by Hope Ramsay
Matt’s life had changed too, although she hadn’t spoken one word to him. His mother and aunt had been swarming over his apartment for the last week, redoing everything. Courtney had run into them only once, thank goodness. She didn’t know what she would do now. Julia was going to be her baby’s grandmother.
She was curious to see what they were doing to his place. Anything would be an improvement over the stuff he’d bought at IKEA. And if he was running for office, he needed a little more class.
Courtney hadn’t expected Jeff to talk Matt into running for the County Council. But last Friday, Matt had stunned the county politicos by announcing his candidacy for Bill Cummins’s seat. Matt had the right political breeding, not to mention the full endorsement of Senator Mark Lyndon himself. The party, which had all but abdicated the seat, had been overjoyed to suddenly find a candidate with ready-made fundraising clout. Although it was early for editorial endorsements, the Winchester Daily had launched its own investigation into Bill Cummins and his relationship with Jerry Beyer. Sally Hawkes hadn’t yet discovered any kickbacks, but every day the newspaper published some new, damaging revelation of a very close, and potentially corrupt, connection between the two of them.
Arwen’s life had also changed. She’d moved in with Rory in order to save money, and she was helping him set up a recording studio right in downtown Shenandoah Falls. She planned to be the first artist to record there, and she had big plans to send her songs off to several recording artists in Nashville.
And now Courtney’s life was about to change more than anyone else’s. With stunning irony, her tasteless joke about the sperm bank had come back to bite her in the butt. The timing for this was spectacularly bad, what with Matt running for the County Council. Courtney had no illusions about her situation. Matt didn’t love her. He didn’t want to make a life together.
And the last thing he needed was an out-of-wedlock child.
But he would have one. And he’d probably hate her for it, although the only emotion Courtney felt when it came to Matt was love. And she truly hoped he’d love their child.
She got up from the bathroom and phoned Dr. Lawrence’s office, making an appointment for next week. Once that was done, she sat in her living room awash in a strange mixture of feelings: elation, fear, sadness, joy, all mixed together. She would be having this child one way or another. And that meant Matt would have to know about it. She decided not to wait to tell him the news. She had no desire to surprise or manipulate him.
So she stayed home and waited for him.
It was almost 10:00 p.m. when Matt finally came home. Courtney had spent the evening on her balcony keeping a lookout and had just about given up for the night when he came strolling down the street with his suit jacket over his shoulder and his shirtsleeves rolled up, like a campaign-poster portrait of a young politician.
He looked good enough to eat. Or to hug. Or to love for the rest of her life.
He paused a moment on the sidewalk, and Courtney’s heart soared. Please give me a poem.
It didn’t happen. It wasn’t ever going to happen again. Instead of poetry, Matt made a point of glancing away before turning toward the door.
This confrontation wasn’t going to be easy, but he needed to know the truth. So she opened her door and met him in the hallway, her stomach tied into knots and her pulse hammering in her head.
“I need to talk to you,” she said as he came up the stairs.
When he reached the landing, he turned those incredible brown eyes in her direction. “Look,” he said, “I probably should have come over a couple of days ago to tell you how much I appreciate the fact that you talked to Melissa and Jeff about Dogwood Estates. Honestly, if you hadn’t gone to Jeff, I don’t know where those tenants would be. Hell, I don’t know where I’d be. So, I owe you one. But I can’t—”
“Matt, I need to talk to you,” she interrupted. Courtney’s voice remained firm, which was nothing short of a miracle. His words of thanks were totally unexpected and knifed into her heart so much more effectively than his anger might have. “I have something really important that I need to tell you.” She opened her apartment’s door. “Please.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
A moment later, he stood in her living room, his presence making her apartment seem small. How would she manage without him? Hell, how would she manage if he wanted a relationship with their child? Would she be stuck loving him forever while he kept her out of his heart?
Her runaway thoughts settled in her throat. “Can I get you something? A beer, a Coke?” she said around the lump.
He shook his head. “What is it, Courtney?”
She pointed at the couch. “Sit down.”
Something in her tone must have warned him that she meant business because he dropped onto the couch and cocked one foot over his knee. “Okay. I’m here. I’m listening.”
“This is very awkward. I want you to know that I’m as surprised as you are.”
“Surprised about what?”
“I’m pregnant,” she blurted.
The news had the expected effect. Matt’s face paled, his eyes narrowed, and his mouth dropped open. “But we used—”
“No. Not every time. Not the first time. The first time we forgot all about contraception.”
His brow came down into the signature Lyndon frown, and every muscle in his body tensed. Something hard and ugly burned behind his gaze. “I can’t believe it. Dammit. I’m an idiot.”
“No. We were both idiots. And I just want you to know—”
“If you think you can trap me into something, you are out of your mind. What was it? My name? My trust fund? What?” He jumped to his feet and pointed a finger at her. “I should have taken that joke about the sperm bank seriously.”
“Matt, come on. This is me you’re talking to. Not Allison Chapman. I didn’t set out to trap you into anything. I set out to take you down a peg or two, but instead…” Her throat knotted up again, and it became impossible to say anything else. Matt didn’t trust her, and she had only herself to blame.
“What do you know about Allison Chapman?”
“I know she’s a bitch. I have a feeling she took you for a ride.”
“How do you know that? I never told you.”
“You didn’t need to tell me. Allison did.”
“She what? I don’t believe you.”
“You can believe me or not. But Allison implied that she tried to trap you into a marriage. And to be honest, she suggested that I do the same. In my book, that made her a—”
“I can’t believe this.” Matt’s voice swelled with anger, and Courtney took a step back, her stomach suddenly roiling. “Here’s the truth: Allison befriended me back when I was an idiot about women. And the only reason she ever paid any attention to me was because she wanted to screw my brother. But when Daniel told her to get lost, she decided she’d settle for me. She seduced me. I know it’s hard to believe, but I fell for her BS hook, line, and sinker, especially when she played the ‘I’m pregnant’ card. But I’m sadder and wiser now, so—”
“Matt, please, I’m—”
“What was it? Did you two get together just to yank my chain? How many times do I have to apologize for taking Brandon’s bet?”
“Brandon’s bet? I don’t—”
“Don’t pull that wide-eyed innocent look on me, Courtney. I may have fallen for it once. But not now. This has all been about Brandon’s stupid bet, hasn’t it? You decided you’d take me down just to prove a point. Well, get this. I’m still standing.”
Matt’s fury knew no bounds. He ran from Courtney’s apartment and slammed his apartment door before he exploded with a stream of profanity, scaring Dr. Doom, who’d been waiting for him to come home.
The cat slunk down the hall to the bedroom, and Matt felt a small inkling of regret. But not enough to counter the rage running through him.
Allison Chapman had played him like a fine violin. He’d fallen head over heels in love wit
h her, and he’d convinced himself that she loved him back. When she’d announced her pregnancy, he’d been overjoyed. He got right down on one knee and asked her to be his bride. He might even have quoted Elizabeth Barrett Browning. He’d been all of twenty years old.
She’d wanted to elope, of course. She’d given him some mumbo jumbo about her parents pressuring her into an abortion, about how they would be opposed to a shotgun wedding.
But he hadn’t wanted to run away. He’d wanted to be honest with his parents and his large family. And fool that he’d been, he’d wanted to celebrate his love and the arrival of a child. Besides, Grandma would have disapproved of a secret Vegas wedding. Grandma had passed away the year before his spectacular miscalculation over Allison.
So he’d gone to his parents with the news. They hadn’t reacted with joy. In fact, Dad had immediately interceded, calling Judge Chapman for a father-to-father chat. Twenty-four hours later, Allison Chapman confessed that she was not pregnant. And four years later, either Allison or her father had exacted a small revenge by sabotaging his chair during moot court competition. Such an immature thing for them to do. But then, Dad had humiliated both of them.
No, wait, it hadn’t been Dad. All of it, from beginning to end, had been Matt’s fault. For being so stupid and so gullible. He’d promised himself never to be played again.
He roared and punched the newly painted wall in his living room. The Sheetrock dented, and pain knifed through his hand and up his arm. Damn. Damn. Damn. How could he make the same mistake twice?
He cradled his bruised hand and paced. Bill Cummins would use this against him. He could see the headlines. Suddenly the crusader would turn into the womanizer. It was practically inevitable. And when he lost the election, he could imagine the disappointment.
Damn. He needed to head this off at the pass. But how? He certainly wasn’t going to Dad with this. Dad would call him an idiot, the way he always did. Matt was an idiot, but he didn’t need Dad to rub his nose in it. Why couldn’t he fall in love with an ordinary woman?
He threw himself onto the new leather and chrome couch in his living room and rested his head in his hands. He’d been fighting his emotions for a solid week. How many times had he stopped himself from making that journey across the hallway?
Dozens. More. Courtney had changed his life. If she hadn’t encouraged him to take his research to Linda and the press, Bill Cummins would continue to rip people off. If she hadn’t talked to Jeff, he’d be without a job or purpose in life, and the tenants at Dogwood Estates would be scrambling to find new homes. For a week, he’d been trying to convince himself that he could still trust her, and all the while she’d been sitting across the way plotting her next move in her cat-and-mouse game.
Like Allison, she’d trotted out the pregnancy card the moment he backed away.
He would have to tell someone, but the idea of dumping this news on Uncle Mark or Jeff made his stomach churn. They had trusted him. They had believed in him. And he would fail them all. Again.
Courtney dragged herself to work early on Wednesday morning. After spending most of Tuesday night sequestered in her bathroom alternately crying and hurling, she didn’t look her best, but she was happy to get out of her apartment.
Funny how easily Matt had lost trust in her once she’d lost trust in him. Maybe neither of them had ever trusted. It didn’t matter. It was over.
At least she’d told him the truth, and sooner or later, he would come to realize that she hadn’t been lying about the baby, and she hadn’t been trying to trap him into something either. She had every faith that Matt would want to be part of his child’s life. It would be okay. They lived across the hall from each other. Maybe they could share the baby sort of like they’d been sharing the cats.
She headed straight to the Eagle Hill Manor kitchen on Wednesday morning, where Antonin always kept hot water for tea, even in July. She made herself a cup of chamomile tea, and when Antonin asked if she was ill, she requested a couple of pieces of dry toast.
She took her breakfast, such as it was, up to her office, where she tried to focus on the weekend’s upcoming events. The chamomile almost settled her stomach, but it didn’t settle her head or her heart.
Amy arrived—with that pregnant-lady glow in her cheeks that Courtney had yet to achieve—took one look at her, and said, “Wow. Antonin’s right. You do look a little gueule de bois.” Amy, spoiled rich girl that she was, never tired of using her French.
Courtney rolled her eyes. “And that means…?”
“It’s French for hungover.”
“So glad you got to practice your French on my account.”
“Not on your account. I like speaking French with Antonin.” Amy crossed the room and sank into her chair. “So, where are we on the Boysco-Lopez wedding? Did the bride ever decide on the table linens? I have to put in an order for them today.”
Courtney pawed through the papers on her desk, trying to find the notes she’d taken on Friday. She couldn’t find them, and for some reason, that seemed like the end of the world. Her throat thickened, and a sense of doom settled over her. “I know I have my notes somewhere,” she muttered. She hated feeling disorganized.
“Are you okay?”
Courtney stopped looking for her notes and dropped her hands into her lap. She shook her head, and the tears started again. It was like God was punishing her or something, paying her back for all those dry-eyed years when she’d always kept it together. It was almost as if she’d banked her tears for a rainy day and the rainy day had suddenly arrived.
“Oh my God, what’s the matter?” Amy got out of her chair and crossed the short distance between their desks. “Tell me. Don’t be stoic.” Amy parked her behind on the edge of Courtney’s desk and gave her a knowing look. “Stoicism is highly overrated.”
Courtney dug in her desk drawer for a box of tissues just as Willow, also with that pregnant-lady glow, came through the door looking very concerned. “Antonin said you looked like hell, and Mom says you haven’t returned a single one of her phone calls. What’s going on?” She stopped in front of Courtney’s desk, crossing her arms.
Courtney may not have sought this intervention, but she welcomed it. Over the last week, she hadn’t spoken with Arwen about her heartbreak, and she didn’t want to go back to Melissa after all Jeff had done for Matt and the tenants of Dogwood Estates. She hadn’t wanted to burden Amy or Willow either.
But she didn’t want to do this alone anymore. And it broke her heart to think that Matt didn’t want anything to do with his own child. Of course she wanted him to want the baby. Hell, she wanted him to love and trust her. But that was like wishing for the moon.
The two of them had been so scarred by the past that they would probably never find a way toward the deeper trust necessary for a real relationship.
She looked up at Amy and Willow. She didn’t want to bare it all to them, but someone needed to inform the Lyndon family that it was about to get a little larger. And what better messengers could she possibly have? Amy and Willow would be her child’s cousins. And their babies and hers would all be part of the same family.
So she dabbed her eyes and said, “Pull up a chair. This is going to take a while.”
Matt spent the rest of the week living on the edge, waiting for Courtney’s next move. But when no negative stories appeared in the Winchester Daily, he allowed himself to breathe easier. Maybe he’d discouraged her.
Or maybe she was just waiting for the right moment, the way she’d waited to exact revenge on Brandon before she’d gone after his Camaro.
Or maybe she’d told the truth. That thought deeply disturbed him.
But he kept his mouth shut and focused on hiring a campaign staff. Heather, who had apologized for Brandon’s aggressive behavior on the whole Jerry Beyer front, had connected him with Hale Chandler, a political consultant familiar with Jefferson County politics. Hale had been brought on as his campaign chairman and had started vetting people for variou
s positions. They were late getting into the game, and they had a lot of ground to cover in a short time.
The work kept his mind off Courtney, although it didn’t stop him from thinking about her every night when he returned home. The idea that she might be telling the truth always seemed to hit him around midnight.
It never failed to disturb his sleep. And the unrepentant romantic that still lived deep within him wanted to believe that Courtney loved him despite the way he’d treated her. He wanted to believe she was telling the truth, but he just couldn’t manage it. So he tossed and turned, night after night.
The lack of sleep left him wooly-eyed and cotton-headed on Sunday morning when he showed up for the standing brunch at Charlotte’s Grove. If ever he was going to confide in someone, today would be the day.
He needed advice. He couldn’t go on like this, waiting for the worst to happen and yet still hoping he was wrong about Courtney. But he couldn’t talk to Dad. After the Allison debacle, he’d lost faith in his father. The feeling was mutual.
Should he bring this to David? Maybe. Although his own insecurities made that difficult. He’d spent his life being told that he should be like David. David would never have gotten himself into a situation like this one.
He couldn’t talk to Uncle Mark either. Mark had believed in him when no one else had. He didn’t want to wreck that new beginning. So he entered Charlotte’s Grove unsure of himself, which was nothing new.
The July heat and humidity had descended upon the Shenandoah Valley with a vengeance that week, so Aunt Pam had laid out the buffet in the dining room. The family gathered in the adjacent den, which was already crowded when Matt arrived.
The moment Matt entered the room, Uncle Mark lifted his Bloody Mary and said, “The man of the hour has arrived.”
Matt stopped in his tracks, blinded by the sight of the family lifting their glasses in his direction. The insane urge to turn tail and run overwhelmed him. He suddenly needed to confess, in excruciating detail, why he could never be anyone’s man of the hour. How utterly ironic that the moment he’d waited for all his life didn’t ease his worry.
