by Nan Ryan
“Good Heavens! When did you learn of your error?” Theodore was beginning to scowl.
“Oh, after only a few minutes. I realized that…”
“So that was the end of it? You excused yourself and…”
“It wasn’t the end. It was only the beginning.”
Lucy swore she had gotten away from the impertinent impostor as quickly as possible. And she would have come straight home, but for the next three days she kept expecting Theodore to show up. He never did and she had no idea why. She was hurt and disappointed and the man she’d mistaken him for wouldn’t leave her alone.
Lucy talked and talked, telling a stunned, disbelieving Theodore the whole story of how she had foolishly fallen for the other man and had given herself to him.
“Theodore, I’m going to have his child,” she said flatly. “I am pregnant.”
The straight-laced bachelor was horrified. Theodore jerked his hand free of Lucy’s as if it was dirty.
Censure and disgust in both his voice and his eyes, he said indignantly, “My sister warned me about you, but I wouldn’t listen. She said that only a loose woman would agree to meet a stranger of the opposite sex at a fancy Atlantic City resort.”
His face scarlet, he leapt to his feet.
Lucy rose to face him.
“Your sister was probably right,” she said in a low, level voice. “Lord knows I did behave wantonly with a stranger of the opposite sex at a fancy Atlantic City resort or I wouldn’t be in the fix I’m in.” She managed to smile then and said, “But you tell your sister for me that if I had it to do over again, I’d do the very same thing.”
Lucy calmly ushered him to the front door.
They stood there in silence for a time, Theodore looking at her, hurt and crestfallen, attempting to comprehend and digest all she had revealed.
Then softening—for he was a decent man—he finally asked, “What…what are you going to do?”
“I honestly don’t know,” she admitted.
He sighed heavily and said, “I’m sorry I sounded so judgmental and unforgiving. I don’t care what my sister thinks.” He swallowed hard, lifted a hand and touched Lucy’s cheek. “We could…I could still marry you, Lucy. Give your child a name.”
Lucy smiled and patted his chest. “You’re a good man, Theodore Mooney. Too good to marry a woman like me.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Dead leaves covered the winter-brown lawn as October waned away. The trees stood black and naked in the cold wind, their stark branches rising to meet gray-laden skies. The days were chilly. The nights freezing cold.
The golden warmth of summer was totally gone from the land and from Lucy.
Alone again, she bundled up one evening to sit on the front porch steps as the scarlet-streaked, winter dusk descended. The street was quiet at that time of day, the silence broken only by the distant shouts of children playing in someone’s back yard.
But the stillness brought no peace to Lucy.
A suffocating dread never left her, a paralyzing fear unlike anything she’d ever experienced was always there. Her tortured thoughts went in a continuous circle, always coming back to the same, miserable starting point. The same unanswerable question.
What was she going to do?
For weeks she had debated whether or not to call on one of her brothers for help. She’d written at least a dozen letters to both of them, but had never mailed a one. She couldn’t bear the thought of either knowing that their old maid sister had brought shame on the proud Hart name.
Her tarnished reputation, her unspeakable disgrace, would surely reflect on them and on their families. Would they ever be able to forgive her for ruining their lives?
Lucy swallowed, tasting the familiar acid in the back of her throat. Her eyes filled. She blinked away the unwelcome tears. More came. Too many to blink away. The hot tears poured down her chilled cheeks. Lucy sighed wearily, leaned over, put her forehead on her knees, and cried.
After a few moments she became aware that her own choked sobs were not the only ones she heard. Someone else was weeping. Whimpering faintly.
Lucy’s head shot up. She blinked rapidly to clear her blurred vision and then squinted, peering into the thickening twilight. Then she sighed with genuine relief.
Post Office Champ, the silver Siberian, stood there on the front walk a few feet from her, wailing sorrowfully. In a flash he was right there, beside her, pressing his big, warm body as close to hers as possible and moaning plaintively.
“Oh…Ch…Champ,” Lucy hiccoughed, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand and coughing, “what am I going to do?”
The Siberian bayed softly and licked her tear-wet cheek. Then he looked at her with those big, baleful blue eyes, tilting his great head to one side, his ears standing up in a questioning attitude, as though asking if there was anything he could do for her. The canine’s kindness brought on a fresh flood of tears and Lucy threw her arms around Champ’s powerful body, sagged against him, and wept once more.
Champ stood very still and whimpered plaintively while she cried.
Thanksgiving was gray and gloomy.
It was a raw, bitter cold day. The wind howled wildly, moaning around the eves of the house and banging the screen door. Bare tree limbs scratched at the roof and by late afternoon sleet tapped at the frozen windowpanes.
Inside Lucy sat cross-legged on the floor directly in front of the fireplace. She stared fixedly into the dancing flames. A shawl pulled tight around her slender shoulders, her green eyes glazed in thought, she deliberated on paying a visit to the Colonias State Bank come Monday to see about a loan. If she put her home up as collateral, the bank president, Matthew Henderson, would surely allow her to borrow a substantial sum of money. With the loan and the small savings she had managed to put away since her mother’s death, she could go away.
Far away.
December, that cruelest month, was ushered in with a bone-chilling winter snowstorm.
And the disappointing news that Lucy would not be allowed to borrow on her house. Not without the consent and co-signatures of both her brothers.
“You see, Miss Lucy,” Matthew Henderson patiently explained, “the Hart house is owned equally by the three of you.”
“It’s my home, Mr. Henderson. My brothers wouldn’t care if I took out a loan.”
He smiled indulgently and laced his chunky fingers together atop his desk. “I’m sure they wouldn’t. But they’ll have to sign the note. Banking regulations. You understand.”
“Yes, I understand,” Lucy said and rose.
Matthew Henderson came to his feet. “What you needin’ such a large sum for anyhow, Miss Lucy?”
“Good day, Mr. Henderson.”
The last Christmas season of the century came to Colonias.
The time for Peace on Earth, good will toward men found Lucy Hart still desperate and alone. She continued to keep her own counsel and the face she showed the world betrayed none of the hopelessness she felt. But then that was nothing new for Lucy. For the past decade she’d had plenty of practice at hiding her feelings and frustrations.
The weather was uncharitable. One blizzard after another roared across the Genesee Valley that cold December, blanketing the rich farmlands and wide meadows with deep swirling snow. There was one advantage to the cold weather; it required the wearing of warm, bulky clothing. Lucy’s heavy, winter clothes concealed a waist that was rapidly thickening.
Soon she would no longer be able to keep her condition a secret. Then what would she do?
On a frigid, snowy Sunday afternoon a few days before Christmas, the doorbell rang at Lucy’s white frame house.
Lucy made a face. Already it was starting. From now until after New Years she’d be forced to endure a steady stream of holiday callers stopping by with cookies and fruit and good tidings.
Sighing, Lucy smoothed her chestnut hair, touched the knot at the back of her head, and looked worriedly at her stomach. She hastily rearranged the g
athers of her full-skirted woolen dress and drew in her breath.
Lucy put a placid smile on her face and opened the door. Her smile froze in place and she winced audibly, her green eyes widening in disbelief.
Blackie LaDuke stood there on her frozen front porch, his arms loaded with brightly wrapped gifts. Snowflakes sprinkling his dark head, clinging to his long, sooty eyelashes, and dusting the shoulders of his black cashmere jacket, he was grinning like a kindly imp out of hell.
Lucy’s eyes met his and there was a long pause that stretched between them. A silence that spoke volumes.
“Does Lucy Hart live here?” Blackie asked at last.
“No,” Lucy calmly replied.
“No?” His impish smile fled and his black eyes clouded.
“No,” Lucy shook her head. “Lucy Hart went to Atlantic City last summer and never came back.”
“Then I’ve traveled a great distance for nothing,” he said, smiling again. “All the way from London, England.”
Blackie swept into the house on whoosh of cold air, dropped the wrapped packages to the floor, reached out, and took the startled Lucy in his arms.
“I tried,” he said, his chilled lips brushing her hot cheek, “but I can’t get you out of my mind. Kiss me, Lucy.”
“No, please, I…”
“I’ve come for you, darlin’. Now kiss me.”
Blackie’s lips silenced any further half-hearted protests. He kissed Lucy with all the power and passion she remembered so well and she felt her knees buckle beneath her. But it didn’t matter. She felt the strength of Blackie’s arms around her and knew he wouldn’t let her fall. Her hands glided over the snow-dampened cashmere of his black overcoat and slid around his neck.
Lucy held nothing back. Logical thought took wing as she sucked at Blackie’s lips in a wet, urgent kiss and eagerly touched her tongue to his. Melting against him, she felt his hands slip from her waist, move down over her hips. She moaned softly when his tanned fingers spread and filled themselves with the twin cheeks of her buttocks.
The door was still wide open as the pair stood there eagerly embracing in Lucy’s chilled parlor. The cold, howling winds blew in swirling snow and frigid air, but neither noticed. Kissing greedily, anxiously, they were warm. Plenty warm.
They kissed and kept on kissing, over and over again, their lips separating only long enough to gasp for air and murmur endearments. They kissed until Blackie’s long legs grew almost as weak Lucy’s.
Together they sagged to their knees and continued to kiss. It was Lucy who finally tore her burning lips from Blackie’s, leaned her forehead on his firm chin, and panting breathlessly, murmured, “You’ve come for me, Blackie? What are you going to do with me?” She raised her head, looked into his obsidian eyes.
“Do with you?” Blackie paused one beat. “Why marry you, of course. Say you’ll marry me, Lucy Hart.”
“I’ll marry you, Blackie LaDuke.”
“Well, not so fast,” he teased, grinning again, “I’m supposed to spend a lot of time persuading you to go through life with the likes of me.”
Lucy laughed, squeezed him, and said, “That would be nice, but I don’t have the time.” She pulled back, cupped his handsome face in both her hands, and said, “Blackie, there is something you must know. I am pregnant. I’m going to have your—our baby in June.” Lucy stopped speaking, held her breath.
The wide smile left Blackie’s face and Lucy’s expanding belly did a nervous flip-flop.
“And you weren’t going to tell me?” Blackie was incensed.
Lucy shook her head. “No. I didn’t want you to feel obligated and I…”
“God, Lucy girl, you are incredible,” he was smiling again. “How did I ever get lucky enough to find you?”
“Then you’re not unhappy about the baby?”
“I’m delighted about the baby, sweetheart,” he said, his eyes twinkling merrily. “And you can believe it or not, I’ll be a good father.”
“I believe it,” she said as he placed gentle hands on her slightly rounded stomach. “Blackie, you’re not just being noble, are you? You do love me, don’t you?”
His hands lifted; he clasped her upper arms. He said in a low caressive voice, “I love you, Lucy, with all my heart. Do you love me?”
“Oh, yes, darling,” she whispered, her hands clutching the collars of his cashmere coat, “I’ve always loved you. I mean, I’ve never loved anyone but you.”
“I know that,” he said with a touch of his old arrogance. But he immediately made amends by saying, “It’s the same with me, Lucy. I never loved anyone else and you won’t be sorry you married me.”
“I know that,” she said, smiling happily.
“There is something you don’t know,” he told her proudly.
“There is?”
He looked smug. “I now have gainful employment.”
“You’re teasing me.”
“I’m not. Colonel Mitchell hired me the week I left Atlantic City. I’ve been in England ever since. Sweetheart, I’m the sole London agent for the Colonel’s prosperous cotton brokering firm. I’ve worked really hard and I’ll keep on working hard. I swear I will. I’ve come to take you back with me. If you’ll go.”
“I’ll go,” she said, deliriously happy.
“We’ll get married in New York and sail to England on our honeymoon. We’ll buy a small London townhouse with a nursery and…and…Lucy, sweet Lucy, I do love you…so much.”
“You love me now, but for how long?” Lucy asked, her tone serious. “How long will you love me?”
Blackie kissed her temple and said with solemn sincerity, “Until the last day God has for me.”
More from Nan Ryan
The Last Dance
Lucy Hart sets out on an adventure. On the verge of spinsterhood, she is determined to venture out of her world of comfort and responsibility, and to make lasting memories in the fading glory of Atlantic City.
Blackie LaDuke has had enough adventure. In Atlantic City, looking to escape New York City—and matrimonial—heat, he is instantly intrigued by the prim Lucy.
Soon, an unlikely friendship blossoms and before long, Blackie finds himself wanting to be the man worthy of Lucy’s affection. Hoping to leave their old lives behind, can Lucy and Blackie start a new one together?
Wanting You
Anna Regent Wright, the long-lost Regent heiress, has finally returned. With no memories of her life before being captured by the Apaches, she is suddenly given a name and a past, and thrust into a new world that holds a future beyond her wildest dreams.
Brit Caruth is positive that Anna is an imposter, and he’s determined to prove it before Anna inherits the fortune that is supposed to be his. But his attraction to the beautiful stranger is undeniable, and as love blooms, resentment fades.
But when the truth finally does out, whose future will it put in jeopardy?
Wayward Lady
When her fiancé is killed, Suzette Foxworth is left devastated, but not alone. It is Austin Brand, a rich and powerful rancher, who takes her as his wife and secures her future. Though their marriage is one of kindness and security, it lacks the passion Suzette yearns for.
It isn’t until Suzette is taken captive by the bandit Kaytano, long-time enemy of Austin, does she feel the spark of heat her longing heart had been missing. Before long, Suzette willingly becomes Kaytano’s prisoner of love, with no desire to ever be freed from the shackles of his embrace.
C.C.'s Daughter
C.C. McCarthy had a gift. His beautiful singing voice captivated the women who heard it, including Valentina Trent, owner of Bluebonnet Records. But when C.C. turned down Valentina’s offer of a contract—and herself—he had no idea that he’d ignited a feud that would outlive both his career and his life.
Years later, Laura McCarthy has just lost her beloved father, C.C., to drugs. Devastated by his death, she finds herself on a wayward path that steals her innocence and shatters her illusions. But with steadf
ast determination and her father’s memory to give her strength, Laura vows to overcome the shadows of C.C.’s mistakes and restore his legend, against all odds.
Love in the Air
Kay Clark and Sullivan Ward were once the hottest radio duo in the city. But when Kay left Denver—and Sullivan—to continue her career in Los Angeles, their romance wilted before it ever had its chance to fully bloom.
Now, five years later, Kay is back and though she’s changed, her feelings for Sullivan haven’t. As they take the air together once again, an old flame sparks anew and blazes hotter than ever—on and off the air.
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