Heartland

by Tricia Andersen

  Abbey had looked at Sloan. She was sure he would want to wait for the day their baby was born to know if it was a boy or a girl. She was shocked when he cocked his oh-so-sinfully-sexy smile at her and answered, “Yes.”

  It had only taken a few moments for the technician to announce they were having a girl. Abbey gazed lovingly at her husband. His smile was brighter than the sun. She changed back into her clothes and then accepted the ultrasound pictures the woman gave her. After giving a couple to Sloan, she kissed him goodbye. She stood at the curb and watched as the cab taking him back to the airport disappeared.

  Abbey was pulled from her memories by the tinkling of the bell hanging from the door. She stood to greet her customers. She stopped short as she saw Dani, Violet, and their friend Sami. The terrible three. Abbey exhaled. “How can I help you?”

  Dani’s eye’s narrowed in disgust. “We’re looking for Sloan. We ran into him at the car dealership when he came to pick up his truck a few weeks ago. We wanted to see him.”

  “He’s out of town. I don’t know when he’ll be back.”

  “Then we’ll just have to stop back.”

  “Or not.”

  Violet’s hand shot out and stole the pictures. “What do we have here?” She scanned the photo. “A baby? I thought you were just getting fat, Abbey.”

  “So that’s what you were doing in New York City,” Sami sneered. “I thought you were supposed to be writing a book or something, not screwing every guy you meet.”

  “Really?” Abbey half laughed. “Sami, I really thought you were smarter than that.”

  Sami frowned. “What the hell do you mean by that?”

  “You really think it’s a coincidence that Sloan and I arrived here from New York at the same time? Or that we live in the same house? Or that I work for his gallery? I’m sorry.” Abbey crossed the gallery and pointed at the plaque next to the door. “Our gallery. So give me back the photos of our baby.”

  Violet’s mouth curled in an evil smile. She tore the ultrasound photos slowly, deliberately into confetti. She let the pieces fall to the floor.

  Abbey gritted her teeth as she spoke. “Unless you’re interested in buying art, then please leave my business.”

  “Tell Sloan we stopped by.”

  “Unlikely. I’d say thanks for stopping by, but I’d be lying.”

  Dani threw the door open and strolled out with Sami and Violet following. Abbey sunk to her knees, picking up the pieces of her pictures.

  Abbey carefully rose to her feet and then returned to the back room. She dropped into Sloan’s leather chair and pulled one drawer open after the other until she found an envelope. She brushed the ripped pieces of paper inside and then tucked the lip of the envelope closed. The antique grandfather clock chimed five o’clock. Abbey sighed as she laid the envelope on the desk. The doctor’s office had just closed. She would have to call in the morning to get the ultrasound photos reprinted.

  Abbey curled up in the chair and then picked up the wood frame that sat on the desk. She lovingly ran her finger over her husband’s image. She huffed again. What the hell did those three want with Sloan? They were the only women she knew that took pride in ending relationships. Abbey thought they would have had their fill of torturing her in high school. They were adults now, after all. Wasn’t it about time they grew up? Couldn’t they just leave her and her family alone?

  I guess not. After all these years, they can still make my life a living hell.

  »»•««

  The hospital cafeteria was nearly deserted at six o’clock in the morning. Bartholomew stabbed at a fluffy piece of egg with his fork and slid it in his mouth. He was so thankful his shift was over. He could barely stay awake.

  It had been the longest week of his life. He had spent every night working the graveyard shift. It was a far cry from the minor accidents and transports he dealt with during the day. There was far too much blood, far too many accident victims, far too many people who made stupid decisions that not only harmed themselves but others.

  One night, three lives were lost in a vicious drunk driving accident on the interstate that made the news the next day. He had fought alongside the interstate with his partner to save one of the victims. He hadn’t been able to look into the young woman’s face. Her brown hair and short stature reminded him too much of Abbey.

  As soon as his shifts were over every morning, he pulled on his coat and walked home. It was at least three miles to his apartment. The autumn mornings could get rather cold. He hoped the long journey would relax him and help him let go of the horror he had just experienced in the last eight hours. He showered and crawled into bed to sleep. But for the last five days, sleep had eluded him. He had seen way too much to forget.

  Bartholomew hardly saw Maggie while he was working the graveyard shift. The only time he ran into her was in the morning if they happened to be at her hospital. Even then, he only got to talk to her once or twice. The other times, she was too busy cuddling with Jackson to have time for him.

  One of the nurses confided in him that Jackson was buddies with the guy who wrote that week’s schedule while Bartholomew’s supervisor was on vacation. It seems Jackson will go to any length to keep us apart, including scheduling us different shifts. Does he feel threatened? I hope so.

  He missed Maggie. He missed her laughter. He missed her soft brogue. He missed the jokes and the teasing she put him through. He missed it when she poked him or tried to tickle him. He missed her twinkling, ice-blue eyes. He missed the black curls that cascaded around her face, especially when she attempted to hold them back in a ponytail and failed miserably at the attempt.

  His missed her soft, red lips twisting up in that sweet smile of hers. Lips I wish I could kiss. He missed being near her. He felt empty when she was gone. He missed her so much it hurt. It left an ache deep in his heart, which he could never get rid of.

  He looked up to find Jackson and Maggie sharing a kiss at the head of the cafeteria line. Then Jackson jogged off into the heart of the hospital. Maggie plopped a cellophane-wrapped muffin, a banana, and a cup of coffee on her tray and then paid the cashier. Her face brightened as she saw Bartholomew. She wove around the tables until she reached him.

  “Good morning, sleepyhead,” she greeted.

  “Good morning. You must have slept well,” he answered.

  Maggie giggled. “Oh yes.”

  “So now Doctor Romeo is picking you up for work?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Then it’s a strong coincidence you both arrived at the same time.”

  “No coincidence. He brought me.”

  “But you said he didn’t pick you up.”

  “He didn’t. I stayed at his place last night.”

  Bartholomew’s eyes grew wide as he dropped his fork. “Maggie, please tell me you didn’t have sex with him.”

  “What? Are you going to rat me out to my brother?”

  “I just might.”

  “Go ahead.” Maggie picked up her cup of coffee and then slipped her banana and muffin in her purse. “I need to get back to work.” She grabbed her purse and stomped out of the cafeteria toward the ER.

  Bartholomew buried his fingers in his hair. That’s the problem, Mag. He doesn’t appreciate you. I do.

  »»•««

  Abbey tugged the patchwork quilt tighter around herself as she tossed the novel she was reading onto the coffee table. This was too much. Being alone all the time was just too much. Sloan had been gone for weeks, stuck in Miami with one catastrophe after another. One week was tolerable. The second a little worse. Now they were six weeks apart.

  Not to mention, a few times when she came home from the gallery, she found her front door unlocked. Since living in New York, she was paranoid about locking it. Gordon had come over to do a few things around the house. I guess I’ll have to remind him to lock up when he leaves. But he was the one who wanted to move here to keep us safe. I would think he would be more careful. It explains why I ke
ep finding things out of their place.

  Other than Sloan's quick trip to be with her for the ultrasound, she hadn't seen him for six weeks. He missed the baby's first kick. He missed the multiple trips to the store for maternity clothes. He missed the odd cravings. He was missing their pregnancy.

  They talked a couple of times a day. He sounded stressed beyond all he could handle. All she wanted to do was bring him home. She wanted to run him a hot bath. She wanted to rub his back, to feel his muscles loosen beneath her fingers. Then she would kiss him as she trailed her fingers against his sculpted chest until he wrapped his hand in her hair to tug her hair and expose the curve of her neck.

  She was jolted out of her sweet thoughts by the chirp of a text on her cell. She picked up the phone and read the brief message.

  Video chat.

  She lifted herself off the couch carefully as fast as she could and wrapped the quilt tightly around herself as she shuffled down the hall to Sloan's office. She slumped in his chair as she turned the laptop on. Moments later the screen popped to life.

  "Hello, luv." Sloan sat back in his office chair, his silk tie running a black path across his white linen shirt.

  "Hello," Abbey squeaked.

  "I miss you."

  "I miss you too."

  She watched as he pressed his fingers together and then cocked his head to the side as he examined her. "Abigail, is it cold there?"

  "No. It's early autumn in Iowa. It's still hot and humid."

  "Then why are you wrapped in a quilt?"

  Abbey stared at the screen, unable to answer.

  He smiled at her with that sly, sexy grin that made her knees go weak. "Lose the blanket, Abigail. I want to see you."

  "You can see me."

  "Then let me rephrase. I want to see our baby."

  Abbey stared at the screen for a long, hard moment. She stood, unwrapping the blanket from around herself and then tossed it on the chair beside the window. She turned back as she heard him moan.

  "You’re beautiful, luv," he murmured.

  She felt her cheeks flush. "You’re surrounded by beautiful women."

  "They’re nothing compared to you. How are you feeling?"

  "All right. She's kicking. A lot."

  She heard him groan again. "I wish I was there to feel it."

  "I wish you were too. Where are you now?"

  "My suite."

  "And you're alone?"

  "For now."

  Abbey grinned at him. “So how is Robert?”

  “Same old Robert. Moody, intimidating. A little whiny.”

  "Where is he?"

  Sloan ran a large, powerful hand through his thick black hair. "Probably getting laid, knowing him."

  Abbey chuckled. “Sounds like Robert.”

  He stared at her, growling softly. “I can't tell you how many times I nearly sent the jet for you."

  "Why didn't you? I can fly."

  "I know the doctor says you can right now. But if anything happened to you or the baby, I would never forgive myself. I promise I’ll be home soon." He sucked his breath in through his teeth. "Robert can take his time. I'm not fit for company at the moment."

  "Not fit for company? What do you mean?"

  He shifted in his chair as he tugged at the waistband of his slacks. "If anyone walked in right now, it would be obvious I was talking to you."

  "It doesn't sound comfortable."

  "It's not. I will have to find relief after our chat."

  Abbey bit her lower lip. "Relief? Can I watch?"

  "Not in that method, luv. Meditation. Deep breathing. I won't be seeking relief on my own. If being without you becomes too much, I will scrap this whole project and come home. I don’t care how much money I would lose."

  Abbey smiled. Sloan continued, "How is the gallery doing?"

  "Good. Gordon boxed those paintings you asked him to, and I shipped them. A few people in town stopped in and looked around."

  "I heard that girl who hit my truck stopped in with her friends. I think her name was Dani."

  Abbey's heart seized in her chest. How in the world did he know they stopped by? What kind of security system do we have? "How did you hear that?"

  "She emailed me. She said her friend, Violet, got my address for her. I guess Violet's father sold me the truck."

  "Oh."

  "You don't seem pleased."

  "I can't dictate who emails you, Sloan."

  "Do you know them?"

  "We went to high school together." Four years of misery. "What did she email to you?"

  "She asked about what I do, how I make my money, where I'm from."

  “Wow. That’s kind of personal from someone you hardly know.”

  “I didn’t answer her, luv. As you said, I don’t know her. I am versed in being vague. It’s my survival.”

  "It sounds like she emails you a lot." Abbey couldn't hide the jealousy in her voice.

  Sloan grinned. "I email her. I video chat with you."

  "A distinction without a difference."

  "There’s a significant difference."

  "And that is?"

  "I want to look at you," he purred. "I want to drink your beauty in. You," he motioned to the hard ridge pressing against his trousers, "cause this. She can't."

  Abbey bit at her lip again. She looked up as she heard Sloan's dark brogue.

  "Stop biting that lip."

  "I'm sorry."

  "You aren't offending me. You're making my situation much more difficult. Watching you bite that lower lip just makes me think of what I could do with it. And how much I really want to try."

  Abbey felt her mouth grow dry as she moaned. Oh, I really, really need him to come home. Soon.

  He continued. “Maybe it’s time we should say goodbye. I’m not sure how much more I can take.”

  “We could.” Abbey smiled wickedly moments before she grabbed the hem of her shirt and tugged it over her head. She tossed the garment on the floor. “Or we could just keep talking.”

  A growl came through the screen. “You’re not playing fair, luv.”

  “I don’t know how you could say that, Sloan. If your pants are bothering you so much, unzip them. Please?”

  “Lass,” he warned. “Do you know where this will lead to?”

  “Yeah. Video chat sex. A new one for us.”

  “And I told you I won’t be seeking any relief until I’m with you.”

  “You are with me. Sort of.” She slipped her hands behind her to unlatch the clasps of her bra. As the straps slipped off her shoulders, she swore she heard him mutter the word “bitch.” It was followed by the sound of a zipper and then a deep, guttural groan.

  »»•««

  Three more weeks crept by. To Abbey it felt like an eternity. Almost every night, she video chatted with Sloan. But those sessions weren’t working for her anymore.

  Miami was an epic disaster. It finally spilled over to Mount Vernon. Sloan apologized again and again just before the packets of contracts arrived. Abbey assured him that she was happy to help. If it would get Sloan home, she would call the devil himself to fix the carpet in that fiasco.

  She curled up in Sloan’s office chair as she hung up with another vendor from Miami. The first few calls didn’t go well. It wasn’t until she read through the first set of contracts that she realized how much was at stake. After that, she was quick and to the point with each supplier. It was more than just being away from her husband. They had hundreds of millions of dollars on the line. Things had to get done.

  She looked around the workshop of the gallery. There were stacks of canvases waiting for him to turn into million-dollar works of art. Tubes of paint and brushes were scattered across the table beside an easel exactly like the one in New York.

  New York. I’m ready to go back to New York.

  She had forgotten how much she hated being in Mount Vernon. She had always been the outcast. She had so few friends. Her best friend was Jenny, and some best friend she had
turned out to be, running off with her fiancé and her money.

  Truthfully, the only people she could think of who were friendly to her, talked to her, and cared about her were the couple who owned the movie theater in town. They were the sweetest pair. She loved going to the movies, losing herself in the tale and then talking to them for hours afterward. Those were some of the only things Abbey had missed when she left for New York.

  She sighed as she smiled. Of course there’s Tom and his then-girlfriend-now-wife Becky. And Derek and Emily. I guess I really wasn’t alone after all.

  The bell on the gallery door chimed. Abbey winced as she heard the telltale click of high heels. Oh dear lord, not again. This is the third time this week alone! Don’t they have lives?

  She peeled herself from the chair and rolled her shoulders back proudly. She strode into the gallery showroom and glared angrily at the three women.

  “Sloan’s not here,” she barked. “He hasn’t been here for over two months. I don’t know when he’ll be back. Please stop coming here.”

  “Who says we’re here looking for your husband? Maybe we’re here looking at art.” Violet wandered aimlessly among the paintings. “Our parents have money. Our tastes are more sophisticated.”

  “Violet, who painted the Sistine Chapel?” Abbey questioned.

  Violet stared at her blankly. “What?”

  “I rest my case. I would love to sell you a piece. But right now I’m dealing with our complex in Miami. If you want to buy something, great. If not, I really need to get back to work.”

  Sami eyed her with disdain. “How did you meet Sloan?”

  “He was my illustrator. He still is. We have a couple more books we’re getting ready to publish,” Abbey answered.

  “I was curious. I’ve read up on him. He just doesn’t seem to be the type of man who would be interested in someone so…wholesome.”

  “Wholesome was just what he was looking for. I really need to get back to the phone calls I was making. Thanks for stopping by. Have a great day.”

  “Come on, girls. We should let Abbey get back to whatever is so important,” Dani remarked.

  “Wait.” Violet opened her purse and rummaged inside. She pulled out a piece of silk cloth. Abbey’s throat closed as Violet held the boxers out. She recognized them instantly. I bought them for Sloan for our last night together before he left for San Francisco. Violet sneered as she spoke. “I forgot to bring these back to Sloan. He left them at my place the last time we had sex. Could you give them back to him for me?”