Rhys's Redemption

by Anne McAllister

  She couldn’t say a word. Still. Her mind was in a whirl. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

  “You’re a great woman, Mariah. Pretty. Smart. Sensitive. You could probably have any guy you wanted. Even being pregnant. I know some guys aren’t keen on raising another guy’s kid. But whoever you picked… well, you could tell him he wouldn’t have to worry about the money. I’ll do that. I told you I would. So he wouldn’t be stuck, if you know what I mean. With expenses.” He sounded a little desperate now, as if he was tacking words on as they came to him, as if he wasn’t sure they made any sense, but he needed to say something.

  Mariah managed to shut her mouth.

  “Well?” Rhys said irritably. “What do you think?”

  She found her voice. She jerked open the door and held it wide. “I think,” she said through her teeth, “that you can go to hell, Rhys Wolfe. Get out!”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Like she would just go out and lasso a husband and drag him home!

  So some total stranger could take care of her—and some other man’s baby!

  No, not a man! As far as Mariah was concerned, Rhys Wolfe didn’t qualify as a man. Not even close! What a jerk!

  How dared he suggest such a thing?

  “You know I’m right, Mariah,” he said as she practically slammed the door against his backside as he went out.

  “The hell I do.” And she threw a book at the door while she could still hear his footsteps on the stairs. Then she called him every vile name she could think of.

  Finally she burst into tears.

  It was the first time she’d cried.

  Since she’d discovered she was pregnant, she’d thrown up. She’d been panic-stricken. She’d talked herself silly and worried herself sick.

  But she hadn’t cried—until now.

  It was hormones, she assured herself.

  It wasn’t Rhys. Rhys wasn’t worth crying over.

  But still the tears fell. Tears of frustration, of anger, of pure fury. Tears of misunderstanding and betrayal, of lost hope and shattered dreams. She cried until she was spent.

  And then she said to herself, “Buck up.” She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. She straightened up and made herself stare at her reflection in the mirror.

  A blotchy-faced thirty-one-year-old woman stared back.

  A woman with red eyes, a red nose and disheveled long brown hair. A woman who was by no stretch of the imagination pretty. She couldn’t imagine one man being thrilled to have her—let alone the droves of them Rhys seemed to think would be delighted.

  Rhys didn’t know what he was talking about.

  He was wrong about her being smart, too. If she were, she wouldn’t have got herself into this fix.

  Sensitive? Well, yes, she’d give him that one. It was because she’d been sensitive to his pain that she was expecting Rhys’s child.

  Her child. Not his. He didn’t want it. The more fool he.

  She cupped her slightly rounded belly. “Guess it’s just you and me, kiddo.” She tried to muster a watery smile. It was a struggle. She made herself stand there and look in the mirror until she was satisfied with it—satisfied that she looked strong and confident and brave.

  She stood there a very long time.

  And while she was there she realized it wasn’t just her and the baby. She had friends. She had family. She would have support—as soon as she filled them in.

  As it happened, her sister Sierra turned up on her doorstep the next morning before she had a chance.

  Mariah had got up early, determined to get her life on track, to begin as she meant to go on. She’d ended up in the bathroom with her head over the toilet, plagued by the morning sickness that the doctor promised would soon go away.

  It couldn’t be soon enough for her, Mariah had thought wearily and, clutching a cup of tea and a packet of soda crackers, she had gone back to bed.

  She’d stayed there until close to eleven. Lying on her back, reading a book, scribbling notes for an upcoming article, chastising her incipient child for the inconvenience.

  And the doorbell rang.

  She had a momentary qualm that it would be Rhys, then decided she didn’t care if it was. She was still a little queasy. She’d just make sure she aimed for his shoes. Smiling wanly at the thought, she opened the door.

  “Well, don’t let me get you up,” Sierra said, eyeing her sister’s tousled hair and oversized T-shirt that had obviously been slept in. “You look frowsier than I do.” Sierra’s spiky purple hair, spandex top and baggy khakis were all calculated, though.

  “I’m working,” Mariah lied. “I just didn’t comb my hair.”

  “Or get dressed.” Sierra clearly didn’t believe a word of it. She brushed past Mariah into the living room, then turned and regarded her sister frankly and appraisingly. “You know, I just noticed—you’re getting boobs.”

  “What!” Instinctively Mariah slapped her arms across her breasts and fixed her sister with a glare. She didn’t know what Sierra was doing here in the middle of the morning anyway, but she couldn’t believe her sister had come to check on the size of her breasts.

  An odd smell emanating from the bag in one of Sierra’s hands was making her feel a little queasy again.

  Sierra shrugged amiably. “Well, it could be that I don’t often see you braless in a T-shirt. But I really think you are.” She moved Mariah’s arms away from her unfettered breasts. “About time. What are you now? Thirty-two?”

  “Thirty-one,” Mariah corrected her frostily.

  “Whatever. If it can happen to you, I can pretend it’s not too late for me.” Sierra looked down, disgusted at her own nearly fiat chest banded in Day-Glo orange. “How’d you do it?”

  “I—” I’m not going to answer that, Mariah thought. What was that smell?

  “What’s the no bra bit?” Sierra asked. “You becoming a feminist? Developing some political gender consciousness?”

  Mariah sighed and raked her fingers through her hair. “I wasn’t going anywhere so I didn’t bother.”

  “One of the joys of getting to work at home,” Sierra agreed. “I envy you that. And your bigger boobs.”

  Would Sierra envy her sister the reason for her bigger breasts? Mariah wondered. She swayed a little and grabbed the back of a chair for support. “What are you doing here?”

  “We just finished up a shoot in the park,” Sierra said cheerfully, “and since I was in the neighborhood and I hadn’t seen you in a while I stopped at O’Toole’s and brought lunch.” She thrust the brown paper bag she’d been carrying into Mariah’s hands. “Your favorite.”

  The smell. Please, God, no. Don't let it be—

  “Corned beef and cabbage.” Sierra beamed, then gaped as Mariah dropped the bag and bolted. “Mariah? Mariah!”

  But Mariah was already in the bathroom, parting company with the tea and soda crackers.

  Her sister banged on the door. “Mariah? Are you all right?”

  “I’m f-fine,” Mariah managed as soon as she could get a breath. She slumped back on the cold tile, leaned against the tub and let her head drop forward between her knees. Her brain was doing slow, lazy rolls between her ears. Her stomach was trying to get a foothold somewhere in the middle of her guts.

  “Have you got the flu?” Sierra demanded. “Is that why you were still in bed?”

  “No.” Mariah struggled up. She stood hanging on to the sink, taking deep desperate breaths.

  “Mariah!”

  “I’m okay.” Three more deep breaths and Mariah washed her face. Then she brushed her teeth and tried to slap some color into her cheeks.

  She took a ragged breath and told herself she was fine.

  She was fine. This was normal. But she couldn’t open the door. Not until… “Could you, er, maybe take that… um… bag… outside?”

  “Done.”

  Mariah heard her sister’s footsteps retreat. She heard the front door open.

  She took a deep breath and then
another. “Fine,” she repeated. “I’m fine.” Just in case her stomach needed to hear it to be convinced.

  When she opened the door, Sierra was just coming back in, concern wreathing her face. She studied Mariah carefully, eyes narrow, head tilted, not speaking.

  The two of them looked at each other. Finally Mariah frowned. “What?”

  Sierra shook her head as if she’d thought of something, then rejected it. But then her gaze narrowed further. “Big boobs. Baggy T-shirts. Ralphing at the smell of corned beef. Mariah, are you pregnant!”

  And Mariah wrapped her arms across her middle again and met Sierra’s blue gaze defiantly. “What if I am?”

  “Oh, my God.” Sierra’s eyes almost popped out of her head. Her jaw sagged. “You are.”

  “So?” Mariah hugged herself tighter. “It’s not necessarily a bad thing!”

  “No, of course not! I just never thought it would be you who… I mean…” Sierra shook her head again, this time as if to clear it. “You were always the…” She didn’t finish that sentence either.

  It didn’t matter. Mariah knew what she’d been going to say.

  You were always the Goody Two-Shoes in the family. The one who never misstepped, who never colored outside the lines.

  And it was true, she hadn’t.

  Free-spirited, Day-Glo Sierra had done enough of that for both of them! And both sisters knew that, if a Kelly daughter were going to get pregnant in a less than acceptable situation, Sierra would have been the one expected to do it.

  “Well,” Sierra said now, blinking rapidly and not seeming to know what to do with her hands. She pasted on a bright smile. “This will take some getting used to. Who’s the lucky dad?”

  “Never mind.”

  “Never mind?” Sierra stared. Then, ignoring the quelling look Mariah gave her, she demanded, “Does he know?”

  “He knows.”

  “And?”

  Mariah gave her best negligent, disinterested shrug and tossed her head. “He’s not interested.”

  “What kind of idiot did you—?”

  “He’s not an idiot! Well, maybe he is.” Yes, he definitely was. “He just… doesn’t want to be a father.”

  “He should have thought of that before,” Sierra said acidly.

  “Drop it. Just… drop it, Sierra.”

  “But—”

  “Drop it.”

  Sierra didn’t look as if she was going to. Her mouth opened, then closed. She leaned against the wall and took a deep breath, then let it out. Finally she dropped it, only to change tack and ask, “Do the folks know?”

  “No one knows. But him. And now you.”

  Sierra digested that. A worried look crossed her face. “You’re not… not thinking about not having…”

  “No, I’m not! I intend to have this baby! And I’m going to keep him. Or her. There has never been any question about that!” She glared at her sister for even thinking such a thing.

  “Right,” Sierra agreed quickly. “I didn’t really think…” Of course she wouldn’t. She knew Mariah. One mistake would not be compounded by another far worse. Sierra scratched her head. She jammed her hands in those baggy pants that looked as if they might fall right off her narrow hips. She took one deep breath, and then another, coming to terms.

  Finally she rubbed her hands together briskly. “Well, good,” she said with a grin. “I’ve always wanted to be an aunt. How can I help?”

  Mariah blinked, her lashes suddenly damp. She flung her arms around her sister. “You just did.” She hadn’t realized how important her sister’s support would be until she had it. “Thank you.”

  Sierra gave her a hard hug. “My pleasure. You knew I would. You’ve always been there for me.”

  It was true. Mariah had always been there, defending her little sister’s right to be different. To spike her hair and dye it green or pink or purple. To wear Day-Glo and spandex with her Doc Martens boots when the rest of Kansas wore blue jeans.

  She’d stuck up for Sierra’s right to have a boyfriend with a tattoo on his nose, too. And for the one with the Harley and the chains and the gold-capped teeth.

  Sierra gave her one last squeeze, then stepped back and looked down at Mariah’s abdomen. “There is a hint,” she said thoughtfully. “And not just the boobs. You’re getting a tummy. And you’ve got a glow,” she said, studying her sister’s face. “Now that you’re not barfing, you look, well, radiant.” She smiled again. “So when’s it due?”

  “Six months.”

  Sierra did the math on her fingers. “A Christmas baby?”

  Mariah nodded. “That’s what the doctor says.”

  “Well, that will be a novel excuse not to go home for Christmas. Mom and Dad can come here.”

  “Do you think they would?” Mariah said sceptically. Their farmer parents gave New York City as wide a berth as possible.

  “Count on it. You know how bad Mom wants to be a grandma.”

  “But under the circumstances…”

  “They want our lives to be perfect, but they’ll just be thrilled we’re alive and well and that you’re giving them a grandchild. They’ll be here,” Sierra predicted.

  And Mariah took heart. Her parents were the salt of the earth. It was true, what Sierra said. They might wish Mariah had got pregnant under different circumstances, but she dared hope her parents would be supportive and welcome their first grandchild into their hearts.

  “Can you eat anything?” Sierra asked now, getting back to practicalities. “I’m starving. We started work at five.”

  Mariah smiled ruefully. “And I made you ditch your lunch.”

  “Doesn’t matter. You’ve got crackers? And peanut butter?” Sierra was already heading for the kitchen.

  Mariah followed. “I live on crackers. The doctor said the nausea will wear off soon, and it’s already getting better.” She sat while Sierra made them both a stack of peanut butter and crackers. Then her sister opened cans of ginger ale and cut a shiny red apple into dainty wedges and set it on a plate. Then she put it all on the table and sat down opposite Mariah.

  Mariah ate one cracker. She drank a little of the ginger ale. She ate another cracker, chewing stolidly. Sierra watched her warily and silently. Only when Mariah smiled and didn’t bolt for the bathroom did her sister breathe a sigh of relief.

  “Whew. So can you come to the Yankees game with Jeremy and me tonight?”

  Mariah blinked. “What?”

  “Well, if you’re not contagious…” Sierra shrugged. “Jeremy got tickets.”

  Jeremy, the Boyfriend of the Month, was a personal trainer to, among others, professional athletes and Broadway stars. “Four box seats, third base side, right behind the dugout,” Sierra tempted her. “What do you say?”

  “Um…”

  “You can bring a friend. How about the father of your child?”

  “No.”

  “All right. Bring Rhys.”

  The cracker choked her. “No!” Desperately Mariah swallowed her vehemence—and the cracker. She coughed desperately. Sierra whacked her on the back.

  “Okay now?” Sierra looked at her worriedly. “Why not Rhys? He’s come with us before.”

  Eyes watering, still trying to catch her breath, Mariah shook her head. “I just… don’t want… Rhys.”

  “I thought you and he were…” Her voice trailed off. Her gaze narrowed. She tilted her head and considered her sister speculatively.

  Mariah tried to ignore it. She shrugged. “I just don’t want him.”

  Sierra shrugged. “Fine. All right. No Rhys. You can take the ticket and invite somebody else.” She dug in her pocket and thrust the ticket at Mariah.

  “I don’t know anyone—”

  “Or not,” Sierra said, brooking no arguments. “But you’re coming.”

  “I—”

  She fixed Mariah with the same challenging stare she’d had since they were little girls back in Emporia. “Dare you.”

  Well, of course there wa
s no choice after that.

  * * * * *

  Rhys was hosing off the front stoop when Sierra came out the front door.

  He’d always liked Mariah’s sister, even though he was glad Mariah herself didn’t go for international orange Day-Glo, Doc Martens, and purple body parts.

  He stopped hosing and grinned at her. “Hey, Sierra. How’s it going?”

  “You bastard,” she said. Her Doc Marten nailed him in the shin.

  The trouble with living in the garden apartment was that a guy could always see what was going on. He could sit there trying to watch the news after the Yankees game and notice people coming and going to the apartments upstairs.

  He could tell without even trying who they were.

  He could hear a feminine laugh and know it immediately. Mariah always sounded so happy, so upbeat when she laughed. Then he heard another eager female talking and recognized Sierra’s breathy voice. He didn’t know the masculine voice of the third person waiting on the stoop while Mariah fished for her key. He supposed he was Sierra’s date.

  Nice of Sierra to take Mariah along when she went out on a date.

  Nice to know Sierra had a redeeming feature, Rhys thought sourly, rubbing his shin, still sore from its encounter with her boot that afternoon.

  He’d wondered if she knew. He knew now.

  Outside he heard Sierra say “home run,” and the guy say “bottom of the ninth.” Mariah said, “Incredible. Fantastic. Perfect.”

  So they’d been at the game. And she hadn’t asked him to come along.

  Not that he expected her to. Or wanted her to. He didn’t.

  It was just, damn it, it was the sort of thing they used to do together!

  He’d taken her to her first major league ball game three years ago. He’d introduced her to the Yankees, for heaven’s sake!

  And now she was going without him.

  You should be glad, he reminded himself. Maybe she’d meet a man. Hell, maybe she’d meet a Yankee. Maybe some hotshot ballplayer would sweep her off her feet, carry her away and marry her, become the father for her child.

  The thought didn’t make him as happy as it ought to have.