by Susan Fox
“Good.” He ducked his head, then said softly, “Are you worried about the baby having bipolar?”
“I thought about it a lot. All we can do is pray both babies are all right.”
Jessica gripped her hand. “And if there’s a problem, we’ll support each other and do our best. Whatever happens, our two babies are going to be loved.”
Evan hugged them both once more. “They sure are.”
Through the window they heard the sound of footsteps on the back steps, and he stood up. “When do you want to tell Robin?”
“Now, if it’s all right with you.”
“Why not?” He was smiling and shaking his head. “Oh boy, this whole thing could be a lot of fun. Starting with Robin.”
The girl, who’d opened the kitchen door in time to overhear his last words, said, “What’s starting with me? Are you done with the grown-up talk? The horses are ready.”
“Over to you,” Evan said to Brooke.
“I have some wonderful news,” she said. “Come here, you.”
When Robin came over, Brooke hugged her. “I hope you’ll be happy for me. You know the undercover policeman who was pretending to be my cousin? Corporal Jake Brannon? Well, he and I got to be good friends and, uh, the result is I’m having a baby.”
“A baby!” Robin stared at her grandmother with wide eyes. “That’s seriously cool. You and Mom, at the same time.”
“Yes, I think it’s seriously cool too.”
“So, where’s Cousin Arn—I mean, Corporal Brannon?”
“He’s gone back to Vancouver. That’s where he works. He’s not going to be around, even though he’s the baby’s father. You know that lots of women raise children on their own?”
“Yeah, and so do some men.” Robin reflected for a moment, then squinted up her face and turned to Jessica. “Mom, what’s my relationship to Gramma’s baby?”
“Oh!” The three adults stared at each other.
Evan blurted out, “Mom’s baby will be your aunt or uncle!” and began to laugh.
Jessica and Brooke joined in the laughter but Robin frowned. “No way. It’ll be a baby and I’m almost a teenager.”
Jessica wiped a hand across her streaming eyes. “Ev, it’ll be your sister or brother.”
Brooke straightened her mouth. “I’m glad I’m causing you all such amusement.” Bless her family for taking her announcement so well.
“I’m not amused,” Robin announced.
“Well,” Evan said, “no one ever said we were a conventional family.”
“We’re a special family,” Jess said warmly. “And very lucky to have each other, and the two little ones who are coming along.” She patted her own stomach, then reached over to pat Brooke’s.
“Just as long as I don’t have to call it Aunt or Uncle.” Robin tipped her head to one side. “Mom should have a boy and you should have a girl. Then we’ll have one of each.”
“Sounds like a plan to me,” Evan said. “But it seems to me that whatever we end up with we’ll be lucky.”
“Uh-huh,” Robin said. “Now can we go riding? Gramma, go put on your jeans and boots.”
“You bet.”
Jake stepped inside his apartment and glanced around. It seemed even smaller and dingier than he remembered, and smelled musty and neglected.
He thought of Brooke’s house. Warm colors, plants all over the place, good smells coming from the kitchen, the golden cat purring. Brooke waiting, with a hug and kiss.
All that awaited him here was a small stack of mail the building manager had collected for him. Because Jake worked undercover so often, and for long stretches of time, he handled most things online and didn’t get much actual mail. He tossed the dozen or so envelopes on the coffee table, flung open the windows, and strode through to the bathroom. There, he stripped, and took rubbing alcohol to the temporary tats that had been part of his disguise. Then he stepped into the shower.
He and Jamal had succeeded in their mission. Based on their evidence a couple dozen arrests had been made, and they’d shut down another pipeline that supplied drugs to young people. Of course another would already be opening in its stead. The war was never-ending.
When he stepped out of the shower, Jake felt drained. He and Jamal had worked damned hard, finished up the paperwork in the small hours of morning, and then, rather than get a few hours’ sleep at a hotel, they’d caught an early morning flight home. Jamal had booked off a few days and was heading up to Caribou Crossing to see Karen MacLean.
Jake wondered whether if he showed up on Brooke’s doorstep she’d take him in. But no, that wouldn’t be good for her. He knew his job scared her, and she deserved better than a guy who came seeking her company in between assignments. She deserved the man who belonged behind that picket fence with her and Sunny.
Jake toweled his hair halfheartedly, staring at his reflection in the mirror. It was good to be rid of the grungy hair and the fake tattoos. He wouldn’t bother shaving, though. Who knew, he could easily be sent out on assignment again in the next few days and need to look scruffy.
Although he was exhausted, he was also wired. The adrenaline was still pumping and he knew it’d take a while to unwind. Later tonight maybe he’d cruise the streets, take a look for Sapphire, see how she was doing.
When he’d returned from Caribou Crossing he had reported to her, just like he had to Anika Janssen’s parents. Unlike them, she hadn’t cried, but he’d seen moisture glitter in her eyes. Damn kid, so determined to be tough. He’d bought her a mochaccino and given her some information about a work-study program for the hospitality industry. He’d almost thought he was getting through to her, but then he had to go to Winnipeg and couldn’t follow up.
Later tonight, he’d find Sapphire. For now, he was hungry.
The fridge contained a six-pack of beer and half-full jars of peanut butter and pickles, and he found a box of stale crackers in the cupboard. He took a bottle of beer and everything else—an odd breakfast, but he’d had worse—into the living room and glanced through the mail as he snacked. Nothing looked worth opening until he saw his name and address handwritten in curvy feminine writing, and checked the return address sticker, one of those little ones charities gave you when you make a contribution. B. Kincaid in Caribou Crossing.
Brooke.
Slowly he slid his finger under the flap. What could she want to say to him?
He hoped it was a friendly, gossipy letter, telling him things were going well with her and passing along news of her garden, cat, family. He really hoped it didn’t contain guilt and recriminations.
He took a deep breath and began to read. When he finished, he read it again. Well, shit. Just fucking shit!
He put the letter down on the coffee table and picked up his beer. He drained the bottle and went to the fridge for another.
Pregnant.
He’d had sex with his share of women but they’d always been careful and, as far as he knew, he’d never gotten anyone pregnant. Until now.
Brooke was pregnant with his child.
Brooke, the strongest yet most fragile woman he’d ever known. The only one he’d ever truly cared for.
He picked up the letter and glanced at the date. She had written three weeks ago. She’d been planning to have an abortion.
Hell. That quickly, he’d had a baby and lost it.
Unable to stay still, he paced, chugging the beer as he went. Why had she told him?
That was easy. She was Brooke. Honesty was important to her. But what had she expected him to do?
God yes, what had she expected? He drained the bottle. She’d written three weeks ago and he hadn’t responded. She’d given him an out, said she’d understand if she didn’t hear from him, but what must she think? That he didn’t give a damn about her?
It wasn’t true. She’d been on his mind all the time. For the first time in his career, he’d had trouble concentrating on his assignment. Missing her had been a constant ache.
His cel
l phone rang and he wondered irrationally if it was Brooke. But no, it was Inspector Dawson from headquarters.
“I know you just got back, Brannon,” the inspector said, “but something’s come up. I was going to send Estevez down to Seattle for a week or two to work with an IBET. We’ve got some intelligence about a new ocean-based operation for smuggling drugs. But Estevez has booked off for a few days so now I’m looking at you.”
He’d worked with Integrated Border Enforcement Teams before. The concept was a good one, combining Canadian and American resources to battle cross-border smuggling of drugs, illegal aliens, and terrorists. “Yeah, I’m good for it. But, uh, can you give me a day? Got some personal business I have to take care of first.”
“Can you drive down tomorrow night, be at work the next morning?”
“Sure.” He just needed a day to get turned around and figure out what to do about Brooke.
He flopped down on the bed with his hands behind his head. How hard it must have been for her. Perhaps even harder because the family was so happy about Jessica’s baby.
Hell, how could he have gotten Brooke pregnant? They’d used condoms.
Not exactly the most foolproof means of birth control. Other women he’d known had been on birth control, so he’d never had to rely totally on condoms before.
The fact was, it was fucking irresponsible of him. Brooke had slowly and painfully made herself into a respected member of the community—and now she was an unwed pregnant woman. In her early forties.
A pregnant woman with bipolar disorder. A condition that could have a genetic component. When they’d talked about Jessica’s pregnancy, he’d seen how fearful Brooke was, underneath her genuine joy.
Didn’t he remember reading in one of her books that a pregnant woman wasn’t supposed to take lithium? But Brooke needed it to control the bipolar.
He sat up suddenly. What was he thinking? She’d had an abortion. These issues weren’t relevant anymore.
But they had been. When she’d written to him, she must’ve hoped he’d call.
He sprang to his feet. It might be three weeks too late, but he had to let her know he hadn’t abandoned her.
Let her know he cared.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Brooke finished washing her dinner dishes and made herself a cup of chamomile tea. She should do some work in the garden but she tired easily these days. It didn’t help that her job kept her on her feet all day. Perhaps she ought to look into buying a stool, and she should definitely invest in a heating pad.
“Hey, Sunny, come on outside with me. It’s such a beautiful evening.”
She collected her knitting. She’d never knit before, but now she wanted to. Janey at the Wool Bin had started her with a simple pattern for a knitted hat for the baby. She planned to progress to booties and little sweaters. The wool she’d chosen for her first project was the purple-blue of the lavender in her garden, and soft as a cloud.
“Funny,” she said to the cat as he tagged along at her heels, “I don’t think of blue as being a boy’s color. If the baby’s a girl I’m sure she’ll be happy with blue. But I wouldn’t put a boy in pink. Isn’t that odd?”
Sunny meowed plaintively, registering his annoyance that she’d taken up knitting. He used to spend a lot of time in her lap but now the poor puss had to contend with flailing needles.
At this time of day, just before the sun went down, Brooke always chose the front porch because the house faced west. She put her tea on a little white table and settled on one of the green-and-white-striped cushions that adorned the pine loveseat. Sunny hopped up and curled in a ball on the other cushion.
Brooke got the needles working and after a while Sunny forgave her and began to purr. Patsy Cline crooned in the background, a reminder of dancing with Jake. The end-of-the-day scent of warm flowers drifted up from the garden.
Next year she’d be sitting out here rocking her baby. When she’d told Dr. Allenby she was pregnant, he’d asked her to imagine different futures. Now, she had no trouble seeing herself with a child, and the picture made her smile.
Engine noise told her a car was approaching and she wondered who was out and about. When she glanced up, she dropped her knitting.
A motorbike whipped around the curve and into her driveway. Jake stepped off, removing his helmet.
Brooke rose and stared. Was it really him? What was he doing here?
He strode toward her.
She wanted to go to him but her feet were locked in place. Her eyes drank him in: hair longer and messier than Arnold’s but not as long as when she’d first seen him; no beard but one of those sexy bad-boy unshaven scruffs; a beat-up brown leather jacket and worn jeans. He looked amazing, and she still couldn’t believe he was there.
Why had he come?
He took the front steps in a single leap, and then he was standing in front of her.
“Jake,” she whispered.
“Brooke.” He reached for her hands and she let him take them.
She gazed into his eyes and read confusion. It seemed he wasn’t sure why he’d come either.
She knew one thing, and so she told him. “It’s so good to see you.” She freed her hands from his and wrapped her arms around him. Oh, he felt good. So solid and warm and male and Jake.
He stood rigid in her arms for a second, and then his own arms swept around her and pulled her tight. “You too. So good.”
They held each other for a long time, not saying a word. Not kissing, not even looking at each other, just clinging together. Dimly she was aware of Sunny twining around their ankles, purring his own greeting. Finally, Brooke stepped back. “What a surprise.”
“I was out of town and got back today. I only just got your letter.”
“Oh! I hadn’t realized.” Hadn’t realized he’d be sent out of town on assignment again, so quickly. And of course, if he was undercover, mail addressed to Jake Brannon wouldn’t be forwarded to him.
“I didn’t want you thinking I didn’t care.”
“I know you care. But I figured we’d said our good-byes and you thought it was best to leave it that way.”
“But, Brooke, you were pregnant. You shouldn’t have had to go through that alone. Finding out, making the decision, going to get”—he swallowed—“the abortion.”
Oh my. Of course he thought she’d had an abortion. That was what she’d been planning when she wrote the letter. And she was only nine weeks along now, not showing yet.
She had to tell him, but she stalled for a moment, searching for the right words. Then she bent to pick up the scrap of knitting that had tumbled to the floor when she first saw him, and she held it up. “Jake, I decided to have the baby.”
“You—” He gaped at her.
She placed the knitting beside her tea mug, sat on the loveseat, and tugged him down beside her. “I want the baby. I decided I wouldn’t be the worst mother in the world and—”
He gripped her hands in his, his touch warm, firm, and reassuring. “Damn, I admit I’m stunned. But I know one thing. You’ll be a fantastic mother. The best.”
She gave a shaky laugh. “Thanks for your confidence.”
“I know you messed up the first time. You won’t this time.”
“Thank you. That’s what I realized. And the more I thought about what to do, the more I knew I already loved the baby.”
He ran his hands through his hair, messing it further. “I can’t get my head around it.” Sunny jumped up and settled in his lap. Automatically, Jake stroked the cat.
Brooke picked up her knitting again, running the soft wool through her fingers. “It took me a while too. But Jake, this was my decision. It doesn’t change anything between us. It doesn’t need to affect you in any way.”
“It’s my child too,” he said slowly. “It’s got to affect me.”
“That’s something only you can decide. I’m sorry if I’ve made things harder for you. That’s not what I intended.”
His lips curved
up. “Yeah, well, I’m sorry I got you pregnant. That’s not what I intended. And that sure as hell made things harder for you.”
“Yes, in some ways. But it’s also made my life so much richer.” She rested a hand on his thigh, beside the purring cat. After a moment he linked his fingers through hers.
Jake was here, his hand interlocked with hers. He cared about her. He thought she’d make a good mother.
She thought about knitting. How you linked stitches and strands to create something new, something both practical and lovely. Smiling with contentment, she said, “It’s the next step in my rebirth. And it’s the most important one, my ultimate test. I’m not going to fail.”
“I know you’re not.”
The quiet certainty in his voice brought moisture to her eyes.
“Have you told people about the baby?”
“So far only Evan, Jessica, Robin, and Kate.”
“How did they take it?”
“They’ve been wonderful.” Remembering her son’s initial reaction, she shook her head ruefully. “Once Jessica and I talked Evan out of coming after you with a shotgun and forcing you to marry me. I convinced him that wasn’t what I wanted.”
“You’re sure?”
Why was he asking? His tone and his face were expressionless.
“Of course. We were never about the long term. Were we?” She knew the answer—the only possible answer for both of them—but for a moment her heart stood still, waiting to see if he’d deny it.
“It’ll be hard, though, being a single mom.”
Her heart beat again, a slow, sad beat. Pregnancy had messed with her hormones, making her sentimental rather than practical. “At my age. That’s what you’re thinking.”
“At any age. If you’re older, you have more wisdom but maybe less energy. And, well, some people will talk. You haven’t told the rest of the town. Is that because you’re scared of how they’ll react?”
“Partly.” She summoned a small grin. “People have barely recovered from Sergeant Miller’s arrest, and learning about my involvement in the investigation. I don’t know which shocked them more. They’ve had to revise their image of me a number of times and now I’ll be asking them to do it again.”
