Читать книгу Baby, You're Mine - Peggy Moreland, Peggy Moreland - Страница 8

Woodrow had thought Elizabeth would sleep during the drive to Tanner’s Crossing. At least that was the impression she’d given him, when she’d tipped her head back against the seat and closed her eyes as he’d pulled away from her house. But she hadn’t slept. He knew, because her facial muscles had remained tense throughout the drive and she’d kept her hands knotted together on her lap so tightly her knuckles gleamed a pearly white in the darkness. He’d considered asking her to take over the wheel, so he could sleep. After twenty-four hours without any, he could use a little shut-eye. But after sizing her up, he’d opted to remain in the driver’s seat. The woman was skinnier than a rail and looked as weak as a newborn calf, which made him question her ability to handle a truck the size of his.

When he stopped in front of his log house, she finally gave up the possum act and sat up.

“Are we here?” she asked.

Her voice sounded a bit rusty after three hours without use.

“Yeah,” he replied, then clarified, “at my place.”

She whipped her head around, her eyes wide in alarm. “But I thought we were going to your brother’s home.”

He gestured at the windshield and the darkness beyond. “It’s not daylight yet. Everyone will still be in bed. I figured we’d catch a couple hours sleep, then head over to the Bar T.” Without waiting for a reply, he pushed open his door and hopped to the ground. He stretched his arms above his head to smooth out the kinks the drive had left in his back, then dropped his arms with a weary sigh and rounded the hood.

As he opened her door, he saw that her eyes were riveted on the dark house behind him. “Problem?” he asked.

Her gaze snapped to his. She gulped, then forced a polite smile. “I appreciate your consideration. Really I do. But I’m not the least bit tired. Couldn’t we just go to your brother’s?”

“And chance waking Ace up before he’s gotten a full night’s rest?” Shaking his head, he offered her a hand. “Trust me. That’s not something you want to do.”

She gave the dark house another uneasy look, before accepting his hand. “Why not?” she asked as she climbed down.

The moment her feet touched the ground, he released her and reached into the back to lift out her suitcase. “Because he’s meaner than a grizzly if he’s awakened before he’s ready to rise.” He tipped his head toward the house, indicating for her to precede him up the rock walk that led to the front porch. “One time when we were out camping during a roundup, Rory and me woke him up from a dead sleep and ’fore we knew what was happening, he had us between the sights of his shotgun.”

She jerked to a stop on the porch, her eyes wide in dismay. “He was going to shoot you?”

He gave her a nudge with the suitcase, urging her on to the door. “Didn’t hang around long enough to find out. Me and Rory hightailed it out of there so fast, Ace was spittin’ dust for a week.”

He pushed the door open, then waited for her to enter before him. “Light switch is on the left,” he instructed.

As she fumbled a hand on the rough-hewn wall in search of the switch, Elizabeth wondered what had possessed her to agree to making this trip. At the very least, she should have insisted upon driving her own car. If she had, she could be on her way to a hotel right now, rather than searching for a light switch in a strange man’s house and worrying about her safety.

Berating herself for the uncustomary impulsiveness, she found the switch and flipped it on. Light flooded the space, exposing a large room. A stone fireplace stood opposite her, wood stacked ready in a copper tub on its hearth. Before it, a round, braided rag rug was spread, covering a large portion of the heart-of-pine flooring. A small kitchen opened to the left of the fireplace, and a closed door stood at its right. To her surprise, she found his home warm and inviting, which helped ease her fears a bit.

“You can bunk down in here,” he said as he crossed to open the closed door. He flipped on the overhead light, then tossed her suitcase onto the massive bed that dominated the small room.

Elizabeth stopped in the doorway and stared, knowing by the personal items scattered about that this was his room. “Where will you sleep?” she asked uneasily.

“On the sofa.” He leaned to turn on a lamp beside the bed. “If you’re worried about hygiene, the sheets are clean. Changed ’em myself before I left for Dallas yesterday morning.”

The intimacy suggested in sleeping in a strange man’s bed had her taking a nervous step back. “There’s no need for you to give up your bed. I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

“And have my stepmother rolling in her grave?” He shook his head. “No, ma’am. ‘Guests take priority over comfort.’ That’s what Momma Lee always said.”

He whipped back the crazy quilt that covered the bed, then turned for the door. “The bath’s through there,” he said, flapping a hand over his shoulder to indicate a partially open door behind him. “Fresh towels and wash cloths are in the linen chest beside the shower stall. If you wake up first, the coffee makings are in the kitchen cupboard above the percolator. ’Night,” he said and closed the door behind him.

Elizabeth stared at the door for a good thirty seconds, before finding her voice. “G-good night.”

Woodrow lay sprawled on the sofa, one arm draped over his eyes and a hand splayed over his belly, the tips of three fingers pushed beneath the waistband of his boxer shorts. Though he usually slept in the raw, since he had a guest in the house, he’d thought it best to leave on his shorts. He wasn’t modest, but he figured if the doc woke up first and came in to make coffee and caught him sacked out on the sofa in his birthday suit, she’d probably drop dead from a heart attack.

He heard a scratch on the door and swore under his breath, having forgotten about his dog. With a weary sigh, he rolled to his feet, opened the door a crack, just wide enough for Blue to slip through, then shut it and stretched back out on the sofa. A wet nose bumped his arm, followed by a pitiful whimper.

“Sorry, mutt,” he grumbled. “There’s not room for both of us up here.” He lifted a hand and pointed to the rug in front of the fireplace. “You get the rug.”

Blue slunk over to the fireplace and flopped down on the rug. The dog let out a low woof to let Woodrow know she didn’t like the arrangement, then dropped her head between her paws. Within minutes, both Woodrow and Blue were snoring.

In the next room, Elizabeth lay beneath the covers, wide-eyed, forcing herself to take long, even breaths. It wasn’t fear of the man in the other room that kept her awake.

It was regret.

Renee.

Though tears burned behind her eyes and clogged her throat, she couldn’t cry. But, oh God, how she wanted to. She wanted to throw open the floodgates and let loose all the emotions she’d suppressed for so many years. Cry until there were no more tears left to be shed, empty herself of every last drop of grief, unwind every thread of restraint, every layer of composure she’d bound herself with for years in order to survive.

Renee.

Even now she could see her younger sister. The white-blond ringlets Elizabeth had lovingly combed and adorned with ribbons each day before sending her younger sister off to school. The sky blue eyes with the mystical power to light up a room or melt the hardest of hearts. The classically beautiful features that Elizabeth had envied so much.

Oh, Renee, she thought sadly. Where did I go wrong? What could I have done differently? Why did you keep running away? What were you running away from?

But the dark room offered up no answers, no insight into the questions that had haunted Elizabeth for years.

Rolling to her side, she gathered the covers to her chin and squeezed her eyes shut, determined to sleep. Using a technique her therapist had suggested to help with the insomnia she suffered, she imagined herself in a peaceful, stress-free environment. With slow, even strokes, she painted in her mind a field of wildflowers and a stream shaded by trees, their low-hanging branches dipping into the deep, clear water, like long graceful fingers. She placed herself there, stretched out alongside the stream on a soft bed of crushed grass. Scents wafted beneath her nose. The musky smell of rotted leaves and the sharper, sweeter scent of the crushed flowers she lay upon. The sound of the water bubbling over the rocks and the birds chirping in the trees nearby soothed her frayed nerves, while the breeze riffling through her hair and the relaxing warmth of the sun on her face melted the tension from her body. She stretched lazily, content—

Stiffening, she flipped open her eyes, jerked from the relaxing scene by a sound. The door opening? she wondered, straining to hear. She listened a moment, wondering if perhaps it was Woodrow. She lifted her head to look toward the door, but saw nothing in the darkness. Telling herself she was imagining things, with a frustrated sigh she dropped her head back to the pillow and closed her eyes. She forced her mind back to the peaceful scene, imagining again the field of wildflowers, the stream tumbling over moss-covered rocks. Gradually the tension eased from her body.

She slept.

A blood-curdling scream rent the air. Woodrow sat bolt upright at the chilling sound, his heart lodged in his throat. Disoriented for a moment, he blinked once. Blinked again. Then he remembered the doc and vaulted from the sofa.

He threw open the bedroom door and hit the overhead light switch. Squinting his eyes against the sudden glare, he focused his gaze on the bed. The doc sat huddled against the headboard, fully dressed, her knees hugged to her chest, her hands clamped over her face.

Blue lay in her customary spot at the foot of his bed.

“Dang you, Blue,” he complained. He caught the dog by the scruff of the neck and hauled the animal to the floor. “Out,” he ordered, pointing to the door.

Blue slunk from the room, her tail tucked between her legs.

He turned to the doc. “It was just Blue,” he explained, then added, “my dog.”

Her shoulders drooped in relief and she lowered her hands. “I thought—”

She stopped midsentence, her eyes rounding. She quickly averted her gaze, her cheeks flaming a bright red.

Woodrow glanced down and swore, having forgotten he was wearing nothing but his drawers. But he wasn’t about to apologize. Not when it was her scream that had jerked him from a sound sleep and had him barreling into the bedroom.

“You’re lucky I’ve got on shorts,” he grumbled as he turned for the den. “Usually I sleep in the raw.”

Elizabeth didn’t even attempt to go back to sleep. The dog had scared the life out of her when it had jumped onto the bed, but opening her eyes to find Woodrow standing beside the bed, wearing nothing but…

Gulping, she leapt from the bed and all but ran for the bathroom. After locking the door behind her, she bent over the sink and splashed cold water over her flushed face. She groped blindly for a towel and buried her face in its softness.

But she couldn’t block the image of the near-naked Woodrow that seemed engraved behind her lids.

Oh, God, was all she could think, gulping again. He was so…so male. The broad shoulders. The wide, muscled chest shadowed by dark hair. Arms rippling with muscle. Wide, strong hands. Long, powerful legs stretching from the hem of the powder-blue boxers.

Usually I sleep in the raw.

She groaned, remembering what he’d said, and pressed the towel tighter against her face, trying not to think about what lay beneath those powder-blue boxers. She was a grown woman, she reminded herself sternly. A doctor, for heaven’s sake! It wasn’t as if she wasn’t familiar with the male anatomy. She’d dealt with dozens of male patients during her medical training and residency. And she and Ted had been intimate for over two years.

She dragged the towel from her face and fisted her hands in it on the edge of the sink, staring at her flushed face. But the sight of Ted’s naked body had never left her feeling as weak-kneed and needy as seeing Woodrow in that same state.

Drawing in a deep breath, she unfurled her fingers from the towel. “It was the shock,” she told her reflection. Opening her eyes to find Woodrow standing beside the bed in his underwear had been a shock, nothing more.

Though her knees were still a bit unsteady, she turned away from the sink and went back into the bedroom to collect her suitcase. Since she was awake, she decided she might as well freshen up and prepare for her meeting with Woodrow’s family and her niece.

It was obvious she wasn’t going to get any more sleep.

Not when she knew that a half-naked Woodrow lay sleeping in the next room.

Woodrow paused at the front door, his hand on the knob. “They’re good people,” he told the doc, hoping to plead Ace and Maggie’s case one last time before introducing his brother and sister-in-law to Elizabeth. “They love that kid like she was their own.”

Tightening her fingers on her shoulder bag, she gave him a brisk nod. “I’m sure they are,” she replied. “I’m grateful for the care they’ve given my niece.”

Which didn’t offer Woodrow a clue as to whether she intended to sign over to Ace and Maggie whatever claim she might have on the kid.

With a sigh, he opened the door and pushed it wide, gesturing for the doc to precede him into the house. “We’re here,” he called loudly as he followed her inside.

Ace appeared in the doorway to the study, looking as if he hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in a month. His eyes were bloodshot and his jaw shadowed by at least two days’ worth of stubble.

He started toward them, a hand extended to Elizabeth. “Ace Tanner,” he said by way of greeting, then glanced behind him. “And this,” he said, reaching to loop an arm around his wife’s waist and draw her forward, “is my wife, Maggie.”

The doc shook first Ace’s hand, then Maggie’s, her expression unchanging, her face a cool mask. “Elizabeth Montgomery. It’s nice to meet you both.”

Maggie nodded a tight-lipped greeting, but said nothing. Woodrow wondered what was wrong with her. Usually his sister-in-law was friendlier than a pup and talkative as a magpie. But this morning she seemed withdrawn, even resentful.

Ace opened an arm in invitation. “Why don’t we move into the den, where we can talk more comfortably.”

Elizabeth went first. Maggie followed a slow second. Woodrow fell into line behind his sister-in-law and gave Ace a questioning look as he passed by his brother. Ace lifted a shoulder and mouthed “later,” before following Woodrow into the den.

“Maggie baked a batch of cinnamon rolls this morning,” Ace offered, “and there’s a fresh pot of coffee.”

Woodrow dropped down onto the sofa next to the doc and rubbed a hand over his stomach. “You won’t hear me turning down any of Maggie’s cooking.”

Ace turned to Elizabeth. “How about you?”

Placing her purse primly on her lap, she folded her hands over it. “No, thank you,” she said politely.

“You sure?” Ace asked. “Maggie makes a mean cinnamon roll.”

“I’m quite sure they’re delicious, but I don’t care for anything, thank you.”

Ace lifted a shoulder. “Whatever you say.” He started for the door, but Maggie beat him there by a foot.

“I’ll make Woodrow a plate,” she told Ace and darted from the room before he could stop her.

Stifling a sigh, Ace retraced his steps and sank down on an overstuffed chair opposite the sofa. He forced a smile. “How was the trip from Dallas?”

Woodrow glanced at the doc to see if she was going to respond. When she didn’t, he said, “It was fine. We hit Tanner’s Crossing before dawn, so we stopped by the house to catch a few Zs before heading over here.”

Ace nodded, then seemed at a loss as to what to say to fill the awkward silence that followed.

The doc solved the problem for him.

“I’d like to see my niece, if that’s all right with you.”

“She’s still asleep. I thought we’d visit for awhile until she wakes up.”

Woodrow could tell by the way the doc pursed her lips, she didn’t want to wait, but she nodded her agreement.

Maggie returned with a tray and set it on the coffee table in front of Woodrow.

“You like your coffee black, right, Woodrow?”

He eyed the plate of cinnamon rolls, his mouth watering in anticipation. “Yeah. And about a dozen of those rolls, if you don’t mind.”

Maggie filled a cup with coffee, then transferred two rolls to a plate and passed it to him.

Woodrow balanced the plate on his thigh and, ignoring the fork she’d provided, picked up a roll and took a healthy-size bite. Groaning, he closed his eyes. “Damn, Maggie. If you weren’t already married, I swear I’d drop down on a knee and propose.”

“You propose?” she repeated, then snorted a laugh as she sank down on the chair next to Ace. “I thought you were a confirmed bachelor?”

He gulped a swallow of coffee to wash down the roll, then dragged the back of his hand across his mouth. “I am. But a man would be a fool to let a woman who can cook as good as you get away.”

Ace laid a possessive hand on Maggie’s leg. “Sorry, bro. She’s taken.”

Elizabeth cleared her throat, drawing their attention to her.

“Woodrow was unable to tell me how Renee died.” She looked to Maggie, directing the question to her. “He said that you’d know.”

“Preeclampsia.”

“Toxemia,” Elizabeth said thoughtfully, then frowned. “I would think her obstetrician would’ve caught the signs early enough to take the necessary precautions.”

Maggie shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “He might’ve if Star had seen him regularly. From what her doctor told me, after verifying her pregnancy, Star never returned to his office for her prenatal checkups.”

An infant’s cry had all four adults jerking to attention.

Maggie leapt to her feet. “That’s Laura. I’ll get her.”

The doc rose and placed a hand on Maggie’s arm, stopping her.

“May I?” she asked, then added, “Please?”

Maggie opened her mouth, as if to deny Elizabeth’s request. Then flopped back down on her chair and turned her head away. “The nursery’s the third door on the left.”

Elizabeth followed the sound of the baby’s cries down the hall, silently counting the doors she passed. At the third, she paused to take a deep breath, then twisted open the door and stepped inside.

Sunlight greeted her, spilling from tall windows on either side of a crib placed against the opposite wall. A mobile of colorful farm animals bobbed at the crib’s head, set into motion by the infant’s fussing. Bumper pads covered in pink-and-white gingham lined the crib’s sides, blocking Elizabeth’s view of the baby. Though she knew her niece lay only a few feet away, she hung back, frightened to take that first step nearer.

Would the baby look like Renee? she worried. Would she have Renee’s blond curly hair? Her mesmerizing blue eyes? Her dainty features? Would she, Elizabeth, be able to bear it, if the infant did look like Renee?

As the infant’s cries grew stronger, she took a cautious step nearer. Another, and a tiny fist appeared above the bumper pads, batting angrily at the air. Another step and she had a clear view of the baby. Her chest tightened painfully at the sight. My niece, she thought, gulping. She took the last step and closed her hands over the top rail of the crib, looked down.

An angel, was all she could think. Though the infant’s face was flushed an angry red and tears streaked her cheeks, Elizabeth was sure she was looking into the face of an angel.

The infant’s cries rose higher.

Gulping, Elizabeth forced her fingers from the death grip she had on the rail and reached for the baby. She lifted her carefully, turning for the rocker placed before the window as she drew the infant to her breasts. So tiny, she thought as she sank down, her gaze fixed on the infant’s features. So perfect. She stroked a finger beneath the baby’s eye, and the infant stopped crying and blinked up at her. Startling blue eyes glimmered with crystal tears.

Oh, God, she thought, as emotion rose to close her throat. Renee. She looks just like Renee had as a baby. The same eyes. The same curly, white-blond hair. Blinded by her own tears, she caught the baby’s hand and brought it her cheek, held it there. A tear slipped over her bottom lid and fell to splatter on the infant’s gown, leaving a wet spot to spread on the delicate pink fabric.

Oh, Renee, she cried silently, as the crack in the dam opened, releasing a flood of emotion. Why did you have to die?

Ace sat on the edge of his chair, his elbows on his knees, the heels of his hands dug into his forehead. Maggie paced in front of the fireplace, one arm hugged at her waist, nervously worrying a thumbnail between her teeth.

Reared back on the sofa, Woodrow watched them. He’d never seen two more uptight people in his life. But he supposed he understood their concern. Even shared a bit of it. After all, the doc had been in the nursery for over ten minutes with the kid.

“Do you want me to go and check on her?” he asked.

Maggie stopped her pacing. “Oh, Woodrow,” she said, her face crumpling in a mixture of relief and desperation. “Would you?”

Ace glanced up. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “She’s entitled to a little time alone with the kid.”

“But she’s been back there forever!” Maggie cried. “Laura’s bound to be hungry. I’ll get a bottle,” she said and headed for the door.

Ace bolted from his chair and caught her by the arm. “No, Maggie. Give the woman some time.”

She struggled to break free. “But, Ace—”

He caught her by both arms and gave her a firm shake. “Maggie. It’s only fair.”

She dropped her forehead to his chest. “Oh, Ace,” she cried, clinging to him. “Please don’t let her take Laura away. Please. Don’t let her take her.”

“Ah, Maggie.” Cupping a hand at the nape of her neck, he rested his chin on the top of her head, his Adam’s apple bobbing convulsively. “We’re going to do everything we can to keep Laura with us. I promise, we will.”

Unable to sit by and watch his brother and sister-in-law suffer a minute longer, Woodrow pushed to his feet. “I’ll check on the doc. See if she wants to give the kid a bottle.”

Ace looked up. “Thanks, Woodrow,” he said gratefully. Murmuring softly to Maggie, he drew her back to the chair and pulled her down onto his lap.

Blowing out a long breath, Woodrow headed down the hall for the nursery. He stopped outside the closed door, unsure if he should knock or just walk in. Undecided, he leaned his ear close to the door and listened. Not hearing a sound, he pressed his ear against the wood but still didn’t hear anything. Frowning, he straightened and twisted open the door.

The doc sat in the rocking chair in front of the window, the baby clutched to her breasts. She had her cheek pressed to the infant’s and her eyes squeezed shut.

He took a cautious step inside. “Doc?” he said quietly.

When she didn’t respond, he crossed to the rocker and dropped down on a knee in front of her. “Doc?” he said again. “You okay?”

She opened her eyes and the grief, the sadness he saw behind the lenses of her glasses, nearly broke his heart.

“R-Renee,” she said and clutched the baby tighter against her chest. “She l-looks just like Re-Renee.”

Woodrow was at a loss as to what to say, what to do. “I wouldn’t know.”

“I—I—” A sob rose, choking her. She dropped her head back and gulped, blinking furiously. “I c-couldn’t stop h-her. Sh-she kept running a-away.”

He laid a hand on her knee, sure that she was talking about her sister. “I doubt it was your fault.”

She dropped her chin to look at the baby and a tear slid down her face. “It-it was my fault. I was s-supposed to take c-are of her. W-watch after her.”

The tears fell faster now, a steady stream of misery that Woodrow was helpless to stem. Sobs shook her shoulders, seemed to wrack her entire body. He gave her a knee a reassuring squeeze.

“Come on, Doc,” he said, trying his best to calm her down. “Crying so hard like that…you’ll make yourself sick.”

She hugged the baby tighter, rocking slowly back and forth, sobbing uncontrollably.

“Woodrow?”

He glanced behind him and saw Ace standing in the doorway. Maggie stood behind him, straining to see over his shoulder. Both of their faces were creased in concern.

Scowling, he stood. “Here,” he said quietly to the doc and reached for the baby. “Let me take her.” He quickly carried the infant to Ace and handed her over. “The doc’s upset,” he said, stating the obvious. “I’ll take her home with me and see if I calm her down.”