by Laura Abbot
“Why should I?”
Sighing in exasperation, she moved closer, settling her hands on his shoulders, forcing him to look at her. “Darn it, Andy, why are you so hell-bent on turning your back on love?”
“Love?” He mocked the word. “Who gives a shit?”
Her eyes held his. “You do.”
He wheeled away, picking up the backpack he’d dropped by the door. She grabbed her purse and followed him down the hall. When she caught up with him, he glared at her. “So you’re gonna tell him, right?”
“No, I’m not.” Before he could react in relief, she hurried on. “You are. Just don’t wait too long.”
All the way home not a further word was spoken.
GRANT FELT like a pack mule, schlepping stuff up to the guest bedroom he and Pam would now share. He nearly tripped over the top step wondering how he was going to manage to keep his hands off her. And more importantly, how they were going to fool Will Carver into believing they were in love.
Before Will was released from the hospital, Grant needed to grade his finals and get the Christmas tree up. Then there was the shopping. He and Pam were giving Andy a laptop, so that when he returned to his mother, he could take it with him. Grant mentally counted the months. Only eight and a half left. He felt like a failure as a father. Heck, maybe he was.
He heaved the armload of clothes onto the guest-room bed. He needed a special Christmas gift for Pam. But what?
She and Andy were way ahead of him. Yesterday they’d gone to the mall. When they’d gotten home, Andy had volunteered nothing about their shopping excursion. When Grant had inquired of Pam, she’d merely smiled wisely and said, “Did you tell your father everything when you were fifteen?”
Sure, the kid had a right to privacy, but Grant felt totally out of the loop. Maybe he and Andy would have been forced to get along if Pam hadn’t moved in.
But he couldn’t imagine his home without her.
And now she was going to be in his bed. Every night.
He groaned in frustration just thinking about the self-control that would require.
“YOU DANG WELL DON’T have to give up your bedroom, kids.” Will eased down onto the straight chair, his left leg extended, then propped his crutches in the corner of the living room.
“We’ll manage,” Pam said, wondering how.
“It won’t be forever.” Grant set Will’s overnight bag in the hall, then eyed the staircase. “You don’t really want to be confined upstairs, do you?”
“Heck, I can get up and down the steps.”
“Dad—”
Will held his palms up in surrender. “I know, honey. Slow and easy.” He looked around the room. “It’s nice to be out of the hospital. Pretty tree,” he said, gesturing to the six-foot Scotch pine in the corner. “Sorry I couldn’t do much in the way of presents. But there are a few things I left in the trunk of my car before I went to the hospital.”
“We’ll bring them in later,” Grant said.
“I’m glad the boy’ll be here with us for Christmas. Nothin’ like a kid around to make the holiday.” His eyes twinkled. “And next year, just think. Gilbert Junior.”
Pam turned her back, pretending to adjust a tree ornament. Next year’s Christmas would be vastly different. No Andy. No Grant. No cozy little family. Steadying her voice, she answered. “It could be a girl, you know.”
“That’d be all right. Reckon I know a thing or two about female critters.”
Pam trusted herself to face him. “That you do, Daddy.” She crossed to him and laid a kiss on the top of his head. “Now, how about some lunch and then a nice long nap?”
“I am kinda tired. Sounds good.”
Settling him in front of the TV, Pam busied herself in the kitchen, heating some soup and grilling cheese sandwiches.
When Grant came through the kitchen carrying several wrapped packages, he paused. “How do you think he’s doing?”
Pam shrugged. “Okay, I guess. But he seems pretty weak.”
“Yeah, I thought so, too.” He started to leave, but then stopped. “I think I’ll sleep in the den these first few nights. To be right there if he needs help.”
Pam noticed he couldn’t quite bring himself to look directly at her. Nor did she want him to. She picked up a spatula and flipped the sandwiches. “That’s a good idea,” she said not trusting her emotions. “Thank you.”
So. She had a reprieve. A few more nights sleeping alone. But the questions remained. Was Grant merely being solicitous of her father or delaying the inevitable? Was he as nervous as she was about what might happen when they shared a bed night after night?
Housekeeper. Think housekeeper.
CHRISTMAS MORNING. The turkey was in the oven, the table set, hot cider simmered on the stove. Satisfied, Pam surveyed the tree where Viola and Sebastian playfully pawed at the ornaments and colorful ribbons. Grant was helping Will shave. Once they were finished, she’d wake Andy if he hadn’t yet emerged.
He’d been all nervous excitement yesterday after delivering to Angela the delicate gold locket Pam had helped him select and returning with a boxed set of CDs he’d been wanting.
He stumbled down the stairs, rubbing his eyes, just as Grant helped Will into the living room. The older man greeted them exuberantly. “Merry Christmas, everybody.”
“Yeah, Merry Christmas.” Andy stood at the base of the stairs in his bare feet. “Anything to eat?”
After Pam served him a banana and warm cinnamon roll, they gathered around the tree, soft Christmas music playing in the background. Pam fought a pang of wistfulness. The scene appeared so festive, so homey.
Andy seemed tickled with his laptop, and the sweater she’d bought Grant turned out to be exactly the shade of his blue eyes, just as she’d hoped. Everything was greeting-card perfect until Andy opened his present from Will.
“Gramps, you’re the greatest!” Andy’s face was as animated as she’d ever seen it. “Wow!” He handed around the lettered certificate inside the box. “This entitles Andy Gilbert to one hand-tooled leather saddle and a half interest in Sagebrush Pepper Boy.”
Pam watched the spectacle in disbelief.
“Now, I know, you’ll be living with your mother some. But I reckon when you visit your family here, you’ll be comin’ to the ranch. A fella’s gotta have his own mount.”
Grant, his lips thinned in a grim line, caught her eye. She slowly lifted her shoulders in bewilderment. She’d known nothing of her father’s intentions.
Then Will pointed to a package wrapped in red foil. “Get that for Pam, would you, Andy?”
She examined the card, then looked up, confused.
“You’re seein’ it right. Barbara sent it. Asked me to give it to you.”
She and Barbara hadn’t exchanged gifts since Barbara had left home immediately after her high school graduation. They’d talked briefly on the phone several times following Will’s surgery, but…why in the world would her sister suddenly be giving her a Christmas present?
With trembling fingers, Pam opened the card and read the brief message. “My children used this. Now that you’re having a baby, I suppose Mother would’ve wanted you to have it. Barbara. P.S. I hope all goes well for you with your pregnancy.” Silently she handed the card to her father.
“Reserve judgment till you see what it is, honey. I think maybe Barbara’s trying.”
Pam slid her hand under the slick paper and slowly pulled it off. All she had to do was lift the lid of the box. But it suddenly seemed too much. She sensed the eyes of the men on her and knew she couldn’t delay further. She removed the lid and parted the layers of tissue paper.
Lying in the box was something she hadn’t seen since she was a tiny girl, but which was, nevertheless, comfortingly familiar.
“What is it?” Andy asked impatiently.
She gathered the pink-and-blue quilt against her breast and said with tear-filled eyes, “It’s the baby quilt my mother made for my sister and me. See?” She pointe
d to the embroidered “LC” in the corner. “Lillian Carver.”
Grant looked at Will, then at Pam. “That’s quite a gift.”
“I know,” she said, holding it against her where Barney lay quietly at rest. She took back the card from her father and studied it. I hope all goes well for you with your pregnancy. Could it be? Maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t resentment that had held Barbara in its grip. Maybe it was fear. Fear of loving and losing someone else as she’d lost her mother.
In that instant, Pam made a decision. It couldn’t hurt, could it, to invite Barbara to come help after the baby came? And it might make all the difference.
Just when she thought Christmas couldn’t get any better, Grant nodded to Andy, who disappeared toward the garage. “Andy and I have a little something for you, too,” Grant said.
Pam could hear Andy banging through the kitchen, clearly carrying something large. An elfin helper couldn’t have looked any more pleased with himself than did her tall, beaming stepson when he entered the room bearing an exquisite wooden cradle and a huge flat package.
Happiness flooded through her. She turned from one to the other. “Grant, Andy, I’m overwhelmed.” She walked over to the cradle and crouched beside it, imagining her child rocking to sleep. She rubbed her fingers along the maple wood. “It’s beautiful,” she said softly. “Just beautiful.”
Andy bounced on his heels. “Do you like it?”
The two men exploded in laughter. “That’s what the woman said, son,” Gramps shifted in his chair. “You came up with a winner.”
“What’s this?” Pam lifted the large package from the cradle. “It’s heavy.”
Grant sat forward expectantly, elbows on his knees. “Open it.”
When she removed the wrapping and saw what it was, she turned to Grant. “A wallpaper sample book?”
“Don’t we need a nursery?”
The reds and greens and yellows of the Christmas tree lights blurred in front of her.
“I thought we could fix up the spare bedroom,” Grant continued. “But I wanted you to pick out the paper, the color scheme. You’re the decorator, not me.”
“You can say that again,” Andy added.
She turned from the cradle and gazed at this warm, generous, thoughtful man. Realizing that Andy and Will were anticipating some kind of reaction, she knelt in front of Grant and took his hands in hers. “Thank you,” she breathed before leaning forward and kissing him tenderly.
When she pulled back, he squeezed her hands. “You’re welcome.” Time seemed to stop. No matinee idol had ever looked at his leading lady with such intensity. “There’s one thing more,” he said, clearing his throat.
“There can’t be. You’re spoiling me.”
“Oh, but there is.” He winked at Andy. “While you’re at it, for God’s sake, pick out some paper to replace that abomination in the kitchen.”
ANDY HAULED HIS LOOT up to his bedroom. The laptop was way cool, and he couldn’t wait to start the Anne Rice vampire books Pam had given him.
But the best was Gramps’s gift. It would be great to see Pepper again, even if a ride meant he’d have a monumentally sore butt. And his own saddle—that was really something. He’d bet not too many of the Keystone kids had their own—what had Gramps called it?—yeah, their own “mount.”
But then there was the package from his mother and Harry. He peered warily into the box as if it contained a nest of vipers. Jeez, how could Mom think he’d wear those smarmy Italian silk shirts or those skintight pants with the buttons? They might be okay in the Mediterranean, but in Texas? He’d be laughed off the streets. Or called names he didn’t want to think about.
He supposed his mother would phone sometime today. She’d want him to gush about the new clothes. Why couldn’t she have sent him the boom box he’d asked for? But that was just like her. She always thought she knew what was best for him.
Well, it hadn’t been best to keep him from spending summers with his dad, now had it? Of course, Pam and Gramps wouldn’t have been there then, so maybe it would’ve been different. Worse?
But it had been kinda fun going with his dad to shop for the cradle. At first it had felt weird to be in that big baby store. Cripes, how much stuff could one little kid need? The cradle they picked out was one of the most expensive, but like Dad said, “Pam’s worth it.” Then they’d gone to eat Mexican food, and on the way home, Dad had actually let him drive. It had been a really okay day.
How many more might he have had if his parents had just asked him what he wanted to do in the summers? Was that too difficult a concept?
But at least he had this year. And it was getting better and better. He and Gramps had plans to watch a bunch of old cowboy movies. Stuff like Shane and High Noon. He and Angie were getting along great and he even thought he’d done all right on his exams.
And Pam hadn’t told about the basketball.
But she expected him to. When he was ready.
He dumped the box of pretty-boy clothes in the back of his closet and shut the door. He reviewed again the great Christmas morning. One of the best ever. But he still felt nervous, anxious.
He wasn’t ready to tell his dad. Not yet.
THE DAYS IMMEDIATELY AFTER Christmas fell into a comfortable routine. Grant worked on some house repairs, set up his course outlines for second semester and spent early afternoons conducting short practices with his team.
Will was making a valiant effort with his therapy and bending over backward not to be any trouble. Grant was glad he’d decided to sleep in the den. Twice he’d caught the old man trying to get to the bathroom by himself and had been able to assist him. Will was a trouper and great company, especially for Andy, who might’ve been bored without their movie marathons. Grant was grateful for the mellowing he observed in his son.
Christmas had been a great day—harmonious, sentimental. Vastly different from the perfunctory observances of his past. Yet it had left Grant with an unsatisfied longing. Almost every gift had been a painful reminder that the good times couldn’t last. How would Will feel when the truth came out? Or Andy, whose relationship with Pam and Will was deepening daily?
Betrayed, no doubt.
New Year’s Eve, while Pam and Andy were running errands, Will limped into the kitchen where Grant was fixing the two of them bologna sandwiches for lunch. “Ever try fryin’ that dog meat?” Will asked as he lowered himself into a chair. “It’s mighty good that way.”
Grant smiled at the man’s colorful expression. “I’ll give it a try.” He placed a small skillet on the stove and began heating the bologna.
“That’s one good kid you’ve raised.”
“I wish I could take more of the credit.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s natural for kids to pull away.”
Grant turned down the heat and pulled out a loaf of bread. “I just can’t reach him. It’s almost as if he’s afraid to get close.”
The old man looked up, a gleam in his eye. “Think about it. Remind you of anyone?”
Grant leaned against the counter, pointing the spatula at Will. “You know men almost as well as horses, don’t you?”
Will chuckled. “There’s not much difference.”
Afraid to get close? Grant thought fleetingly about his own father, cold and rigid, then more intently about himself and his son. There wasn’t going to be a pattern here. Not if he could help it.
“Great fried dog,” Will said, after swallowing the first bite of his sandwich. “Pass me some more of that hot mustard.”
Grant savored the fresh bread, the tang of the sauce and the surprisingly rich flavor of the bologna. “It is good.”
“Say,” Will said, pausing to swallow another bite, “there’s one more thing. A man oughta start the new year with his bride, not with his gimpy father-in-law. So tonight, it’s upstairs to bed with you, son.”
The bologna suddenly took on the consistency of rubber. “Tonight?”
“You heard me. You go
tta bring in the new year right, know what I mean?” Then Will winked broadly, suggestively, and Grant realized he’d developed a galloping case of pregame jitters.
PAM LAY ON HER BACK, the blanket pulled up to her chin, her eyes following Grant as he moved around the end of the bed to his side. “It feels strange, doesn’t it?” she said.
“I’m trying hard to think about it like Boy Scout camp.”
Her eyes twinkled. “Roughing it, you mean?”
He slid beneath the sheets, aware, with a jump in his pulse rate, that the “bundling” layer was gone. “In a manner of speaking.” He stretched out cautiously, crossing his arms over his chest.
“The light?”
“Oh, yeah.” He rolled onto his side and reached the bedside lamp. The darkness made him uncomfortable. Things could happen in the dark that didn’t happen in the light.
When he lay back down, she reached for his hand and laced her fingers through his. As if she could read his mind, she said, “We’re friends, Grant. We can do this.”
Do what? “You mean get through this with no sex?”
“It’s probably harder for a man.”
You’ve got that right. “We have an agreement. I haven’t forgotten.”
“Well, we’ve got Barney on our side. It can’t be too appealing to be in the same bed with a butterball.”
If you only knew. “Are you comfortable enough? I could go back down—”
“Grant, we’ll have to sleep together sometime. We may as well start now. When Dad goes home, then we can go back downstairs.”
Roses. Damn. The whole bed smelled of her. “Yeah.” He couldn’t continue this conversation, not if he didn’t want to develop a bigger hard-on than he already had. “Have you completed all your grading?”
She withdrew her hand and seemed to stiffen beside him. “Yes.”
“And averaged your semester grades?”
“I finished this evening.”
“So?”
“What?”
