Her first days at the home in Albany were a blur, but she had refused to sign anything because she’d already deduced that she wasn’t going to stay there. She hadn’t known where she’d go, most certainly not back to Rochester, because of her family and Donald.
She’d felt as if taking her to that home had been a relief for her mother. Life had been tough after her father had died. He’d been a steel worker and died building a bridge. Her memories of him were limited, having been only age five, younger than Emily, when he’d died. She’d been seven when her mother had married Richard Brown, and she hadn’t wanted anything to do with him, with having a new father. The years that followed hadn’t been pleasant. They’d never truly become a family.
Eventually, they gave up on that happening. Her mother and stepfather had provided for her, clothes, food, a home, spending money, but they’d never cared where she was, or who she was with, or even if she’d been home. There had always been a camera convention that had taken them out of town for days at a time. She’d thought, hoped, her mother might eventually see things from her point of view, right up until her mother had found her in the bathroom one morning, throwing up.
Jenny finished the dishes, and then moved to the stairway. Looking up it as she clicked off the kitchen light, she questioned going up to bed. There was even more now to keep her awake.
Because she still did think about getting married someday. She didn’t want to admit it, but she did.
CHAPTER FOUR
Connor had sold more than three dozen phone contracts in the past two weeks. Since leaving Jenny’s place, since seeing her meet her daughter at the school bus. His back teeth clenched at the wave of pain that filled him.
He’d done the math. Jenny had to have gotten pregnant as soon as she’d left Rochester, or within a few months there afterwards. Gone to live with family out of state. Not hardly. She’d run off with someone, that’s why her mother had been so mum about it. He’d never met her mother or stepfather until he’d gone to see her after returning home from New York. They had never been home when he’d picked Jenny up for their dates. A housekeeper had been. An older woman, who hadn’t seemed to care who was picking up Jenny. Her home life hadn’t appeared to be a happy one. She hadn’t said much about it, other than her father had died when she’d been little and that her mother had married Richard Brown, the owner of a camera company, a couple of years later, and that he and her mother traveled a lot for his business.
She had never mentioned another boy, either, someone that she’d liked. He’d searched his mind, trying to come up with someone else from school who’d moved away about that same time, but had come up blank, so it had to have been someone he didn’t know.
Which was fine. He didn’t want to know.
He didn’t want to know her, either.
All the years he’d spent wondering about her, years of nursing a broken heart, she’d been married, raising a family.
Anger boiled inside him. They had been young. Some might say too young, but he’d thought what they’d had was special. Obviously not. She must have started dating someone else as soon as he’d left town.
What angered him even more was that now he was going to have to start forgetting her all over again. It would be easier this time. His questions had been answered.
Other than, where was her husband?
Jenny hadn’t been wearing a wedding band, and no one in Twin Pines had mentioned a man living at Gretchen’s place, but there could be. He hadn’t been looking for signs of a male presence. He’d been too focused on Jenny.
He laid his foot on the gas and told himself it didn’t matter. She’d made her bed and he had to get to the Village of Newark, New York, before nightfall. Only forty miles from Rochester, the Village of Newark already had phone lines, including his, and he needed to call Seth, his engineer, to get a crew ready to start running lines all the way to Syracuse.
The trip had been successful, very successful, and he should feel good about that. Every pole rooted in the ground, every line strung, every phone installed, was money in his pocket. The foundation of his future.
A heaviness filled his chest.
A future that was as lonely as his past.
He’d been fascinated by phones as a child, but it hadn’t been until he’d figured out that as the second son, he would never be groomed to truly be a McCormick. That had been reserved for the oldest. Even though he and Mick were twins, Mick was older by fifteen minutes. He’d pretended that hadn’t bothered him, but it had. How there didn’t seem to be anyplace for him in their father’s life.
So, he’d set out to make one. His father had been humored by his interest in phones, so that’s what he’d chosen. Hoping to make his father proud, instead of humored.
He’d been well on his way, when Jenny had left, and then his father died.
He’d almost given up on his idea then, but couldn’t. People expected him to continue, and, well, because he’d been so used to not wanting to disappoint anyone, he’d planted a smile on his face, and continued.
That was him. Connor McCormick. The guy voted most likely to succeed by his senior class.
Of course, they all had expected that to happen simply because he was a McCormick.
Jenny had been the first person, the only person, that he hadn’t had to pretend with when they’d been together. He had truly been happy with her. Even just walking beside her had made him happy.
She’d shattered that happiness in him when she’d disappeared.
And again, a couple of weeks ago, upon seeing her daughter.
He had to stop giving her that ability. It was his life. She could do whatever she wanted with hers, but he was in control of his.
At least he would be from now on.
The setting sun, shining through his windshield, was blinding when he arrived in the Village of Newark, a town established during the time men were digging the Erie Canal. Connor was glad to turn into the hotel lot on the edge of town, and rubbed his burning eyes with one hand as he killed the engine. Ten miles of driving straight into the setting sun, along with the rubbing, left him seeing stars.
He sat there for a moment, blinking and letting his thoughts wander.
Right back to Jenny.
She seemed to fill every waking moment, and plenty of sleeping ones.
Frustrated, he threw open his door. There was one way to fix that. He’d find a speakeasy and spend the night dancing with every doll in the place.
Right after calling Seth.
He checked in to the hotel, deposited his bag in the clean and comfortable enough room, then went downstairs to use the public phone. The call didn’t take long. Seth was already on top of it. Not only competent and trustworthy, Seth was a forward thinker and had already ordered supplies and had a crew ready at hand.
A few questions to the concierge and Connor was on his way to the most hopping place in the city. Yes, prohibition was in full force. Yes, speakeasies were illegal, and were supposed to be hidden and private joints. And, yes, they were as easy to find as the Erie Canal.
Connor entered the joint through the back door of a grocery store and then followed the stair steps down into the basement, where the music was playing, booze was flowing, and flappers, with their short skirts and even shorter hair, were pulling men onto a raised dancefloor.
A half dozen or more flappers were perched along the edge of that raised floor like a row of sparrows sitting on a telephone wire.
A redhead was giving him the eye as he walked to the long wooden bar with brass hand and foot rails and men lined up shoulder to shoulder.
“What will ya have, mate?” the bartender asked. A bald-headed man with thick gray eyebrows and a scruffy gray beard.
“What do you recommend?” Connor asked over the ragtime music and laughter echoing off the beamed ceiling. This was a hopping place. Exactly what
he needed to get his mind off other things. The redhead would help with that.
“Two clams will get you beer all night, and five will get you gin. Specialties are by the glass.” The bartender said all that while filling mugs and sliding them down the bar two at a time.
Connor wanted to have a little fun and not feel it in the morning. Pulling out two bills, he slapped them on the bar top. “I’ll take a mug.”
The bartender scooped up the bills with one hand and slid him a froth-topped mug at the same time.
Connor grabbed the mug and stepped away from the bar, giving room for the next guy to get a refill.
“Butt me, pal?” the guy asked.
“Sorry. Don’t smoke,” Connor replied as he walked past the guy.
He found an empty spot against the wall, leaned his back against it and planted the sole of one foot on the wall as he sipped his beer.
The redhead still had her eyes on him, and smiling, she crossed the room. She was certainly cute enough to be a distraction for his mind.
“Haven’t seen you here before,” she said, fingering the long string of pearls hanging around her neck.
“I’ve never been here before,” he answered.
“I’m Molly.”
“Nice to meet you, Molly.”
She shook her head slightly, making the red curls near her chin bob. “You looking for a good time, or just the hooch?”
Connor took another swig off his mug as a knot twisted in his stomach. The same one that he’d been ignoring for years. The one that said he could dance all night long, play it up as if he was having the time of his life, but come morning, nothing would have changed.
The knot in his stomach let itself be known with a vengeance. He’d wanted a distraction to get his mind off Jenny. That hadn’t happened in years and wouldn’t tonight, either. “Sorry,” he said, and set his mug on the closest table. “Maybe another time.”
“I’ll be here,” she said as he walked away.
Connor had no doubt that she would be. He wouldn’t be. Not because this was a bad joint. It wasn’t. Gaiety filled the room. People from all walks of life were having a good time. Flappers and gents were dancing the night away and bellied up to the bar, telling tales and raising the roof with their laughter.
He’d done that plenty of times, trouble was, it was all for show. He wasn’t the happy-go-lucky guy he pretended to be. Inside he was hollow. Had been for years.
Because of Jenny. There had to be a way for him to quit allowing her to have that power over him.
He wasn’t going to find a way for that to happen here. With the music and gaiety echoing in his ears like mocking laughter, he walked out the door. Went to the hotel, lay in the rented bed, and stared at the ceiling.
When sunlight began to shine in through the window, he crawled out of bed, bathed, dressed and checked out of the hotel. He wasn’t going to let Jenny get to him this time.
Was not.
This time, he was going to put an end to it all. The only way he could do that was by finding out the truth. The entire truth.
Then he could go on with his life. Just like she had with hers.
It was a little after ten in the morning he pulled into Jenny’s driveway. The old truck Gretchen used to deliver her flowers wasn’t parked near the sheds. The doors on the sheds were open, exposing the rows of flower plants inside. Other than a few leaves fluttering on a breeze, there was no sign of movement inside the sheds.
Connor parked the Phaeton near the house, climbed out and scanned the neatly trimmed yard, flowerbeds, and the area around the clothesline on the side of the house as he walked to the front door.
He raked his fingers through his hair, then jaw set, knocked on the door. If she wasn’t home, he’d wait. Plant himself on one of those wicker chairs in front of the windows and wait until she was home. There would be no leaving this time. No giving her time to trust him again.
Growing frustrated, he raised his hand to knock again, but just then heard a scream coming from inside—a woman, shouting Jenny’s name.
He grabbed the doorknob and thrust the door open. Concerned, and hearing the thuds of footsteps echoing overhead, he jogged across the neat living room, into the kitchen. Guessing the hallway in the back of the kitchen would host the staircase to the second floor, he made a beeline in that direction. Turning the corner, he grabbed the handrail and took the stairs three at a time. At the top of the steps, he followed the sound of voices down the hallway, past closed doors to one that was open at the far end.
“Don’t hold your breath, Rachel,” he heard Jenny say. “Breathe through the pain.”
Connor increased his speed, and then skidded to a stop at the doorway. Jenny stood at the foot of the bed and another woman stood near one side of the bed, while a third woman lay upon the bed, groaning as if in great pain. “What’s happened?” he asked.
Eyes wide, Jenny twisted toward him and shouted, “Connor! Get out of here! Now!”
“Do we need to take her to the hospital? My car—”
“I said get out!”
“She’s injured!” he argued. “In pain!”
Jenny propelled herself toward him until they were nearly nose to nose. Being almost a foot taller than her, he still had several inches on her, even as she rose up on her tiptoes. “She’s having a baby! Now get the hell out of here!”
Little else would have made him take a step back, but that did. “A baby?”
“Yes!”
He glanced toward the bed, where the woman lay with a sheet over her and a pain-filled grimace on her face. Shifting his gaze, he caught a better look at the second woman. She was clearly pregnant. “The one in the bed or the one standing up?”
Anger snapped in Jenny’s brown eyes. “The one in the bed!” She pushed on his chest, attempting to shove him backward. “Now get out!”
He took another step backward, into the hallway, and she slammed the door shut.
Connor stood there for a moment. He couldn’t leave; Jenny might need help. Not that he wanted to have anything to do with delivering a baby. Or two. From the size of that other woman’s stomach, she’d be going into labor soon, too. He had no experience whatsoever with delivering babies, but he did have some experience with little kids—well, not really, he mainly just bought things for his friends’ kids—but he’d gotten a quick glance of a fourth person in that room. He knocked on the door. “Jenny?”
The door was wrenched open a moment later. “For crying out loud, Connor! I told you—”
“I know!” He held up both hands. “I’m not coming in, but what about the baby—”
“It hasn’t arrived yet!”
The door had been open just a crack, but he caught the door before she closed it. “I’m talking about the one in the playpen. Do you want me to take him downstairs or something?”
Her face softened as she glanced over her shoulder, toward the little guy standing in the playpen.
“We’ll just sit in the kitchen,” Connor said. “Or outside. It can’t be any fun for him to be in there.” He was certain of that.
She turned, looked at him again. “You wouldn’t mind?”
“No. No. I won’t mind.” Not wanting to enter the room, he continued, “Bring him to me. We’ll be downstairs.”
Leaving the door open a crack, she walked over and lifted the baby out of the playpen. On her way back to the door, she kissed the baby’s cheek. “His name is William.”
Connor nodded and held out his hands. “William. Good to know.”
Hesitating, there was reluctance in her face.
“He’ll be fine. I promise,” Connor said.
“Jenny, I think another contraction is coming.”
Connor wasn’t sure which woman in the room had spoken. He grasped the baby’s waist. “Go. William will be fine.”
&nb
sp; She released the baby. “Thank you, Connor.”
The door closed and Connor looked down at the baby, who had a head full of golden curls going in all directions. “Let’s get out of here, William.”
A big grin formed on the baby’s face.
Connor chuckled. “I thought you’d agree with me. You might as well learn early on that the male species has to stick together.”
* * *
Jenny’s mind wandered to Connor and William, many times, but only between Rachel’s contractions, which came every few minutes over the next hour or more. Every baby was different in the amount of time they took to enter the world, and she focused on keeping Rachel calm. Lora helped with that, and everything else that was needed.
When the actual birth happened, Jenny shed a tear, as she always did. It was such a miracle. Other than that, she kept her composure until everything had been completely taken care of for both Rachel and her new baby daughter.
When she finally walked downstairs, it was after one in the afternoon, and though it had been a harried morning, she felt exhilarated. Bringing a baby into the world was so very special.
Rachel’s water had broken at eight this morning, shortly after Gretchen and Joyce had left, so in reality, the labor and delivery had been a relatively short one.
The kitchen and living room were empty, but she could see the back of Connor’s head through the living room window. Sucking in a deep breath, she paused long enough to hold it until her lungs burned, and then let it out before she grasped the doorknob.
Of all the people who could have knocked on the door today, she’d never have guessed Connor. She had been on her way downstairs, to answer the door, when Lora had shouted for her, convinced the baby had been arriving.
It had simply been another contraction, albeit, stronger than the ones before. She’d barely arrived back in the room when Connor had appeared in the hallway.
She released the doorknob to press a hand to her chest, against the rapid increase of her heart. Huffing out another breath, she smoothed back the hair at her temples and fluffed her bangs. Sweat had rolled off her brows upstairs. Though she’d delivered many babies over the years, each one was unique and challenging in their own right.
Harlequin Historical May 2021--Box Set 2 of 2 Page 51
