The Texan's Baby Bombshell

by ALLISON LEIGH,

She threw out her arms again. “I don’t know,” she cried, sudden tears glittering in her eyes. “I don’t know! Do you know what this is like? You know more about my life than I do! And...and I’m sure I don’t even matter after all these years. You’re just here because Dr. Granger prevailed upon you and you felt sorry or someth—”

  “Stop.” In two strides he’d rounded the table between them and closed his hands around her face. “Stop. Of course you matter.”

  She shook her head, staring up at him with those great blue tear-filled eyes. “I’m alone,” she said hoarsely.

  He closed his arms around her shaking body, pulling her against his chest. “You’re not alone,” he said against her hair. The scent was different—flowery instead of lemony—but the feel was as silky as it had always been. “I promise you’re not alone.”

  Her hands came around him, too, fingertips digging through his shirt against his spine. “Tell me something about you,” she begged. “Something I should still know.”

  That he’d loved her from the first moment he saw her?

  That no matter what happened between them or how great the distance was or how many times she broke his heart, he was afraid he’d go to his grave still loving her?

  He swiftly buried that.

  “Like what?”

  She lifted her head suddenly, shaking back her hair.

  He was exactly six inches taller than her. She’d always fit perfectly against him. And when her head was tilted like it was now, he needed only to dip his head to capture those lips. To forget everything but the taste of her. To remind himself that every woman he’d known since her had only ever been a pale imitation.

  “Like when were you born?”

  He dragged his thoughts back from that bridge. “Three months before you.”

  “That’s not—”

  “Thirty-one years ago.”

  “You’re being deliberately obtuse.”

  “No, I’m just glad to see some fire in your eyes.”

  Her face started to crumple again and he groaned. “Don’t cry. I never can stand to see you cry.”

  “I’m so sorry you’re inconvenienced!”

  Despite everything, he let out half a laugh. It was always that way. Just when she seemed as fragile as glass, she’d about-face. “What am I going to do with you, Laurel Hudson?”

  Her hands clutched at his spine. She was breathing hard. “Take me home with you?”

  His brain went slack. He thought maybe he’d said “What?” in a dumbfounded way but he couldn’t be sure.

  Laurel was pushing away from him and tucking her hair behind her ears. Both hands. Both ears. Obviously nervous.

  She wasn’t the only one.

  He shoved his hands into his front pockets. Both hands. Both pockets.

  “You said you’re not married,” she said quickly. “I s’pose you have a girlfriend, though. N-not that I’m suggesting—”

  “I don’t,” he interrupted. “But I still can’t take you with me to Rambling Rose.” He’d deliberately avoided saying the town’s name. But now it was too late and he braced himself for some reaction.

  But none came. Her lush lips had merely rounded into a silent “Oh.”

  “Laurel—” He broke off, because he was damned if he knew how to handle this. Damned if he said nothing. Damned if he said too much.

  Then she tucked her hair again even though it was still tucked. “I’m sorry. Don’t pay any attention to that. I know it’s a wild idea. I can’t help it. I feel more than a little bit out of control, I guess.”

  He bit off an oath. “You’re not.”

  “Easy for you to say. You can remember what happened BA.” She caught his look. “Before Accident.” Then she wiped her cheeks and turned away.

  She walked over to pick up the cup she’d knocked off the table. She carried it to one of the garbage bins and dumped it inside. Then she dusted her hands together and when she turned back toward him, her shoulders were visibly firmed. “I’m ready to go back to Fresh Pine.” She walked past him, her feet kicking through the overgrown grass.

  God help him. He really was not strong enough for this.

  He lobbed his own cup into the trash. “I hate avocados,” he said abruptly. “And bananas.”

  She stopped. Looked back at him.

  “You love ’em,” he continued. “Almost as much as you love peanut butter. Always kept trying to convince me I ought to love them, too. But I don’t. Tasteless mush, as far as I’m concerned.”

  “You’re insane. Guacamole? Banana pudding? Not together, obviously. But still. Double nirvana!”

  “Not the first time I’ve heard you say that. I still hate them both.”

  She rocked on the heels of her smiley-faced tennis shoes. “What else?”

  “I broke my arm when I was seven, trying to rig up a pulley system between my second-floor bedroom and the house next door so my best friend and I could get across to see each other without going downstairs past our parents.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “Inventive.”

  “Not really. Didn’t dawn on me that a steel cable would be pretty noticeable as soon as someone looked up.”

  “I broke my arm, too.” She held up her right arm. “So they told me when they brought me out of the coma, anyway. What else?”

  And her left leg, he thought grimly.

  “I have four brothers and one sister. All younger than me.” He held up his hand. “And before you ask, no, you don’t have any siblings.”

  “I know.” She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know how or why I know, but I know.”

  “And you’re going to have to trust me when I say that you can’t come home with me to Rambling Rose.”

  Her lashes dipped. She kicked the toe of her shoe through the grass. “I told you to forget I asked. It’s too much of an imposition. I get it—”

  “—not without knowing what you’ll be facing when you get there.”

  Her lashes flew up. Her lips were rounded again. Silently. “I don’t understand,” she finally said.

  “I know you don’t.” He held out his hand, sending a silent apology to Dr. Granger. “Come here. Sit down again.”

  Her forehead knit. “You’re making me worried.”

  “I’m sorry.” He should drop it now. Dr. Granger was the expert when it came to Laurel’s health. He wasn’t an expert in anything when it came to her. Except being the one she always walked away from.

  But it was too late because she was already retracing her steps back to the picnic table.

  This time when she sat down on the bench it was with her back to the table. As if she knew instinctively that there was no way he could sit. Not when he had to say what he had to say.

  And how the hell was he supposed to say any of it?

  Kane was the one with the gift of words. Adam was just the logical one.

  And where was that logic now? Out the window, the way it always was where Laurel was concerned.

  He pulled his phone out again.

  “Who’re you calling?”

  “Nobody.” He swiped the screen again. The image of Larkin Square disappeared, to be replaced with two tiny ones. Of him. Of Eric. The only reason their story had ended up in the media at all was because a news station out of Houston had been doing a public service series on organ and blood donation. Learning that an entire town had conducted a donor drive on behalf of one little baby had dovetailed right into their series.

  It had been a small annoyance during the week before the transplant. A news crew followed Adam for a few hours at Provisions and poked around town. At the time, Callum had said it would be good publicity for the town as a whole. How it portrayed Rambling Rose as a community where people should want to live. Rambling Rose people cared. Just Like Adam and Kane, newcomers themselves, had joined the people linin
g up at a wellness spa called Paz two months ago to have their cheeks swabbed.

  The three-minute news story had aired the night of Linus’s transplant. Adam hadn’t even seen it at the time because he’d been in a hospital room himself, mired in the dregs of anesthesia and nightmares of Laurel being dead.

  In fact, he hadn’t even watched the piece on the internet until Dr. Granger had contacted him three days later.

  He stepped over to Laurel and handed her the phone as the video began playing on the screen.

  And now, in Constance Silberman’s continuing series, Doing Good Helping Others, she heads to Rambling Rose, Texas, where the citizens of this small town recently participated in a donor drive—

  Laurel’s thumb grazed the screen, pausing the video. She looked up at Adam, her eyes searching his. “I’ve seen this.” She looked vaguely embarrassed. “Several times, actually. The computer in the common room—”

  He’d seen the computer for himself. He didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to him that she might have done her own internet search. “And nothing about it was familiar except me? You’re sure?”

  Her brows pulled together. Without answering, she glanced at the phone again and resumed the video. The anchor continued.

  —inspired by a five-month-old infant suffering from aplastic anemia, a condition where one’s body fails to produce enough new blood cells—

  Adam felt Laurel’s glance, though she didn’t pause the playback as the reporter took over the story from the anchorman and began spouting off statistics and courses of treatments.

  —the greatest gift, of course, is the gift of life. And in the town of Rambling Rose, that’s exactly what we found. A perfectly suited bone marrow match for the very child who’d inspired the drive in the first place.

  Adam knew there was a brief collage of shots of him at that point—at Provisions talking to one of the waitstaff, striding through the busy kitchen as if he were ready to pitch in there even though he’d get his hands chopped off by Nicole if he ever tried such a thing, and then walking down Main Street before the images changed to the exterior of the Rambling Rose Pediatric Center.

  I spoke to Dr. Parker Green, the chief physician at the local pediatric center who first diagnosed our young patient’s condition. Dr. Green, is this the first time you’ve seen the locals rally around an issue like this?

  He rubbed his hand down his face while Dr. Green assured Constance Silberman that it wasn’t and began recounting tales of Rambling Rose’s history. The reporter skillfully stopped the doctor from going on too long, though, redirecting him when he started talking about how the pediatric center had been built on the original site of the Fortune’s Foundling Hospital.

  Clearly, Rambling Rose is a very special place. It’s no wonder that it’s ranked one of the fastest growing towns in Texas. And nobody can be more grateful for the New York transplant named Adam Fortune who is donating his bone marrow than the single father of the tiny boy who’ll be receiving it the day this story is scheduled to air.

  Adam dropped his hand, watching Laurel’s face. But she showed no reaction to the image of Eric Johnson that appeared on the screen.

  Because of the strict precautions being taken to ensure that his child is not exposed to any contagions at this critical juncture, I wasn’t able to meet personally with Eric Johnson. But he did speak with me by phone. And when I asked him what it meant to find a donor match for his son, he had this to say. That the donor was the most important person he’d never met.

  Laurel looked up and extended the phone toward Adam. “You donated bone marrow. I knew that because of this news story.” She wagged the phone slightly. “What am I missing?”

  Adam silenced the phone. “You didn’t pay attention. That father. His name was Eric Johnson.” His jaw was tight. “Your Eric Johnson.”

  It seemed to sink in then and she stared at him. It was a full minute before she blinked. “But he has a baby.”

  It didn’t take him a full minute, but it took long enough. “Yes.” The effort to push out just that one word made his chest ache.

  “And I’m engaged to him.” Her gaze flickered. “To be married.”

  He ground his molars together. “Until you...put on the brakes and told him you needed space.” Adam had come to the conclusion she’d done that because she’d been carrying his baby. But now, he had to wonder if fear of Eric had been the motivator.

  She barely seemed to hear him. “It said he’s a single father.” She was pulling so hard on her sweater sleeve it had stretched right over her hand. Only her fingertips showed. And those fingertips were visibly digging into her thigh. “Where’s the baby’s mother?”

  His head ached deep behind his eyes. He slowly took a step toward her. His voice, when he finally marshalled the strength, was hoarse. “I’m looking at her.”

  Chapter Five

  Laurel was barely aware of walking back to Fresh Pine.

  I’m looking at her.

  It wasn’t possible. How could it be? How could she have had a baby that she couldn’t remember having?

  How can you look in a mirror and not know your own name?

  When they reached the entrance to the clinic, Jerry buzzed them in.

  She wasn’t even able to wonder about Adam at that point. He was just an old boyfriend. Caught in the middle of the mess that was her life.

  What other sins had she blocked out of her mind?

  Without stopping, she walked straight through the lobby to the stairs and up to her room, climbing onto the bed and curling into a ball before pulling the tangle of blankets up to her chin.

  They weren’t enough to stop her shivering.

  She wasn’t sure she’d ever stop shivering.

  I’m looking at her.

  She closed her eyes. But the image of Adam’s expression was burned on the backs of her eyelids.

  She opened them again. Stared blindly at the calendar hanging on her wall.

  She heard the soft knocking on her door and ignored it.

  If her fiancé was at the root of her panic attacks, why would she ever leave their baby alone with him? What kind of a person was she?

  A distinctive creak told her someone had opened her door. It took too much energy to turn and see by whom. “Leave me alone.” Her voice sounded as dull as her soul clearly was.

  “If I could do that, I wouldn’t be here in Seattle.”

  Her eyes suddenly burned. She turned her head and silently watched Adam round her bed. When he sat on the side of it, the mattress dipped, making her roll toward him until her balled up knees were stopped by his back.

  He winced slightly and shifted away from the contact. “I’m sorry.” The sigh he gave sounded like it came all the way from the bottom of his boots. “I shouldn’t have told you like that.”

  Her stomach rolled. “How else should you have? Why didn’t anyone else tell me?” The baby was five months old. Her accident had been five months ago. In all the patching and suturing, was she supposed to believe that none of those doctors or nurses had noticed that she’d recently given birth?

  He tugged at the jumbled blankets and smoothed them out, gently tucking them once more beneath her chin. Then his hand moved away. “Until a couple months ago, you weren’t in any condition to be told.”

  “It’s no excuse,” she said thickly. “Maybe if they’d told me, I’d have remembered. Dr Granger—”

  “Has your best interests at heart.” His dark eyes were solemn.

  Tears burned her eyes. “Did I know he was sick when I left?” She pushed herself up onto her elbows. “Did I just dump him off on his father to deal with? Am I that callous?” Fresh horror hit. She grasped his arm. “What about the transplant? Did it work?” The questions seemed to be jumping out of her, one on top of the other.

  “It’s too soon to know if it’ll work,” he said qu
ietly. “But his doctors are optimistic. It’ll take a few weeks to be sure Linus is producing new blood cells the way he should be.”

  Her fingers relaxed. “That’s what we named him?” Of all the names she could have imagined choosing, Linus was not one of them. “Like the comic character? Charlie Brown’s best friend with the blanket? Linus like that?”

  He looked away and began adjusting her blankets again. “Yeah.”

  She rubbed her wet cheeks. “His father must have named him.” Then she cringed because she sounded as callous as her mother would have sounded.

  She pushed aside the tidy blankets and then pushed aside Adam—which was about as easy as moving the side of a mountain—and rolled off the bed. She yanked open the old-fashioned wardrobe and pulled out the canvas bag she’d used when she’d moved from the hospital to Fresh Pine. It wasn’t large. The size of a shopping bag, really. But all of her present possessions—four days’ worth of clothes before a laundry session was necessary—would still fit.

  “What’re you doing?”

  “I have to see him.”

  “Eric? Or Linus?”

  She frowned, hesitating for a moment. Waiting for that sense of panic.

  But it didn’t come and she finished tucking a folded pair of blue jeans into the bottom of the canvas bag. “Linus. Though even I realize I’ll have to see his father, too. Did you meet him? After the transplant?”

  “Before.” His voice was short.

  “What did you think of him?”

  He didn’t answer right away. “There wasn’t a lot of time to think. But I will tell you that no matter what went on between the two of you, I don’t believe he’d harm Linus. He’s too devoted.”

  “Whereas I was on a highway heading to Canada,” she said harshly. “Don’t suppose he happened to tell you why that was?”

  His silence was answer enough. She grabbed the T-shirts stacked on the middle shelf and flicked a look toward Adam. “What?” She thrust the shirts in with the jeans and pointed at him. “What else haven’t you told me?”

  “Nothing that can’t wait.” Then he pulled out his cell phone.

  “No. No more pictures,” she begged. “No more videos.” She couldn’t take any more today.