Читать книгу Another Woman's Baby - Joanna Wayne - Страница 13

The man stood by her table, cap in hand. “If you don’t want company, I’ll understand.”

Her gut instinct was to tell him to keep moving, but she knew that talking to him might be the best way to put aside any irrational fears she had about him. “Please, have a seat.”

“Thanks. I went to the tourist center like you suggested. Loaded up on maps, booklets, even money-saving coupons. This place was highly recommended for lunch. I understand they have good gumbo here.”

“I haven’t tried it, but I’m sure it’s good.”

He gazed out the large bay window. “It’s a great view.”

“Did you say that this was your first trip to this area?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“So what made you decide to come now, especially in the off-season?”

“I came down from Nashville to go to my sister’s wedding in Mobile. My new brother-in-law suggested I come down here and enjoy some beach bumming and fishing since I had some vacation time left that I needed to use before the end of the year. So here I am.”

Here he most definitely was. So far she’d run into him three times in two days. Now she was sitting across the table from him and still she was picking up strange vibes. Maybe it was because his manner and his motives didn’t really match.

His appearance and demeanor suggested an easygoing personality, but when he looked at her, his gaze was intense, as if he was studying her. He had a magnetism about him, a kind of rugged masculinity that would have gone better with a leather motorcycle jacket than the windbreaker he was wearing.

The waitress came and took their order, then returned a minute later with draft beer for him and a glass of milk for Megan. He lifted his glass in a toast.

“To sun, sand and catching fish,” he said, clinking his glass with hers. “And to an easy birth and a healthy baby.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

“So when’s the little rug rat due?”

“December 27.”

“Wow. Hope that stork doesn’t get run over by eight tiny reindeer. You must be getting excited with the date so close. Is this your first child?”

“It’s my first pregnancy.” It was much easier to stick to the truth minus unnecessary facts.

“Well, you look great. I guess it’s true what they say about women glowing when they’re carrying a child.”

It was an idle compliment, the kind she hated. She didn’t look great. She looked like a beached whale, and having some stranger tell her differently didn’t make her feel any better. But it did bother her that he felt he had to offer compliments, as if he was on the make and she was his prospective pick-up.

He took another long draw on his beer, then drummed his fingers on the table. “Are you always this quiet,” he asked, “or is it the company?”

“I’m quiet. And it’s the company. I don’t ordinarily have lunch with strangers.”

“I appreciate your making an exception this time, though I guess I kind of forced it on you. To tell you the truth, I expected you to say no.”

“I considered it.”

“I can still move to another table if you want, but I’d like to stay.”

“Why?”

“I told you, I don’t like to eat alone.” He fingered the edge of the napkin. “And you look as if you could use someone to talk to. I imagine it’s tough being all by yourself when you’re pregnant, wandering around that big old house all alone. There’s not even another house close enough that someone would hear you if you called for help, you know…if you fell or went into labor or something. You should get a dog, a big one for protection, or do you have one already?”

Apprehension swelled inside her. “How do you know which I’m staying in?”

“I was on the beach this morning. I saw you climbing the steps to go inside.”

“I can take care of myself. Besides, I won’t be alone after today. My husband is coming in tonight.” A baldaced lie, but it made her seem far less vulnerable.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

He dropped the subject, but she had the idea he didn’t believe her. The waitress appeared with the food and she ate hers quickly, forcing it down though her appetite had vanished. As soon as she finished, she took a ten-dollar bill from her billfold and dropped it to the table.

“This should take care of my part of the bill. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment and I don’t want to be late.”

He stood, a smile on his lips that softened his features and made him look more mischievous than sinister. “I did it again. I don’t know how I manage to upset you every time we talk, but I do. It’s that old foot-in-mouth disease. I have a terminal case.”

“No. It’s just that I have a feeling that you’re following me, and if you keep it up, I’ll notify the police.” She hadn’t meant to be so blunt, but she’d had enough of him. If he was just a friendly tourist, he could think what he wanted about her. If he was dangerous, she’d let him know she wasn’t as vulnerable as she seemed.

She felt his gaze on her as she turned and walked away, but she didn’t turn back to see. Her hands were trembling by the time she got to her car and tears burned at the back of her eyelids. She blinked repeatedly, determined to keep them at bay. The last time she’d cried had been at Jackie’s funeral, and she wouldn’t give in to tears just because—because her life seemed to be falling apart and she didn’t have the emotional energy to deal with all of it.

Bart Cromwell. Her job. John. Dealing with the HMO. Thoughts of her mother. Memories of her grandmother. The baby that grew inside her and belonged to no one, certainly not to her.

So why did she feel such an overwhelming bond to the baby growing inside her? Why did the thought of giving her up for adoption seem to equate with having someone reach inside her chest and rip out her heart?

She climbed into the car, lay her head on the steering wheel and cried.

THE MINUTE SHE WALKED through the door at Pelican’s Roost, Megan knew that someone had been there while she was gone. She sensed it the way a woman knows when someone else has cooked in her kitchen or borrowed her makeup. It was the little things, the ones she never thought of when everything was in place but that became conspicuous when they were moved.

The rug by the back door was twisted and scrunched up in the middle instead of lying flat and straight. She always pushed the chair back beneath the table when she got up, but one of the chairs in the breakfast nook was pushed back and sitting at an angle. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and fear crawled the corners of her mind and skittered along her nerve endings.

But the anxiety she’d been feeling the past two days didn’t mesh with the kind of security she’d always felt in the rambling old house. She took a deep breath and forced her mind to consider the possibilities. The housekeeper had a key. Most likely she’d come by and dropped something off or finished a cleaning task she hadn’t gotten to before Megan arrived. That had to be it. She was certain the door had been locked when she left and it was locked when she returned. So, whoever had come in had used a key.

Breathing easier, she walked to the phone and punched in Fenelda Shelby’s number. While it rang, she pulled a butcher knife from the block on the counter. She ran her thumb and index finger along the edge, wondering if she’d have the nerve or the presence of mine to use it if a stranger appeared. If he were there even now, watching and waiting. A man like Bart Cromwell.

Only she couldn’t blame this on him. He had still been inside the restaurant when she’d driven home. Unless he’d come out while she was crying, and she hadn’t noticed. No, she was being macabre. The house had basically been empty for two years and no one had so much as broken a window.

“Hello.”

“Hi, Fenelda, this is Megan.”

“You sound upset. Is something wrong?”

“No.” She struggled to steady her voice. She didn’t want the whole town thinking she was going nuts, though she was beginning to consider the possibility herself. “I was out for a while and I got the impression someone was in the house while I was gone. I was just wandering if it was you.”

“It wasn’t me. Is anything missing?”

“No, nothing like that. Do you know if anyone else has a key to this place?”

“Oh, honey, knowing your grandmother, I wouldn’t be surprised if half the town has a key. She was always lending the place out to vacationing relatives of the locals when she took off on one of her trips. That woman was salt of the earth, bless her heart, one of the most generous souls in the world. But I don’t have to tell you that.”

“Has anyone stayed here since Grandmother died?”

“Not that I know of. No one but you. I’ve kept watch over the place like I told you I would, but I don’t go by there every day. I know I haven’t told anyone they could use it. I wouldn’t do that without your okay.”

“I didn’t think so. I was just concerned when I realized someone had been here.”

“I don’t know nothing about it, hon. It’s probably just one of your grandma’s friends going by to check on the place. But if you’re worried, why don’t I send my son over? Leroy will check everything out for you.”

“Are you sure he wouldn’t mind?”

“I’m positive. He’s not doing anything but hanging out in his room with music blaring on the stereo anyway. Was everything okay when you got there? I spent a whole day cleaning. I would have stocked a few groceries, but I had no idea what you’d like.”

“Everything was fine, spotless, in fact. And I stopped at the store on the way in and picked up a few essential grocery items.”

“Okay, you take it easy, honey. Leroy will be there in a few minutes.”

Megan felt better about the situation when she hung up the phone, but the knife was still in her hand. She glanced around the kitchen, then walked into the hall and looked up the imposing staircase. Two levels of living space, and on top of it all a cupola used mostly for storage and to gain access to the widow’s walk and the marvelous view it provided. The west side provided a magnificent expanse of the Gulf of Mexico for as far as the eye could see.

A huge house with a million places to hide if someone had reason to. In the dusky aura of sunset, Pelican’s Roost took on the appearance of a haunted castle. Shadows climbed the walls of the narrow halls, and the screaming of the wind and creaking and groaning of the floorboards sounded as if the place were inhabited by a family of ghosts.

But it was the bright sunlight of midafternoon now. And she was in Orange Beach, not New Orleans. Still, someone had been inside the house, and she wouldn’t truly rest until someone had walked through every room and made sure there were no surprise guests. Her pulse slowed to near normal, but, knife in hand, she decided to go outside and wait for Leroy’s arrival.

That’s when she noticed a basket of muffins on the table in the breakfast nook. Fenelda must have been right, one of her grandmother’s friends had stopped in to welcome her home. Still, she’d feel better if Leroy took a look around.

MEGAN WAITED on the second-floor balcony while Leroy roamed the house. She would have gone with him, but she’d have only slowed him down. He climbed a full flight in the time it took her to maneuver a half-dozen steps. He’d promised to check every closet and under every bed, even to climb to the cupola and make sure no one was hiding among the stacks of storage boxes and old metal trunks.

He had his work cut out for him. Besides the family room and kitchen, there was a dining room, a library, a sewing room, a small office, two bathrooms and a couple of sunny alcoves on the second floor. The third floor consisted of six large bedrooms and four more baths. The house rambled and curved and twisted, giving a beach view and access to a balcony to as many rooms as possible.

In fact, Leroy was gone so long, she would have become worried had it not been for the fact that he sang along constantly to the music from the radio headset that seemed glued to his ears. He’d been polite and didn’t seem to mind going through the house, but he obviously didn’t think she had a thing to worry about. In fact, he’d laughed when he saw the knife she was holding and assured her he didn’t need a weapon.

She dropped to one of the lounge chairs on the balcony, leaned back and closed her eyes as the sun beat down on her and warmed her through and through. The baby shifted and gave a few reassuring kicks. “I know you’re still there, sweetie. I couldn’t forget you if I wanted to. What do you think of the beach house? When you’re older, you can play in the water and build sand castles with moats and crocodiles, and we can buy plastic knights to do battle with the enemies.”

Damn. What was she thinking? This baby would never come to Pelican’s Roost. Never play with her in the surf or on the sand. Never be a part of her life at all. She closed her eyes and wished that it was January and that everything was over and done with.

Taking deep breaths, she forced herself to clear her mind of thoughts of the baby and think only of the water, constant, eternal, forever moving with the tides.

“All safe and sound.”

She jumped at the voice, her head jerking from the back of the lounge chair.”

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” Leroy said, stepping between her and the edge of the balcony.

“I must have fallen asleep.”

“No problem. I just wanted to let you know that I checked the house from top to bottom. You got a leak in one of the faucets upstairs. I’ll come back and fix it for you one day next week if you like. It won’t take much.”

“I’d appreciate that, as long as you let me pay you.”

“I’m not opposed to taking cash.” He leaned against the balcony, his shaggy blond hair blowing into his face. “Mama says you’re having another woman’s baby for her. That’s pretty weird, isn’t it? I mean, not a lot of people do that, do they?”

“More than you’d think.”

He nodded. “Still seems strange. I guess I’ll be going, unless you need something else while I’m here.”

“I’d like to pay you for your time and trouble,” she said, expecting him to say no.

“Whatever.”

She walked to the kitchen and retrieved her wallet. “Is ten dollars enough?”

“Whatever.”

She handed him a five and a ten and walked him to the door. He had Fenelda’s coloring, but the deep-set eyes and sunken cheeks must have come from his dad. She barely remembered the man, but she was sure she’d met him a time or two over the years. She’d met Leroy, too, but he was much thinner than she’d remembered, with a kind of raunchy look about him that she hadn’t expected in Fenelda’s son. She wasn’t sure how old he was, near thirty, she’d guess.

Still, he’d done what she asked and she’d rest better for it tonight. She felt a little foolish, but at this point in time, damaged pride was much better than lost sleep.

But she was going to have to get a grip on herself and not let a tall, dark and sexy stranger destroy the level of safety she’d always enjoyed at Pelican’s Roost. It was the hormones, she told herself again. What else could it be? She was probably in the safest place in the world.

December 8

MEGAN HUGGED her jacket around her as she strolled along the beach. The day had been warm, but the air had turned cold as the sun set, and now the wind had picked up. It whipped her hair around her face and sent the waves crashing against the sand. But the sky was clear, and the stars seemed so near she felt she could reach up and grab a few to save for a time when she knew what to wish for.

Fortunately there had been no sign of the man she’d come to think of as her dark stranger since he’d joined her for lunch three days ago, though she found herself looking for him everywhere she went. At times, she even felt as if someone was watching her and she always imagined it was him.

One night she’d even dreamed about him, a nightmare that had turned erotic. That was what happened to a woman who hadn’t had sex in so long she’d almost forgotten what it felt like. Desire had returned full force in the dream, and after she’d wakened, she’d lain awake for over an hour, imagining what it would be like to make love with the rugged stranger, her body reacting as if his hands were actually on her, caressing and touching her most intimate parts.

There was no accounting for dreams, but in reality, her life in Orange Beach settled into a comfortable routine. A walk in the morning, lunch in some out-of-the-way restaurant, an afternoon spent relaxing and reading, and sunset on the beach.

“The wind’s picking up, little one. We’ll have howling and whining to entertain us tonight while we sleep. Old fishermen crying about the ones that got away. That’s what Grandma used to tell me when I’d complain of the noise.”

Standing at the edge of the water, she took a few steps out, stepping into a low wave. She slipped her hand under her loose blouse and stroked her stomach. She was growing larger every day.

Her first appointment with Dr. Brown would be tomorrow, but he already had her records from her doctor in New Orleans. “I guess we better start back, little one. I’m getting hungry.”

A bowl of hot soup would taste good tonight. She looked out at the Gulf one last time. The steady cresting and falling was almost hypnotic.

It rocked her into a state where she let herself imagine holding a baby girl in her arms and letting it nurse from her breasts, singing her a lullaby and then tucking her into a white crib.

She was so lost in the thoughts that at first she didn’t hear the footfalls on the sand behind her. When she did, she spun around just as someone grabbed her wrists and started dragging her farther into the water. She tried to see who it was, but the man’s body was black and his face was covered by a ski mask.

All she knew was that he was strong and she couldn’t resist his pull. The cold water rose to her waist and stung her skin, made her breath burn in her lungs. She tried to scream, but he shoved her face into the water.

The salt burned her eyes and throat. She had to get to the surface, had to get air, but he pushed her deeper and deeper. She could hear him cursing now, screaming obscenities. Finally the pressure on her neck and head gave way and she floated to the top. She opened her eyes.

The mask was gone. She could see the man’s face in the moonlight. It was him. The dark stranger. She’d been right all along. He’d come to kill her and the baby.