Rogue's Reform

by Marilyn Pappano

  He’d never proposed marriage before, had never even given it any thought. If he had, he would have supposed the woman’s response might be on the pleasantly surprised side. Well, he’d been half right. Grace was surprised.

  Moment after moment slipped past while she stared at him. Maybe surprised was too mild a word to describe the look in her brown eyes. Stunned might be more accurate. Or shocked. Maybe just plain horrified.

  Hell, that was no surprise. He’d never been anyone’s first choice—at least, not for anything good. There wasn’t a person alive who trusted him, not a soul who could accept him the way he was, without wishing he was better, kinder, more honest, more decent. He’d spent his whole damn life wishing he was better. There was no reason Grace Prescott should be any different.

  She looked as if she was torn between hysterical laughter because he couldn’t possibly be serious or hysterical shrieks because he was serious. With her hands shaking, she cleared the table, then looked out into the store as if a customer might appear and save her. When the door remained closed, she finally had no choice but to look at him—or at least in his direction. She couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye. “Why-why in the world w-would we g-get married?”

  Why in the world would I marry a liar, thief and loser like you? He had little doubt that was the question bouncing around in her head, but she’d had the courtesy to tone it down, to make it sound as ridiculous for him as for her.

  “Because you’re pregnant,” he said flatly as heat flooded his face.

  “Marriage isn’t a requirement for giving birth,” she pointed out cautiously.

  “Maybe it should be.”

  “I admit that in a perfect world everyone would be happily married before having babies, but this is hardly a perfect world. You don’t even know me.”

  “So we do it backward. First we had sex, then we get married, then we get to know each other.”

  She was shaking her head in dismay. No doubt she’d had a few dreams about some incredibly perfect hero who would sweep her away from the bleak misery of life with her father, who would treasure her in ways no one else ever had and make up for all the boys who’d never noticed her, all the dates she’d never gone on, all the affection she’d never gotten.

  Well, he was nobody’s hero. There had never been any shortage of women in his life, but not one of them had ever dreamed of falling in love with him and spending the rest of her life with him. He wasn’t that kind of guy. Women liked him fine for short-term flings, but when it came to permanence, they always looked to men like Guthrie.

  But Guthrie was taken, and no one like him was offering, and nothing changed the fact that Ethan had a claim on the baby, which gave him some small sort of claim on the mother.

  “Look, I know this isn’t the sort of marriage proposal most women hope for,” he said gruffly. He wasn’t into gestures—romance, flowers, bended knee. He couldn’t offer heartfelt declarations because his heart wasn’t involved, couldn’t make sweet promises because he’d never kept a promise in his life. He could lie, he supposed. He’d always been good at that—even so, he doubted Grace would believe him. “But most women aren’t about to give birth to a stranger’s child.”

  “And most women have a reasonable expectation of marriage. Unlike those few of us who are supposed to feel great gratitude at ever receiving a proposal—any proposal.” Her face was pale, her brown eyes magnified by the glasses that were inching down her nose.

  “I don’t want your gratitude,” he said sharply. He knew she must feel cheated—hell, he felt cheated for her, and that made him feel guilty, when he already had enough guilt to deal with.

  “And I don’t want your name.” The instant the words were out, bright spots of color appeared in her cheeks, making her look even paler in contrast, but she didn’t back down. “You grew up here as Gordon James’s son, and it wasn’t easy. I know, because it was just as hard being Jed Prescott’s daughter. My baby can’t escape being Jed’s granddaughter, but she can escape the stigma of being Gordon James’s granddaughter…or Ethan James’s daughter.”

  The stigma. That was what he’d lived twenty-eight years to become. There was less shame in his daughter being born illegitimate than in bearing his name. Less embarrassment for Grace to be pregnant and abandoned by some anonymous bastard than pregnant and married to him.

  She stood utterly still, looking as if she wanted to crawl into the corner and not come out again. When he stood up, she stiffened as if expecting some show of temper, but otherwise she didn’t move.

  He went to stand in the doorway, gazing out across the empty store. What did you say to a woman you hardly knew who’d just told you that you weren’t fit to give your child your name? He could think of only one thing.

  Looking over his shoulder, he offered the words he knew she wanted to hear. “Then I won’t bother you anymore. Goodbye, Grace.” In that instant before turning away, he saw the relief sweep over her, and then he walked out.

  On the sidewalk outside, he stood motionless a moment, staring at his old truck. He could head back to Key West, where the days were warm and living was so much easier, or he could try someplace new. There were plenty of towns in the country where people had never heard of Heartbreak, Oklahoma, where the names Gordon and Ethan James meant nothing, where he could learn to pretend that Grace Prescott meant nothing.

  But he was tired of new places. He was tired of constantly moving, of never having a place to call home, of never being welcome in his own home. He was tired of being a stranger to the only family he had, tired of being a bad brother, a worse son, a totally unacceptable, unwanted father. He wanted more.

  The thought brought a mocking smile to his mouth as he climbed inside the truck. Ethan James, who’d never been able to deal with what he already had, wanted more. Wasn’t that a hoot?

  He started to drive straight through town, then on impulse stopped at the grocery store to call Guthrie’s number. Olivia answered on the second ring. “Hey, it’s Ethan,” he said grimly. “I’m about to head out that way. Do you need anything from town?”

  “Bless your heart, I do. I was planning to drive in and pick the kids up at school so I could stop at the grocery store, but if you’d save me the trip, I’d be grateful. You’ll join us for dinner tonight, won’t you?” she asked, then went on with her list before he could answer.

  At the grocery store he selected Olivia’s items first, then added his usual week’s shopping to the cart—canned soup, sandwich makings, bacon and eggs, frozen dinners. He debated tossing in a six-pack of beer, a perfectly innocent purchase that half the men in town made on a regular basis. But half the men in town didn’t have the stigma of his name or his history. They didn’t have teetotaler Guthrie for a brother, and they hadn’t gotten the shiest, quietest little mouse in town pregnant.

  The beer stayed on the shelf.

  Back at Guthrie’s place, he parked in front of the cabin, put his own purchases away, then carried Olivia’s bags across the broad spread of yard. She opened the door before he’d knocked twice and gave him her usual welcoming smile.

  “Hey, Ethan, come on in.” She opened the door wide, then closed it behind him before leading the way into the kitchen. The instant he walked through the doorway, he literally felt the welcome disappear, diminished by the force of the disapproval directed his way from the opposite door, where Guthrie stood in the laundry room, tugging off one muddy boot, watching him as if he were some dangerous criminal come to do harm.

  Ethan had never been able to win with Guthrie, not since they were kids. Guthrie had never wanted him in his house, but when Ethan had disappeared for weeks at a time, he’d gotten angry about that, too. If he knew that Ethan was the father of Grace’s baby, he would be furious that Ethan hadn’t stayed hell and gone away from her, but he would also be angry that he’d come back when she obviously didn’t want him, and he would be even angrier if Ethan walked away from both Grace and the baby. Where Guthrie was concerned, Ethan wa
s damned if he did and damned if he didn’t.

  Olivia’s tugging on one of the bags he held drew Ethan’s attention from his brother. “Have you had lunch?” she asked as she pulled the bag from his arm and set it on the counter. “Can I fix you a sandwich?”

  “No. No, thanks. I’ve eaten.”

  “How about dinner tonight? Six-thirty?” Her smile was meant to manipulate him into accepting, but it only served to warm him. “We’re having roast beef with all the trimmings, freshly baked bread and peach cobbler from our own peaches.”

  It had been more years than he could count since he’d sat down to a home-cooked meal. The idea held a certain appeal—the family gathered around the table, good food, friendly conversation. Except there hadn’t been a friendly conversation between him and Guthrie in at least ten years.

  “I appreciate the invitation,” he said awkwardly, “but I’ve got plans.”

  If Olivia suspected he was lying, she didn’t show it. “Okay. Maybe tomorrow. How much do I owe you for the groceries?”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He was temporarily living on their property. Buying a few groceries didn’t come close to balancing that. “I—I’ll see you later.”

  As soon as he closed the door behind him, the tightness in his chest eased, allowing him to breathe a little easier. The relief didn’t last long, though. Before he’d reached the bottom step, the door opened again and Guthrie came out onto the porch. “Why did you come back?”

  Ethan considered ignoring his brother and heading for the cabin, anyway. Guthrie was in his socks. He wouldn’t follow, at least not right that moment. But he would eventually, and he would get an answer to his question. He always did.

  Slowly he turned, climbed the steps again and faced his brother. Looking Guthrie in the eye knowing he didn’t measure up to his brother’s expectations had always been one of the hardest things Ethan had to face in his life. That afternoon it was no easier. “Do you want me to leave?”

  His question seemed to knock Guthrie off balance. He wanted to say yes, get out and never come back. Ethan was certain of that. But being the all-around nicest guy in the whole damn world, he couldn’t be so blunt. “You’ve always been welcome to stay as long as you want,” he said stiffly.

  Nice words, Ethan reflected, but not true. From the moment the family had realized how much like his father he was, his welcome had been shaky at best. Once their mother had died, it had crumbled. He’d let Nadine down too many times, disappointed and hurt her too often. Guthrie would have been happy never to see him again.

  “I’m just trying to figure some things out,” Ethan said at last.

  “What kind of things?”

  “Personal things.” And they’d never been the sort of brothers who shared personal problems. Guthrie had always had plenty of friends and admirers to turn to for help, and Ethan… He’d kept his troubles to himself.

  He wished he could talk to someone now, wished there was someone he trusted enough to take into his confidence. But the closest thing he had to a confidante was Olivia, and there was no way he could ask her to keep any more of his secrets from her husband.

  “What are your plans this evening?”

  Ethan shrugged, unwilling to lie again.

  Guthrie hesitated, looked away and grudgingly asked, “Why don’t you come to dinner first? The girls would enjoy it. You’re the only uncle they’ve got, and they hardly know you.”

  “Under the circumstances, I’d think you would want to keep it that way.”

  Then Guthrie did look at him, wearing that irritated, temper-barely-in-control look he so often wore with Ethan. “You can come or not. It doesn’t matter to me.”

  “So what’s new?” Ethan murmured, earning him another sharp look from Guthrie. “I appreciate the invitation, but there are some things I have to do.”

  With a polite nod he descended the steps, then headed for the cabin. It hadn’t been a complete lie. He did have things to do that required all of his attention—plans to make, options to consider. Whatever decision he made would affect not only the rest of his life, but also the rest of his baby’s life.

  He had to be damn sure it was the right one.

  After work, Grace locked up the store, then huddled in her coat for the short walk to Doc Hanson’s clinic down the street where she had an appointment with Callie. Regular patient hours ended at five, but the midwife made exceptions whenever necessary.

  Callie was in the waiting room, watching the television mounted to one wall. She didn’t own a TV, she’d once told Grace. She’d grown up without one—without electricity, too—in a commune in northern California, the place for which she was named. For a time she’d rebelled against her upbringing—had gone to college, become a nurse and discovered her materialistic side.

  Then the rebellion had passed, she’d said. She’d gone back to school for her training in midwifery, sold the condo and most of the possessions she’d acquired and returned to the more natural life-style her parents had embraced. That had included a move to Heartbreak, where she lived in a small cabin outside town, grew much of her own food and ignored the folks who treated her like an oddity. After all, she freely admitted she was odd. A low-tech midwife in a high-tech world, a vegetarian in cattle country, a dreamer in a land of realists.

  Grace liked her a lot.

  Callie took her back into the exam room—not one of the cold, drab rooms that lined the hall, but a space that wouldn’t be too out of place in most homes. The walls were papered with a floral print, and drapes covered the window. Instead of an exam table, there was a bed. Instead of nervousness-inducing sterility, there was a pleasant, natural feel to the room.

  Callie’s exam was unhurried but over fairly quickly. After making a few notes in Grace’s file, the older woman sat back and studied her. As moment after moment ticked past Grace began to squirm, until finally she demanded, “What?”

  “What’s going on? You seem distressed.”

  She’d had customers all afternoon and none of them had noticed. She was chagrined that Callie had. “I’m entitled to be distressed. I’m single, pregnant and have no family, little money and no insurance. Remember?”

  Callie’s wave was dismissive. She wasn’t overly concerned about payment for her services. She knew people would pay when they could, and even bartered for some services. “Being single, pregnant and without insurance has been your life for the last seven months. This is something new. What’s happened?”

  Grace laced her fingers tightly together as if the action could keep the answer inside her, but she wanted to talk to somebody and there was no one else. Taking a deep breath for courage, she blurted out, “He’s back in town.”

  “The baby’s father.” Though it wasn’t posed as a question, Callie waited for her nod before she went on. “You’ve talked to him?”

  Grace nodded again.

  “What was his reaction to the news?”

  “He—he asked me to marry him.” The words sounded so strange in her own ears. She’d practically given up hope of any man ever proposing marriage, not when there were other single, more attractive, less needy women around. She’d never imagined that someone as handsome and generally charming as Ethan James could ever possibly want her. She’d certainly never imagined that she could receive a marriage proposal from someone so handsome and turn it down.

  Of course, Ethan didn’t want her. He didn’t even want her baby. He just wanted, for once in his life, to do what tradition said was right.

  “And you told him no because…?”

  “It would be wrong. You don’t get married just because you’ve had the bad luck to get someone pregnant.”

  Callie smiled faintly. “People get married for a lot of reasons, Grace. For love, for money, for companionship, for sex and, yes, for a baby. One reason isn’t necessarily better than another.”

  “Marriage is hard. If you don’t love each other from the start, it’ll never last.”

  “Arranged marriages r
arely involve love from the start, yet they usually last. Marriages between two people who are madly in love often end once the passion fades—and it does fade, Grace. In a truly successful marriage, there are other things as important as love, if not more so—things like respect, commitment and trust.”

  And she and Ethan certainly didn’t share any of them, either. There was nothing respectful about telling a man trying to do the right thing for his child that he was a burden neither she nor the child should be saddled with. And what kind of commitment could she expect from a man who didn’t really want to be a part of their lives? As for trust, the only thing she trusted Ethan to do was stir up trouble before moving on again.

  “So,” Grace said, “if you were in my situation, you would get married just because you’re pregnant.”

  “It’s a reasonable thing to do. And it’s not just because you’re pregnant. There are other advantages. You would have someone to share the responsibilities of raising your child with, someone to contribute financially and emotionally to the child’s welfare as well as your own. You’d have an extra pair of hands to give a bottle when it’s three in the morning and you’re absolutely going to die if you don’t get a few hours of uninterrupted sleep, someone to make plans with, to make a future with.”

  “And what if he’s never accepted responsibility for anything in his life? What if the chances of him being there at three in the morning to give a bottle are somewhere between slim and none? What if he’s never stuck around anywhere long enough to even think about a future?”

  “What if he’s just never had a good-enough reason to stick around?” Callie countered. “Being a father is an awesome responsibility. It can totally change a man.”

  “And it can be too much for some men to bear. I could end up a single mother, with no family, little money and divorced to boot.”

  “But you would have tried.”

  “And failed.” And any marriage between her and Ethan would be doomed from the start.

  Callie shrugged, then returned her attention to the chart once more. “Are you taking your vitamins?”