Caleb added his number and returned the phone to her.
She lifted a brow when she heard his cell ping, and she knew that he’d sent a message to himself from her phone so that he’d have her number, too.
“I said I would call.”
He nodded. “But now if you forget, I can call you.”
* * *
Caleb returned to the Circle G late Sunday afternoon and found the manila envelope where he knew it would be—locked in the bottom drawer of the desk he’d brought from the main house when he’d moved into his own a few months earlier. He opened the flap of the envelope now and dumped out the contents: one petition for divorce, signed and dated by Brielle Channing, “the petitioner,” and a narrow platinum band that had nestled on the third finger of her left hand for all of three weeks.
Considering that she’d given him the papers seven years earlier, it was hardly a surprise to hear her say that she wanted to end their marriage. But still, it hurt.
Because when he saw her by the pool in Las Vegas, those seven years had faded away. And when she’d kissed him, he’d felt vindicated, as if this evidence of the attraction between them confirmed that he’d done the right thing in not signing the papers.
That illusion had lasted throughout the night, only to be shattered by her dismissive words in the light of day.
A sharp rap of knuckles on the back door interrupted his musing, immediately followed by Liam’s voice. “Caleb? You here?”
“In the den.” He shoved the papers in the envelope again and stuffed it in the open drawer. “What’s up?” he asked when his brother appeared.
Liam propped a shoulder against the doorjamb, because there was nowhere else to sit in the sparsely furnished room. “Did she show up?”
Caleb blinked, startled by the question. “Who?”
“The girl Joe Bishop went to Vegas to meet,” his brother clarified.
“Delia. And yeah—” he held out his hand “—she did.”
Liam sighed as he reached into his back pocket for his wallet, pulling out a ten-dollar bill and offering it to his brother.
“You owe me twenty,” Caleb said.
“The bet was ten.”
“Ten that she would show and another ten if he put a ring on her finger,” he reminded his brother.
“Joe really asked her to marry him?”
“They really got married,” Caleb said. “I was a witness to their vows.”
“Damn,” Liam said, but he took back the ten and pulled out a twenty. “Maybe we should go double or nothing.”
Caleb snatched the bill from his hand. “I’m not betting on the success or failure of my friend’s marriage.”
“You can’t honestly believe it’s going to last,” Liam chided.
Caleb shrugged. “They seem well suited for each other—why wouldn’t it last?”
“Because fifty percent of all marriages end in divorce.”
“That’s an inflated statistic—and a surprising one from a man who just got engaged.”
“I’m not worried,” Liam assured him. “Because I know that me and Macy, together, can beat any odds.”
That’s what Caleb had thought about him and Brie, too, when he’d put his ring on her finger. It hadn’t mattered that they were young or that their families were opposed to them being together. It only mattered that they were in love.
At least, he’d believed it until she’d handed him divorce papers and moved across the country. And the only reason they hadn’t contributed to the divorce statistic was that he had yet to sign the papers.
“Is everything okay?” Liam asked, his question cutting through Caleb’s reverie.
“Yeah. Why?”
His brother cocked his head. “Your mind seems to be a thousand miles away.”
More like twenty-five hundred, but Caleb knew better than to say anything to his brother about his encounter with Brielle in Vegas.
“Have you and Macy set a date?” he asked instead.
“She’s thinking a spring wedding would be nice.”
“What do you think?”
“I’m happy to let her take care of all the details,” Liam said. “I just want her to be my wife, and Ava, Max and Sam to be my kids.”
“You’re going to adopt them?”
“As soon as I can,” Liam confirmed.
“Triplets.” Caleb shook his head. “You’re a brave man.”
“And a lucky one,” his brother asserted.
Caleb knew it was true. And though he pretended to be surprised by his brother’s willingness to take on a single mom and her three toddlers, the truth was, he was a little envious of the ready-made family his brother had found with Macy.
Way back when he and Brielle had first talked about their hopes and dreams, she’d suggested that his longing for a wife and kids was rooted in a desire to recreate the family unit he’d lost when his mother died. He didn’t know if there was any truth to that—he only knew that whenever he’d thought about his future, he’d thought that Brie would be part of it.
He’d been gutted when she left for New York City. And yet, at the same time, he hadn’t believed she’d stay away for long. He didn’t think she could. Because they loved one another and had proved it by exchanging vows that promised “till death do us part.”
As for the divorce papers, well, he’d been certain they were executed under pressure from her parents—pressure she’d succumbed to only because she was hurting over the loss of their baby. When that hurt started to fade, she’d be glad that he hadn’t signed the papers—that they’d have a second chance to make their marriage work.
But now he knew the truth: he’d been a fool to believe that a first love could last forever, and it was time to move on, as she’d already done.
* * *
When Brielle first moved away, she’d been in communication with her parents every day. Margaret or Ben—and sometimes both—would send a text message to check in, and she’d respond to reassure them that she hadn’t been mugged or murdered, as they’d worried might happen in the big, bad city. Eventually she’d managed to convince them to check in every other day, so her mom texted on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays and her dad on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays, and she FaceTimed with them on Sunday nights.
Yes, she was twenty-five years old, and yes, she wished they’d trust her to live her own life, but the few seconds it took to respond to a text message required a lot less effort than arguing with them about their overprotectiveness. And although the scheduled weekly check-in wasn’t always convenient, she enjoyed hearing about what was going on at home, especially with her siblings and their families.
It was after midnight by the time she got home on Sunday, which meant that Brie had missed their scheduled call by more than an hour. And when she took her phone out of airplane mode, she found five text messages from her mother.
Being two hours earlier in Haven, it was reasonable to assume that her parents were still awake—especially if they were as worried as the messages suggested. But if she called now, they’d undoubtedly ask about her weekend getaway, and she was trying very hard not to think about Caleb and what had happened in his hotel room—including his bombshell announcement about their marital status.
Still married.
Yeah, she was still reeling from the aftershocks of that one while various thoughts and feelings battled for dominance in her head and her heart.
She was shocked, of course. And angry that he’d refused to do the one thing she’d asked of him before she’d left Haven. And maybe just a little bit flattered that he hadn’t wanted to abandon the vows they’d made to one another. But mostly she was confused, because for seven years she’d managed to convince herself that what they’d shared was in the past. Now, after one night, she knew that she’d been kidding herself.
She also knew
that there was no way she could hide her raw emotions from her parents. So instead of calling, she sent a quick text message:
Sorry I missed your calls. Got in late from Grace’s birthday weekend getaway and heading straight to bed. Talk to you soon. xo
Then she went to bed and dreamed about making love with the man who was still her husband.
* * *
Staring death in the eye had a way of making a man take stock of his life and evaluate the choices he’d made.
Six months after his heart attack, David Gilmore knew this to be true, because he’d done exactly that when he’d been staring at the ceiling of his hospital room, wondering if he was going to live or die.
“You’ll live,” the doctor had said. He’d then proceeded to suggest some lifestyle changes that would ensure Dave saw his fifty-ninth birthday.
Lifestyle changes might impact his future, but they couldn’t fix the mistakes in his past. And Dave had made more than his share of mistakes—done some things he’d regretted, and regretted not doing some others.
At twenty-seven, he’d met and fallen in love with Theresa Wheeler. Ten months later, they’d married. Two years after that, they’d welcomed their first child. Over the next four years, three more babies had followed, filling their home and their hearts.
Despite the sleepless nights and dirty diapers, those had been good years. Some of the best. Every year with Theresa had been one of the best. Not that everything had always been peaches and cream—his wife’s favorite summertime dessert—but with Theresa by his side, he’d felt confident that they could triumph over any challenge.
But during an early morning ride only a few weeks before what would have been their fifteenth anniversary, she’d been thrown from the back of her horse and broken her neck.
I’m sorry...nothing we could do...already gone.
That had created a challenge he was ill-equipped to face alone.
He’d been devastated, not knowing how he’d survive without her. Not sure he wanted to. He’d been mired in grief and loneliness, so overwhelmed by his own sense of loss that he’d failed to see his children were grieving, too.
He hadn’t always been the best father to Katelyn, Liam, Skylar and Caleb. In fact, he’d been emotionally AWOL after the death of his wife, abdicating responsibility to his own mother to fill the enormous, gaping hole left in their lives.
But over the years, with the love and support of his parents, they’d managed to put most of the pieces back together again. Now, suddenly, another piece had been thrown into the mix and he didn’t know how to make it fit—or even if he should try.
His hands were steady as he folded the lab report and tucked it back inside the envelope.
Obviously his blood pressure medication was doing its job—or maybe, in the three months that had passed between the test being done and the results delivered to his door, he’d been preparing himself for this moment.
“So what happens now?” he asked the woman seated on the opposite side of his desk. “What do you want from me?”
Her gaze was steady, and he noted—not for the first time—that she had pretty eyes. An intriguing shade somewhere between gray and blue and fringed with thick lashes. She had a sweetly shaped mouth, too, though it was compressed in a thin line now.
“I don’t want anything,” she denied. “But your daughter needs a father.”
The daughter he hadn’t known about until her mother showed up at the hospital in Elko, the day after his heart attack.
She’d come to him, this woman with whom he’d spent a single night thirteen years earlier, because she feared it might be her last chance to tell him that he had another child.
He remembered the night: the fifth anniversary of his wife’s death. He’d wanted some privacy to grieve—or maybe a few drinks to help him forget. So he’d gone into town and tossed back a few shots at Diggers’. The alcohol had created a pleasant buzz inside his head, but everything else still felt empty.
Valerie had been waiting tables at the bar that night. Apparently a falling-out with her father had compelled her to give up a cushy office job and respond to the Help Wanted sign in Diggers’ window. It wasn’t the first time Dave had seen her there, but she usually gave him a wide berth. He must have looked as lost and alone as he felt that night, or maybe she really wanted to piss off her father, because she detoured to his table and asked if he was okay.
Being a Monday night, the bar was mostly empty, and when she brought his next drink, she sat down across from him. He didn’t talk to her about Theresa—he didn’t ever talk to anyone about his wife. Truthfully, he couldn’t remember what he and Valerie talked about, but he remembered that she stayed with him until the bar closed.
And then they went back to her place.
In the morning, they both agreed that it had been a mistake—and one that neither of them would ever speak of again.
Still, Dave felt guilty, as if he’d cheated on his wife, though she’d been gone for five years. And every time he saw Valerie in town, he couldn’t help but remember that night, and the weight of the guilt would stagger him again. A few weeks later, when he heard that she’d taken a job in Washington State, he’d felt no regret, only relief.
And then, ten years later, she’d returned with a nine-year-old child in tow. There were whispers around town about a cheating husband and an acrimonious divorce that led to her coming home to raise her daughter with the support of her family. Dave didn’t put much stock in rumors, but the reasoning made sense to him. Certainly, in the three years that had passed since her return, he’d never suspected that the truth was anything different.
Until she somehow got word that he was in the hospital and came to see him, to tearfully confide that everything he’d heard about her marriage were lies deliberately fabricated to eliminate speculation about her child’s paternity. Because the truth was, her daughter, Ashley, was his daughter, too.
He’d been too stunned to respond to her claim. He hadn’t believed it. Hadn’t wanted it to be true.
He’d promised himself that the night they’d spent together was a secret he’d take to the grave.
Now there was a child—his child, according to the results of the DNA test, proof of his indiscretion.
Not just an affair, but an affair with a Blake.
Chapter Six
From the first moment that Valerie Blake knew she was finally going to have the baby she’d always wanted, everything she’d done was for Ashley. In the beginning, she’d been certain that the best thing for her unborn child would be to start her life far away from Haven, Nevada, where the news of Valerie’s surprise pregnancy would be the cause of much scrutiny and speculation.
She’d been on her way to Seattle, to lose herself in the anonymity of a big city, when she stopped in a little town for a bite to eat at Wanda’s Diner. She’d ordered a bacon cheeseburger with a side of onion rings, because she’d been on the road for hours and she was starving. And she’d washed down the meal with a glass of milk, because calcium was good for the baby.
She was counting out the money to pay her check when the baby decided she didn’t want the meal that had been ordered and sent it back again.
Valerie had made it to the restroom—just—and when she returned to her table, she discovered that her dishes had been cleared away and, in their place, several packages of saltine crackers and a glass of ginger ale.
Wanda slid into the booth across from Valerie as she tore open a package of crackers. “How far along are you?”
She didn’t see any reason to deny her condition, and Wanda didn’t look like she’d believe her if she tried. “About eight weeks.”
“Got a husband?”
“Not anymore,” she said. Because she’d caught the other woman looking at her ringless left hand, and because the truth was part of the narrative she’d decided upon for her new lif
e. “After three years of trying to have a baby, he suddenly changed his mind about wanting to be a father.”
It was a slight tweaking of the truth, which was that her ex-husband had only told her, three years after their exchange of vows, that he’d never wanted kids and had, in fact, undergone a vasectomy before their wedding. But somehow, according to her father, she’d given up on her marriage—just like she’d given up on so many other things.
“So you’re on your own?” Wanda guessed.
Valerie nodded.
“Going where?”
“Seattle.”
“You got family there?”
She shook her head.
“A job?”
She answered with another shake of her head.
“You ever waited tables?”
This time, she nodded.
“I could use some help around here for the early shift—how bad’s your morning sickness?”
“So far, it’s been late afternoon and evening sickness.”
“Graze throughout the day rather than eating big meals and stay hydrated,” Wanda suggested.
“I’ll try that.”
“The job’s minimum wage,” the other woman said, almost apologetically. “But tips are usually good and there’s an apartment upstairs that you can have cheap.”
“Is it furnished?”
Wanda shook her head. “Gord over at the thrift shop can help you out with whatever you need, though. Delivery and setup, too.”
And that was how Valerie ended up settling in Serenity, Washington, working for Wanda and living above the diner. Because here, where nobody knew her or her family, she wasn’t Jesse Blake’s screwup daughter who’d dropped out of college to get married—and then divorced. Here she was simply an expectant mother who, despite only having a handful of accounting courses and waitressing experience on her résumé, was willing to work hard to provide for her unborn child.
Only a few weeks later, she found the owner scowling over her books and offered to help her figure out why her deposits weren’t matching her daily receipts. Two days after that, Wanda fired Joanne for skimming from the till and added bookkeeping hours to Valerie’s paycheck. Wanda also told her friend Ruth, who owned the local flower shop, that Valerie was a whiz with numbers, and soon she was doing Ruth’s books, too. Within a few months, she’d added the bookstore and bowling alley to a list of clients that was growing not quite as rapidly as her belly. Still, by the time her middle had expanded so that she could no longer see her swollen ankles, she was able to give up waiting tables. But she continued to live above the diner and hang out with Wanda.
One Night with the Cowboy Page 6
