Undaunted

by Diana Palmer

  She nodded sadly. “I was coming to confess, that first day I met you on the lakeshore, after you were...blind. But I got cold feet. Then when you offered me the job, I thought, I’ll let him get to know me, and then I’ll tell him, when he knows what sort of person I really am.” She bit her lip and he looked driven. “But it didn’t quite work out that way.”

  His eyes closed on a wave of grief. “Dear God, what I did to you...!”

  Emma almost choked on her own pain. She hadn’t known that he felt it was his fault as well as hers.

  He drew in a breath. “We were married. I was on top of the world, even blind. Then my private detective told me I’d married the woman who blinded me.” He smiled sadly. “I went off the deep end. I reacted without thinking. I had you arrested, sent to jail. I got drunk and stayed that way for weeks. Then I fell down some steps and hit my head. I woke up sighted again. They’d tried to tell me that the blindness was psychological, not biological, but I wouldn’t listen. It took weeks to get used to the fact that I could see.” He lowered his eyes. “As God is my witness, I thought your father or Mamie would have bailed you out the day after you were arrested. I had no idea, none at all, that you were still in jail. That you were in such danger.” He swallowed, hard, to keep from strangling on grief. “I wanted to find you, to apologize. But after Alistair told me what had happened to you, I stopped looking.” He studied her soft brown eyes. “Remember what I told you, about that song my mother liked back in the dark ages?” he mused, smiling. “You don’t know what you’ve got til it’s gone.” The smile faded. “I didn’t.”

  Her eyes were quiet, but troubled. He might be telling the truth, or he might not. If he truly didn’t want a child, he might only be pretending that he did. He might still have ulterior motives.

  She moved slowly out of his arms to clean out the coffeepot, grimacing with each step.

  “You need to have that leg looked at,” he said firmly. “It can’t be easy, with the extra weight the pregnancy puts on it.”

  She ignored him, and kept on washing out the coffeepot.

  “I could pay for a specialist,” he began.

  “But you aren’t going to,” she replied.

  “Damn!”

  She put up the coffeepot and turned. “You really are a disagreeable person.”

  He snorted. “Yes.” He moved to hand her his cup. She barely came to his chin. He missed her so much. “Come home.”

  She made a face. “I am home. I live here.”

  “Marie could cook nutritious meals for you.” He paused. “You can have a color TV set in your room. We can buy baby furniture.”

  “It wouldn’t be right.”

  “Emma, you do realize that we’re still married?” he asked softly.

  She almost dropped the pot. She fumbled it into the dish drainer and turned, her face pale. “What?”

  “I threw the divorce papers into the fire,” he said quietly. “They were never filed.”

  “But...why?” She indicated her floppy, cheap gown and robe. “I mean, look at me. I’m poor, I’m plain—I’m nothing. What do you want with me?”

  “You’re an angel, Emma,” he said quietly, and his eyes were eating her. “You have a heart as big as the whole world. I’m one of the richest men in America, but I’m poor without you.”

  She bit her lip and fought tears. “The baby will get in your way when it’s born,” she said stubbornly. “You don’t like interruptions. He’ll cry and I’ll have to be up with him all hours...”

  He moved forward and pulled her close. “We’ll both be up with him all hours,” he said simply. He looked around. “This is no place for you. My best friend is an obstetrician. He practices in Atlanta, but he maintains an office here. He’ll treat you.”

  “I can’t—”

  “If you say, ‘afford it,’ I’ll have a temper tantrum right here,” he threatened. His hands tightened around her arms. “Baby, your mother died in childbirth. I haven’t forgotten that. I’m not risking your life. Don’t even think about asking me to.”

  He sounded as if she meant something to him. But she was wary. Recent months had hardened her heart, made her uncomfortable around people, suspicious.

  “I know. You don’t trust me. It’s all right. I don’t expect you to. Just try to believe that I want what’s best for you and the baby. If you want to think I’m doing it out of guilt, fine. But come home with me. Let me take care of you, Emma.”

  She searched his pale eyes. “And if I want to go back to Texas and live with my cousin when the baby’s born, will you try to stop me?”

  “Not if I’m convinced that you really want to go.” He didn’t add that there was no way on earth he would ever allow that to happen.

  She drew in a breath and thought for a minute. “All right, then. I’ll come with you.”

  “I’ll have Marie come and help you pack.” He pulled out his cell phone.

  “Connor, it’s three in the morning! She’ll be asleep!”

  He hesitated, then grimaced. “All right. I’ll help you pack,” he added, acting as if he were being invited to step up to the gallows.

  She couldn’t resist a faint smile. “If I can go as I am, I will. I won’t need anything for tonight except my heartburn medicine. It’s on the cabinet.”

  He frowned. “Heartburn?”

  “It’s common with pregnant women.”

  He studied her with warm, soft eyes. “Heartburn.”

  “It goes with the overactive bladder.”

  He pursed his lips. “You can have the room next to mine. If you need something at night, I’ll be close by.”

  She was surprised, and it showed. She’d never thought that he was a nurturing sort of man.

  He moved closer. “You sat with me when I had migraines,” he said gently. “Even when I threw up. I can’t think of a woman in my entire life, except my mother, who would have done that. Certainly not my first wife.”

  “Oh.”

  He traced her soft cheek. “I’ll take care of you now,” he said softly. “It’s my turn.” He bent and brushed his hard mouth tenderly against hers. “Let’s go home, Emma.”

  She must need her head examined, she was thinking. But she let him take her hand tightly in his and lead her out the door.

  * * *

  Marie was beside herself when she woke the next morning and found Emma back in residence.

  “I’ll go make strawberry pancakes and sausage right now!” she exclaimed, fussing over the sleepy younger woman. She knew they were Emma’s favorites.

  Emma laughed. “Thanks, Marie.”

  “Eggs for me,” Connor said from the doorway. His eyes were filling with the sight of Emma in his house, in his life. He looked like a man who had the whole world. It would have been perfect if she still loved him. But he couldn’t expect that. Not after what he’d done to her. He’d settle for whatever he could get in the way of affection. “No pancakes.”

  “Yes, sir,” Marie said with a grin, and went off to cook.

  “You look better this morning,” Connor told her.

  She pushed back her disheveled hair. “I haven’t been sleeping well,” she confessed. “This bed is much nicer than the one in Mamie’s spare room, but don’t you dare tell!” She’d been laughing, but she cried out softly, and then laughed again.

  “What is it?” he asked worriedly, moving closer. “What’s wrong, Emma?”

  “It’s just, well...” She reached for his hand, caught it and pulled it to her swollen belly. She spread it just to the side of her navel and waited.

  Something under his hand bumped it. His face flushed and he jerked. She held his hand there.

  “It’s the baby,” she whispered. “He moves. Can you feel his fist?”

  He was fascinated now. He sat
down beside her and spread his big hand over the surface of her stomach. He pressed his fingers closer and felt a tiny fist moving against the stomach wall. “Good God!” he breathed. “I never knew they moved!” His face was radiant.

  She laughed softly.

  He met her eyes and held them. A jolt of pure electricity made her cheeks flush; it tingled all the way to her toes. He knew it, the conceited beast. But the look on his face wasn’t arrogant. It was delight. Sheer delight.

  He got up before she had time to savor what she was feeling. “I have to go out and make a living for us all after breakfast. God knows, when he’s a few years older, he’ll be eating us out of house and home.”

  “He?” she teased.

  He scowled. “She?”

  “I don’t know,” she confessed. “I haven’t had any tests.”

  “I’m setting you up with my doctor friend, Harry. You don’t want to take any chances, Emma. Neither do I. All right?”

  She gave in reluctantly. She still didn’t quite trust him. “He won’t do anything to me, will he?”

  “No, honey,” he said. “I promise.”

  She relaxed a little. “Sorry,” she said. “It’s been...rough.”

  His face hardened. “You’re safe now. No one will ever hurt you again.”

  He turned away. “I’ll eat breakfast. Then I have to fly to New York for a meeting. I’d rather not go, the weather’s horrible, but it’s a merger and I have to sign the papers.”

  “I understand.”

  “Marie and Barnes will look out for you. Everything will be fine.”

  She wanted to tell him to be careful, but she was worried it might sound pushy. It was too early to start showing so much concern. She knew that he was uncomfortable with her right now. Better to let things lie for a bit.

  * * *

  Six days later, he was back.

  She was sitting in the living room, knitting, when Marie opened the door and let him in. His black, wavy hair was damp from the rain. He was wearing a navy blue pin-striped suit with an expensive white shirt and silk tie, all under an equally expensive dark raincoat.

  He grinned at Marie and went into the living room where Emma was. “I brought you something from New York,” he said, handing her the bag. “How’s your leg?”

  “It’s better, thanks.” She stared at the bag.

  “No need to try and use psychic abilities to figure out what’s in it,” he mused, shedding his raincoat. “Just open it.”

  She glowered at him, but she opened it. There was a small stuffed kitten inside, a marmalade kitten with brown eyes.

  “Oh,” she exclaimed softly.

  He smiled. “She reminded me of you.”

  She smoothed her hand over the silky little thing. “Thanks,” she said shyly. “Coffee?”

  “Yes. But you need decaf, little mama,” he teased softly as they walked into the kitchen.

  Marie saw them coming and laughed. “Strong and decaf,” she guessed. “Working on it.”

  “Thanks, Marie,” he said, grinning.

  He pulled out a chair and plopped down into it, yawning.

  “I was up most of the night,” he said when she glanced at him curiously. “I guess my age is catching up with me.”

  She only smiled. She worried that one of his mistresses had caused that lack of sleep.

  He cocked his head and studied her with visible pride. “Heartburn any better?”

  She laughed softly. “It never gets better. The midwife says it goes with the territory.”

  His face tautened. “I called Harry Weems on the way home. His nurse will call you this morning about an appointment. You’ll go,” he said when she tried to protest. “I won’t risk your health and the health of our child with a midwife, however qualified, not with your mother’s medical history.”

  It flattered her that he cared even that much. Perhaps he was just making the most of a guilty conscience, but she could pretend that he loved her. Once, he seemed to have come close to it. But the baby would give them something to build on. If he could love it, he might one day love Emma.

  “All right, Connor,” she said, her voice soft and quiet in the stillness of the kitchen, broken only by the sounds of coffee brewing.

  Marie made Connor’s in an espresso machine. He lived on strong coffee. But she had a small coffeepot for pods, and she made Emma’s decaf in that one. Fortunately, it was a large kitchen with plenty of counter space.

  “Strong and weak,” Marie teased as she put thick mugs of coffee in front of them. She’d learned long ago that Connor didn’t care for delicate china on his kitchen table, and he hated the formal dining room. It was only used for guests.

  “Thanks, Marie,” Emma said, smiling.

  “You need to drink more milk,” Marie chided. “And you should be taking vitamins.”

  The phone rang.

  “That’s vitamins calling you right now.” Connor chuckled. He indicated Emma’s cell phone, lying beside her coffee cup. “Answer it.”

  She made a face at him as she did. It was Dr. Weems’s nurse, who sounded very kind. She made an appointment for Emma the very next day. Emma agreed and thanked her. She hung up.

  “He’ll see me in the morning,” she said, shell-shocked. “But I thought it took weeks to get an appointment with him.”

  “He’s my best friend,” Connor replied. His eyes were all over Emma. “When I told him it was my child,” he said with a smile, “he was almost as excited as I was.”

  Emma studied him warily. She still didn’t quite trust him.

  He curled her fingers into his. “Do you want him to tell you the sex of the baby?” he asked softly.

  She sighed. The touch of his hand on hers was delicious. “I don’t think so. I’m almost nine months,” she said slowly. “We’ll know soon enough when I deliver.”

  He brought her palm to his mouth and kissed it softly. “Whatever you want, honey,” he said.

  She searched over his hard, broad face with acquisitive eyes. “Did you have a sister?”

  He knew what she was asking. He chuckled. “No. Neither did my father. Or my grandfather.” He pursed his lips. “So a little girl is unlikely.” His face softened as he looked at her. “I would have loved a little girl, Emma,” he said huskily, and kissed her palm again.

  She tingled all over. She could hardly catch her breath. The baby kicked, hard, and she jumped and laughed.

  “What is it?” he asked, worried.

  She put her free hand on her abdomen. “I think your son is agreeing that he’s not a girl,” she teased.

  His face radiated joy.

  She thought about the appointment the next day and gnawed her lower lip. “Dr. Weems...is he nice?”

  “He’s one of the best men I know. If you’re nervous, I’ll go with you,” he said.

  She was shocked. “But everyone will know, if you do.”

  “Know what? That I’m your husband or the father of your child? Or both?” he teased gently. “I don’t mind, Emma. I have enough people to keep the press away from us. We won’t be bothered here.”

  “They’ll think you’ve lost your mind when they see me,” she worried. “Stock prices will fall...”

  He just laughed. “They’ll think I’ve finally become sane,” he corrected. “Then it’s settled. We’ll go to the appointment together.” He picked up the phone and started making calls, first to Tonia.

  “Yes, that’s what I said, Emma’s pregnant. In fact, she’s due almost any day now.” He smiled as he listened. “That’s what I told her...Okay. Call our PR people and let them release it just to the tabloid that Kane Lombard’s people own. Give them an exclusive. That should get the rest of them off our backs, at least until the baby’s born...Sure. Thanks, Tonia.” He laughe
d. “I’ll tell her. Bye.”

  He hung up and glanced at Emma. “She said to tell you that they should put you in the book of records, considering how long I’ve avoided fatherhood.”

  Her eyes fell. “It was my fault,” she said, and felt guilty. “I didn’t use anything,” she added, lowering her voice so that Marie, tidying the living room, didn’t hear.

  “Neither did I,” he replied. “Didn’t you realize? I went in headfirst, honey. Once, when we were making such slow, soft love, I even thought about making a baby,” he whispered, burying his mouth in her palm. “I was a fanatic about prevention, but I never even asked if you’d gone on the pill, did I?”

  She shook her head. The touch of his mouth on her palm electrified her. She could barely breathe.

  “I can’t ask you to forgive so much,” he whispered. “But I’ll try to make it up to you, Emma,” he added softly, searching her big, soft brown eyes. “I’ll do anything to make you happy.”

  “The baby will mean a lot of changes,” she said.

  He shrugged. “We’ll cope.”

  She wondered if he had any idea what babies were really like. She’d lived with the Griers and she knew about taking care of infants. They were noisy and there would be toys spread all over the house. But perhaps he was right. He might learn to tolerate the baby even if he wasn’t as excited over fatherhood as he seemed to be.

  The Griers. She groaned inwardly. She hadn’t told them anything. She’d been too afraid to put them in the line of fire when she was in trouble with the law, and she didn’t want to impose on them when she knew she was pregnant. She corresponded with Tippy, but she hadn’t mentioned the pregnancy or her marriage, or the man in her life. She’d lied and said that work was keeping her very busy and she was happy. Tippy believed her, because Emma had never lied to her.

  “What’s wrong? You look worried,” Connor said softly.

  “I have friends in Texas,” she said. “I lived with them when my father...” She bit down hard on her lip.

  He was recalling things from the first days he’d known Emma, when she’d talked about her alcoholic father.

  “Your father drank,” he recalled. His face hardened. “He hit you.”