Staking His Claim

by Karen Templeton

  Dawn decided to blame the twinge in her chest to the horseradish. "We still can't decide on names."

  "I am not talking about names."

  No, of course she wasn't.

  "Something happened between the two of you, didn't it?"

  Dawn leaned back, thinking maybe she'd just stay there until she gave birth. "Tell me something—when Darryl asked you to marry him, how'd you feel?"

  "Relieved, frankly," Faith said. "Which is probably not the answer you're looking for…ohmigod! Cal asked you to marry him?"

  She nodded. "But I turned him down."

  "Why?" Faith practically shrieked, bringing Ruby's head out of the kitchen door to ask if everything was all right. Dawn assured her it was and she popped back inside, like a prairie dog into its hole.

  "Because…oh, God, if you could've seen the look on his face when he asked me…" She rubbed her belly where a little foot was determined to break through. "I've never had anybody look at me like that. As if I meant the world to him."

  "Excuse me? Am I missin' something here?"

  "Faith, I have no idea what to do with that kind of love. Especially from Cal. I keep thinking, what if something goes wrong? What if—" She stopped.

  Her friend's mouth thinned. "What if you two turn out like Darryl and me?"

  "I didn't say that."

  "You didn't have to. God," she said on an exasperated breath. "When am I gonna learn to keep my big mouth shut? See, what you're not understanding is, Darryl and me didn't start out that way. He never looked at me like that. Like he couldn't wait to get me into bed, yeah, but not like I was the center of the universe. I mean, have you noticed the way Cal's brothers look at their wives? It's genetic, I'm telling you. Havin' a Logan man love you…well. Let's just say there's not a woman in Mayes County who wouldn't kill to be in your shoes."

  "Whichever ones these are. I haven't seen my feet in a month."

  Faith chuckled, then sighed. "Honey, don't take this the wrong way, but you're bein' dumb as a brick."

  "I don't doubt it. But there it is. I mean, Cal and me…" She sighed. "It would be like building a dream house on the San Andreas fault. No matter how perfect the house, what's the point if you're always worrying about the earth opening and swallowing it up?"

  "Good Lord," Faith said. "Is this what happens to everybody who moves to New York? They become totally neurotic?"

  Dawn grimaced. "In my case, New York had nothing to do with it."

  "And Cal loves you, anyway. Maybe you should think about that."

  As if she'd been able to think about anything else.

  * * *

  Yanking on a pair of leather work gloves as he stood in the front yard, Cal glowered at the tangle of deadwood that had been his mother's prized rose garden, once upon a time. Talk about perseverance—even though it had been more than twenty years since anyone had given the bushes any real attention, damned if the things didn't bloom every spring anyway. Tried to, at least. This year, Cal thought he might give the things a fighting chance.

  Especially as they were giving him the perfect excuse to be out front right now. And not just to avoid Ethel's infernal yammering about Dawn's baby shower yesterday.

  "Okay, y'all," he said, flexing his dad's old pruners, "I'm goin' in."

  For the first day or two after Dawn turned him down, Cal had done a lot of stomping around, cussing and slamming things. It hurt like holy hell, that he'd taken that risk and lost, that he'd been dumb enough to listen to Ethel instead of following his own instincts. That clearly she didn't return his feelings.

  But along about the third day or so, he started seeing things a little differently. That maybe, like Ethel said, Dawn just needed time to get used to the idea. That maybe she did love him, but hitting her with a marriage proposal when her brain was flooded with pregnancy hormones probably hadn't been the smartest move on his part.

  Of course, there was that whole job issue snarling between them, too. A week later—he yanked out a particularly nasty dead branch and tossed it aside—and he still hadn't heard whether she'd accepted it or not. He told himself it didn't make any difference, he wanted whatever was best for her, but the not knowing was about to kill him.

  But not nearly as much as not doing anything.

  Oh, he knew he needed to take a different tack entirely, one that would give her time to get used to the idea that he really loved her, while reassuring her—like they'd done with Eli when he'd been in the hospital—that he had no intention of giving up on them. Not that he'd quite figured out the details yet, but he had a few weeks yet before the baby came. And he doubted she'd be going anywhere for at least another month after that.

  Of course, this was Dawn he was talking about.

  Frank toodled by on the tractor, stopping to frown.

  "Wouldn't it make more sense to dig 'em up and start over?" the old man yelled over the tractor's engine.

  "Probably," Cal yelled back. Another clump of branches landed in the wheelbarrow. "But that would be too easy."

  He couldn't hear Frank's reply; he figured that was just as well.

  One thing Cal had finally decided, though: that it wasn't his imagination, the wistful look he saw in Jacob's eyes whenever Cal saw him and Dawn together, like he'd lost something and didn't know how to get it back. And how many times had he thought Jacob was about to say something, only to suck the thought back inside him? Not that Cal blamed him, in a way; as reticent as Cal'd been to broach the subject before he was sure, he could just imagine how Jacob must feel. At least now Jacob got to see and talk with her on a regular basis. Once she discovered the truth, though, who knew what her reaction might be?

  And whether her finding out the truth really would affect how she felt about Haven, and Cal, he had no idea. But it was sure as hell worth a shot.

  Hence his being out front that afternoon, to make sure he didn't miss Jacob when he came to pick up Eli.

  The older man arrived, right on time. Cal looked up and grinned, his stomach cramping. How he was going to bring up the subject, he had no idea. And if he was wrong, he was going to look like a fool for sure. Again.

  "Hey, Pop!" Eli yelled from the barn. "Come see the new foal! I got to watch her being born!"

  Not sure whether he was more irked or relieved by the reprieve, Cal followed Jacob into the warm, hay-scented barn, thankfully a little less populated than it had been a month before, now that folks were beginning to buy again. He was getting fairly decent prices, too. And to think his brothers had tried to talk him into selling.

  Dawn never had, though. Not once.

  Jacob's chuckle stirred Cal from his musings. Cinnamon's newest looked like she was trying to figure out whether those spindly things poking out from her body were really meant to support her or not. But if she wanted what her mama was offering, she had to get to her. Once she did, though, Cindy swung her head around to nuzzle her newborn, encouraging her to eat.

  "No wonder the boy can't wait to get here every day," Jacob said after Cal sent Eli off to fill feedbuckets. "I'll tell you what, he's too blamed done in when he gets home to do anything but eat and go to bed. Well, after he tells me about his day. Says he'd like to work with horses as a career, now."

  "He'd be terrific at it, that's for sure. He's got a real way with 'em."

  Jacob got quiet for a moment, then said, "I've got some apologizing to do to you. And Dawn. For being so muleheaded about acceptin' your help. Or anybody else's. I swear, all that damn pain medicine I was on turned my brains to mush." He paused, then said, "Guess it takes some getting used to, letting other people in. And I just wanted to say…thanks."

  "Nothing to thank me for…" Cal glanced back toward the feed room: if he didn't get on with it, the kid would be back and who knows when his next chance would come.

  "Cal? Somethin' on your mind?"

  He looked at Jacob, thinking tussling with those brambles earlier was nothing compared with this. "Yeah, actually. Trouble is—" he glanced at the mare and her
filly, then back at Jacob "—I have no idea how to go about it." At the older man's frown, Cal said quietly, "I need to ask you something. About Dawn."

  Jacob's eyes narrowed. Then his mouth pulled into a taut smile. "I've seen the way you've been looking at me these past weeks, all those questions in your eyes. And I kept thinking, I should just come right out and say something…but I could never figure out how, either."

  "She's your daughter, isn't she?" Cal asked.

  Jacob nodded, then scrubbed a hand over his chin. "You know, there's a lot of things about my life I'm not proud of. Least of all the way I've raised that boy. But for all the mistakes I've made with him, none of 'em even come close to the one I made that cost me something I'll never get back."

  "Ivy said you made her keep your identity a secret."

  "Well, hell, what else would she say? You honestly think she's gonna admit the father of her kid's some sorry-assed loser who took off on her? Who never even bothered writing or calling or nothing? Then I show up again with a pregnant wife…"

  "That why you never said anything, either?"

  Jacob turned away, his jaw tight. "I remember that first time I saw Dawn with Ivy, realized she was Ivy's kid, did some quick math and figured out she had to be mine. Then things got even more complicated when Justine wanted to hire Ivy so she could have the baby at home. After one of Justine's appointments, I finally cornered Ivy, asked her about Dawn…but she denied it, with a look on her face I won't forget until my dyin' day. Like the idea of me being the father of her girl—a girl who was about to go off to college in New York City—completely disgusted her. Wasn't much I could do, especially as I didn't want to upset Justine for one thing. And I wouldn't've hurt Dawn for the world, y'know? And anyway, Dawn left maybe a month or so after that." He shrugged. "It was too late, y'know? Then Justine died and I had my hands full with Elijah, and I don't know, at some point I took a good, hard look at myself and thought, well, hell—Dawn did just fine without me all the years she was growing up. Why on earth would she need me now?"

  "Maybe that's something you should ask her."

  For several seconds Jacob stared at one of the barn cats rooting for something underneath a loosened hay bale. Then he said, "Is she gonna stay, do you think? After the baby comes?"

  "She got a good job offer back East," Cal said, wondering when the words would stop tasting like poison. He shrugged.

  "I don't know."

  "Funny how much alike we are," Jacob said. "Her and me, both, needing to get away from here, to see what else was out there. Difference is, I left behind a kid I didn't know about. She'd be taking one you do."

  Cal thought that over for a minute, then said, "And maybe it would be harder for her to go if she knew she'd be leaving her baby's grandfather, too."

  Hope tangling with panic in those ice-blue eyes, Jacob hauled in a breath, then let it out on a long, shaky sigh. "I don't suppose…you'd consider doin' the ground work for me? Give her a chance to get used to the idea before I see her again?"

  Cal's initial reaction was, "Hell, no!" until he realized it wasn't up to him to define courage for anybody else. Especially since he was having a hard enough time defining it for himself.

  "I'll go see if she's home," he said.

  * * *

  Her back had been giving her fits off and on all day. No surprise, considering her navel reached her destination five minutes before the rest of her did these days. She'd finally left work early—although Sherman had been fussing at her to stay home for the past week, at least—and now, her sole maternity "grown-up" suit ditched in favor of a pair of man's extralarge sweats, Dawn stood in her mother's living room, trying to figure out how to simply sit down without doing herself mischief. Feeling like she was about to lay an egg, she grabbed behind her for the chair arm, then slowly lowered herself into it with a grunt befitting a rhinoceros.

  "I've just made two decisions," she said when Ivy handed her a cup of tea and commanded her to get her feet up on the ottoman she shoved in front of her.

  "And what's that?"

  Dawn craned her neck to frown at her now-propped-up puffy ankles, way on the other end of her body. "One, I'm suing that condom manufacturer. And two, there is no way I'm going through another three weeks of this."

  "Could be longer, you know," Ivy said with a maddeningly smug look on her face. "First-timers often go beyond their due date."

  "Oh, God. If that happens, I may kill somebody." A certain dimpled smile came to mind. A smile she'd missed this past week more than she wanted to admit. "Probably Cal."

  "Like you could move fast enough to be a threat." Dawn stuck her tongue out at her mother, who ignored her and went on, "So when are you supposed to let these people know about that job?"

  Her mother would bring that up. "Tomorrow," she said.

  "You made up your mind?"

  "Yes. And no, I'm not telling you, or anybody else, because sure as I do, somebody's gonna come up with a dozen reasons why I'm making the wrong choice. When it's a done deal, I'll let you know—who's out there?" she said when Ivy made a face out the front window.

  "That man you're gonna kill," she said, then turned. "Do I dare let him in?"

  Soon as I talk my heart back down off the ledge, Dawn thought, then decided, hell, at this point, maybe he'd at least distract her from the pain in her lower back. "Might as well. He'll only batter the door down if you don't."

  And there he was, tall and handsome and frowning, looking as good as she remembered—better—all the reasons why she should leave coming out from their hiding places with their hands up.

  "Good God, Dawn—you okay? You look like hell!"

  Dawn looked at her mother. "He's never gonna make the three weeks."

  "I don't suppose it occurred to you," Ivy said, "that telling a grossly pregnant woman—"

  "Hey!"

  "—she looks like hell isn't exactly the way to earn points with her?"

  "Sorry," Cal said, looking so contrite Dawn made a mental note to forgive him some day. Maybe—she shifted in the chair—after she killed him. He frowned. "Horses don't tend to look like…that."

  Definitely after she killed him.

  "So what you're saying is, I'm bigger than one of your mares?"

  "No, of course not!" he said as Ivy trooped off to the kitchen. "What I meant was, they don't look miserable right before they're about to foal. Which you do. And I feel bad about that, okay?"

  "As well you should," she muttered, wriggling a fist behind her to massage the base of her spine, thinking, you know, any other couple would be awkward and stilted with each other right now. Not that everything was copasetic between Cal and her at the moment. Not by any means. But it never ceased to amaze her that, no matter how long they'd been apart, or why, they always seemed to be able to pick up where they left off without even needing a refresher course. And that she could always count on him.

  She met that steady green gaze and sucked in a breath.

  On them.

  The thought zinged through her like an electric shock, jerking her into realizing exactly how much she stood to lose.

  "What's up?" she said softly.

  The pulse hammering in her temples kept time with his boots' thudding against the wooden floor as he came closer. He sat on the sofa, moving her swollen feet to his lap, and she cursed him for being everything she'd ever wanted.

  He skimmed his fingertips over her instep, then said, "I know who your father is, honey." When her eyes widened, he added, "It's Jacob."

  "Jacob…?"

  "Oh, for the love of God," Ivy huffed from the kitchen door. "After all these years…I thought we had this settled. Why'd he have to go and bring this up now?"

  "Because maybe he was tired of it bein' a secret, Ivy," Cal said, while Dawn sat there feeling as though somebody'd hit her upside the head with her mother's cast-iron skillet. "Because maybe he wants to try to fix a mistake."

  "Which might be all well and good except it's not his mistake to fix!"


  "He told me about the affair, Ivy," Cal said, setting Dawn's foot on the table and getting to his feet. "About how he'd left you, not knowing you were pregnant, and that he never bothered to let you know where he was so you could tell him. That he didn't know about Dawn until he came back, right before she graduated from high school. You telling me none of that's true? That he just made it up?"

  "Oh, Lord…yes," she said on a stream of air. "Jacob and I had an affair, although we didn't exactly advertise it. And, no, he never bothered to tell me where he was after he left. Since nobody'd made any promises, that wasn't surprising. So that part of his story's true. But the rest isn't."

  "And maybe if you didn't want anybody to know you two had something goin'," Cal said, "you wouldn't want anybody to know he was Dawn's father, either."

  Meanwhile, Dawn was still back on Jacob?

  Ivy barked out a laugh. "I didn't want anybody to know about us because, one, it wasn't anybody's business but ours, and two, he was six years younger'n me—"

  "Wait a minute," Dawn said, finally catching up. "Sherman said my father met his financial obligations to me all through my childhood." She looked at her mother. "And I got the feeling from you my father did know you were pregnant. But if Jacob told Cal he didn't know about me until I was seventeen…" She sucked in a breath as, way down deep, something…happened. "Uh-oh," she said, staring at her belly.

  "Dawn?" Cal said. "You okay?"

  "I don't know. I think I need to pee…but I can't get up out of this damn chair!"

  Her mother and Cal were instantly on either side of her to heave her to her feet…not two seconds before her waters broke.

  She let out a shriek of laughter. "Told you I wasn't going to hold out for three more weeks—ohmigod!" Just like that, she started shaking so hard she could hardly stand. "I'm gonna have a baby!"