Читать книгу Baby, You're Mine - Lindsay Longford - Страница 11

Chapter Three

Hands jammed into her pockets, Phoebe waited.

For judgment. For the thinning of Murphy’s mouth that would reveal his distaste, waited for the words that would send her into the night with Bird and no hope.

She made her hands stay perfectly still. No matter what he said, she’d make a joke, she’d laugh off her announcement as teasing, she wouldn’t let him see the terror swamping her. She’d lie, deny. “Gotcha,” she’d tell him.

And then she’d run from Murphy’s house as if the hounds of hell were growling at her heels.

She’d sleep in the bus station. She’d camp out in a church overnight. Surely churches in Manatee Creek hadn’t started locking their doors at night? As much as it would kill her, she’d throw herself on the mercy of whoever found her in that church, a welcoming sanctuary she could almost see in her mind’s eye.

No one would throw a pregnant woman and her four-year-old child out of a church, for heaven’s sake.

Would they?

Well, there was that famous old story of the virgin and her child who couldn’t find room anywhere except in a stable.

Jitters scurried like mice up and down her spine.

“Pregnant, Phoebe?” Murphy sat down in the chair, angled one leg over the other, and leaned back into the shadows. “Well, there’s a surprise.” His voice was as smooth and hard as polished silver. “I thought you and Tony were divorced. Who’s the father? Not that it’s any of my business, sweetpea.”

“No. It isn’t.” Oh, she wanted the smart-aleck words back, yearned for the discipline to curb her unruly tongue. She didn’t need to antagonize Murphy, not tonight, not with everything at stake. “Tony and I separated when Bird was two. I filed for divorce after two more years.”

“A long separation.”

“Yes.” Her fingers curled tighter. She hadn’t wanted the divorce. Divorce meant she’d failed, failure on such a sweeping scale that staying married and living apart was easier. “I...wasn’t in any hurry.”

“No?” That silvery voice and the rustle in the shadows were the only signs that Murphy was on the porch. “You must have wanted to get on with your life. Isn’t that what all the magazines advise? Move on? Find closure? Where was your closure, sweetpea? Damn, I think you’d have wanted closure.” His eyes glittered with anger. An anger that puzzled her.

“I don’t know. I was busy. Time passed.”

“Did it now?” Another rustle of denim and cotton. “Well, Phoebe, time has a way of doing that.”

“As I said, I had things to do.”

“Kept a tight schedule, did you?”

“I went back to college. Finished up the last three courses I needed for my degree and teacher certification.”

“You were a busy little bee. Heck, finalizing a divorce must have been nothing more than some item on your to-do list. I can see how it happened.” His voice was so understanding and compassionate that most folks would have missed the sarcasm icing it. The chair squeaked as he settled more deeply into it.

“The divorce wasn’t high on my...to-do list, Murphy. It wasn’t important.”

But it had been. Everybody had told her she shouldn’t marry Tony, but she had. Afterwards, when everything went wrong, she hadn’t wanted to admit her mistake even to herself. And she sure didn’t want to admit to anyone else that she should never have married him, that their relationship had been doomed from the beginning.