That got his attention. He stared down at her. “You never told me that,” he said softly.
“I never wanted to admit it to myself. I did what was simplest and best for everyone. Or so I thought. I’m not doing that again. I’m happy about the baby, but not thrilled about the circumstances. It was an accident, and we’ll find a way to deal with it. That doesn’t mean we have to get married.”
He braced his hands on his bare hips. “I’m beginning to think there are no accidents. You’re not going to marry me, are you?”
“Not like this.”
He sat on the mattress and pulled on his jeans. It had been the perfect solution. All his elation faded away, leaving him feeling old and tired. Nothing was easy, that was one thing he could count on. He thought about all the years with Ellen, and the way they’d fought at the end. He thought about the baby. His son. He turned on her.
“Dammit, woman, you’re not taking my child away from me. You have no right.”
She stretched her legs out in front of her, then raised her head and looked at him. He’d expected her to be angry, or at least defiant. Instead her mouth trembled at the corners and her eyes looked very sad. “Don’t worry, Jake. I’ll make sure you get everything you want.”
*
Anne threaded her needle and picked up a square of fabric. The ultimate handicraft, she thought, knowing it would be faster to use the sewing machine. But she wanted to make this quilt by hand. She wanted to touch the cloth. She wanted to feel the different textures and have it grow slowly from unconnected pieces to a complete whole.
The late-afternoon sun poured in through a freshly washed window. She glanced down at her hands. When she’d first arrived on Jake’s ranch, her skin had been smooth, her nails long and elegantly rounded. Now she had a few healing cuts from run-ins with the potato peeler or a paring knife. Her index finger was pricked from sewing. She’d long since cut off her nails. When she got back to Houston, her manicurist was going to have a fit.
She picked up the square of fabric and knew that her scarred hands weren’t the only changes since she’d left her white-on-white condo. Not by a long shot. She was pregnant. That was certainly a change. And she was hurting.
She’d thought she’d experienced her worst pain when she’d given birth to a baby she’d never been allowed to see. The death of her mother had also been hard. Meeting Laurel, dealing with Jake—that, too, had added to the amount of pain she’d experienced. But none of these events compared to his proposal for a marriage of convenience.
If she lived to be a hundred, she would never forget the flash of joy following his words. Marriage. In that second when she’d stared at him, she’d allowed herself to hope. Worse, she’d allowed herself to admit that she’d come to love him. The thought that he might care about her had been too wondrous to be contained. But she’d forced herself to hold back, even when she had wanted to throw herself into his arms. She’d bitten her tongue until she could get out words other than “Yes, yes, a thousand times, yes.” She’d asked if he was sure.
He was. He wanted to marry her because it was convenient, the best solution to their mutual problems. Not because she was special, not because he loved her, but because it was easy. He would have everything he wanted, and she would be left with nothing.
She sighed and began stitching the cow-print fabric. That wasn’t completely true, she admitted to herself. He wasn’t the only one who would gain by their marriage. She would get to be with Laurel all the time. That would be lovely. She would be part of a family, something she’d longed for ever since she was a little girl.
But what about her career? What about the job she’d worked for all these years? Could she walk away from it? She could find other work, but relocating big companies to Houston, Texas, wasn’t exactly a job she could do here on the horse ranch. Would she be willing to give it all up because a man loved her? She shook her head. No, not for that.
She glanced down at the squares of fabric she’d already cut. Several were from the cow-print curtains hanging in the kitchen. A few had been part of a dress Laurel had stained and torn. Five came from fabric samples for curtains now hanging in the mostly decorated house. She hadn’t made a quilt in years. Not since high school. She also hadn’t baked or sewn or made lasagna from scratch. She wouldn’t have given up her job just because Jake loved her, but she might have given it up to stay home with her new family and experience a different, maybe even better, life. She’d never been a full-time mom before. It sounded challenging and more rewarding than any contract. Of course that could simply be a case of wanting what she couldn’t have.
She glanced at the clock. Laurel was out riding with her father. They would both be back soon. She put down her sewing and walked into the kitchen. She had a chicken ready to go in the oven. She checked the temperature, then slid the pan inside and set the timer.
It had been a week since she and Jake had made love. A week since he’d proposed and she’d turned him down. A week since they’d had a conversation that was anything but impersonal. She pulled out a bag of potatoes and put several on the counter. If she didn’t know better, she would say his feelings had been hurt by her rejection.
That wasn’t possible, she reminded herself as she reached for the peeler. He didn’t want her; he wanted a solution to his problems and full custody of his child. She could have been anyone and he would have come to the same solution. He didn’t care about her. He didn’t love her. Thank God he hadn’t figured out she loved him.
In another week it wouldn’t matter, she thought, peeling the first potato, then dropping it into a bowl of water. She would be gone. Back to her real life. She paused in midstroke and dropped the vegetable onto the counter. She didn’t want to go.
Anne leaned her forearms against the counter and closed her eyes. She had to admit the truth to herself if to no one else. She wanted to stay here and be a mother to Laurel and the baby. She wanted to plant a garden and watch it grow. She wanted to make all her mother’s favorite recipes, and can berries in August. She wanted to be a part of a family. She wanted to love Jake forever. Most of all, she wanted him to love her back.
The front door opened, then slammed shut. She straightened and blinked to make sure her eyes were completely dry.
“The mail is here,” Jake said, walking into the kitchen. “They left a package.” He set a large box on the kitchen counter.
Anne glanced at the label. “It’s from the company that made Laurel’s bedspread. It’s probably the throw pillows.”
“I’m sure she’ll be pleased,” he said, his voice as impersonal as it always was these days.
She almost wished he would get angry at her. Then at least there would be something to react to. This calm, cool stranger had nothing in common with the Jake Masters she knew. He was not the same man who had stood in her office and passionately reminded her she had no legal rights to Laurel. He wasn’t the man who had made love to her on a rock beside a trailer park in Paradise, or reverently touched her skin searching for proof of his child. Some of the memories she would carry with her were wonderful, some very painful, but in each, Jake was vibrantly aware of her. He wasn’t distant and uncaring.
“What time is dinner?” he asked, picking up the box.
“About five-thirty.”
“What are we having?”
“Baked chicken, broccoli and scalloped potatoes.”
“I’d prefer mashed potatoes,” he said, and walked toward the door.
She almost said fine. After all, she didn’t care about the potatoes. But something inside of her snapped. She was tired of being ignored and treated like hired help.
“No,” she said, and set down the peeler. She wiped her hands on a dish towel.
Jake stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes met hers. For the first time in a week, something flashed in the brown depths. Something alive and passionate. Even if this fire was fueled by anger, she didn’t care.
“Excuse me?” he said.
“
No.” She smiled. “I’m not going to make mashed potatoes.”
He drew in a deep breath, then spoke slowly, as if dealing with a recalcitrant child. “We always have mashed potatoes with baked chicken. Both Laurel and I prefer it that way.”
“I figured as much. That’s why I’m going to do something different.” She folded her arms over her chest and raised her chin defiantly.
He set the box down and approached her. When he was about two feet away, he braced his hands on his hips. “Don’t start something you don’t intend to finish.”
“Oh, but Jake, I do intend to finish this. I’m tired of you ignoring me. You want mashed potatoes?” She tossed one of the unpeeled vegetables toward him. He caught it in his left hand. “Go ahead and make them yourself. But if you want me to cook, we’ll do it my way. I refuse to live up to the memory of a saint.”
“You leave Ellen out of this.”
“How can I? She surrounds all of us. To the best of my knowledge, the woman never even lived in this house, yet her presence is everywhere. If you want to live your life in homage to the dead, go ahead, but that’s not part of my deal. I’m tired of being compared and found wanting.”
“Then maybe you should do a better job.”
She told herself he was just lashing out and that it didn’t mean anything, but she felt the sting of his remarks all the way down to her heart. She squared her shoulders. “I’m doing a fine job. I’ve been better to you and Laurel than either of you deserve. I’ve done my best to fit in. I’m not playing that game anymore. If you want an Ellen clone, go find yourself one. Some dark-haired beauty with the right manners and a perfect pedigree. I’m just Annie Jo Baker, from a trailer park a little east of nowhere.” She leaned forward and glared at him. “I’m also Laurel’s mother, and nothing is ever going to change that.”
She was finally getting through to him. She could tell by the veins throbbing in his neck. His muscles tensed. “You shouldn’t mind being compared to Ellen. After all you’re the one trying to take her place in Laurel’s heart and my bed.”
“That’s a lie, and you know it. You’re the one who wants me to be a replacement. You’re the one who wants to get married because it’s so damned convenient for you. You’re the one insisting I stay. Have you thought about that, Jake? Do you ever wonder why you’re so scared of me? I’ll tell you why.”
She moved until they were inches apart. Heat radiated from his body. She knew its source was rage, but that didn’t stop her body from responding to his. She had to dig deep for her own temper to find the courage to tell him the truth.
“You don’t trust anyone to love you enough to stay. You hold on to Laurel so tightly, I’m not surprised she ran away. You’re afraid of losing her. You don’t have the guts to admit you might need me, so instead of trying to keep me here by caring about me, you talk about ‘the perfect solution.’ More than that, more than anything, you’re afraid of losing your baby.” She touched her belly. “It’s my child, too, Jake. I’m the one carrying him, and possession is nine-tenths of the law.”
The silence nearly deafened her. Jake’s eyes gave little away, save a growing ugliness directed at her. “Damn you,” he growled. “Don’t you threaten me. I’ll never let you keep my son.”
A soft sound made them both turn. Anne saw Laurel standing in the door. She must have come in from the barn without either of them hearing her.
“Daddy?” she said, her voice shaking. She turned her hazel eyes on Anne. “Annie? Are you having a baby? A baby you’re going to keep this time? How could you?” The question came out as a scream. “How could you?” She turned and ran from the room.
Chapter 14
Jake took off after Laurel, but she beat him to her bedroom. He heard the door slam, followed by the click of her lock.
“Let me in,” he said, then pounded on the wooden door. “Dammit, Laurel, I’m not kidding about this.”
“Go away,” she screamed. “Just go away.”
Her voice shook with sobs. He wanted to break down the barrier between them and hold her until this all went away. Instead he leaned against the doorframe and closed his eyes. It wasn’t going away. He’d put off thinking about Laurel and how this would affect her. In his happiness about the baby, he’d deliberately ignored her feelings. He hadn’t wanted to think about the problems and had instead concentrated on the reality of actually being able to father a child.
“Laurel,” he called through the door. He deliberately spoke softly. “Please, honey. We have to talk.”
“I don’t want to talk to you. Go away, Daddy. Leave me alone.”
If she’d claimed to hate him, he would have felt better. Her emotional outbursts never lasted very long. But this uncontained agony was more than he could stand. Determined to give her the time she needed, he turned to leave. Anne stood behind him on the top of the stairs.
“I hope you’re happy,” he said, pushing past her. “You’ve just destroyed your daughter’s life for the second time.”
“Don’t you dare blame this on me,” she said. “I’ve wanted to discuss telling Laurel from the very beginning. You’re the one who wouldn’t listen. You’re the one—”
But he didn’t wait to hear his part in the problem. He continued down the stairs and out to the barn. He started to go into his office, then realized the last thing he needed was to be cooped up. Emotions bubbled through him. Frustration at the situation, anger at Anne, regret for hurting Laurel, determination to keep his son. They boiled through him until he wanted to put his fist through a wall.
He jogged out of the barn and around to the side. Logs had been stacked, ready for splitting. It was late October. The first snowfall would come with the next storm. They needed the wood for their fireplace. He eyed the ax and the huge pile of wood. Perfect.
He took off his wool work shirt. The late-afternoon breeze cut through his cotton T-shirt, raising goose bumps on his skin. He didn’t care. It wouldn’t take long for him to warm up.
He positioned a log, then picked up the ax. His stroke was sure and true. The wood split down the center. He left the halves where they fell and reached for another piece.
The rhythmic motions raised his body temperature and cooled his temper. Random thoughts filled his mind. Why the hell couldn’t Anne be more cooperative? If she’d just agreed to marry him, everything would have been fine. They could have put off telling Laurel about the baby until she was ready to hear about it.
He must have done something wrong. He hadn’t used the right words or something. He would have thought after all those years of living with Ellen and watching her get her way in everything, he would be better at manipulating people. God, he’d hated living in her perfect world. That damned house in Dallas. He grimaced remembering the matching wallpaper and drapes, the furniture that looked beautiful, but untouched. The rose-colored lace in their bedroom. He remembered how she always took so long to get ready to go out, it wasn’t usually even worth the trouble to go. Ellen couldn’t just take off to the movies or a picnic. Everything had to be perfectly choreographed.
Not like in the early days. His ax cut through the logs, one by one. Sweat broke out on his back and forehead. He remembered when they first had Laurel and had both stayed up all night. Neither of them had known what her crying meant. They’d stared helplessly at their newborn and prayed for someone to give them some guidance. He remembered the afternoons he’d rushed home from work so he could be with his wife and daughter. Of the times they’d spent at the park.
He stopped in midswing and took a breath. The air was crisp and clean, smelling faintly of pine, freshly cut wood and horses. When had she changed? Had it simply been a function of time? Was it when they’d moved to the big house? Had it started the night he’d said they should think about a separation?
Laurel had been five, maybe six. He’d finally realized that even though Ellen was his best friend and he loved her, he didn’t want to stay married to her. He sensed there was something missing. Their frien
dship and youthful feelings hadn’t matured into something that would last. Had it started then? Had she changed to keep him, not knowing that by turning into the perfect wife and mother she had killed what he had loved about her? He remembered the pain in her eyes and the way she’d defied him to leave her. She’d said that he owed her—she had stayed with a man who couldn’t give her the one thing she’d wanted most in the world. He was the reason she couldn’t have a baby.
He’d stayed because leaving had been too hard. He’d allowed her words to build a paper cage around him, closing him inside with a lock fashioned from guilt. He raised the ax and drove it through the logs, one after the other, hating Ellen for what she had done to him. Cursing her name, her memory.
When his muscles trembled and he couldn’t raise his arms high enough to split another log, he sank onto the tree stump and struggled to catch his breath. The sweat on his body evaporated, leaving him chilled, but he made no move to reach for his shirt. He prayed she would burn in hell for what she had done to him. She had used him to her own end. And he had let her.
He started to stand up, then sank back to the log. He had let her. He dropped the ax on the ground and slumped forward, resting his elbows on his thighs and his head in his hands. Dear God, he had let her manipulate him. She hadn’t made him stay. He could have left, but he didn’t.
Images from the past flooded him. Of course, he thought, startled by the realization. Staying had seemed like the right thing to do at the time. It had also been easier to stay in the life he knew than risk starting over. He’d done what everyone wanted. Just as Annie had done when she’d given up Laurel. But unlike her, he’d done it out of fear. She’d been right when she’d accused him of being afraid of losing it all. If he’d left Ellen, he might have lost Laurel. If Anne went back to Houston, he would lose his son. He would also lose Annie, and he couldn’t bear to think about that.
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