“I adore it. It’s what I’m good at. What I love. That I’m actually employed doing something related to what Dad coughed up four years’ tuition for is a bonus.”
When she reached behind her to massage her lower back again—because her daughter’s favorite position involved ramming her skull into the spot right over Deanna’s tailbone—Josh’s gaze dropped to her stomach again, then away.
“This must feel weird. Being back.”
“You have no idea. Like I’m having a dream where I’m a kid again. Because so little has changed.”
Josh gave her a funny look. “Did you expect it to be different?”
“I’m not sure what I expected, truthfully.”
“You’re not what I expected, either.” His eyes narrowed as he scrutinized her hair. “What’s up with that, anyway?”
She laughed. “It was decided I needed to look—” she made air quotes “‘edgier’. As in, customers are more likely to buy contemporary art from someone who actually looks contemporary to the twenty-first century. So buh-bye long, blah brown hair, hello—”
“Edgy.”
“Yep. And this is not the pic Dad was showing Starlight. Trust me.”
“Since you never sent him one of you looking like this.”
“Oh, hell, no.”
Josh crossed his arms. “So this is, what? A costume?”
“It’s called dressing the part. And everybody does it. Seriously—if you rode into the rodeo ring in a business suit, would people take you seriously?”
Grinning, Josh looked away. “Point taken.”
Starfire’s breath warmed Deanna’s face when she reached up to stroke the mare’s nose again. “Gus said Dad had hospice come in, at the end,” she said quietly.
“The very end,” Josh breathed out. “That last week or so. Gus was his main caregiver. The rest of us filled in when we could, of course. Or I should say, when Gus let us. Since according to him we never did things right.”
Her jaw tight, Deanna looked back toward the house. “And as I said, Dad could have clued me in, anytime. Or let Gus do it.” Her mouth pulled tight. “I can tell how much it sucked for the old guy, caught between loyalty to my father and what he clearly felt he should’ve done.”
“And obviously you were in no condition to be nursing someone—”
“First off, between Gus and me, we would’ve managed. Secondly, also as I said, Dad didn’t know I was pregnant.” Her tenuous grasp on a good mood slipped away. “And this is a dumb conversation.”
She felt Josh stiffen beside her. “Just like any conversation that gets too close to reality, right? Seriously, if there’s some kind of prize for avoiding a subject, you’d win hands down.”
“And you might want to think about picking a fight with a pregnant woman.”
“I think I can handle it. And have. And since I have absolutely nothing to lose here, I may as well say this—whatever’s going on with you, whatever kind of relationship you and your father had is none of my concern. I know that. But this keeping secrets crap is for the birds. Especially since your dad knew something was going on with you, even if he didn’t know what. And that was my concern, since I worked for the man.”
Deanna gawked at him for several seconds before averting her eyes again. “That’s ridiculous.”
“My concern?”
“No. That you think he knew something—”
“Because he told me, Dee. He was worried about you. I’m not making that up.”
Annoyance surged through her. “If he was so worried about me, why didn’t he say something? Why didn’t he simply ask me?”
“Oh, I don’t know—maybe because he knew you wouldn’t’ve told him, so what would’ve been the point? Because God forbid the two of you actually talk to each other. And you know what?” he said, pushing away from the fence. “You’re right, this is a dumb conversation. And I’ve had enough of those to last me a lifetime.”
“Dammit, Josh—don’t be like this!”
“Like what?” he said, a frown digging into his forehead. “Who I’ve always been? The dude you could count on to be straight with you? Fine. You don’t wanna talk, I can’t make you. But you’re not gonna shut me up, either.” He shrugged. “Just how it goes.”
Then he stalked off, his boots thudding in the dirt, and Deanna sighed.
This was going to be the longest two weeks in the history of the planet.
* * *
His toddler stepdaughter balanced on one hip, Josh’s twin, Levi, came up beside him in the ranch’s formal dining room, where the dark, highly polished table contrasted with the troweled plaster walls and beamed ceiling. But after probably half a century Josh wouldn’t have been surprised to find the table’s graceful feet had taken root in the pitted grout between the old handmade tiles. He remembered, because his brain was being a real sonuvabitch today, hiding in here with Deanna when they were little—really little, like before he’d even started school—sitting under the table and pointing out “pictures” they’d see in the uneven tiles—
“You doing okay?” Levi asked, frowning at some unidentifiable finger food before picking one up and popping it into his mouth, anyway.
“Sure,” Josh muttered, doing some frowning of his own at Deanna through the wide, arched doorway between the dining room and the vast great room where she sat on one of the leather sofas, Mom watchdogging beside her as people offered their condolences.
His brother’s gaze followed Josh’s, but thankfully he kept his mouth shut. For the moment, anyway. Levi offered the toddler one of the...things, but with a vigorous shake of her dark curls and an emphatic, “No!” Risa shoved away his hand. So Levi ate it for her. As one did.
“Nice service,” his brother said, like they were distant cousins who hadn’t seen each other in twenty years. Josh glowered; Levi shrugged. “Well, it was. Simple and to the point. Granville would’ve approved. Doncha think?”
“Except he didn’t want a service at all. People making over him and stuff.”
“Yeah, well, we don’t always get our druthers, do we? And if you stare any harder at Deanna somebody’s gonna melt.”
“I’m not—”
Levi snorted. Josh sighed. Levi snorted again.
“You know, I do remember a few things from when we were kids. Like how you two were joined at the hip. Okay, bad choice of words,” he said when Josh glared at him again. “But you spent a lot more time with her than you did with any of us.”
“Because you all were jerks?”
“There is that.” The baby hugged his neck, yawned, and settled her head on his chest, giving Josh a sweet little smile before her dark eyes fluttered closed. Levi smoothed her thick hair away from his chin and said softly, “But I seem to recall you used to be pretty damn protective of her. I’m guessing that hasn’t changed.”
Blowing out a breath, Josh picked up one of the whatever-they-weres and ate it. Except for the green chile—which found its way into 90 percent of the food around here, with red the other ten—his taste buds weren’t really cluing him in. “Everything’s changed, Leev,” he said, chewing. “Seriously—are you the same person you were at seventeen?”
“No. Thank God. But I still love the same woman I did then,” he said with a glance at his still-very-new wife Val, who gave him a little wave. Softly smiling, Levi met Josh’s gaze again. “Only now we’re good together. When we were teenagers...” He shook his head. “Would’ve been a disaster.”
“Which has nothing to do with anything.”
“Do you even realize how pissed you sound?”
Behind the teasing—and okay, the truth—lay a genuine concern that only proved his brother’s words, that Levi wasn’t the same live-for-the-moment bad boy he’d been as a kid. Or had seemed to be, anyway. But after six years in the army and taking on a re
ady-made family, nobility sat a lot more comfortably on his shoulders than anyone could have possibly imagined back then. Which only proved his point that people changed. Sometimes even for the better.
“I don’t like unresolved issues, Leev. That’s all.”
Levi’s brows lifted. “Deanna’s an unresolved issue?”
“Not for me, no. No,” he said to Levi’s skeptical look. “But I suspect she’s got them. And I...” He shoved out another harsh breath.
“You still care. Which makes you feel like an idiot. Hey. We’re not twins for nothing,” he said, when Josh gave him the side-eye.
“Fraternal. We’re not clones, for godssake.”
“And you don’t share womb space—not to mention a bunk bed—for as long as we did without getting a pretty good feel for what the other person is thinking. Besides, I’m only returning the favor.” He nodded toward his wife again. “Considering how you didn’t exactly stay out of my face about Val, either.”
“And remind me to never say anything to anybody in this family about anything, ever again.”
Hiking the toddler higher on his chest, Levi chuckled. “Like that’s gonna happen,” he said, his gaze swinging toward their father, in conversation with Gus on the other side of the room. “You know what’s hell?” he said softly. “Being the child of fixers. Inheriting that gene. Because the truth is, we can’t fix everything. Hell, we can’t fix most things.” From his tone, Josh figured Levi was referring to his tours in Afghanistan, a time he still didn’t talk about much. At least, not to Josh. “The trick is,” Levi said, facing Josh again, “knowing which battles are yours to fight, and which aren’t. And sometimes...” He picked up another appetizer, gesturing with it in Deanna’s direction before taking a bite. “And sometimes it’s simply about showing up. Being there. Even if you know you’re not going to win.”
Josh felt another frown bite into his forehead. “Win? Win what?”
“The battle,” his brother said, then walked away to rejoin his wife and older stepdaughter across the room.
Yeah, not making him feel better. Especially since, as far as Josh could tell, the battle was in Dee’s head. Where it would undoubtedly stay, he thought irritably. And whether or not that made sense—his irritation even more than her reticence—it simply was.
Because this wasn’t his first rodeo. As it were, he thought grimly.
What was it with women, anyway? At least, every woman he’d ever known. Either they shared every single thought that floated through their brains, or they kept what they were really thinking locked up like it was a state secret. Only it wasn’t really a secret, oh, no. Because damned if they didn’t expect you to somehow magically know what they wanted or what was bugging them. And then what you were supposed to do to make it better. Like you didn’t really care unless you could read their minds.
A real stretch considering most men didn’t completely understand what a woman was saying when she did tell him. Because there were always these...subtexts. God, he hated subtexts.
Josh took another sip of his beer, not even sure why he was trying to figure this—her—out. Except... Deanna Blake had been the only female he’d ever known—with the possible exception of his mother—who’d always been open with him. Not rudely, or oversharing all the girl stuff he really did not want to know about. But he’d always known where they stood with each other. So her clamming up now was pissing him off. Big time.
A rough breath left his lungs around the same time Dee’s gaze wandered to his. His mother was nowhere to be seen, meaning Dee was alone, looking very brave. And, weirdly, very small. Since at only a few inches shorter than Josh, she wasn’t.
She smiled, after a fashion, and his gut cramped, remembering how bright that smile had once been. The way it’d light up her whole face...and Josh’s insides. How, for every time she’d rant and rave about something, she’d laugh five times more. These huge, completely unladylike belly laughs that sometimes got so out of hand she’d have to cross her legs so she wouldn’t pee herself.
But only when she was with him, she’d said.
So he was guessing her obvious unwillingness to talk about what had led to her current predicament—and he had no doubt it was a predicament—was basically a defense mechanism for when your life has gone to hell in a handbasket and you’re too damn embarrassed to talk to anybody about it. Especially when—he heard his son giggling, playing with his other cousins near the fireplace—it was kind of hard to ignore the consequences of that handbasket ride.
Not to mention the hell part of it.
Tossing his empty bottle in the plastic-lined bin by the table, Josh marched his sorry ass into the other room and over to Dee, where he dropped onto the sofa beside her like he actually knew what he was doing. Even though, aside from the fact he doubted he could fix things for her any better now than when they were kids, he also imagined they were the worst possible combination of two people in the entire world right now.
And quite possibly the only two people who’d really understand what the other was going through.
He thought this was called working with what you had. Or were given.
Something.
* * *
By this point Deanna was so drained, both emotionally and physically, she was basically numb. She’d told herself she wouldn’t cry, but that had been a lost cause. Shoot, there were tears when she scored her favorite ice cream in the freezer case; what on earth had she expected at her father’s memorial service? Stoicism? And right on cue, her chest fisted. Again.
And Josh was not helping. But asking him to go away would be mean. Not to mention self-defeating. Since as much as she wished he hadn’t come over, she didn’t want him to leave, either. Actually, what she really wanted was to curl into as much of a ball as her massive middle would allow and sleep the merciful sleep of the oblivious. Lord, pregnancy brain was a bitch. However, even if Josh hadn’t planted his large self beside her on the couch there was the will reading to get through. Honestly, it was like being in some old black-and-white movie, what with the drama and all—
He’d leaned forward, his elbows planted on his knees. Not looking at her. Just being there, like the old days.
“You doin’ okay?”
“Mostly. Sure.”
One side of his mouth lifted. “If you say so,” he said, and she sort of laughed, rubbing her belly. Babypie was apparently snoozing, thank God, although that hard little head still relentlessly gouged her lower back.
But anyway, Josh. Whose scent immediately brought back a slew of memories—maybe not so numb, at that—that made her think of things she’d refused to let herself think about then, and for darn sure shouldn’t be thinking about now. Or ever. God knew not all cowboys smelled that good—and there’d been plenty of times when Josh hadn’t, either, to be real—but right now it was all about leather and fresh cotton and something piney and yummy and her extraspecial pregnancy smeller was having a freaking field day.
“You need anything? Food or whatever?”
“No. Thanks. Your mom made sure I ate.”
“She’s good at that.”
Josh sat up a little straighter, scrubbing one palm over his knee. Jeans, of course, although his “good” ones. Paired with a black corduroy shirt with silver buttons, a tan sports jacket, the guy didn’t look half-bad. This late in the day a beard haze shadowed his jaw, giving him a sexy male model look, God help her.
Then he laced his hands together between his knees, frowning at the tops of his boots—also his “good” ones, dirt-and dung-free. “When’d Steve say the reading was again?”
“He should be here any minute,” Deanna said, and Josh nodded. The last of the guests—a couple from a nearby ranch, she didn’t even remember their names, so sad—stopped to give her the obligatory, “If you need anything, anything at all, please let us know,” befo
re walking away, and Deanna huffed a tired little breath. From the time she’d heard until this very moment, everything had felt oddly surreal, familiar and yet not, like being in a play she ought to know her part in but she didn’t, really. Now, for some bizarre reason, it felt as though the stage lights were being shut off, one by one, leaving her and Josh on a bare stage, lit only by the eerie glare of a single, stark light. The good news was, she could stop pretending now, if she chose.
The bad news was, she still had no idea what her reality was. Or was supposed to be. But when she looked at Josh’s profile, saw that set jaw, the grim set to his mouth, it occurred to her she wasn’t the only one whose world was about to turn upside down. Or inside out. Heck, Josh had given his entire life to this ranch. Meaning whatever came next would probably affect him a lot more than it would her.
From the kitchen, a murmur of voices floated into the silent, cavernous room—his parents and Gus, she thought. Austin came over to climb in Josh’s lap; Josh wrapped his arms around his son from behind as though nothing, nothing, would ever come between them, and suddenly Deanna wanted to know so badly what’d happened between Josh and Austin’s mother it almost made her dizzy. She’d asked Gus, actually, but he’d said it wasn’t his story to tell.
“Hey,” she said softly, and Josh angled his head to look at her, the obvious worry glimmering in those soft goldy-green eyes punching her insides harder than the baby’s foot. Even though she knew she shouldn’t, she reached over—awkwardly—to lay a hand on his knee, right beside Austin’s little sneaker. “It’s gonna be okay.”
He actually chuckled. “You telling me that? Or yourself?” he said, a moment before the lawyer arrived, looking a little windblown from the short walk from the driveway to the front door.
“Sorry I couldn’t make the service,” he said breathlessly as Josh stood to shake his hand. “Got summoned to a surprise court appearance in Santa Fe.” Sweeping hunks of unruly silver hair off his forehead, Steve Riggs gave Deanna a sympathetic smile. “I’m so sorry, honey, I really am. Your daddy was a good man. We’ll all miss him.”
The Rancher's Expectant Christmas Page 3
