Читать книгу Staking His Claim - Karen Templeton - Страница 10

After he’d put up the horses for the night and returned to the house, all he did was prowl from room to room. An activity which finally drove Ethel, who was crocheting something or other in the living room because the TV reception was better in here, she said, over the edge.

“For pity’s sake, boy! Either sit your backside down and talk to me or take it someplace else! And I already figured out she’s pregnant, so there’s one decision out of your hands.”

He stared at the top of her pin-curled head—she was already “in for the night,” as she put it. “How’d you know that?”

“Because it’s true what they say. About pregnant women glowing. Even if her particular glow looks more like it’s due to radioactive waste. Besides, why else would she be here?”

Cal sighed. Ethel clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, her crochet hook a blur. Whatever it was she was making, it was frilly and the most godawful shade of pink Cal had ever seen. Suddenly she plopped the whatever-it-was in her lap and peered at him over her reading glasses, with as much concern in those button eyes of hers as if she’d been his real mother. Which, considering she’d pretty much filled that gap in his life from the time he was nine, wasn’t surprising. “Why don’t you go see your brother?”

“Which one?”

“Does it matter?”

He almost cracked a smile at that. “And what good would that do?”

“Other than getting you out of my hair? I have no idea.” She picked up her work again, weaving the hook in and out of all those little holes so fast it made him dizzy to watch. “But that’s what big brothers are for—to talk things over with. Now that the two of them’s finally figured out a thing or two about women, maybe they can share their wisdom. Besides, you’ll be tellin’ ’em the truth soon enough. Might as well get a jump on it.”

Well, maybe she had a point at that. Not that he relished the thought of being around either just-married Ryan or about-to-be-married Hank, but since he was fresh out of bright ideas, what did he have to lose?

“Don’t wait up,” he said, heading out the door.

“I don’t intend to,” she said, adding a row of lime green to the godawful pink.

He’d stopped by Ryan’s place first, but Maddie, his new wife—who, judging from the scent of warm fruit and fresh-baked pie crust rushing out the kitchen door from behind her, was busy making her next batch of pies to sell to Ruby’s Café—had said he was on duty at the clinic tonight until ten and was there anything she could help him with? But Cal said, no, he didn’t think so, and went on to Hank’s.

His oldest brother, an ex-cop, ran the Double Arrow Motel and Guest Lodge on the outskirts of town, a fixer-upper he bought as a sort of therapy after his first fiancée’s death a few years back. Not only had Hank made the dump into someplace respectable, but he even had a developer seriously interested in turning the place into a bona fide resort. And a few months back, damned if a second chance at love hadn’t come along and crashed his pity-party.

And then stayed until every last guest was good and gone.

Now living in a modest two-story house at the edge of the motel property, Hank seemed understandably surprised at Cal’s showing up unannounced, especially since the three brothers had grown apart after their father’s death when Cal was fourteen. Ryan’s and Hank’s trials and tribulations on the road to true love during the past year, however, had driven the three brothers to talk to each other more than they had in the fifteen years before that.

Now it was Cal’s turn.

Hank led Cal through the living room—painted some orange color that only Ethel could love—to the kitchen where he offered him a beer, which Cal gratefully accepted. Hank’s teenaged daughter, Blair, sat at the kitchen table, her coppery hair gleaming under the lamp as she pored over what looked like an album.

“Wedding invitations,” Hank said by way of explanation. He took a long swallow of his own beer and swept a hand through his short black hair. Falling in love with Jenna Stanton had worked miracles on a mug few people would ever have called good-looking, with its craggy features and twice-broken nose. Hank hadn’t even known about his daughter until a few months ago, when Jenna, a widow herself, had come looking for him after her sister’s—Blair’s mother’s—death and her subsequent discovery that Hank was Blair’s father. The romance had just been a real nice, and totally unexpected, bonus.

“Lord help us,” Hank said, “but I think we’ve got a wedding planner on our hands.”

“Da-ad,” the freckled teenager said, rolling her blue eyes and flashing her braces. “You think Jenna’ll like this one?” She turned the album around. Both men stared at the prissy invitation she was pointing to, trying to figure out what set it apart from the eight other equally prissy invitations on the same page.

“I suppose you’ll have to ask her when she gets back,” Hank said, clearly already well-versed in how to take the easy way out.

“Where is Jenna, by the way?” Cal asked.

“Back in D.C., taking care of loose ends before moving here for good.”

“Y’all decided on a date, yet?”

“Sunday after Thanksgiving, after Jen turns in her next book.”

Leaving Blair to her search, they wandered out onto the back porch. As one, both men sank into twin wooden rocking chairs Hank said Jenna’d ordered from some catalogue or other. Hank’s half-grown puppy, Mutt—the consensus was half black Lab, half German Shepherd—came bounding up the steps to them, planting his big black feet on Cal’s knee.

“I hear Dawn’s back,” Hank said nonchalantly. Cal might’ve laughed if his gut hadn’t felt like somebody’d filled it with a bucket of broken glass.

“You know, I’m beginning to think this entire town’s clairvoyant.”

“Nope. Luralene just happened to be standing in the doorway to the Hair We Are about the time Ivy and Dawn drove past this afternoon. I imagine the news has gotten clear to Claremore by now. Far as Pryor, at the very least.” Hank glanced over, his expression unreadable in the dim light coming from the screen door, then took another swallow of beer.

“What’s got everyone speculatin’, though, is why she’s back. Especially since she was just here in July.”

Cal stuck one booted foot up on the porch railing, pushing back the chair on its rockers as far as he dared. “Let’s put it this way—looks like you and Ryan aren’t the only ones to have fatherhood sprung on ’em this year.”

Hank had the beer can halfway to his mouth; now he lowered it, glancing back to make sure they wouldn’t be heard. “You got Dawn pregnant?”

“Yep.”

Hank sat back in his chair, taking this in. Rocked some more. Then he said, “Remember that night you cheated me out of twenty bucks when we were playing pool? And I asked you whether anything happened between you and Dawn when she was here on the Fourth, and you wouldn’t answer?”

“Well, now you know why I wouldn’t answer. And I did not cheat you out of twenty dollars. Not my fault you can’t play worth spit.”

Several seconds passed before Hank said, “So…what’s this mean? You two gettin’ married?”

“Nope.”

“She at least moving back here?”

“Nope.”

“And I take it you’re not sellin’ up and moving back east with her?”

“Hell, no.”

“Then what in tarnation—?”

“The way I see it,” Cal said, “is what we’ve got here is a baby on the way, a pair of parents who probably shouldn’t be having this baby together, and a whole bunch of questions without answers.” He took a swallow of beer and said, “Make for one helluva crappy night, let me tell you. Well, except for the baby part. I mean, I wasn’t exactly plannin’ on it right now, but it could be worse.”

Another several seconds passed before Hank said, “Yeah. It could be. She might’ve decided not to tell you at all. Then twelve or thirteen years down the road, you suddenly discover you have a kid.”

At that moment the kid in question banged through the screen door to say good-night, bending over to give her father a hug and a kiss before going back inside. Both men sat and rocked for a moment, the rockers’ creaking competing with a lone cicada buzzing its butt off.

“So what’re you gonna do?”

Cal sighed. “Damned if I know. Our goin’ to bed together was a fluke. Our havin’ a baby an even bigger fluke—”

“And you’ve been sweet on her your whole life.”

“You know, I’ve never given anybody cause to think that, so why—”

Hank just laughed. Cal rocked some more, thinking about that look on Dawn’s face when she was talking about those kids she worked with. “Her life’s back east. And there’s nothing Haven, or I, can give her that could even begin to replace what she’d be giving up.”

“Must’ve been some reason she got cozy with you.”

“Yeah. Boredom.”

“You know that for sure?”

Cal wiggled his bottle on his knee, frowning. “No. But maybe I’ve got better things to do than set myself up for a fall. There’s a reason I didn’t pursue her when we were in high school, you know. Even when we were kids, she practically buzzed with all the things she wanted to do, places she wanted to go. Causes she needed to champion. As we got older, it became crystal clear that Haven would never be enough for her. That I’d never be enough for her.”

“So you think she’s better than you?”

“No,” he said, irritation dragging out the word. “Just different. Life here suits me. It never did Dawn. And it never would. Especially now.”

“I see.” The floorboards squawked when Hank leaned forward. “So answer me one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“All those gals you’ve dated over the years…how come you never settled down with any of ’em?”

“How the hell should I know? None of ’em…felt right, is all. Not for the long haul, anyway.”

“Uh-huh. As in, none of ’em were…enough for you?”

“You’re not hearing what I’m saying,” Cal said wearily.

“Dawn’s a helluva lot more—” he banged the beer on the arm of the chair, fighting for the right word “—complex than I am.”

Hank laughed. “All women are more complex than men, bozo brain.”

“And who the hell are you to give me advice, anyway?”

Heavy dark brows shot up. “Hey. Nobody told you to come over here. All I’m saying is, don’t sell yourself short. So the two of you are different. Big deal. So’re Jenna and me. And look at our parents, for the love of Mike. A farmer and a classical pianist? Look—at least you’ve got a fighting chance to see your kid grow up. That’s more than I had. And if you don’t try…what’s the alternative?”

From inside, the phone rang. Hank bounded out of the chair, dog scrambling and screen door banging shut as he grabbed the portable off the hall table. “Well, hey there, yourself, honey,” Cal heard his brother say, and his heart did this stupid thumping thing in his chest. He stood, as well, waving so long through the door before heading back to his truck. Once back out on the road, though, Hank’s words hit Cal like a well-aimed spit wad.

Why had Dawn ended up in his bed that night?

And, more important, why had he let her?

The answer whalloped him so hard, he nearly drove off the road: because he figured nothing would come of it, that’s why.

Because he thought he’d be safe. That since there was no danger of her falling in love with him, the opposite was also true.

If he hadn’t’ve been driving, he would’ve banged his head on the steering wheel. God knows his brain could use a little loosening up, anyway. Because now, thanks to the most pitiful excuse for doing something since Adam’s blaming Eve about the whole apple business, he’d fathered a child. If he wanted any chance at all of being part of this child’s life, he’d have to convince the child’s mother to stay in Haven. And if the child’s mother—a woman he’d never allowed himself to work up strong feelings about for any number of reasons—did stay in Haven, what were the odds that Cal’s heart would mind its own business and stay out of trouble?

And maybe he should stop thinking about the what ifs— which was only depressing him—and start thinking about the what nows, a regrettably long list headed up by Figuring Out the Female Mind, with Dawn right there under subheading 1A. Knowing what needed to happen and how to make that happen were two different things. For this he needed an ally.

Preferably a female ally.

Preferably a female ally who knew Dawn pretty well.

Preferably a female ally who was probably no more thrilled than Cal with the idea of having this child—her first grandchild—live nearly two thousand miles away.

As for the rest of it… He supposed his poor heart would just have to muddle through as best it could.

Dawn was still sacked out when Ivy got back from seeing Faith Andrews, who was expecting her and Darryl’s fifth child around Christmas. In one way, Ivy was just as glad, since Dawn needed her rest. But it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out it wasn’t only the pregnancy that had rendered her daughter virtually comatose for the better part of three days. Uh-uh—this was definitely the old “Oh, God—why me?” syndrome at work here.

With which Ivy was only too familiar.

After hanging the tote bag with all her work paraphernalia on the hook by the back door, she peeked in on Miss Sleepy-head, totally oblivious to the late-morning sun shining smack in her face, then tromped back down the short hall to the kitchen, her Birkenstocks slapping against her bare feet. Ivy’s little bungalow in the center of town wasn’t much to speak of—two small bedrooms, the living room, one bath and an eat-in kitchen—and for sure she was in no danger from being set upon by the House Beautiful people, but it was all hers, and there was a lot to be said for that.

She poured herself a cup of leftover coffee and stuck it in the microwave, smoothing strands of graying hair off her forehead. It killed her, seeing the pain her daughter was in, hearing the hopefulness in Cal’s voice when he’d called, knowing there wasn’t a blessed thing she could do to help either one of them. They’d gotten into this fix by themselves, and they’d have to figure their way out of it on their own, as well. That history should repeat itself with her daughter…well. But then, Dawn had been given to doing things the hard way ever since she was little. Wasn’t like her stubborn daughter would let Ivy take the burden from her shoulders, anyway, even if she could.

And the idea that Ivy could somehow run interference for Cal was downright laughable.

She jumped slightly when the microwave beeped, then retrieved her warmed-over coffee and plopped down at the kitchen table, flipping her long braid over her shoulder and yanking her bunched-up denim skirt out from underneath her whopper of a butt. Maybe things’d be different now for Dawn than they’d been for Ivy thirty years ago, but not a day went by that Ivy didn’t question if her having to sometimes drag Dawn out of bed in the middle of the night, or leaving her to her own devices in a strange house while Ivy saw a client through a protracted labor, hadn’t warped the child in some ways. And then there was that business with Charley when Dawn was eight…. Ivy sighed. Not that the child had ever complained, and she’d seemed remarkably adaptable to most every situation, but still—Ivy took a sip of her coffee—it was cause for worry.

“Whatcha thinking so hard about?”

Ivy’s gaze jerked to Dawn’s at the sound of her daughter’s sleep-graveled voice. And wasn’t she a sorry sight? Her hair was a holy mess, her right cheek was creased, and that nightgown wouldn’t pass muster as a dust rag.

“Wondering if I screwed you up,” Ivy said, flat out.

Dawn grimaced, gingerly lowering herself into the opposite chair. “No, I managed that all by myself. And if you go any further down this road, I may have to shoot you.”

Ivy took another sip of coffee. “Want some breakfast?”

“You must be kidding.”

“I hate to say this, but you look like you’ve been on a bender.”

“If only.” Dawn let her head fall forward onto her folded arms. “At least then I’d have some idea when everything would stop spinning.”

“You know, morning sickness is a good sign. Means the hormones are strong.”

Her head still down, Dawn made a “whoop-de-do” circle with her right forefinger in the air above her head, then slapped her arm back down on the table.

“How about some tea?”

“Trust me. Anything I try to put into this stomach right now is only going to bounce right back out.” One eye squinted open. “Were you this sick with me?”

“’Fraid not.”

“Figures.”

“Cal called,” Ivy said casually. “Again.”

That got a groan, then Dawn shifted to lay her cheek on her arms, staring up at Ivy with her hound-dog eyes. “This is going to sound terrible, but I almost wish I hadn’t told him.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I said ‘almost.’”

“You did the right thing. That’s gotta be some comfort, doesn’t it?”

“No.”

Ivy decided a different approach was in order. “You never told me, how’d your first prenatal appointment go?”

“It didn’t. I haven’t seen anyone yet.”

“You’re not serious?”

That got a very teenage-sounding sigh. “Mama, I just found out a week ago. I was up to my butt at work and was doing well to wrangle the time off to come out here. And finding the ‘right’ OB in New York is second only to finding an apartment.”

“What happened to the doctor you were going to?”

“Dead. No, it’s okay,” she said at Ivy’s gasp. “The woman was like 110. And she’d stopped doing deliveries twenty years ago. So I’ll have to start over when I get back.”

“I could do your initial workup,” Ivy said, running her finger over the rim of her mug. “Or Ryan, if you’d rather. Or you could find somebody in Claremore…”

“Fine. You can do it.” At what must have been the surprised look on Ivy’s face, Dawn said, “I do not have the energy for either a protracted argument or a trek to Claremore, and there’s no way I’m letting Cal’s brother give me an internal exam. I don’t care if he is the only doctor around.”

“Actually, he and a couple other doctors from nearby towns got a clinic going about twenty miles away, so you wouldn’t have to go as far as Claremore—”

Dawn gave her a black look.

“Well…” Ivy fought to keep a straight face. And to keep from asking her if she was sure. “Okay, then. Why don’t you go ahead and get a shower, then we can do it right after.”

“Whatever.” She dragged herself out of the chair and over to the refrigerator, which launched into a deafening, whiny hum when she opened it.

“Thought you weren’t hungry?” Ivy said as Dawn pulled out a carton of orange juice.

“That was five minutes ago. Things change.” She glowered at the avocado-green monster as the door slammed shut. “And you seriously need a new refrigerator. Wasn’t this one here when you bought the place?”

“Thought maybe I’d hang on to it long enough to be buried in it, save myself a few bucks.”

“And wouldn’t that frost a few folks,” Dawn said on a chuckle. She poured herself a glass of juice and sat back down at the table. “Why didn’t you ever tell me who my father was?”

Ivy nearly spilled her coffee. “What?”

“My father. I don’t even know his name, or if he’s in town, or if he’s even alive or not.”

Ivy carefully set down her cup, then said, even more carefully, “Would it make any difference if you did know?”

After a swallow of juice and a shrug, Dawn said, “Probably not.”

“Then why now?”

“I don’t know. I mean, why should I give a flying fig about a man who never wanted anything to do with me? But now, with the baby coming, I just got to thinking about it.” Her eyes narrowed. “You know where he is, don’t you?”

After a moment Ivy nodded, her heart knocking painfully against her ribs.

“But you’re not going to tell me.”

“I can’t.” She met her daughter’s gaze. “I made a promise.”

“Which means you can’t tell me his name, either.”

“No.”

“Well. That was elucidating. Did he even know you were pregnant?”

“Dawn, please—”

“Did he leave you when he found out?”

“Honey, there’s really no point to this. Your father and I…it was a mistake, okay? Not you,” she added at the raised brows in front of her. “Us.”

“Because…?”

Well, at least she could be honest about this part. “Because we…got together for all the wrong reasons. There never was a future it.”

“Like Cal and me, you mean?”

Ivy got up from the table to rinse out her cup. “No, not like Cal and you. And there’s no point comparin’ the situations, so don’t even try.”

“You mean, because Cal wouldn’t walk out on his child.”

“Seems to me it’s not Cal walkin’ out that’s the issue here.”

“For God’s sake, Mama!” Ivy turned to see tears cresting in her daughter’s eyes. “I do want to do what’s right, I swear! What’s right for everyone—the baby, Cal, me…dammit! Why can’t I get through a simple conversation without crying?” A tear streaked down her cheek. “I just don’t know what that is, okay? I mean, Cal and I have talked, what? Three times since I’ve been here? And we never reach any conclusion beyond the ‘fact’ that I’m being muleheaded. And don’t think I haven’t figured out the two of you are in cahoots!”

Ivy crossed her arms and took the offensive. “Okay, fine. I think he would make a damn fine son-in-law. So sue me.”

“Too bad you’ll have to find another daughter for that to happen.”

“He’s sure as hell better than that creep you were going to marry!”

Dawn’s laugh surprised her. “No arguments there. But this isn’t about Cal’s qualifications for husbandhood. He’d be a terrific husband. Just not for me.”

“Why not?”

“Lord, you’re as bad as he is! Have you not heard a single thing I’ve been saying since I got here?” She shot up from the table, forking her fingers through her matted hair. “I think I’ll go get that shower now, if you don’t mind—”

“Knock, knock…anybody home?”

Dawn shrieked and grabbed a kitchen towel to hold in front of her as Cal waltzed in through the back door as if he owned the place. She lobbed her mother what was supposed to be a searing look, which, combined with her campground-for-demented-squirrels coiffure, probably didn’t have quite the impact she’d hoped for. And, since she’d been 30,000 feet over Cincinnati when she remembered she’d never actually put her pajamas in her suitcase, was this the high school vintage nightgown with the holes in it? She wasn’t sure. She was sure, however, that she had a lot going on underneath that soft, clingy, might-as-well-be-Saran-Wrap fabric. More than usual. Another whole cup size more than usual, in fact.

Cal’s gaze raked lazily from toes to towel, at which point that damned dimpled smile of his—the number one cause of female hormonal meltdown in high school—slid across his just-shaved face. To add insult to injury, his eyes twinkled like new grass after a spring shower. And, yep, her nipples perked right up. Damn things had been betraying her around Cal Logan ever since her blossoming boobs had pushed them front and center when she was thirteen. It was as if he had this psychic connection with them or something.

And if Cal and she could somehow forge a relationship on that point—or points—alone, they might have something. Since they couldn’t, it was all moot.

“Why are you here, Cal?” And when had her mother vanished?

“Oh, no special reason.” More grinning, more tingling. He set a wrapped parcel on the counter. “I had to come into town, anyway, so Ethel figured y’all might like some of her apple cake….”

Food and gossip. The life blood of a small town.

“Then I figured I’d take you out for a while, since it’s finally cooled down some, give you a chance to see what the town’s like these days. And you can let go of the towel, honey, since I already know what it’s covering.”

Dawn clutched the towel more tightly, nausea momentarily distracting her from her duplicitous knockers. For the first time in weeks she was almost grateful she felt like crud.

“The last thing I want to do right now is go anywhere. Besides, I don’t imagine the town’s changed all that much since the last time I saw it.”

Cal’s hands slid into his back pockets. Like most guys out here, his belt buckle was shiny and silver and only marginally smaller than Texas. And Dawn noticed the bottom didn’t lie exactly flat against his belly. She jerked her eyes to his face—dimples and lazy grins were a lot safer than angled belt buckles—in time to hear him say, “And when was the last time you saw Haven?”

Cheeks burned. “Two months ago.”

“I didn’t say the last time you were here. I said the last time you saw it. As in, paid attention to what it’s like now. Not what you remember.”

She shut her eyes. Let’s see…she looked like hell, felt worse, and was standing in a socially unacceptable nightie arguing semantics with a man who made her hot just by breathing. And not even on her. Yep, she was officially having a sucky day.

“It doesn’t matter,” she finally said. “Mama’s giving me my first prenatal checkup after I get cleaned up.”

Immediately Cal’s expression changed, as something that looked close to awe obliterated every bit of the smart-aleckiness…and walloped her emotions right out of the ball park. Again his eyes sauntered back to her body, only this time, she felt…worshipped. So much so, she didn’t even object when he took a step closer, then closer still, finally tugging the dish towel from her hands to lay one large, gentle hand on her still flat belly.

She swallowed. Twice. One from a plain old-fashioned rush of awareness, the second time from something achy and weird she couldn’t even define.

“Tell you what,” he said, bending slightly to look in her eyes, and she saw not the man who rattled her hormones clear into the next county, but the boy with the courage to cry in front of her when his mama was dying. “Let me stay for your appointment, then I’ll take you over to Ruby’s for lunch and we’ll see how it goes from there. How’s about it? A couple of hours, just for us.”

Senses returned. She removed his hand—managing not to sigh—and crossed her arms. Under her braless breasts. Wrong. So she lowered her arms, feeling them bounce back into place. Terrific.

“There is no ‘us,’ Cal. There’s never been an ‘us.’ And there’s never going to be an ‘us.’”

And quit standing there making this so damn hard, with those damn sweet eyes of yours and that damn, double-damn, stupid, infuriating, unflappable grin.

Quit making me long for things that can’t be.

“But there is a baby,” he said. “Our baby. So I’m sticking around.”

“God. I’d forgotten how stubborn you are.”

“One of my more endearing qualities.”

She sighed. “There’s really no point, Cal. It’s not as if you can see or hear anything yet.”

He crossed his arms, the smile gone. “I don’t suppose I can stop you from going back to New York if that’s what you’re determined to do. But let me tell you something—when you are here, there is no way you’re keeping me from being part of your life as far as it concerns our child. So you might as well get used to it, right now, and save yourself a lot of headaches down the road.”

Hoo-boy. Major-deer-in-headlights time. If only…

If only what?

She had no idea.

Dawn blinked until the fog cleared and Cal’s calm, set-to-simmer gaze swam into focus. She blew out yet another sigh, her hands flipping up on either side of her head.

“Fine. Stay. But I’m not going anywhere afterward.”

Then Cal grinned, Dawn’s nipples went tra-la-la and she took off down the hall for that shower, in as dignified a manner as she could manage in a nightgown a breath away from disintegration.

“You might want to bring a sweater or something,” he called after her. “It’s kinda chilly out today.”