Читать книгу The Pregnant Ms. Potter - Millie Criswell - Страница 11

Garbed in a green-and-white Sweetheart High School football jersey and thick woolen socks that Pete had provided for her the night before, and which were undoubtedly his, judging by the reluctant expression on his face when he’d handed them to her, Maddy made her way across the cold bedroom floor toward the bathroom.

The fire in the hearth had gone out hours before, and the ice smothering the windowpanes promised another day of snow and below-freezing temperatures.

How long was she going to have to remain stranded here? Maddy wondered. Not that she wasn’t grateful for Pete Taggart’s hospitality, because she was, but she needed to get to her sister’s, needed to fix the mess she’d made of her life. If she could. And that was a very big if.

Pushing open the bathroom door, she let loose a scream. Pete Taggart was standing half-naked on the other side of it, looking like a Greek Adonis come to life. Her hand went to her throat, and her eyes widened. “Wha—what are you doing here?”

“Ouch! Dammit!” he cursed, razor in hand, turning away from the mirror over the sink to look at her startled expression. “What’s it look like I’m doing? I’m shaving, that’s what I’m doing.” He looked quite annoyed as he blotted the bloody nick on his face with a tissue. “You might try knocking next time, instead of just barging in.”

Her jaw dropped as she took in his thickly muscled chest lightly sprinkled with hair, corded biceps, and the towel that hung precariously low on his hips, which barely covered his—

“Deck the halls with boughs of holly…”

She didn’t want to think about what it barely covered. Not this early in the morning.

“I—I thought this was my bathroom.”

“Guess I should have made myself clearer. It’s our bathroom. It adjoins the two bedrooms. But you’re welcome to use it. When I’m not in it.”

She tried to avert her gaze, but that meant she had to look into his mesmerizing blue eyes. “You might have told me that we’d be sharing this bathroom. That would have been the gentlemanly, civilized thing to do.”

The sexy grin flashing across his face told her more than words that there wasn’t a civilized bone in Pete Taggart’s muscular, oh-so-very-fine body. “Never been accused of being civilized, Miz Potter, ma’am.”

“You infuriate me, Mr. Taggart,” she admitted, reaching up to secure the scrunchie that had come loose during the night, and hearing him suck in his breath.

Pete’s gaze zeroed in on her long, shapely legs, and his eyes filled with heat. “I wouldn’t be raising your arms up like that, if I were you, ma’am, or you might be revealing more than you were intending.” Not that he minded the view. It had been a long time since he’d entertained a pretty woman in his bedroom, or bathroom, for that matter.

Maddy slammed the door shut in his face, but she could still hear Pete’s laughter coming through, and it filled her with outrage. Sucking in huge gulps of air, she ran to the brass cheval mirror standing in the corner and lifted her arms, observing the effect. Then she gasped.

“Good Lord!” The jersey barely covered her thighs! Why hadn’t she noticed that before?

Oh no! What the man must be thinking!

WHAT THE MAN WAS THINKING was something Maddy was better off not knowing. His thoughts were X-rated, to say the least. Pete had already cursed himself many times over for finding the woman attractive. Attractive, headstrong and intelligent, despite what he’d told her. A deadly combination.

He’d sworn off women four years ago, and he didn’t need this temptation, this complication in his life right now. His self-imposed celibacy—the butt of many a joke by his two younger brothers—was taking its toll. And having a half-naked woman flaunting herself at him was not helping matters in the least. Just because she hadn’t intended to flaunt didn’t matter. Flaunting was flaunting, no matter how you looked at it. And he sure as heck liked looking at it—her—which resulted in some pretty predictable results.

Just thinking about how she’d looked all warm and tousled from bed and dressed in his old football jersey was enough to weaken his resolve and harden his member. “Damn!” Pete fiddled with the gauges on the generator as he tried to figure out why it didn’t work and cursed again.

“Why?” he asked himself. Why now when he was just getting his head back together? His heart would never mend, but he figured he could live with that.

Four years. Four years since Bethany’s death, since the death of their unborn child, and the pain still festered, as if it had only been yesterday.

“I’m sorry, Pete,” Dr. Reynolds had told him when he’d entered the ER that rainy afternoon four years ago. “Bethany didn’t survive the crash.”

“And the baby?”

The old man had shaken his head, and there was pity in his eyes. “Both dead. I’m sorry, son.”

Pete blamed himself for their deaths. If he hadn’t been arguing with Bethany over her new job at the radio station, if she hadn’t run off half-cocked during the middle of a severe thunderstorm…

If, if, if. Too many ifs and not enough answers. None that would suffice anyway. His wife and child were gone.

Though he took his fair share of responsibility for what had happened, he blamed Bethany more. She’d always been headstrong, bent on having her own way about working after they were married. She hadn’t been content to be “just a rancher’s wife” and had told him as much after they were married. She wanted to contribute, to make her mark in the world, to have it all.

The futility of what had happened angered Pete. Waste always sickened him. And Bethany’s death had been a waste, and so totally unnecessary. He didn’t want to think about the loss his unborn child’s death had created.

His son. His child who would never see his first sunrise, kiss a girl, play baseball, go fishing with his old man.

His throat clogged, his chest ached, and he shook the painful thoughts away, though he knew they would return. They always did.

“Give it up, Taggart. It’s over. Learn to live with it.”

But it would never be over. Not for him.

PETE WAS NOWHERE to be found when Maddy finally mustered the courage to descend from her upstairs hideaway to the kitchen. After her humiliating encounter with him, she wanted to hide forever. But she was starving. She wasn’t sure if Pete had had anything to eat, either, and so decided to take matters into her own hands and cook breakfast.

She found eggs, cheese and bacon in the cooler on the back porch, as well as a carton of orange juice. “We’re saved, Rufus,” she told the shaggy dog asleep on the rug. He cocked an eye open at the sound of his name, then promptly resumed his snoring.

Well, what could she expect? The dog had been living with Taggart and had no doubt picked up all his worst habits and lack of social skills.

There was hot coffee in the pot on the stove, and she poured herself a cup before scrambling the eggs. Tossing a few slices of bacon into the cast-iron skillet she found in the drawer beneath the oven, she proceeded to make culinary magic.

Maddy might not be good at reading a map or driving a car in a snowstorm, but she was an excellent cook. And she intended to prove that to the snotty, opinionated, woman-hating rancher.

“Something sure smells good,” Pete said upon entering the kitchen fifteen minutes later, taking in the apron that had once belonged to his mother wrapped around Maddy Potter’s waist and smiling inwardly. It wasn’t quite as charming as the football jersey, but it was pretty darn cute. She’d changed back into her suit, minus the heels, and plus the woolen socks he’d loaned her.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d eaten, so I decided to make us some breakfast,” she explained. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Don’t mind at all, as long as it’s edible.” Being a woman didn’t necessarily guarantee competency in the kitchen. Pete had learned that painful lesson shortly after he’d married. Bethany hadn’t been able to boil water without burning it. She’d learned eventually, but hadn’t enjoyed cooking, which resulted in her not being very good at it.

“I assure you that I cook much better than I drive, Mr. Taggart.”

He snorted. “Pete.”

“Only if you call me Maddy.”

Pouring himself a cup of coffee, he took a sip. “Guess I can do that.”

“Were you out feeding the animals?”

He shook his head. “Fed ’em at six. I was down in the basement trying to get the generator started. I’ve just about got it licked.”

“Then we’ll have electricity, right?” Most people, herself included, took modern conveniences for granted, until they went without. At the moment she would have given a great deal to be able to use her hair dryer.

Mr. Kenneth, her stylist back in New York, would have had a conniption if he’d seen Maddy’s hair fashioned in something as unchic as a ponytail. Once, when she had visited his salon with her hair pulled back, he’d rudely informed her that she looked like a horse’s behind. New York City stylists rarely minced words.

“As long as the gas holds out. Don’t know how much is in there, and I can’t afford to siphon any out of the truck. We may need it for an emergency.”

While she continued to cook, Pete set the table and poured the juice. “Haven’t done this for a while.”

“Me, neither,” she admitted. “I usually just grab a bagel and cream cheese on my way to work. I rarely have time to cook anymore. And it seems silly to cook for one person anyway.”

He tilted back on the chair’s hind legs. “So, you’re not married?”

She shook her head. “No. Are you?”

“Was.” And that was all he said, making her wonder what had happened to Mrs. Pete Taggart.

Setting the bowl of scrambled eggs and platter of sizzling hickory-smoked bacon on the table, Maddy seated herself across from him. The domesticity of the situation didn’t escape her. “I’m grateful for your hospitality, Pete. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t happened along.”

“Probably frozen to death would be my guess.” But he softened the words with a grin. “Always happy to help a lady in distress.” A pretty lady, he should have said, but knew he couldn’t, or wouldn’t.

“I’m happy to do my fair share around here. I don’t want to be a burden. I can help with the chores, cook and clean. And I’ve got some money to help pay for the groceries, if you don’t mind taking a check. I didn’t bring much cash with me.”

“Don’t need your money or your help with the animals, though I appreciate the offer. But if you want to cook, that’s fine with me. That’s one chore I hate doing.” Pete’s brother was fond of saying that his beef stew tasted worse than fresh horse droppings. And John ought to know since he was Sweetheart’s one and only vet.

“I—” Suddenly Maddy placed her hand over her mouth, and all color drained from her face.

“What’s wrong?” Pete’s eyes widened, then filled with concern at her pasty appearance. “Are you going to be sick or something?” He looked horrified at the prospect.

Not daring to answer, she nodded, then raced for the bathroom, where she promptly gave up what she’d just eaten. While she was still retching into the toilet, Pete came up behind her and handed her a damp wash cloth.

“You got the flu?”

Wiping her mouth, she faced him, feeling mortified and afraid. The concern on his face made her eyes fill with tears. “I wish it were that simple.”

“Food allergies, huh? I hear they’re pretty common. My mom used to be allergic to eggs.”

There was no sense in lying or trying to hide the truth. Not when they had to live in the same house together. She took a deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”

“Pregnant!” Paling visibly, fear entered his eyes, which he masked with anger. “You’re pregnant and you were out driving in a snowstorm! How smart is that?” He turned away from her then, stalked back into the kitchen and began cursing under his breath.

Not knowing what else to do, she followed. “I’m sorry to have blurted it out like that. This is my first bout of morning sickness. I’ve been fine up till now.”

His fingers gripped the countertop as he stared unseeing out the window at the falling snow. When he finally got his emotions back under control he turned to face her. “I thought you said you weren’t married.”

Her ashen cheeks filled with color. “I’m not. It’s not a prerequisite these days.”

“Does your boyfriend know?”

“David’s not my boyfriend. He’s my boss. And he knows. He told me to have an abortion and not to come back to work until I had ‘solved my little problem,’ I believe was how he put it.”

“You must a either been drunk-on-your-ass or crazy-in-love to have gone to bed with an ass like that.”

“I was neither. And you forgot stupid. Stupid seems to be the operative word.”

He glanced down at her abdomen, which was still flat as a board. He knew it wouldn’t remain like that for much longer. Soon she’d be softly rounded, her breasts would enlarge, her skin would turn rosy and radiant. He remembered, all too well. “You’re not very far along.”

“Eight weeks. Look, Pete, I’m sorry to have dumped this on you, on top of everything else. It’s my problem and I’ll deal with it.”

“And that’s why you were going to Leadville to see your sister? To tell her about ‘your problem’?”

She heaved a sigh. “Mary Beth’s the only family I’ve got. I haven’t seen my dad in years. I—I need to talk to her, get some perspective on what I should do.” She needed a hug and consolation, and knew she’d get both from Mary Beth. Along with a large dose of levelheadedness.

“Sounds like you’ve already decided not to have an abortion.”

“I couldn’t. It wouldn’t be fair to the baby. He or she can’t help who their father is, or that their mother is an irresponsible lunatic.”

She looked so distraught that he wrapped a comforting arm about her shoulder and helped her back to the chair. Pete didn’t believe in kicking a body when it was already down, and Maggie looked about as low as a person could get at the moment. Besides, who was he to moralize? He’d certainly made his fair share of mistakes.

“Sit here. I’ll get you a glass of milk. That’ll probably go down a lot better than the orange juice. And you should eat some dry toast. I’ll fix it.”

“You can’t use the toaster.”

“I’m an Eagle Scout. I’ll improvise.” And he did, using the open flame of the gas jet to toast the bread golden brown.

“Tha…thank you.” His being nice made her want to cry, but she forced back the tears threatening to spill. She didn’t think Pete Taggart was the kind of man who did well with tears and weepy women.

Placing the milk and toast in front of her, he sat down beside her. “Eat. You’ll feel better.”

“I really think I should go. I—”

“No! I’ll not have another—” The wounded look in his eyes gave her pause.

He continued, “Have you looked outside? It’s still snowing like crazy. You won’t be going anywhere for a good long while, Maddy, so you may as well just get used to the idea that you’re stuck here with me.”

“But my clothes, the car…” She’d never felt so helpless. But at least she wasn’t alone, and for that she was grateful.

“I’ll saddle one of the draft horses and see if I can fetch your clothes. The car’ll have to remain where it is, until Willis can tow it into town. Trust me. No one’s going to bother it. Even a snowplow would have difficulty getting back in here now.”

“Quit trying to cheer me up.” She forced a strained smile.

He flicked the end of her nose and returned the smile. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Miz Potter, ma’am.”

This was just getting better and better, Maddy thought after he’d departed. Not only was she pregnant and unmarried, sick to her stomach and stuck out in the middle of nowhere with an arrogant rancher two weeks before Christmas, but she was starting to like Pete Taggart. And that would never do.

“I DON’T THINK YERK is a word. Are you sure you’re not trying to cheat by making that up?”

Dressed in the jeans and blue cashmere sweater Pete had fetched from the rental car, Maddy was lying flat on her stomach in front of the parlor fireplace facing him, the Scrabble board situated between them. “Of course, it’s a word. I admit, not many people use it, but it’s definitely a word.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “Guess I’m gonna have to challenge, then.”

She smiled confidently. “Go ahead. But if you’re wrong, I’m going to get the extra points, which means I’ll win the game.”

While Pete studied the dictionary, Maddy turned toward the fire, resting her head on her palm and staring into the blue and orange flames.

Playing Scrabble had been Pete’s idea, and she was having a wonderful time beating him. Of course, she’d never before played Scrabble or any other board game by firelight and lantern light—the generator still wasn’t fixed—which made the experience all that more fun and challenging.

“You win,” he conceded. “Still can’t believe yerk is a word. But it says right here—‘to beat vigorously, thrash.’” He slammed the dictionary closed.

“So, how about a game of cards, say strip poker? I’m better at that.”

There was a twinkle in his eye, making Maddy laugh, something she hadn’t done in quite a while.

“Maybe some other time. I’m too full from dinner right now to strip.”

“Those roast beef sandwiches you made were pretty good.”

“And don’t forget the chicken noodle soup. I’m dynamite with a can opener and water.”

“What shall we do now? It’s too early to go to bed.” Though going to bed with Maddy Potter would be a helluva lot more stimulating than playing board games. Stimulating but not smart.

She glanced up at the tall grandfather clock ticking away in the far corner. “Eight’s a bit early for me, too.” She thought a moment. “Got any marshmallows? I love roasting marshmallows. And we could have some hot chocolate, if you’ve got any.”

“Wait here,” he said, launching himself to his feet, grateful to have something to take his mind off the tightening in his groin. “I can do better than that.” He returned a few minutes later, carrying a large wooden tray containing a box of graham crackers, a few chocolate bars and a bag of marshmallows. “No hot chocolate, but I’ve got the fixings for s’mores.”

“Ooh!” she said, clapping her hands. “I haven’t fixed those since I was a kid.”

He removed the fireplace screen and handed her a long metal skewer. My mom loved doing this, so she had my dad make her some ‘marshmallow sticks,’ as she called them.” The memory brought a sad smile to his face. His mother had died three years ago from breast cancer. First Bethany, then his mom. All the women in his life were gone. It had been a hard burden to bear.

They sat shoulder to shoulder in companionable silence, Rufus nestled right up against Maddy’s back. When Maddy bit into her first s’more she made a moan of satisfaction that went straight to Pete’s lap. “These are yummy! I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

With her hair in a ponytail and an exuberant smile on her face, Maddy looked like a teenager, not a twenty-nine-year-old woman who was going to have a child. He cleared his throat. “Uh, have you been having any weird cravings lately?” he asked, trying to get his mind back on track.

She shook her head. “Not really. I eat just about everything anyway, so there’s not much I crave.”

“How do you feel about having this baby? Are you happy now that you’ve gotten used to the idea?”

She looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Who says I’m used to the idea? My body’s still the same as it was. I’ll probably feel a whole lot different when my belly grows to the size of a watermelon and my breasts—” She caught herself just in time. What on earth was she doing discussing breasts with a virtual stranger?

He grinned at her embarrassment. “You can say ‘breasts,’ Maddy. I’m quite familiar with those particular body parts. We ranchers have loads of experience.” And she certainly had a fine pair, he couldn’t help notice.

“Well, I’m not used to discussing things like this with anyone. I was so busy working that I didn’t develop many close female friends. And most of the men I worked with on Madison Avenue didn’t discuss female body parts as a topic of dinner conversation.”

Chocolate dribbled down her chin, and he reached over and scooped it up with his finger, then lifted it. “Stuffed shirts.”

The erotic gesture made Maddy’s stomach tighten, though she tried her best to ignore it. “Have you been ranching long?”

“All my life. I love it, though my two brothers don’t feel the same as me. John became a vet, and Mark, who’s a chef, owns a bed-and-breakfast in town called The Sweetheart Inn. The place I mentioned was full.”

“A chef. Now there’s a handy man to have around.”

“He’s divorced if you want to meet him.”

Her eyes widened at the offer. “No thanks! I’ve pretty much sworn off men for the time being. Besides, I doubt many men would jump at the chance at meeting a pregnant woman.”

“You’d be surprised. There aren’t that many eligible women in town, unless you count our librarian and resident spinster Ella Grady, but she’s sixty-four.”

Maddy smiled before asking, “You said you’d been married. Are you divorced, too?”

He paused a moment before answering, as if considering whether he would. “Widowed. Four years now.”

At the pain she saw reflected in his eyes, she reached out to touch his hand. It was obvious he was still mourning the loss of his wife. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried.”

He shrugged. “Time heals all wounds. Isn’t that what they say?” Too bad it wasn’t true.

She smiled ruefully. “Time’s not going to heal what ails me. It’s only going to ripen things, I fear.”

“A pregnant woman’s a beautiful sight to behold,” he said, remembering. “And you’ve only got seven more months to go, then you’ll have a son or daughter.”

“The thought terrifies me. I don’t know a thing about being a mother, raising a child. Or how I’m going to work to support it yet still be at home to care for my son or daughter. Single motherhood wasn’t something they taught in college.”

“Not even at Vassar?” He couldn’t help his teasing smile.

“They were more into teaching prevention. Guess I was out sick that day.”

“Quit being so tough on yourself, Maddy. People make mistakes. That’s just part of life.”

“True. But my mistake is going to be a living, breathing human being. And I’m the one who’s going to be responsible for every facet of its life. It’s an awesome responsibility, and one I’m not sure I can handle.”

“You’ve got your sister. I’m sure she’ll help out. That’s what family’s for.” He wouldn’t have been able to cope after Bethany’s death, if it hadn’t been for his brothers. John and Mark had been there for him in all the ways that counted.

“Mary Beth’s always wanted a child, but she and Lyle can’t conceive. I’m not sure how she’s going to react to the news that I’m pregnant. It could cause problems between us.”

“Have you thought about giving up the baby and allowing your sister to raise it? That would solve both her problem and yours.”

Her hand moved to her abdomen, and her eyes softened. “I have, but I don’t think I can give up my child, even to Mary Beth. Oh, I know she’d be a fabulous mother, and Lyle’s a wonderful man. The baby would have a good home. But—” She shook her head. “It’s my baby. I…I don’t expect you to understand.”

“But I do. Bethany was six months pregnant when she died. I lost my wife and my son in one fell swoop, so don’t think I don’t know what loss is, because I do. I know very well.” He rose to his feet and walked out, leaving Maddy alone to sort through the mess of her life. And his.