The moisture in her mouth dried. She licked her lips, astonished by his one-eighty. “What about children? Will you ever want to adop—”
He shook his head, stopping her before she could finish the sentence. “Children will never be part of my future. As much as you want to travel, I thought...hoped...they wouldn’t be part of yours, either. If you think you’ll want a family, I’ll understand, and we can go our separate ways once and for all.” His tone hardened more with every word. “But, Ryanne, I don’t want to go our separate ways. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything.”
Again, she licked her lips. “This is all so new. I don’t know what to say.” And that was the unvarnished truth.
“Say you’ll think about it. Please. I know I can make you happy. No, actually, don’t say anything else,” he rushed to add when she opened her mouth to tell him...she wasn’t sure what. “While you’re thinking, I’m coming after you.” He brought her knuckles to his lips, kissed each one. “You spent the first part of our relationship romancing me. Now it’s my turn.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
RYANNE SAT ON the lid of her toilet, in her newly rebuilt apartment, a pregnancy test in hand. In one minute forty-six seconds, she would know the truth, and the truth would set her free...or doom her budding relationship with Jude once and for all.
He’d kept his promise. He’d begun to woo her.
Yesterday, after dropping his I want to be with you now and always bombshell, he’d driven her back to the inn, where he’d ensured a romantic lunch for two waited in her room. They’d eaten and petted the kittens, and he’d told her all about his years with Constance. He’d even talked about his daughters. Once or twice he’d gotten choked up, but mostly he’d laughed about their childhood antics. Playing “salon” and cutting each other’s hair. Coloring the walls with permanent marker. Tearing up Constance’s clothes to design their own “high fashion line.”
He’d left Ryanne with another tender kiss, not once attempting to get her into bed, though she’d known he desired her. The blue-ribbon prized hog behind his fly had given him away. And she’d desired him, too. She’d ached. She’d burned.
She still ached and burned! She wanted him more than ever before, but she also wanted things settled between them.
This morning, she’d found a gift box at her door. Inside was a second control for her game station. The accompanying note had read: I would love to play with you. Loser gets naked. Winner gets off.
Part of her desired the old, morose Jude, but oh, wow, the other part of her adored the new, seductive Jude. But still she resisted agreeing to a permanent relationship with him. What if they crashed and burned yet again? Her emotions couldn’t take another round of he’s with me, he’s with me not, oh, wait, he’s with me. Especially considering life had never been more complicated or chaotic.
The grand opening of the Scratching Post was tonight, and earlier today her mother had announced, “Guess what? I’m going to work for you! I’ll be your best waitress, cariño, I promise. All the men will go crazy for me in my uniform, and they’ll spend all their monies.” As she’d spoken, she’d held up a sequined bra and super-short shorts.
“Selma,” Ryanne had said on a sigh. “My employees wear white button-downs and jeans.”
“I noticed, which is why I’ll be in charge of the staff uniform from now on. And the staff! Don’t you worry, baby girl. There’s no need to thank me with words. Thank me with a raise.”
In the end, Ryanne had given in to her mother’s “request.” Selma had saved the bar with her mud wrestling idea, and even had ideas for future events. An indoor rodeo with the mechanical bull. A foam party. A glow-stick party.
Actually, most of her ideas involved wild parties.
A knock echoed inside Ryanne’s bathroom. “Anything yet?” Dorothea asked through the bathroom door.
“We’re dying to know,” Lyndie said.
Living in a small town, Ryanne had had to make arrangements to get a pregnancy test without alerting the local gossips. Meaning, she’d had to confide in her friends. Dorothea and Lyndie had driven into the city, allowing her to stay at the inn, vomit repeatedly and plan the bar’s reopening.
The girls were waiting in her room, probably pacing the floor.
Deep breath in...out... Enough time had passed, surely. Ryanne looked down at the stick and—
Gasped as shock gut-punched her. A flood of acid immediately rained into her stomach, and she jumped up, dropping the test. She threw open the toilet lid and started a new round of vomiting. Her friends heard her retching and pushed inside the room to rush to her side.
Dorothea held back her hair, and Lyndie picked up the test.
“Oh, Ryanne,” Lyndie said with a wide smile that soon wavered. “I’m happy for you? Congratulations?”
“It’s positive?” Dorothea asked, jumping up and down and clapping. “We’re going to be aunties!”
Lyndie nodded, and Dorothea hugged her, saying, “Yes, absolutely, one hundred percent. We’re happy for her.”
Ryanne detected a slight thread of envy in her friend’s voice and wanted to kick her own butt. Dorothea had been pregnant once, but she’d lost the baby in her fifth month when she’d fallen down a flight of stairs. She’d named the stillborn little girl Rose Holly. Now, her reproductive organs were too scarred to have another child.
Ryanne flushed the toilet and fell back to her haunches, then wiped her mouth with a shaky hand. Cool air kissed her clammy skin, making her feel chilled and overheated at the same time.
“How?” she croaked. How was she pregnant? How had his little swimmers and her little hatcher found each other, despite two (seemingly) unbeatable obstacles?
I’m going to have a baby.
A miracle baby.
Jude’s baby.
A baby Jude absolutely, positively did not want.
What if he asked her to abort, the way her father had asked her mother?
Ryanne reacted without thought, pressing her hands against her flat belly. Never! She might not have planned to have a baby, and she might not have known if she wanted one any time soon, and yes, okay, a baby might ruin the plans she did have in place, but she loved the kid with every fiber of her being.
Not just Jude’s baby—my baby.
Another gut-punch of shock. The fact that she felt so strongly, so soon proved the little girl who’d wanted a big family had never really died.
At first, whenever Selma had dated a man with children, Ryanne had been over the moon, excited to have playmates. Not all of those playmates had been kind, but those who had, she’d adored. Every time Selma moved on to a new man, Ryanne lost touch with the kids, and it had hurt; eventually she’d stopped allowing herself to bond with the new members of her family.
No one could take her child away from her. She would be the kind of mother she’d never had. Protective. Loving. Involved.
And whoa, back up a sec. She’d gotten it wrong. The baby wasn’t going to ruin her plans. Ryanne could travel while pregnant, and later, she could travel with a child in tow, though maybe not in the same style.
Jude had said he wanted to wait for her return. Would he still want to wait for her—for them—when he learned the truth?
Perhaps he’d want to travel with them.
Dream on. Tears poured down her cheeks. She had to tell him, wouldn’t keep it from him. Would his romantic gestures stop?
Forget poo on a stick—pee on a stick!
She had fallen in love with him, hadn’t she? She’d fallen in love with the brave soldier who’d overcome debilitating anguish, the loss of family and a limb, who’d helped a woman in need even when he despised her occupation. That was why Ryanne had given him her virginity, why she’d slept with him after he’d treated her so poorly. Why she’d considered taking h
im back after he’d smiled while her bar burned.
“Jude lost his daughters,” she whispered, her voice ragged. “He’s adamant about never having another child.”
“No, he fears losing another child. There’s a difference.” Dorothea crouched and petted her hair, her features solemn. “The pain fades with time, but if left unchecked, the fear only grows.”
And Ryanne couldn’t fight his fear for him. No one could. He had to do it on his own.
Could he?
* * *
WORD HAD SPREAD about the grand reopening of the Scratching Post, and the bar filled to the brim, excitement crackling in the air as people lined up to ride the mechanical bull.
Ryanne put Sutter in charge of drinks and didn’t try to stop Selma as she worked the tables, or rather, the men. Ryanne stayed in the kitchen with Caroline, making cube steak and cheese sandwiches with red pepper sauce. A grand opening required grander food than usual.
Also, she liked being in the kitchen. She avoided the photos on the walls behind the bar—the constant reminder of Jude’s thoughtfulness. And okay, okay, she wanted to hide from Jude himself. Just for a little while. She would tell him about the baby, absolutely, most definitely...later. She just, she wasn’t ready for his thoughtfulness to end. Losing his attention and affection would destroy her. He would no longer look at her with adoration but disdain. He would no longer pull her close but push her further away.
“What’s wrong with you?” Caroline popped an olive into her mouth. “Your bar is open and better than ever, but you look like you could barf blood at any second.”
“First, gross. Second, your employee review just went from most improved to most likely to be fired.”
“Yeah, right. You’ve either got the worst luck of anyone on the planet, or you’re cursed. Fights, fires and mud floods, oh my. I doubt anyone else would sign on for this job.”
Well. She wasn’t wrong. Ryanne wondered what Dushku would do next.
Muffled footsteps. A gasp from Caroline. Ryanne stiffened, expecting something horrible, because why not. Things had been going so great. She turned—
And came face-to-face with a smiling Jude, his hair tousled, his jaw dusted with stubble. He wore ripped jeans and combat boots, and a leather cuff on one wrist, proudly revealing the strawberry tattoo on the other. This was his usual attire. Only difference was, tonight his T-shirt read The Scratching Post.
He was supporting a bar...because she owned it.
“Hello, beautiful,” he said.
I prefer the way you said hello with your mouth and hands and thrust after delicious thrust...
Argh! He was the best man she’d ever met, and she was about to ruin his life, and yet she couldn’t stop thinking about him naked, which sucked because he wasn’t already naked and she wanted, needed more from him, and oh, crap she was babbling inside her own head. Tears stung her eyes. How she hated her tears. They’d come too frequently lately.
His smile fell. He barked at Caroline to leave, and as soon as she’d hit the bricks, he closed the distance to draw Ryanne against his chest. “What’s wrong?”
The longer she put it off, the harder it was going to be to tell him. To maybe probably have to let him go...
“Jude, I...I have to tell you something.” She wrung her hands together, her palms damp.
He cupped her cheeks, forcing her gaze to remain steady on his. “Did someone hurt you?” Rage simmered in his tone. Scary rage. If someone had hurt her, that someone would die.
“I’m okay.” Kind of. She gulped. Do it. Say it. “Do you remember the first time we had sex?”
He frowned but nodded. “I remember everything about our first time. How tight and wet you were. How sweet you tasted.” His thumbs caressed the rise of her cheekbones. “Why? Do you want a do-over? I promise I’ll stick around afterward.”
Could he be any sexier?
“No. I mean, yes, I would like that, but that’s not the point of this conversation. Do you, uh, remember how the condom broke?”
His frown deepened, his thumbs stilling. “What is the point of this conversation?”
Say it. SAY IT. “I don’t know how it happened. I mean, I do know, but we took every precaution, did everything right. It shouldn’t have happened, but somehow...it did.”
“Ryanne,” he snapped. Tremors rolled through him, rocking him against her. “I’m sure I’m misunderstanding you. What are you saying? Spell it out for me.”
“I...I’m...pregnant,” she whispered. “I took a test this morning.”
His arms fell away from her, and he stumbled two steps back. The color drained from his cheeks. “The test was wrong. It had to be wrong.”
“I’ve been getting sick every morning.” Still she whispered, and she didn’t know why. “I had a period, or thought I did. It was lighter than normal. A lot lighter. Apparently that can happen early on.”
“A baby.” He shook his head. “I can’t be the father. I had the vasectomy.”
Oh, no, he didn’t! “You yourself said your swimmers would remain active about two months after the procedure, and we had sex—what? A week later? And sometimes the pill fails. It happened. It’s a miracle. This baby is a miracle. Our baby.”
“I don’t... I can’t...”
“If you don’t believe me, go get your load checked.” Her voice rose with every word. “But I am pregnant, and the baby is yours.”
“I know it’s mine. I wasn’t saying... I’m just shocked and...I’m having trouble wrapping my head around this.”
“If you think I planned it...”
“Did you?” he demanded now, his eyes narrowed.
“No! My goal was to travel the world alone, not start a family with the man who continually dumps me.”
His shoulders rolled in, and for a moment, he looked utterly dejected. Then his spine straightened, as if it had just fused with steel. “It’s not too late to...we can go to the city in the morning...you can—”
Ryanne slapped him. His head whipped to the side, a bead of blood welling at the corner of his lower lip. He’d pushed her past her emotional limit and awoke momma bear instincts. Must protect my cub.
“I knew you’d go there,” she spat, “but I prayed I was wrong.”
He opened his mouth.
“I can’t believe you used to guard our country. You can’t even guard a womb!” As she stood there, staring at him, panting, her hands balled. Disappointment blended with the rage simmering inside her. “I told you my father wanted my mother to abort me. What would have happened if she’d listened to him? You never would have met me. Is that what you wish for, Jude? No Ryanne, no baby. No family, no pain.”
He flinched as if she’d slapped him a second time.
Deep breath in, out. Knew this wasn’t going to be easy. “Look. I didn’t expect you to take the news well, and I understand why you’re upset.”
His expression hardened. “No, Ryanne. You don’t understand.” His tone hardened, too. “You can’t possibly understand.”
“You’re not the only one who’s lost a loved one,” she reminded him softly.
“Yes, but I’m the only one who’s lost a child.”
“And yet that is exactly what you want me to do—lose my child.”
Another flinch. He almost looked feral as he pressed a hand against his chest and stumbled back another step. “I’m sorry. I am sorry. I still want to be with you, but I can’t deal with...” He waved a hand toward her stomach. “I just can’t.”
Pain, so much pain. A dagger in her heart. “So that’s it, then? We’re done?”
“According to you, we were done already.”
“According to you, we were going to have now and always because you weren’t going to give up on me ever again.”
Yet another flinch.
She wasn’t pulling her punches tonight. Couldn’t. Her future, her baby’s future, were at stake.
“I...don’t know. I need to think. You’ve had time to process this, I haven’t. So give me a few days, okay. Please.” That said, he turned on his heel and strode out of the kitchen, leaving her alone—something he’d promised never to do again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
JUDE FELT AS if he’d come full circle. From the lowest of lows to the highest of highs not just once but twice—and now he was lower than the lowest of lows. Because yes, he’d somehow dug deeper.
He stumbled out of his truck and fell to his knees. He’d done this before, soon after Ryanne had begun to tempt him with her beauty and charm. He’d railed about the travesty of his life that had been spinning out of control.
How could he have known things could get worse?
He’d just begun to crawl out from the muck of his past. He’d begun to heal, had even found moments of humor, sorrow unable to intrude.
Now, grief was a razor in his chest, as strong as the day Constance and the girls had died. That razor slashed his heart to ribbons, causing a slow hemorrhage of any hope he’d managed to cultivate.
Ryanne was pregnant with his child. His baby.
A baby he would inevitably love.
A baby he could lose in a million different ways.
He’d always known death was too powerful to stop, but he’d never suspected life was, too.
How could this have happened? They’d taken every precaution.
He’d been prepared to open himself up to Ryanne, to spend the rest of his days with her. But a baby—a baby he couldn’t protect twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week...
Abject fear grabbed his heart and squeezed. A vise-grip he couldn’t escape. Thorns seemed to grow inside his throat, snagging every breath he managed to take, leaving him gasping. He wouldn’t survive the loss of another child. He would finally, blessedly—gladly—break his promise to Constance and give up.
Not just broken anymore. Twisted. Shattered.
His ears twitched as tires squealed. A car door opened, slammed shut. Rushed footsteps pounded into the ground. He didn’t turn, didn’t care who’d intruded upon him. Didn’t care—until someone dropped beside him, strong arms wrapping around him. Brock. Brock had come for him.
Can't Let Go--A Bad Boy Romance Page 25