by April Lust
She had to swallow several times before she could motivate her vocal cords into action. “What does it look like?”
“You better be able to tell me that this is all some sort of joke,” Gregory said, breathing heavily, his hands clenching and unclenching.
She shook her head. “No, I’m not feeling particularly funny right this second.”
What she actually felt was sick, dizzy, and a bit frightened. She’d never seen her father this angry. He was actually shaking. Was he going to hit her? She’d never had a reason to wonder that before, but she was afraid of it right now.
“Is it Anthony’s?” he asked through clenched teeth.
“That’s none of your--”
“Don’t tell me this is none of my business, I’m your father!”
“Then act like it!” she shouted back, her fury and worry finally reaching the boiling point. “Don’t stand there screaming at me when I’m scared to death!” Tears filled her eyes, but she knuckled them away angrily.
“You wouldn’t be scared if you hadn’t been so stupid!” he snapped back. “If it’s not Anthony’s then you know what to do. Just get rid of it and, for God’s sake, keep your mouth shut about it.”
He stomped out, slamming the bathroom door behind him. Amelia sank down on the edge of the tub. Her chest burned with anger and the sobs that she tried her hardest to choke back. She didn’t want to give into the panic that threatened to consume her. If she did, she wasn’t sure she’d ever stop crying.
Her hair fell forward into her face and she contemplated it blankly. It was greasy and lank. At least now she had an explanation for that.
That wasn’t the point right now. She needed a shower. No matter what her father had just said to her, she was sure he still expected her to go out with Anthony that night. Mechanically, Amelia stood up and walked over to the glass enclosure. She turned the water on and waited, staring blankly at the wall until steam had fogged the glass. Then she stepped in, barely registering how hot the water was. She was shaking and she couldn’t seem to stop.
Halfway through shaving her legs, she realized that she would have to tell Anthony that she was pregnant. She also realized she had no clue how to start that conversation.
She put her hand on her stomach. It was still flat, obviously. It might even be a few more months before she started to show. It would be even longer before she could feel the baby move. She could take care of things quickly and quietly, like her father had suggested.
But she didn’t want to. It wasn’t just her innate desire to rebel either. The thought of the clinic frightened her. The sterile environment and equipment that she didn’t want to think about. She didn't want a stiffly professional doctor telling her she was doing the right thing. Not when she was so unsure. There was just no way that she could make this decision. Not this soon. Not when she was still so frightened.
Her thoughts went back to Anthony once more. They’d been seeing each other regularly, but he’d never been more physical than a kiss goodnight. And it was always a slightly stiff kiss. A duty kiss more than anything else. He never even parted his lips. That was fine with her. She didn’t want his kisses and God knew that she didn’t want to go to bed with him. Not with Ethan’s memory so fresh in her mind.
But how would Anthony feel about her now that she was carrying another man’s child? She couldn’t imagine he’d be thrilled. If he broke up with her, would her father cut her off anyway? Why did she feel so relieved at the prospect? It had terrified her a month and a half ago.
The hand she’d placed on her stomach once more curled somewhat protectively. No, she couldn't give it all up now. This wouldn’t be the time to be financially unstable. She had to take care of more than herself now.
So was that it? Was it really that easy? Deciding to be a mother? She wrapped a towel around herself and walked into her room to get dressed. She was still terrified, shocked, and more than a little worried, yes. But...she liked the idea of having someone who loved her just because of who she was and not what she could do for them. Her own little baby to face the world with. Amelia and baby versus the world.
Her own person to raise and be totally responsible for. She swallowed hard. She wasn’t delusional enough to think motherhood was limited to picking out cute clothes and planning fun games. She’d grown up with no memories of the woman who had been her mother. Maybe, since she’d grown up without one, she didn’t know how to be one. Maybe the poor kid would be completely screwed up and it would be all her fault. In which case, she’d need her father’s money for therapy bills.
She had that same urge to laugh and cry and Amelia took a breath to steady herself. She had a little time; there was no need to choose right this second. She pulled out her phone and sent Anthony a text.
“Sorry for the short notice, but I’m not feeling well and I can’t make it tonight.”
His reply was nearly immediate.“Sorry to hear that. Feel better.”
It was as impersonal as calling in sick to work. Which was basically what she was doing. What both of them were doing, it seemed.
Taking a few moments to collect herself, she went downstairs to find her father.
# # #
“I don’t think you understand how serious this is.”
Amelia paused just outside the door to her father’s study. She didn’t recognize the man’s voice, but it was angry and forceful.
“I do-”
Her mouth dropped open at hearing her father so quiet and meek sounding. He’d never backed down in a political fight before and this new tone was a huge difference from the way he’d sounded in her bathroom.
“No, you don’t! You didn’t see the original footage, or how many people turned out to support that gangster! This is the kind of thing you’re supposed to have laws in place to prevent.”
“I’ve done everything I can,” Gregory said, a little more fire in his voice now. “I’ve passed the laws to raise the taxes and-”
“And what about the laws to prevent them from congregating?”
“Warren, I’m not even sure I can do that! I can’t get around the entire constitution!”
“Well, you’d damn well better find a way.” This was a different man’s voice, softer than the first man’s, but somehow more venomous. “Because that’s what we’re paying for.”
“Richard, you know I’m trying.”
The deferential tone was back. For some reason, it frightened Amelia more than the other man’s raised voice.
“We told you,” Warren said, “that we’d back you if you backed us. Get rid of the motorcycle clubs. That’s all we asked you to do. It shouldn’t be this hard, Gregory.”
She heard a chair scrape back. “I expect to hear something better soon. I’ve got a long drive back to Vegas and plenty of time to figure out who else I might want to support in this race,” Warren said. “Come on, Brewer, let’s go.”
The door handle turned and Amelia darted into the shadows of the living room. She somehow felt these weren’t the type of guys that you wanted to know you’d been eavesdropping.
From her vantage point in the dark, she saw two men came out of her father’s office. Brewer must have been the one that her father had called Richard. Richard Brewer. The name tickled something in the back of her mind, but she couldn’t quite remember what it was. At least, not when she was so panicked about being seen.
“Warren, Richard,” her father said, his voice nearly pleading at her wiped a handkerchief across his forehead. “I promise, I’ll get this worked out. Just don’t--”
The men didn’t speak again. They simply walked out in the middle of her father’s sentence.
When the door closed behind them, she saw Gregory’s face. For the first time, he really did look old. Too old for the political game, and sad at the same time.
Amelia almost walked over to him, but she checked herself at the last minute. She didn’t want him knowing she’d overheard them either. She waited until he was back in his office and
then went up to her room. There had been too much new information today for both of them and he’d probably hit the ceiling if he found out that she’d cancelled with Anthony.
Stopping only to grab her phone and pull her pajamas on, Amelia went to bed. It was early, but she was exhausted and she didn’t want to call too much attention to herself anyway. She’d have to start making decisions tomorrow and she wanted to make them with a well-rested brain.
Her hand curved over her stomach again. “You’re a lot of hard work already, kiddo,” she whispered just before she dropped off.
Chapter 12
Ethan
Ethan had just spread out all of his tools beside the Flathead, the first chance he’d had to work on it in the week that had followed the fundraiser, when his cell phone rang. Of course.
“Damn it.” He grabbed the phone, didn’t recognize the number, and answered it gruffly, already planning to make things quick. “Yeah?”
“Is this a bad time?”
He pulled the phone away and stared at it incredulously. He’d fully expected it to be a bill collector. “Marta Waters?”
“You remembered!” Her bright voice sounded honestly pleased. “I wanted to tell you that my boss loved the piece on your charity drive and he wants a follow-up about how much money you were able to donate,” she continued.
“I don’t have the exact numbers,” Ethan said, looking at the explosion of papers all over his desk. “But it was around ten grand.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I think that’s what Taylor and Jimmy came back to me with. I’ll get up with them and then let you know for sure.” Taylor would be able to spit out the number down to the penny in a few seconds.
“Great! Thanks for the heads up about the event, by the way.”
“Anytime.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear that, too.” Her voice became more serious. “I’ve got something else I’d like to talk to you about, too. And I’d much rather do it in person than over the phone.”
“Paranoid about wire taps?”
“No, I just like looking at you.”
Ethan laughed. That wasn’t even close to what he’d expected to hear.
“Don’t sound so surprised,” Marta said. “It must have happened to you a few times. Women love a bad boy. What do you think? I happen to be free tonight, and in the mood for French food.”
For a second, Ethan was shocked to find himself on the verge of saying no. But why the hell would he? Marta was smart, successful, gorgeous. Her blend of honesty and flirtatiousness was right up his alley too. The trouble lay in the fact that she wasn’t Amelia. But he didn’t owe Amelia Stratton a damn thing.
“Sounds good to me,” he said. He had to get Amelia out of his head and if Marta Waters wanted to help, he was damn sure going to let her.
# # #
“This is a pretty...uh...” He glanced around, feeling incredibly underdressed for the French restaurant she’d talked him into.
“It’s so overdone and ridiculously fancy,” Marta said, her eyes shining. “I love it here. You’ll be impressed when you taste it.”
He wasn’t convinced, but he followed the host to the table and took a seat across from Marta.
Once their drinks had been delivered, Marta took a sip of her white wine, then took a longer sip and finally said, “Okay. I’m taking a risk even telling you this. Can I have your promise that you won’t say anything to anyone about what I’m about to say?”
Ethan raised an eyebrow. He never made a promise before getting all of the details, and he wasn’t about to start now. “Probably. Depends on what it is.”
“It’s about Gregory Stratton. And a way to possibly get him out of our political system.”
Ethan put his drink down with a thump and leaned forward. “Okay. I won’t say anything.”
She smiled. “I thought you’d be in. I’m just collecting threads right now, but there are plenty of them. Some really strange things going on behind the scenes.”
“Like what?”
“Mostly just in his behavior. He never said a word about bikers or motorcycle clubs until this past year. Why the sudden passion? Why the push to stop you from gathering? Why the higher taxes to basically force most motorcycle clubs to close their doors? More importantly, he’s lost a lot of his previous financial backers to his opponent. So, where’s the money coming from?”
“Maybe he’s paying for it himself?” Ethan asked.
Marta shook her head. “Politics is a big money game. He wouldn’t have the coin to compete without backers.”
Ethan took a bite of the terrine that had just been placed in front of him. Marta had recommended it and he was a bit suspicious.
“Good God,” he said, resisting the urge to close his eyes. “This might be the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
“Told you,” Marta said smugly. “I have excellent taste in food, wine, and men.”
“And good instincts for your job.”
“Great instincts,” she corrected. “Anyway, I plan to follow this Stratton thing as far as I can. I’d appreciate knowing if he tries to do anything to you.”
Was it possible that she knew that Stratton had reason to target Ethan specifically? Was that why she’d invited him out to dinner? “Why would he go after me?” he asked carefully, watching her face casually, yet closely.
Marta shook her head and grinned. “Ethan. You called him out on public television just a few days ago. You really think you didn’t put a target on your back?”
“Hey,” he protested, relieved that that seemed to be the extent of what she knew about Gregory’s issues with him. “This is a hell of a lot of political intrigue for a guy who spends his time fixing engines, all right?”
She smiled. “I’m sure you do more than that.”
She was great at flirting, keeping things businesslike until she slid in a compliment. It was how he tended to operate, too. It should have been easy to tease her in return, but it wasn’t.
“Oh, my God!” Marta whispered suddenly. “That’s Stratton’s daughter!”
Ethan felt like someone had poured a bucket of ice water directly over him. Every nerve tingled. “What?” he asked, doing everything he could not to turn around.
“Amelia Stratton,” Marta said in an undertone. “She’s here right now. I wonder if I have time to slip the host a twenty to get them to seat her near us.”
“Don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Ethan muttered.
Marta zeroed in on him. “Why not?”
“She probably doesn’t like me any more than her dad does,” he hedged.
“Hmmm,” Marta said, sipping her wine and eyeing him closely.
“So,” Ethan said, redirecting her attention. “Amelia. What do you know about her?”
Marta shrugged and they both paused while Amelia walked by. Ethan’s appetite faded away when he saw she was on the arm of a guy who looked like he’d spent more on his suit than Ethan spent on his rent.
“Not much,” she went on when Amelia and the man had been seated. “There’s not much to know. She parties a little, or at least she did. But I’d be more suspicious of a politician’s kid that didn’t drink than one that does. She’s got a bachelor's degree, but she doesn’t work. She’s been seeing that guy for about two months, I think. His name’s Anthony Barlow and he’s Governor Barlow’s son.” Her phone buzzed and she gave him an apologetic glance. “Sorry, I’ve got to check that.”
“Go for it.” Ethan was glad that she was looking down at her phone because he knew he looked like he’d been sucker punched. He felt like it, too. “Two months?” he asked, his voice much rougher than he’d wanted it to be. “Are you sure?”
Marta looked up, reading the situation in an instant. “Yeah. I didn’t know the two of you were--”
“We’re not,” he said. She didn’t look up, but he saw her eyebrow slide up. He sighed. “Okay. We had a really short thing a while back. It wasn’t serious.”
Nearly
two months. She’d been seeing Anthony Barlow before she even set foot in that bar. Had she been cheating on her boyfriend that night? The unanswered questions were mounting up and he didn’t know how much longer he could take the weight.
“Okay,” Marta said, putting her phone back into her purse. “I didn’t ask you here to grill you about Amelia Stratton.”
