The Texan's Baby Bombshell (The Fortunes 0f Texas: Rambling Rose Book 6)

by ALLISON LEIGH,

  “No rush.” The words were easy. The turbulent look in his eyes was not.

  She raced up the stairs, rushing regardless of what he’d said. In her room, she nearly tripped over the bedding that was still bunched up on the floor. Those patients physically unable to make their beds had help from the nurses and aides. In her case, now that she was able, she was expected to make her own.

  “Later,” she muttered and snatched her cardigan from the hook near the window. She pitched the bedding back onto the mattress and hurried out to the stairs, nearly sliding down them in her hurry.

  She was breathless when she reached the lobby.

  Adam was standing there talking with Jerry.

  The security guard’s smile was wider than Adam’s as he buzzed the lock for the door. “Perfect morning for a walk,” he said as they left. “You kids enjoy.”

  The words stayed with her as she went outside with Adam.

  You kids enjoy.

  They seemed to echo around inside her head. Achingly familiar without knowing exactly why.

  Story of her life for the past two months.

  Then she forgot about it when she realized she was actually standing out on the front sidewalk alongside a quiet road. She didn’t have a brace on her leg anymore. She would even be able to walk around the block without having to stop every fifty yards to catch her breath.

  She was aware of the look Adam sent her. “I haven’t been out here before. Not once since I came to Fresh Pine.” She took in the modest houses lining the street in one direction and the schoolyard in the other. Across the street, a woman pushing a stroller was entering a worn-looking convenience store.

  “How does it feel?”

  “Terrifying.” The truth escaped and her cheeks got hot. “Probably sounds silly.”

  But he wasn’t smiling. Not even that faint half smile that was about all he’d shown so far. “What terrifies you?”

  “I don’t know.” She chewed the inside of her cheek. “Nothing.” She forced herself to move. To put one foot in front of the other.

  He fell into step beside her. She knew he was walking slower than usual. To keep pace with her.

  She watched the ground in front of them. Fat, round seedpods from the trees lining the road littered the sidewalk. “I have a calendar hanging in my room. Otherwise I’d have no sense of it being June.”

  “You’re pretty insulated inside Fresh Pine. Probably natural for it to feel scary leaving it.”

  Natural, perhaps. But she still felt silly having admitted it.

  She tucked her hair behind her ears and picked up her speed a bit. Again, he kept easy pace beside her.

  “My father used to get annoyed with my mother because she didn’t walk as fast as he did.”

  “You remember them?”

  She kicked a pod. Deliberately this time. “I remember some things.”

  “Their names?” His question sounded neutral. When she glanced up at him, he was looking across the street.

  “No.”

  “Do you want to know their names?”

  She didn’t even have to think about it. “No.” She’d reached the seedpod again and kicked it once more. A little harder. It bounced off the sidewalk and into the street just in time for a slow-moving car to roll over it. “My mother’s gone anyway. That I’m sure of.”

  He made a sound. “If you can’t remember their names, I wouldn’t be so sure.”

  “Did you know them? When we were not being serious?”

  “I met them when we graduated. That was it.” He closed his hand lightly around her elbow when they reached the corner and directed her to follow the sidewalk around the bend.

  She shivered when his touch fell away again. She made a point of buttoning up her cardigan even though she wasn’t cold.

  “I’m sure they’re worried about you,” he said after they’d walked a while further in silence. Past more houses, larger and more neatly maintained than the other side of the block. The green yards were tidily mown and flower beds beamed with brilliant color.

  Her stomach was starting to roll again. There were more seedpods on the sidewalk. She angled her foot toward a particularly fat one and stepped down on it, feeling it snap and pop beneath the sole of her shoe. “I told you—”

  He lifted his hand. “Relax. You’re a grown woman. It’s your decision whether you want to contact your parents or not.”

  She made a sound that even she didn’t know how to interpret. She spotted another fat pod and stepped on it, too.

  He looked amused suddenly. “You look about ten years old doing that.”

  She darted in front of him to smash a third pod. “It’s amazingly satisfying. You know. Like popping bubble wrap.”

  His lips quirked. “If you say so.”

  She smiled and they continued on in silence. There was more traffic on this street, and no more trees. Down the long block to the corner, a grocery store seemed to be doing a brisk business if the number of cars pulling in and out of the parking lot was anything to go by.

  She fiddled with the bottom button on her cardigan. Undoing it. Then buttoning it again.

  “What’s churning around inside that mind?”

  She started guiltily. “What?”

  “If you have questions, ask them.”

  She made a face. “I have so many questions I don’t know where to begin.”

  His only comment was the scrape of his boot on the cement as they walked.

  She chewed the inside of her cheek again and watched the ground some more. “Why did you come to see me?”

  His pace slowed. He didn’t answer immediately.

  She stopped altogether and watched him take several more steps ahead of her. “Did Dr. Granger ask you to?”

  He stopped then, too, and she could see the tension in his shoulders beneath the blue shirt. He turned around to face her. “At first, she just wanted me to identify you, if I could.”

  “And then?”

  “Then she said she wished there was more time. But you were being released soon and she was concerned that it was premature.”

  She tugged at the button again, not liking his words. “So you just decided to come and see the ol’ ex-girlfriend even though it’s been nearly ten years?”

  He pushed his fingers into his front pockets, which only succeeded in making his broad shoulders look even wider. “Dr. Granger and I talked on the phone twice,” he allowed finally.

  She peered at him. She’d had the impression he’d been ready to say something else. “About me.”

  His eyes were dark and watchful. “Who else? You knew I was familiar from the news story. She speculated that a longer...exposure...might prompt even more memories. And I know she explained this to you, too, or you wouldn’t have agreed to let her talk about your health with me.”

  “You said I have a fiancé. And how’d you even know about him if our paths went different ways?”

  “Because the world is a damn small place sometimes,” he muttered. “I told you it was complicated.”

  “You told me it was convoluted,” she corrected.

  “That, too.” He pulled his hands out of his pockets and looked around them. “There. We’ll go there and sit down.” He pointed to a small building crouched on the opposite corner between a two-story house and a gas station. A rustic sign stuck in the grass in front said Coffee, simply enough.

  She didn’t want to sit. She wanted to break through the veil draped across her mind. But she nodded, and when they reached the corner, he took her elbow before crossing the street.

  Was he old-fashioned? Or did he think she was incapable of staying safely within the crosswalk?

  Regardless, his touch left her discomfited. Tingly. Vaguely edgy.

  When they reached the curb again, he let her go.

  She
couldn’t decide if she was relieved or not.

  He pulled open the door to the small building and waited for her to go inside.

  It was crowded nearly wall-to-wall with customers. The line moved quickly, though, and it wasn’t until Adam was at the counter giving his order to a scowling young barista with chin-length hair colored in fuchsia, violet and cobalt stripes that Laurel realized she hadn’t told him she didn’t want coffee.

  She stepped to one side when someone else left. At least a dozen people stood between her near the entrance and Adam at the counter. The din inside the crowded space was significant. Laurel couldn’t hear what the barista was saying, but she could clearly see that the girl was no longer scowling, but laughing up at Adam with a distinctly flirty air.

  Why wouldn’t she? Adam was far and away the best looking man there. And the way he was smiling back at the girl...

  Laurel crossed her arms and looked away.

  She stepped aside again as another customer departed.

  It was only a matter of minutes before Adam was carrying two covered cups to Laurel. He held one out to her.

  Feeling disgruntled, she didn’t take it. “Sorry. I didn’t get to tell you that I don’t drink coffee.”

  Rather than look annoyed, he quirked his lips in a smile. “It’s iced hibiscus tea with a shot of ginger syrup. Which you used to love as much as maple-glazed donuts.”

  The smile was arresting. If Laurel had been the barista, she supposed she’d have been entranced, too. “Just not together.” She knew she sounded moody but couldn’t seem to help herself.

  Had she been the jealous sort?

  She didn’t want to think she had been.

  She took the cold cup from him, careful to keep her fingers from touching his, and took a sip. It was, indeed, a perfect combination of sweet, spicy and tart.

  Then she noticed the printing on the side of his cup. Even partially hidden by his long fingers, Laurel could see it was a phone number.

  “It’s crowded in here,” he said. “Trinity said there are a couple of tables outside that nobody uses regularly.”

  She pushed open the door herself a little harder than necessary. She didn’t look at him as they swished through the strip of overgrown grass between the building and the neighboring house. At the back, there was a patch of pavement where a beat-up delivery truck was parked next to several garbage bins. And next to that were two wooden picnic tables with benches.

  They were just as beat-up as the truck. She could see why the customers preferred to crowd inside over sitting in this dreary setting.

  It’s not Larkin Square, that’s for sure.

  The thought flashed through her mind. It was the second time. “What is Larkin Square?”

  He set his cup on one of the weathered tables. “A public space in Buffalo. Was a downturned industrial area until it was revitalized. Kind of like Ramb—” He broke off and cleared his throat. “Instead of empty factory buildings there are businesses and shops,” he went on, making her wonder what it was he’d stopped himself from saying. “It’s a popular place.” He sat down on the bench, straddling it. “Back in college I worked at a restaurant there called The Yard.”

  When we weren’t serious. She set her cup several inches from his and pulled out the other bench, sitting properly on it. “Is that why I keep remembering it?”

  His shoulders moved. He lifted his coffee cup. “Who knows? Maybe.”

  She tapped her own cup with her index fingers. Then she shook her head. “You’re lying.”

  Chapter Four

  “You’re lying.”

  Laurel’s words scraped over Adam’s conscience.

  But what should he tell her?

  That Larkin Square had been “their” place? That they’d had their first date there when they’d danced under the stars while a local band played “Just My Imagination”? That they’d eaten donuts at Howie’s Food Truck every weekend? That he’d gone down on one knee and proposed to her there the day after they’d graduated from college? A proposal she’d refused because she was headed to Europe, after all.

  Or that, last year, after running into each other at Oozefest, they’d gone to dinner at the restaurant where he’d once worked? And after that, he’d taken her back to her hotel room. Only he hadn’t left until morning.

  He took another gulp of coffee and was grateful for the way it singed its way down his throat.

  “We ate a lot of donuts there,” he finally said.

  She stared back at him with eyes that were bluer than the sky over their heads. Then her lips compressed slightly and she turned her focus to her hibiscus tea.

  He wanted to swear a blue streak.

  Instead, he pulled out his cell phone and made a few swipes on the screen until he had an internet connection. A few more swipes and he’d found a picture of Larkin Square. Crowds of people gathered on the green grass fronting the brick buildings. Some were spread out on picnic blankets. Some occupied colorful chairs. Even more were lined up at the food trucks and vendor carts. If there had been a Ferris wheel, it would have looked like a carnival.

  Feeling like he was playing with fire, he turned the phone so she could see the screen. “That’s Larkin Square,” he said abruptly.

  Her fingers brushed his as she slowly took the phone and held it closer. “It looks like a happy place,” she said eventually. Her voice was soft.

  He felt as if someone had tied a knot around his throat and was twisting it tighter. “It was.” By some miracle, he managed not to croak the words. Aside from the dinky apartment they’d shared their senior year—managing to do so without her parents ever discovering that she wasn’t actually occupying the expensive one that she hated and they’d been paying for—and their entire college campus and basically the whole city, it was also the site of his worst pain.

  Until he’d discovered that, against astronomical odds, she was the mother of a baby he’d simply tried to help.

  His baby.

  He rubbed the pain between his eyebrows and took another gulp of pistol-hot coffee. He didn’t really appreciate the fact that it was also delicious. Though it did explain the crowd lining up inside what otherwise looked like a hole in the wall.

  “Are you going to call her?”

  “Who?” he asked.

  She set the phone down on the table between them and tapped the side of her tea. “Trinity. I’m assuming that’s her number she wrote on your cup.”

  He hadn’t even noticed. He set down the coffee. Grabbed his phone and stuck it in his pocket again. “I’ve never called the numbers that women leave for me to find.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “So it’s a usual occurrence, then?”

  The vise was still around his throat, only now he could feel his skin burning, too. “Not usual.” That wasn’t strictly true, either. Back in Buffalo at the bar he’d tended three nights a week in addition to his daytime gig working as a city employee, there’d been a running bet among his coworkers over how many women—or men—would leave a hopeful phone number for Adam to find each week.

  “If you know I have a fiancé, why isn’t he here instead of you?”

  Because Adam was a selfish man.

  She’d responded to his picture. If Adam had suggested switching places with Eric, he figured the other man would have agreed. Adam could be with Linus. Eric could be with Laurel.

  She leaned across the table and closed her fingers around his forearm. “And how do you even know I have a fiancé?” Her grip tightened. “Is he the one I’m running from?”

  Adam froze. The only point of heat that existed in that moment came from the indent of her fingertips digging into his forearm. “Running?” Was that what this had all been about? She was afraid of Eric? Maybe so afraid that she’d been on her way out of the country for Canada when her accident occurred? “Are you afraid?”

&nb
sp; She moistened her lips. Her eyes were wide and suddenly shined with tears. “I don’t—I don’t know. I have dreams—nightmares, really—and these, um—” she swallowed visibly “—p-panic attacks.”

  Her fingers twisted in his and he realized he’d closed his hand around hers.

  She swallowed visibly. “Why would I have panic attacks? Did I before?”

  Cold sweat was collecting between his shoulder blades. His life felt twisted up with Eric’s because of Laurel and the baby. But what did he really know about the other guy? They’d spent only a handful of hours in each other’s company.

  Just long enough for both of their worlds to crash and burn.

  “Panic attacks?” He shook his head. “Not that I knew about.” If she did have cause to fear Eric, Adam would tear him apart with his bare hands.

  The man would cease to exist.

  He knew that deep down in his bones. Whatever price he had to pay would be worth it.

  And Linus? What about Linus?

  Swearing inwardly, he pushed off the bench. No matter what happened with Laurel, he was a father. He couldn’t afford to pay any sort of price.

  He raked his shaking fingers through his hair, trying to rein in his racing mind.

  Despite the volatile relationship she’d had with her parents—her mother most particularly—the only thing Laurel had ever tried to keep from them was him. It wouldn’t matter that he’d made arrangements for Laurel to have more time at Fresh Pine. Once Sylvia and Nelson learned where she was, learned what had happened to her, they’d whisk her back into the protective cocoon they’d always tried to keep around her.

  He exhaled. Laurel’s expression was pinched. Her shoulders hunched. “You would have told your parents if you were afraid of Eric.” The words felt raw. He knew why he didn’t embrace their presence. But it would explain why Eric hadn’t, either. “They live in Virginia. Dr. Granger can call—”

  “No!” She sprang off the bench just as abruptly as he had and knocked into her hibiscus tea, sending the cup and contents flying. “I told you. My mother’s dead. And my father—” She broke off, shaking her head so fiercely that her hair flung across her face.