Larry loved his father, but he knew Leo was not a confrontational man. He would never be able to face down somebody like Josh Morris. Larry considered himself the real man of the family, and it was his duty to protect his father and his sister. If he didn’t, it was a blot on his manhood and a blow to his tender self-esteem.
This morning he had risen early. He had watched Briana’s house, waiting for the lights to go on. When Nealie was awake, she would want her father to come, so as soon as Larry saw her bedroom light flicker into life, he’d gone to meet Morris one-on-one.
Glenda crossed her arms over her softly swelling stomach. She was a lovely blond woman, but lately she looked worn. He supposed it was just her pregnancy, some woman thing like that.
“Well?” She said it with a peculiar edge of aggression in her voice.
“Well what?” Larry asked, hanging his jacket on its hall peg.
“What did you say to him?”
Larry turned to face her, feeling smug, the top dog. “I told him never to make my sister cry again. That if he hurt her again, I’d rip his arm off.”
She looked pained. “You didn’t really say that.”
“Yes, I did,” said Larry. “Where are the boys? I’m ready for breakfast.”
“I let them sleep late. I wanted to talk to you.”
He looked at her suspiciously. “So? Talk.”
“I told you last night what I thought. You didn’t pay any attention. I laid awake a long time thinking about it. You should stay out of your sister’s business. It’s got nothing to do with you.”
Larry bristled. “It’s got everything to do with me. It’s family, dammit. He made her cry.”
“You don’t know why she cried,” Glenda argued.
“Because he hurts her feelings,” Larry said. “He gets her all upset.”
“You weren’t there. You don’t know what happened.”
“Yeah? Well, that’s what Pop thinks. And you know Briana. She’s not the crybaby type. She fell out of a tree once when we were kids and broke her arm. She didn’t even sniffle.”
Glenda thrust out her delicate little jaw. “Maybe she’s crying because she still loves him. She still cares for him, you know. You can see it—if you’d look.”
“She shouldn’t care. He’s no good. He went off and left her once.”
“He’s not a bad man, Larry. He loves his child, and I think he still loves Briana.”
“He’s not one of us,” Larry returned.
“That means he’s different. It doesn’t mean he’s bad.”
“She’s my sister. I’ll decide what I think is good or bad for her.”
Glenda crossed her arms more tightly. “Let them make their own decisions. In short, Larry, you should butt out.”
He blinked. This was unlike Glenda, who was usually so adoring, so compliant. “Hey,” he said. “Whose side are you on, anyhow?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “But I’m starting to think it isn’t yours.”
She turned her back and walked away.
“Hey!” he said again. “What is this? And where’s breakfast? Haven’t you even got coffee made?”
“Make it yourself,” she said and walked out of the room.
He stared at her, his mouth open in stupefaction.
NEALIE FINISHED her breakfast because her daddy told her to. Briana sat at the table across from Josh, her chin resting in her hand. He was good with the child, so good.
He looked weary but, to her, still handsome. He had shaved off his beard, and it made him look younger, but his sideburns were tipped with silver that hadn’t been there when he’d visited last.
“And now,” Josh said, “if you’ll promise to eat a breakfast like that every day, I’ll give you a present.”
Nealie’s expression was excited, yet tinged with conflict. “But, Daddy, sometimes my tummy feels funny. And I’m not hungry.”
“I know,” he said. “But you could try. You could remember your promise and try, couldn’t you?”
Nealie’s brow puckered. “Yes. But if I couldn’t eat everything…”
“The important thing is you try, okay?”
“Okay,” she said solemnly.
Josh turned to Briana. “You know where that present is, don’t you?”
She smiled and nodded, rose and went to the pantry. From the top shelf she took the tattered package with its Russian stamps. She carried it to the table and set it beside Nealie’s empty plate. “Daddy sent this. It came a few days ago.”
“Wow,” Nealie said, staring at the exotic stamps. “What is it?”
“Open it and see,” Josh said.
Nealie’s small fingers struggled with the taped box, and finally Briana helped her. She had no idea what the package held.
At last Nealie lifted the flaps of the box. She stared inside at something beautifully white and furry. “What is it?” she repeated.
Josh gave her a cryptic smile. Nealie opened the box. Inside was a pair of boots like none Briana had ever seen. They were white as cream, with dark leather soles and ornamental insets of brown fur at their tops.
“They’re from the Khanty-Mansiysk district in Russia,” Josh told Nealie. “They’re made of reindeer hide, sewn with deer sinew. A white hide like that is special. It’s for someone specially loved.”
Nealie held the boots and looked at them with pleasure and awe. But then a shadow crossed her face. “This was a reindeer?”
“That’s how the Khanty people live,” Josh said. “They herd reindeer. For over five thousand years they’ve taken care of the deer, and the deer take care of them. The deer are grateful so they give them food and clothing and hides to make shelter. A woman named Vika made these for you. She said they’d keep you warm all winter long. That the spirit of the forest would protect you from the cold.”
“They’re beautiful,” Nealie said, stroking the thick white hair. She kicked off her slippers and pulled on the boots. “Can I wear them to church?” she asked Briana. “Please? Can I?”
“Yes,” Briana said, smiling at how the girl wriggled her feet and stared at them in admiration. “But run and change your clothes. Wear your brown pantsuit. They’ll look good with that.”
“Wow,” Nealie said, sliding out of her chair. “Nobody I know has boots clear from Russia. Thank you, Daddy.”
She gave Josh a smacking kiss on the cheek then clomped happily up the stairs, enjoying the sound of each boot step.
Together they watched as she disappeared into her room. Josh gave a sigh of mock relief. “For a minute, I thought I’d goofed. I’d become a purveyor of murdered reindeer.”
“She has leather shoes,” Briana said. “So do I. I thought you explained it nicely.”
“Spend a few months in Siberia, you forget about political correctness.”
She rested her chin on her hand again and studied him. “You never were a great one for political correctness, as I recall.”
“I don’t want to make her unhappy.”
The only way you make her unhappy is when you go away, Briana thought, but she said nothing. Instead she rose and said, “I’d better clear this off and get ready for church.”
She reached for his empty plate, but he clasped her wrist gently and held it. “Briana?”
She looked into his eyes, which were serious. “Yes?”
“Larry came to see me this morning. He doesn’t want me to make you unhappy, either.”
She made a sound of exasperation. “Oh, why does he have to put in his two cents? This is none of his business. Not at all.”
“No. It’s ours.”
“That’s right,” she said, feeling a surge of defiance. “And it’s only ours.”
“Other people won’t feel that way,” he said, stroking her wrist with his thumb. “Not when they find out there’s a baby on the way.”
“I don’t care what people think.” She believed this. She had convinced herself of it.
“You’ll stand against them all if you hav
e to?”
“Yes.” She spoke without hesitation.
“And you’ll do it alone?”
“I can handle it. I know I can,” she said. She prayed that this was the truth and that she had the strength.
He stood, sliding his hand down to lock with hers. He took a step nearer. “You don’t have to,” he said. “I’ve thought about it.”
Her flesh tingled at his nearness, but she did not move away. She felt she must stand her ground. “I’ve thought about it, too. I can do it.”
“You don’t have to face it alone,” he said, his voice quiet. “Briana—marry me. Marry me again.”
CHAPTER FIVE
HIS WORDS struck her like numbing blows, and his nearness overwhelmed her.
“No,” she said, her throat constricted. “I’d never ask you here for that. Never.”
“I know that,” he said. “But think about it. It’s best for everyone.”
She shook her head to clear it. “No. We didn’t get it right before. We—we just can’t live together.”
He bent so close she felt the warmth of his breath on her lips. “We don’t have to. Who says it has to be a conventional marriage?”
She stared at him, bewildered. “You mean it wouldn’t be real?”
Something flashed deep within his eyes—something he immediately shuttered. “Sham? If that’s how you want it.”
“I can’t—” she began.
But Nealie came stamping importantly down the stairs in her new boots. “I love these,” she declared. “I feel like I’ve got big furry rabbit feet. Like Bugs Bunny.”
Briana wrenched her hand from Josh, and he took a step backward.
But Nealie had seen. She stopped halfway down the stairs. Behind her big glasses, her eyes widened, and her face looked both hopeful and perplexed. “You were holding hands. Do you like each other again?”
“I’ll always like your mother,” Josh said. “I hold her hand once in a while. Like she was—my sister.”
“Oh, Nealie,” Briana said, desperate to change the subject, “you’re sweater’s buttoned all crooked. Let me fix it.”
Nealie’s small hand tightened on the banister. She came down the stairs, no longer stepping proudly. Briana went to her to rebutton the cardigan. The child, in her excitement, had gotten it comically askew.
But her face was solemn and puzzled. Briana knew the girl was confused by what she had seen. “Daddy and I are friends, that’s all.” She fastened the sweater. “Look at you. You’ve got one sleeve up and one sleeve down. There. Now you’re perfect. And your boots are beautiful.”
Nealie looked at them, and slowly her smile came back.
Briana straightened and took Nealie’s hand in hers, her fingers still tingling from Josh’s grasp. She went to the coat closet, painfully conscious of him but avoiding his eyes.
As they stepped out the door, he leaned near and whispered, “Think about what I said. We’ll talk later.”
She made no answer. Her ear burned as if he had breathed a live spark into it.
SHE WALKED into church with him, each of them holding one of Nealie’s hands. Everyone stared except her brother, who nodded mechanically, then fixed his eyes on the church program.
Beside Larry, Glenda smiled uneasily and mouthed hello. The little boys gaped and whispered and poked each other with excitement.
Beside Larry, Briana’s father sat. He, too, tried to smile, but there was nervous pain in his face. He gave Josh a weak wave of greeting. Josh nodded in return.
The sermon seemed the longest Briana had ever sat through. The subject was the importance of the traditional family.
AFTER THE SERVICE, in front of the church, Josh suffered through a reunion with Briana’s family.
He could feel the force of Larry’s disapproval. It came at him like a great, invisible wave pulsing through the wintry air. Glenda, still pretty but looking wan, tried hard to offset her husband’s unfriendliness.
She didn’t so much ask Josh questions as chirp them nervously, one after another. How was his trip? How long had he been in Russia? Were the people nice? What had he photographed? Oh, my, wasn’t that interesting?
As she chattered, her sons watched Josh with a hostile suspicion they seemed to have absorbed from their father. Glenda ran out of questions. An awkward silence weighted the air.
Then Rupert stared at Nealie’s boots, his nostrils flaring. “What are those?”
“They’re boots,” Nealie said. “They’re clear from Siberia, Russia. My daddy gave them to me. He had them made special.”
“Why’d he do such a dumb thing?”
“It’s not dumb,” Nealie retorted. “He did it because he loves me.”
“If he loved you, he’d stay home with you.” Rupert sneered and stepped on Nealie’s toe, smudging her boot.
With a fiery look, Nealie shoved him so hard he fell into the snow on his bottom. Josh wanted to kiss her and raise her to sit on his shoulders like the champion she was. Rupert began to cry.
“You kids stop that,” Briana’s father commanded with surprising sternness. “You’re right in the front yard of the church, for Pete’s sake. Rupert, stop yowling.”
Rupert stopped crying. He thrust out his lip and sulked instead.
Leo turned to Josh. “The boy’s high-strung,” he said gruffly.
Josh bit back a sarcastic reply and forced a smile that he hoped would pass for understanding. From the corner of his eye he watched Nealie bend and polish her boot tip clean.
On the surface, Briana’s father acted friendly enough. But he eyed Josh strangely, as if taking measure of a dangerous competitor. Glenda invited everyone to Sunday dinner, but Josh declined. He made his excuses as gallantly as he could, but he did not want to spend the afternoon with this family. He wanted only his own child—and Briana.
He said he and Briana and Nealie had to drive over to Springfield so he could rent a car of his own. That, at least, was true enough.
The trip was short, and Nealie rode home with him. At the house, Briana put on an apron and made spaghetti because Nealie remembered it was Josh’s favorite. He sat at the counter, playing word games with Nealie, but he could not keep his eyes from Briana.
She moved like a dancer, he thought with a pang, every movement marked by grace and efficiency. She bantered with them as she worked, and he marveled at her ability to act as if nothing had passed between them, either last night or this morning.
But he knew she was as aware of what had happened as he was. The memory of it tingled around them like an electrically charged field. He had always been good at hiding his feelings. He’d never before realized Briana was every bit as good as he was and maybe better.
He loved Nealie dearly but was glad when after dinner she began to yawn and at last fell asleep on the couch. He carried her up the stairs, put her on her bed and covered her with an afghan.
When he went downstairs, he saw her empty boots standing by the couch. The sight touched him for a reason he could not name. He picked them up, stroked them, then set them down.
“She loves them,” Briana said, drying the last of the dishes. “She really does. You made a great choice.”
He leaned against the counter nearest her. “You should have let me help you with those.”
“No,” she said, hanging up the dish towel. “You’re company.”
“I’m not company,” he said, looking her up and down. “I’m the father of your child. And your child-to-be.”
“It’s only biology,” she said. “Technically, you’re a guest.” She said it coolly and briskly, as if she were warding him off.
“Am I?” He arched an eyebrow.
He moved behind her and undid the bow of her apron strings. When she took off the apron and set it aside, he let his hands settle on her waist, his thumbs just above the swell of her hips.
She went stiff and still. “Don’t.”
“We’re about to make a baby. We’ve still got lots to talk about.”
/> He felt her muscles go even more rigid. She pulled away from him and moved to the other side of the counter. She’s keeping it between us like a damn chastity belt, he thought.
“Then talk,” she said. “But no touching. That’s not part of the bargain.”
“Bargain?” he said. “Is that what you call it?”
She shrugged. She had changed from her church clothes into jeans and a long-sleeved white T-shirt. When she shrugged, her breasts did things that made his mouth water.
He tried to keep his voice cool, businesslike. “There’s plenty about this bargain that’s not resolved.”
She shrugged again, and the movement of her breasts forced him to look away so she wouldn’t see the hunger in his eyes.
“We can’t talk about it in front of Nealie,” she said. “It’s—difficult.”
“Difficult. Yes.”
“It’s strange,” she said with sadness. “We tell children truth is important but in front of them we lie. We turn into the hypocrites we warn them not to be.”
He said, “Seems to me you’ve got a lot more hypocrisy ahead of you.”
Her dark eyes snapped. “What do you mean?”
“You’ll have another child. But you’ll lie about it to your family. And to Nealie. And someday to the child, too. That’s a lot of lying for a woman who used to be honest to a fault.”
“That’s different.”
“Is it?”
“Yes. I was talking about things—things like this morning, about Nealie seeing us touching. What to say to her about other things, that’s all.”
He crossed his arms, a gesture of resolve not to try to touch her again. “This morning. That’s a loaded subject. But let’s talk about it.”
Her face went wary. “I—I’m sorry my brother came to see you like that. It’s always been part of the problem, I know. Somehow my family keeps pushing itself into the foreground.”
“Yes,” he said, crossing his arms more tightly still. “They do.”
“And you don’t get along with them,” she said.
“You could phrase that the other way, too. They don’t get along with me. Your brother doesn’t try, and your father doesn’t want to. They were scared to death I’d take you away from them. Then where would they be?”
The Baby Gift Page 7
