by Judy Duarte
Ty wasn’t even going to ask what that meant, though his uncle was probably referring to his childhood, not just the bull riding accident. Ty had spent the first few years of his life in Texas. Vague memories that had to do with dust and heat and hills sometimes shadowed his dreams. His dad had ridden the circuit and his mom, well, she’d gotten tired of the whole thing—the dust, the heat, as well as being alone and taking care of a child all by herself. One weekend, when his dad had come home between rodeos, she’d announced she was leaving. Not only leaving, but she was leaving Ty with his dad.
His father hadn’t had a clue how to take care of a four-year-old, so he’d called his brother Eli. In no time, the two had moved to Fawn Grove, California, and the Cozy C. Once they had, his dad had gone on the circuit again. He’d been killed by an ornery bull a few years later. Maybe Ty had gone into bull riding to prove he wouldn’t have the same fate.
No, not the same. A different one.
Needing to change the topic of conversation, Ty went to the coffeepot and filled his own mug. Standing there as casually as he could, he said offhandedly, “I ran into Marissa Lopez in town.”
“That gal who turned your head when you were in high school?”
“She didn’t turn my head. She was two years younger and—”
Eli cut in and waved his hand. “Never no mind. Just stay away from her. She had a baby with no dad in sight. You don’t want to get tangled up in that kind of complication.”
She’d had a baby? That’s why she was involved in The Mommy Club.
“How old’s her baby?” Ty asked.
“A year, maybe a couple of months more. It’s not like I keep track of everybody in town.”
A year? Fourteen months? His heart pounded in his ears.
His uncle acted as if he didn’t keep track, but Eli often drove into the diner for breakfast, and he and his cohorts gossiped as much as any women’s group. They knew the comings and goings. They knew the old-time residents. They knew who was new. They just knew.
Making quick calculations in his head, Ty didn’t like what he came up with. If her baby was a couple of months over a year old, and it took nine months to have a baby...
That would put the night of conception right about when he and Marissa had hooked up after the wedding.
He hoped he was totally mistaken. The thing was, he had to find out...and soon.
* * *
Ty didn’t like the looks of the apartment building at all. It was shabby, like the landlord could care less about it. Its pale yellow stucco had seen too much sun. The pavement was cracked under Ty’s boots as he walked around the back of the building to the apartments on that side. Checking the address on his phone again, he saw that Marissa’s apartment was the middle one, on the second floor. He mounted the stairs and the finish of the railing came off like powder on his hand. Sure, maybe he’d stay in a place like this on a long rodeo stint, but it was no place for a mother and a child. He imagined Marissa was living here because she could afford the rent. Still...
Just where did Marissa work? Did she make enough money to support her and her baby? Was there a guy in the picture now?
He remembered again the wedding they’d attended in nearby Sacramento. They’d been on opposite sides of the aisle in the church, he on the groom’s side and she on the bride’s. But he’d ended up behind her in the receiving line and they’d taken seats at the same table at the dinner. They’d talked some, laughed at high school escapades they’d remembered. They’d shared the bride and groom’s happiness as the couple had exchanged pieces of cake and then danced. That’s when the real night had started for him and Marissa. He’d asked her to dance.
That dance...
It had started the rest of the night.
At the top of the stairs, he stood at her door, which was decorated with a wreath of autumn leaves, nuts and gourds, not knowing exactly the right way to handle this. Maybe there was no right way.
He pressed the doorbell, but when he didn’t hear it ring, he knocked. It was after six. She should be home having dinner, taking care of her baby.
When she opened the door, he saw that she’d changed from the beige slacks and cream shirt into worn jeans and a T-shirt that proclaimed JORDAN’S MOMMY.
So she had a son, and his name was Jordan.
She looked horrified when she saw him glancing down at her T-shirt. Her face went pale. But he had to give her credit. After a deep breath, another second and a lifetime later, she produced a smile.
“Hi, Ty. I didn’t think I’d see you so soon. What brings you here?”
She was holding the door three-quarters of the way closed behind her, but he could hear sounds coming from inside the apartment. They sounded like baby squeals.
He motioned behind her. “Can I come in?”
She glanced over her shoulder. “It’s not a good time.”
“When would be a good time?” he asked in a compromising tone.
“I don’t know. I’m fixing supper, and then I have work to do. My to-do list is pretty full this week.”
No matter what she did or said, he was determined to have a talk with her.
“Invite me in, Marissa, for old time’s sake. I won’t stay long.”
With another glance over her shoulder, she gave a huge sigh, opened the door and motioned him in.
He couldn’t read the expression on her face. Was it dread, nervousness, regret? He’d love to know what was going on in her head.
He walked in and saw the baby right away. On the rodeo circuit Ty had talked with kids and horsed around with them. He liked their innocence and naïveté and optimistic outlook on life. They made him laugh. But he’d never been around babies.
This little fellow was seated in a high chair, playing with little round cereal pieces on his tray. Ty barely noticed the yellow-and-white kitchen curtains, the skillet simmering on the stove with what looked like barbecued beef. The smell wafted through the kitchen but it didn’t even make his stomach growl. He couldn’t take his eyes off the little boy.
“My uncle told me you’re unmarried and you have a baby.”
Marissa kept silent.
“How old is he?”
As if Jordan wanted to answer for himself, he pounded his tiny fist on the plastic tray, squealed and gave a lopsided toothy grin to Ty. Ty’s heart turned over in his chest.
“He’s fourteen months old,” Marissa said.
Ty’s gaze swung to hers. He could see she was trying hard to hold it together, to act as if nothing were the matter, acting as if that hadn’t been the most important question in the world.
“We used protection,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Not in the middle of the night,” she reminded him softly.
How could he have forgotten that? How could he have forgotten they’d reached for each other, half-asleep, come together as if they’d been lovers for years and rocked the bed as if lightning was striking all over again?
“He’s mine.”
She only hesitated a moment, and then he saw what he’d sensed about her from the very beginning—from the time they were in high school. She was honest and wouldn’t lie.
“Yes, he’s yours. His name is Jordan.”
As if he was drawn by a very powerful magnet, he crossed to the child and stared down at him, trying to let the implications of it all wash over him. The little boy was pounding on his tray again, gleefully burbling, kicking his legs. He had Ty’s brown hair, a much lighter shade than Marissa’s. But the baby had Marissa’s dark brown eyes, sparkling and shiny with new life and expectant hope.
Suddenly the gravity of what was happening hit Ty in the solar plexus. He swiveled on his boots, faced her and said, “You should have told me.”
She looked dumbstruck for a second.
He held up his hand, knowing they both needed to take a few deep breaths. “I need some air. I’m going for a walk, but I’ll be back. Don’t leave.”
“You can’t order me around, Ty. This i
s my life, not yours.”
“That baby is our life, Marissa.”
With that, he left her kitchen. With that, he took a few gulps of fresh air. With that, he hurried down the steps of the shabby apartment building.
He had a son. Somehow he had to wrap his mind around the idea that he was a father—and then quickly decide what to do about it.
Copyright © 2015 by Karen Rose Smith
ISBN-13: 9781460384480
The Boss, the Bride & the Baby
Copyright © 2015 by Judy Duarte
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