by Joanne Rock
For now, however, the sculpture was impressive enough for the unveiling. Abigail peered behind her for a glimpse of Vaughn, certain he must have come downstairs with the rest of the attendees who’d chosen to see the statue. He’d been such a steadying presence during her questioning with Cole Sullivan.
She’d been anxious for that dance Vaughn had promised, but he’d been quick to melt into the crowd when they returned from the interview in his office. She knew that was part of his job tonight.
And yet...she wondered if he was also astutely distancing himself from her in front of his colleagues. By the people in the community he hoped would donate more funds to the hospital. Was her presence—an increasingly obvious pregnant presence—a detriment to his efforts? Some might view her pregnancy as being on the scandalous side. Especially Vaughn’s fellow members of the Texas Cattleman’s Club, who were privy to details surrounding Rich Lowell’s misdeeds while impersonating Will. While Abigail wasn’t the only woman Rich had used and mistreated, she felt like she played a larger role in her own deception than any of the other women. She’d knowingly had a fling with a married man.
She’d been too lost in her grief to question Rich’s insistence that he and his wife, Megan Phillips-Sanders, were separated. Although she didn’t feel the need to share her personal journey of mourning with the world, she also understood why some people would judge her harshly.
Her thoughts swirling, she almost bumped into the hospital development officer as she paused in front of the flower archway in the children’s ward. The older woman wore a black strapless gown with a matching short-sleeve sequin jacket. The long column of simple lines suited her no-nonsense approach.
“Ms. Stewart, if you would stand right here—” she pointed to a spot beside the microphone “—I’ll introduce you before the unveiling.”
“Thank you.” Excited to share her work with the group, Abigail’s pleasure was dimmed only by the fact that she didn’t see Vaughn yet.
“Do you wish to say a few words?” Belinda asked, testing the sound equipment.
“No. Thank you.” She’d dedicated the project to Alannah in her mind. She didn’t need to share that story with the group. Besides, she liked for her work to be interpreted individually, without swaying viewers to share her highly personal vision.
“Very well.” Belinda took her place on a small platform. “I’m going to get started.”
Abigail discreetly lifted up on her toes, trying to see through the crowd for Vaughn. She really thought he’d wanted to see this. To share this with her.
She’d come to rely on him so quickly even though they hadn’t known each other long. Now that she would be spending less time at the hospital, would their relationship fade, too? She had an ultrasound appointment at the hospital on Monday—her last trip to Royal Memorial for a while and for a much different reason. She’d thought about asking him to join her.
But was that selfish of her when she knew he wasn’t ready for more?
“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please?” The hospital administrator took the microphone, quieting the assembled guests before briefly discussing the commitment of the hospital staff to excellence, right down to providing a nurturing environment for patients.
She introduced Abigail as the artist of the hospital’s latest attempt to create an uplifting retreat for patients and their families. As the crowd clapped politely, she heard a soft but unmistakable whistle of approval from the back of the room. A few chuckles followed, along with people turning to spot the source of the whistling.
Those turned heads allowed her to spot Vaughn. For a moment, their eyes met and her heart turned a somersault.
He was here.
He lifted a hand in a wave of acknowledgment.
No matter that she was worried about how people would react to them together, apparently he had no such reservations.
“Without further ado,” Belinda McDowell continued, “I present to you our very own Tree of Gifts.”
The black gauzy curtain fell to the ground at her verbal cue, revealing the sculpture in spotlight.
There were appreciative oohs and aahs that sounded genuine to Abigail’s hopeful ears. Even the applause that followed was deeper, louder and more prolonged than the earlier polite smattering. And if she’d had any doubt about the positive reception, Belinda McDowell’s wide smile told her she saw the unveiling as a success.
Then, just as the clapping began to die down, Belinda returned to the microphone. “Before you leave, ladies and gentlemen, make sure to spot a few of the gifts inside the tree.”
Behind her, the spotlight darted to one of the carved owls perched in an obvious nest on a low limb. Then to a more subtle face in the bark.
“You can tell us which one of these surprises you love best,” Belinda continued. “And you can bid on the chance to have your name carved on your favorite.”
Event volunteers began passing out white cards for guests to make bids on the small pieces of art in the tree, the surprises Abigail had installed for bored and restless children to find as they walked through the lounge. She had to hand it to resourceful event staff for making the most of the statue at the gala. It was a quick, easy way to earn more donations and give guests buy-in on the project.
Seeing her part in the unveiling finished, Abigail stepped away from the flower arch and out of the way of guests who were excited to find new creatures hidden in the limbs. She, on the other hand, was looking through the crowd for Vaughn.
She spotted him at last, speaking with a distinguished-looking older man and woman, still standing at the back of the room. She debated returning to the party upstairs, not wanting to interrupt him if he was speaking to friends or touting the merits of the hospital’s mission to potential donors.
But before she could dart away for the stairs, he spotted her. Waved her over to join him.
“Abigail.” His smile seemed strained. “I’d like you to meet my parents.”
Eleven
Vaughn saw his mother’s eyes zero in on Abigail’s pregnant belly like a laser beam.
Her look made him belatedly realize this meeting was bound to be awkward. At the time he’d waved Abigail over, he’d been more concerned she would leave the event if she didn’t see him. And, selfishly, he’d been grateful for an excuse to dodge his parents’ questions about his mental health. They’d been hammering on about the importance of keeping Ruby close by whenever he wasn’t working. Hell, they’d brought up switching to a less demanding job, suggesting he come back to the family business, where there would be less stress.
As if he would waste the skills and education he’d spent almost a lifetime acquiring.
Unfortunately, he’d probably made the leap from frying pan to fire. And chances were good he was taking Abigail with him into the hot seat. Her eyes darted toward him as she made her way over, her uncertainty quickly masked as she reached his side.
He had no choice now but to forge ahead.
“Mom, Dad, this is Abigail Stewart, the artist who created the Tree of Gifts.” He wasn’t sure how else to introduce her. He certainly hadn’t thought to ask her ahead of time about their first public appearance together.
They weren’t a couple. And yet...to say nothing about their relationship denied her importance to him.
“Hello.” Abigail shook their hands, smiling warmly while Vaughn kicked himself. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
The moment had passed to clarify a relationship. He could see his parents’ avid curiosity while they murmured polite greetings.
“Abigail, my parents, David and Bronwyn Chambers.” Vaughn knew the burden was on him to extract Abigail from the conversation quickly and efficiently.
He’d never intended to spring a meet-the-parents moment on her tonight. Abigail’s gaze flashed to his for a moment. Questioning.
“You
r sculpture is beautiful, Abigail.” His mother waved the white donation card that she held, along with a small pencil. “I was just going up to take a closer look so I could see what we should bid on. Perhaps you’d steer me toward one of your favorites?”
“Of course.” Abigail stepped back, opening up a path toward the sculpture for his mother. “Let’s go see.”
Vaughn was ready to sprint into action right behind them, but his mother turned back with a steely look in her green eyes. “Gentleman, excuse us,” she said firmly. “We’ll be right back.”
He wanted to concoct a reason to join them. But Abigail narrowed a look at him that he couldn’t quite interpret. Was she hurt that he hadn’t claimed a relationship with her? Aggravated? Either way, her expression warned him that she would handle his mother on her own.
He wasn’t certain how he knew that. But he understood her silent message just the same. He must be starting to know Abigail very well that they could communicate so acutely that way. Still, he felt defeated as he watched his mother sail off toward the sculpture, her navy blue caftan billowing behind her.
What the hell would they be discussing?
“You walked right into that one,” his father observed at his elbow. He clapped a hand on Vaughn’s back.
“I disagree, Dad.” He ground his teeth together. “I never saw it coming.”
“Is the baby yours?” Dad asked. No judgment. Just a question.
Albeit a loaded one.
Vaughn hissed out a breath between his teeth, wondering if his mother was being just as tactful right now with Abigail.
“No.” He lowered his voice, making sure they weren’t overheard. “I would have mentioned it before now if I was going to be a father.”
His dad’s hand slid away from his shoulders. “There was a time I would have thought that, too. But we don’t hear much from you these days.”
Emotions piled on his chest, one after the other. Regret. Frustration. Worry for Abigail. Resentment that their time together was going to end and he wasn’t any closer to figuring out how to be a fully functioning half of a couple anymore.
“I’m working on it, Dad,” he said finally, not sure what else to say. “That’s all I can do.”
His gaze landed on Abigail—where she stood beside his mother. She was shaking her head. Emphatic denial. His mother was touching her shoulder. Reassuring her?
It was too much for him. He had to intervene in case his mother was making assumptions about their relationship. Or about Abigail herself. She certainly didn’t owe anyone any explanations about her choices or her future. And there was a chance his mother was trying to wheedle both of those things from the woman he cared about.
He might not be the right man for Abigail, but if she was still speaking to him by the time he arrived at her side, he was going to find a way to make it up to her.
* * *
“Honestly, Mrs. Stewart.” Abigail was trying to make her point another way, hoping to reassure Bronwyn Chambers as they stood under the sprawling branches of the Tree of Gifts. “I don’t know why Vaughn didn’t bring Ruby with him tonight. I was so caught up in my own role in the evening, I didn’t think to ask him.”
Hoping to redirect her companion, Abigail pointed to a rabbit tucked into a nook between tree roots.
“I think the bunny would be a fun carving to bid on. All the younger kids will find him since he’s low to the ground like them.” Abigail glanced in Vaughn’s direction, ready for rescue before his mother’s questions became more personal.
He’d been heading their way at one point, but he’d been intercepted by an older man, who held him in deep conversation now.
The party around the tree had grown, with some additional guests from upstairs joining them as the original group still searched the branches for surprise forest critters to bid on in the fund-raiser.
“Perfect.” Mrs. Chambers passed over her card to Abigail. “Would you mind penciling in the necessary details, my dear? I left my reading glasses at home tonight.” She grinned ruefully as she held up a beaded evening bag. “I ask you, how could I fit more than a lipstick in this?”
“Of course.” Abigail wrote the name of the carving on the card.
“And I don’t mean to put you on the spot, Abigail, but I’m so very glad to see you with my son. Together.”
Abigail looked up slowly, unsure how to respond. “We’re not really together.”
His mother attempted to smile but there were worried lines etched around her eyes. “But there was something in his manner when he called you over. He likes you, Abigail. I can tell.”
Abigail could see how much his mother wanted to believe that, but she couldn’t afford to bear the weight of anyone else’s hope. She could hardly corral her own runaway feelings when she knew that Vaughn wasn’t ready for more. She’d almost made the mistake of inviting Vaughn to the ultrasound and gender-reveal appointment with her. It wouldn’t be fair to his mother to let her think that Vaughn was interested in anything long-term with Abigail.
“We’ve struck up a friendship, Mrs. Chambers,” she assured her as she returned the bid card, her heart in her throat. “But...” She blinked fast. Took a breath to steel herself. “That’s all we will ever be.”
Needing to leave before her emotions spilled over, she excused herself. Turning, she ran squarely into Vaughn.
He must have overheard her. Although why her words would make his expression turn so thunderous, she couldn’t say. She’d simply told his mother the truth, which Vaughn had stressed from the beginning of their relationship.
It wasn’t destined to go anywhere. The sooner she began to realize that, the better.
* * *
Vaughn wasn’t sure what had transpired between Abigail and his mother before she denied having a relationship with him. But the hurt in Abigail’s eyes spoke for itself. She was upset.
She edged past him now, taking fast strides toward the exit. Thankfully, Vaughn’s father had joined them, so he didn’t have to leave his mother standing all alone in the middle of the gala fund-raiser.
“I need to speak to her,” he informed his parents, leaning in to give his mother’s cheek a kiss. “Thank you both for coming.”
He charged through the crowd and headed up the stairs to the rooftop party, where the country band had taken the stage under the canopy of white lights. Steel guitars and fiddles had the dance floor almost full as the party turned lively.
His gaze scanned the tables, searching. Finally, he spotted a flash of scarlet-colored tulle near the sparkling water station by the bar. Abigail had a wrap over one arm and her evening clutch in her hand as she paused to take a drink.
Relief filled him. She hadn’t left.
“Abigail.” He reached her side, realizing as he approached that she was more upset than he realized. Her eyes looked shiny. Too bright.
He didn’t think it was a coincidence that she chose that moment to set aside her glass.
“I was just leaving.” She slipped the sheer black wrap she carried around her shoulders, tying it in front. “I’m more tired than I realized. I think the long days of working on the statue are catching up with me.”
He heard the exhaustion in her voice. And while he had no doubt this week had been hard for her, he couldn’t help but wonder if the conversation with his mother had more than a little to do with her sudden departure.
“I’d like to drive you home.” He needed to speak to her. Wanted to keep her safe.
“Thank you. But I’ll be fine.” She opened her bag and pulled out her keys while the country band shifted the music for a slow number.
“Abby, please.” He put a protective arm around her as a new rush of people lined up at the bar nearby. He drew her farther from the noise of the party, toward the display of flowers at one end of the rooftop garden. “I’m sorry if my mother made you feel
uncomfortable in any way. She means well.”
“Of course she does.” Abigail shook her head. “Your parents were both lovely. I just—” She hesitated. “I’m ready to leave.”
“And I don’t like the idea of you going home alone at night with Rich Lowell still at large.”
“You were kind enough to install an alarm system to keep me safe,” she reminded him, sliding her key ring over her finger while the metal jangled softly.
“But I’ll sleep better if I see you walk inside.” He couldn’t seem to remove his hand from the small of her back, and wished he had the right to hold her in front of the world. To kiss her here and now. “The conversation with Cole Sullivan put into perspective just how dangerous Rich might be.”
She chewed her lip. “I will be careful. But I have to consider another danger, Vaughn, and weigh it against the threat Rich poses.” Her voice lowered as she spoke.
“I don’t follow.” He tipped his head closer to hear her. “What other danger could you possibly be worried about?”
“The emotional kind.” Her dark brown eyes locked on his for a long moment. “The danger of falling for you has become very real for me. I can’t take that lightly, and I can’t allow myself to forget that only a foolish woman would lose her heart to someone who has no intention of ever returning it.”
His gut sank. Or maybe it was his heart. He didn’t know. Couldn’t navigate his own emotions on the best of the days, and this was turning out to be far from his best day. His hand fell away from where he’d been touching her. He tipped his head back to glance up through the canopy of lights to see the night sky. Winking stars.
