Читать книгу Daddy's Home - Debra Kastner - Страница 10

Three days later, Jasmine stared over the rim of her coffee cup at the soft-spoken cowboy across from her. The term cowboy used loosely, she thought wryly. Christopher had been born and raised in this mountain town, but he couldn’t ride a horse to save his life. Ranching wasn’t in his blood.

He looked the part, though, with his form-fitting western jeans, snap-down western shirt and a steel gray cowboy hat. Of course, he’d taken off the hat when he’d entered the café, exposing his thatch of windblown brown hair.

Another cowboy trait.

Her mind was being perversely obtuse this afternoon, she thought. How she could find anything humorous to laugh about in her present state of mind was beyond her comprehension. It was as if her subconscious were seeking to avoid the inevitable confrontation.

The determined gleam in Christopher’s eyes and the hard set of his jaw gave him away. Why else would he have asked her to meet him in a small café in Wetmore, a half hour’s drive from their home town and well out of the public eye?

She’d been surprised when he’d called yesterday and asked to meet her, but now she was as prepared as she’d ever be for whatever he would throw at her, though she still couldn’t come up with a single acceptable reason for a man to abandon his wife and unborn child. And then return to claim his son after Jenny was dead. If he didn’t want the boy before…

The familiar swell of anger rushed through her, but she tamped it down. She would listen. She owed him that much, whatever sort of torn and twisted man he’d become. He claimed he wanted Sammy, and today he would attempt to explain why.

Not that his words would make any difference. She already knew what her answer would be, despite anything he told her.

He couldn’t have the baby. Not in a billion, trillion years.

Sammy was her son now. The papers declaring it so were firmly in her possession and valid in a court of law.

She’d fight him tooth and nail in court if she had to, but she prayed it wouldn’t come to that. That was her true objective—to reason with him, to try to touch the man she once knew, the man buried deep inside the monster sitting across from her.

To make him leave quietly. And alone.

“What’ll ya’ll have?” said a waitress, tapping her pencil against her pad of paper. Her cheek near her bottom gum was plump with tobacco. Jasmine had heard of gum-chewing waitresses, but the thought of a tobacco-chewing waitress was more than her stomach could handle.

“A cup of hot tea for me,” she said weakly, shifting her attention from the woman to focus on her queasy insides. “Peppermint, if you’ve got it.”

She wasn’t sure she could swallow even tea, but it occurred to her the peppermint might settle her stomach a little. She’d used it on Sammy’s colic to good effect, so she could only hope it would ease some of her own distress.

“Double cheeseburger with everything, onion rings and a chocolate shake,” Christopher ordered, smiling up at the waitress as if his entire life weren’t hanging in the balance of this conversation.

Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe he didn’t care. Jasmine didn’t know whether to feel relieved or annoyed.

It was obvious his appetite, at least, wasn’t affected by their meeting. And he wasn’t keeping his hands clenched in his lap to keep them from quivering, either. She pried her fingers apart and put her hands on the table.

Christopher cleared his throat and ran the tip of his index finger around the rim of his mug. “Remember when we used to sneak up here on Friday nights?” he asked, chuckling lightly. His gaze met hers, the familiar twinkle in his light gray eyes making her heart skip a beat.

Jasmine felt her face warm under his scrutiny. She knew what he was thinking, the memories this café evoked. Two carefree youths, so much in love, their lives filled with laughter and happiness. And hope.

“We thought we were being so underhanded, slipping out of town.” His light, tenor voice spread like silk over her. “Remember? We were so sure nobody noticed we were gone. We really thought we were pulling one over on everyone. And all the time, they were probably laughing and shaking their heads at us.”

Jasmine laughed quietly despite herself. “I’m sure Gram knew all along. She had such—” She was going to say high hopes for the two of them, but the thought hit her like a slap in the face, so she left the end of her sentence dangling sharply in the air.

How ironic that he’d picked this location to meet today. She’d been so wrapped up in dealing with her crisis that she hadn’t realized the poetic justice in his choosing this café. She swallowed hard, trying in vain to keep heat from suffusing her face.

It was the place where they’d first said I love you. The night they’d pledged themselves to each other forever. The night he’d asked her to be his wife. Before med school. And before Sammy.

She could see in his eyes that he was sharing her thoughts, reliving the memories right along with her. Her chest flooded with a tangle of emotions. Anger that he had brought her here. Hope because he remembered, too.

Had he brought her here on purpose, she wondered, as a way to have the upper hand? Or was this simply a convenient spot to meet, away from the prying eyes of the world? Did he mean to remind her of their joyful past, to taunt her with what could never be? She pinned him with her gaze, asking the question without speaking.

In answer, he swiped a hand down his face. “I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head regretfully. “It was thoughtless of me to bring us here. I should have realized—”

“It’s okay,” she interrupted, holding up a hand. “Better here than in Westcliffe, where we might be seen.” She closed her eyes and eased the air from her lungs. At least he wasn’t trying to rub her nose in the past, and for that, she was grateful.

He let out a breath that could have been a chuckle, but clearly wasn’t, from the tortured look on his face. “I prayed about this meeting before I called you,” he admitted in a low voice.

He clenched his napkin in his fist and looked out the window, allowing Jasmine to study his chiseled profile. There were small lines around his eyes, and dark furrows on his forehead. They weren’t laugh lines, she noticed sadly. He looked ten years older than his twenty-eight years.

“Truth be told,” he continued, still avoiding her eyes, “praying is about the only thing I’ve been doing for weeks.”

His admission wasn’t what she expected, and it took her aback. She remained silent for a moment, trying to digest what he was telling her.

She’d assumed from his actions that he’d played his faith false, that he’d given up on God and was taking his own way with things.

Abandoning his family was hardly the act of a man walking with his Maker. But now he was telling her, in so many words, that his faith was still intact. That he believed God was in control. That he believed prayer would help this wretched situation. That God was here.

She barely restrained the bitter laugh that desperately wanted to escape her lips. Irony seethed through her. How had he kept his faith in God when hers so easily disappeared?

He smiled, almost shyly, as if his revelation had taken great effort. It probably had, though there was a time when there had been nothing they couldn’t share between them.

In so many ways, she wanted to close her eyes, embrace his belief, wipe the slate clean and start all over again. To return to the time in her life when she believed, and when her belief had given her hope.

But that was naiveté. She wasn’t a child, to believe in miracles. To believe in a close, personal God who would help her through life’s problems. Her faith was ebbing and flowing like waves on rocks.

She wasn’t even sure she believed in God, at least in a personal God who watched over His flock like a shepherd watching over His sheep.

She couldn’t—and didn’t—pay Him more than lip service, and at this point she was hardly doing that. Although she hadn’t denied her faith outright, she hadn’t set foot in a church in months.

The subject humiliated and frustrated her. All those years she considered her faith strong, yet it wilted with the first attack of trial.

Some Christian she was. Or maybe she never had been. She was too confused to know.

How could she believe in a God who would allow Christopher to get away with what he’d done?

And Jenny—what about Jenny? If God was there, why hadn’t He helped her? Why hadn’t He healed her? He’d forced Jasmine to stand helpless and watch her sister die, her head crammed full of medical knowledge and unable to do a thing to save her.

“Would you pray with me?” he asked when she didn’t answer.

Prayer. Gram suggested it before, and now Christopher was bringing up the issue. Her heart clenched. It wasn’t as if she never tried.

She had. Last night on her knees beside her bed. But the words wouldn’t come, and the space between her and the heavenly realm seemed unbridgeable. God wasn’t listening. Or He had cut her off. As she had once cut off Christopher.

She shook her head. “We’re in a public restaurant, Christopher. Let’s just get down to business.”

She cringed inside as she said the words. It wasn’t business. It was a baby’s life they were talking about.

He looked vaguely astonished, but he didn’t argue. Instead, his gentle smile tipped the corner of his lips as he reached for her hand, which she quickly snatched from his grasp.

Shrugging, he plunged into the reason they were meeting. “You know what I want. I want to see Sammy. I want to—”

“Take him away from me?” she snapped, heedless of the fact that she hadn’t given him a chance to finish his sentence. Suddenly she felt completely unsure of herself as Sammy’s guardian, of her ability to provide what he needed. Without thinking, she took her insecurity out on the man sitting across from her. “I don’t think so, Christopher.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but she gestured for him to stop.

“You need to understand something,” she continued, her voice crackling with intensity. “You weren’t around when Sammy was born. You didn’t walk him up and down the hall at all hours of the night because he had colic and didn’t want to sleep. You haven’t changed him, fed him or bathed him.”

“I haven’t even—”

She pinned him with a glare. “I have. I was the one there for Sammy. And I am going to be the one to raise him.”

“But I want—” His voice closed around the words and he coughed. “I want to do all those things. I want to be there for the boy. My…” He hesitated. “My son.”

He looked petulant, and his eyes pleaded for her mercy.

Why, oh why did his mere physical presence affect her so? He once used those very same big bluegray eyes to get his own way with her when they argued over which movie to see or where to go for dinner.

This wasn’t one of those times. Nor was it a debatable issue.

“Let me explain something to you,” she said, her voice splintering with restrained anger. “I very frankly don’t give a snip what your story is. I don’t even want to hear it, though I’m sure you’ve spent many hours rehearsing for my benefit.”

His scowl darkened and he grunted in protest.

“No, really. It doesn’t matter. Nothing you say matters. What matters is that I’ve bonded with this baby, and nothing is going to convince me to give him away. Most especially to you.”

With a sharp intake of breath, he sat back in his seat and pounded a fist on the tabletop, making the silverware rattle.

Water from her cup splashed onto the surface of the table, and she quickly wiped it with the edge of her napkin, her face flaming with anger and embarrassment. She hazarded a glance at the neighboring booths, wondering if anyone had noticed his outburst.

“Even before you’ve heard what really happened?” he asked through clenched teeth, his chest rising and falling with the exertion of each angry breath.

She lifted one sardonic brow. “Astonish me. You were abducted by aliens. You’ve been in a coma. You had amnesia. What, Christopher? What’s your story?” As much as she tried to keep her voice low, it lifted with each word to a higher crescendo until she’d reached well beyond shrill and piercing.

Now she was the one causing the scene, and it was his fault. She didn’t care how irrational and childish the thought was. She clamped her jaw shut and glared defiantly at Christopher, and then at the patrons staring at her. Life had freeze-framed, with everyone’s attention on her.

She blew out a frustrated breath, furious that he had provoked her to make a display of herself.

“Jazz,” he began, reaching out with both hands in a conciliatory gesture.

She threw her napkin down on the table and stood. “I thought this meeting was a good idea when you first suggested it,” she said slowly, articulating each syllable in a low, precise tone. “I was mistaken.”

She looked blindly out the window, then back to Christopher. “I love Sammy, and he’s staying with me. End of subject.” She met his gaze briefly, willing her strength to hold out until she could flee from his presence. “Goodbye, Christopher.”

She turned and walked away from him, holding her chin high and staying steadfastly determined not to look at the patrons she felt were staring at her.

Christopher could pick up the tab on the check. It served him right. Her blood boiling, she wished momentarily that she’d ordered a full-course steak dinner instead of just hot tea.

When she exited the café, she pulled in a deep breath of mountain air, closing her eyes as fresh, cool oxygen flooded her lungs. If only she could dissipate the heat in her brain as easily.

Walking away from Christopher was the hardest thing she’d ever done. He was suffering in his own way, she realized, and her presence affected him as much as his did her.

All the more reason for them to stay away from each other, she decided, fortifying her decision with every justification available to her.

Her heart said a father should be with his son. Her mind said Christopher forfeited that right when he walked away from Jenny and his unborn baby.

She had to cling to reason, no matter what her emotions were doing. Sammy’s well-being depended on it. Probably her own happiness, too. She loved that baby. And for now, maybe for always, that love would have to be enough.

Christopher ate his food in silence, ignoring the curious stares and speculative talk around him. His mind was so preoccupied with his troubles that he barely tasted his food, and had to order a second milk shake to wash the hamburger down his dry throat.

He loved Jasmine more than ever. He thought the feelings had faded some with time, but sitting across from her today, he knew he was fooling himself. The ache in his chest only shaded his deeper feelings. He would do anything to wipe the pain from her eyes, and it was the ultimate irony to know he’d been the one to put it there in the first place. Sure, Jasmine was being harsh and stubborn, but who could blame her? He knew it was her fear of losing Sammy that was speaking for her. She’d always been an all-or-nothing kind of woman, a fact Christopher admired. Her obvious devotion and loyalty to her nephew only made him love her more.

Pain lanced his temple, and he reached a hand up to rub it firmly across his brow. Nothing was going as he had hoped.

He knew without a doubt that when she walked away today, she wouldn’t meet with him again, at least not intentionally. She’d run the other direction whenever she saw him, screaming inwardly if not in reality.

Which meant his next move must be furtive. He’d have to follow her around until an opportunity presented itself to speak with her again—in a time and in a location where she had no place to go except into his arms.

God would give him that opportunity. Or maybe he’d have to make his own.

Jasmine didn’t immediately return to Gram’s apartment, where she was staying with Sammy. She knew Gram would take care of the baby as long as necessary. And right now, Jasmine needed to be alone, to have time to think.

Not entirely conscious of where she was going or why, she found herself parking in front of Jenny’s cottage. There was still a lot of work to be done, she supposed. And it was quiet here, a far cry from the hustle and bustle of the medical clinic.

Once in the small cabin, she started to absently box up Jenny’s things, beginning with the books in her room. She picked up an empty apple box from the pile and began stacking various romance novels spine up, mixed with some hardbacked classic literature.

Jasmine laughed to herself, trying to picture her flighty sister reading the classics. Fashion magazines were more her style.

Had been her style. Jasmine quickly sobered. How well had she really known Jenny? She suspected not as well as she should have, especially in the last few years.

They’d been close as children, though there was four years difference between them. But they had drifted apart when Jasmine reached high school and got interested in friends, makeup and boys.

In Christopher.

And when Jenny caught up, she’d taken a different road than Jasmine, who’d been class president and received straight A’s. Jenny hung out with the flashy crowd, the ones with too much money and too much time. Jasmine had always wondered what Jenny could have in common with her friends.

She didn’t have money, and she wasn’t collegebound. She just didn’t seem the type. But she appeared to be happy, and Jasmine had left it alone. How she’d ended up with a simple cowboy like Christopher was beyond Jasmine.

And then she’d gone off to college herself, thanks to the grant from the city, increasing the emotional distance between the two sisters. As far as she knew, Jenny had grown into a beautiful, self-assured adult, a relative stranger she greeted with a kiss on the cheek when she came home from the holidays. Had Jenny been seeing Christopher even then?

There was always laughter in the house during vacations and holidays. Jasmine puckered her brow, straining to remember if her sister had been part of the joyous festivities. Or had she been off with friends? Jasmine couldn’t remember. Probably, she’d been too busy with Christopher to notice, a thought which gave her a guilty start.

Shaking her head to clear her introspection, Jasmine carried the box of books into the living room, where the rest of Jenny’s boxed goods were stored, and went to Jenny’s room to begin stripping the bedclothes. Her sister’s sweet, airy scent still lingered on the sheets, and she brought a pillow to her face, inhaling deeply.

“We never said goodbye,” she whispered aloud, hugging the pillow to her chest. She wished she had one more minute, just one, to give Jenny a hug and tell her how much she was loved.

Jasmine shook herself from her melancholy with some effort. Funny how grief hit her at the oddest moments. She’d think her emotions were under control, and then in a second’s time, grief would wash over her and overwhelm her, sometimes for no apparent reason.

Those were the toughest times, the moments before she found the strength to tuck her grief back away and go on living, because that’s what she had to do. Because she was here and Jenny was not, and baby Sammy depended on her.

She reached for the other pillow, but when she yanked at the corner to pull off the pillowcase, Jenny’s Bible fell to the floor.

Jasmine had forgotten all about it. She’d slipped it under the pillow when Christopher had shown up. She was relieved to find it now. It was a part of Jenny she wanted to keep.

Heart in her throat, she reached down and scooped it up, tenderly smoothing the bent pages before closing the cracked leather. Sitting on the stripped bed with one leg tucked under her, she ran a hand across the front of the Bible, considering whether it would be right to read more of the notes Jenny had written in the margins.

She was so confused, so hurt. And she missed her sister terribly. Would it be a breach of trust to read a little, to bring Jenny near through her words, her thoughts and dreams and faith? Who knew but that maybe, in some small way, it would help her know what to do about Christopher and Sammy.

She could only hope for such a miracle, even if she didn’t believe in miracles anymore.