Expecting a Scandal

by Joanne Rock

“I have a utility vehicle with a cart attached. If you see something you like while we’re out, you can just let me know and I’ll use the cart to pick it up for you later.”

  “That would be great.” She had planned to simply use the day for inspiration in creating her own tree for the children’s ward, but she appreciated the offer of bringing some pieces home with her. “Thank you.”

  They started down a worn path between the house and barns. Ruby remained close to Vaughn’s side even though she wasn’t on a leash. The golden retriever didn’t dart off to examine butterflies or sniff interesting fence posts. Clearly, the dog was tightly bonded to Vaughn.

  Abigail enjoyed walking with them both as they entered a wooded area on the southern side of the ranch. Part of her delight was being in nature, something she missed in her downtown bungalow. With the earthy scents of green and growing vegetation around them, she breathed deeper, her fingers trailing over tree trunks and brushing against mossy logs. But another aspect of her pleasure had to do with Vaughn’s very male presence beside her. His warmth and strength. The simple consideration he showed for her when he lifted a low sapling branch out of her way or pointed out a rocky patch in the terrain.

  “I didn’t get to ask you something the other day.” Vaughn held out his hand to her to help her across a rivulet.

  She accepted his offer, squeezing his fingers for balance as she hopped over the water, his touch making her far too aware of him. “What’s that? After our first meeting, I can’t imagine you holding back on any question you wanted to pose,” she teased lightly, telling herself not to let the brush of his fingers affect her.

  “Are you seeing anyone?” He stopped beside her, his boot cracking a twig underfoot as he pivoted to look at her, his hand still holding hers.

  Everything inside her stilled. Because with that question, he was making it clear that she hadn’t misread the signals he’d sent. If she hadn’t been expecting a baby, maybe this could lead to something more. Something special.

  Her heart thudded so hard he probably felt it in his hand where her palm grazed his. Staring up into his eyes, she allowed herself a flash of if-only thoughts, where this moment would play out differently.

  And then, she forced herself back to reality.

  “No. I am definitely not.” With a resolute shake of her head, she stepped back, disentangling their fingers with more than a little regret. “But my life is about to get very complicated, Vaughn, because I’m five months pregnant.”

  * * *

  Too stunned to hide his shock, Vaughn dropped his gaze to her slim figure. She wore three-quarter-length yoga pants and a blue-and-white floral blouse that covered her midsection. Now that he thought back on it, all the times they’d met she’d been wearing loose tops or, like the other day, her artist’s smock.

  He’d just assumed she was single when he didn’t see a ring and felt—thought he felt—the sparks between them. Damn. Damn. Damn. He knew it was rude to stare and, belatedly, he forced his eyes to meet hers.

  “I had no idea.” He shook his head, feeling like a first-rate idiot as a bird whistled and circled overhead. Ruby pressed against his leg, her head lightly nudging his knee. “I never would have guessed—”

  “Well, I haven’t made a habit of advertising it yet since I’m still trying to come to terms with what this pregnancy means for me.” Abigail rubbed one hand over her other arm as if to ward off a chill, even though the day bordered on being hot. “Would you mind if we keep walking?”

  “Sure.” He nodded, his hand scratching Ruby’s head automatically as they stalked deeper into the woodland portion of the ranch. “You’re not...with the baby’s father?”

  She shook her head. “I’m not even sure he’s alive.” Her words were halting. Troubled. Then, as she slanted a look his way, something fierce lit her dark eyes. “But even if he is, he won’t be a part of my child’s life.”

  “He won’t?” Vaughn knew she might not have a legal say in that since the father could sue for paternal rights. If Vaughn had a child, he would move heaven and earth to make sure he had a role in the baby’s life.

  Not that he would ever be a father after the way his world had changed forever. Besides, from the vehemence in her voice he suspected it wasn’t the right moment to speculate about possible legal action involving her baby.

  “Are you close with anyone in the Texas Cattleman’s Club?” she asked, surprising him with the quick turn of conversation. Her tone was different now. Confiding. Confidential.

  How sad that he felt like they were getting closer on the same day she pulled away. He still couldn’t believe the woman he was so attracted to was carrying another man’s child. He was too shocked at the news to figure out how he felt about that.

  “I’m not active, but my father still is.” His dad had asked him to stop by the club more than once since his return from Afghanistan.

  His parents didn’t really understand how hard he battled the PTSD, or that Vaughn didn’t socialize more than strictly necessary. He pointed to a turn in the path through the woods, silently showing Abigail the way while she continued.

  “Then you might know—and your father most likely already knows—that Rich Lowell was impersonating Will Sanders before the imposter faked Will’s death.”

  Vaughn had heard rumblings, but not the full story. Will Sanders was a man who had it all—including a prestigious family with deep roots in Royal, and with the Texas Cattleman’s Club. He owned one of the largest ranches in Royal in addition to being CEO of Spark Energy Solutions, an energy company with ties to oil, gas and solar.

  Or at least, he was CEO. Before his supposed death eight weeks ago.

  “I heard something about Will Sanders walking into his own funeral this spring, but the story was too incredible to believe.” Vaughn wondered how Abigail knew about it. The story hadn’t been in the local news outlets even though Will Sanders was a high-profile member of the community.

  And then, he understood. Abigail wasn’t a member of the TCC. So if she knew about the FBI investigation that was allegedly probing into the impersonation and embezzlement schemes of a man posing as Will Sanders, it could only mean she’d been questioned. Or was close to one of the main parties under investigation.

  She halted beside him, her brows lifted, as if fully expecting he would have put the pieces together.

  He stroked the top of Ruby’s head, taking comfort from her presence when he should probably be offering support to Abigail. “Is the man who pretended to be Will Sanders the father of your child?” he asked.

  The hum of summer insects in the meadow nearby penetrated the woods, filling the air with a rising, buzzing sound, an ominous underscore to his question.

  “Yes.” The terse reply communicated a wealth of resentment.

  Or was it something more complicated than that? He couldn’t read her expression, but there was a plethora of emotions there.

  “I’m so damn sorry.” He spotted a place he’d wanted to show her, where a fallen log made a mossy seat beside a rushing brook. No doubt, this day wasn’t going to be the kind of prelude to romance he’d hoped for, but he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t still drawn to the compelling woman beside him. He took her hand again, craving the feel of her in spite of everything. “Come sit for a minute.”

  “I don’t regret this baby for a moment,” she confided as she followed him toward the creek. “But I hate that I won’t have a happy story to share with my child about his or her father. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

  Abigail’s artist’s gaze seemed to take in every detail as he led her under a low-hanging branch to show her the bend in the brook, perfect for dipping your toes on a hot day. The whole glade smelled like balsam and loamy earth.

  “He deceived you along with the whole town.” Vaughn couldn’t imagine how devastated she must have been. But according to local gossips, Abigail hadn’t
been the only woman taken in by the fake Will Sanders’s charm. The lowlife had been married to Megan Phillips and had an affair with a woman while abroad on business. “That’s a lot to process in addition to the baby news.”

  He felt protective of Abigail, damn it. Was that why he kept hold of her hand, or steadied her waist when she stepped up onto the log? She deserved his care.

  But as he sank to sit on the fallen tree beside her, Vaughn knew he was lying to himself. He would take any excuse to touch her. Get closer to her.

  “Our night together should have never happened in the first place.” She wrapped her arms around herself, her feet dangling just above the brook’s edge, while Ruby settled along the back of the log, faithfully watching Vaughn’s back, the way she’d been trained. “I was doing temp work at the Ace in the Hole last winter. I didn’t even know him that well. He told me he was separated from his wife, and I believed him.”

  Vaughn wasn’t sure how to offer comfort. So he just listened. Waited. The rush of the water filled the silence while a soft breeze rustled through the hickory tree overhead. He couldn’t deny a sense of relief that her relationship had been just one night and not a deep, emotional relationship. Yet at the same time, he knew it was irrational of him to feel that way since he barely knew her.

  “I was working late that night because it was my younger sister’s birthday.” Her voice changed. Softened. “Alannah.” She glanced over at him, blinking fast before she looked away again. “She would have been twenty-four. Only she died ten months before that, and I was really...struggling that day.”

  Whatever he’d thought she might say, it hadn’t been anything remotely close to that. Understanding made his chest ache for her. He related to that kind of loss all too well.

  His arm went around her shoulders. Behind him, he felt Ruby shift. Even his dog nudged Abigail’s back, whimpering with the kind of empathetic emotion that animals keenly understood.

  “Honey, I’m more sorry than I can say.” He tipped his cheek to the top of her head. “She was taken from you far too soon.”

  He didn’t even want to think about some bastard taking advantage of her grief. Because as much as Vaughn could admit he liked the feel of Abigail in his arms, he would never use her vulnerable state for leverage. That was just...so damn wrong.

  “I knew right away that the night with Will—the imposter posing as Will—had been a mistake,” she confessed, her voice muffled against his shirt before she straightened, then swiped quickly at her eyes. “I should have taken precautions the next day, but I was still so weighed down with grief. If anything, I felt worse.” She shook her head. “It had been months since she drowned in a kayaking accident, so I thought I’d been coming to terms with it a little more. There was just something about having her birthday come and go that really set things back.”

  With an effort, he dropped his arm again, not wishing to overstep, the way that jackass boss of hers had.

  “There are good days and bad days when you’re grieving.” He knew firsthand.

  “Yeah.” She nodded, startling a little as a frog splashed into the water beside them. “And that was a bad few days. By the time I hauled myself out of it, I realized I missed the window when the morning-after pill was most effective.” She tipped her face up to a patch of sunlight through the leaves. “I don’t know. Sometimes I wonder if, subconsciously, I didn’t mind the idea of having a baby. Nurturing another life when one so important had been taken from me.”

  “Whatever the reason, you’ve got a child to plan for.” He had more questions about that, but he knew it wasn’t his place to ask her those things.

  It surprised him how very much he wanted to, though. How was she going to manage her work with an infant to care for? After the statue was completed in the children’s ward, she still had a commitment to develop a bigger, interactive installation.

  Her art involved chisels and saws. Power tools that make her studio off-limits for a child. She would have to hire help.

  “I do.” She nodded, a dark curl blowing against his shoulder as she shifted on the log beside him. “I’m going to focus all of my energy on preparing for this baby and creating a sculpture so beautiful and moving that my sister would be proud.”

  Her smile dazzled him, even more so since he could understand the bittersweet emotion that came with it. Ruby settled again behind them, her tail wagging slowly through the pine needles and dried leaves.

  “That’s a healthy way to express mourning.” How often had his counselor told him he needed more constructive outlets in the early days of battling PTSD? He’d never found one. But maybe he could make another kind of positive step. He could share something of his journey that might help Abigail, even though that kind of thing was tough for him. “I know that, actually, because I’ve never been successful at finding my own. Healthy expressions of grief, that is.”

  The admission was awkward. But not as difficult as he’d imagined. Something about Abigail’s presence relaxed him a fraction, taking some of the edge off his too-sharp emotions.

  “I’m sorry, Vaughn.” Her hand reached to cover his where it rested on his thigh. “Did you lose someone close to you, too?”

  Too many.

  He mulled over the best way to answer the question without ripping open his own hard-won control. He focused on a water bug swimming circles in a still patch of water off to the side of the brook.

  “I took a yearlong deployment in Afghanistan with the army.” The simple statement didn’t come close to conveying what the experience meant. How deeply it had affected him. Changed him. “I can’t claim the same blood ties to the guys lost during that time to the bond you had with your sister. But there’s a definite brotherhood with men you spend your rec time with. Guys you share meals with.”

  Each piece of information hurt to share. As if speaking about that time made him relive it. Which was foolish, since he relived the worst of those times often enough in his mind.

  Ruby must have sensed the tension because she left her spot on the ground behind him to sit by his knee, her face lifted to his. She was such a good dog. And he appreciated her helping him hold it together in front of Abigail.

  “You don’t need blood ties for that connection,” Abigail assured him, her fingers threading neatly through his, filling in the empty places. Squeezing. “I’m sorry you lost brothers over there.”

  She tipped her dark head to his shoulder, and he breathed in the sweet, tangy sent of cinnamon and oranges.

  The ache in his chest eased a fraction at the feel of her against him. He closed his eyes for a moment, while dueling songbirds called to one another overhead. He tried to steady himself because he wasn’t the one who was supposed to be receiving comfort. He was supposed to be offering it.

  “Ruby has been a big help,” he admitted, wanting to put the rest of his brokenness on the table for the sake of honesty. Abigail had already battled the disappointment of one man’s deception. He wouldn’t make the same mistake of hiding the truth about himself. “She’s a service dog, and she’s trained to give me extra assistance for dealing with PTSD.”

  “I noticed her collar,” Abigail confessed, “but I know it’s rude to ask about it.”

  He smothered a chuckle.

  Abigail lifted her head, confusion in her eyes. “What’s funny about that?”

  “Remember the way we met?” He wanted to touch her again. Stroke her hair. Pull her into his arms. But he knew he needed restraint after what she’d shared. “I was incredibly blunt and tactless. You owe me a rude question or two, Abigail, to even the score. You can ask me anything.”

  He could tell she wasn’t sure how to interpret his shift in conversation. But he couldn’t linger in those dark places. It was all he could do to share as much as he had with her today.

  “I don’t know if I have it in me to be rude. Too much of a good Southern girl.” A small
smile curved her lips.

  She was so lovely. And in spite of everything she’d shared with him today, he still wanted her. He wanted to know how she tasted. What her lips would feel like on his. How the rest of her would fit against him. That was wrong on so many levels, especially given how hard he battled his own demons. He was in no shape to offer Abigail the kind of steady presence she needed in her life right now. But that didn’t change the fact that she would be in his dreams tonight.

  He wanted to stroke her cheek. Run a thumb along her full lower lip to test the feel of it. To see her eyes widen with awareness.

  “Be candid, then. You can ask me brusque, tactless questions anytime you like.” He was joking. Trying to make her smile and doing his damnedest to evade any more conversation about his time as a brigade surgeon.

  But something in Abigail’s expression made him think she was taking the suggestion seriously.

  “I do have something to ask you.” She still held his hand, and at some point had moved closer to him, too. Her voice was a soft stroke of breath against his cheek. “Something frank and honest.”

  His heart thudded harder. He really should let go of her. Show her around the woods the way he’d promised. But she mesmerized him with her sultry dark eyes and her tender heart.

  “Just this once, Vaughn, will you kiss me?”

  Four

  Too stunned to trust his ears, Vaughn waited a breath. A heartbeat. The brook at his feet rushed over rocks, babbling with far more clarity than his thoughts.

  “A kiss?” He needed to be sure, as much as it pained him to ask, to risk her denying the words.

  For an answer, she raised her free hand to his face, tracing his jaw through the thick scruff of beard that he’d worn since his homecoming. One more barrier between him and the rest of the world.

  “It’s been a long, long time since I’ve had a real kiss that wasn’t about drowning sorrow and forgetting.” She spoke with an earnest sincerity that slid right past his defenses. “I just think it would be nice to have a taste of...what might have been.”