Living With Lies Trilogy (Books 1, 2, and 3 of The Dancing Moon Ranch Series)

by Watters, Patricia

  "You okay?" Jack asked.

  She nodded. "Just a solid kick in the belly. He's active right now."

  "Can I feel him kick?" Jack asked.

  The look on his face was weighty, like feeling the kick of his son was important, so she nodded vaguely and stood motionless while Jack slipped his hand beneath her jacket and put it on her tummy. His broad palm was warm. Their son would also have big hands, and that didn't seem so bad. A whole new image of the child growing inside her was beginning to take hold.

  "I hate to break up this father-son bonding," Sam said, "but the cat's fussing."

  "Her name is Mei Ling," Grace insisted.

  Sam looked at the cat, then at Jack, who shrugged, and said, "Get used to it."

  Forty-five minutes later, they turned off the main highway onto a snow-covered county road with ruts where other cars had passed. After following it for about another fifteen minutes, they turned onto yet another snow-covered road, a narrow one, and passed through a tall ranch gateway made of upright timbers with a cross bar. Hanging from the cross piece was a sign with the words, DANCING MOON RANCH. A few hundred feet further was a compound that included several barns with attached corrals, numerous outbuildings, a string of log cabins along a creek, several log or cedar homes belonging to Jack, Sam, and their widowed mother, as Jack pointed out, and a huge guest lodge.

  As they approached the lodge, Grace stared at the place that would be home for the next week. The large two-story building was made of massive logs, with front-facing gables on both ends, and a steep roof for shedding snow. A porch ran the full length of the front of the lodge, terminating at an immense stone chimney.

  After pulling up to the front entrance, Jack helped Grace out and up the front steps to the porch then started to unload. Jack had just set the last of the cat paraphernalia onto the porch when a woman dressed in jeans and a denim shirt, with a quilted vest over it, stepped out of the lodge. Appearing in her late-forties, Grace assumed the woman was Flo. She looked at Grace with curiosity, then eyed the cat in the carrier with an expression that said, that cat won't be staying inside, then looked at Jack for confirmation. Jack took Grace's elbow and said to Flo, "This is Grace Templeton, the mother of my son. She's staying here for a couple of weeks. She needs bed rest, and the cat will be with her in the bedroom off the kitchen. Give Grace whatever she needs. She'll let you know what it is."

  Flo said nothing, her eyes shifting between Jack, and Grace's belly, and the cat in the carrier, and fixing on Grace's belly again. "When's the baby due?" she asked, her brow creased in a frown, her eyes holding a myriad of unspoken questions.

  "Next month," Jack replied. "And don't try to figure it out right now, Flo. It's a long story." He handed the cat carrier to Sam then scooped Grace up in his arms and carried her through the entry. Grace couldn't help but be aware of the rock-hard arms holding her. Jack was all lean, solid muscle, and he carried her with no effort.

  Once inside, what struck Grace first was the musky odor of wood from the massive log walls, intermingled with smoke from years of logs burning on the hearth of the huge stone fireplace at the far end of the great room. A rustic iron chandelier made of two concentric circular iron bands, and held together by welded interlocking horseshoes, hung from log beams above, and straight ahead rose a bank of stairs to a balcony above, which was lined with guest rooms, evidenced by numbers on the doors. At the far end of the great room, and in the vicinity of the fireplace, were overstuffed chairs and leather sofas, which were arranged in groups, inviting conversation, and a wooden card table stood ready for game players. Through a double-wide opening was a dining room, with one long table lined with a couple dozen chairs.

  Grace saw no sign of guests. "I assume this is your off season?" she said to Jack, whose face was not more than a breath away from hers.

  "Yeah," Jack replied, as he headed across the great room toward a hallway, still carrying her. "Guests start filling the place on Easter weekend and they’re here through New Years. We shut down for repairs after that, so winters are quiet."

  Sam, holding the cat carrier, followed behind Jack, who passed the kitchen on the right and Flo's room on the left. When the hallway made a turn, Jack carried Grace straight ahead and through a doorway and set her down in a bedroom outfitted in peeled-pole furniture with Indian-motif upholstery and what looked to be a handmade quilt on the double-wide bed.

  "You should have everything you need here," he said. "If not, just ask Flo."

  "I'll be fine," Grace replied, while taking in the surroundings. Being a corner room, it had large windows on two walls that looked out onto a scene covered in snow. From the window on the end wall, and across an expanse of snowy grounds, she saw the stable with its corral enclosed by peeled-pole fencing. The other window looked out the front wall of the lodge, where she could see hills dotted with evergreens, everything cloaked in newly-fallen snow. On the interior wall was a large-screen TV and a cabinet with DVD's, and beside the cabinet, a door opened to a bathroom. In it was a modern footed tub with a sloping back, the perfect place to sit with water up to her chin and soak, Grace decided. And after the long stressful day, that was exactly where she wanted to be.

  Jack walked up to stand behind her, and said, over the top of her head, "The tub's a little high off the floor so if you want, Flo can help you get in and out for the next two weeks."

  That's when it dawned on Grace that Jack told Flo she'd be there for two weeks. "I only packed for a week," she said. She wasn't protesting, just surprised Jack hadn't consulted her first. Then maybe she shouldn't be surprised at this point. Jack seemed to be a man who pretty much did things the way he wanted. Period!

  "You won't need much in the way of clothes since you'll be in bed," Jack said.

  "I can't sit in bed for two weeks," Grace replied. "I'll go crazy."

  "Are you interested in carrying our child to full term?" Jack asked.

  "I've been carrying my child for almost eight months now," Grace emphasized the my. "Of course I want to carry him to full term."

  "You can word it anyway you want," Jack said, "but the baby you're carrying is half you and half me. Not mostly you and a little bit me. He's got my DNA, and there's a good chance he'll be built like me and look like me. He's not just yours, Grace. He's every bit as much mine, and you might as well get used to the idea, but I'll see about renting a motorized wheelchair so you can get around without walking."

  Jack's unyielding face prompted a question that had been nagging Grace from the start. "You're not married," she said, "so why is it so important for you to have a son? Most men in your situation would be glad to get out of any responsibility, yet you're ready to give me five-hundred dollars a month to make your claim."

  Jack said nothing, and when the silence became awkward, Grace said, "Alright. Obviously you don't want to talk about it so forget I asked. Just curious."

  "Yeah, well, don't try to figure it out," Jack said. "I'll get the rest of your stuff." He turned and walked away.

  And Grace was more determined than ever to learn what was behind what she was coming to view as Jack's obsession with having a son. Not a wife. He gave no indication that she and her baby were a package deal. Jack wanted his son, and he wanted control of what happened to him. And that scared Grace more than she cared to think.

  CHAPTER 3

  Jack insisted that Grace stay in bed while he set up the cat's gear, which he'd done under Grace's direction… the cat bed beside Grace's bed, even though the cat was on the bed. The scratching post inside the door to the bedroom. The sky room under the window so the cat could look out. The post with the pole and feathers where the cat could swat it when she came out of the bathroom after using the litter box. The cat had taken up the whole damn bedroom. But Grace looked contented, sitting in bed while stroking the cat. Stroking Mei Ling, Jack conceded. Grace got pissed when he referred to her as the cat.

  It seemed odd having a pregnant woman to fuss over again. He'd been watching Sam hovering
over Susan the entire length of her pregnancy, and although it hadn't been an issue, he couldn't deny it had bothered him that Sam and Susan would be raising his son because he knew that watching his boy grow up as his nephew wouldn't fill the void. But the child Grace was carrying would, and someday, half the ranch would be his. He'd get the boy an older settled pony when he was around three so they could ride in the mountains. Before then, he'd put him in the saddle in front of him and let him hold the reins...

  "Is there something you want?" Grace asked.

  Jack looked up, realizing he'd been staring at her stomach for an inordinate amount of time, but it gave him the opening he wanted. He'd been looking for a chance to bring up the cord blood transplant. Grace's due date could be less than a month away if contractions were an indication so there was little time for her to get adjusted to the idea of flying to New Jersey to have the baby. He wouldn't hit her with it yet, just slip into it gradually. That was the key he realized, after knowing Grace for less than a day. Slip into things gradually.

  "Maybe we could talk for a few minutes," he said.

  Grace gave a little shrug. "If you'd like."

  Jack pulled up a chair and sat facing her. "Susan and Ricky will be back in a couple of days so things will pick up," he said, starting with the obvious. Women liked to talk, and two pregnant woman would bond.

  "Then Ricky's like a normal boy?" Grace asked, while her eyes moved almost imperceptibly from his eyes... down his nose... across his mouth... She was imagining what their son would look like, Jack guessed. Like he was doing with Grace. But when he thought about his son, he didn't care whether he had Grace's lighter brown eyes and hair, or the Hansen darker ones. What he thought about was having a healthy, sturdy boy. Good lungs. A strong heart.

  Realizing Grace was waiting for his response, he said, "Ricky's like a normal three-year-old after his treatments, which are steroids and transfusions, then he gradually goes downhill until the next treatment. If he can get a cord blood transplant he'll lead a normal life, but the chance of finding a match outside the family is next to none. Siblings have the best chance, and with Sam and me being identical twins, the chance of a match from my gene pool is as good as from Sam's. But since Ricky's disorder is passed through the male line, the child Susan's carrying has no more chance of being a match than anyone outside the family."

  Grace stared at him for a few moments, and from the pinched frown on her brow, he knew she understood and was mulling it over. Then the frown flattened, and she said, "If you're asking me to fly to New Jersey I can't, because I'm terrified of flying."

  "There's nothing to flying and there's no risk to the baby," Jack said, knowing it wasn't the time to press the issue because everything that was happening was as new to Grace, but not seeming able to drop the subject with time running out. "Ricky will die without a transplant, and even though there's no guarantee of a match from my son, if you don't have him at the hospital in New Jersey we'll never know. But the doctors think there's a better-than-likely chance that any child I father could be a match."

  "So because of you I'm expected to fly off to New Jersey and risk going into labor on the plane because of stress from the flight and giving birth thirty-thousand feet above the ground." Grace folded her arms and glared at him, as if everything was his fault.

  Which pissed the hell out of him. "Look," he said, "let's get one thing straight. I'm not responsible for getting you pregnant with my child. I didn't rape you, and I didn't pressure you into having sex with me. You're pregnant from no fault of mine, but that's my son you're carrying, and Susan's carrying your husband's son, and there's not a damn thing any of us can do about it." He stood and left the room. Trying to reason with the stubborn, inflexible woman seemed pointless.

  ***

  After storming out of the room and leaving Grace alone for the rest of the evening and the entire next day, with instructions to Flo to get her whatever she needed, Jack was back, this time with a couple of plastic shopping bags in his hands. He stood in the doorway looking in, like he didn't know what to do. Grace could make a suggestion. Go away and don't come back until she was gone, but she had something Jack wanted, and he wasn't about to go away, at least not for the next eighteen years. Grace felt angry at being boxed in a corner. This was her child. A baby boy who'd been growing inside her for nearly eight months, and she didn't want Jack telling her what she should or shouldn't do regarding him, and he could not begin to understand the magnitude of her fear of flying. Images of her last flight were emblazoned on her mind forever.

  There were some redeeming qualities in the man though. He did care about the baby. But he had to understand that what he wanted he couldn't have. She would not let him direct her child's life. After knowing him for only two days, she could see him micromanaging what her son ate, and who he played with, and what he watched on TV, and on and on, and she'd have no control over where Jack would take him during visitation. Her divorced friends were going through that with their exs and it was hell, and when she got down to it, Jack was like an ex. A man who'd fathered her child, but was as far removed from a man she wanted to be married to as any man could be.

  "I got some things for you," Jack said. "Can I come in?"

  "Sure." Grace eyed the bags, curious about what Jack might have brought, suspecting they were filled with baby things, but she already had a nursery set up at her house with everything the baby needed. What Jack had would be his way of making a kind of quasi Notice of Intent to Claim Paternity, like a check for five-hundred dollars.

  Jack walked over to the bed, and Mei Ling took the opportunity to jump down and weave in and out of his legs. Jack looked annoyed but didn't try to stop Mei Ling.

  "She's bonding with you," Grace explained when Jack seemed at a loss what to do, with Mei Ling sashaying in figure eights between his legs.

  Jack offered one of the bags to Grace and set the other on the bed. Grace noted that they came from a chain of stores that stocked craft and hobby items.

  "I picked up some stuff that might help you pass the time," Jack said.

  Grace took the bag from Jack's hand, noticing that he'd scrubbed his fingernails. She also saw that he was clean shaved, and more handsome than before. Her heart gave a little annoying patter. "Thank you," she said. She pulled out a paint-by-numbers kit. The picture on the canvas board appeared to be a cat sitting on a pillow.

  Jack searched in the bag and brought out a tube of paint and handed it to her. "The kit didn't come with gray," he said, his mouth curving slightly. "I thought you'd want it."

  For some completely unexplainable and embarrassing reason, Grace's eyes misted over, and before she could stop them, tears welled. "This is ridiculous," she said. She set the painting kit aside so she could swipe the tears from her eyes.

  "You don't have to paint it if you don't want to," Jack replied, sounding disappointed.

  "That's not it," Grace said, even though it was. But it wasn't. It was Jack. He hated Mei Ling but he knew she loved the silly cat, and this was his way of dealing with it, and she was touched by his thoughtfulness. "I told you pregnant women get emotional. The painting kit's nice. I'll start the picture today." She smiled at him and said, with irony, "If it turns out okay you can hang it in your house to remind you of Mei Ling."

  Jack smiled back, and this time, his lips curved up at both ends. He had a nice smile. And very interesting lips...

  "I also picked up this." Jack rummaged in the bag and pulled out a cross-stitch set. "I couldn't find a cat so I thought nursery blocks would do. You can put it in the nursery when it's finished. There's a place where you can stitch in his name when we decide."

  "His name is Marc," Grace said, although she wasn't so sure now. Somehow, the name Marc didn't fit the child she imagined growing inside her. Already he seemed more like a Jack. Or maybe a Paul, as in Paul Bunyan. Something that would fit a very big man.

  "There's time to decide," Jack said, ignoring the fact that she'd just told him the baby's name was
Marc, even though she wasn't sure herself for the first time in nearly eight months.

  "Thank you for the cross-stitching and the painting set," she said. "They will help pass the time."

  Jack reached for the other bag. "And here's some wool and knitting needles and a book on how to knit if you don't know how. I thought you might want to knit hats or socks or little sweaters. I didn't know what colors you'd want so I got several."

  Grace looked at the man. He was out of a different century. Women didn't sit around knitting clothes for their unborn children anymore, and she'd only knitted once in her life. But then, sitting in bed was already getting tedious, and knitting would help pass the time. She took the book and paged through it. Maybe a blue hat to match his blue eyes.

  Brown. Grace had to remember. Her baby's eyes would be brown. Brown eyes, brown hair. Maybe a yellow hat would be better, and a pair of matching socks on his little feet. Big feet, she corrected, moving her hand around on her tummy.

  "You okay?" Jack asked, brows gathered in concern.

  "I'm fine," Grace replied. "I was just feeling around for a foot while trying to determine what size socks to knit."

  "Big," Jack said. "He'll wear size fourteen boots someday."

  Grace found Jack staring at her belly again. He seemed to do that a lot. Baby Marc, or Jack, or Paul took that moment to give her a sizeable kick, bringing a little grunt from her, which she responded to by placing her hand on her tummy, and saying, "He can pack a wallop with his big little foot."

  "Can I feel him kick?" Jack asked.

  Grace looked at Jack's sober face. She couldn't begin to understand what motivated the man to want to be so involved with his unborn son, but this child she was carrying was important to him, so she replied, "I suppose," then moved over some so he could sit on the side of the bed.

  Jack lowered himself to the bed and placed his hand against Grace's belly. Before long, she felt another kick… And the expression on Jack's face changed to one of pure joy. But after a moment, he removed his hand and bent over and put his ear where his hand had been and listened. It was an odd moment, a man who'd been a stranger three days before, with his head on her belly while he listened to the heartbeat of his son. She stared at Jack's profile against her belly. He had a face that wouldn't be difficult to look at over the years. Even in his untidy state at the clinic she'd noticed him. Most women would.