Rolling in Clover

by Dawn, Penny

  "I don't think I'm going to hear it today, but we can try next week. Sometimes I can't pick it up until week fifteen."

  "Please,” Luke said.

  The doctor shook his head. “I won't hear it. Could be too early."

  "But I'm almost eleven weeks.” She sniffled. “We heard Allie's at nine."

  Luke grasped her hand. “Can we have a few minutes?"

  "Of course."

  Once alone with Luke, she allowed tears to flow like mad waterfalls and covered her eyes. “You're a God-fearing man. Is this my due penance for my repeated wrongs? For aborting Jason's child? For cheating on my husband?"

  "Look at me. Kimber, look at me."

  She struggled to lock her gaze on him.

  "Breathe."

  She shook her head.

  "Breathe, Kimber."

  Their entwined hands pressed relentlessly against her uterus, and his other hand tangled into her hair.

  "It's because of the abortion. That's what he'll say."

  "What who'll say? Brennan?"

  "He'll say it's because of the abortion."

  "You heard the doctor."

  "Something's wrong. I'm not a moron, Luke. I know we should've heard it, and I know why we didn't."

  "Look at me."

  And this time, when their eyes met, softness overcame her. Amid the chaos of the moment, a sense of calm settled in the air between them, hanging in his gaze. She exhaled, inhaled, and exhaled again, breathing in time with Luke.

  "That's my girl. In and out, in and out."

  She released his hand and wiped away tears.

  "Until you know for sure, there's nothing wrong,” he said. “A woman in your condition can't afford the stress of worry.” His hands moved to her open jeans, and he refastened them. Seemingly accidentally, his fingers caressed the sides of her breasts as he gingerly pulled her shirt down over her stomach. “Don't tell your husband if you think he'll blame you. We'll come back next week."

  She nodded, stifling the last of her tears and pulling him close. “I'll bet you were one hell of a labor coach."

  A dry kiss landed upon her cheek. “You're right."

  * * * *

  Kimberley didn't know if she was going to tell Brennan about the baby's heartbeat until she saw him Friday afternoon, when disgust made the decision for her. He didn't deserve to know.

  "Hey there, angel pie.” With glazed and unfocused eyes, Brennan meandered across the great room, toward Allison, who abandoned her toys the moment she saw him.

  "Daddy!” She scrambled to her feet and began to run.

  Yet before she reached her father, Kimberley held her tight. “You can hug Daddy later.” She swung her around, depositing her body between her daughter and Brennan.

  "I want to hug him now.” Allison pouted.

  "I wanna hug you, too, angel pie."

  She glared at her husband over her shoulder.

  "What? I'm fine.” He grinned. “A whole lot richer, too."

  "Mommy?” Allison twisted Kimberley's wedding ring. “Why can't I say hi to Daddy?"

  Her heart sank, and she released her daughter, who shot to Brennan's side and climbed into his arms. He tossed her into the air and covered her cheeks with kisses.

  "Down, Daddy. Let's play."

  Brennan put her down and staggered around the room while Allison chased him, laughing and oblivious to her father's condition—and to Kimberley's.

  Baby bubble. More likely, she was just fat.

  "Allie, calm down,” Kimberley said. “You'll get hurt."

  The child ignored the warning, screeching as she reached out to touch her father. “Tag, Daddy. You're It."

  "Brennan, please."

  He grabbed Allison and again tossed her into the air. “A flying angel pie. There she goes again. Way up high.” It would have been endearing, had her husband been sober.

  Kimberley couldn't watch and wait for an accident. She slipped into the kitchen and opened the phone directory. With a yellow marker, she highlighted three-quarters of a column and tossed the book onto her husband's desk, page exposed: Addictions Counseling.

  "I don't know what else to do,” she muttered.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a pink slip of paper sticking out of a desk drawer. She pulled out an over-drawn notice from the bank, dated a week ago. She sighed and shoved it back into the drawer before leaving the room.

  "All right, Allie,” she called down the hall. “Bed time."

  * * * *

  "I love you.” Kimberley stared out at the sun rising over the ninth green.

  Brennan cuddled behind her, his arm slinked around her, and his hand softly squeezing her right breast.

  "I love you, too,” he whispered, his hung over, whiskey breath hot on the back of her neck.

  "But if you ever come home in that condition again, and insist on playing with our daughter, I'm leaving you."

  "I'm sorry.” He tightened his arm around her.

  "I don't care anymore, Brennan, how sorry you are. She's little, she doesn't understand, and she doesn't deserve this."

  "What do you want me to say?"

  "Nothing, Bren. You're a father. Act like one."

  Silent for a few minutes, he cleared his throat. “I love you, Coco Bop."

  "I love you, too, but you need help, and you need to get it now."

  "I'm fine. I'm handling things."

  "Are you handling the finances, too? I found the over-drawn slip from the bank."

  "Misunderstanding."

  "Was it?"

  "Actually, Allie's ballet tuition is what put us over. You don't record debits in the register, Kim."

  "Yes, I do. I was managing a checkbook when I was in junior high, for God's sake."

  "Anyway, we have upward around fifty grand in the savings. I just forgot to transfer.” His hand trailed down to her abdomen. “Do you think it's a boy or a girl?"

  Maybe neither. “Brennan, do you want this baby?"

  "What, I had a couple drinks on the plane yesterday, spent a few hours at a card table, and suddenly I don't want this baby?"

  "I didn't mean it like that."

  "Say what you mean because I work too damn hard to deal with this guilt trip every Saturday morning.” He sprang from the bed, making a beeline to the bathroom.

  She heard the unzipping of his travel shaving case, the rattling of his aspirin bottle, and the gushing of the faucet.

  "I'm just tired,” she said, when he returned. “And I've got a lot on my mind."

  He sat on the mattress, his back to her. “Yeah, I know. Manicures and ballet lessons really take it all out of you."

  "Your job ends when you walk in that door. I've been on the clock since the second she was born, and don't you dare tell me what I do is easy."

  "God, you're out of control when you're pregnant. I understand the hormones, and the weight gain, and the nausea, but tell me it'll end before this pregnancy does."

  "It may be over now,” she said, crawling from the bed and whipping a pillow at him. Quickly, and crying all the while, she brushed her teeth and pulled her hair into a scraggly ponytail. She squeezed her maybe-pregnant thighs and breasts into a stretchy, casual dress and waved on her way out of the house.

  She should have told him about not hearing the baby's heartbeat, but then he'd wonder why she waited to tell him, why she'd answered with a simple “Fine,” when he'd asked how the appointment had gone. And then, she'd have to explain Luke.

  Luke. She fished her cell phone from among tissues, Happy Meal toys, even a pair of Allison's tap shoes, from her purse, and punched memory 8. “Can you meet me?"

  "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing. I need to see you."

  "The club?"

  "Forest preserve. Our place."

  "Ten minutes?"

  "See you.” She clicked off the phone and immediately dialed Lauren. “I don't want you to think I've left him yet, but I need some time. I promise I'm going back home."

 
; Lauren yawned. “Honey, what happened?"

  "We couldn't find the heartbeat."

  "Oh, Kim."

  "And I don't want to worry Brennan, so I haven't told him yet, but I'm ... I'm just not myself, so I need to get away."

  "All right."

  "Would you mind ... Could you keep Brennan company? Tell him I'll be back before lunch? And tell him I love him?"

  "Sure."

  "Thanks. I owe you."

  Good thing she'd gone to law school. Where else would she have learned to manipulate words and evoke favorable responses? Lauren hadn't guessed Kimberley was using her to keep Brennan cornered. He'd looked for her last time; without Lauren's insistence, perhaps he'd look again.

  And he wouldn't like what he saw, if he happened to find her.

  * * * *

  Usually, even amid a workout, Kimberley looked perfectly put together. This morning, however, she appeared more natural. Unruly. No lipstick, hair sprouting from a hair tie like a weeping willow in the wind. He didn't think it possible that a woman could be more attractive than she on a normal day, but ... Wow. Luke sat on the dirt next to her, brushing a kiss upon her cheek. “Hi, beautiful girl."

  "It isn't the baby,” she whispered, grasping his hand. “I still don't know..."

  "So what happened?"

  "I don't want to talk. Not today."

  He nodded, caressing her knuckles with his thumb, stumbling over the mountainous diamond in her wedding band. “Are you all right?"

  "If things were all right, do you think I'd be here?” A fire raged in her eyes. Anger. Passion. Sorrow.

  He wiggled her ring. She curled her finger, as if to curb his determination, but when he raised his glance to hers, she relaxed. He removed the ring and dropped it into her purse. Slowly, he leaned to her, cupping her face in his left hand.

  "Take yours off, too,” she whispered.

  With little difficulty, he slipped his ring over his knuckle and it followed suit, into her purse.

  "Are you going to put it back on?” she asked.

  What a question. “Yeah.” He leaned to her again, holding her cheek in the contour of his hand, tracing her soft lower lip with his thumb. He'd waited too long for this moment, had to make it perfect. Slow, so he'd remember it, in case it didn't happen again.

  He licked his lips, and she sighed a seductive groan.

  "Kimber."

  Her eyelashes flickered open, and she parted her lips to respond. He rippled his tongue into her mouth like sperm into an egg. Tenderly, provocatively, he bit into her mouth. She tasted of cinnamon toothpaste, smelled like Ivory soap.

  His arms flexed around her. His hands roamed over her firm but feminine backside, against her large breasts, beneath her dress and along her inner thighs. He dragged a finger against her clitoris, just to gauge her reaction.

  A sharp intake of air and a sweet, “Ohhh."

  "I need you, Kimber.” He pulled her across his lap so she straddled him. “I need you,” he whispered against her lips. “My God, I need you."

  Her heart beat against him like pulsating club music. “This is crazy.” Her lips brushed against his when she spoke. “But I want you, too. All of you."

  "Are you ready to walk away from all that?” His thumb traced a nipple, feeling it harden with his touch. “I can't give you that house, that ring..."

  "Is that what you think I want?” She pressed her hips to his pelvis, and he solidified to his full seven-and-five-eighths. Suddenly, her hands were at his fly, popping the button on his jeans. She slipped her hand inside, raking her fingers against his erection.

  "Oh, beautiful girl."

  "I don't want the house, that ring. None of that's me."

  He trailed his thumb over her lips. “Tell me what you want."

  "I want...” Her stare was serious and mesmerizing.

  "Please,” he whispered, lowering his mouth to a breast, laving her through her clothing. He subtly ground up against her in a simulation of sex.

  "Do you have anything?” Her fingers laced through his hair.

  "Like what?"

  "A condom."

  Protection. Of course. If he'd had any idea this was what she'd had in mind, he would have brought condoms by the truckload. “I'm healthy. And you're already pregnant.” He maneuvered her panties aside and pressed in a finger. So hot. So wet. And as he already knew, so deep.

  He lifted her against his cock, shuddering with the feel of a responsive, wet woman aligned with his erection. “Tell me what you want."

  "You're not naïve.” She moved against him, her lips on his neck.

  "I'm not going to do it unless you tell me."

  "Do it,” she breathed, wiggling to bring her opening in line with him, rocking over him, working his tip inside. “God, you feel good."

  He pressed upward with more force, and in two plunges, he'd buried himself. “Too good to be wrong.” He squeezed her hips, slammed his pelvis into hers. He refused to break their visual connection, and her eyes seemed a greener shade of shamrock amid passion.

  The rustling of leaves in the distance drew her attention, but he caught her by the chin and turned her face back to his.

  "Someone's coming,” she whispered.

  "That better be you.” And he kissed her, slow and passionate, seven-and-five-eighths penetrating in thorough strokes, her clit meticulously rubbing against his abdomen. And if it felt that good for him...

  The snap of a twig jolted her, and she tensed. “Luke—"

  He devoured her mouth, swallowing her words, and he drove home with each grind of his hips, filling her, pleasing her. One hand gingerly crushed a breast, the other flicked against her clit, enticing her to shiver.

  Voices from the path grew louder.

  "Kimber...” Sweat broke at his brow, on his chest. His balls hardened, ready to erupt. There it is.

  "Someone's—"

  In a swift motion, he lifted her from his seven-and-five eighths, and gently placed her on the ground next to him. Semen, still spouting, dripped down the length of him. Damn it, an additional two seconds and he could have shot every ounce of his fluid into her. He tucked his rigid penis into his jeans.

  With wide eyes, she touched her swollen lips.

  A family of four walked past, smiling their good-mornings, oblivious to the adulterous events that had just transpired.

  "You didn't get there,” he said, running his hands through his hair. “I wanted you to get there."

  She blinked. “I should go."

  "I want to see you again."

  "Give me a call.” She reached for her purse, wiped a tear from her eye.

  "Aw, don't do that, beautiful girl.” He touched her on the chin. “Don't regret this. Please."

  "No, I'm fine. Just ... call me, all right?"

  Her rear end swayed when she walked away.

  CHAPTER 11

  Luke seeped out of her vagina, a constant blinking light in her mind: she'd had sex—unprotected—with another man, crossed a line she couldn't erase. And worse, he was everything she'd imagined him to be. She'd never forget it, and she didn't want to.

  At the gym, she washed the scent of sex from her body, using the complimentary shampoo in the club shower stall, drying with an abrasive, club-issued towel.

  She stared into the mirror, combing through her frizzy hair with her fingers. Adulteress. But was it wrong to pursue a better life for herself? For her children?

  Marriages ended all the time—her once-career stood testament to that—and it wasn't as if she hadn't tried. On the contrary, she'd tried too hard, considering the effort had been one-sided.

  After nearly eight years, she hadn't helped Brennan by staying, constantly forgiving him. Perhaps Brennan, too, would be better off without the tethers of marriage binding him.

  What would Jason think of her cheating on her husband, leaving Brennan for a man she'd known for only a few weeks? Would he be disappointed in her? Would he even care?

  She glanced at her left hand, p
anicking for a split second at the absence of her wedding ring. But why would it be there, when Luke had taken it off? She rummaged through her purse, slipped it on, and searched for Luke's. How could she have forgotten to give it back to him?