AFRICAN AMERICAN URBAN FICTION: BWWM ROMANCE: Billionaire Baby Daddy (Billionaire Secret Baby Pregnancy Romance) (Multicultural & Interracial Romance Short Stories)

by Carmella Jones

  While he spoke, he pulled out a notebook from beneath the counter. He opened it to a page I recognized. It contained a list of all the items that Matthew had put on credit with the store over the last five years. The list was short, for Matthew never liked taking what he couldn’t pay for unless the item he needed exceeded his set budget for the month. He never dipped into his savings to pay for his necessities. He had always said that it was better to live on the dime than to live in the red.

  I said, “Yes, it does. Thank you, sir.”

  He invited me to return whenever it suited me. Then, I left the shop. When I emerged onto Sawtooth’s main street, I gasped in a breath. I saw something that I never expected to see. Matthew was in the arms of another woman.

  5

  He must have followed after me shortly after he gave me the news of his divorce. I don’t want to call it our divorce, as I’ve had nothing to do with it now or since. The woman who held him was short, perhaps five feet tall. Matthew stood a head and a half taller than her. She pressed the side of her face into his chest. She brought her hands up to the middle of his back. There, she moved them back and forth, up and down. He ducked a hand under her shirt where he-

  I turned my face away, sure that I had turned as red as a beet. Men and women feeling each other up in public just wasn’t done. Any woman fondling a man on a public street was liable to get herself arrested. I looked down at my hands. The brown bag with the gun inside was still there. I had a sudden idea, one that I never suspected would come. I would shoot the fool girl right then and there. Then Matthew would take me back. He would have to; he couldn’t afford to do without the extra labor on the ranch.

  I knelt down in the dusty street. I pulled the gun out. I loaded it as Harold had showed me. I did it slowly, to make sure that I was doing it right. When I loaded six bullets into the gun, I pulled back the hammer. The gun made a distinctive click that anyone who has ever been on the frontier for any amount of time will recognize. It was the sound of one person getting ready to kill another.

  I held the revolver up in front of me. My hands shook, despite all my efforts to keep them steady. I didn’t even have my finger on the trigger. I said, “Stand still, if you value your lives.”

  My goal then, as far as I can remember, was to separate the mail-order bride and Matthew. They were too close together. I might hit Matthew as easily as I might hit his soon-to-be wife. For everything that he had said, for everything that he was and wasn’t, I could not deny that I still loved him. I wanted him to take me back. I wanted him to tell me that he was just practicing upon me. I would have accepted any explanation or circumstance that would let me be his wife again. If that meant putting some poor girl in a shallow grave with a gunshot wound in her chest, then so be it. To me, that was a small price to pay.

  When Matthew saw me standing there with a gun in my hand, shame came over him. He blushed while he pushed the girl away from him. She stumbled backwards, then fell down. He did not notice. All his attention was focused on me. That, I thought, was how it ought to be.

  I moved the gun towards the girl sitting in the dust. Matthew said, “Mary, what are you doing with that gun?”

  Tears came to my eyes. With my hands still shaking, I couldn’t stop myself from crying. I sniffled while I tried to hold back the tears as best I could. I said, “Matthew, I love you. I’ll do anything to be with you. I don’t know why you would choose this girl over me. I don’t know why. But if I have to, I’ll shoot her stone dead, right here and now.”

  Matthew did not dare take a step forward. The girl’s face turned white as a sheet. Traffic at that time of day was slow in the town. There was no one around to tell me to stop. Even though I had a loaded gun in my hand- the symbol of the powerful American man- I felt as though the slightest breeze would blow me over.

  He said, “Mary, don’t shoot. You don’t know what you’re doing. You don’t want to be hanging from the end of a rope, do you? That’s what will happen to you if you do this. Things won’t go back to the way they were. You’ll be hanged.”

  That thought only made me more scared and more teary-eyed. I had not even thought that it would be possible for a woman to be hanged in Sawtooth. I had never seen it done in the twelve years that I was there. Men were hanged for any number of reasons. The most common reasons were murder and cattle rustling. I had not even considered what might happen to me after I shot anyone, if I shot anyone. It had seemed extremely improbable to me that a woman might be prosecuted for any crime whatsoever.

  I said, “I just want to be with you. Why can’t you see that?”

  Matthew took a step forward. It was a single, hesitant step. It drew my attention. I swung the gun in his direction. He hands became a slight bit steadier then, for I saw myself taking one of two courses. There was a third- turn the gun on myself- that didn’t occur to me until much later. Had I known what would come after the incident in the town’s main street, I would have done it. I would not have even hesitated.

  He said, “I’m sorry Mary, but it’s over. It’s over. I want to be with Heather here.”

  My vision became blurry from the tears. It was all I could do to focus on the gun’s two sights. I said, “Heather?”

  Matthew took another step forward. I didn’t react, so he took another, and then another until he stood in front of the gun that I bought with his money. He said, “Heather Kinsey is her name. Now I’ve made my choice. I reckon you don’t like it none, and that’s your right. But no matter how bad you feel, you don’t have no right to go around shooting at anybody.”

  I cried out, “Don’t I? Don’t I have a right? After everything we’ve been through? After we left Boston together, planned a life together, built a business together? After we hunted down those rustlers what took your stock four years back? You and I, we did all those things together. Weren’t we going to grow old together? Weren’t going to love each other until the end of time? That’s what you said when we got married here. It was right here, just down this road a piece, do you remember? You said I was the angel that you never expected to find. I forgave your blasphemy then, because I knew you were just trying to flatter me. It worked. I was flattered. I’m still flattered by you. Even after you tried to throw me away. I still love you, Matthew. Do you understand that?”

  Matthew grabbed the barrel with one hand. He pushed it down towards the ground. At some point, I don’t recall when, my finger had found its way onto the trigger. Without realizing it, my finger contracted. The gun exploded in a burst of fire and noise. The bullet struck the ground in front of me. It dug out a small hole for itself. A tendril of smoke drifted out from the gun’s barrel. I dropped it then. It clattered in front of my feet. I didn’t care. I realized that I couldn’t shoot either Matthew or his mail-order bride even if I wanted to. I just didn’t have it in me.

  Matthew’s face went white as well when the gun discharged so close to him. It didn’t matter that the bullet hadn’t actually struck him. He had been close enough to feel the heat of the blast, and hear the deafening noise of the shot. He held a hand up to his ear. A trickle of blood escaped from beneath his hand.

  He put a shoulder on my hand and said, “Mary, this is goodbye. You can keep your gun and your bullets. Lord knows you’ll need them in this country. But this is the last time we’ll talk to one another. If you need help, seek out Father Drake. He’ll help you.”

  I collapsed to the ground in a heap, crying. I was aware of Heather’s discomfort as Matthew led him away. I was aware that Harold had come out of his shop to see what the matter was. I was aware that there was, by now, various people on the street watching me sit there and weep. There was nothing I could do about that, for the tears just wouldn’t stop coming.

  6.

  I took my gun and my bullets and went my way out into the wild. I happened upon an abandoned camp with a sleeping blanket, vittles, a journal, an ink pen, and a large knife. Someone had even gone to the trouble to gather kindling for a fire. There are a handful o
f sites here and there throughout the countryside. A man who forgets to wake up when men are skulking about nearby is a man who will soon have his throat slit. As often as not, the man’s possessions are left where they are on the off chance that someone might recognize those possessions and figure out what happened. There was no blood anywhere at the campsite, which I found passing strange. I tried not to question it, for the common wisdom of the frontier instructs a person not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

  I have spent the last week here biding my time, trying to think of what I will do next. I can’t go back to my family. I don’t know the way. I have no one to guide me to Boston, much less to provide me with enough supplies to last me until I got there. I was alone for the first time in my life. Solitude agree with me. I need to be around people. I need to hear the lively voices of animated conversation. I need the stimulation that only fellow human beings can provide. For that reason, I have decided to track down Father Blake. It might be that he can find a way to help me. I don’t like having to ask for help from anyone. My prideful nature balks at the notion. Yet I must, for I am a sociable woman bred to thrive in polite society who is alone in the wild.

  I would have turned the gun on myself that day in the street if I had known the despair and misery that would follow. My appetite has left me. I must confess that I haven’t eaten very much at all. My strength is departing me, little by little. I must force some food into my belly before I become useless to anyone. As there are few pages in this journal remaining, I will use the rest of them to describe my meeting with Father Blake as best I can.

  7

  It took me a day to recover my strength sufficiently until I reached the point when I felt confident enough to walk back to town. As I did, what I had done shamed me. I had nearly killed a man. Then I had walked away from one of the two only places in the world that I have ever known. I might have starved, if I had not happened upon that camp. As I walked, I started wondering how it was that the food was left behind. Anybody who ambushed the campsite would have taken the vittles, ate them at the first opportunity, then left the cans to lay wherever they would.

  I found Father Drake in his small church a mile away from the town. He fancies himself another Saint John of the Forest. His congregation is small, for he is a Catholic priest in a country that doesn’t hold much with any faith that comes out of the mouth of another man. I found him working in his garden with a pair of shears.

  He got up slowly, struggling to stand. The years had not been kind to him. He had turned sixty just a year before. He walked like a man who was halfway to being crippled. He limped along, holding his hip. Wisps of white hair remained on his forehead where once uncombed black hair had been. His hands had become wrinkled, along with his face. In spite of all of this, however, his eyes remained as sharp and as clear as they had ever been.

  He said, “My my, Mary Callahan. I must confess I did not expect to see you again.”

  He had no need to explain why that might be. I could easily imagine how it might be that the townsfolk all thought that I had run away in shame. Indeed, it had almost transpired to be exactly that.

  I said, “Father Drake. I’ve come seeking your help.”

  Father Drake smiled. I expected him to give me a line about how only God can help people who are in need. Instead, he surprised me by saying, “I will do what I can. Would you care to come inside? I fear there is a slight chill in the air. Winter will be here soon.”

  I said, “All right, Father. I have a lot to tell you.”

  He patted me on the back while we walked. The touch felt comforting. He said, “As it happens, Mrs. Callahan, there is someone here that has been waiting to see you.”

  I did not respond. I was too weary to respond. I hoped that it wasn’t anyone from the town, yet who else could it be? Unless, by some miracle, my father had come all the way from Boston just to fetch me back. If he had, there would have been no reason for him to do so. Even with telegraph wires springing up everywhere across the country. there would have been no way for him to cross the country so quickly. I doubted that my father. Even though I wished to see him again, it seemed unlikely that I would.

  I passed through the doors of the church and into the vestibule. There was only a single row of pews in the entire church. Those sat directly in front of the pulpit. They were reserved for the elderly who had difficulty standing for extended periods of time. Everyone else had to stand through the entire two hours of Father Blake’s Sunday morning service. In one of the pews, I saw the head of a man with wavy brown hair on top of it. The head turned to see who had come in. My heart almost stopped when I saw who it was.

  Luke Kingston, the one man other than Matthew who had courted me with serious intent in Boston, sat in front of the pulpit with both hands on his lap. He had a worn cotton shirt on his chest, together with trousers that had worn away at the knees. He did not have any shoes on. His feet were brown, caked with the mud that he had walked through. He smiled when he saw me.

  That smile brought back memories of warm days with flowers and cold days sitting by a fireplace. At the time, I had longed for the frontier. When I saw Luke sitting there, as calm as can be, I realized that I had not valued what I did have. I had only ever set my eyes on the future. I had thought that by going west, I would have a better life than that which I would enjoy in Boston. For the first time, I wondered if I had been wrong.

  Luke stood up. He said, “Mary.”

  That one word was all he needed to say to make me run towards him. So focused on him was I that I didn’t see Father Blake duck out of the church to return to his garden. He had left Luke and I alone in the church. I would have ran to Luke even if Father Blake had been watching. I clasped my arms around his neck. He was exactly my height, which made him a short man. I felt his warm breath on my cheek and on my earlobes.

  I said, “Dearest Luke, it has been so long.”

  Luke said, “Don’t you want to hear how I got here? It’s been a long journey.”

  “You can tell me later. Not right now. Right now, I just want to hold you. I can’t believe you came all this way.”

  He said, “I came for you, Mary. Your husband sent a telegram to Boston. He said that you and he would be having a divorce within a month’s time. That telegram was meant for your father. He gave it to me. He thought I might be interested.”

  I put my forehead against his forehead. Having him so close overloaded my senses so that I had to close my eyes. I listened to the steady cadence of his breath while his hands pressed against the small of my back. I said, “I’m glad he did. I’m glad you’re here. I’ve never needed you more.”

  He let out a soft laugh. The sound made me happy in a way that I hadn’t expected. It didn’t matter to me that I was clinging to the first port I found in a storm. He had come for me. He cared enough to come across the continent for me. He cared enough to wait in Father Blake’s wilderness church for me. That was all that I needed. I needed someone who cared.

  He said, “I’ve missed you. These last twelve years, I’ve missed you so much. I never married anyone else. It was you or no one. You wouldn’t believe how much my heart has ached to see you. This is a dream that I never dared to dream. It is-”

  I didn’t need to see his face to know where his mouth. I stopped his speech by planting my lips against his own. His hands gripped my shirt. The kiss invigorated me. It made me feel young again, as though anything was still possible. It made me feel like a twenty year old girl again with a head full of impossible notions. My mind whirled as I thought of all the time that I had spent married to Matthew. I tried not to think of him as Luke’s tongue rolled along my teeth. A shiver shot through my spine. My body trembled for a moment before I forced myself to become steady.

  Had I been a candle, I would have melted on the spot. His kiss was passionate. He let himself go, not caring that he stood in the middle of a church, not caring that I had been cold to him twelve years before when he asked for my hand in marriage. Then,
I had seen him as anchor that would keep me rooted to Boston. Now, I saw him as my strange, unexpected, happy salvation.

  A warmth spread through me that I could not explain. Some people like to say that they experienced something when they never did. That’s not me. While we walked into his wilderness church, I felt- for the first time since Matthew handed me his papers- that there was enough sunshine in the world for the smallest ray to fall upon my face.

  Roomates

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  Chapter 1

  Rebecca

  “I hope our dorms are close together. It would be nice if we were in the same building,” Scott said.

  “It would, but you know my mom was worried about us using the opportunity to do things. Even in the same building, she would have made sure we were on different halls in separate wings. She signed me up for one of the last buildings that was strictly women’s living,” I replied.

  “I know, and I understand. She wants her daughter’s virtue to remain intact. After all these years though, she should know I will be the last person to hurt you,” he laughed. “Rebecca, we made it through high school with little more than kissing.”

  It was true. We had been friends since we were babies. I don’t really know when we started dating. If I had to pinpoint the moment Scott became my boyfriend I guess I would say the summer before high school. All through middle school people thought we liked each other and were dating. That summer, during a sudden rain shower, he kissed me. I still was a little behind liking boys, but all my friends thought Scott was amazing. They’d had crushes on him and other boys since elementary school. When the opportunity to really be an item arose, I took it and hoped the feelings would come.