"What about the job?"
She tasted her tea. "It interests me. I think it's a wonderful opportunity."
"Good."
"There's more."
"All right." He leaned forward. He sensed this was the part making her nervous, the condition keeping her awake at night.
"I agree that we should concentrate on being friends. But if things don't work out, I want the option to go back home."
His chest tightened. "I'm on probation?"
"No. That's not how I mean it." Her voice turned soft. "I'm really happy that you want to help raise the baby, and that's why I'm willing to move here. But I can't guarantee this situation will work. It's such a monumental change."
And she was apprehensive. Because of their awkward relationship, he decided. Because of the one-night stand neither of them could seem to forget. "It will take some time, Julianne."
"I know. But I just want you to understand how I feel."
He merely nodded. Their situation had to work. The child needed them. Both of them.
He summoned a smile. "We're going to be great parents."
She smiled, too. And when she drew her legs up, the cropped pajama top rode a little higher.
He wondered when it would be appropriate to touch her tummy. When he could ask without it seeming sexual.
"What should I do about my car?"
He cleared his throat. "Your car?"
"I can't drive it to Texas. I don't want to tackle a trip like that. Not by myself."
Of course not, he thought, realizing they had details to discuss. "I'll hire a company to transport your car. I'll arrange for the moving van, as well."
"Thank you. I don't intend to bring much. I'll probably put most of my furniture in storage." She paused and glanced around his cabin, as if envisioning the one she would be living in. "I want to get settled first."
"That makes sense. You can always send for things later." He glanced around the room, too. "I'm sorry I can't show you the place you'll be living in. It's still being occupied."
"That's all right."
Should he tell her more about the cabin that was to become her home? Or should he wait until she moved in?
He would wait, he decided. And then he would mention it casually. He didn't want her to know how much emotional effort it took for him to invite her to stay in his old house.
The bright, roomy cabin he had shared with his wife.
"Do you have someone to help you pack?" he asked when he caught her watching him.
She nodded. "My cousins."
"How long will it be before you come back, Julianne?"
"A few weeks. Maybe a little longer. I'll call you when I'm sure."
"Okay."
They talked for a while longer and, finally, he rose, knowing it was time to leave.
She came to her feet and walked him to the door. When she glanced up at him, his heart went soft. She still looked a little pale. Tired yet somehow pretty.
"Thank you," he said.
"For agreeing to move here?"
He nodded. "And for choosing to have my child."
She took a breath, wrapped her arms around her middle. "I've always wanted a baby."
"I know. But I'm still grateful."
"You're welcome, Bobby," she said after a beat of silence.
He met her gaze and they stared at each other, the uncertainty of their future stretching between them.
"I'll keep in touch," he told her.
"Me, too."
He walked out onto the porch, anxious for her to return to Texas.
And, God willing, to stay.
* * *
Chapter 8
«^»
Three weeks had passed, but Julianne was still in Pennsylvania.
She looked around her bedroom and sighed. Between fighting bouts of morning sickness and a cold she'd contracted, she'd barely made a dent in packing.
Boxes, in all shapes and sizes, littered the floor. Even with her cousins's help, deciding what to ship to Texas and what to store wasn't an easy task.
But then, none of this was easy. She was moving away from everything familiar. She'd grown up in Clearville. This tiny town was all she knew.
And now there was Bobby.
He called a few times a week. Their conversations were a little shy, a little quiet, but they were sort of sexy, too.
She touched her tummy, felt her heartbeat quicken. He asked about changes in her body, and when she answered his questions, she sometimes visualized him, his shirt untucked, his jeans unzipped.
Julianne reached for a medium-size box she'd just packed and labeled it. Then she glanced at the clock: 11:00 p.m. It was earlier in Texas, but only by an hour.
Was Bobby getting ready for bed? Had he showered yet? She could call him. She could climb under the covers and listen to his voice.
Was fantasizing on the phone wrong? Or was it a safe way to relieve the tension? To get him out of her system before she moved to Texas?
Her fear of living at Elk Ridge still weighed heavily on her mind. If her desire for Bobby escalated, she would get trapped in a sexually charged situation, wanting him every moment of the day.
Which wouldn't do her a bit of good when she was waddling around in maternity clothes with a swollen belly and fat ankles.
So call him, she thought. Get wild on the phone, and then settle down in Texas like a good little pregnant girl.
She removed her pajama bottoms and climbed into bed, wearing only the silky top and a pair of cotton panties. Should she turn down the light? Make the room more romantic?
Maybe just a little. She dimmed the three-way bulb and took a deep breath.
And then she dialed Bobby's number.
"Hello?"
He answered on the third ring and she stalled, debating whether or not to hang up, to let this foolish fantasy go.
"Hello?" he said again.
"Hi." Her voice came out in a near whisper.
"Julianne?" His voice softened, too. "You sound sleepy."
She inhaled another breath. "I'm in bed. But I just wanted to call to…"
To…
"To what?" he asked.
Good heavens. What was she going to say? She didn't know how to do this.
"Nothing," she told him, chickening out.
"You called for nothing." His tone grew stronger, deeper. "What's going on?"
She pulled the sheet to her chin. "My hormones are messed up."
"You're pregnant. That's normal."
Normal? What did he know?
"I called you to have phone sex," she blurted, afraid she might cry. Or scream. Or curl into a ball and die.
He cleared his throat, coughed, then cleared his throat again. "Really? I mean … that's why you called?" He paused, coughed again.
The man couldn't quit choking and she was half naked and feeling like an idiot.
Should she hang up? Say "I'm sorry"? Apologize for being flighty and emotional?
"Have you ever done it before?" he asked suddenly.
She dropped the sheet, felt her pulse pound. "No. Have you?"
"No." He cleared his throat again. "Do you want to go first?"
Julianne reached for her pillow. "Go first?"
"Start the foreplay."
A shiver crept up her spine. Say something naughty? Just out of the blue? With him waiting? "I don't think I can." She sucked in her bottom lip, tasted her own saliva. "Maybe you should go first."
"Me?" His breath rushed out. "I'm not very good at this kind of thing."
Julianne sat up. "Then maybe we shouldn't do it. Maybe we should just have a normal conversation instead."
He made a gulping sound and she knew he'd gone to the kitchen to guzzle some water. Or possibly a beer.
"Okay," he said, swallowing. Hard. Much too hard. "But I can't think of anything to talk about right now. Can you?"
"No." She turned the light back up. Was his shirt unbuttoned? Were his jeans undone?
He too
k another drink and she knew it was beer. She could hear him sucking on the bottle, slaking his thirst as quickly as possible.
"I was packing," she said finally.
"Oh. Is your cold better?"
"Yes, it's completely gone."
"How's our baby?"
"Fine. I think my tummy's getting bigger." And so were her breasts. Already they were sore, her nipples hard and achy.
"I can't wait until you get here. I want to see you, Julianne."
"I want to see you, too." She pictured him dark and handsome, looking the way she remembered him, with his hair plaited into a single braid.
"Is it warm there?" he asked.
"Yes." Suddenly her pulse pounded again. Everywhere. At her wrists, against the side of her neck, between her legs. "It's sort of hot and sticky."
"Here, too," he said.
Julianne closed her eyes and Bobby drank his beer again. She could hear him swallowing, tasting the liquid, letting it slide down his throat.
Aroused, she held the phone closer to her ear and then imagined rubbing it against her pulse, against the pounding between her legs.
She wanted Bobby there, hard and thick. Hot and sticky.
"Julianne?"
"Yes?"
"I want you to come."
She opened her eyes, nearly lost her breath. "Come?"
"To Texas. Soon."
She loosened her grip on the phone, smiled a little. He knew exactly how to play this game. "You're an evil man, Bobby Elk."
He had the gall to groan. "I didn't say that on purpose."
"Yes, you did." And she adored him for it. He'd broken the tension – for both of them. "I think we should hang up and pretend this never happened."
"So your hormones are okay now?"
"Yes."
"Are you sure? Because if you want to mess around some more, we could have cyber sex." He lowered his voice. "You have an e-mail address, don't you?"
Oh, she thought, glancing at her computer. It was tempting.
"Good night, Bobby."
"'Night, pretty mommy. You sleep tight."
"I will." She ended the call, anxious to return to Texas and be friends with the father of her baby.
Warm, tender, flirtatious friends.
* * *
On the day Julianne arrived in Texas, her heart wouldn't quit pounding. Bobby had picked her up at the airport, and now they drove back to the ranch, nearing their destination.
Her new home.
Bobby glanced her way, then turned back to the road. "You look good, Julianne."
"Thank you. So do you." Better than good. He wasn't wearing a hat and she was graced with an unobstructed view of his profile – the tiny lines near his eyes, the distinguished gray at his temples.
She hadn't forgotten how handsome he was, but seeing him again – in the flesh – made her want to touch him.
Which, she knew, wouldn't be a smart thing to do. Not now. Not this soon.
Maybe later today she could hold his hand or give him a platonic hug. Later, when her heart quit pounding.
They'd greeted each other at the airport with genuine smiles, but they hadn't embraced. And now she wondered if Bobby was nervous, too.
He turned onto a long, country road that led to Elk Ridge. Trees lined the path and shrubs bloomed with color. The hills, the power of the Texas Hill Country, rose in the distance.
"It's so pretty here," she said.
He nodded. "I used to camp in hills all the time. Sleep beneath the stars."
"Used to?"
He shrugged. "I still do, just not as often."
Because it required more effort, she realized. The loss of his leg had taken some of the ease from his life, some of the simplicity.
"I've never been camping," she said.
Bobby shot her a surprised look. "Never?"
"Nope."
"Not once in forty years?"
She laughed. "No. And thank you for reminding me how old I am."
He laughed, too. "Hey, I'm in my forties, too. Remember?"
Because she got a sudden urge to stroke the gray in his hair, she folded her hands on her lap. "It's easier for men. They age better."
"Says who?"
"Everyone. It's a known fact."
"That's a load of crap." He braked at a stop sign and waited for a flatbed pickup, transporting bales of hay, to pass. "Men and women age the same. And in my culture, we honor our elders. There's nothing shameful about growing old."
Tell that to the media, she thought. To the advertising moguls who promoted youth and beauty. "You didn't like turning forty. At least that's what you told me before."
He started across the empty intersection. "I was going through a rough time. It wasn't getting old that bothered me."
Suddenly it hit her. His wife had probably died near his fortieth birthday. "I'm sorry, Bobby."
"We all go through rough times."
He shrugged off his pain, a little too easily, and she sensed his wife was still a guarded subject.
Maybe in time, he would open up and share his feelings. Wasn't that what true friendships were based on? Honesty? Emotion? Long, quiet hours of heartfelt talks?
"My grandmother lived to be ninety-three," he said, pulling her back into their earlier conversation.
"Really? And here I am, griping about being forty. Maybe if I were Cherokee, I'd have some pride in the aging process."
"You've got some Cherokee blood in you," he said.
She gave him a perplexed look. "I do?"
"Yeah." He grinned and motioned to her lap. "You're carrying my kid, aren't you?"
She smiled and touched her stomach. "Yes, I am."
And that was why she was here, moving to Texas, starting a new life.
Within ten minutes they reached Elk Ridge Ranch. He steered the truck past the lodge, took another small road and parked in front of an impressive cabin.
The windows were tall and paned, trimmed with flower boxes overflowing with summer blooms. A jutting redwood deck offered a stone hearth for outdoor warmth and cozy table to enjoy the elements.
Julianne couldn't wait to see the interior. "This is beautiful, Bobby." A cabin that appeared to he transformed into a homestead.
He unlocked the door and they stepped inside.
Cathedral-like ceilings arched in a wooden dome and sunlight spilled across hardwood floors. The living room presented Aztec prints and lodgepole pine furnishings.
She headed for the kitchen and found an equal dose of charm. Copper pots, modern appliances and bold, bright colors were mixed with warm, rustic woods.
She turned and saw Bobby standing behind her.
"I assume you like it," he said.
Like it? She loved it. "I can't believe I'm going to live here."
"There are three bedrooms, two baths, a den, a breakfast nook and a formal dining room." He motioned to the back door. "The mudroom is that way."
"I'm overwhelmed. What's in here?" She peeked into a small room off the kitchen and discovered a pantry with a long counter and a small sink.
"This was originally built for drying herbs," Bobby said as he followed her into the tidy workspace.
"It's perfect. I can dry flowers. I can make my own potpourri." She smiled at him. "I dried the Cherokee rose." Like a crush-crazed teenager, she'd kept it as a memento, a reminder of the man who'd given it to her.
"You wear the bracelet, too," he remarked, glancing at her wrist.
"Yes." Julianne fingered the slim gold chain. She never took it off. "It suits me. And so does this cabin." She went back to the kitchen and leaned against a butcher-block isle. "This is some guest accommodation."
Bobby merely shrugged. "It used to be my house."
"Your house?" She tried to contain the shock jarring her bones. "When?"
"I had this cabin built soon after Michael turned eighteen. I lived in his farmhouse when I was raising him, but he wasn't a minor anymore." Bobby paused, hooked his thumbs on the waistband of h
is jeans. "He was an adult, and he was bringing girls home to spend the night. Staying with him was getting awkward."
"Were you married then?"
"No."
"So you met your wife later? After you built this place?"
"Yes."
"And now you live somewhere else," she said, pressing him for more information than he seemed inclined to give.
"After my wife died, I burned her belongings and moved to a smaller cabin."
Julianne's breath hitched. "You burned—"
"It's the traditional Cherokee way," he explained before she could finish. He gazed past her. "Most of this furniture is mine. Or it was. I decided to leave it here."
"So for the past three years, your former home has been used as a rental for the ranch?"
"It's no big deal."
But it was, she thought. He'd exchanged a bright, airy house for darkness and seclusion. "Did you build the cabin you live in now?"
"Yes, but not for me, specifically. All of the guest cabins are somewhat remote. The folks who rent them are looking for an escape from the city."
"And those who want luxury stay at the lodge," she added. "Or they stay here."
"Exactly. But this place is yours now, Julianne. Yours and the baby's."
"I'll take good care of it," she said, wondering about Bobby's wife, the lady who'd lived here before her.
"How long were you married?" she asked.
"A year."
"Was she Cherokee?"
"Yes," he answered without blinking. His eyes were shielded, his feelings hidden. "She was."
Suddenly, Julianne envied his wife – the woman who'd shared his culture, his name, his heart.
Dear God, she thought. She envied a dead woman?
"Do you want to see the rest of the house?" he asked, changing the subject.
"Okay." She knew her voice was quiet, but she couldn't help the emotion crowding her soul. Bobby had burned his wife's belongings and moved out of his home, yet he continued to wear a gold band on his finger.
A ring that still made him seem married.
A few minutes later he showed her the den, where most of the boxes she'd shipped were being stored.
"I'll help you unpack," he said. "But I'm sure you'd like to rest. We can get to it later."
"That's fine."
When they entered a large, artfully decorated guest room, Bobby gestured broadly. "This can be the nursery. We can ditch all this stuff and start over."
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