With a weary sigh, Brandon slid behind the wheel of his rental sedan and turned on the GPS. If he was lucky, he’d be able to get there before dark.
~*~*~
The Garden Shop was closed on Sundays. After the disturbing call to Brandon’s house, Isabella decided that a day in bed would be a good thing. Tired and depressed, she lounged until noon. The phone had rung just after midnight, waking her from a fitful sleep. She’d waited for the answering machine to get it so she knew who was calling at that ungodly hour, but the caller hadn’t left a message. She had a sneaking suspicion it’d been Brandon. He probably had caller ID. If it had been him, why hadn’t he left a message?
She gave a little snort as she finally pushed the covers off and got out of bed. Not that she’d stayed on the line long enough to talk to him. After hearing that sultry, sexy voice on the other end, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to speak. He’d found another woman. Why should she be surprised? He was handsome and wonderful and sweet and sexy and...and she’d walked away. Of course, he would have moved on with his life, she thought as she stripped out of her nightgown and stepped into the shower. She was the one who’d left. So what if he’d talked about a future with her? It wasn’t as if she gave him any choice.
But he could have come after me...
Dressed in a loose summer dress even though it was mid-winter, she decided to go buy herself some maternity clothes. Almost nothing she owned fit any longer, and it was only going to get worse. It had been ages since she shopped until she wanted to drop. Maybe getting out and having a little fun would help.
After treating herself to lunch, buying a whole new wardrobe that would last her the next five months, and going to a shop called Mom and Me and buying the What To Expect When You’re Expecting book that Dr. Sweeny had suggested, she finally headed home. She was tired, but she’d had a good day—when she could get her mind off Brandon. Wondering what he was doing, what that woman who’d answered his phone looked like, how to go about notifying him of the baby. She had to tell him. It was his right as the father to know. But she was beginning to think that talking to him again just might be the hardest thing she’d ever done. Harder than leaving him had been.
The sun was just starting to set over the ocean when she pulled into the alley beside The Garden Shop. Grabbing her bags from the back seat of her car, she headed up the steps to her apartment. After dumping the bags on the floor in her bedroom, checking her answering machine—okay, hoping that Brandon had called—she headed to the kitchen to scrounge dinner. She should have stopped at the grocery store while she was out, she thought as she picked at cold left-over chicken alfredo Mrs. Camaricci had sent to her on Friday. She needed to get into better eating habits now that she was eating for two.
With a warm smile, she laid her hand over her belly. “I’m going to take good care of you, my darling little girl,” she promised. “And getting some fruits and veggies in the house will be of the first priority. Tomorrow.”
After she finished her cold supper, she pulled What To Expect When You’re Expecting out of one of the bags and plopped down on the couch. Flipping on the television with the remote, she opened to the page for the fourth month of pregnancy. “Hmm,” she said as she rubbed her belly. “So that’s what you’re up to, huh?” she asked as she skimmed over the information on size and weight of the fetus.
~*~*~
Just after six p.m., as darkness quickly fell, Brandon found a parking spot on the street a block from The Garden Shop. Most of the shops along the road were closed for the evening. A couple of the cafés were still open, but the little art galleries and boutiques were locked up tight.
As Brandon made his way up the street toward The Garden Shop on foot, he inhaled deeply the crisp, tangy scent of the ocean. Just across the road he could see the white surf pounding on the shore, hear the steady thrum of it. The air was cleaner here than in the city, but the humidity made him feel sticky. It’d only been a matter of months since he’d left Detroit, but his body had quickly re-acclimated itself to Alaska’s dryness.
When he stood in front of The Garden Shop, it was obvious it was closed. The lights were out. Black metal bars had been lowered over the windows and door. All right, he thought. He’d try the residential address in Laguna Niguel. He idly wondered if Isabella had hooked up with this Sal Camaricci. If she was living with him now. If she’d— He really didn’t like that train of thought. It made him feel rather ill, actually.
As he turned away from the shop, the glow from a light above caught his eye. He backed up a few paces to the edge of the sidewalk and saw that there was an apartment upstairs. Rounding the side of the building, he took the steps three at a time.
His heart in his throat, the weariness in his bones vanishing like smoke, he rapped his knuckles on the door.
This is it.
Chapter Sixteen
Isabella woke with a start. She hadn’t realized she’d fallen asleep until some sound brought her out of a pleasant dream of warm summer days and hot, sexy nights. The television played softly, the book she’d been reading lay on the floor where it’d fallen. She glanced at the clock on her VCR. She’d only been asleep for a few moments, she was sure.
She almost jumped out of her skin when the hard knock sounded on the front door. No one came to her door. Not on a Sunday evening, at any rate. Slowly pulling herself up off the couch, she tiptoed to the door. There was no peephole to see out—she should ask Mr. Camaricci if he’d mind if she had one installed. The knock came again, harder this time.
“Who is it?” she called in the sternest voice she could manage as she studied the deadbolt to make sure she’d engaged it when she came home.
Silence.
If she moved the curtain away from the window by the door, whoever was out there would know she was inside. That would be dumb. No, that whole thought was dumb. She’d just spoken to whoever was out there.
“It’s Brandon.”
Her heart stopped. She was sure it up and quit on her. She couldn’t breathe. It couldn’t be Brandon. She’d called his house only—she glanced at the clock again—eighteen hours ago.
“Bella, let me in.”
Oh, God, he sounded the same. That gentle, sexy timbre that made goose bumps pop out all over her body. Her nipples tightened in response, and heat suffused her skin. Her hands went to her belly. Does he know? How did he find out? Why else would he be here?
There was a small thump on the door. “Please, Bella. Let me in.”
In a quick flash of vanity, she wondered what her hair looked like, wondered if the makeup she’d applied before she’d gone shopping was still in place, wondered if this dress made her look fat. Of course it did. She was getting fat.
Reaching for the deadbolt, she realized her hands were shaking. This was Brandon. The man of her dreams. The man she’d fallen so madly in love with and then walked away because she couldn’t give him a family. She could give him a family now. But then what? Would he forgive her for leaving?
She huffed out a quick breath, turned the lock, and then swung the door open.
Oh, my!
No man should look so damn good. His hands resting on the doorjamb, one hip cocked, tight black jeans hugging those thick, muscular thighs, a heather gray T-shirt pulled snugly across the amazing chest that had been the center of so many fantasies these past months. His chin and cheeks were stubbled with dark whiskers. And his eyes. Oh, dear Lord, his eyes. She thought vaguely that she just might faint...
Brandon leapt across the threshold and grabbed Bella just as she began to crumple to the floor. Swooping her up into his arms, he carried her three steps to the couch. “Bella, babe, wake up,” he said softly as he laid her down.
My God, she’s beautiful.
Even more so than he remembered. He’d spent so many nights dreaming of her he wouldn’t have believed that his memories had staled, but they had. He touched her petal-soft cheek, brushed a curly lock of hair from her forehead, ran his fingertips o
ver her lush, pink lips. His heart hurt. His sweet Bella. He’d begun to doubt he’d ever see her again.
Isabella’s eyes sprung open with a start.
He’s here. Her forehead crinkled into a frown as she stared up into his amazing dark eyes. He’s really here.
“I don’t think,” he said softly as he brushed a wavy lock of hair away from her cheek, ever so gently skimming his finger along the curve of her ear, “that I’ve ever had a woman swoon at my feet before.”
That sexy lopsided grin, the one he’d given her so many times, the one that was so ingrained in her mind’s eye that she saw it day and night, every time she thought of him. Her chest felt as if it was going to cave in on itself. She was going to be sick.
Shoving him out of her way, she struggled to her feet and ran the few steps to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. Dear God, now what? She turned on the tap and scooped handfuls of cold water over her face. What a time for morning sickness to hit. She hadn’t had a day of morning sickness. Now it comes?
The door opened behind her. She wanted to groan. She should have locked it. She needed to figure out what to say to him. How to tell him. Did he already know? Is that why he was there? She scooped more water onto her face, ignoring him for the moment. How could he possibly know? She’d just found out the day before and hadn’t told anyonne.
“Bella,” he said in that gentle, soft, loving voice that made her ache in places she’d rather not think about right now. “Are you... ill?”
She nodded. Then shook her head. She heard the concern in his voice. “No, not really.”
That little fist that enjoyed toying with his heart whenever he thought of Bella was going to kill him. He pulled a hand towel off the rack near the tub and reached around to blot her dripping face. Had Bella called him to tell him she was dying? Tears stung his eyes. But she looked so...damn...good. She’d put on weight. Her curves were luscious enough to make his mouth water. Her cheeks had filled out a bit. Her hair was a little longer, tamed from the curly mass it’d always been into soft, gentle waves that fell around her shoulders.
Bella took the towel from his fingers. Unable to stop himself, needing to touch her, he put his hands on her shoulders, feeling her warmth through the light cotton dress. “Tell me what’s wrong.” He trailed his splayed hands over her shoulder blades, down her back, his fingers just curling a bit over her sides. She finally raised her head and met his gaze in the mirror.
Tears pooled in her springtime eyes. Her body trembled under his hands. Unable to stop himself, he took the tiny step that separated her back from his front and wrapped his arms around her. “Ah, Bella,” he sighed as he buried his face in the flowery sweetness of her hair. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.”
Standing stock still, she watched Brandon in the mirror. All his love shone through his eyes, making her ache, physically hurt for wanting him. How could he be so wonderful when she’d been the one to walk away? But then, he’d had a woman in his home. Just last night.
His body was so hard, so warm against her back, it took everything she had not to lean into him. To not turn and wrap her arms around him. When his hands came around her and his strength engulfed her, it was nearly her undoing. She had to get this over with.
Meeting his gaze in the mirror, she placed her hands over his wrists and gently lowered them to her abdomen. She watched as confusion crossed the face she loved. And then he went perfectly still. It felt as if he’d even stopped breathing. His eyes bore into hers through the mirror. His hands flattened over their baby.
She’d expected some sign of joy. Of happiness. But what she saw was anger slowly simmering behind the eyes that had haunted her every dream for the past four months.
His physical withdrawal was so sudden she nearly fell to the floor. He released her with his hands and stepped away, but his gaze never wavered.
“Who’s Sal Camaricci?”
The question was so far out in left field she could only stare at him.
“Answer me!”
“M-my boss.” Why was he so angry? Why did he care about Mr. Camaricci?
“You’re not working. I traced your social security number. You haven’t worked since—”
She quickly shook her head. She’d had to deal with the whole tax issue just last week when Mr. Camaricci gave her the W2 for her income taxes. “He transposed two numbers on the tax forms. It’s been a real mess to deal with.”
Brandon’s scowl was fierce. She’d never seen this side of him. In the three weeks they’d spent together in Alaska, he’d never once been angry with her. Not like this. And she didn’t understand it now.
“You called me last night.”
She nodded.
“Why?”
Her heart thudded too hard in her chest. Gripping the sides of the vanity, she dropped her head forward, breaking eye contact with him. Why? Obviously he realized what he felt when he touched her belly. Maybe he didn’t want a baby. Maybe he—
Brandon’s hand closed over her shoulder and roughly turned her to face him. “Answer me, damn it.”
“I’m p-pregnant.” She finally raised her eyes. He was so close to her, standing over her, making her feel small. Helpless. Why the hell was he so furious?
“So you called to gloat?”
Isabella sucked in a gulp of breath. “What?”
“I know he’s married. I had Sheila check him out. I don’t know much about babies, but if I can feel it, you’re more than just a few weeks along. How long have you been having an affair with the man?”
When it sank in, what Brandon was suggesting, a bubble of laughter escaped. Mr. Camaricci? Fathering her child?
Brandon spun away and stomped from the bathroom. By the time she gathered her wits back together and went after him, Brandon was jerking the door open. “Wait! Brandon!” She grabbed his arm, preventing him from striding out the door. “Mr. Camaricci is seventy years old.”
Brandon’s vicious glower pinned her. “So whose is it?” He slammed the door, at the same time jerking his arm away from her. “And why the hell did you call me?” He crossed his arms over that lovely chest of his. “I’ve spent months searching for you, but you’d vanished into thin air after you sold Cam’s house. Now you call me about another man’s baby growing in your belly? What kind of sick, twisted thoughts have been going through your head?”
He didn’t get it. “I’m over four months pregnant, Brandon.”
“You’re a liar.”
Okay, now that pissed her off. How dare he call her a liar. “Really?” She went to the coffee table and pulled out the little black and white picture Dr. Sweeny had given her the day before and shoved it toward him. “This is your child, Brandon. I thought you would be happy about it. I thought—” Damn it, she was not going to cry! She didn’t know exactly what she thought, but she had dreams. And now it looked like those dreams were shattering into a million little pieces right before her eyes.
Slowly Brandon took the sonogram printout from her fingers. He stumbled over to the couch and seemed to collapse onto it, his eyes never leaving the picture. “How?”
Still angry at his callous attitude, she folded her own arms over her chest and glared at him. “How do you think?”
“But...but you said...” He finally looked up at her. His eyes were dark, so intense, so sad. “You said you couldn’t get pregnant.”
“A one in ten-thousand chance. At least, that was what I was told when I was married. One ovary. Scar tissue. Not likely. But obviously, it happened. And now we have a child to think about. If you don’t want anything to do with it, or me, fine. Tell me now. I’ll never bother you again.”
Brandon truly didn’t want to unman himself and break down in tears, but he was getting mighty close to doing just that. His Bella was going to have his baby. And he’d just accused her of...
Ah, hell. “Bella.”
“And who the hell are you to be upset if I was having an affair? You’ve got some woman answering
your phone.”
The heat of her temper, something he’d never get tired of seeing, made him want to smile. Her eyes sparkled, her face flushed a bit, her stance so rigid she looked like she might break in half if a stiff wind came through.
He smiled. Oh, he knew he was going to have to do some major damage control, but here she was, his Bella.
“What is so damn funny?” she demanded with an added little stomp of her foot.
“I love you,” Brandon said softly.
That took the wind out of her sails. His smile grew.
“Who was the woman?”
“Her name is Emma.” He stood up from the couch and stepped over the coffee table. “She’s a student of mine. I teach a self-defense course at the university. We had a couple dates. That’s all.”
Bella’s rigid pose wilted a bit. “Oh.”
“You’ve never left my mind, Bella. Never. I spent three months searching for you. I was ready to give up. I thought you didn’t want to be found. I thought...” He took a deep breath, trying to loosen that blasted fist around his heart. He’d thought she loved him, but then she’d left. The fact was, he didn’t know how she felt about him.
“I thought if you really wanted me, you would have come after me.”
Her admission nearly brought him to his knees. Setting the sonogram picture on the coffee table, he placed his hands on her upper arms. “Sweet Bella,” he whispered. “I tried. Once I got past the anger of you walking out on me, I started searching. But you’d sold the house. All you had for a forwarding address was a post office box. And then when there was no activity on your social security number, no new apartment rental, no utilities in your name...”
She shook her head. “Mr. Camaricci gave me the apartment as part of my salary. He pays the phone and heat and stuff. Oh, Brandon,” she sobbed as she leaned into him, her face burrowing against his throat.
Alaskan Nights Page 17
