Читать книгу Her Baby's Father - Rebecca York - Страница 8

In the moment between sleep and waking, Sara remembered hearing voices. Talking about her.

What was it they’d been saying?

She scrabbled to get a sense of the conversation. They’d come to take her to a place that was warm and safe. Where all her troubles would vanish like mist evaporating in the heat of the sun.

Then they’d changed their minds. Or one of them had. When the other had objected, the first one had persuaded him to go along.

Him? Were they men? They had sounded both gentle and commanding. If that was possible.

Before she could decide, she jerked awake. She was in her car. On her way to the hospital?

Could that be right?

Hazy memories swam through her mind, and she struggled to make them come clear.

The last thing she recalled was the car skidding down a long hill on a snow-slick road and crashing into a truck, but that couldn’t be true.

She looked around at tall trees with new green leaves, filtering bright sunlight. Below them were blooming azaleas and carefully planted beds of bright annuals—impatiens and begonias.

Not winter. Spring.

But the snowstorm had seemed so real. Obviously she’d dreamed it.

Disoriented, she struggled to remember why she was here and what she was doing.

Recollections surfaced as she focused on a huge white house with a circular brick drive and Doric columns holding up the two-story front porch. Tara in Howard County, Maryland, she’d called it. Conveniently situated between Washington, D.C., and Baltimore.

She knew the inside layout of the mansion. Six bedrooms. Six bathrooms. A great room and a kitchen as big as the modest home where she’d grown up. This house was too big for any one family, as far as she was concerned. It was the kind of ostentatious property people bought when they wanted you to know how well they were doing.

It was also way out of her price range, but she wasn’t planning to buy it. She’d been hired to stage the place for an important client, a rush job that had kept her here from early in the morning until early afternoon. Real-estate agent Pam Reynolds was paying extra because she had a live one on the hook.

Sara had worked feverishly to get the property ready, using two of the college students who helped her out part-time when she needed to move big pieces of furniture.

After they’d left, she’d climbed into her car to catch a few minutes of sleep before Pam arrived.

She blinked, still feeling like her brain wasn’t quite engaging with reality. The images and emotions from the vivid dream simply wouldn’t go away. It wasn’t just that she’d been driving through a snowstorm. She’d been on the way to the hospital—because she was having a baby.

A baby! Oh, please. She wasn’t even dating anyone. And she wasn’t the type for one-night stands.

Somehow her unconscious mind must have conjured up that scenario from an old movie or TV show.

But now it was time to get back to the real world.

She pulled down the sun visor and looked at her face in the mirror, fluffing her shoulder-length blond hair a little. Then she stroked on a little lip gloss. She had just slipped the tube back into her purse when a silver Mercedes pulled up in the circular driveway, and Pam got out.

She was tall and fit, with a halo of ash-blond hair, and was wearing a tailored pantsuit today.

Smiling, she came over to Sara’s car. “Are we all set?”

“I think so,” Sara answered, hoping it was true.

“Thanks for the rush job. I appreciate it.”

Sara climbed out and shut the door, then, as she stood beside the car, she looked down at her body, expecting to see the swollen belly and big breasts that had been the hallmarks of her advanced pregnancy. Instead she was lithe and slim in jeans, a yellow T-shirt and tennis shoes. Her work clothes.

She should get out of here before Pam’s high-priced client arrived.

Her breath caught. No. She needed to stay because this was the day…

The thought trailed off in confusion again as she tried to remember what was so important.

“Let’s take a look,” Pam was saying. “I always love to see your work. Did you use that antique armoire that I admired so much?”

“I think so.”

Pam peered at her. “You look a little…pale. Are you feeling okay?”

“A little sleep deprived, I guess.”

“Sorry I got you up so early.”

“It’s okay.”

Pam wiped her palm on a pants leg in an uncharacteristic show of nerves. “I’m glad you’re here. Since that murder last week, I’ve felt kind of spooked, staying in a vacant house by myself.”

Murder? Sara scrambled to dredge up what Pam was referring to, then remembered that a woman real-estate agent had been raped and murdered in an empty house where she’d been waiting to meet a client. The man had showed up and taken advantage of the isolated location. So far the cops had no leads, and it seemed all of the women in the local real-estate business were on edge.

Sara had thought about that when she’d been working at this three-acre property early in the morning. But Peter and Brad had been here most of the time. They’d only left a little while ago—and taken her truck back to the warehouse space where she stored the furniture and knickknacks she used in her work.

The real-estate agent hurried up the front steps and stepped into the house.

Sara followed more slowly, marveling at how much easier it was to walk without all the extra weight of advanced pregnancy. She’d forgotten how it felt not to be dragging around the equivalent of a couple of gallon jugs of water.

No, wait. Had she really been pregnant? She was still having trouble sorting reality from…what?

Not a dream. More like a different reality.

When Pam glanced back, Sara hurried to catch up. Inside, her gaze swept over the work that she’d completed this morning, starting with the antique side table that she’d centered along one wall of the large foyer. On the polished surface sat a whimsical elephant lamp and one of the orchids that she kept in the greenhouse in the back of a friend’s garage. They were easy to grow, bloomed for months and always added a touch of elegance.

On the wall was an ornate mirror that she’d patched up with spackling compound and refinished herself.

Finding and fixing up pieces that would work as part of the rooms she furnished was both her skill and her pleasure.

“The elephant’s a nice touch,” Pam remarked. “Garage sale or auction?”

“Garage sale. The base was coming off, but I superglued it back together. Love that stuff.”

Pam headed for the kitchen where Sara had used Dansk Kobenstyle casseroles, tall glass jars of preserved herbs and red-and-white-checkered dish towel accents. The round table was set with more garage-sale plates and goblets. The centerpiece was a bowl of mixed citrus fruit.

Pam eyed the display. “Aren’t those old casseroles expensive? Where did you find them?”

She was glad Pam had asked. The questions about her work were tying her more firmly to the present. And she was relieved to discover that the answer came more easily than she might have expected. “On eBay. I get ones that have hard use and fix them up.”

Pam made a dismissive sound. “How can you fix up a metal casserole?”

“With spray paint.”

“Clever.”

“Of course, you can’t put them in the oven,” she added, anxious to make a full disclosure.

“Nobody’s going to cook in them. And they’re a lot more interesting than the plastic food you see in so many model houses.”

As Sara showed Pam the property, the scene became increasingly real to her.

She remembered carefully draping the colorful Peruvian shawl on the tan sofa and arranging candles in the fireplace.

She and the boys had done only one bedroom, but it was a masterpiece of sophistication, using earth tones with touches of bright color.

“If this doesn’t hook Ted Morgan, nothing will,” Pam murmured.

Ted Morgan? Not the right Morgan. “I’m sorry. I forgot who he is,” she stammered.

Pam took in her perplexed look. “Come on. Morgan Enterprises. They’re into everything from construction projects to oil exploration.”

“Uh-huh,” she murmured.

Pam put a hand on Sara’s arm. “Stay here with me after he arrives, okay?”

Sara’s heart started to pound. She remembered this conversation from the first time.

“You’re nervous?” she managed to ask.

“A little. Ted’s a big deal around here. He’s getting married, and he wants a family home.”

“This is the kind of house where the kids and the parents would never have to see each other.”

Pam laughed. “If that’s what he wants, fine with me. He’s a very rich man who can get me a six percent commission on two million dollars.”

“Well, that does put him into perspective.”

Sara knew Pam was doing well as a real-estate agent and living a high-flying lifestyle she wanted to maintain. Sara, on the other hand, wasn’t into “lifestyle.” Instead she was willing to live modestly to build her business. Money had never been that important to her. Well, it had become more important when she’d discovered she’d need to support a baby on her own. And the Morgans were doing their best to make her want to move away. But that was getting way ahead of herself.

There was no baby. Not yet.

She shook her head, grappling with the continuing confusion of what was then and what was now. But she suddenly knew what day this was. The day she had met Jack Morgan. The father of her child.

Because she couldn’t simply stand there, she turned and headed back to the kitchen to stow her purse in one of the lower cabinets. Straightening, she gripped the kitchen counter, the hard surface helping to anchor her.

Outside, the sound of a car pulling up made her heart begin to pound inside her chest with a mixture of excitement and dread.

She understood the excitement and struggled to banish the dread.

Pam rushed to the window and peered out. “He’s here.”

She kept staring, and Sara waited to hear what she was going to say.

What if this was the wrong day? What if Sara was totally crazy?

Pam’s next words settled the question. “I guess Ted doesn’t trust his own judgment. Or he wants outside approval. He’s got someone with him. I think it’s his older brother, Jack Morgan.”

Jack Morgan!

Oh, Lord. The reality of hearing Pam speak his name was like a kick to the solar plexus. This really was the day everything turned golden—and at the same time started to unravel.

Thank goodness the other woman was already out the door and starting down the steps, because Sara knew her face must reflect the jumble of emotions surging through her.

Anticipation. Shock. Relief. Fear. Sadness.

All of those.

“Jack,” she whispered. “Oh, Lord, Jack.”

She felt numb. Jack was dead. He’d been murdered ten months ago. Or ten months in the future if you granted the outrageous idea that Sara had been sent back to her own past by forces she would never understand.

But one thing she knew for sure. Jack’s death was in the future of this current reality because he was alive now. Through the open door she could see Pam hurrying down the steps to meet him and his brother.

“I’m so glad you could make it,” she said to the other man—Ted Morgan. The one who cared about having a grand house he could show off to visitors.

Which was so different from Jack’s attitude about his home. She knew he didn’t give a fig about appearances. He’d never been into flaunting his wealth. And his stint in the army had helped solidify his values.

He trailed behind his brother, looking like this was the last place on earth he wanted to be. Feeling light-headed, she steadied herself with a hand against the side table in the hall, trying to arrange her features and her understanding of what was happening.

A few minutes ago she’d been driving alone in a snowstorm, on her way to the hospital to deliver Jack’s baby. The baby who would never know his father. Now she was going meet him for the first time.

That couldn’t be a coincidence. It must mean something important.

Or was this all a cruel joke? A reminder of how much she’d lost? Maybe there was another explanation for what she thought she was experiencing now. Just the opposite of what she’d been thinking. She’d been in an auto accident. Was she lying in the hospital in a coma, hovering between life and death, dreaming all this?

She pressed her hand against the surface of the table. It didn’t feel like a dream. It felt as real as the first time she’d lived through this day, only every moment was overlaid with what she knew about the future.

She wanted to scream a warning to Jack. And to pledge to whoever had put her here that she wouldn’t waste this opportunity.

Dimly she remembered the conversation that had swirled around her after the car crash. She hadn’t seen who was talking, but she’d heard two voices arguing about her fate. And now here she was being given a second chance to make everything come out differently.

But how? Last time she and Jack had been relentlessly swept along by events they couldn’t control.

She straightened her spine. This time, since she knew what was going to happen, she could change everything. Well, she knew the end result. But that wasn’t enough. Could she figure out who wanted Jack dead and why? Then stop the killer from murdering him?

She clenched her fist, digging her nails into the tender flesh of her palm.

If she wanted it badly enough, maybe she could change history. Well, nothing so grand as the history of the world. Just Jack’s history—and her own.

Her pulse was pounding as she watched the two men come up the walk with Pam. The real-estate agent was engaged in an animated conversation with Ted. Jack followed a little behind, walking with the slightly awkward gait of a man who’d almost lost his leg, then spent months getting the muscles and ligaments to work properly.

The injury was the result of a roadside bomb in Afghanistan. It wasn’t the only consequence of the explosion. He’d been thrown forward in the vehicle, dislocating his shoulder. Shrapnel had peppered his chest and midsection, and a few shards had dug into the skin of his face.

He’d spent weeks in the Naval Medical Center, which had taken over army cases from Walter Reed, then weeks in rehab. But he’d been lucky. And he’d worked like a fiend to get back in shape and prove to himself that he wasn’t impaired for life.

He’d been going to reenlist. Instead his family had persuaded him that he’d done enough to serve his country. He’d come home, not sure who he was.

His war wounds had done a number on his self-image. Which had made him quiet and withdrawn. Yet the two of them had clicked almost immediately.

As Jack walked toward her, she struggled not to turn her total focus on him. He wouldn’t like that. Not when they were just about to meet. He’d think she was staring at him because of his limp—and the scars on his face.

She struggled to assume a casual aspect, struggled not to look like a woman taking the first view of the man she loved, after they’d been separated for months. After she’d believed he was dead.

Still, her chest tightened as she waited for her first contact with Jack in an eternity.

No, her first meeting with him at all, she reminded herself. At least as far as he was concerned.

For a wild moment she thought about taking him aside and trying to explain everything to him. But he’d only think she was crazy. Anybody would think she was crazy if she started talking about events that hadn’t happened yet. Which was one of the problems of this whole situation.

Right now, all she could do was experience the joy of seeing him alive and well.

Still, there was a dreamlike quality to watching him come toward her. Eagerly, she drank in his appearance, taking in everything in one sweep. His height of six feet. His dark eyes and hair. His strong jaw. The scars on one cheek that showed through the dark stubble. His lips that looked so hard but could be so incredibly soft against hers.

He was dressed in a dark knit shirt, jeans and running shoes because his doctor had advised him to stick with footwear that gave him good traction. He took that advice, partly because it suited his casual manner and partly because he wanted to give himself every physical advantage.

As he came toward her, she stifled the impulse to pat her hair into place.

“Ted Morgan. Jack Morgan. Sara Carter,” Pam said.

“Nice to meet you,” they answered.

“Are you working with Pam?” Ted asked.

“I have my own business, staging properties for sale.”

“Staging?”

“Getting them ready to show,” she answered without explaining exactly what that meant.

She remembered the first time this scene had taken place. She’d wanted to get home and go to sleep, but she’d stayed because Pam had asked. As the tour had proceeded, she’d been glad because she wanted to get to know Ted’s brother better.

Pam had mentioned the Morgan fortune, but Sara really hadn’t known much about the family. Now she did. Unfortunately, that made her anxious about the impression she was giving. Jack’s mom and dad were very particular about who their sons hung out with. Could she present herself differently? Probably not.

Don’t get started down that road, she warned herself. Not now. He’s not going to be interested in you if you come across as a phony.

Which might be a moot point, she realized. What if he walked away from her without connecting the way they had before?

Lord, that was something else to worry about. One of too many things that were competing to make goose bumps pepper her arms.

“Why don’t we look at the house?” Pam said. “Isn’t it marvelous? Notice the spacious foyer. It makes a good first impression for your guests.” She opened a door to the left. “And the closet right here has ample room for coats.”

Ted nodded.

Sara and Jack trailed into the kitchen as Pam continued to point out the features of the house.

“Don’t you just love the top-of-the-line stainless-steel appliances? The refrigerator’s huge and the gas stove has six burners,” Pam was saying. “The Mexican tile on the floor makes a statement.”

Sara looked at Jack, and they exchanged what might have been conspiratorial glances.

She remembered that he hated tile in a kitchen because it was slippery, and he needed all the traction he could get.

Pam ushered Ted into the living room. “There’s lots of space for entertaining,” she said. “Notice the easy flow into the family room. And the large windows let in plenty of natural light.”

Ted took a quick look at the rooms before proceeding to another that could be a first-floor office. Turning, he said, “I’d like to see the upstairs.”

“Of course.”

She led the way up, but Sara and Jack stayed on the first floor, watching the other two disappear around a corner.

“Are you responsible for all the homey touches?” he asked.

“Uh-huh.”

“They’re charming.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you own a furniture store or something?”

“No. Just a warehouse where I keep furnishings and knickknacks. If the house is already furnished, I advise the home owner about what to keep and what to put in storage. And which things to replace. It takes away from the salability of a house if the sofa arms have been scratched by a cat.” She struggled to act casual when she ached to reach out and pull Jack into her arms.

She longed to feel his body against hers. Feel his strength and the wonderful way he had of wrapping her close like she was the most precious thing in the world. At the same time, she ached to keep him safe, if that was in her power.

The emotions swirling inside her made it difficult to focus on his words.

But she realized he was saying, “You’ve obviously got an eye for design.”

“Making houses look their best is as much fun for me as it is a job.”

He was giving her a critical inspection, and she stood with her hands at her sides.

“Are you all right?”

“Why do you ask?”

“You have a strange look on your face.”

She laughed, struggling to make light of a moment that was so important to her that she could barely breathe. “I guess it’s from working eight hours straight getting this place ready.”

“All by yourself? Wasn’t a real-estate agent killed recently in an empty house?”

“Yes. I wasn’t alone. Several big, strapping college students help me move furniture. Two of them were here with me today.”

“Good protection.”

“And since I’m on a budget, using them cuts down on costs. the recession set me back for a while. I had to take some temp work to afford the rent.”

“That must have been frustrating.”

“Yes. But the real-estate market is picking up again. When I get more clients, maybe I can afford to hire some permanent help.”

“But right now you’re running yourself ragged,” he said.

“Do I look that wrung out?”

His expression turned rueful. “Sorry. That came out wrong. It’s not what I meant.”

JACK DRAGGED IN A BREATH and let it out, thinking he was out of practice when it came to women. He’d told himself he didn’t care what they thought about it. At the moment, he cared—a lot.

“I’m making a mess of this.”

“No.”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Actually, I’m trying to get you to do me a favor.”

“Like what?”

“My brother dragged me here because he wanted me to see this expensive house that’s too big for one family, but he’s probably going to buy it anyway. You can see he doesn’t need my approval, but I came in his car, so I can’t leave on my own.”

“Inconvenient.”

Going for broke, he said, “If you get me out of here, I’ll buy you dinner.”

“That’s a very tempting offer.”

“Good.”

He strode to the steps, and called up. “Sara and I are leaving. See you later.”

“What?” Ted called down.

“We’ll talk later,” Jack answered, then turned back to Sara. “Come on, before Ted puts up an argument.”

“Are you sure it’s okay?”

“Yes,” he answered, knowing it wasn’t true. Ted was going to be pissed off. He liked things to work out the way he planned, but Jack was going to accommodate him only so far. He’d come along in an attempt to be brotherly. Now there was something else he’d much rather do.

“I’ve got to get my purse.”

He watched Sara head for the kitchen, noting the feminine sway of her hips. She was a very pretty blonde with blue eyes and a trim figure. His type. Well, that had been his type, when he’d felt better about himself.

Sara hadn’t stared at the scars on his face. What would she think about his mangled leg? He stopped himself from going down that road. At least he had two legs and the important parts between them. A lot of guys had come back in much worse shape.

Besides, he was getting way ahead of himself with Sara. He’d just met her. Yet he couldn’t banish the tempting picture of the two of them in bed together.

He strove for a neutral expression as she came back with a leather bag slung over one shoulder.

They walked outside together, and he looked at the two cars that had been parked at the property when he and Ted had driven up. A Mercedes and a Honda.

“I’m guessing you picked good gas mileage over luxury.”

“And also utility. I sent the truck back to my warehouse with the boys.” She gave him a direct look. “Actually, I’m living there for the time being. It’s a good way to save money.”

“Is that legal? Living in a storage facility?”

She shrugged. “The management didn’t ask. And there wasn’t anything about it in the lease. It came with a bathroom. And a little kitchen area, actually, so I can function there very well.”

“Okay.” He held out his hand. “Why don’t you let me drive?”

HAD SHE DRIVEN LAST TIME this scene had played itself out? Or had he? She honestly couldn’t remember. Back then, she was focused on getting to know Jack. Now everything had more than one meaning. And one of her jobs was to keep from saying anything that would put him off.

“Sure,” Sara answered, fishing her keys out of her purse and handing them over. When he unlocked the door, she climbed into the passenger seat, and he slid behind the wheel, then adjusted the seat to give himself enough legroom. She was glad the car was neat. Sometimes the back was full of items she hadn’t needed for a staging.

“Where do you want to eat?” he asked.

She thought for a moment. He’d asked her last time, and she’d suggested a place called the Pasta Station in Lisbon. Could she start changing their history by changing the venue? “There’s a little restaurant and bakery in Ellicott City. Genevieve’s,” she said, naming a place that was miles from the one where they’d eaten last time.

Ellicott City was an old mill town with a commercial area that hadn’t changed much in two hundred years because there was nowhere to expand. The antique buildings on either side of Main Street hugged the sides of a rocky ravine. Capitalizing on that disadvantage, the town had long ago transformed itself into a quaint shopping and restaurant area.

“I’ve passed it and wanted to go in.”

“The food is good, and the prices aren’t high.”

She leaned back, ordering herself to relax as she slid her eyes toward Jack, watching him put the car into gear and head down the driveway.

It was amazing to be sitting so close to him again. Amazing that they had this time together. In fact, she felt like every second was a gift from God.

The interior of the car was filled with his scent, so dear and familiar to her. She watched his strong hands as they clasped the wheel, somehow keeping herself from covering the closer one with her palm. She ached to touch him. Kiss him. Do all the things that she’d thought she’d never do again. Now he was tantalizingly within reach.

Of course, he wasn’t aware of any of her longings. For him, this was their first meeting.

He turned right, out of the development where the lots were supersized and the custom-built houses vied with each other for presence.

They were at the far edge of the county, and she hadn’t thought about the route to Ellicott City until Jack turned onto a major cross-county road.

Route 108.

Familiar scenery sped past. She tried to place it, then drew in a quick breath.

“Sorry, I guess I’m going too fast,” Jack said, completely misinterpreting her reaction.

“You’re fine,” she managed to say, but her mind was racing and her chest felt like it was being constricted by heavy bands.

She knew exactly where she was. This was the stretch of highway where she’d slid down the long hill in the snow. Where she’d hit the pickup truck and…what?

She couldn’t say for sure what had really happened. Would it happen again? Now?

Was this what fate had in store for her? A cruel joke? A few minutes with the man she loved—then blackness.

“No,” she whispered.

Reacting to the alarm in her voice, Jack looked toward her, just as a car rounded the curve ahead, passing another vehicle illegally and coming straight at them.