“About the baby?”
“Yes.”
“I’m the one who wanted you to be honest.” She reached for the cheese and began smoothing it in place. Her shoulders were hunched as if she carried a heavy weight.
He tried to figure out what he’d said to upset her. “I’m not like Michael. I won’t say or do anything to hurt you. I haven’t lied to Laurel about you or tried to influence her against you.”
“I know that. I appreciate it.” She chuckled. “I can’t seem to get away from that word.”
“Then what did I say?” he asked, confused by her sudden change in mood.
“Nothing, Jake.” She looked up at him. “Forget it. I understand that you’re feeling protective. I am, too. I worry about Laurel, about what’s going to happen when she finds out about the baby.”
He glanced at her stomach, but the oversize shirt she wore hid it from view. “Were you big with Laurel?” he asked, trying to picture her swollen with his child.
She shrugged. “Not huge, but it did get pretty uncomfortable. Especially in Paradise in the summer. We didn’t have an air conditioner. I lived in front of the fan. My feet puffed up like water balloons.” She grimaced at the memory. “I was a lot younger then. It probably won’t be so easy this time.”
He moved closer to her, eyeing her waistline. “How long until you felt the baby move?”
“I don’t remember. Four or five months, I think. I’ll ask the doctor when I see her.”
“Have you made an appointment?” He moved behind her.
“Not yet. I thought I’d wait until—What are you doing?” she asked as he nestled against her and slid his arms around her waist.
“Nothing. Just go on with what you’re doing.”
“I can’t.”
She tried to twist away from him, but he wrapped his arms around her and held on. She felt warm and smelled like flowers and Italian seasonings.
“Jake, what on earth are you—?”
He slipped one hand under her shirt. “Hush. I want to feel my baby.”
“Don’t be silly. There’s nothing to feel,” she said, but her voice had gone strangely soft.
He rested his cheek against her ear and murmured soothingly, as if gentling a skittish mare. Her body stiffened in his arms, then relaxed. He ran his fingers up her jeans to the snap. After unfastening it, he pulled the zipper down, then slipped his hand inside. He rubbed back and forth against her cotton panties. Her breathing increased slightly. He, too, was becoming aroused, but this wasn’t about sex, he reminded himself. It was about the baby.
He moved his other hand down so both his palms cradled her stomach. Her cotton panties were too much of a barrier. He pushed them away so that he was touching her soft skin.
“You’re having my baby,” he murmured.
“If you start singing that damn song, I’ll slug you. I hate that song.”
He chuckled. “You are one feisty woman, aren’t you?”
“You got that right.”
He squeezed her tight. “I wish I could feel him moving,” he said, rubbing back and forth along her skin.
“That’ll happen soon enough. Then I’ll look like I swallowed a basketball. My skin will stretch, my back will ache. I won’t be able to sleep.”
“Is it really going to be that bad?”
She drew in a deep breath so that her back pressed more against his chest. Her round buttocks brushed his groin. He was as hard as a rock, but he reminded himself this wasn’t about sex.
“N-no.”
It was the stutter in her voice that warned him his roving fingers had slipped lower on her belly. He felt the tickle of soft hair. It had been dark when they’d made love. Suddenly he wanted to see the color of the curls protecting her female secrets.
Don’t be a fool, he told himself. But one finger moved lower to the dip at the apex of her thighs. Heat enveloped him. He wanted to plunge in and feel her moistness. He wanted to touch her most sensitive place and bring her pleasure. He wanted to raise her up on the counter and bury himself inside of her.
Before he could do any of that, she grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand up from her jeans.
“Let’s hold off on the baby feeling until there’s something more there, okay?” she said, her voice controlled.
But he heard the quiver underneath and knew somehow it had become about sex. What was there about Anne Baker that turned him on? He had to figure it out. When he could think straight.
He backed up. While he was trying to think non-arousing thoughts, she fastened her jeans and pulled up the zipper.
“Annie, I didn’t mean—”
“It’s okay,” she said curtly, and went back to work on the lasagna.
“But I don’t want you to think—”
“It’s okay. I understand.”
He wished he did. Instead of resuming his seat on the chair where his straddled position would flaunt his erection, he leaned against the counter. Her face was flushed bright enough to blend with the tomato sauce on her cheek.
“What are we going to do?” he asked.
“About what?”
“The baby? What else?”
“Oh.” She swallowed. “I don’t know. Our first concern should be for Laurel. I don’t know how to tell her. She’s going to hate me when she finds out.”
“She won’t hate you.”
Anne laughed, but the sound wasn’t pleasant. “That’s easy for you to say. You get to come out perfectly in all this. I, on the other hand, am going to be the bad guy. Thirteen years ago I gave her up for adoption. Here I am, a single mother once again, but this time, I’m keeping my child. How is she going to feel about that?”
“Our child,” he said, not liking her possessive tone.
“What?”
“The baby is mine, too.”
She dropped the spoon she was holding and turned toward him. “It’s not even real yet. The baby, our baby, if that makes you feel better, isn’t going to be here for over eight months. Laurel is here right now. I don’t want to have to lose her because you finally figured out you were fertile.” She glared up at him, apparently unintimidated by the discrepancy in their size.
“So what do you want to do?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” She picked up the lasagna and put it into the oven. “But I’m not losing her now. Not after getting this second chance. You may not want to admit it, Jake, but Laurel is as much my daughter as this baby is your child.”
He didn’t have to like it, but she was right. “I know.”
She raised her eyebrows. “That’s quite an admission. I expected more of a fight.”
“Why? It’s true.” He started to walk out of the kitchen, then paused by the doorway. “You don’t want to lose Laurel, I don’t want to lose my son.”
Anne watched him walk toward the barn and his office. Great. Now what were they going to do? Part-time parenting? She would keep the baby for six months, he would have Laurel, then they would switch? That wasn’t going to work. Would he give up his precious horses and come live in Houston? She shook her head. Of course not. She didn’t want to move, either. She finally had the promotion she’d been working for since the day she graduated from college. As much as she enjoyed her time being in the house, decorating, baking, even sewing again, she couldn’t move to Colorado. What would she do here? Act as the housekeeper?
The perfect solution, she thought sarcastically, wondering how many fights they could possibly get into each week. She started carrying the dirty pots and pans over to the sink. There was another reason living near him would never work, at least not for her.
Passion. Pure, simple, animal passion. When he’d touched her… She braced her arms against the edge of the sink and bit back a groan. She couldn’t believe how quickly she’d gone from embarrassment to desire. She’d been ready to make love with him right there on the kitchen floor. She glanced over her shoulder toward the cow table. That would have worked as well.
Her stomach
clenched tightly as she thought about his gentle hands on her belly. He’d stroke her reverently, searching for a hint of their growing child. Then he’d moved lower. Her hips flexed involuntarily. If he’d brushed against her center just once, she probably would have climaxed right there. Even thinking about it was making her blood hum through her veins.
“So stop thinking about it,” she ordered herself and started cleaning the kitchen.
She’d almost finished washing up when she heard the school bus stopping in front of the driveway. About three minutes later the front door opened and slammed shut.
“I’m home,” Laurel called.
“So I hear.”
The teenager flew into the kitchen. “Something smells good. What are you cooking?”
“Lasagna.”
“Great.” She gave Anne a hug, then reached for the cookie jar, in one fluid motion.
“How was school?” Anne asked.
Laurel shrugged. “Good. I talked to Terry and that party is still on for tomorrow night.”
“This is another sleep-over, right?”
“Uh-huh,” Laurel mumbled, her mouth full. She filled a glass with milk and gulped down half of it. “But first there’s a real party. With boys.” Her hazel eyes gleamed with excitement.
“Boys?” Anne felt faint.
“Don’t panic, Annie. Terry’s parents are going to be there.”
“That’s something at least. Does your father know about boys being at the party?”
Laurel nodded. “He threatened to send me to a convent until I’m twenty-five, but I told him to lighten up. I’m a teenager now.”
“Oh, well, that would make all the difference in the world.” Anne smiled. “So you’re excited about this then?”
“Sure. Lots of people are going to be there. The best kids, you know.”
“So you’re part of the ‘in’ crowd.”
Laurel sat at the table. She rolled her eyes. “You are so old. ‘In’ crowd. That’s dumb.” She sat up straight and raised one shoulder. “If you’re asking me if I’m popular, the answer is—” She paused dramatically. “Yes.” She dissolved into giggles.
Anne filled a glass with water and took the seat next to her. When Laurel offered her stash of cookies, Anne refused. Her stomach hadn’t recovered from Jake’s tender caresses.
“Is this the same girl who kicked and screamed about moving away from Dallas?” she asked.
“I never kicked.”
“But you did scream.”
“Maybe a little.” Laurel’s smile faded. “I still miss my friends, but it’s kinda okay being out here. I get to ride my horse a lot. Most of the kids are nice. Some of the boys are cute.”
Jake walked into the kitchen. “You’re not allowed to think boys are cute,” he said. “I thought I explained that to you.”
“Da-ad.”
“See, you’re already too grown-up to call me Daddy.” He bent down and kissed the top of her head, then gave Anne a wink.
Laurel flipped her long hair over her shoulder. “Dad, you’re so immature.”
“And you’re the queen of maturity. How was school?”
“Fine. We’re talking about the party. I have to have something perfect to wear.”
Anne held her hands up in front of her. “I’m not getting involved with that one again.”
“What one?” Jake asked.
“We had a slight disagreement about what Laurel would wear to school pictures.”
“I was thinking about my red dress,” Laurel said. “The one with the lace sleeves.”
“Isn’t that a little dressy?” Jake poured himself a glass of milk, snagged the cookie jar with his other hand and sauntered over to the table.
He often joined them in the kitchen when Laurel got home from school. Anne told herself it didn’t mean anything. But she couldn’t help remembering how his hands had felt on her body. Of how his chest had burned into her skin, and the hardness she’d felt when her rear had brushed against his pelvis. A heated blush climbed her cheeks and she quickly looked down. As the conversation flowed around her, she traced the outline of a black spot on the table.
“When will the curtains be done?” Laurel asked, pointing at the window beside the table.
“In a couple of days,” Anne answered.
“Cool. I can’t wait to see them up. It’s going to be totally together looking, don’t you think, Daddy?”
He shook his head. “I never thought I’d have a cow kitchen.”
“Yeah, Mom would have croaked, huh?” Laurel grinned. “Everything was always so perfect in our old house. It looked nice, but—” she shrugged “—sometimes I just wanted to mess things up a little.”
Glory be, Anne thought, staring at her. Would wonders never cease? She’d been compared to the Sainted Ellen and actually come out ahead. Who could have thought?
“I liked Becky Sue’s trailer,” the teenager continued. “It was a place you could have fun in. You didn’t have to worry about breaking stuff.”
“It is a long way from Dallas,” Anne said, risking a glance at Jake. He was studying her. Something in his gaze rankled her, as if he were weighing the factors of her life and finding them wanting. She squared her shoulders. “What are you staring at?”
“You. We come from very different worlds.”
“You’ve just now figured that out? We’ve never had anything in common.”
She wanted to bite back the words as soon as she said them. Jake’s gaze instantly dropped to her stomach. She resisted the urge to fold her arms protectively over her midsection.
“You have me,” Laurel piped up.
Anne broke free of Jake’s intense gaze. “You’re right, honey. We have you.”
“And I have a party.” Laurel stood up. “Come on, Annie. Help me pick out what to wear. I promise I won’t get yucky this time.”
It was as close to an apology as she was going to get. Anne rose to her feet.
“What time does it start?” Jake asked. “I have the vet coming out tomorrow afternoon. If I’m not done with him in time, Anne, would you drive Laurel?”
“I have a ride,” Laurel said. “Brad is picking me up.”
Brad? Anne struggled to keep her jaw from dropping. “You are friends with a boy old enough to have his driver’s license?”
“No.” Laurel shook her head as if she was dealing with morons. “His dad is taking us.”
“I’m taking you,” Jake said. “You’re too young to go to a party with a boy.”
“But boys are going to be at the party.”
“I know that. I’ve already talked with Terry’s mother. The boys are all going home at ten-thirty, then you girls are having your sleep-over. That’s fine with me, but I’m driving you.”
“Da-ad. Come on. Everyone else is going with a boy.” She bit her lower lip and tried to look pitiful.
“No.” Jake stood up and folded his arms over his chest. “Either I drive you or you don’t go.”
“Annie, would you please explain to him that he’s going to make me look stupid in front of all my new friends?”
Anne had been hoping to escape without having to choose sides. She didn’t look at either Laurel or Jake. She placed her hand to her stomach and prayed to be anywhere but here. God was busy.
“Jake, I—”
“See!” Laurel said, triumphantly.
Anne touched her daughter’s arm, hating to see the hope in her hazel eyes. Hope that was about to be dashed.
“I was going to tell your father that I have to agree with him on this one, honey. You’re too young to drive to a party with a boy.”
Laurel’s victory faded into bitterness. Her dark eyebrows drew together and her mouth started to tremble. “Annie, no. That’s not fair. Everyone will make fun of me. You have to let me go. You have to.”
“The decision is made, young lady. Either accept it gracefully or you’re not going to the party at all.”
“Laurel, I’m sorry,” Anne said, gen
tly squeezing her arm. “I hope you can understand—”
“Understand?” She jerked her arm free. “Understand?” she shrieked. “No, I don’t. You can’t do this to me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not. You don’t care about me at all. I hate you. I hate you.” Tears flowed from her eyes and a spot of color stained her cheeks. “You don’t care about me. You never cared about me. That’s why you gave me up. You never wanted me. I’ll always hate you.”
She spun and raced out of the room. Anne stared after her. The words echoed over and over until she knew she’d hear them forever.
Chapter 11
Jake stared after his daughter. His first impulse was to catch her and shake some sense into her. His second was to pull Anne close and hold her until the pain was gone. Before he could make up his mind, Anne turned and started picking up the dirty glasses from the table.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and realized he meant it. A few weeks ago he would have been grateful that Laurel wasn’t getting along with Anne. He’d been so afraid of losing his daughter. But he’d changed in the short time Anne had been with them. He’d learned that as much as he might deserve otherwise, Laurel would love him forever. She would also love Anne. “She didn’t mean it.”
“I know that,” Anne said as she put the milk back into the refrigerator. She sounded surprisingly calm. “She’s just a child. She’s lashing out at me because I’m convenient. Next time it might just as easily be you.”
“I think I can handle it easier than you can,” he said, coming up behind her and placing his hands on her shoulders.
She jerked free. “Don’t touch me, Jake. Not again. I can’t take any more today.”
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, and wished he knew the right words to say. “I mean that. Not because you and I have things to work out, but because you’ve made a real effort with Laurel. I know she means a lot to you.”
“Of course she does. She’s my daughter.”
She moved around him and picked up the cookie jar. After returning it to the counter, she rested her elbows on the tiled surface and her head in her hands. He wondered if she was going to cry. He wouldn’t blame her. He moved closer so that he would be ready to comfort her, but she surprised him by turning around and glaring at him. Her eyes were dry, her chin set in a determined tilt.
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