Sure, she had some questions and concerns, but those were mostly focused on her relationship with her husband. And okay, there was some residual anger that he’d kept that status a secret from her for so many years. But the fact that he’d flown halfway across the country to be with her when she took the pregnancy test proved to Brie that he was committed to being a father to their baby.
And now he had to fly back again.
She got off the train and walked beside him through the airport. He was already checked into his flight and his only bag was carry-on, allowing them to linger for a few minutes outside the TSA checkpoint.
“I had a really great weekend,” he said.
“Me, too.”
“So maybe you wouldn’t mind if I came back again sometime?” he asked hopefully.
“Anytime,” she said.
“How about next weekend?”
She chuckled, because she knew he was only kidding. As much as she’d enjoyed the time they’d spent together, the journey was too time-consuming to expect him to make it again anytime soon. “I’m going to be in Haven for Thanksgiving this year, so I’ll see you then if not before,” she promised.
“Thanksgiving is more than two months away,” he pointed out.
“We can keep in touch in other ways between now and then.”
“You’re right. I’ll call you every day. And text you between calls.”
“That might be a little much,” she cautioned.
“Maybe,” he acknowledged. “But I want to know how you’re doing. And I want to make sure you don’t forget about me.”
“If I didn’t forget about you in seven years, I don’t think I’m going to forget about you in a couple months. Especially not with a constant reminder growing in my belly.”
He pressed something into her palm and folded her fingers over it. “Here’s another reminder.”
She turned her hand over and opened her fist to reveal the simple circle of platinum that had, for a very brief while, adorned the third finger of her left hand. She’d given the ring back to him before she left Haven, because she hadn’t wanted any reminders of what they’d once had and lost. Because she’d wanted only to forget the hurt and heartache.
Looking at it now—a tangible symbol of the promises they’d made to one another—she wondered: What did it mean that he’d held on to it all these years? And why had he torn up the divorce petition without even knowing if she was carrying his child?
Though these questions swirled around in her mind, she didn’t ask because she wasn’t sure she was prepared for his answers.
The cold metal bit into her palm as she instinctively curled her fingers around the ring again, holding on tight. “I can’t—”
“I don’t expect you to put it on,” he said. “Not yet, anyway. I just wanted you to have it.”
Then he dipped his head to brush a quick kiss over her lips before joining the passengers making their way toward security screening, leaving her alone with her head spinning and her heart aching.
Chapter Ten
Brielle always felt a little apprehensive before her weekly FaceTime conversations with her mother and father. She loved them dearly, but she didn’t feel particularly close to either of her parents and sometimes wondered if she was to blame—if her decision to move away from Haven was responsible for the disconnect. But the distance was more than physical, and the fact that her sister and each of her brothers felt the same way reassured her that she wasn’t the cause of the problem.
Still, she wished their relationship could be different, that she could share her thoughts and feelings with them. But it wasn’t and she couldn’t, so she was doubly grateful for the closeness she enjoyed with her sister, both her sisters-in-law and Grace and Lily.
“Sorry I’m late calling,” Margaret said, when Brie connected. “Jason and Alyssa were here for dinner tonight and they just left.”
“On a Sunday?” She was understandably surprised, because Sunday was the cook’s usual night off and her mother had been known to burn water if left unattended in the kitchen.
“Your dad barbecued steaks,” Margaret explained.
“How are Jason and Alyssa?” Brie asked, more interested in her brother and sister-in-law than the menu. Although she kept in regular contact with her siblings, she always worried that she was missing out on something because she was so far away.
“Alyssa is six-and-a-half months and finally starting to look like she’s pregnant. And she’s having some strange cravings, too, because she insisted on having her striploin cooked until it was gray inside.” Margaret shuddered delicately.
“The well-done steak is more likely a recommendation than a craving,” Brie said. “Expectant mothers aren’t supposed to eat undercooked meat.”
Her mother frowned. “I’ve never heard such a thing, but I suppose that makes sense considering how worried Alyssa is about every little thing. Did you know they even had some special test done on the baby’s heart?”
“Is the baby okay?” she asked, feeling an empathetic ache in her own heart for Alyssa. Jason’s wife was so healthy and active that Brie sometimes forgot her sister-in-law had been born with an atrial septal defect that had required three surgeries in the first five years of her life.
“Oh, yes. Everything’s fine,” Margaret said. “And before they went for the test, I reminded Alyssa that she has a lot of childbearing years left, if it turned out that something was seriously wrong.”
“Please tell me you didn’t actually say that to her.”
“I was being supportive.” Margaret’s tone was indignant. “And you, of all people, should understand—look at how you bounced back.”
“Like a rubber ball,” she said dryly.
“I’m not sure what to make of your tone, so I’m going to ignore it,” her mother said, though the comment itself proved otherwise. “Now tell me what’s new with you.”
“Since you asked,” she began.
Margaret waited expectantly for her to continue.
I saw Caleb in Vegas and discovered that we’re still married, but only after I’d slept with him and now we’re going to have a baby together.
But of course Brie didn’t say any of that aloud, because she couldn’t count on her mother to be happy for her.
And it was too early to be sharing the news, anyway.
“I finally got to The Met to see the Native America art exhibit,” she said instead.
And spent another half an hour talking to her mother—and her father, when Ben joined the conversation—about absolutely nothing of importance.
* * *
Dave braked behind the yellow bus that stopped at the Happy Harts Ranch next door to his own. He knew the Hartwell family had two school-age boys, because he remembered Martina making and delivering a casserole after each birth so the new parents would have one less meal to worry about. It was what folks did in this part of the country when there was a birth or a death or other life-changing event.
The boys—about twelve and ten now, he guessed—exited the bus and headed down the lane. Then a third kid got off. A girl with a blond ponytail and purple backpack. She followed the boys across the street, but instead of continuing down the long, winding drive, she turned toward the Circle G.
At least, he assumed that was her destination, although his driveway was another quarter mile up the way.
After checking to ensure the road was clear, he steered into the oncoming lane and slowed to a crawl beside her. She moved away from the truck as he lowered the window, and he tipped the brim of his hat back so that she could see his face.
“You look lost,” he said, though he suspected she knew exactly where she was—just as he knew who she was though they’d never met.
She shook her head. “I’m going to the Circle G.” Then her gaze narrowed. “You’re Dave Gilmore.”
He nodded.
“I’m Ashley Blake,” she told him. “My mom says that you’re my dad.”
“She told me the same thing,” he acknowledged.
“I know she wanted to arrange a formal introduction, but I’m impatient.”
“A Gilmore trait,” he noted, impressed by both her self-awareness and her honesty.
She frowned, clearly less impressed by his remark.
“You going to walk the rest of the way or you want a ride?”
“I guess I’ll take a ride,” she said. “I mean, technically you’re not a stranger, right?”
“Technically,” he agreed.
She walked around the front of the cab, then opened the passenger side door and climbed in. He waited until she’d buckled her seat belt before resuming his journey—and their conversation.
“Does your mom know where you are?” he asked.
“No, but she won’t be worried,” Ashley hastened to assure him. “She works late on Wednesdays.”
“Where does she think you are?”
“Doing homework with my friend Chloe.”
He took his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and offered it to her. “Call her and tell her about your change of plans.”
“I’ve got my own phone,” she told him. “I’ll call her when we’re done.”
“Done what?” he asked.
“Getting to know one another.”
“Call her now,” he suggested. “Then when we get to the house, we can continue this conversation with cookies and milk.”
She considered his offer. “What kind of cookies?”
“Oatmeal raisin.”
“I like oatmeal raisin,” she said. “But oatmeal chocolate chip are better.”
“I’ll let you debate that with Martina another time. She’s at the dentist this afternoon.”
“Who’s Martina? Your girlfriend?”
“My housekeeper.”
“Do you have a girlfriend?” she pressed.
“Call your mother,” he said again. “And tell her I’ll give you a ride home in a little while.”
Ashley reached into the side pocket of her backpack and pulled out a slim phone in a pink case covered with sparkly stones.
Though she spoke quietly, in the close confines of the cab he didn’t have any trouble hearing both sides of the conversation. As he pulled into the driveway, she disconnected the call.
“She’s pretty mad,” Ashley confided, tucking her phone away again.
He parked the truck and turned off the ignition. “I would be, too, if I thought you were at one place and found out you’d gone to another.”
“But I’m with my...you,” she decided, unwilling to paste the “father” label on a man she’d just met.
And he suspected the fact that Ashley was with him was the biggest reason for Valerie’s anger. She’d confided that her daughter had shut down since she’d learned the truth about her paternity, refusing to talk to her mother about what she was thinking or feeling. That Ashley had now sought out her father would undoubtedly seem like a slap in the face to the woman who’d raised this child on her own for twelve years.
“Nice place,” she said, kicking off her shoes at the back door before following him down the hall.
“Thanks.” He washed his hands at the kitchen sink, dried them on the towel hanging over the oven door, then reached for the cookie jar—restocked by Martina earlier that day.
He started to carry the jar to the table, then, picturing his housekeeper’s frown of disapproval, he took a plate out of the cupboard instead. He put a handful of cookies on the plate and set the plate on the table.
Ashley had dumped her backpack on the floor beside her chair and hung her coat over the back of it.
“You want to wash up?” he asked, more a suggestion than a question.
“Sure,” she said.
Before he could direct her to the powder room, she went to the sink, using dish soap as he’d done, then drying her hands on the same towel.
He poured two glasses of milk and set them on the table.
She helped herself to a cookie, broke it in half. “My mom said you had a heart attack.”
Of all the things he’d anticipated she might say, that wasn’t one of them.
“I did,” he confirmed. “Just about five months ago.”
She nibbled on her cookie. “Are you okay now?”
“Fit as a fiddle.”
“How can you tell if a fiddle’s fit?” she wondered.
“I have no idea,” he admitted.
“That’s not very reassuring.”
“Are you looking for reassurance?”
“I don’t want to get attached if you’re going to die,” she told him.
“Well, we’re all going to die eventually,” he pointed out.
“There’s a big difference between eventually and imminently,” she said, in a matter-of-fact tone that made her sound much older than her twelve years.
“True enough,” he acknowledged. “All I can tell you is that my doctor doesn’t seem to think I’m in any imminent danger.”
“That’s good then,” she decided.
He exhaled a quiet sigh that she seemed satisfied by his response. But his relief was short-lived, as she moved on to another and even tougher question.
“Did you love my mom?”
“Do you always jump into the deep end when you go swimming?” he wondered aloud.
“Yeah, but what does that have to do with anything?” she asked, baffled by his question.
“It proves you’re a Gilmore,” he remarked.
Her chin lifted. “I’m a Blake.”
“You’re also a Gilmore.”
“You didn’t answer the question about my mom,” she pointed out.
Not just brave but bullheaded, he noted.
Definitely a Gilmore.
“Did you ask your mom that question?”
“How is she supposed to know your feelings?” Ashley challenged.
He rephrased. “Did you ask her about our relationship?”
“Of course.”
No doubt this was some kind of test, to see if he would tell her the truth. Assuming her mother had told her the truth. But why wouldn’t she? It didn’t paint Valerie in a negative light.
“Don’t lie to her,” Valerie had advised him.
“Why would I lie to her?”
“I don’t know what kind of questions she’s going to ask you. I’m just telling you to be honest. She’s heard enough lies from me over the year—she doesn’t need to hear any more.”
“Truthfully, I didn’t know your mother well enough to love her, but she was there for me when I needed someone.”
“So you used her? For sex,” she added, as if the meaning of her question had been at all unclear.
He winced inwardly. Because the last thing he wanted to talk to his twelve-year-old daughter about was sex, especially in regard to the relationship between her parents. As if a few hours together could be considered a relationship.
“We each had our own reasons for being together,” he hedged.
She rolled her eyes at his response.
He pushed away from the table to clear their dishes. Looking out the window above the sink, he could see Sky’s mare and her chestnut foal in the near pasture.
“Do you like horses?” he asked.
“You’re trying to change the subject.”
Desperately, he acknowledged to himself.
Aloud he said, “I thought you might like to meet Enigma.”
“Who’s that?” she asked.
“Mystery’s eight-month-old foal,” he told her.
And that, thank God, was mission accomplished.
* * *
“What b
rings you into town?” Skylar asked, as Caleb settled onto a vacant stool at the bar side of Diggers’ Bar & Grill.
“I’m meeting Joe for a drink,” he told his sister.
She tipped a mug under a tap and pulled the lever. “How are the newlyweds?”
“Still married, in case you made a bet with Liam.”
“I would not,” she protested indignantly. “I was only asking because I like Joe. He was usually the least annoying of your friends, and I’m happy that he found someone to make him happy.”
“I’ll be sure to pass along your best wishes,” he said, nodding his thanks for the beer she set on the paper coaster in front of him.
“Now if only you could find someone to make you happy,” Sky remarked.
“And if only you could focus on your own life rather than worrying about everyone else,” he countered.
She shrugged. “It’s what I do best.”
“Well, you don’t have to worry about me,” he told her.
“Then tell me why you’ve been even more preoccupied than usual since you got back from New York,” she said.
He frowned. “What makes you think I went to New York?”
“When I stopped by your place to drop off the leftover steak pie, as Martina requested, the boarding pass from your return flight was sticking out of the end pocket of your duffel bag,” Sky told him.
“Oh.”
“So why were you there?” she pressed.
“I went to see Brielle.”
His sister sighed. “I love you, Caleb, but you are one screwed-up dude.”
“Why? Because I’ve been in love with the same woman for ten years?”
“And you’re not even trying to deny it,” she said.
“Why would I deny it?” he challenged.
“Because she dumped you and moved twenty-five hundred miles away,” she reminded him, though not unkindly.
“She went away to school.”
“And never came back.”
“There’s Joe now,” he said, as his friend walked through the door, saving him from rehashing old arguments yet again.
One Night with the Cowboy Page 12
