The Cowboy's Baby: Devlin Brothers Ranch

by Joanna Bell

  Chapter 34: Hailey

  Jackson's boss was loaded, that much was obvious. The buildings and paddocks of Sea Vista Ranch were perched on an expansive bluff overlooking Malibu and the Pacific ocean.

  A woman with her silver hair cut into a neat bob approached my rental car, smiling a smile warm enough to put at least some of my nervousness to rest.

  "You must be Hailey!" She said, pulling me into a tight hug as soon as I stepped out. "I'm so happy to finally meet you. I'm Lacey Sharrock – technically Jackson's boss, but also his friend."

  I wasn't anticipating such a warm welcome. For a split second, a crazy urge to burst into tears came over me. Thankfully, it soon passed.

  "This is beautiful," I told my host, turning around to look out over the sea. "Really. The light is stunning."

  Lacey put an arm around my shoulders and began to lead me to the main building. "Of course you would notice the light – you're a very talented woman, Hailey. A friend of mine bought one of the paintings from your Los Angeles show."

  I don't know what I was expecting. Maybe someone a little less sweet? She was Jackson's boss, after all – and apparently his friend, too. And I knew I was not Jackson's favorite person on earth. There was no telling what he'd said to her about me.

  "The boys are out riding the trails," Lacey told me when we were inside the house – if I could call it that. It was huge – palatial in scale – but built from logs. Huge logs, from the kind of trees that don't grow in Montana or New York. The rustic materials softened the space, made it human even as the ceilings soared overhead and picture windows filled the place with Californian sunlight.

  It was also full of people. Lacey took me into the main room and, to my embarrassment, proceeded to quiet about 40 people down so she could introduce me.

  "No," I whispered, tugging at her sleeve in an attempt to tell her a grand introduction wasn't necessary. But it was too late.

  "Everyone," she announced, pulling me up beside her as I tried to shrink into the background. "I'm sure most of you already know who this is but for those who've been living under a rock let me introduce the artist Hailey Nickerson. She's the mother of Jackson's son, and she'll be joining us this afternoon. I trust you all to remember your manners and refrain from trying to commission any pieces on the sly!"

  She turned to me, and I realized with no small amount of dread that she apparently wanted me to say something. Luckily Brody chose that exact moment to burst into the room and throw his arms around my waist, saving me from having to give a short speech on an unknown topic to a room full of strangers.

  "MOMMY!"

  "Brody," I sighed, sinking to my knees and pulling him against me. He smelled of the outdoors. Of trees and wind and horses. Exactly the way his father used to smell...

  "Hey, Hailey."

  I looked up. Jackson was standing there, hat in hand like some stoic cowboy character in a movie. I was aware, too, that although conversations had started back up again in the living room, a number of pairs of eyes were watching us.

  "Hey," I replied, standing up and taking a step towards him. We both hesitated before hugging each other stiffly. At the last minute he appeared to decide to kiss me on the cheek, but I moved away before realizing it and he ended up kissing the side of my head.

  "Come with me," Lacey broke in, saving me from my own awkwardness. "Brody will be fine – everyone's in love with him already."

  I followed Jackson's boss into a stunning kitchen filled with the smell of roasting turkey.

  "Sorry about that," she said, grinning. "Better to get the introductions out of the way so you don't have to spend all afternoon fending off enquiries about whether or not you're that artist they read about online."

  All afternoon? It was only supposed to be a short visit – less than an hour. I watched as Lacey opened a door on a huge cast iron range, revealing a pair of enormous, not-yet-finished turkeys side by side.

  "Oh," I said. "I think there might have been some mistake. I'm having dinner later with –"

  "Nonsense. You're having dinner with us."

  What was this woman up to? And why was she being so nice to me? I was certain Jackson hadn't put her up to it – if anything it was probably the other way around.

  "I really appreciate that," I started nervously, not wanting to offend but dreading the idea of having to spend hours pretending everything was hunky-dory with my son's father, "but Jackson said –"

  "Jackson says a lot of things, doesn't he?" Lacey replied, catching my eye.

  I couldn't help but laugh. And laughing helped me relax a little. "Yeah. He does."

  "Can you pass me that big spoon?"

  A large spoon sat on the pristine marble surface of the kitchen island. I handed it to Lacey.

  "And pour yourself a glass of wine. There's some Cannonau if you prefer red. It's from Sardinia – very healthy! Or if you prefer white there's a few bottles in the wine fridge."

  Wine. Yes. That sounded like a great idea. Anything to make this experience slightly less fraught. I turned around and spotted a series of already-open bottles on one of the counters.

  "I, uh – I don't know very much about wine..."

  "Neither do I! Except that I like drinking it!" Lacey replied, bustling over and reading a few labels before picking a particular bottle out of the group. "Here we go, the Cannonau. My doctor says it has very high levels of reversa–, reversi–"

  "Resveratrol," came a female voice from behind us. "It's an antioxidant. Lacey is convinced if she just drinks enough wine, she'll live forever."

  A woman with something of Lacey herself in her features stood in the doorway. She was younger, maybe about 30 or so, and beautiful – tanned and healthy-looking like I imagined everyone in California to be. The only thing she lacked was a surfboard under one arm.

  "I'm Willow," she introduced herself. "Lacey's niece."

  "I'm Hailey. I'm –"

  "Oh I know who you are," the blonde chuckled, pouring me a glass of the Cannonau wine. "My parents tried to get their hands on one of your pieces but everything at the L.A. show sold out in like 5 seconds."

  "Oh," I said, not sure whether laughing would come off as arrogant or not and taking a somewhat desperate sip of wine. "Yeah. I'm sorry, I didn't realize..."

  "Don't be sorry! You're the toast of the art world – believe me, every single person here is going to go to work next week and tell their colleagues they spent Christmas with you."

  I looked at Lacey and then back at Willow, not sure whether she was joking or not and feeling decidedly out of place. It was a common occurrence in those days, wealthy people thinking I was one of them. They spoke to me of their houses in Aspen and the difficulties of finding good help as if they were problems I myself would be familiar with. None of them knew I still lived in a tiny little basement apartment – or that I had to Google where Aspen was.

  "Stop!" Lacey admonished her niece. "Don't scare the girl. Where's Lucia? Go find her, will you?"

  I took another sip of wine and felt it slip down into my belly, where a growing warmth had begun to spread out into the rest of my body. I could hear Brody laughing in another room. I decided I liked Lacey Sharrock and her beautiful, light-filled home. My son was happy. Perhaps I could relax long enough to enjoy the afternoon, too?

  Ten minutes later I texted Lili to let her know they – her, my mom and aunt Sandra – could go ahead without me. They wouldn't be upset, all we had planned was a rotisserie chicken from the grocery store and some cheap wine out of paper cups. We had a second Christmas planned for after we got back to New York, anyway, so no one was missing out on anything – except a few days of the dreary New York winter.

  ***

  As it happened, I did manage to relax. The wine helped. The company – mainly composed of rich, artsy Angelenos but spiced up here and there with people like me who had, either through talent or personality, managed to infiltrate circles we otherwise would never have found ourselves in – was lovely. Brody took t
o the slightly older daughter of another guest and spent most of the afternoon trailing around behind her, trying to impress her with his newly acquired horse-based facts.

  "You have to brush a horse's hair before you put it into bed," I overheard him telling her after we'd eaten and everyone but the children was deep into food-coma territory. She immediately spun around and kindly but firmly corrected him that horses didn't sleep in beds, they slept in stalls. I stood out of sight, listening and smiling to myself.

  "These California girls," a voice spoke quietly behind me. "They don't defer to anyone."

  Jackson. I turned around, worried that he was going to be in the kind of mood that would instantly ruin my post-turkey state of bliss. His face wore an expression that said he was feeling the same way I was, though.

  I smiled a little a cautiously. "Yeah. I guess you would know about that."

  That didn't come out how I meant it. I meant it as a statement of fact – that Jackson now lived in California and would therefore be familiar with Californians. What it came out sounding like was an accusation.

  "Wait!" I cried as he turned to walk away, shaking his head like he was disappointed in himself for expecting anything else from me. "Jackson, hold on. Just – hold on. I didn't mean it like that. I know that's how it sounded but that's not what I meant. And even if it was, I know it's none of my business."

  He stopped and eyed me for a moment before allowing the convivial warmth of Lacey's house on Christmas Day to get the best of him. We stood together peeking into the next room, where Brody's new friend was in the middle of an animated explanation and Brody himself was sat across from her on the floor, rapt.

  "That's how I used to look at you."

  "What?" I replied, instantly upset with myself for being stung by Jackson's use of the past tense.

  "That's how I used to look at you. Look at his face. Look how he's hanging on her every word. I remember that feeling."

  I waited for the blow. The "until you ruined it, you evil, child-concealing bitch!" But it didn't come. Jackson simply seemed to be reminiscing.

  "And about those California girls," he added, a couple of minutes later, "you might be surprised."

  I might be surprised?

  "What does that mean?" I asked, turning to try to discern what he meant from the look on his face.

  "I just mean you might be surprised, Hailey."

  I always liked it when Jackson Devlin said my name. I liked it when I was a little girl and hearing my name on his lips made me feel special, somehow. Noticed. I liked it when we got older and I learned all the different tones and meanings behind the way a man can speak a woman's name. And I liked it there in Lacey Sharrock's kitchen, when it was long past the time I should have been thrilling to the sound of that particular man saying my name.

  I didn't tell him that, of course. I didn't give him any sign of what I felt. I just quietly let it be true in my heart, where I naively thought no harm could come of inconvenient facts as long as you kept them to yourself.

  Later, when the sun was almost set and the sky outside was a deep, dark, inky blue, I found myself in the kitchen with Lacey and the two women she'd hired to help out.

  "You don't need to do this," Lacey said as I grabbed a plate from the top of a pile and began scraping the leftovers into the garbage. "Really, I'm not being polite – you don't have to help."

  "I don't mind," I replied, shrugging. "It's quiet in here. I like it."

  I set the first plate down and picked up the next one.

  "He's really glad you came."

  At first, I honestly thought she'd said that she was really glad I came. "Oh," I replied, smiling and intending to thank her for the wonderful afternoon. "Wait, what did you –"

  "Jackson. Jackson is really glad you came."

  I didn't know how to respond to that, so I just went back to scraping leftovers off plates and feeling awkward the way I always do when someone I don't know well brings up a sensitive topic.

  "He still loves you, you know."

  The plate I was holding clattered loudly onto the counter.

  "I –"

  "I'm sorry," Lacey apologized, perhaps noting my response. "I know it's none of my business. It's just that you have such a beautiful little boy together and I couldn't let you go without saying anything."

  The kitchen suddenly felt very hot and enclosed.

  "I need some air," I mumbled, brushing past her and running for the first door I saw.

  Outside, the evening was warm and still. Above my head, the first stars of the night twinkled against the velvet darkness of the sky. My heart was pounding so hard I swear someone standing next to me would have heard it.

  Who was Lacey Sharrock to say something like that? What right did she have to drop something – something I was 100% sure Jackson wouldn't agree with – on me like that?

  Unless...

  No. Stop it. He didn't tell her to say anything. That's not his style. She's a busybody. A nice busybody, but a busybody all the same. Best forget it.

  I stepped off the stone patio and onto the grass and took a deep breath. But before I could go back inside and pretend like Lacey had never said anything, she appeared at the door and, seeing me, rushed over to pull me into a hug.

  "I'm so sorry," she said, sounding genuinely anguished. "I shouldn't have said anything. I shouldn't have said it like that, anyway. I've had too much wine – not that that's an excuse! I just – Hailey, I work with the man. I know him – not as well as you know him, obviously, but well enough to know he's as stubborn as a goddamned ox."

  I couldn't help but laugh knowingly at that characterization. "It's OK," I replied. It wasn't really OK, but I could tell Lacey really was contrite, that she hadn't meant to upset me. "I just – I don't know. I've made a life for myself in New York. I've made a life for Brody and me. And everything is getting all stirred up again lately and –"

  Suddenly aware of a lump in my throat and a stinging in my eyes, I abruptly stopped talking. Jesus, was I going to start drunk-crying in front of a near-stranger on Christmas? How ridiculous.

  But Lacey was one of those older women with a warm, motherly presence. The kind of presence that makes you want to fling yourself into their arms and sob out your deepest hurts and pains.

  She probably knew I was getting emotional, because she didn't push me to keep talking right away. Eventually she just put her arm around me and told me she was happy I accepted Jackson's invitation. I thought the conversation was over. The lump in my throat was almost gone. But as we turned to go back into the house Lacey said one more thing:

  "I know what it's like to be an ambitious woman. We don't always have it easy, do we? In my younger years I made a lot of decisions that no one around me seemed to understand. It was hard. It's especially hard when you're young – and you're still so young, Hailey."

  A certain stiffness of bearing came over me and I stopped dead in my tracks. Ambitious? Decisions that no one seemed to understand? What the –

  Lacey looked at me quizzically. "Did I say something wrong?"

  "Damnit Jackson," I whispered, laughing bitterly. Self-serving, convenient delusions are one thing. I couldn't stop him having those. But did he have to tell people? People that I was going to meet?

  "I'm sorry," Lacey began, looking worried. "I didn't mean to upset –"

  "What did he tell you?" I asked, probably more angry at myself for not anticipating it than I was at Jackson. After all, why wouldn't he tell other people? It's so much easier to believe your own bullshit if you've got other people backing you up. "That I just abandoned him? Found out I was pregnant and, like the evil, selfish, career-obsessed witch I am that I just picked up and moved to New York City? Without ever telling him about Brody?"

  Lacey looked confused and not a little sheepish, probably realizing too late that she should have left well enough alone. "But you – " she paused – "you didn't tell him. Or – did you? Don't get me wrong, I'm not judging you! That's why I brought t
his up in the first place, because I wanted you to know that I understand, that I specifically wasn't judging you for –"

  "For what?" I snapped, throwing my hands in the air in frustration. "For doing something I didn't even do? Let me guess, Jackson forgot to tell you about all the messages I sent him before I left, right? All the voicemails I left begging him to call me? Did he tell you his stepmother came to my mom's house and specifically told her Jackson knew I might be pregnant and he didn't want anything to do with it – or with me? Did he tell you he threw his fucking phone into a river before he drove to L.A., so no one could reach him even if they wanted to? DID SAINT JACKSON TELL YOU ANY OF THIS?!"

  I turned away from Lacey, my skin prickling with fury, and tried to catch my breath. I had to get out of there. I had to get my son and get out of there.

  But before I could storm off, Jackson's boss caught my arm. I almost shook her off but some less emotional part of my psyche stopped me. It wasn't her fault if Jackson lied to her. It was his.

  "Wait," she said gently.

  "He didn't tell you, did he?" I asked, looking her in the eye.

  She shook her head. "No, he didn't. And I think I know why."

  I laughed. "Yeah, me too. Because he's an asshole, that's why."

  "Maybe. But we're all assholes when we're young. Especially if we're hurt."

  "I was hurt, too!" I shot back, years of resentment exploding out of me. "Why is Jackson Devlin the only one who gets to be hurt? Why is he the only one allowed to indulge himself in his own sense of injustice? I got screwed too! So did Brody! None of this was my fault! And – "

  I stopped myself before I could launch into a more fulsome rant and took a deep breath. "Sorry. I'm sorry – you don't need to listen to all this. I just – it's been months of this. Months of him acting like this is all my fault. Like this whole situation is something I did to him. It's driving me crazy. I think maybe it's time for me to leave."