by P. Dangelico
Reaching up, I cup his face and he turns into my hand, kissing my palm. His focus falls on my still flat stomach. Attention captivated, his hand strokes back and forth with such tenderness I’m on the verge of happy tears. I’ll never have to wonder how he feels about this child.
“That’s why I had to make sure, when I decided to do this, that it was with someone I could trust with my world.” Bending over me, he rains soft kisses on my belly.
“Dane?”
“Yeah, baby,” he murmurs against my stomach. Looking up, he waits patiently for me to continue. I don’t have it in me to correct him.
Mouth dry and heart pounding inside my chest, I marshal the strength to ask, “What is this?”
“This––” he repeats, index finger drawing an invisible circle between us. “This is the world. Everything about me revolves around you…and I mean everything.”
As declarations go, it’s a pretty powerful one. But what exactly does it mean? I must be the dumb girl because I don’t really know what it means.
“I can see you thinkin’.”
“No, umm, no thinking,” I say with a smile. I’m thinking. I’m thinking a lot.
His lips are almost on mine when he pauses. He’s giving me a last chance to back out, one last chance to avert this train wreck because, let’s face it, there’s a high probability it will be. All we agree on is that we desperately desire one another. The rest is still up for debate.
When I don’t stop him, he smiles and kisses me. The moment his lips touch mine I know I made the right decision. Nothing has ever felt as good as being with Dane. In the unlikeliest of ways, we fit.
His hand moves up my bare thigh, taking with it the hem of my dress. Over my lace panties, his fingertips sweep back and forth between my legs, slow enough to drive me crazy, hard enough to have me panting for more.
I struggle with his shirt, fumbling with the buttons. Some pop off and go flying across the wood floor. We both stop and stare at each other.
“Woopsy,” I say, giggling.
He rewards me with one of his blinding white grins, shoves the shirt off, then his undershirt. The sight of him bare-chested and up on his knees is almost enough to turn me into a squealing fangirl.
I’m not a lucky girl. I’m not the heroine in any epic romance novel. I’m the practical one––the one that knows Jane Austen died a spinster and clings to that reality as the reason not to believe in romance.
Give me numbers. Give me dollar bills. Something I can hold on to with both hands. Something real to believe in. But right now, in this instant, looking up at this beautiful man with his big heart and even bigger erection, with longing on his face and it’s all for me…I’m the freaking heroine. I’m finally the lucky one.
Dane’s face darkens with pure hunger the moment he catches me staring at the erection pushing against his slacks. I stroke him and he grits his teeth.
“Patience, baby.”
He kisses me again and in seconds it turns hot and deep. He nips my bottom lip, sends his tongue in search of mine. His hands over my breasts are pure sorcery, slide down my body, glide teasingly between my thighs. I’m so turned on my dress might as well be made of steel wool––a medieval torture device. I need it off like yesterday.
Somewhere a cell phone pings. Incoming text. The hand delving between my legs, the hand pushing aside my underwear and grazing my clit, tells me to ignore it.
Another ping.
“Fuck me!”
He sits back on his heels and I almost cry out at the loss of him. Hair mussed, lips swollen. The ridiculous amount of sex appeal he exudes makes me dizzy.
When the phone starts to ring, Dane frowns and gets up to grab it from the nightstand. He sees who’s calling and picks it up.
“What’s up?” The v that pops up between his brows says something’s up and it isn’t good. “Okay, I’m on my way.”
Ending the call, he grabs his undershirt off the floor. “Missy went into labor and there seems to be some trouble.”
Jumping off the bed, I push down my dress. “I’m coming with you.”
Five minutes later we’re walking into the barn.
The frailty of life. We lose sight of it so easily. We go about our business day in and day out like there’s only a slim chance it may all end when in fact it’s probably closer to 30-70. Every time I start to feel safe enough to let loose, something comes along to remind me how precarious it is.
Missy has been in labor for two hours and I swear every time the small mare groans and thrashes, I die a small death.
Three times Dane has asked me to leave and go back to the house. Three times I’ve ignored him. He and Levi look exhausted from trying to keep her calm as we await the vet to arrive from treating a bunch of colicky horses that got into some bad hay. Or so I’ve been repeatedly told.
“Where the fuck’s the vet?” I whisper-shout for the fourth time from outside the birthing stall.
Levi wipes the sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt and takes his cell out from his back pocket. Missy makes a terrible, pained sound and we all freeze.
Looking at the screen of his cell, he says, “On his way, but he’s comin’ from sixty miles away.”
“Conyers’s outfit?” Dane asks and Levi nods.
“What do you think is wrong?” I ask, both curious and scared of the answer.
Dane and Levi exchange a look. “Foal is breech––and the cord may be wrapped around the neck.”
My stomach sinks. I feel faint all of a sudden. Blood rushing in my ears, weak-kneed, the stall door is the only thing keeping me up.
“You should go back to the house, Stella. You look pale.”
Dane’s head whips around, a scowl at the ready.
“That’s it.” He steps out of the stall and grabs a small stool for me to sit on. I drop down in it. Sitting on his heels, Dane meets me eye to eye.
“You’re worrying me,” he says in a low, direct voice. “Let me take you back to the house. You’re no help here.”
He’s right. I’m getting in their way and that’s the last thing they need. With a heavy heart I nod and Dane wraps an arm around my back.
A tall lanky man, wearing jeans and a silver handlebar mustache walks in holding a bag and a medical box.
“How she doin’?”
“Not good,” Dane answers, getting to his feet.
Forgoing the greetings, the vet sets down his tool kit. A young woman comes running in with more equipment. They douse their arms and hands with what I assume is disinfectant and put on surgical gloves. Then the vet disappears into the stall, stethoscope hanging around his neck.
Dane hauls me up and out of the barn while I complain the entire way back to the house.
“Don’t fight me. I can’t look after you and help them.” I nod and he leaves me standing in the bedroom.
Sometime around 2 a.m. he walks back in. I sit up right away, wait for him to speak but he doesn’t. He won’t meet my eyes and I’m too upset to ask.
Shirt and pants soiled, he strips down to his underwear and walks into the bathroom. I hear water running. A moment later he’s back, pulling up the covers and sliding into bed.
“Dane?”
Strained and small, I don’t recognize my own voice. He takes my arm and pulls me against him. My back to his front, he holds me gently and buries his face in my neck.
“Foal didn’t make it.”
My entire body hurts, an unbearable pressure pushing on my voice box. The next sound I hear is a sharp squeal, broken and raw. Dane’s hold tightens.
It’s me. I’m the one squealing. I’m the one crying hysterically for the little gray mare and the foal she lost.
The next morning I wake up feeling like I got hit by a freight train––which then reversed over me. The bed is empty. Neither of us slept more than a few hours.
Dane must be exhausted. He held me all night, brushed my hair back, dried my tears. I’ve never had a man do that for me, didn’t eve
n know they were capable of it.
I’m not cut out for this, all this emotion. It’s overwhelming. I need to go home, get back to New York. Where there aren’t any cute animals I can get attached to, sweet older men who regale me with stories that make me laugh, and handsome young men that make me swoon with their singing…where I’m not on the verge of falling in love with the father of my child.
I need to get back to reality.
Desperate for coffee, even if it’s only decaf, I throw on jeans and a hoodie and open the bedroom door to male voices in the kitchen.
“I brought you up to take responsibility, Dane, not run from it. That woman is crazy about you. She’s carryin’ your child. You’ve got to do right by her.”
“It’s not that simple, Dad.”
“I don’t see why not. Things haven’t changed that much since your momma and I met. When love finds you, you gotta go with it or you won’t ever get peace again.”
“Yeah, and look how that turned out,” Dane murmurs angrily.
“I got two beautiful kids, a grandbaby, and two more on the way. I’d say I made out pretty dang good.”
“Bringing that woman up isn’t the right approach.”
“She’s not your mother, Dane.”
“Don’t you think I know that?”
“Well then, I don’t see why you won’t ask her. You afraid she’s gonna say no?”
There’s a heavy pause.
“For starters, yeah. She’s not the marryin’ type. That’s partly why we…started dating. Seeing as we both agree on it.”
“You gotta try for the sake of the baby. She may have changed her mind. All it takes is the right person, and that woman is the right one for you.”
I want this conversation to end for all our sakes. The longer we stay here the harder it’s going to be when Bill discovers the truth. All I can do now is pray it doesn’t do irreparable damage.
I open and close the bedroom door again, to alert them I’m coming. With a knot in my stomach, I step into the kitchen and both men turn their attention on me, both looking stressed for entirely different reasons.
“Everything okay?” I inquire.
“Peachy,” Bill answers, his smile weighed down by the events of last night. “Carson’s comin’ over,” he tells Dane. “Says he’s got an offer we can’t refuse. He should be here in the next half hour.”
Dane nods at his father and looks me over. His expression is pure concern. “How are you feelin’?”
I shrug. What is there to say? If I think about it, I’ll start to cry again. In fact the only feeling that’s safe for me to dwell upon at the moment is the one telling me to go back to New York.
Dane pours me a cup of coffee, splashes cream in it, and adds two spoons of sugar. I don’t ask how he knows how I take my coffee.
“Pardon me, I’m gonna go check on Missy,” Bill announces in a dull tone.
“How is she?” I ask Dane after Bill leaves.
“Better now, but it’ll be a while before she’s a hundred percent.”
I stare into my coffee and Dane walks around the kitchen island, takes the coffee out of my hand, placing it on the granite countertop, and hugs me. His big warm hands run up and down my back. I instantly melt into him.
“I need to get back to New York,” I say, the declaration muffled by his shirt.
“Carson’s here. Let’s talk about it later.” He lets go of me and walks out the front door.
I step closer to the enormous picture window and see a gleaming red metallic Range Rover parked in the driveway. Out of the driver’s side, a tall handsome man steps out. He looks to be in his early sixties, well dressed, cosmopolitan. Out of the passenger side steps Brandee.
“What I’m sayin’, Bill, is that I’m willin’ to pay top dollar. If Gilroy is offerin’ x amount an acre then you can tack on ten percent from me. That’s my offer.”
I walk up slowly, hanging behind Dane. On my way to see Missy, I found the four of them standing outside the barn.
“But you’ll develop it instead of leavin’ it a workin’ ranch,” Bill cuts in. I can tell by his expression he’s not happy about it.
“You’re less that fifty miles from the university. It’d be stupid not to.”
Mr. Carson’s attention slides to me. He gives me a perfunctory smile and I return one.
“Steve Carson,” he says holding out a hand. “You must be Dane’s girlfriend.”
“Oh no, Daddy, they ain’t together.”
Oh shit.
“Of course, they are, Brandee. Stella and Dane are havin’ a baby,” Bill says, quick to come to my defense.
My pulse races and I start to sweat because I know what’s coming. I love this man and I’m about to break his heart. It’s practically written across the sky with curlicues.
I step next to Dane and he throws his arm around me, his big paw hanging off my shoulder. Brandee sees it and her head cocks. Then feigning all the innocence in the world, turns her attention onto Bill.
“I think you may be mistaken, Mr. Wylder. Dane and Stella have a baby contract.”
Dane’s body turns to stone, every muscle braced. I can feel him shooting daggers at Brandee even though I don’t dare glance up. In the meantime Mr. Carson looks lost. He has no idea what’s going on.
“A contract?” Bill repeats, chuckling. “I don’t know where you’d get an idea like that, sweetheart, but you’re wrong.”
“This meetin’ is over,” Dane growls. “We’ll consider your proposal, Steve.” He tries to steer his father away, literally takes him by the shoulders and begins to guide him toward the house.
“It’s all over the entertainment news, Mr. Wylder. These two started a trend it seems. Stella needed a baby daddy ’cause she couldn’t get a husband, and Dane offered. Her ex-boyfriend explained it all. It’s a business arrangement. They share custody––like I said, they ain’t together.”
Jeff…double shit.
With great trepidation, I glance at Bill. He’s pale…pale and heartbroken. I’ve never felt more awful in my entire life, sick to my stomach and weak.
He focuses on his son, who’s running his hands over his face in what is clearly a sign of frustration, and says, “Is this true?”
“It’s not what it sounds like.”
I watch the light leave Bill, all the lively charm replaced by an empty, blank expression. And then the inevitable happens, his attention falls on me and I die a thousand deaths. I’ve never before prayed for a sinkhole to swallow me up until this very minute.
“We’ll talk later, Steve,” Bill mumbles and begins shuffling back to the house, his posture showing age.
With Bill out of earshot, Dane blasts all the fury he’s tamped down at Brandee, who’s basking in satisfaction as if she didn’t just unleash hell. He leans in, finger pointing.
“My father just had a heart attack,” he snarls.
The smug slides off Brandee’s face and she inches closer to her father.
“Now, son––” Carson interrupts.
“Don’t call me that,” he growls at Carson. His death glare swings back to Brandee. “And you…you b...” His jaw locks, lips press into a tight, straight line. Quite a valiant effort to refrain from calling her a bitch. “You start this shit because you have a bone to pick with me over something that didn’t happen over a decade ago?”
I’ve never seen Dane mad, not truly mad like this, and I hope to never see it again.
“You can forget the deal,” he tells Carson. “Now get off my property.”
He turns to leave, but not before he takes my hand and takes me with him.
We might as well have hung a mourning wreath over the front door the mood was so black. It wouldn’t have been too far from the truth. Bill was certainly mourning.
After Dane and I returned to the house, Dane disappeared into the office where Bill had gone to lick his wounds and curse me to the heavens in all likelihood.
I called Jeff, ready to rip him a new one, an
d I couldn’t even do that. He thought he was defending my honor when the gossip rags started saying all kinds of nasty things about me and my motives. What a mess.
I booked a flight home, gathered my things, and began packing. My mother had overnighted me some of my clothes in a small travel bag shortly after our unfortunate shopping trip to the department store.
I was going to have to face Bill before I left, but I didn’t know what to say. How do you apologize for something you acted on knowing it was wrong in the first place? An apology didn’t seem enough.
“What are you doing?” Dane’s raspy question startles me. I glance over my shoulder and find him leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, his demeanor one of uneasy curiosity.
The Ride a Cowboy t-shirt in my hand gets stuffed into the travel bag.
“Leaving. I’ve overstayed my welcome. Your father must hate me and I don’t blame him.”
“He doesn’t hate you,” he argues, the volume of his voice dropping in sympathy. “I explained everything…if he’s mad at anyone, it’s me.”
I’m not buying it. I hurt him, broke his trust. And I’m a big believer that trust takes forever to be repaired, and even then it will never be seamless again.
“I have to get back to my life, Dane…so do you.”
“You are my life,” he forces out.
What? I must’ve misunderstood. I must have. Blinking at the clothes in my hand, I drop them and face him.
He looks as surprised he said it as I am. “A part of it,” he corrects.
“I feel horrible, Dane. I knew this was going to blow up in our faces and still I went along with it. I’m not cavalier like you. I can’t brush it off as an unfortunate incident and move on. He’s the only grandfather this child will know and I will never be able to look that man in the eye again!”
I’m expecting some sort of apology, a sign that he understands why I’m so upset. What do I get instead? Nothing. Silence from the man that is never silent. He blinks back at me as if I haven’t just implied he’s callous and self-absorbed––which I did.
