by Liz Talley
His smile fled.
Maternity clothes meant it was time to tell his parents...and the rest of the world. He’d almost told Carla about the baby a few days ago, but had held off because he felt his family deserved to know before Carla. The baby would seal the deal—Breezy Hill would no longer be his future.
He didn’t know how to feel about that.
But he’d meant what he said to Carla. He wasn’t going to choose Breezy Hill if it meant closing himself off to love.
Love.
He didn’t know if that’s what he felt for Shelby. Everything with her was so different than it had been with Rebecca. Maybe it was supposed to be different. After all, he was not the person he’d been fifteen years ago. He wasn’t sure about being in love, but he knew choosing Shelby and the baby was the only way he could be the man he wanted to be.
For now, he’d savor the magic they’d created the night before and worry about Carla, Breezy Hill and everything else tomorrow.
He found a parking place and jogged around to open Shelby’s door. She sucked in a deep breath and looked at him flatly. “Guess I have to do this, huh?”
He kissed her, rubbing a hand on her belly. “For the prince.”
“Or princess.”
“Or since you’re the mother, the jester?”
That made her smile finally. “Okay, let’s go buy me some stretchy pants.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
SHELBY SCOOPED UP another handful of peanuts from the communal bowl on the coffee table in the Beauchamps’ den. Football flashed on the big-screen TV, and the men of the family stared at it as if they belonged to a cult, wincing when the ball was dropped, whooping when someone got “lit up”—whatever that meant in football terms.
Shelby had spent much of the time watching John, trying to see if he had been as changed as much as she had during the past twenty-four hours.
He looked happier. More relaxed in spite of the trouble brewing with Carla Stanton.
Maybe she’d breached the wall he’d erected against the world. Or maybe he was a man sated by a sex marathon. Her libido had grown along with her waistline, something she’d read about in her pregnancy books. Yeah, those experts were, like, expert, ’cause she’d worked poor John out.
He hadn’t complained.
But even though John looked more at peace, she knew the future nagged at him the way it did with her. A flash of guilt hit her. Carla’s ultimatum had been issued because of Shelby. If Shelby weren’t in the picture, John wouldn’t have to worry about losing Breezy Hill.
So much to worry over, so much she had no control over.
Abigail plopped down next to her and stretched out a foot. Today Abigail wore jeans, but they weren’t trendy in the least. Straight-up Lee jeans with the high Mom waist. The woman so needed a makeover, but then again who was Shelby to talk? She now wore maternity clothes. They didn’t look bad or even like maternity wear. The sales associate said they would grow with her. Yippee.
“So I can see that your whole taking it slow thing has sped up.”
Shelby stared at John’s sister and said nothing.
“I know what a weekend of sex looks like.”
“It’s not the weekend.”
Abigail rolled her eyes. “Semantics.”
“Are you sure? ’Cause postcoital high looks similar to a postconstipation high, and dairy really stops me up,” Shelby cracked.
Abigail couldn’t hide the smile. “I like you.”
“Thanks, I think.”
“No, at first I wasn’t sure about you. You’re slick with all that expensive luggage and horrid taste in reading material. Britney Spears, Kanye West and the Jenners? Really?”
“I see you read the magazines I left behind.”
Abigail ignored her. “But I’ve changed my mind. It’s good to see John smile again.”
“You know he can hear you. He’s right over there.” Shelby pointed to where John sat in one of the recliners dotting the room. The Beauchamps were obviously serious about sports and La-Z-Boys.
“They’re watching football. You could recite the codes to launch a nuclear war and they wouldn’t hear them.”
“I would,” Jake said from his spot where he sprawled on the floor.
“He doesn’t count,” Abigail said.
“I’m sure John would be happy to know you approve,” Shelby said, not tempering the sarcasm in her voice.
“Well, I’ve never had much experience approving John’s dates. Before Rebecca, he never had anyone serious.”
Something inside Shelby stilled when she heard that. Shelby wasn’t merely the first woman he’d been with since his wife died...she might be the only one he’d been with. Something tender unwound within even as a warning buzzer went off.
Abigail waited for her to say something, But Shelby had nothing to give her. What could she say?
That she was afraid John only wanted her because she carried his child and looked good sprawled on his bed?
That she was scared beyond belief John still loved his dead wife and he might never grow to love her?
That in addition to John’s postcoital glow was a layer of worry over Carla Stanton?
Too much uncertainty...no real answers.
“Guess sometimes you have to take a leap of faith. Nothing about falling in love is sane,” Shelby said finally. Sounded vague. Sounded sort of lame and—
“Falling in love?” Abigail asked.
John’s head jerked toward the two women, but Shelby was saved from answering because Matt Beauchamp called out, “Halftime!”
All at once the four Beauchamp men rose, and like worker ants, filed out of the den heading for the kitchen and the promise of food. John tossed a curious glance at Shelby, but she waved him on.
Abigail stared out the window before turning to Shelby. “He still loves Rebecca.”
Those words slammed into Shelby like a tractor trailer skidding on ice. Hard. “I know he does, and I accept it. But that’s a love that will go nowhere. She’s gone and John needs to move on. Maybe you should support his taking a chance even if it’s on shaky legs.”
Abigail turned her eyes away as Shelby rose, feeling a little shaky herself, but proud for having spoken the truth.
Thing was, she knew John would always love Rebecca.
“Shelby,” Abigail called before she left the room. Shelby turned. “What do you want?”
“I’m not sure, Abigail, but I won’t settle for anything less than something true.” And she meant that. She knew John felt many things for her—concern, lust, and obligation—but she refused to be chosen for any other reason than love. She wanted John to want her not because of the baby or because she scratched an itch, but because he couldn’t imagine his life without her.
She deserved that man.
No more second runner-up to another woman—not even the memory of one. She’d already lived there. Hell, maybe she still lived there. Maybe John would always want the baby first and her second. But after the night they’d spent together, loving one another, she gathered up hope and clung to the idea he could love her.
One day.
But did Abigail see something that Shelby couldn’t?
Shelby walked into the kitchen where most of the family gathered.
“Shelby,” Fancy crowed, ever intent on making her middle son’s “friend” feel comfortable. “John said you had a wonderful time on your date last night.”
It was a question.
“Dinner was delicious and the fireworks were incredible.” She shifted a glance over to John, whose mouth curved in a secret smile.
“How nice. I’m so glad you’re making John get out and enjoy something other than driving that old tractor.” Fancy pulled something from the oven. Pies. Shelby’s stomach g
rowled.
“Driving the tractor is my job, Mom,” John said, rolling his eyes.
“Hey, Shelby,” Matt said. “I wanted to speak to you about Mrs. Fox.” He sneaked a pecan off the top of one of the pies and received a slap on the hand from his mother.
Grabbing a water from the standing cooler in the corner, Shelby turned to John’s brother. “What about her? I left a complete report on each class along with a copy of all the material covered.”
“No, you did a remarkable job. I’ve had tons of compliments from the parents, claiming their kid understood Algebra better now because of the way you taught. Can’t tell you how much of a relief it was to find a substitute who could step in and put the students at a better place than they were before. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. I enjoyed the experience.”
“That’s exactly why I wanted to offer you the position for the remainder of the year if Mrs. Fox is unable to come back.”
Shelby raised her eyebrows. “Why wouldn’t she come back?”
“I talked to her today and she mentioned the doctor’s worried about the strain of her going back in the classroom. She’s had a lot of difficulty recovering so he’s recommending a trial period. If she can’t hold up, she’s going to take a sabbatical through the end of the year. We’ll need a certified teacher.”
Shelby felt two things uncurl in her stomach—pride and regret. “Well, I haven’t decided to stay here permanently.”
She felt John’s attention home in on her.
“Oh, I assumed...” Matt’s words trailed off, and he looked at his brother with an “oh, shit” look.
Shelby noticed Fancy tried to pretend like she wasn’t listening, and thankfully Reverend Beauchamp and Jake were more focused on eating sausages wrapped in dough, popping them like candy.
“Uh, Shelby, can you step outside for a sec?” John asked, jerking his head toward the back door.
Everyone in the kitchen watched her.
“Sure,” she said, setting her water down, dread unwinding in her stomach because she knew what he was going to ask...knew what he’d propose in order to bind her to the town. She could see it in those pretty green eyes.
John held the door for her and they stepped out, once again, into the garden, which now seemed much more winter-weary than it had a month ago. Wind whipped through the backyard, making Shelby draw her hands into her sleeves.
The screen door slammed shut, and John walked down the steps to meet her on the path. In silent communication, they began to walk.
“You know I can’t take that job,” she said, crossing her arms against the cold.
“You could.”
“No, I’m an unwed pregnant woman and St. George’s is a Catholic school. I teach math. Do the addition.”
“You could marry me.”
Yeah, she knew that’s where he would go. “No, I can’t.”
“Why not? That would solve a lot of things. Our baby would have my name.”
“I may not want him to have your name.”
He didn’t say anything as they walked a few more feet. “I want him to have my name. Maybe both our names. Mackey-Beauchamp is a little long, but not horrible.”
Shelby sighed because the rent had come due. The past twenty-four hours had been a break, a wonderful sexy break that had moved them to a new level in their relationship. But not so far as to don white and walk the aisle. Three months ago, she’d been willing to marry Darby with or without love because she thought that’s how life went. Make do. But now something had changed her. She didn’t know why, she only knew she wasn’t that girl anymore. Shelby wouldn’t settle for less than love.
She wouldn’t marry John because “it would solve a lot of things.”
“Regardless of the baby’s name, marriage is not something to be done lightly. You should know this. You were married.”
“I’m not doing it lightly.”
“No, you’re proposing it for all the wrong reasons. This isn’t the 1950s. I don’t need the protection of your name, and I don’t need a job.”
John stopped and faced her, his eyes enigmatic. “Fine. I get that, but it would make sense.”
She mimicked a buzzer. “Wrong answer.”
“Shelby, just think about it.”
“No. I don’t want to get married for either of those reasons.”
John shoved his hands into his pockets and contemplated the brown magnolia leaves scattering the path. The unspoken words of what she would marry for hung between them. She waited for him to say something. To say anything other than I’ll marry you to make things look tidy.
But he didn’t say anything.
“Right,” she said, spinning on her heel, moving back to the house. “I’m going to tell Matt I can’t do it.”
“Shelby,” he said.
She waved a hand and kept trucking. No sense in wanting something neither of them was ready for—talk of the L word. “No big deal, John, just know I don’t think that’s a solution.”
“Hey,” he called, jogging to catch up.
Shelby swung the door open, stepping into the warmth. John’s hand caught her elbow, spinning her back to him.
“Don’t make this something it’s not,” he said. “Things have been good between us. I just messed up back there. I’m sorry.”
“And I’m used to that response from you,” she said, and she knew her voice sounded wobbly. She wasn’t near tears, but still something scratchy hurt the back of her throat. “I told your mother I’d help her take the Christmas tree decorations off the tree.”
John released her elbow, but his eyes looked worried. Like he knew he’d pushed her to a place he didn’t want her to go, but had no clue of how to get her back.
Shelby slipped into the kitchen, donning a smile even though she felt like curling up and reading a trashy magazine where the peoples’ lives were so screwed up it made her look like a nominee for the Nobel Peace Prize. That was how she dealt with things that hurt. Made jokes or read about ridiculous Hollywood drama.
No one was in the kitchen, but Shelby found John’s mother and sister in the living room, boxes open and tree half-naked. Telling Matt she couldn’t take the job would have to wait.
“Oh, there you are,” Fancy said, looking up from an ornament organizer. The older woman’s eyes narrowed slightly, ascertaining what might have gone down in her backyard. “You okay, dear?”
“Fine,” Shelby said, sinking onto the couch. Various ornaments littered the coffee table. “How can I help?”
Fancy paused, as if considering whether she should pry or just shut up and accept Shelby’s reticence. She chose the latter and gave Shelby instructions. For the next half hour, they worked at taking down the Christmas tree, the conversation steered pointedly away from Shelby and John, though Abigail and Fancy kept giving her questioning glances.
Shelby didn’t want to talk about John or their relationship or whether she might stay in Louisiana. She liked playing the role of ostrich. Felt easier than vomiting out her doubts or trying to wrap up her concerns in a bow of platitudes the way she’d done earlier with Abigail.
After they’d pulled off all the decorations and wrapped the valuable glass ornaments in bubble wrap, Fancy loaded the boxes. “Darn, I forgot the packing tape.”
She held down one of the box lids and looked helplessly at Abigail, but her daughter had layers of lights looped around her arms.
“Where do you keep it?” Shelby asked.
“Kitchen junk drawer beside the telephone desk.”
Shelby found the drawer on the second try. The kitchen was still empty and the pecan pie called her name. She grabbed a knife and cut off a small little wedge and popped it into her mouth, finding temporary comfort in the sweetness, and grabbed the tape. She approached the door that
would lead back to the living room, but the sound of a man’s voice down the hall slowed her steps. She’d seen Jake and Matt out the window, tossing the football with the kids, so the only males left in the house were John and his father. They were in the pastor’s study.
Feeling as guilty as she had when she read Rebecca’s journal, she inched toward the other kitchen door.
“I was drunk and it just happened, Dad.”
“Sex doesn’t just happen, son.”
Silence sat for a moment. Finally, John said, “That night I felt so alone, almost not human. All I could see was Rebecca on the steps, her eyes open and that goddamn gun lying there, blood like a lake beneath her. I sat in that house alone and at some point I felt like I might go crazy. I just wanted the pain to go away so I went to Boots. I went somewhere where people wouldn’t know me and wouldn’t feel sorry for me.”
“You could have come to us. We could have helped you get through that day and night, but you never asked.”
John didn’t say anything for a few seconds. “I couldn’t change the past and neither could you. There’s no changing the fact Rebecca picked up my gun, the fact the gunsmith didn’t check the chamber and the fact I got drunk the anniversary of her death and had sex with Shelby.”
“No, you can’t change all that, but you can make wise decisions regarding the mistake you made with Shelby. You could have come to me before now. Why didn’t you?”
“Because...because I don’t know why.”
“You do.”
“I didn’t want you to be ashamed of me, and I wanted Shelby to stay here in Magnolia Bend because we needed time to get to know one another and figure out what to do. If everyone knew about the baby, well, you know this town...”
“So why did you want her to stay? You said she wanted to go home.”
“Because it’s my baby, Dad.” A long pause. “I wanted her to stay because it’s my baby. It was a stupid mistake, but I still want my child.”
Silence again. Shelby heard a burst of laughter from the living room. Fancy. The woman loved to laugh, and the sound of it pricked at Shelby like laughter at a funeral because John’s words weren’t about professing, but rather confessing something he wished he’d never done.
