Surprised by a Baby

by Mindy Neff

  “The arrest was scheduled for the following day,” he said. “A big shipment of guns was coming in, and I still had some surveillance equipment to activate. The posse expected me to be there. Things were heating up, nerves were strung out, tempers nasty. It was hell-hot, muggy, with mosquitoes big enough to saddle and ride. I didn’t have a good feeling. Roy didn’t, either—Roy was my partner,” he explained. “Ranger Sergeant Roy McCann. But the weapons bust was my assignment. I had to check it out.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck as though he could still feel the sixth sense he should have paid attention to.

  “Roy’s wife was pregnant with their first child, and I didn’t want him in the middle of whatever might be going down. If it was nothing, I figured we’d laugh it off in a couple of days when the case was buttoned up. I knew Roy would give me grief. He’d stick to me like flypaper and watch my back whether I wanted him to or not. He would step in front of me and take a bullet. I’d do the same for him.”

  Donetta watched him pace. He still maintained his slow-walking, slow-talking demeanor, but she could see the tension, the veins that plumped on his hands and forearms, the taut lines bracketing his nonsmiling mouth.

  “I told myself it was just the heat making me jumpy.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and gazed out the darkened window. “Dark as pitch, the blacktop still hot enough to fry eggs, heat radiating off it and burning straight down your lungs. The locusts and the crickets didn’t seem to mind. They sounded louder than I remembered. A monotonous two-tone that droned on, as if they were singing safety over and over.”

  Chills tingled over her arms. She got up and crossed the room to stand beside him at the window. She couldn’t say why she did it, just that she wanted to be close in case he needed someone or something to anchor him here—to remind him he was in Hope Valley, not in Houston bleeding on a hot blacktop. She was almost sorry she’d started this, wanted to stop him, tell him she didn’t need to hear any more, but something told her he needed this, to get it out.

  “I had a gun in my boot and one at my back, shoved in the waistband. I reached around and took off the safety. That’s when I should have listened to my body. The hair on my neck was standing up stiffer than a cat’s back. I got as far as the door of the warehouse. Tereso Pallenzia met me. He was the leader. I knew right then he wasn’t going to let me in. Behind him, I saw why. An INS officer—Immigration. I’d hooked up with him on a couple of border cases. He was working on one of his own now—to the tune of sixty million. He was cutting Tereso in on the deal. He’d seen me leaving the warehouse that morning.” Storm rubbed a hand over his stomach.

  “I knew Tereso would plug me, and I figured my only chance was to make sure it wasn’t point-blank. Instead of retreating, I went in aggressive, got in a good round kick. I was still airborne, halfway into the spin-around from the kick maneuver. I had my hand on my weapon when the first bullet slammed into my back.”

  Donetta jolted, clutched the sleeve of his sweatshirt, smoothed it, then slipped her palm over his back and rubbed, soothing them both.

  “My gun was aimed when the next slug got me in the stomach.” His tone changed, his forehead creasing as though his concentration was painful.

  “My body had completed the revolution, feet had touched the ground. I didn’t feel the third shot because it knocked me back. I managed to squeeze off four rounds. Three subjects went down. Then three more fell right after that.” He shook his head. “But I hadn’t discharged my weapon. My vision wasn’t so good by then.” He glanced down at her. Her hand had stopped directly over his kidney scar, as if she’d walked every step of the nightmare with him.

  “Funny, I didn’t know I remembered all of this. I thought my recall stopped at the first shot and picked up with Roy cussing me up one side and down the other, bawlin’ his eyes out.”

  Donetta was on the verge of doing exactly that. She’d never met the man, but she liked Roy McCann just fine. If she took a squalling fit, she’d be in esteemed company.

  “Go on,” she urged.

  “Not much more. I saw this big ol’ shadow come streaking by, blending in with the night. Couldn’t see him, just the fire shooting out of the ends of his Colts. Humph.” He nodded in approval, as though he was watching Roy sprint across the backyard toward the lake.

  “That son of a buck should’ve had somebody filming him for the TV. Feels like I’m remembering an old shoot-’em-up. Two Colts spitting like dragons, ol’ Roy leaping over a hedgerow, a trash can…my body.” His jaw went slack. “Well, I’ll be go to hell. I’m going to kick his sorry butt from here into next week.” His dark eyebrows nearly met as he planned pain and mayhem on Roy’s body.

  “I don’t think I’m going to let you do that,” Donetta said.

  Storm, still frowning, looked down at her as though he’d forgotten she was there.

  “At least, not before I have a chance to kiss him,” she said. His eyes were now remarkably clear of nightmarish images. “And then,” she added, “I’m going to help Roy kick your sorry butt into next year.”

  His smile grew slowly. He took his hands out of his pockets. “You figure you can handle that, Slim?”

  The lust in his eyes made her think of a tiger ready to pounce.

  Donetta wisely took a step back. She’d intended to tease, to accept his challenge. But she could see by the slight narrowing of his eyes and the muscle clenching in his cheek that he’d misunderstood.

  “Storm—”

  “Why didn’t you come when I was laid up?”

  The quiet words stopped her in her tracks. Her heart squeezed, and there was guilt.

  Chapter Eleven

  “I was there,” she said quietly. “After you had the surgery. I stayed with you all night. I talked to you about the Mavericks and Spurs game, the NBA block-buster trades. And about Sunny because she was dating that guy Michael in Los Angeles and I was worried about it. She seemed to be letting him take over her life, and at the time, I was neck deep in what a relationship like that could become.”

  He sat down in one of the tapestry-upholstered armchairs that angled toward the fireplace and nodded for her to sit, as well. His silence was patient, but not altogether comfortable. He rested his elbows on his thighs and leaned forward slightly, his body turned toward her.

  “Your mom and Sunny were exhausted,” she said. “The hospital set up beds for them in one of the rooms, but Sunny wouldn’t budge. When I got there, she was curled on her side, lying across two folding chairs pushed side by side, and she had her hand over yours. She was insistent that someone hold your hand at all times. I mean really insistent, like militant— ‘I’ll knock your head off if you don’t listen to me’ type thing. Not to me,” she clarified. “To the nurses who came in to monitor you. I thought maybe I’d have to dig in her bag for a cow tranquilizer and shoot her with it.”

  The clock on the round mahogany table between them ticked in the stillness, its rhythm reminding her of the trailer park she’d lived in as a child. Tap. Tap. Tap. The slow, steady drip of rain from the gutter spout onto the piece of tin sheeting Donetta had put half under the trailer by the steps to shelter the baby frogs Mama didn’t know she’d kept.

  “Sunny needed sleep, and when I told her I was free until morning, she handed you off to me.”

  Chills raced up her arms as the words echoed in her mind. Maybe it was the hush in the room, but until just now, she hadn’t considered the profound significance of Sunny relinquishing responsibility of that vigil to her. She’d been part of the family, the only one Sunny had trusted with her brother’s life.

  Storm still hadn’t spoken. He just watched her. She wasn’t sure what he wanted from her, what he was thinking, what he was feeling or waiting for.

  Perhaps he simply wanted to know what went on around him in the world when they’d all been so afraid of losing him.

  Remembering brought an ache to her throat. She’d loved him then, as he’d lain in that hospital bed clinging to life. She�
�d loved him when she was ten, and twelve, all the years after and in between.

  She loved him still.

  She’d said the words to him only once. That night in the hospital, when she was still married to another man, she’d whispered it into the palm of his hand, rested her cheek there. She’d come so close to breaking that night, and that would have been so dangerous. She had needed all her strength and mental resources to deal with Tim. Because she had known he would find out that she’d lied to him. That she’d stayed the night at the hospital with Storm.

  And that’s where her guilt had come from. She hadn’t returned to the hospital as a friend or loved one would have. Not because she didn’t want to. Because she couldn’t.

  “That’s the night I started thinking about leaving Tim. So I talked to you about it. I didn’t tell you any of the bad things. The doctors didn’t understand why you weren’t waking up after the surgery. I didn’t want to upset you, even though I wasn’t sure if you could hear me. And I didn’t want you to hear my shame.” When his muscles bunched, she knew he was poised to lean toward her, and she lifted her chin, put up the shield that came so naturally.

  Censure shadowed his eyes, but he relaxed, forearms dangling between his widespread legs, elbows still propped on his thighs.

  “I planned my future with you—not with…I mean, not us together.” He nodded and she took a breath and continued. “I told you about the salon I’d someday have, and about my marriage being a mistake. I probably talked as much for me as I did for you. I even revealed some of our Texas Sweethearts secrets—which was very bold of me then. The girls haven’t sent me out to Bertha to give up another pair of panties, so I feel pretty confident those secrets are safe—unless you undergo hypnosis and spill your guts. Then we might have a problem.”

  His lips twitched, but his watchful mask remained. Now his silence was really beginning to unnerve her.

  “What is it, Storm? I’m running out of subjects. You seem to be waiting for something in particular. I can’t read your mind.”

  His chest rose and fell. “I didn’t know you’d come.

  I thought…I’m surprised no one told me.”

  “Did you ask?”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t want to admit that I was disappointed. And I guess I was probably afraid someone would notice how much I wanted—needed— to see you. I felt like an ass. You were married.” He shrugged. “Did you come back after that night?”

  “No.” She rubbed her fingernail along the seam of her capris, smoothing the snagged tip she hadn’t yet gotten around to fixing. “Tim didn’t like me spending time with your family—mainly, he didn’t want me to see you.”

  “It makes my heart hurt to think about what you went through. I know my sister wasn’t living here when you were married, but didn’t Tracy Lynn and Becca suspect something wasn’t right? Didn’t they notice any bruises?”

  “Oh, Tim was smart enough to make sure the bruises didn’t show. And he didn’t like for me to hang out with my friends, so I didn’t see Becca and Tracy much those two years.”

  “What made you finally leave?”

  “Finally leave? Ironic word choice. Don’t you really want to know what kind of woman stays in hell for that long without plotting an escape?”

  “Donetta. Don’t. I’ve seen more than my share of domestic violence. I’m not judging you.”

  “Sorry. I thought I’d put most of this out of my mind.” She took a deep breath. “I didn’t want to be a failure like my mom. I didn’t want to disappoint Grammy.”

  She looked down, picked at the chip in her fingernail, then began to speak, her voice so soft Storm had to lean in to hear.

  “I made manicotti—Tim’s favorite, set the table with candles. Everything was perfect. Nothing was out of place. The pans were washed and the sink was scoured. I just had to remove the bread and manicotti from the oven, take the salad out of the fridge. I had some stupid idea that at last things were going to get better, that we just needed something more to draw us together.”

  She looked up and met his gaze with a steadiness that made his heart squeeze. “This probably sounds pretty pitiful to you—”

  “No. Netta—”

  “It does to me. I wasn’t the same person then. I’d let him take away every bit of my self-esteem. Anyway, we’d never talked about having a family—Tim was busy positioning himself for promotions at the bank. That night I told him I wanted to have a baby, asked him how he felt about starting a family.

  “He didn’t say anything. He got up from the table to get the dessert out of the fridge. Apple tarts. I remember I’d run the first batch down the disposal because the crusts hadn’t aligned perfectly.”

  Storm wanted to reach for her hand, hold her, but intuition told him she wouldn’t appreciate the contact just now.

  “I knew something wasn’t right when he went quiet like that, when he offered to get up and get the dessert. Tim enjoyed being served. I should have run like hell. Instead, I jumped right up and raced into the kitchen when he called my name.” She crossed her arms over her stomach.

  “It makes me so mad now when I think of that night. The apple tarts were still in the fridge. He had no intention of getting them in the first place. He was standing by the stove. You’d have never guessed a meal had been cooked in that kitchen—the floors and counters actually gleamed. Then I saw what he’d been in there searching for. Two little dots of marinara sauce on the tile backsplash. He said how could I ask him to consider starting a family, how could he trust me to take care of a child, when I couldn’t even wipe down a wall properly. He broke my ribs that night.”

  Storm swore and shot up out of his chair.

  “The next morning, I had a miscarriage.”

  “Oh, my God. You were already pregnant?”

  She nodded. “You asked what made me leave. That was it. I was still bleeding when I picked up the phone and called Sunny. I said three words— ‘I need help.’ She didn’t ask any questions. Told me to pick up my purse and drive straight to the airport. Like a puppet, that’s exactly what I did. There was a plane ticket waiting at the counter.”

  “You didn’t get medical attention?”

  “Not here. They would have called Tim. Sunny drove me to the hospital as soon as I got off the plane in California.”

  He paced, raked a hand through his hair, then stopped in front of her and held out his hand. “I know you want to be tough—but I can’t be. Will you come sit with me? I need to hold you.”

  She put her hand in his and stood, letting him draw her into his arms. They stayed that way for a long moment as he held her tight, rocked her, offered solace and heartfelt regret with the sketch of his lips at her temple. Donetta couldn’t remember a time in her life that she’d felt so cherished…so safe.

  He led her to the sofa, tucked her into the corner, then sat beside her and pulled her legs into his lap. Her eyes nearly rolled back in her head with pleasure when he began to massage her feet.

  “Why didn’t Sunny call me?” he asked.

  “I made her promise not to. You were still recuperating from the gunshot wound. You didn’t need any additional worries.”

  “I want to kill him, you know.”

  “Sometimes I think the same thing. But neither one of us will do that, because then we’d be in jail and he would win. And the ‘Secret’ in Donetta’s Secret is truly what I told you before.” She hadn’t realized she was going to go into this, but he already knew about the abuse, so she could hardly be blamed for telling.

  “I made a deal with Tim. His image and status are very important to him. I could have let the whole town know who and what he is, but there was something I wanted more—my salon and the deed to Grammy’s house.”

  “The bank held the loan?” he asked.

  “No. Tim did. He gave Grammy a bunch of double-talk financial advice and ended up owning her house. Nice guy, huh? I wanted the title back, free and clear. I wanted a divorce settlement large enough to st
art my business, with the house as a separate package. I knew he’d fight me on splitting our assets, but I’d earned every penny of that money. At the cost of my self-esteem, maybe, but I got that back, too.” This was the one part of her Tim episode that she was really proud of.

  “I stayed with Sunny for two months. You were mending—I’d kept tabs. I called Tim from California, told him I wouldn’t contradict him if he wanted to tell everyone he was the injured party and his beloved wife had gone off with another man and broken his heart. I did know that much about him. He wanted to save face at all cost, run with the big dogs. And he’d get more sympathy and pats on the back for holding up well if he was the victim.” The rhythm of Storm’s thumbs against the ball of her foot made her feel boneless.

  “I’d come to the realization that I wouldn’t be the victim. I had made my choices—bad ones—so I’d go on from there. And I promised to keep his dirty little secret. I’d taken pictures. I had evidence. Thank goodness I stuffed the photos in my purse before I went to the airport. I mailed him a very nice self-portrait a few days before I called him, so he knew I wasn’t bluffing. He’d even left an incriminating paper trail by writing down one of his threats to Grammy.”

  “People like that eventually do slip up.”

  “I traded my silence for money, and my nightmare for my dream. I’ve kept that secret—mostly. Sunny, Jack, Tracy Lynn and Becca know—and now you.”

  “Not my mom? Or your grandmother?”

  “No.”

  “How can you still be loyal to a dirtbag like that?”

  “I’m not being loyal, Storm. Rehashing all this with you is the most I’ve thought about that part of my life in almost two years. I just wanted to start with a clean slate. I didn’t want people feeling sorry for me, or wondering how I could have stayed two years. Or comparing themselves with me, talking about what they would have done in my situation. If I’d been an outsider looking in at someone else’s life, I would have believed what everyone else rightfully thinks. That there’s no way I’d put up with that kind of crap. That I’d be out of there so fast the guy’s head would spin.” She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “People do talk a good game, don’t they?”