Mountain Made Baby

by Aria Ford

  “Mm?”

  Barbara’s voice drifted through from the kitchen. When I’d told her I was planning a move to Colorado, she had sprung into action. She consulted with her sister, arranged for me to be able to visit the school and chat with the principal about working there. They needed a part-time psychologist at the junior school, she had said. The pay wasn’t great, but I’d manage. It was a job! And the promise of a new life away from here. Away from all my memories.

  “How’s yours doing?” Barbara called out to me. She meant the painting work. Not only had she helped me out with the job hunt, she had also offered to help me get my apartment ready for the landlord inspection. I wanted to give him my notice.

  “I’m almost done,” I said, lowering the paintbrush with a weary arm. “We should leave it, wait for this to dry. We can do the second coat tomorrow. Or I can—you’ve done so much already to help.”

  She chuckled. “It’s nothing. Friends help each other. Now. How about dinner? I’m starving.”

  I nodded. It was only six thirty, but I was ravenously hungry too. And tired. Painting the whole apartment by ourselves was proving to be a daunting task. “I’ll come and put it on now.”

  As I clattered about with the pots and pans, I could hear Barbara in the shower. I would put the stew on to boil and then we could swap. I really needed a shower.

  It all still seems unreal to me. I chopped up the onions and mushrooms, set them on the stove to sauté while I prepared the other ingredients. I was doing it. Leaving town and my memories of Scott—the memories of my daughter’s father.

  I was in the shower when Barbara knocked at the door.

  “Mm?” I switched off the water and called out. “If it’s burning, turn it down.”

  “It’s not the dinner,” she said tensely. “It’s a visitor. Downstairs.”

  “A visitor? No—it’s probably the courier. They try and get in sometimes. Can you see a van?”

  “I’ll check.”

  I banished the thought from my mind that it might be Scott. He wouldn’t do that. He couldn’t do that. The guy was going to get married!

  I was drying off when the next knock sounded on the door.

  “Yes?” I called. “What’s up, Barbs?”

  “It’s me,” the voice said.

  I got such a shock I dropped the towel. Almost slipped on the floor. It couldn’t be! How?

  My mind recovered quickly. I lifted the towel, dried my hair. “How the hell did you get in?” I shouted through the door. I shrugged into my gown, thinking what a terrible disadvantage I was in, being in my nightgown with wet, straggling hair while he was fully dressed.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. He sounded like he meant it. “Your friend let me in.”

  “Oh.” I sighed. “Why did she do that? I have no reason to say anything to you.” I said that to his face, my head round the door. He stared at me.

  “Jackie, please…”

  “I don’t care what you have to say!” I snapped at him. In the kitchen, I heard someone stirring a pot and I lowered my voice. I looked up at him.

  We were in my bedroom and I was wearing a nightgown. He was wearing a suit—a really stylish designer wear one too. I sighed. Of all the ways I planned to confront this lowlife who’d played me so badly, this was not one of them.

  “Get out of my room,” I hissed. At that moment, all my charitable feelings toward him had dissolved and my anger seethed through me.

  “Jackie, I…”

  “If you have to say something,” I said tiredly, “Go and wait in the sitting room until I’m dressed, at least. Like a decent person. Not that you can behave like a decent person,” I added cruelly.

  He looked like I’d slapped him. I felt a sort of savage pleasure in it on one hand, while on the other hand I felt bad.

  He went out and shut the door. I got dressed. Jeans, a white blouse. My hair was still damp, but after a vigorous drying it was more like how I wanted it to be.

  I put my head round the door. Barbara was at the stove, doing something with the stew. I wished she wasn’t there, but she’d painted the house with me and I couldn’t very well tell her to leave without supper.

  “Come in here,” I said. I didn’t feel like doing this in my bedroom, but we didn’t have a choice.

  He looked at me sadly, but followed me in. He shut the door. I sat down on the bed.

  “Right,” I said. “I don’t want to hear whatever apology you came to make. No, let me speak,” I said as he cleared his throat. At that moment, I didn’t want to be reasonable. Didn’t want to be fair. What he had done to me had not been fair, or reasonable. And I was mad at him.

  He lifted a shoulder in a shrug. I warmed to my theme. “I know your news,” I said tiredly. “And I know you lied to me. I am prepared to forgive that because I love you, Scott. I know.” I closed my eyes, not wanting to let him see the tears that filled them. My voice cracked. “Scott, I love you. I know I don’t fit in your world. Stella doesn’t fit in your world either. We can only disgrace you. I know that. I will go away. I just want to ask one thing of you.”

  “Jackie—”

  “No. Let me finish.”

  “Okay.”

  “I want to ask you to stay out of our lives. I don’t want to know. When I move, that’s it. I don’t want to hear about you, see you, or know you. Ever again. That clear?”

  “Yes,” he said miserably. He was looking at me with horror, the way you might look at the stones in Pompeii; knowing those were once humans who lived and suffered and died. Horror and compassion and regret. I sniffed.

  “What?” I snapped.

  “Nothing,” he said, voice shaky. “If that’s really what you want.”

  “What I want?” Now I was mad. “Oh, really? Since when has that mattered?”

  He winced like I’d slapped him. “Jackie, I wanted to tell you something. But I can’t tell you if you won’t listen. If you won’t believe me. Please?”

  “Okay.” I looked at the bathroom door while he cleared his throat and began. I was white-hot with rage, and if I’d been looking at him, I’d probably have thrown something at him. How dare he come here with his lame apologies and expect things to be okay. The arrogance!

  “Jackie,” he said in a small voice. “I love you. I think I knew that when I first saw you, only I was so messed up then that I didn’t recognize what love was. I wanted to see you again, but I couldn’t get hold of you. When I found you again, my life changed. You have made me so, so happy. You have no idea how you have changed everything for me. Only you and Stella really matter to me.”

  I snorted. “Nice try,” I muttered.

  He didn’t say anything, but cleared his throat. “Jackie, those rumors are a lie.”

  “Which ones?” I asked frostily. They didn’t seem like rumors to me, if the thing to which he referred was the news.

  “About me and Alexa. My dad set it up. He wanted us to marry. I swear this is true.”

  I looked at him frostily. “Sure. That’s why the press is full of pictures of the two of you together, not so?”

  He closed his eyes. He looked like he was suffering, and in that moment I was glad. I had suffered for weeks when he walked out the first time and now he had taken that hurt and multiplied it by ten. He could hurt for a bit.

  “Jackie, it isn’t what it looks like.”

  “Prove it,” I snapped.

  To my surprise, he smiled. “Okay,” he said. “Come to dinner with me tonight.”

  I stared at him. “What?”

  “I said, Jackie, would you do me the honor of coming to dinner with me? At the Halston?”

  I swallowed. My heart was thumping in my chest like the piston on a small aircraft. “Are you mad?” I said, though I laughed as I said it. “You are mad. How could I do that?”

  “Well, it’s easy,” he said with a wry grin. “You get dressed and ready and then you join me in the car. If your friend is staying the night, maybe she would be kind enough to look aft
er Stella for us? We can take her out for dinner later in the week to make up for it.”

  I stared at him. Of all the crazy, outrageous things he could have done to say sorry, to show me, with absolute certainty, that he wasn’t ashamed of me, this was top of the list. I was smiling.

  “Scott West,” I said, shaking my head slowly. “You are mad. And I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  We looked at each other, eyes locked. He started laughing.

  I started laughing, too, and soon we were in each other’s arms. I felt as if my heart was flying above me, making wild looping circuits of the neighborhood. I was so happy! All the gray numbness of the previous weeks wore away and I was standing in a pool of light.

  “Scott West,” I whispered into his ear as his body pressed against mine. I could feel his arousal beside my thigh, and I was aroused too. As I reached up to kiss him, longing overpowering me, he bent his lips to mine.

  His tongue slid down the line of my mouth, and when it entered I sighed and wrapped my arms around him, holding him close. He tasted my mouth, and I tasted his in a kiss so slow and tender that I felt my body melt slowly.

  When we moved apart, his eyes shone. My own eyes were shining, too, and I knew it would be a challenge to hold out until after dinner. But it was a challenge I was prepared to meet.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Scott

  I waited in the sitting room for Jackie to dress. I tried not to pace or otherwise seem anxious. Her friend was still in the kitchen, and she gave me an odd look. She was clearly trying to figure out who I was and why I was here.

  “Thanks for letting me in,” I said shyly.

  “It was nothing,” she said, concentrating on whatever was in the cooking pot. “As long as you’re okay now?” she asked, jerking a head in the direction of the room.

  “Yeah,” I said shakily. “I think so.”

  “Well, good. Jackie is a good friend of mine. And if anyone hurts her, I swear I’ll…” she trailed off. I looked across at the bedroom door.

  “Scott?”

  I stared. Jackie was there. A Jackie who looked even more lovely than I had ever seen her. She was wearing a gown the color of pale pewter, knee length and elegant. Her ash-toned hair was fluffy and washed and styled to one side. She looked exquisite.

  “Jackie.”

  I couldn’t take my eyes off her. I stared and stared. She smiled.

  “You like it?” she asked shyly. I laughed.

  “Hell, Jackie!” My voice was ragged. I cleared my throat. I couldn’t stop staring. My body was screaming at me, wanting me to kiss her, to undress her, to carry her into the room next door. But my eyes just wanted to look at her. “You look beautiful.”

  She giggled shyly, made a little turn. She wore heels—the first time I’d seen her in heels, now I thought of it—and they looked incredible on her. She wasn’t short, but with the inch or two extra she came to my nose. I tore my eyes away.

  “It is okay, isn’t it?” I asked her friend, who was looking at both of us with a smile on her face so tender it took my breath away. “I mean, if you stay here for a few hours while we go out? We’d like to invite you to lunch on Saturday, to say thank you.”

  “It’s okay with me,” she said, still staring at us. She smiled. “When do you plan to be back?”

  “At nine thirty?” I asked. It was seven o’ clock now. I didn’t want to shorten our time together, but I felt bad imposing on a lady I’d just met.

  “You can manage longer than that,” she said with a chuckle. “I’m fine here until eleven.”

  “We couldn’t possibly…” I demurred.

  “Thanks, Barbs,” Jackie said, going over to embrace her. I stood back, breathing in perfume, spellbound by her walk. “But we won’t be longer than ten. And…thank you. For everything.”

  “It’s really nothing,” her friend said stiffly. I thought she might cry and I looked away, focusing on Stella, who was asleep in her crib. While the two discussed plans for the day, I went to look at my sleeping child.

  “Okay,” Jackie said at length. Her voice sounded tight, as if she was going to cry. My own throat tightened to hear it. “We’re off?”

  “Yes,” I muttered, my voice thick with feeling. “We’re off.”

  We headed downstairs to my car. Jackie had shrugged on a light blazer with the dress. It was a sort of natural cream color, and it looked amazing too. I stared at her.

  “You are so beautiful.” I couldn’t actually believe how lovely she looked or how much I wanted her at that moment.

  “Not really,” she said with a crooked smile. “I think you, Mr. Fancy, are biased.” She kissed me.

  “Not at all,” I said. “Not at all.”

  She was beautiful. Natural, soft and lovely. She was so much lovelier than any alterations, studio makeup or esthetician could make anyone, ever. I watched her, mesmerized. I loved her.

  We arrived at the Halston at seven thirty. I nodded to the doorman, who recognized me. He led us in and up to the elevator. We would go to the rooftop.

  “This place is scary,” Jackie said. I laughed.

  We got out of the elevator and walked to the tables. The waiter—Sam, my usual waiter—approached us. “Table for two?”

  “Yes. Thanks, Sam.”

  She raised a brow and I felt proud. I drew out her seat and she settled herself into it, then I sat opposite her.

  “Jackie,” I said softly. “Thank you for coming out with me.”

  She smiled. The smile lit her face and made it even more beautiful, if that was possible. “You silly man. Of course I did.”

  I flushed. “No of course about it. I don’t deserve you.”

  “Probably not,” she said with a flippant grin. “But then, who deserves anyone? I don’t deserve you either.”

  “That’s not true.”

  At some point, her foot had moved so that it rested between mine. I gasped and my eyes widened. My own foot drifted sideways, stroking hers. I felt for her knee under the table and found it, gave it a soft squeeze. She giggled, breathlessly.

  I looked up to see our waiter approaching. I sat up straight and sucked the smile off my face. She giggled.

  “To drink, sir?”

  “Water for me, please. And for the lady?” I smiled at Jackie.

  “I’ll have what you’re having.”

  We laughed. I was sure anyone watching would think we were completely mad. I didn’t care. That’s what it’s like when you love someone, I thought with wonder. You’re in your own world.

  While Sam brought the water, we looked at the menu. I chose their lobster and recommended it to her. Her brow shot up.

  “Hell, Scott. Do you want me to make you bankrupt?” she asked. Then she laughed. “I guess that’s not so easy, huh?”

  I blushed. “I hope it’s not so easy,” I said with a smile. “I plan to have plenty for us to enjoy.”

  She shot a look at me. I wondered if I’d given the plan away. I looked around innocently. “We should have plenty to enjoy here, yes?”

  “I guess,” she said, with a frown. She wasn’t easy to sidetrack. I would have to remember that.

  Our order was placed and, while we waited for it, we talked. She told me all about her news—there were ten months to catch up on, after all—and I told her some of mine. Mostly, I just asked her things. Her life was more interesting than mine was, after all. And I wanted to know everything about the birth. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t been there for her when she needed me.

  The lobster arrived and I saw her eyes get bigger. I smiled. I would love sharing things with Jackie, I knew—from dinners to vacations to my cars—she would find so much pleasure in them.

  “Not bad, eh?” I asked.

  She nodded. She looked awed. “Not bad.”

  We both laughed. The dinner was as amazing as I knew it would be. We sat and ate and chatted, but the weird thing was that I didn’t feel a need to constantly fill in blanks. I was happy to share
silence. It was a new feeling for me, that place of shared contentment and feeling, beyond words.

  When we’d finished the main course, I suggested we order dessert. She nodded vigorously.

  “If it’s anything like that, heck! We have to try it.”

  I laughed. Her enthusiasm and love for life made me happy just seeing them. I waved down Sam while she made up her mind.

  “Three ways of chocolate mousse,” she said quickly. I grinned. It sounded good.

  “Make it two,” I said.

  I watched her sample the dessert, my body igniting instantly when she licked the spoon. She was so sexy. So beautiful. I loved her and I wanted her. I loved her so much it hurt.

  Once dessert was over, I managed to find my nerve. And the box in my pocket that had been hiding there since I came out.

  “Jackie,” I said. Why was this so hard? I sighed and breathed in deeply. Tried again. “Jackie?” Oh, hell. My voice was trembling and my eyes were wet and I couldn’t talk without crying. “I love you, sweetheart,” I blurted. “Will you marry me?”

  She stared at me. I watched her. Saw the light turn on in her eyes and build and grow, as if hope was rising there, and wonder, a slow sunshine creeping through the pewter gray of them.

  I stood. Walked to her chair. Knelt beside it. Took out the ring I’d had commissioned earlier that week. Thank Heaven they’d put casting it at the top of their list. It was ready.

  “Jackie Jefferson. Will you marry me?”

  She swallowed. Stared at me. Tears coursed down her cheeks. She tried to speak but no words came out. She closed her eyes and had another go.

  “Yes. Yes, I will.”

  I felt as if the sun had come out inside of me. I was filled with warmth.

  She was laughing, now, and crying, and so was I. I stood and she stood. Someone had been downstairs and called a photographer, it seemed. The flash caught us as we kissed.

  I didn’t really notice. I held Jackie and breathed in the scent of her and pressed her to me. She was crying and I smudged away the tears with my hand.

  “I love you,” I whispered as I kissed her again.

  I held her and I wept as well, with happiness: the woman of my dreams was in my arms and we were going to be married and I could be the father I’d longed to be for my own daughter—our daughter. I would never have thought it was possible to feel so happy.