She couldn’t either. “I’d thought you’d lied. Thought you hadn’t left town, that you’d broken up with me because you had another girlfriend. I saw the two of you at Pinion’s and—”
“So it’s my fault?”
“No.” She had to swipe away the tears in order to clear her vision enough to see him. “It was—When Donald told me you were at Pinion’s, I didn’t believe him at first, but then—”
“You thought I lied, but you believed him.” His hands were still in the air and he ran both of them through his hair. “Then slept with him. Got pregnant by him.”
His sarcasm tore at her already crushing heart. “I was going to tell you.”
“Really? When?”
“When we got home.”
Skepticism filled his face.
“I was. I just—” She shook her head, swiped at the tears. “I never wanted you to find out. Never wanted him to find out. Never wanted anyone to know.”
“So you hide out upstate, not caring at all about anyone who might have wondered what happened to you?”
“Yes.” Why couldn’t he understand? “I had to think about Emily! I’m her mother. She’s my daughter. Mine! No one else’s!”
He looked at her for a long, still moment. “If by some odd chance, Emily had been my baby, would you have ever told me? Or would you just have run off and hidden? Hidden from life then, too?”
She stared at him, momentarily dumbfounded. If Emily would have been his baby, everything would have been different. Right from the start. None of this would be happening now.
“So that’s your answer? Silence?”
“No.” She shook her head, trying to find the right words. “I mean—”
“You really weren’t the girl I thought I knew.” He spun around. “I need to leave.”
She wanted to run, catch up with him, beg him to stay, but he was right. She hadn’t been the girl he’d thought he’d known.
The door slammed shut so hard her insides rattled.
There was nothing for her to do, except sink to the floor and curl into a ball to combat the pain overtaking her.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The pain was still there the next morning, and to Jenny, that simply meant it hadn’t killed her overnight.
She hadn’t wanted that. To die. She had Emily to think about.
That’s what she’d done most of the night, thought about her daughter, still was as she’d stood at the window, watching the sun rise up over the city. A city she wished she’d never come to, and one she couldn’t wait to leave.
She would leave soon.
Just had to take care of something else, first.
It wouldn’t be pleasant, but she had to protect her daughter at all costs. She also wanted her to grow up into a strong, resilient woman. Within a little more than a decade, Emily would be a grown woman, and needed to know that her mother had fought for what she believed in at all costs.
Even though it had meant losing the love of her life.
Already dressed, because Lord knows she didn’t sleep last night, Jenny watched the clock. As soon as the hour hand clicked on the seven and the minute hand paused on the twelve, she picked up the phone and dialed the front desk.
Once two buildings, that had been merged into one, the hotel hosted more than thirteen hundred guest rooms, and one entire floor of the more than fifteen-stories-high building had been dedicated to government officials.
Because it was so dry, Jenny’s tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth as the elevator took her upward, and each clang of the cage, as it climbed past another floor, made her stomach clench tighter. To think that Donald had been in the same building since she’d arrived in the city made her want to throw up. She could have run into him in one of the restaurants or hallways.
Anger at herself for how gullible, but also how vengeful she’d been back then, grew amongst the storm of other emotions that had swarmed inside her all night. It was like there was a tidal wave inside her, pushing to get out.
When the elevator stopped, and the attendant, a young, hotel-uniformed man, held the door open, she nodded at him and stepped into the hallway. Her feet made no sounds as she walked along the long, carpeted hallway, checking the numbers on the doors as she moved.
Finding the number given to her over the phone by the front desk, she quickly rapped on the door with her knuckles, knowing if she paused long enough to think, she might back out. That couldn’t happen.
The door flung open. “Meals need to be—”
The man stopped talking as his eyes gave her a head-to-toe appraisal.
One that made her skin crawl.
When his gaze landed on her face, he frowned slightly. Almost as if he recognized her, but couldn’t place her.
“It’s Jenny Sommers, Donald,” she said with all the disdain filling her. “We need to talk.”
His eyes bugged out even farther, if that was possible, and he touched his swollen nose as he stuck his head into the hallway. “Where’s McCormick? Waiting to sucker punch me again?”
Because of him, she’d lost Connor not once, but twice. She’d been at fault, too. Wouldn’t deny that. Couldn’t. But she couldn’t go forward without putting an end to the past. “I have no idea where Connor is,” she said, kicking the door open so she could enter the room. “This is between you and me.”
Running both hands through his overly greased flat hair, Donald walked backward, staring at her as if he was ready to run. “I didn’t know you and he—”
“I said this is between you and me.” She stepped farther into the room and closed the door. During the late-night hours, everything she’d tried so hard to forget had returned, plus more, and she was utterly disgusted that she’d accepted his lies so easily.
“What do you want?”
“I’m here on behalf of every woman, every girl, you took advantage of.”
“Took advantage of? I never took advantage of anyone. Including you.”
“I’m not saying you raped me, but you certainly took advantage of me. You knew Connor had left town. You carried his luggage to the baggage car, yet you told me that he hadn’t left town. That he had a new girlfriend.” Disgust at herself still filled her, but she was willing to use whatever means possible to accomplish the task at hand. “Is that how you coerced Stephanie and Sarah to sleep with you, too? Along with the others. So many others you can’t even count them, can you?” She had no proof, but believed there had to have been others.
He puffed out his blubbery chest. “I was popular. All the dolls wanted me.”
She wanted to puke. “No one wanted you then and no one wants you now.”
“You do. That’s why you’re here. In my hotel room.”
It was either puke or laugh, so she laughed. Laughed in his face until it made him back up, until the chair behind him stopped him.
Glaring at him, she asked, “Did you ever once think of the consequences of your actions?”
“Bastards? That was their problem not mine. I got three.” A sneer formed. “Is that why you’re here?”
She would never, ever let this man near Emily. “No. I’m here because a bill will soon be landing on the governor’s desk. One concerning homes for unwed mothers. You’re going to see that it gets signed.”
He laughed. “The governor signs what he wants to sign, and doesn’t sign what he doesn’t want to sign.”
His arrogance made her hands ball into fists. A wave of satisfaction in knowing that Connor had punched him struck, and made her smile. “Your nose is already swollen, almost as big as your head.” She crossed her arms, gave herself a semblance of indifference. “Do you not understand what I said?”
He frowned and his face twitched as he stared at her.
“If that bill isn’t signed, I will personally visit the governor, and bring along with me every
Stephanie and every Sarah who ended up in homes for unwed mothers because of you.”
His eyes bugged again as he shook his head.
She smiled and nodded, fully convinced she’d hit the nail on the head. “I’m sure your wife will be interested to know she is not the mother of all your children, and I’m just as sure the governor will have plenty to say about it, and you.”
Satisfied, she turned and walked to the door. There, just because she could, she said, “You don’t want that to happen, but it will—I guarantee it.”
* * *
Connor had been pretending life was great for years, and had thought he could do it again, but the ride home had almost killed him. Jenny had said she and the girls would take the train home. He’d put a stop to that idea, and questioned his sensibility afterward. Riding for almost ten hours beside her, catching a whiff of her perfume, hearing the soft, kind way she spoke to the passengers in the backseat, and glimpses of how she stared out of the passenger window nearly the entire way, had been torturous.
The wave that had washed over him as he pulled the car into her driveway a few moments ago wasn’t what he’d call relief. It would be over now. Completely. He’d never see her again. She’d accused him of lying, while she’d been lying to him the entire time. It gutted him to think she’d willingly slept with Donald Forsythe.
He’d half expected to see the sniveling jerk this morning, when he’d visited the governor. Before seven. Told him that he and his family would be waiting to hear if the bill Brent Hughes presented was signed.
He hadn’t seen Forsythe, and hoped he never did, because he still wanted to strangle that scumbag.
After the women all climbed out of the car, he opened the luggage compartment to carry their suitcases into the house.
The delightful squeal that split the air filtered past the darkness filling his insides.
“Mommy! Mommy! I missed you!” Emily shouted.
“I missed you, too!” Jenny responded.
Connor couldn’t see them, because the open compartment door blocked his view, but he could imagine the two of them hugging. He’d imagined doing that. For a few, amazing hours, he’d imagined being Emily’s father. He’d imagined buying her a bike and teaching her how to ride it, taking her to the amusement park, reading her storybooks and a dozen other things. Fatherly things.
“Mr. McCormick!”
He set the suitcase in his hand on the ground as Emily rounded the car on a full run and caught her as she threw herself against him.
“I missed you, Mr. McCormick!”
His heart felt as if someone was wrenching it out of him. Ignoring the pain, he stood, with her still in his arms and set her feet inside the luggage compartment, so she could stand there while he lifted out the other suitcases. And the box containing the evening gown he’d purchased for Jenny. “I wasn’t gone long enough for you to miss.”
“Yes, you were.”
He heard Jenny talking to Gretchen, and the others who’d come out to greet them. Glad she wasn’t shooing Emily away from him, he asked, “Didn’t your stuffed animals keep you company?”
“Yes. Thank you for them, and the telephone!”
“You are most welcome,” he said.
She crossed her arms and the little pout she made reminded him so much of Jenny his breath caught in his lungs.
Pushing the air out of his lungs, he asked, “What’s that look for?”
“Toby Turner!”
He lifted out the last suitcase. Just the box was left. “Who is Toby Turner?”
“A big kid.”
“A big kid? What did he do to you?” He would talk to the bus driver or teacher if a big kid was being mean to her, whether Jenny would appreciate that or not.
“He said that my stuffed animals could never live in the same forest, like in the book.”
“He did?”
“Yes! He said kangaroos and tigers don’t live on the same conti—contine—”
“Continent?”
“Yes, that’s it.” Her little brows knit together over her pert nose. “Do they?”
The compartment was empty so he lifted her out and set her on the ground and knelt down in front of her. “Let me tell you why Toby Turner is wrong.”
Her big brown eyes grew wide as she nodded.
“In books, anything is possible,” he said. “Tigers and kangaroos, even pigs, donkeys, and bears, can all live together in the same woods. They can talk and they can sing—they can do anything they want inside books, because books are magical.”
Grinning, she nodded her head, making her brown hair bounce. “I’m going to tell him that. Tomorrow morning.”
She was so cute, so loveable, and in his opinion, needed a father. A real father, not some scumbag like Donald Forsythe. Keeping his anger hidden, he winked at her. “You do that.”
“I will, and if he doesn’t believe me, I’ll tell him to talk to you.”
He patted the top of her head. “I’d gladly talk to him for you.”
Jenny had arrived, and as he rose to reach down to pick up a suitcase, she took hold of the handle.
“We can carry everything inside,” she said, nodding to others who’d arrived to help.
They picked up the suitcases, but when one of the girls reached for the box with Jenny’s gown in it, she said, “Not that.” Picking up the box, she set it in the luggage compartment and then closed the door. “Thank you, again.”
That was the most she’d said directly to him since he’d put a stop to the train idea. The ride home had been a quiet, solemn one. Even tiny, little Annie had barely made a peep.
He stuck his hands in his pockets so he couldn’t reach out, touch Jenny’s hand or arm. His insides were a mess, like someone had crawled inside him and tossed things about, in all directions.
“Bye, Mr. McCormick!” Emily shouted as Jenny held her hand.
He opened his mouth, but instead of saying goodbye, he said, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Jenny shot him a look. Not one he’d call friendly, but she did produce a smile for her daughter. “You run inside. I’ll be right there.”
“All right, Mommy.” Emily waved at him again. “See you tomorrow, Mr. McCormick!” She skipped off toward the house, with her hair flipping and flopping.
“There is no reason for any of us to see you tomorrow,” Jenny said.
“Yes, there is.” He nodded to the house, where Emily was skipping up the steps. “I need to know if I need to talk to Toby Turner tomorrow.”
“I can talk to Toby Turner if it’s necessary.”
He looked at her, standing there, full of dignity and determination. At this moment, he couldn’t say what he wanted, but he could say what he didn’t want to end. “I know that you can talk to Toby Turner if necessary, and that you will, but I told Emily that I will talk to Toby if he doesn’t believe her, and I will.”
“Connor—”
He shook his head. “There are a lot of things unsettled between you and me, Jenny. Things that aren’t just going to go away. They didn’t go away seven years ago, and they aren’t going to go away now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She opened her mouth, but he turned, walked around the car, climbed in and drove away.
It wasn’t until he reached the end of the driveway, that he realized some of the pressure had left his chest. The pain was still there, it just wasn’t as poignant. He didn’t know what that meant. He didn’t know a lot of things, other than after not sleeping last night, and driving ten hours today, he didn’t feel like driving to Rochester.
He drove into Twin Pines instead and rented his regular room at the Bird’s Inn. There, he found the ability to pretend that life was grand while checking in and being caught up on all the latest happenings, as if he’d been gone for months. The highlights were that a car, black and red, just
like his, had stopped for fuel at Howard’s; everyone had thought it was him, but it wasn’t. Obviously. On Saturday morning a rooster had arrived in town and had been waking people up at the crack of dawn since then, but no one in the area was missing a rooster, so no one knew who it belonged to or where it had come from.
Connor promised to keep an ear open for anyone missing a rooster, declined the offer to listen to the Grand Ole Opry on the radio, and went up to the room that had become a second home to him the last several weeks.
All because of Jenny.
Standing at the window, staring at the weeping willow tree, where he’d seen her that night when she’d sounded like an owl with a sore throat, a smile formed. Other memories came forward then, two, three at a time, of things that had happened over the course of the past few weeks.
Rather than trying to stop them, he stood there, and let them flood his system. They wouldn’t give him any answers, but they felt good. For now, tonight, that was enough.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Jenny walked out onto the porch as he turned off his car at a little past ten the following morning. Connor sat there for a moment, staring at her through the windshield. She had on a blue dress, partially covered with a white apron, and a white scarf that was around her hair and tied at the nape of her neck.
Connor ran his hands over his thighs, before opening his door and climbing out. “Good morning.”
“Good morning.” Her reply was cool and hesitant.
“How are you, today?” he asked, stopping near the bottom of the porch steps.
“Fine. You?”
“Fine.” He kept a smile hidden upon noticing the faces peeking out from behind the living room curtains.
She pointed toward the chairs on the porch. “Would you like to sit? Or we could take a walk.”
Understanding that she knew they had an audience, he said, “Whatever you want.”
She nearly shot off the porch. “I need to check the glads.”
“Glads?”
“Gladioli. Flowers. I might need to stake some so their stems don’t break before they are ready to be harvested.”
Harlequin Historical May 2021--Box Set 2 of 2 Page 67