Above her, Mrs. Buckworthy was armed with a broom and a fearful, guilty look. She’d been the one, Garrett knew, who had frightened Rambo into fleeing down the street.
“Things like this didn’t happen in our neighborhood until that Keeley person moved in and brought you...you farm people into town,” the old biddy cried. “Football playersl That’s not a fit career—”
“That football player just saved his son’s life! If you have any compassion at all, Mrs. Buckworthy, you’d go call 911. My son—” Her sob swallowed the rest of her words as she caressed Donnie’s face. Tears tracked down her cheeks.
Immobilized by surprise and shock, Garrett clung desperately to Rambo to keep him from bolting again.
His son?
He’d wondered. He’d even thought it was possible. But he’d never really believed she would keep her son’s paternity a secret from the boy’s own father.
Until now.
THE SCENT OF LEMON room freshener hung heavily in the air like a citrus orchard, not quite covering the antiseptic smell that was so much a part of every hospital. Charity looked almost as pale as Donnie had when they’d brought him into the emergency room. Since the doctor had shooed them out of the examining room, she’d been pacing, not able to rest for a minute. And Garrett didn’t dare sit down for fear his knee would stiffen up on him and he wouldn’t be able to walk at all. The damn thing was throbbing like crazy.
Meanwhile he had a million questions. No, he mentally corrected, just one question that really mattered. Was he Donnie’s father?
If the answer was yes, then there’d be a whole raft of other questions, all of which would have to wait until they knew about Donnie’s condition.
God, he didn’t know what to think. A son? A boy he’d only just met? He’d missed seeing his first steps and hadn’t had any of that middle-of-the-night business with a crying infant. What about the kid’s first day of school? He should have been there.
If Donnie was his son.
That football player just saved his son’s life. Had that been only a slip of the tongue?
Why the hell would Charity keep a secret like that from him? It didn’t make any sense.
Father unknown the birth records had shown. But Charity knew. She had to.
She turned from looking out the window, from watching cars arrive and depart, patients being wheeled out, visitors bringing flowers. Her beautiful brown eyes, normally deep and luminous, were red and puffy from crying. She looked so vulnerable a band tightened around Garrett’s chest and he ached to hold her.
But his own emotions were bouncing all over the place, and he couldn’t seem to take that last step that separated them.
Why hadn’t she told him the truth?
“What’s taking so long?” she asked, pleading for an answer he didn’t have.
“These things take time.” The platitude didn’t work for him, either, but he didn’t know what else to say.
Is it my son in there? Dear God, he wanted to know. Yet the possibility scared him to death. He might lose his boy before he’d ever had a chance to really get to know him.
If that happened, he’d damn well string Mrs. Buckworthy up by her thumbs—and personally turn Rambo into a thousand pounds of pork chops.
Every time he closed his eyes, the scene replayed through his mind. He’d rather face a whole army of linebackers than go through that again, the fear that he wouldn’t be able to stop Rambo’s runaway stampede before it was too late.
Charity’s chin trembled; tears pooled in her eyes, threatening to overflow. “He looked so little on the gumey. What if he needs me and they won’t let me...?” A single tear spilled down her cheek.
That wrenching emotion broke his paralysis.
He opened his arms, and she stepped into his embrace. A shudder shivered through her body. She didn’t sob, but he could feel the dampness of her tears seeping through the front of his shirt. He could tell how hard she was working at being strong. She was like that, tough on the outside but with a soft heart that was capable of giving more love in a minute than he’d experienced in his whole life.
Had they made a baby that night? Was Donnie his son? Why hadn’t she told him?
The questions echoed one after the other in his mind, tolling like the chant of angry fans in a crowded stadium.
God, please don’t let Donnie die.
“I feel so helpless,” he murmured, holding her tight. “What can I do to help you?” To help our son.
“Just hold me.”
He smoothed her flyaway curls back from her face, kneaded her scalp with his fingertips. And wondered.
“Mr. and Mrs. Arden? I’m Dr. Keith.”
The doctor wore green surgical scrubs and looked to be only a little older than the high-school boys Garrett had been jogging with that morning. Or maybe the man’s youth was a reflection of how much Garrett had aged in the past few hours.
“How is he? How’s Donnie?” Charity asked, and neither of them bothered to correct the doctor’s assumption that Garrett was Mr. Arden—his patient’s father.
“He’s a very lucky little boy, Mrs. Arden. Though he has a mild concussion, the helmet saved him from a far more serious injury. Other than that, he has a sprained ankle and a lot of abrasions and contusions. By tomorrow he’ll be just fine. Children are amazingly resilient.”
Charity nearly collapsed with a relief so sharp it left her breathless. The adrenaline that had been keeping her upright drained away, and she felt faint. Only Garrett’s arm around her, his strength, kept her upright. That and her need to be with her son.
“May I see him?” she asked.
“Of course, but only for a moment. I’d like him to rest for a while, as a precautionary measure, you understand. Then you can take him home.”
In a blur, Charity followed the doctor down the hallway. She was vaguely aware of nurses moving about, doctors being paged over the loudspeaker and Garrett walking beside her. Garrett’s hand on her arm, steadying her. Garrett, Donnie’s father, the man who had saved her son’s life.
He was limping because of what he’d done and wincing with every step; his jeans were ripped at the knee. His act of courage, determination and brute strength might well have cost him his career. She owed him so much....
The shock of seeing Donnie looking so tiny and fragile in that huge bed, his head wrapped in a bandage, nearly brought her to her knees.
“My baby...” She feathered his face with kisses, stroked his pale cheek with the back of her hand. Her heart filled her throat when his eyes blinked open.
“Mom? My head hurts.”
“I know, sweetheart. It’ll feel better soon.”
“Rambo—it wasn’t his fault. Mrs. Buckworthy scared him, and the rope got—”
“Shh, sweetheart. It’s all right. Rambo’s fine, and you will be, too. Sleep now and then we’ll go home.” Back to the farm, back where they belonged.
The guilt of having put Donnie at risk lodged in her chest.
Leaning past her, Garrett rested his hand on Donnie’s shoulder. “Rest now, son, and later I’ll let you beat me at checkers again.”
A tiny, heartbreaking smile fluttered around the comers of Donnie’s sweet mouth. “You’re easy to beat. Gramps taught me good.”
“Yeah, well, maybe I just have to practice harder.”
To Charity’s surprise, she heard emotion choking Garrett’s words. Had he heard that slip of her tongue, her admission of the truth in an instant of sheer panic?
They waited until Donnie drifted off to sleep, and then they stepped into the hallway. Charity leaned her head back against the wall, emptying her lungs of all her fear and fright with a deep sigh.
“I need to know, Charity, and I want a straight answer.”
She looked into his eyes, saw that he’d heard the truth, and her tongue felt as thick as a cow’s.
“If I’m his father, I have a right to know, dammit. Don’t hold out on me any longer.”
He’d saved his
son’s life. He deserved the answer. But dear heaven, the truth could cost Charity and her whole family the farm they’d sacrificed so much to save.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Like a videotape playing in fast forward, myriad emotions sparked in his eyes—elation, pride, pleasure, all mixing with residual confusion.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me? I had a right—”
“You can’t tell anyone, either. Please, Garrett, I promised. No one can ever know. No one.” Most particularly Garrett’s father.
His confusion darkened into something akin to anger and he narrowed his eyes. “Why the hell not? Why does it have to be such a deep, dark secret?”
“Don’t ask, Garrett. It’s just the way it has to be. In a little while, when Donnie wakes up, I’m going to take him home. To the farm. And I think it would be better if you didn’t see him again.”
“He’s my son.”
“He’s my baby and my responsibility. If anyone asks, I will deny we ever had this conversation, I swear I will. Now, please, leave. Go home.”
When she tried to turn away, he snared her by the arm, his fingers digging into her flesh. “That’s not how it’s gonna be, cinnamon girl.” He was standing too close, his voice intimate and intimidating, a muscle flexing in his jaw. “We made a baby and now we’ve slept together again. I’m not going to let you walk away without giving me all the answers I need.”
In a panic, she glanced up and down the hallway. They were alone, and he hadn’t raised his voice. But the thought that someone might overhear their conversation sent a knife of fear cutting right to her heart.
“Come out to the farm tomorrow. After Bud goes to the factory. I’ll send Hailey to the store or something, and Donnie will be resting, so we can be alone.” Her mouth dry as toast, she darted a look . at a passing orderly. “I’ll tell you everything then, but you have to promise me you won’t tell another soul.”
With a slow shake of his head, he said, “You’re going to have to explain why the secrecy is so important before I make a promise like that.”
“Then I won’t—”
“Yes, you will, Charity. Tomorrow you’re going to tell me the truth. All of it.”
GARRETT JUGGLED the phone on his shoulder while he tried to pull his pants on, the project complicated by the fact he could hardly put any weight at all on his bum knee. He’d had it iced all night, and the damn thing was still throbbing. Under other circumstances, the pain might have kept him awake. But he’d had other things on his mind that had been even more effective for producing insomnia.
A son! Damn, he could still hardly believe it.
“Tampa Bay is still thinking about picking you up, but it’s not looking good,” his agent said over the phone.
“They don’t know what they’re missing,” Garrett mumbled under his breath. At the moment, the only thing they were missing was a gimpy, over-the-hill quarterback who wouldn’t be able to run away from a two-legged elephant.
“Not to worry. I’ve been talking to a couple of Canadian teams—”
“Canada!” he exploded. “Hell, Tommy, I’m an NFL quarterback, not some second-rate—”
“Settle down, Garrett, and listen. What they do best in Canada is pass, and you do that better than any quarterback in either league, north or south. A season or two up there, and the NFL boys will be beggin’ you to come back—at a premium, buddy. Trust me on this.”
Standing storklike, he managed to get one leg into his pants. “I don’t know, Tommy. I never thought I’d have to—”
“Hey, man, you don’t have to make a decision right this minute. I’ll float your name out there and see if anybody takes the bait. That’ll be soon enough to see if they’ll make it worth your while.”
Garrett didn’t much like the idea but he supposed he’d have to go along, at least for the moment. “Keep working on other teams for me, Tommy. Canada isn’t exactly high on my list.” And it would be a hell of a long way from Charity... and his son. God, he still couldn’t quite get over the fact that he had a child. It was some kind of a miracle. The reverse of immaculate conception, he supposed, but he was dam excited about the prospect of being a father. A real father.
After he hung up with his agent, Garrett managed to finish dressing and hobbled out to the car. He was more than anxious to find out from Charity why she had to keep it such a deep, dark secret that he was Donnie’s father.
Frankly, he thought with a grin, he’d like to shout it from the rooftops.
CHARITY SHOT A GLANCE at the clock over the sink. Nearly ten o’clock. That’s when Garrett had said he’d be there to learn the truth, and Hailey was still fussing trying to clean up the mess she’d made while cooking last night’s meat loaf. She hadn’t even begun to start on the oven.
“Why don’t you leave that?” Charity suggested, desperate to have her sister-in-law out of the house before Garrett arrived. Anxiety burned in her stomach like she’d swallowed a pound of hot Mexican chiles and then lit the concoction with a torch. “I’ll take care of things.”
Hailey took a scouring pad to the blackest loaf pan Charity had ever seen, then added a lot of elbow grease. Her usually carefully manicured nails were a mess, her fingers reddened by too many soakings in dishwater. “You have to look after Donnie. Poor baby. This will only take me a minute. And the one thing I’m getting good at,” she said with a laugh, “is cleaning up burned-on messes.”
“No, really, I’d rather you do the shopping.” Stepping to the sink, Charity took the scrub brush from Hailey’s hand. “You might even want to stop by to see your parents. You know, kind of take the morning off.”
“Why is it I get the feeling you’re trying to get rid of me?”
Guiltily Charity looked away.
“Okay, what gives? Bud and I have been worried about you. You moved out in a such a rush, then all of a sudden last night—”
“Please, Hailey.”
“It’s Garrett, isn’t it? Did you have a fight with him?”
“No.” Charity rinsed the loaf pan and set it on the counter to air dry. She certainly wouldn’t call her admission of Gamett’s paternity a fight, but he’d looked ready to do battle for the right to claim his son.
Eyeing her with a combination of curiosity and concern, Hailey dried her hands on a paper towel. “I’ve been thinking about getting a job in town. Maybe at Harmon’s Department Store. Or I could find something to do in Modesto. That way Bud and I could have a place of our own and save up for a house. It’d take a while—”
“You’d leave the farm?” she gasped. “This is Bud’s home.”
“Charity, honey, I know you love this place. And so does Bud, I guess. But I... I feel so damn useless and it’s like I’ve been stuck in Siberia.”
“We’re only five miles from town.”
“To me it feels like a thousand. My friends never drop by. It takes forever just to go to town for a loaf of bread. I feel so isolated.” With a toss of her head, she shifted her long blond hair behind her shoulder. “Mind you, Bud and I are only thinking about it right now. But if I can get a decent job...”
“Well, you’d better not try to take Betsy Muller’s job at the department store selling makeup,” Charity quipped, though she didn’t feel a bit like making jokes. “Betsy’s an institution in town.” And had certainly had her eye on Moose Harmon, the store’s owner, until he became engaged to Kate Bingham. Now that their wedding had been called off...
Charity swallowed hard. How could Bud possibly leave their home, the town they’d been such a part of, the place that had been their safe haven when their mother had given up all pretense of being a parent? There were memories here. Good times and a loving home with their grandparents and each other. Even when Charity had moved in with Garrett, she’d known she’d come back. It had only been a temporary arrangement, a brief time when she’d succumbed to temptation. She’d known it would end.
And being there with Garrett, loving him and trying to act like a town
ie had nearly cost her son his life.
“Okay, you don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to,” Hailey said. “I’ll get out of your hair. But Bud and I do worry about you. More than anything else, we want you to be as happy as we are.”
The emotions were so thick in her throat, Charity found she could barely draw a decent breath. However much trouble Hailey was having becoming a farm wife, she was an Arden. She cared. But not about the pig farm or the land.
“Give me a couple of hours,” Charity pleaded, the words rasping against the tension of her windpipe.
“Sure.” Resting her hand against Charity’s arm, she squeezed lightly. “I’ll be gone in a sec. Don’t sweat that frying pan that I tried to cook the eggplant in. I’ll buy you a new one.”
Hailey was as good as her word. Within five minutes, she’d gotten in her car and driven away.
With her gone and Donnie restricted to resting in his room, the house felt ominously quiet. She was going to have to face Garrett any moment now. Though she tried, no words came to her, no excuses he would understand, and guilt gnawed in her belly.
As she went to change from the clothes she’d worn to feed the pigs, she fleetingly wondered how a woman should dress to explain her actions to the father of her son, and then decided it didn’t matter. She still had to protect her son’s legacy. At the time of her decision, she’d seen no way out, no other choice. Now she didn’t know what to think. Only that the truth could destroy all she held dear.
The sound of tires on the gravel driveway was as painful as fingernails on a blackboard. A firing squad wouldn’t have been harder to face, the agony over much quicker.
Would he ever believe she’d done the only thing she could eight years ago? Or recognize how much it had cost her?
Chapter Thirteen
“How’s Donnie?”
Instead of letting Garrett into the house, Charity opened the screen door and stepped out onto the front porch. The air was already warm with the threat of a summer heat wave, the birds silenced by the rising temperature.
The Hog-Tied Groom (The Brides of Grazer's Corners #3) Page 16
