and silver wedding band on her own hand, and back again. “Yes. What did you think? That I’d made it up?”

“Well…yeah. What was I supposed to think? You’ve been alone ever since you first walked in here desperate for a job, when Sam was just a little tadpole. You never join any of the discussions me and the other girls have about sex. I just figured some guy had given you a real bad time. That because of Sam, it was easier to say you were married than talk about it.”

Bemused, Annie shook her head. “Is that why you think I’ve turned down every offer for a date since I’ve worked here?”

“Well, sure. That and the fact that you look and sound like one of those high-class types they use in ads to sell mink coats and pearls. You’re light-years above the yahoos we get in here, and we both know it.”

Annie winced, but recognized that now was not the time to dwell on what it was about her that prompted people to see the surface, rather than the person underneath. “Be that as it may, I am married. And Gavin is very, very real.”

“So where’s he been? Is he military or CIA or something?”

“No.”

“Alien abduction, then?”

Annie took a deep breath. “He’s been in prison.”

Nina nodded. “That was gonna be my next guess.” Her eyes narrowed. “So what’d he do? He didn’t beat on you, did he?”

Annie shook her head, shocked at the very idea. “No. Gavin would never do that.”

“So what are we talking here? Too many traffic tickets? Mass murder? What?”

Annie sighed. “The charge was accomplice to criminal fraud.”

“Huh. And what does that mean in real-people English?”

“It means he worked for my father, who owned a company that specialized in building big commercial structures—high-rises, shopping malls, that sort of thing. Gavin started as a carpenter, but eventually became one of KinnairdCo’s most valuable foremen. Until three and a half years ago, when a Pueblo high-rise under construction collapsed. A worker was badly injured. It turned out—” she stared into her coffee “—it turned out the company was in financial trouble. And that my father had tried to economize by substituting substandard steel and other low-grade materials for what was specified in the bid, even though he knew it could compromise the structure. Charges were brought, but before anything could be proved, he had a heart attack.”

“And?”

Annie pushed her coffee mug aside and looked up. “And by then, Gavin and I had been married for three months, and Daddy had made him a partner in the business. So he—” she exhaled tiredly “—became the one held accountable.”

Nina stared. “But…but that’s not fair! How could he be blamed if he didn’t know?”

“He knew,” Annie said quietly. “He wasn’t part of it, but at some point he found out and chose to say nothing, and that was enough to make him legally responsible as far as the Pueblo County D.A. was concerned. He came after Gavin with everything he had. On advice of counsel, Gavin pleaded ‘no contest’ in return for a reduced sentence. Not,” she added tiredly, “that he ever discussed it with me. Verbal communication was not our strong suit.”

Nina studied Annie’s drawn face. “God. No wonder you left him.”

Annie’s mouth quirked with a faint, ironic smile. “That’s just it. I didn’t. He broke it off—” she paused “—the day I was going to tell him about Sam.”

“He didn’t know you were pregnant?”

Annie shook her head.

“And you didn’t say anything?”

“No.”

There was another long silence as Nina digested this last. “But why?”

Annie shrugged, no more willing to explain to Nina than she had Gavin. “It’s not important.”

“I see.” Nina regarded her thoughtfully. “So why didn’t you divorce him?”

Annie toyed with a spoon, her gaze on the dull metal handle gripped in her slender fingers. “I guess at first I hoped he’d change his mind. And then later, after I left Denver, I didn’t have either the money or the energy to bother. I simply wanted to forget.” She laid down the spoon and looked up at her friend. “And now…well, now, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that he knows about Sam and he showed up at my house tonight. That’s why I was late.”

Nina whistled inelegantly between her teeth. “No wonder you’re all shook up. So what does he want?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure he does, exactly. We’re supposed to get together later today to discuss it.”

Nina, hardheaded about everything else, was still a romantic at heart. “I bet he wants you back.”

Annie shook her head. “No.” It was the one thing she didn’t doubt. “He’s only interested in Sam.”

Nina didn’t look convinced. “How about you?”

“How about me what?”

“Do you still love him?”

“No.”

Nina looked even more skeptical, but wisely didn’t say so. Instead she cocked her head. “So what do you want to have happen?”

“I—I want him to go away. I want him to be a good father to Sam, but from a distance.”

“Then tell him to take a hike,” Nina said flatly. “And if that doesn’t work, demand money. In my experience that’s usually enough to make most guys take off. Look at the trio of losers I was married to.”

“You don’t know Gavin,” Annie said, remembering his warning about leaving. “When he wants something, he’s the most single-minded, determined person I’ve ever known.”

Nina made a rude sound. “Except you.”

Annie stared at her in surprise. “What do you mean by that?”

Nina reached over and patted her hand. “It means that if anybody can handle good old Gavin, it’s you, hon. Open your eyes. At least where Sam is concerned, you’re not some lily-livered little girl. And if nothing else—” her expression turned wry “—you’ve got the advantage of intelligence. After all, your hubby already proved he wasn’t too bright when he let you go.”

Annie’s face softened. “You’re a good friend, Nina,” she said softly.

The redhead nodded. “You bet. Try and remember that the next time we’re working different shifts and I need you to fill in for me.”

“You can count on it.”

They fell silent. After a few moments Nina glanced at her watch. “Lord, it’s after four.” She yawned and climbed to her feet. “Good thing it’s Saturday. I’m going to go home and sleep a zillion hours. How about you?”

Annie stood and gathered up their coffee cups, dropping them onto the bussing cart as they went to get their purses. “First the grocery store, then sleep, then Sam.” Then Gavin.

As if she’d heard that last, Nina reached over and gave her a quick squeeze. “It’ll be okay,” she said softly.

Try as she might, Annie didn’t think so.