CHEROKEE BABY

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  Hell. He had no idea what she wanted, and he wouldn't know until he asked her.

  Fifteen minutes later Bobby returned to the cabin, stalling when he reached the porch. He couldn't just barge in, even if it was his house.

  He knocked on the door, lightly at first and then a little harder.

  Julianne answered with an apprehensive smile. She'd changed into a filmy dress and a pair of strappy sandals. Her hair looked freshly combed, as bright as fire and as straight as rain.

  "Thank you for the groceries, Bobby. They arrived a few hours ago."

  He entered the cabin. "Did you eat?"

  She nodded. "I had a snack, but I'm about ready for dinner. Do you want to join me?"

  "Sure." He wasn't overly hungry, but talking over a meal might be easier.

  She stepped a little closer. "How about some pasta? A salad? Maybe some garlic bread?"

  "Sounds good."

  They headed for the kitchen and he stopped when he saw the table. She'd picked some leafy flowers and arranged them in a drinking glass.

  "I looked for a vase, but I couldn't find one," she said.

  "I guess I don't have one."

  "I put a bouquet in the bedroom, too."

  He went to the fridge, found the salad fixings. He didn't want to imagine her sleeping in his bed, sliding under his covers, resting her head on his pillow.

  She opened several cans of tomato paste and started the sauce from scratch, adding fresh herbs the chef's assistant had probably gathered.

  He turned and her shoulder brushed his side. Just a slight touch, a breeze, a whisper. Yet he felt it everywhere, in the center of his chest, down his stomach, beneath his zipper.

  "Rigatoni?"

  "What?"

  "Do you want rigatoni? Or would you prefer something lighter, like angel hair?"

  She looked like an angel, he thought. An Irish angel, with flaming hair. Angel hair. Devil hair. He couldn't be sure. "Let's go for rigatoni."

  Side by side, they prepared the meal. She hummed while she cooked and he realized she did so unconsciously. He supposed she would hum to the baby, too.

  He glanced at her stomach, wondered if the little Cherokee was the size of a peanut. Or a walnut. Or maybe a bean.

  Embryos resembled kidney beans, didn't they? Nearly five weeks had passed since Julianne had conceived, but Bobby had no idea what was taking place in her womb.

  His child already had a soul, but did it have fingers? Toes? Were tiny organs already forming? The heart? The kidneys? Or was it too soon for any of that?

  Julianne probably knew. Most likely, the doctor had told her.

  Determined to keep busy, Bobby worked on the salad. He opened a bag of prewashed greens and dumped the lettuce into a bowl.

  Rinsing a handful of cherry tomatoes, he stole a glance at Julianne. She looked healthier than she had when she'd first arrived at the ranch, but he supposed her stomach had settled.

  She started humming again, stirring the sauce with a big wooden spoon.

  For a moment he just stood, watching her. He'd heard somewhere that babies listened to outside noises from the womb, reacting to their parents' voices, recognizing them later.

  It had sounded a little odd at the time, but now he wondered if it were true. There was so much he didn't know; so much he still had to learn.

  Maybe he should stop by the library later and pick up a book about prenatal development.

  No maybe about it. That was exactly what he was going to do. He needed to learn about his baby, to start being a father, even in the simplest way.

  "Do you have a colander?" she asked, interrupting his thoughts.

  He reached above the stove and removed the item she requested. She drained the pasta and completed their meal.

  The garlic bread came out of the oven at the same time the rigatoni got smothered in marina sauce and, within minutes, they sat across from each other.

  He glanced at the bouquet on the table, at the makeshift vase, at the simple beauty Julianne had created.

  It seemed out of sync. But so did the idea of her staying in his cabin, sleeping in a bed that served him each night.

  Would her perfume linger on his sheets? The fragrance he couldn't seem to forget? Violets, spun sugar and bare skin.

  Before his mind delved too deeply into memories, he started a conversation, asking the questions that plagued him. "What are you going to do, Julianne? What are your plans?"

  "About the baby?"

  He nodded and took a bite of his salad, the marriage fear creeping back in.

  She tasted her salad, too. "I'm going to need a bigger place, so when I get back home, I'll start hunting for a two-bedroom apartment." She skewered a cucumber slice. "And once I start my new job, I'll talk to my employer. I plan to work for as long as I can, but eventually I'll have to take a short maternity leave."

  "None of that involves me," he pointed out.

  "I can't make plans that involve you, Bobby."

  "I know. But you came all the way to Texas. You must want something from me."

  She glanced down at her plate, then looked up, her voice soft. Maternal. "I was hoping you'd keep in touch, that you'd come to Pennsylvania when the baby is born. And maybe come back once in a while after that."

  Bobby's chest constricted. All Julianne wanted was for him to get to know their child, to visit when he could, to make routine phone calls.

  Simple, caring things. Things an out-of-town father should do. Things Cam had never done with Michael.

  "That's not a problem." If anything, it seemed too easy, as if it wasn't enough. "I'm going to try to be a father."

  She gave him a relieved smile and Bobby froze.

  He sat like a statue, like an undeserving pillar of salt. Apparently, Julianne had been unsure of him, uncertain if he would come through for their child.

  He'd been worried about being guilt-tripped into marriage and she'd been worried about her baby having a long-distance dad.

  God, that made him feel like a bastard.

  "What about child support?" he asked. "Something to help pay for the bigger apartment and whatever else you'll need before the baby arrives."

  "This isn't about money."

  "Money is important, Julianne." All of it mattered, he thought. Financial, emotional and spiritual security.

  "Of course it's important." She fidgeted with her salad. She still hadn't eaten the cucumber slice she'd speared. "But I'm sure your lawyer will advise you to take a paternity test before you offer any kind of support."

  He frowned at her. "If you say the baby's mine, then it's mine. I'm not going to challenge you. Nor will I allow an attorney to do so."

  She put her fork down and cradled her stomach, and he sensed how much his words meant to her. Clearly she needed him to trust her, to believe she was honest and forthright.

  Suddenly he wanted to hold her, to guide her head to his shoulder. But he knew he couldn't. That would only remind him of the night they'd kissed.

  Caressed. Made love.

  Their eyes met and he inhaled a breath. Julianne was glowing, the way pregnant women were supposed to. Her skin had taken on a translucent quality, and her hair shone like magic, like crimson wine.

  At this strange, mystifying moment, she was more beautiful than she had ever been.

  Because of the baby, he thought. The tiny life he'd given her.

  Bobby cleared his throat and reached for his water. No wonder some men boasted about making women pregnant, about the potency of their seed.

  Arousal was just a heartbeat away, pounding in his loins.

  His fertile loins.

  Once again, their gazes sought, met, mated. A look that transgressed who they'd been, what they'd become.

  Strangers, lovers, expectant parents.

  "You should eat," he said, pointing to her still-full plate.

  "You, too," she responded.

  They finished their meal in silence.

  * * *

  After d
inner, Julianne and Bobby sat on the porch. The air was warm yet breezy and the setting sun descended behind the hills, melting into jagged cliffs and grassy shadows.

  He sipped a cup of coffee and she ate a bowl of vanilla ice cream. He'd refused dessert, but she recalled that he rarely indulged in sweets.

  He was a controlled man, a man who didn't act on impulse. But he appeared to be kind, as well. After just one day, the baby had begun to matter to him. Or so it seemed. She couldn't be sure what was going on in his mind.

  He turned to look at her, and she studied his features: the strong jaw and high, slanted cheekbones, the slightly aquiline nose, the firm, serious mouth.

  She envisioned their child with his coloring, with his rich, copper skin and straight, dark hair.

  "Did you tell anyone about the baby?" she asked.

  He lifted his coffee and took a sip. "No. I wanted to tell my nephew, but he took off somewhere. Does your family know?"

  "I haven't mentioned it to my parents yet. They're rather old-fashioned and I doubt they will be particularly happy about it." She pictured her mom and dad in their proper little house, with its simple beige trim and carefully mowed lawn, worried about what the neighbors would think.

  "Because you're not married?"

  "Yes."

  He lowered his cup, kept his eyes on hers. "My parents were traditionalists, too."

  "Were?"

  "They're gone now, along with everyone else. Michael is the only family I have left."

  Gone. He meant dead, she realized. "Was Michael's mother your sister?"

  "No." He seemed surprised by her assumption. "His father was my older brother. But Cam died a long time ago."

  "Did you and Cam grow up here?" she asked. She knew so little about Bobby, about the father of her child.

  Once again, he seemed surprised. And, once again, she realized she'd made the wrong assumption.

  "No. This is Michael's homeland. He and his mother lived in an old farmhouse she'd inherited from her family. Michael's mother was white, a descendant from German immigrants who'd settled in the area."

  She waited, hoping he would offer more information.

  "Michael's mother contacted me about six months before she died. My nephew was thirteen and it was the first I'd heard of him. I didn't know my brother had a son."

  Stunned, Julianne glanced at the hills, at the sky turning a dark, mottled shade of blue. "Did Cam know he had a son?"

  Bobby released an audible breath. "Yes, he knew. But he didn't have anything to do with Michael. Cam wasn't the dad type." He paused, set his coffee on a small wooden table near his chair. "It wasn't an easy time. My brother was already gone and I was faced with a dying woman and a rebellious teenager."

  "Did Michael's mother ask you to take care of him?"

  He nodded. "She knew she was dying and she didn't have any family left. If I hadn't stepped in, Michael would have been orphaned. He would have ended up in a foster home somewhere."

  Julianne glanced at her ice cream, noticed it melting in her bowl. "You keep inheriting children, don't you?"

  "So it seems." He looked at her tummy, smiled a little. "But I made the one you're carrying."

  Yes, she thought. He'd planted the gift in her womb, the baby she'd always dreamed about.

  For a while they remained quiet. Julianne sighed and the sound melded with the moment, with the grass and the trees and the tall, leafy flowers.

  "What was her name?" she asked.

  "Who?"

  "Michael's mother."

  "Celeste."

  "Was she pretty?"

  "She was ill when I met her. Pale and thin."

  Suddenly, Julianne's heart went out to the woman who'd died, the woman who'd asked Bobby to raise her son. "Was she in love with your bother?"

  Bobby reached for his coffee. "I don't know. She met Cam at the diner where she worked. And whenever he was on his way to a rodeo in this area, he would spend the night at her house. But after she told him she was pregnant, he never came back."

  Julianne imagined Celeste with blond hair and blue eyes, with a smile that had turned sad. "She must have been so lonely, waiting for him to return. Hoping and praying he would he a father to their baby."

  Bobby frowned into his cup and she realized her words had hit too close to home.

  She couldn't take them back, so she just sat, stirring her melting ice cream.

  "I'm sorry if I made you feel bad earlier," he said. "I wasn't very nice about our baby when you first told me, but I was nervous. I guess I still am."

  "Me, too," she admitted.

  He lifted his gaze. "I never imagined being in this position."

  She understood what he meant. He'd never imagined having a child with a woman he barely knew.

  She wondered if he had intended to have children with his wife, but she couldn't bring herself to ask. Not after she'd rummaged through his cabin, looking for a photograph of the woman he'd married.

  For now, it was easier talking about Celeste, focusing on her tragic tale instead of picturing Bobby with his wife.

  "Does Michael still live in his mother's old farmhouse?"

  "Yes, he does. You can see it from this hill."

  "I don't recall seeing a house from here."

  He pointed to a copse of trees. "It's that way, through the oaks. Come on, I'll show you."

  He reached for her hand and when their fingers connected, her skin tingled. Suddenly she felt warm and alive, as if the sun had slid through her body and into her veins.

  They walked across the grass and he guided her through a maze of old, gnarled trees. He released her hand, but the heat remained.

  They stopped near the edge of the hill and in the valley below, a patriotic spray of blue flowers led to a red-and-white farmhouse.

  Now Julianne would envision Bobby there tonight, while she was here, at his sequestered cabin.

  How many nights since they'd made love had she thought of him? Dreamed of him? Stripped off her clothes and relived his touch, his taste, his scent?

  The orgasm he'd given her.

  "I'm from Oklahoma," he said.

  She blinked, tried to grasp his words. "I'm sorry? What?"

  "You asked earlier if Cam and I grew up around here. I told you this was Michael's homeland, but I never mentioned where Cam and I spent our childhood."

  His statement settled in her brain. "Oklahoma."

  He nodded.

  "Were you happy there?"

  "As happy as any poor Indian kid could be." She thought about the Cherokee rose, about the legend of his ancestors. "How did you build this ranch, Bobby? How did a poor Indian kid end up with all of this? Did you make it big in the rodeo?"

  "I did all right. Better than most," he added. "But quite honestly, rodeo cowboys earn considerably less than other professional athletes, so I lived modestly and invested just about everything I made. I have a natural talent for finance, I suppose. Eventually I was able to buy income property. Not here, but in Oklahoma. By the time I was thirty, I owned quite a few apartment buildings."

  "And you sold them to buy Elk Ridge?"

  "Yes, but in spite of my financial success, I wasn't ready to retire. I loved the rodeo." He shrugged, brushing away his past. "But I had a nephew to raise and I couldn't take him on the road with me. Michael needed roots. And these hills were his heart, his home."

  "Is that why you decided to build a guest ranch?"

  "Yes, but the concept wasn't my idea. Celeste had weaned Michael on it. The whole kit and caboodle had been their dream." The wind blew, rustling leaves on trees, sending a few falling to the ground. "So eventually, it became mine, too."

  He gazed out at the red-and-white farmhouse. "Michael didn't see me as his savior, though. He resented me for everything. For being Cam's brother, for trying to make him respect his heritage, for disciplining him after his mother died. That kid was a serious pain in the ass."

  Julianne couldn't help but laugh. Bobby laughed, too, and the
sound rose like a song.

  Suddenly she wanted to kiss him, to press her mouth to his, to unbraid his hair and let it flow through her fingers.

  "I should get you back to the cabin," he said. "It'll be dark soon."

  She looked at him in the waning light. This man who'd made her pregnant. Little by little, she was learning bits and pieces about him.

  They cut through the trees and reached the porch just as the sun disappeared behind the hills.

  Bobby glanced at his truck and she knew he would be leaving soon.

  "I forgot to give you the number of where I'll be tonight," he said.

  "I'll get a pen and paper." She went inside and returned with the tablet that contained the information he'd written down earlier.

  He scratched out the phone number. "Call if you need anything."

  What she needed was him, warm and strong against her body. Just one emotional embrace, one reminder of the intimacy they'd shared.

  He shifted his stance, glanced at his truck again. "I guess I better go."

  "Okay." Julianne held the pen and paper, not knowing what else to say.

  What would happen after she went back home? Would they struggle to make conversation on the phone? Would they drift apart until the baby was born?

  He reached out and, for a moment, she thought he was going to brush her cheek or maybe slip his fingers through her hair.

  But he pulled back and jammed both of his hands into his pockets.

  Leaving her aching for his touch.

  * * *

  Chapter 7

  «^»

  Bobby entered his nephew's house and seventy-five pounds of black squirming fur greeted him at the door.

  He gazed at Michael's dog and chuckled. Chester was about the ugliest canine in existence. His coat was curly in spots and long and coarse in others. His snout came to a point and his eyes drooped. And those ears. Dumbo would've had a good laugh over Chester.

  The mutt whined and Bobby petted him. Apparently Michael wasn't home. If he were, Chester wouldn't be bugging Bobby for attention.

  He headed for the guest room, with Chester tromping beside him, his elephant ears flapping.

  Bobby leaned his crutches against the wall and tossed his duffel bag on the bed. After unpacking, he placed the book he'd just acquired on the nightstand. He'd made it to the library before it closed and he intended to settle in for the night and read about his kid. He'd found a six-hundred-and-fifty-page hardback about child development, from conception to adolescence. Which, he decided, just about covered it.