by Reece Butler
Lila gave a mental groan. Her uncle’s words made her situation even more real. She wasn’t particularly wild about being compared to a heifer, but it was true that Papa would make sure his daughter and grandchild were safe. Dad, on the other hand, might panic. The thought of facing Houston and telling him what her wild need had created brought her close to panic as well.
“It’s only been a couple weeks,” she pleaded. “Jet thinks I won’t know until my parents came home. Most people can’t tell for a couple of months, right?”
“Sweetie,” said Marci softly, “if you’re not drinking six or eight cups of coffee every day, and are leaking tears day and night, neither of which you do, they’ll know. Especially when you fall asleep with your head on your supper plate.”
She was already getting hit with exhaustion in the afternoons. She’d told them she was catching up on the sleep she’d lost while worrying about finding hired hands. Plus, some nights it took a while before they all settled to sleep. Not that she was complaining.
“They’re city men. They don’t know the signs of pregnancy!”
“Houston might not, since he was raised in a cold, sterile house,” said Lance. “Jet had to be attuned to his surroundings to survive in so many new environments. I expect he’s already noticed your behavior has changed.”
“Oh, God, I hope not!”
More tears threatened. She’d never been this emotional, even during puberty. She’d looked scornfully at most of the girls, considering them drama queens. She hated not being in control of herself. That spark within her already had done so much to affect her life. Yet this was nothing to how her life would change once the baby was born.
She wanted babies, a bunch of them. Just not now, and not like this.
She rested her hand on her lower belly. No matter what she did all her life to be one of the boys, it all came down to this. They were necessary to create life, but none of her male cousins could carry the life of another inside them. Would they consider her weak, or think of the strength required?
Knowing those boys, if it wasn’t something they could do, and boast to each other about, it wasn’t important. She could see some of them totally freaking out if they had to put up with the symptoms she developed in the last week or so. Yet she didn’t think they would value what it took to grow a baby.
She hadn’t, until now.
Oh. God! The one time she really wanted to prove herself, and she’d failed. Spectacularly. How was she going to be able to do all the work required if she was feeling like this? Her stomach was queasy most of the time, she didn’t have the strength she was used to, and she fell asleep if she wasn’t moving. She knew these symptoms would pass, but then new ones would start. Her mother said her fathers had fussed during her pregnancies, stopping her from doing things such as riding. Maybe Mom would put her foot down to stop them from hovering over her?
Her head spun along with her stomach. She felt overwhelmed. That could not happen. If she wasn’t in control, she wasn’t safe. She met her uncle’s harsh-looking face.
“I won’t marry Houston just because he helped create this baby. He might have provided half of the DNA, but this baby is mine. I am not going to change my life plans because of what he wants.”
Lance raised a lazy eyebrow, as if she’d made a comment about one of the horses rather than a major decision in her life.
“No one will insist you marry him.”
She gave an abrupt nod. “This baby’s last name is going to be Frost, just like me.”
“Again, your decision.”
She exhaled, letting his calm soothe her. She now had a plan. It wasn’t much of one, but it was a start. She would have her baby, and raise her child on the Circle C. If Houston wanted something to do with her child, he’d be welcome, but on her terms.
“Do you want help telling him?”
A touch of nausea hit at the thought. She’d shown a brave front to her aunt and uncle. She was used to doing that while inside she was a bundle of nerves. She knew Jet was disappointed in her. Would Houston be the same? They’d become so important to her in such a short time. She shouldn’t care what they thought. But she did. Almost as much as her parents.
No! Don’t think about what to tell them!
She’d get this first problem completed before jumping into the next. She was a big girl, and had the thong panties to prove it.
“Thanks, Aunt Marci, but it’s my responsibility.”
“Remember, we’re behind you, every step of the way.”
“We won’t be mentioning this to your parents if they call,” said Lance with a direct look at his wife. “That’s an order.”
Marci huffed back at him. “At least tell me what color of baby yarn I should start knitting. Blue or pink?”
“Why not do one of each? Just in case,” said Lance.
Marci pouted. “That’s no fun!”
“Lila is the only one who can ask that question.”
Marci turned hopefully to Lila, who shook her head.
“All I want to know is, will my baby be healthy?”
“You will have a healthy child,” said Lance solemnly.
She trusted her uncle with her life. If he said there was a spark of life inside her, and her baby would be healthy, she had to believe it. Tears welled in her eyes. Suddenly, her boobs itched like crazy.
It was real, all right. She, Lila Frost, was well and truly pregnant.
Chapter 32
“I know,” said Houston eagerly, acting like the Energizer bunny, “we can sing a round to pass the time. I’ll start, you join in next,” he said, pointing to Jet, “and Septic Tank in the corner can go third. How about ‘The Yellow Rose of Texas’?” He grinned at the snarling face across from him.
They’d already had an unfriendly discussion about the Bible. Turns out Tank took his dad’s word in everything, and had never even opened the book. Once Tank realized Houston and Jet had been taunting him about a movie, and that the demons they’d described weren’t real, he got his temper back.
Thinking about Tank’s father made Houston wonder if his own wasn’t that bad after all. Sheldon “Jim” Simpson had been absent a lot, but at least he hadn’t polluted his children’s minds. His parents each had a suite of rooms at the opposite ends of their marble palace. When it was time to go out to a function they’d agreed on, they’d show up in neutral territory. They were civil to each other, like the strangers they practically were, until Sonia’s death.
Once more, Houston wondered how he and his younger sister had been created. Sonia insisted it must have been artificial insemination, so their parents didn’t have to touch each other.
“You are nobody,” snarled Tank. “I’m going to grind your face so hard into the dirt that even the ugly bitches won’t look at you!”
Houston gave an exaggerated pout, before grinning.
“Somebody took an extra ugly pill this morning.” He turned to Jet, who had his eyes closed, head leaning against the jail’s brick wall. “You think bully boy here had issues sharing the sandbox in kindygarten?”
Jet barely opened one eye enough to send him an evil look.
“Okay,” said Houston, still overly cheerful, “you don’t want the Texas song. I know! Row, row, row your boat—”
“If we weren’t handcuffed together,” said Jet, his jaw tight, “you’d be on the floor with your shirt stuffed in your mouth.”
“Aw,” said Houston, still grinning. “Why can’t we have some fun and be friends?” He began singing again, moving his body as best he could with his right hand handcuffed to Jet’s left. “Why can’t we be friends? why can’t we be friends? why can’t—”
“Shaddap!” Tank roared the word as he heaved his bulk to his feet. His right hand stayed behind him, locked to the bar by a handcuff.
The rattle of keys was followed by the far door opening. Houston smirked at Tank.
“This is when we get out, and you don’t!”
Gibson looked in at the thre
e of them. “Stanley Jefferson.”
Houston struggled to stand with Jet holding him down. “What about us?” he demanded.
“Jefferson’s not making a god-awful noise, so I’m letting him out first.”
“He attacked me!”
Jet grabbed the back of Houston’s jeans and yanked him down.
“And you went after him with a weapon,” replied Gibson.
“That’s ’cause he’s as crooked as a snake in a cactus patch!”
The sheriff’s lip twitched, yet he continued to unhook Tank’s handcuff from the bar and lead him out.
“In fact,” continued Houston, “he’s so wicked, Satan’s got a seat branded with his name, just a-waitin’ on him. One covered with sharp spikes!”
Tank shot them an acidic glare before Josh shut the cell door behind. The echoes faded before Jet opened his eyes.
“This would be a lot more lot fun if we were both drunk.”
“You got that right,” said Houston.
Now that the audience was gone, he slumped. Acting the fool was exhausting, but he’d felt it necessary to keep Tank riled so he wouldn’t ask questions about Lila.
“What do you think the good sheriff has up his sleeve now?” asked Houston.
“Elbows.”
Jet settled his shoulders against the wall and closed his eyes again. Houston did his physio routine while he waited. He got his answer twenty minutes later when Gibson came for them.
“I could have used what happened in the park to justify an assault charge against the other party,” said Gibson. He gave Houston a look of disgust. “However, someone used a weapon.”
“Gotcha,” said Houston. “No weapons next time.”
“Not against a fist. If he pulled a knife on you, that would be different.”
“What’s next,” asked Jet.
“Mister Jefferson has now got a very public reason for revenge, especially on you,” he said to Houston. “I told Aunt Stella not to say anything good about you helping James. She agreed, but don’t be surprised if food is dropped off at the Circle C.”
“I hope it’s not anything crunchy,” said Houston. He stretched his jaw, then winced. “At least, not until my jaw heals.”
“She knows all about fistfights,” said Gibson. “If you’re lucky, she’ll make you some soft molasses cookies.” He raised an eyebrow. “You’d be smart to freeze a handful of them as a gesture of goodwill to the local sheriff’s office.” Gibson shifted his eyes to look out the window at their backs. He frowned. “That is not a happy woman.”
“Who? Mrs. Elliott?” asked Houston.
“Nope,” said Gibson. “Ms. Frost. I suggest you meet her outside. You’ll have more space and I might not go deaf when she yells at you.”
* * * *
Jet was at the top of the concrete steps leading to the park when he realized someone other than Lila was waiting behind the wheel of her truck. Marci MacDougal then pulled in on the far side.
“Incoming,” he said quietly. Houston looked over and almost tripped.
“Shit, is that Lance MacDougal driving?”
“In the flesh,” said Jet, watching him emerge from the driver’s side. “He does not look happy.”
“At least he’s not carrying that bloody great sword I saw on the wall over the fireplace.”
“He probably didn’t want Lila to grab it from him and come after us.”
“Yeah,” said Houston with a groan, “he’ll wait until later and drop by the ranch with it. Too many witnesses to the possibility of carnage here.”
Jet expected Lila to explode out of the truck. That she didn’t concerned him. She said something to Lance, who gave a curt nod. This being a small town, the park was suddenly filled with people. Some came out from the Roadhouse across the street, others from shops. The old guy who owned the Mercantile still had shaving cream on his face when he came from the barbershop.
“Shit,” said Houston under his breath as he looked around. “Who needs daytime reality TV when you’ve got us?”
Jet watched Houston put on his clown mask again.
“Why darlin’,” he said, all smiles for Lila. “You didn’t have to come get us. I’m sure the nice sheriff would’ve dropped us off at the ranch one of these days.”
“We need to talk,” she said, far too quietly.
Houston made his face into a comical version of horror.
“We already cleaned out the hog pen! Don’t tell me you got something worse in mind! That stunk like a son of a gun.”
Lila suddenly wavered. She put her hand on the hood of the truck. She swallowed hard, her face white.
“Stop playing the fool,” said Jet, only for Houston’s ears. “Can’t you see Lila’s not feeling good?”
Being the idiot he was, Houston hobbled down the steps toward her, faking nothing.
“You all right? You look like you’re going to throw—”
Lance grabbed Houston by the collar as he passed, yanking him to a stop. Whatever passed between them shut Houston up. No words were said, but when Lance let go, Houston stayed where he was.
“I’m sorry,” said Jet. “Whatever it was I did, or didn’t do.”
Her chin wobbled. She looked to Lance for support. Jet wasn’t going to be kept out. He moved behind her, just being there. Lance was telling him something with his eyes, but Jet didn’t get it. He was about to demand someone tell him what was going on when Lila turned and pressed herself against him. His arms automatically went around her. His shirt got wet. Tears?
“You okay, baby?” he asked.
She looked up at him in horror and burst into tears. She struggled, so he let her go. She ran through the gawkers, dashing across the street to the Roadhouse. Jet went after her, but Lance grabbed his arm. Jet watched Tom open the door for her. She rushed in. Others tried to go after but one glare from Tom stopped them. He followed Lila, flipping the sign to Closed. Jet tried to get loose.
“No,” said Lance. Jet stopped. “Give her a few minutes.”
“Do you know what this is about?”
Lance nodded. “How long you planning on sticking around?”
Jet cocked his head. This man did not say a word unplanned.
“What are you asking?”
“I think you already have a good idea,” he replied. He looked at Houston, then back at Jet, and raised an eyebrow.
Jet’s mind went into overdrive. Lila needed to be strong, especially in public. Even if she had to fake it, she wouldn’t go all girly. She didn’t cry, and didn’t get upset. She certainly never ran away. Yet she’d run from him when he asked if she was all right.
No, he’d asked if she was all right, baby.
Jet’s heart hammered in his chest. Houston was going to be a father and had no clue of the possibility. Both he and Houston had agreed they were not the marrying kind. Jet had issues, but they were in the past. Houston’s would never go away. His mother was coldhearted, selfish, controlling, and vindictive. Houston said he had no doubt that if he had a child, his mother would do everything in her power to take, and control, that child. Money was power, and she had access to too many billions through her father and his oil.
Houston had shamed her by joining the army, then publicly giving up his inheritance in honor of his sister. Mommy dearest would not let her grandchild, which she would consider her possession, walk that path. Mrs. Simpson’s lawyers would find a judge to take away Lila’s baby due to her being an unfit, unmarried mother. If Lila married, even if it was to a man who was not the child’s father, it would increase the likelihood of Lila keeping her child.
Lila, though he hadn’t known her long, was very important to Jet. He would not allow her child to be treated as a possession, manipulated as a source of power. Mrs. Simpson would dangle that child in front of Houston, jerking his strings like a puppet. It was not going to happen. Not to Houston, not to the baby, and not to Lila.
“Got it,” said Jet quietly.
“I want you at my ranch
the first chance you get.” Lance bared his teeth. “We have a few things to…discuss.”
Jet gave an abrupt nod. With Lila’s parents away, Lance was the head of her family. He expected to be put through the wringer, and he deserved it. He inhaled his last breath of freedom. He swallowed hard, and put his dreams back in their boxes, sealed them up, and packed them away. He straightened his back and met Lance’s eyes.
“I’m staying as long as Lila, or the child, needs me,” said Jet.
Chapter 33
“They need you now.” Lance tilted his head toward the roadhouse. “I’ll keep Houston busy.”
Jet ignored the muttered comments as he passed through the crowd. He was not one of their favorite people. They figured him for the assault charge years back, and they were right.
The bell that tinkled over his head was anything but cheerful this time. He looked around, but didn’t see Lila. Tom White, however, stood dead center, arms loose and eyes hard. His knees were slightly bent, and he rested on the balls of his feet. Jet stopped, holding his hands out to his sides to show he came in peace.
“Is it yours?” demanded Tom.
“You want the truth?”
“Always.”
“The baby’s Houston’s, but he doesn’t know about it yet. His family is so screwed up that even if he wanted a child, it wouldn’t be safe. I’ll claim the baby as mine.”
Tom looked at him with shrewd eyes. “What happened to all that talk about your own business?”
Jet shrugged. “Business can wait. Babies can’t. You know my past. I’ll not have a child born a bastard. This child will be raised by two parents who care.”
White’s pose lost some of his belligerence. His eyes were no less hard, though, staring deep into Jet’s soul.
“You’ll marry Lila and claim the child as your own?”
Jet nodded, slow and sure.
“Are you willing to change your name to Frost?”
Change his name? Why hadn’t he thought of that before? He could easily see dumping the name of the people who said he was their son, and then threw him away when he was no longer convenient.
