Then Edna said plaintively, “I just wish you felt you could trust me, whatever it is.”
Abby put on a smile. “I do trust you, Mom.”
Edna shook her head and turned her attention back to her plate.
Tess wouldn’t let Cash pay for the funeral, though he knew she hardly had a dime to her name. And she had no family left, either—none that could help her, anyway. Tess’s dad was dead. Her mom lived on Social Security and barely had the funds to make it to Laramie for Josh’s funeral. Tess was young, not yet twenty-five, if Cash remembered right. Too young to be widowed and flat broke.
“I’ll manage,” Tess assured him, smiling that brave smile he’d always admired.
He stayed in Laramie till Saturday morning, through the funeral and the day after, at a hotel not too far from the tiny apartment Tess and her daughter now shared alone. He thought a lot about Josh, about the old days, the good times they used to have. But even more, he worried about Tess and Jobeth. Before he left, he pressed a few bills into Tess’s hand, a small enough amount that she could call it a loan and accept it.
She explained, “I’ve been picking up a few hours here and there down at the corner market. But they told me last week that they’d have to let me go.” Her voice turned hopeful. “If you hear of a job in Medicine Creek, something for a woman who might not have a lot of skills but is willing to put in a good day’s work….”
He nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Her eyes hardened. “A job, Cash. Not charity.”
And he had to reassure her that there’d be no charity involved.
He was back at his house in Medicine Creek by a little after one in the afternoon. He had a raft of messages on his machine. More than one of them was from Edna.
He dialed her number. She answered on the second ring.
“Hello, Heller residence.”
He felt both relief and disappointment that it wasn’t Abby who’d answered. “Hi there. How are you doing?”
“Oh, Cash…”
He didn’t like the way she sounded. “Edna, are you okay?”
“Of course. I just…I’ve missed you.”
“I’ll come right over.”
“Yes. Good.”
He could have sworn she was crying. “What’s the matter?”
She sniffled a little. “Nothing. Everything. Please. I would so like to see you.”
He was there in five minutes. And when she opened the door, her red-rimmed eyes said it all. She led him into the living room.
He tried not to ask, but he couldn’t help himself. “Where’s Abby?”
“Grocery shopping. She’ll be back soon.” A box of tissues waited on a nearby table. Edna yanked one out and dabbed at her eyes. “So we don’t have much time.”
“Time for what?”
“To talk.”
“Damn it, Edna. What the hell is going on?”
“Oh, I shouldn’t say anything. I know it. But I have to talk to someone. And when you called, I was just going crazy, wondering what in the world I was going to do.”
“About what?”
Edna dabbed her eyes some more. “I just don’t know who else to turn to.”
“About what, Edna?”
“It’s Abby….”
His mind conjured a million disasters. If someone had hurt her, he’d do murder, he would. He tried to stay cool. “What? What about Abby?”
“She’s… Oh, Cash. She will be so angry at me if she learns that I’ve turned to you about this. But I do count on you. And she won’t talk to me.”
“Tell me.”
Edna smoothed out her tissue, then wadded it up again. “Well, she hasn’t been eating much since she came back from Denver. Have you noticed that?”
What did Abby’s lack of appetite have to do with disaster? “Yeah. All right. I’ve noticed.”
“And sometimes she gets sick. She goes in the bathroom and she—”
“Fine. I get the point. What are you telling me?”
“I’ve been over and over it. At first, I thought she was trying to hide an illness. Or maybe an eating disorder. But the past day or two, I’ve finally admitted to myself what it has to be.”
“What?”
“Oh, I’m so worried for her. But why else would she take off for Denver like that, with hardly a word of explanation? And why, once she got there, would she refuse to return our calls? Refuse to come home until her own mother was at death’s door? Even now, she won’t confide in me. Won’t turn to me. She always thinks she has to handle everything herself, has to shoulder all the burden alone. Ever since she was a tiny thing, it was that way. She wouldn’t—”
“Edna. What the hell is wrong with Abby?”
Edna gulped. “Oh, Cash.”
“What? God. Tell me.”
Edna closed her eyes. A shudder racked her slim shoulders. And then she hung her head. “She’s pregnant. Isn’t it obvious? She’s pregnant. Some awful man has taken advantage of her and then left her to deal with the consequences all on her own.”
Chapter Five
Abby saw Cash’s Cadillac in front of the house when she turned onto Meadowlark Lane.
So, she thought grimly, wherever he’s been, he’s back.
This time, she decided, she would tell him the truth before he could get away—if she had to shout it at his back as he tried to run out the door. She pulled into the driveway and opened the garage door with the remote control. Then she slid the Rabbit in beside her mother’s old station wagon.
Carrying a bag of groceries in each arm, she entered through the kitchen.
“Abigail!” her mother called from the living room.
Abby slid the groceries onto the end of the counter. “Coming!” She smoothed her hands down her jeans, pulled her shoulders back and marched into the other room.
Cash stood from an easy chair as she entered. Their eyes met.
And she knew that he knew.
Two steps and he was beside her, taking her arm. “Let’s go.”
She stared at him, her mind gone suddenly to mush. “Go where?”
“My house. We have to talk. Alone.”
Edna, in the other easy chair, started sputtering. “Cash, no. Really, I didn’t mean for you to—”
“Edna, don’t worry. I’ll handle this.” He started pulling Abby toward the front door. “Come on.”
Abby dug in her heels. “What is going on?” she demanded, as if she didn’t already know.
Edna stood, putting her hand to her heart. “Oh, Abigail. I was so worried about you. I had to talk to someone….”
Cash turned to Edna then, his concern for her health crowding out his determination to get Abby alone. “Now, settle down, Edna. I’m going to fix everything—you’ll see. I just want you to trust me. I don’t want you to get yourself too worked up about this.”
Abby clenched her teeth so hard she wondered why they didn’t crack. “Worked up about what?”
“Oh, Abigail,” Edna cried in abject misery, “why is it you’ve never felt you could talk to me?”
Abby sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then she spoke with great patience. “Mother, go lie down.”
“No, no. We have to talk about this.”
“We will. When I get back.”
“Back from where?”
“Cash’s house.”
“But that’s not right. Cash has nothing to do with this.”
“He really wants to be involved.” She sent Cash a telling glance. “Don’t you, Cash?”
His eyes bored through her. “That’s right. I really do.”
“Oh.” Edna wrung her hands. “I feel so useless. I had to talk to someone. And then Cash called. And I—”
“Shh,” Abby soothed. “You are not to worry. I promise. It will all work out.”
“Oh, honey…”
Taking her mother by the hand, Abby headed for the downstairs bedroom. Once she got there, she led Edna straight to the bed. “Come on. Sit.”
Obe
dient as a child, Edna dropped to the edge of the bed. Abby knelt, slipped off her mother’s house shoes and helped her to stretch out. Then Abby stood. “We’ll be at Cash’s. And you will be fine. If you just rest.”
“Abigail.”
“What?”
“Are you going to have a baby?”
The time for denials had passed. “Yes, Mom.”
A whimper escaped Edna. “Oh, dear…”
“Rest. Please. It will be okay.”
“I should be more help.”
“Just rest. That will help a lot—I promise you.”
Edna sighed, a deep, weary sigh. “You’ll be at Cash’s?”
“Yes.”
“Cash will help you. Cash always helps.”
“Yes. He does. And he will. You’ll see.”
“All right, then.” Edna closed her eyes. “We’ll talk when you get back from Cash’s.”
Abby turned. Cash was standing in the doorway to the hall.
“Let’s go,” he said.
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” he demanded, as soon as they were alone in his big living room, with its plush area rugs, soaring windows and vaulted ceiling.
“Cash, listen—”
He paced the floor. “You lied to me. I asked you directly in Denver. I said, ‘Are you pregnant?’ and you looked me straight in the eye and you told me no.”
“I wasn’t ready to talk about it then.”
Cash stopped pacing and raked a hand back through his hair. “Hell. How could I not have figured it out? The way you eat. That tea you’re always drinking. And the way you look so skinny and green.” She was standing in front of the long, off-white sofa, opposite him. He frowned at her across the coffee table. “Are you all right?”
Abby sighed and dropped to the sofa. “I’m fine. And my mother should have come to me first.”
Cash made a snorting sound. “You know she could never talk to you.” He marched to a caramel-colored leather chair a few feet away and sat down. “She doesn’t know I’m the father.” He braced his elbows on his knees and hung his head in shame. “God help me, I didn’t have the guts to tell her. It’s going to break her heart. I’ve abused the trust she and Ty had in me.” He studied his boots for a moment, then he glanced up and into her eyes. “Let alone the trust you had in me.”
She held his gaze firmly. “It is your baby, Cash.”
Now he looked injured. “How could you think I would doubt it?”
“I just wanted to say it. I’ve been meaning to say it. Trying to say it.”
“Abby…” He didn’t seem to know how to go on.
“It is your baby,” she said again. “And I want it. I do.”
His eyes darkened. “What does that mean? Did you think I would try to stop you from having it?”
“No, I never thought that.” She leaned forward, to the edge of the sofa, willing him to understand, to see how it had been for her. “It’s just that I’ve been trying to figure out a way to tell you for what seems like forever now.”
“Well.” He looked grim. “Now I know.”
She felt defiant. “And I’m glad you know—even if my mother was the one who ended up telling you.”
He stared at her for a long moment, then he turned and flipped open a little carved box that sat on a small table by his chair. He took out a cigarette and tapped it on the edge of the table. Then, the cigarette poised in mid-tap, he shot her a reproving glance. “You should have come to me.” With a low oath, he tossed the cigarette back in the box. “But then, how the hell could you?” He snapped the lid of the box shut. “How could you turn to me ever again after I—”
She stood then. “Cash Bravo.”
He scowled at her. “What?”
“You’ve got to stop beating yourself up about this. You have to remember how it was that night. I was…willing. More than willing. No matter how much you want all the blame, you can’t have it.”
He was shaking his head. “You’re only a—”
She glared at him. “If you call me a kid, I will do serious bodily harm to you.”
He glared back, but only for a moment. Then he was looking at his boots again. “I know you hate me.”
“When will you hear me? I do not hate you.”
“I’m too old for you, I know.”
At first, she didn’t realize what he was getting at. “What does how old you are have to do with anything?”
“Abby….” He looked so sad, a man on a first-name basis with regret. He got to his feet and walked over to the tall windows at the end of the room. Outside, the wind filled the air with feathery white fluff from the cottowood trees. The sun shone down. In the distance, however, toward the Big Horns, dark-bellied clouds loomed. Cash looked out for a moment, at the distant clouds and the whirling white fluff. And then he turned. “I think it’s best if we get married.”
She swallowed. It was exactly what she’d expected he would say. Still, it had the power to surprise her. “What?”
“You heard me. We’ll get married.”
She drew herself up, tried to sound firm. “No. No, really. We can’t do that.”
“The hell we can’t.”
“Listen. I mean it. It would be a mistake—you know it would.”
He shrugged, as if her words had meant nothing. “It’s the right thing. And we’ll do it.”
She came out from behind the coffee table, into the middle of the room. “Cash, you’re not listening to me.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Then hear what I’m telling you. I won’t marry you. It never works when people get married for something like this.”
He looked at her as if she’d said something incredibly foolish and juvenile. Then he replied quietly, “You’ll marry me.”
She shook her head. “No. It’s not a good idea.”
A weary half smile tugged on one corner of his mouth. “Why not?”
“I just…well, I don’t think it’s wise.”
That half smile remained, making him look infinitely superior and worldly-wise. “You’re twenty-one. You don’t know a thing about wisdom.” He strode to her and took her by the shoulders.
His touch felt so good. And she was so…confused. This wasn’t working out. Instead of marshaling her very reasonable arguments against marrying him and laying them before him with calm self-assurance, she’d stammered and hesitated. She hadn’t been convincing at all.
And he had just plain refused to listen to her.
She glanced away from him, toward the window. Out there, the air was heavy and moist—charged with the promise of a summer storm.
“Look at me.”
She did, putting considerable effort into keeping her expression severe and composed.
“We’ll get married,” Cash said. “Well make the best of it. It’s better for the baby. Can’t you see that?”
Abby shrugged free of his grip and moved around him, toward the window.
He spoke to her back. “The baby deserves whatever we can give him. And we can give him two parents who did their best to make a marriage between them, to make a family for him.”
She looked out at the blowing cotton wood fluff and the slowly darkening sky.
“Abby, come on. You know it’s the best thing—the right thing—to do.”
She watched lightning fork down, and heard the thunder boom out far away somewhere.
“Abby…”
She spoke, but it was more to herself than to him. “I never wanted to be a wife. I wanted…to work with you. And to run my own life.”
He came up behind her, but he didn’t touch her. She could feel him standing there. “I know, Abby. And I do understand.”
She smiled to herself. “I’ll bet.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Lightning flashed again. The dark clouds boiled in. “I just know you. I know how you are.”
“How?”
She could hear the wind keening.
“How am I, Abby?”
She turned to him. “You’re a bachelor to the core. You’ve never in your life wanted to get married, to anyone.” She paused, halfway hoping that he would argue. But he didn’t argue. So she went on, “Oh, you love the way all the women go gaga over you. And you treat them all so nice. But marriage has never been of much interest to you. You like your wheeling and your dealing. You like to get up and go when the mood strikes. You want to be free to follow a deal—or to ride out in your Cadillac to rescue some needy friend. You’re everyone’s knight in shining armor. But you’re just not the marrying kind.”
She could see by his expression that she had described him personally. And it made her sad, somehow. So very sad.
“Fine,” he said. “We both like being single—but now you’re going to have a baby. A baby you say you want.”
She pushed the sadness away and replied with assurance, “I don’t just say it. I do want it.”
“Then think of the baby. Do what’s right. Marry me.”
“It will never work.” Even as she said it, she was waiting for him to come back strong, to argue that it would work. That they would make it work.
He cleared his throat. “It might.”
She cast a put-upon glance toward the vaulted ceiling. “You sound so convincing.”
He grunted. “Well, all right. Maybe it won’t work. In the long run. And if it doesn’t work…”
“What?”
“Abby, people do get divorced.”
For some reason, that hurt. To have him already planning divorce when she hadn’t even agreed to marry him. She stared up at him—and found herself thinking about how much she liked looking at him.
It made her feel good to look at him. As if all was right with the world. But she supposed that made sense. He’d always been there, in her world. The family story went that he’d held her in his arms shortly after she was born. All her life, she had counted on him. And confided in him. She had always known that she could tell him anything.
And it had been so hard these past grim weeks, feeling as if she didn’t dare talk to him at all. But now, the long silence had been broken. They were saying things that had to be said. True, it didn’t approach the old easiness they used to share. But it was something, at least.
The Nine-Month Marriage Page 6
