by Liza Kendall
Something was off: Sunny was looking more thunderous than anything else, and had been downright curt when he walked in. Where was her warm smile? Where was her cozy motherliness?
Finally, Lila, looking uncharacteristically disheveled, raced into Sunny’s. If she hadn’t already alarmed Rhett with her early-morning call and the clipped request—really an order—that he meet her at the diner for breakfast, “Now. ASAP. Pronto!” he’d certainly be concerned now.
She held the door open and peered inside. And then when she registered him at his table, her eyes widened and she beelined right to the open bench seat in front of him.
She slammed both hands on the table and leaned toward Rhett. “I need coffee.”
Rhett pushed his own mug closer so she wouldn’t have to wait, even though Sunny was already heading over with her carafe. “Okay,” Rhett said calmly. “Now you’re freaking me out.”
“I’m freaking you out?” Slurp. “I’m freaking you out?” Slurp.
Sunny jingled her way over, several spangly bracelets knocking against the coffeepot as she poured Lila her own cup. “Mornin,’” she said to Lila, in a considerably more friendly voice than the one she’d used on Rhett earlier.
“Morning,” Lila replied, and then took a swig of the fresh coffee with her right hand while still clutching Rhett’s mug with her left. He gently disengaged her hand and took his coffee back.
Okay, well, something was up. What’s it gonna be, ladies? A speech about how I’m being too showy in town or a speech about how I should visit Declan more often or a speech about how I haven’t been inside my own darn family house in all this time . . . ?
Lila and Sunny seemed to be engaged in some nonverbal communication that involved Sunny raising her eyebrows in a questioning sort of way and Lila shrugging her shoulders in a worried sort of way.
Rhett sighed. “Lila, no offense, but why are we here? Is this about Declan?”
Sunny leaned forward just slightly; Lila cleared her throat and asked Sunny for an omelet with about seven different fillings. Rhett narrowed his eyes at Sunny’s retreating back, something sinking inside.
With her hands cradling the coffee mug, Lila exhaled loudly and said, “At least ninety-eight percent of the stupid things I do are a complete accident.”
Rhett blurted out a laugh, but his sister didn’t join in.
“I got a call this morning,” Lila said. “I got a call from a friend who got a call from a friend who got a call—”
“From a friend,” Rhett said impatiently. “Are you okay?”
Bam! Bam! Bam! went Sunny’s cleaver. From the corner of his eye Rhett watched Sunny cutting up the peppers and onions and all the other things Lila had asked for to make an overstuffed omelet clearly designed more for privacy than for taste. “I’m fine.”
Bam! Bam! Bam! A scraping sound came next, and then the sizzling of something hitting hot butter.
There was a beat of silence. Staring at Lila’s face, Rhett’s heartbeat quickened. “Why do you look like you’re in some kind of agony right now?” he asked quietly.
“Tell me you’re not that guy,” Lila said.
Sizzle!
“Rhett, what did you do to Jules?” his sister blurted.
High-pressure deals with high-powered people tended to teach you a few things about how to react in surprising situations. Maybe it was the way she phrased it, as if she was too ready to believe the worst. Or maybe he was just so caught unawares by the prospect that Jules—knowing exactly what could happen—clearly hadn’t kept her word about keeping what they’d had together a secret.
Rhett just stared at his sister; not saying a word.
“That came out horribly,” Lila said, her panic manifesting in the form of removing napkin after napkin from the silver canister sitting next to the salt and pepper. “There seem to be a couple of different versions of a story that’s creeping around town this morning.”
Sunny surged out of the kitchen. “It ain’t creepin’, hon. It’s flyin’ like buzzards to a fresh carcass.”
Rhett flinched as Sunny set down the biggest, cheesiest, most excessive omelet he’d ever seen in his life right between them. His eyes went back to Lila’s face. Her stare hadn’t faltered, and she kept her eyes on his even as she felt around the table for two forks and plunged them deep into the heart of the omelet between them. “Did you seduce Julianna Holt in Dallas?”
Sunny hadn’t moved.
“Uh . . .” He glanced up at her. “Could we have a moment?”
Looking put out, she retreated to the kitchen.
Rhett leaned back in his seat. “Seduce Jules? She’s smarter than that!” he repeated in outrage. “It wasn’t like that!”
Lila’s eyes widened. “Oh boy.”
He leaned in close and whispered through gritted teeth, “It wasn’t a seduction. It was like . . . it was like . . .”
Lila leaned in close, too, and whispered, “Like what, Rhett?”
“It was like we fell in love with each other for a night!” he blurted.
Lila sat bolt upright. She blinked rapidly, apparently processing her brother’s words. And then she wrinkled her brow. And then she said, “Huh.” And then her features softened as she looked into Rhett’s eyes again. “That is so not what I expected you to say,” she said.
I guess I know what you expected. The same thing everybody in my family expects. Rich big-city jerk swaggering around and damn the consequences. Rhett slumped back against the bench seat.
“You fell in love with her for a night,” Lila murmured into her fork. “Ain’t that a thing. That’s about the nicest description of a one-night stand I’ve ever heard.”
“Well, it’s the best I can describe it.” It’s true. I fell in love with her for a night. Why doesn’t that sound all wrong?
“You’ve got a huge problem, bro.”
“She must have said something,” Rhett muttered. Darn it, Jules, why? Why would you do that? You said you wouldn’t!
“Er, I don’t know. There are a couple of pretty wild versions out there.”
“Like what?” Rhett braced himself.
Lila unstuck the fork nearest to her and pulled out a steaming glob of cheesy eggs. Through a very cheesy mouth she asked, “Did you promise her you wouldn’t buy the ranch if she slept with you and then renege?”
“What?”
“I didn’t think so. I’m just saying there’re a couple of bizarre versions.”
Rhett swore a blue streak. “Versions that paint me as a pretty terrible person! Holy—”
He couldn’t even find the words.
“Don’t worry. I’ll help you with damage control. We’re a family and we’re going to take care of this,” Lila said.
“That’s sweet,” Rhett said not very sweetly at all, as the likely repercussions of these rumors began to sink in. I’ve got to get to Grady and explain.
“I’ll get the town phone tree,” Lila said. “We can stop the rumors.”
“A phone tree!” Rhett snapped, starting to lose his cool. “A phone tree? And where, exactly does Grady Holt fall on the phone tree, Lila? Do you think if you call Mrs. Lundgren and she calls Dottie at the Grab n’ Go and she calls Maggie Cooper and so on, maybe someone can tell Grady not to hate me by noon?” He stood up. “This can’t wait. I need to talk to him before he hears the wrong story from someone else.”
Lila’s eyes narrowed. “Shouldn’t you also be worried about where Jules falls?”
“She’s the one who told somebody, Lila. I can choose not to be mad at her for that, but I don’t have to worry about her feelings right now, either.” Rhett pulled his car keys from his pocket. He ran for the exit, realizing that Sunny was holding the door open for him. He half expected the darn thing to swing shut and hit him on the way out. He jumped into Scarlett and turned on the ignition.
In the passenger seat was the silk-lined box containing the champagne flutes, and on the floor rested the silver ice bucket. He would never forget that interlude between them, and how happy he’d been to make her so happy. Rhett took his hand off the keys and sat very still for a moment, pulling himself together. I fell in love with her for a night . . . What if they had more than just one night?
What if he came clean with Grady and told him the truth. That, yeah, there was a moment. And he shouldn’t have done it. But he did, and what he’d discovered . . . what he’d discovered was that he’d like to make a go of it with her.
And maybe, just maybe . . . that’s how Jules felt, too. Why else would she have said something? If she didn’t want this to happen . . . ? Maybe she did want this to happen. It was bass-ackward and she should have known better, but maybe she wasn’t thinking clearly. He smiled to himself, reliving the scene in the barn yesterday. Chemistry like that might well cause a person to rethink a policy on second chances.
An immense sense of relief came over Rhett as he sat in his car. Yeah, Grady was going to be mad. But he’d see that Rhett cared about Jules. And Jules, maybe Jules had prepped him, maybe he was expecting Rhett to come ask permission to date her, and then all would be forgiven. Yeah, that was a completely reasonable scenario.
If he could just get to Grady before someone told him about the stupid rumors that he and Jules slept together in Dallas, everything would be fine.
Chapter 23
Jules awoke on Aunt Sue’s sofa, exhausted and unmotivated to move at all. She had fed the horses last night after Rhett’s departure and tried to sort through her feelings about what had happened between them. She’d put aside her fear; her vulnerability—she’d opened herself to Rhett—only to have the specter of Grady ruin everything for the second time.
She’d ignored the peculiar, knowing gaze of Don Qui, who’d clearly been either a sage or a therapist in another lifetime. Just tell him yourself, Don Qui seemed to say. Yeah, so easy.
Still in a foul mood, she’d taken a pizza to Aunt Sue’s, refused to talk about what was bothering her, and crashed on the sofa fully dressed.
She’d always been a high-energy person, in almost constant, restless movement. So the constant fatigue she’d been battling recently was foreign and unwelcome. No matter how many cups of coffee she drank, she couldn’t seem to shake it off. And the coffee made her feel sick.
Once again, she sprinted for the bathroom, wondering what kind of flu lasted forever.
Denial was a powerful thing. So it took a personality like Aunt Sue’s to whack Jules over the head with the truth.
Jules was curled in a ball in front of the fireplace, on Sue’s quilt-covered sofa with Sue’s fat gray cat, Stinky, when her aunt delivered the blow.
“You’re pregnant,” she said matter-of-factly.
Jules bolted upright, dislodging Stinky, who almost fell to the floor. “What? No.” She shook her head, which sloshed her brain from side to side.
“Yep.”
A disgruntled Stinky reestablished his position against her thigh, plopping down with a disgusted yellow stare.
“Why would you say that, Aunt Sue? That’s ridiculous . . .” Jules felt a blush starting to spread over her chest, then creep up her neck.
“You’re tired, greenish in the face, and feeling sick all the time. My guess is that it wasn’t an immaculate conception, and that it took place about eight weeks ago, right around the time you took that hunter-jumper up to Dallas.”
Jules opened and then closed her mouth, like a guppy.
“So you know who the daddy is.”
The blush warmed Jules’s cheeks.
“Don’t you, darlin’? And I know who the daddy is, too . . . Last name rhymes with paddock. First name: I-don’t-give-a-damn.”
“Uh,” said Jules eloquently.
“I knew it. As I’ve already pointed out, you’ve had a crush on that boy since you were a kid,” Aunt Sue declared.
“That’s not true!”
“Do not even try your lies on me, girl.”
Jules stayed silent.
“By the way, Sunny called me and the entire town thinks you slept with Rhett in Dallas. Wild rumors are flying.”
“What? How? Oh my God . . . my parents? Do they know?”
“I don’t think anyone would dare call your mother. My guess is that your parents are still in the dark. Now, have you been to a doctor? Have you gotten a test? Are you taking prenatal vitamins?”
Jules pulled her guppy maneuver again.
“Talk to me, honey. You done any of that?”
Wordlessly, Jules shook her head. “And I cannot go to our family doctor. He would tell Mom, patient rights notwithstanding.”
“All right, then. Finish that tea and we’ll go see your friend Mia at Mercy Hospital. I’ll call ahead. I’m sure she’ll slip you a test stick. If it’s a yes, she’ll take it from there.”
“Now?”
“Is there a better time? You want to lie to yourself until the baby crowns?”
“Crowns?”
“Oh, dear Lord, girl.” Sue shook her head. “We are gonna have to get you a book.”
“I could just get a pregnancy test at the pharmacy.”
“Sure you could. And Bert Phelps would tell everyone from the mayor to the vet to the butcher.”
Too true. Jules mechanically raised her mug to her lips and swallowed some of the tepid peppermint tea it held. Then she sprang to her feet and fled for the bathroom as the tea decided to come up again and not go down.
As they sped off in Aunt Sue’s turquoise Karmann Ghia, Jules held a Tupperware bowl in her lap in case of more nausea and tried not to give in to the tears that threatened.
“Did you not take sex ed in high school?” Sue asked. “Ever heard of birth control?”
“We used a condom,” Jules retorted.
“Did you put it on the right part of him?”
“Yes!”
“Not on his nose?”
“Why are you heckling me?”
“You call this heckling? This is affectionate teasing. When it happened to me, I got called a little whore, was stuffed into a borrowed wedding gown that I hated, and was married off by a sourpuss pastor to a prize pig. You know the rest of the story.”
“Yes, Aunt Sue, I know it.”
“Don’t do any of that. Do not accept the label, the white wedding, or the pig. Especially not the pig. Got it?”
“Yeah,” Jules said wretchedly. “Got it.”
* * *
Our Lady of Mercy Hospital loomed in front of them as they drove into the parking lot, Jules feeling that she should arrive, sirens blaring, in an ambulance for emotional emergencies, rather than a funky turquoise Karmann Ghia. But Aunt Sue was more likely to slap her upside the head with a wet trout than coddle her and put her in a wheelchair and ask about her feelings.
She marched her inside, down the depressing, beige-tiled hallway and into an elevator, Jules feeling as sickly green as the walls. The hospital always hummed with a variety of technology and smelled of bleach, illness, and, weirdly, Band-Aids.
Mia was on the second floor at the nurses’ station, and quickly ushered her into an examination room. She pulled a pharmacy pregnancy stick from the pocket of her scrubs and pointed Jules toward the bathroom across the hall.
Jules walked in, feeling as if she were underwater. Everything had slowed down, details and sounds were muted, and her own thoughts felt mired in molasses. She stared at the face reflected in the bathroom mirror and found it difficult to connect it with her own. Then she stared at her belly in the mirror, lifting up her shirt in an aghast sort of wonder. She knew Aunt Sue was right. She knew without doing the test. But she took it anyway.
When Jules emerged with it, she refused to look. She just handed it to her friend, her l
ips moving in a silent prayer that she was wrong.
“It’s positive,” said Mia, a little blankly. “I’ll draw blood and we’ll test that way, too. But there’s not a doubt in my mind, Jules.” Mia set a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “You’re pregnant.”
Jules stared at her dear friend. Mia’s warm cinnamon brown eyes held empathy . . . and something else. Something she seemed ashamed of.
Jules couldn’t quite put her finger on it until she realized it was envy. Longing.
Oh God. She was an idiot. Friend or not—of all the nurses to let Sue drag her to, Mia was the very last one . . . Mia and Rob had tried to conceive for more than five years, before he’d filed for divorce and run off to South America.
“Will you excuse me for a moment?” Mia’s lips were trembling almost imperceptibly. But as her friend, Jules saw it.
“Mia, I’m . . . I’m so sorry,” Jules blurted. “I didn’t think. I should have—”
“Be right back!” Mia said in overly bright tones. And she vanished behind the door in a blur of green scrubs.
“Oh Lord,” Sue closed her eyes. “I s’pose I should have driven you to Austin or San Antone. Didn’t think, in the heat of the moment. That poor girl.”
Jules hadn’t thought she could feel worse. She stared at her feet in their battered blue flip-flops. A normal woman would have on some pretty toenail polish, but she hardly ever wore anything but those knee-length rubber barn boots, and nobody saw her feet. Besides, she was more likely to give a horse a pedicure than get one herself.
“Well,” Sue reflected, “in a perfect world, you’d have the baby and hand it over to Mia.”
Jules gaped at her, processing her words. “That’s . . . that’s a brilliant idea.”
“Is it?” Sue peered at her.
“Yes,” Jules said slowly. “I think it is. How am I going to raise this baby? How am I going to take care of it?”
“Money won’t be an issue,” Sue said, a bit acerbically. “Rhett can sell his flashy car and set you up for the next twenty years.”
