"I'm sure you feel, because of the child, that you have to defend her."
"I don't feel anything of the sort."
"She's…not like us."
"And that's a bad thing?"
"She has no…social skills. She'll say anything. She's not the least concerned with another person's feelings."
And you are? "You're dead wrong."
"How can you be so blind about her? She…she told me right out that she was sleeping with you again."
"Why not? She is. I can't tell you how happy I am about that."
"What about that minister she was supposed to be marrying? What happened to him?"
"She realized it wasn't going to work out and she gave him his ring back. Simple and direct. I like that in a woman. I like it a lot."
There was huffing. And a tear or two. Tabby swiped them away dramatically with the back of her hand and stood. "I should have listened to Lianna. She was right. You refuse to see what a mistake you're making. And you only got me over here to torture me. I've had enough."
"Do not go near Corrie again. Do not go running to your dad—or mine. Stay out of my life, Tabby. I don't want anything more to do with you."
She shot around the end of the ottoman. "I can't believe how cruel you can be."
He rose and blocked her path. "Say you understand me. Say you'll stay away from Corrie."
She huffed and quivered. But then, at last, she muttered, "I understand, okay? I won't go near that—"
"Do. Not. Say. It." He made each word a sentence.
There was sniffing and a great, shuddering shake of that red head. "Fine. You don't have to worry. I won't go near your precious Corrie ever again. Now step aside, please."
He did. She stormed past him.
The house shook when she slammed the door.
* * *
Corrine got home the next morning at three and found Matt waiting for her.
"I gave your sitter a big tip and sent her home early. Hope that's okay…"
All Corrine needed was one look at his face. "You talked to Tabby."
"I did."
"And?"
He described the encounter, ending with, "So at least she promised she'll leave you alone."
"You think she meant it?"
"If she lied, I may have to buy a shotgun."
"Don't even joke about guns, please."
He hooked an arm around her waist and hauled her close. "You don't think my talking to her did any good."
"Did I say that?"
"You didn't have to. You've got that look—the one that says you don't approve, but you're keeping your mouth shut about it."
"Well, it's done now."
"…as in, 'can we stop talking about it?'"
"Since when did you start reading minds? You're becoming downright…sensitive."
"Why does that sound like a dig?" He put on a wounded expression.
She bracketed his face with her hands. "No way it's a dig. I like a little sensitivity in a man."
"But would you have sex with a sensitive man?"
She tried not to laugh. "Somehow, it always comes back to sex with you."
"I may be sensitive, but I'm still a guy."
She pulled his face down and kissed him. "Let's go to bed."
"Best offer I've had all night."
She took his hand and led him up the stairs.
Later, she lay awake beside him, feeling guilty about the baby, dreading telling him, knowing she had to. She'd so been here before. And she had sworn she would never end up here again.
Never say never, baby, her mom would say.
Funny how platitudes tend to be more annoying than helpful.
* * *
Saturday seemed to fly by. Even the busy night at the Rose went past at the speed of light.
Suddenly it was Sunday morning. After breakfast, they took Kira out to the ranch. Mercy, who was a large-animal vet and often on-call weekends, was working that day. Corrine missed seeing her.
Davis and Aleta were there, though. They seemed really happy together. Corrine was happy for them. Davis treated Corrine kindly and never gave her so much as a strange look. Maybe Tabby really was keeping her promise to Matt and not running to Davis after all.
While Kira napped, the men went out to the stables. Aleta and Corrine stayed in and had tea in the sunroom. They chatted about everyday things: the weather, the coming holidays, how big Kira was getting.
"Mercy says she invited you for Christmas. You're coming, I hope."
She thought about the baby, wondered, as she was always wondering lately, what would happen with Matt when she told him. Still, it seemed rude to keep hedging. "I'll be here."
"At last. After all these years. It's about time."
"Yeah. You're right. I guess it is."
"Next Sunday, we decorate the ranch house. It's a family tradition. You're invited for that, too."
"It sounds like fun."
"That means yes?"
"Absolutely. I'd love to come. And Kira is real big on decorating. We'll put up the tree at my house next Saturday, around noon? Join us?"
Aleta beamed. "You know I will."
Corrine longed to confide in Matt's mom. She knew Aleta would be kind and understanding if she told her about the baby. Matt's mom would listen sympathetically and pull her into a hug and promise her that everything would work out. And Aleta could be trusted. She would keep the secret if Corrine asked her to, for as long as Corrine wanted it kept—at least, she would keep it from Matt.
She just might feel she had to tell Davis, though, since she had a real thing about absolute honesty between husband and wife. Davis was the last person Corrine wanted told. True, eventually, he would have to know. But certainly not before Matt.
And anyway, much as she longed for comfort, it wouldn't be right to tell Matt's mom first. Matt deserved to be told before she let anyone else in the family know.
They had dinner at the ranch and went back to Matt's afterward. There was the usual: Kira's bath time and then her story. Matt tucked her in.
Corrine waited for him in his private sitting room, off his bedroom. When he joined her, he locked the door to the hallway, for privacy. Which they were going to need, though not for the reason he probably assumed.
She was sitting on the sofa. He crossed the room and joined her, wrapping an arm around her, pulling her near. She cuddled her head in the crook of his shoulder, dread squirming like a live thing in her stomach.
He rubbed her arm, a fond gesture. "Your daughter loves you. She told me to tell you."
Her heart was pounding so hard. A thousand excuses tumbled through her brain: Why ruin a beautiful Sunday? She was only a month pregnant; he didn't need to know yet. He didn't need to know for weeks. A month. Two…
At least she could wait until after the holidays, let them all share Christmas together before throwing the baby news into the mix.
"You want to watch some TV?" He reached for the remote.
She knew then, with absolute certainty, that if she let him turn on the television, she wouldn't tell him tonight. She'd allow herself to put it off.
And it was wrong to put it off, to lie to him with silence. She was having another baby and he deserved to know.
"Wait!" She grabbed his arm.
He turned his head slowly to look at her. "Corrie? What the—?"
"We, um, we have to talk." Her throat clutched up, tight as a square knot tied by an Eagle Scout. And then, suddenly, she was coughing, just hacking away like a two-pack-a-day smoker.
Matt pounded her on the back. "You want water?"
She hacked some more, nodding frantically, gesturing in the general direction of the mini-bar in the corner. He left her long enough to fill a glass.
And then he was back. He took her hand, closed her fingers around the glass. By then, the coughing had slowed down a little. She sipped. It helped. The soothing wetness slid down her raw throat and the clutching eased.
"Thanks."
"No. I'm okay now." At least on the choking front. She set the glass on the coffee table.
He sat down beside her again. "You're sure?"
She pressed her hand to her chest and sucked in a slow breath. Her throat had relaxed at least. Her stomach was suddenly churning, but it was manageable. She felt reasonably certain she wasn't going to end up running to the bathroom. "I'm okay." She took another deep breath. "I think."
He laid his hand on her back, a comforting touch. "You said you wanted to talk…."
She made herself face him, made herself look straight in those cloud-gray eyes. No words seemed right. She whispered, "Oh, God. I just don't know how to tell you. I don't even know how to begin."
He took a wild guess. And nailed it. "You're pregnant again."
Chapter Twelve
Pregnant. The word seemed to ricochet inside Matt's head.
Pregnant.
She was. He knew it by the look on her face. By the fact that she didn't instantly shake her head, or laugh, or tell him he was wrong, wrong, wrong.
Just to make certain, he asked, "Am I right?"
She gave a fierce little nod.
He still couldn't quite believe it. "You're sure?"
"I took three tests. I'll be glad to take another if you want to see for yourself."
He shook his head. It wasn't that he needed proof. It was just that he was having a little trouble processing, getting past that first shock. It had been the same way the last time—only worse.
A whole lot worse. Maybe having kids was like most things. Really hard the first time, but it got easier. At least for the man.
They were staring at each other. Neither of them seemed to know what to say next.
So he took a bold crack at it. "That first night, when we slipped up…?"
"That would be the one."
Of course, it was. They'd been careful after that.
She should have done the Plan B thing. He'd told her to do it. But she wouldn't listen. Damn it, he longed to say I told you so. He didn't, though. He kept his mouth shut. It would only get them into an argument. He could see that by the defensive jut of her chin, by the way she had her lips pressed together into a thin line.
She accused, "I know what you're thinking, Matt."
"No, you don't."
"Yes, I do. You're thinking that you said I should get the morning-after pill. That I told you it wasn't necessary. You're thinking, look what a mess I got us into."
Clearly, she knew him much too well. He tried to think of something brilliant and soothing to say to her. Nothing came.
And his silence wasn't working for her. She kept after him. "Go ahead. Lie to me. Tell me that's not what you're thinking."
He gave in and confessed it. "Partly, okay?"
"What does that mean, partly?"
"It means, yes. It's partly what I'm thinking."
"Well, go ahead, then. Don't hold back. Say it. Just say 'I told you so' and let's get that over with."
"You'll only get mad."
"The hell I will."
"You're mad already."
"Say it, damn you."
Wearily, he made his confession. "Fine, Corrie. I told you so."
"I knew it. I knew you were thinking that." She wrapped her arms around herself and rocked back and forth. "And you're right, you're so right. I totally messed up. It's all my fault…."
"Corrie…"
Still rocking, she stuck out her palm at him, the talk-to-the-hand gesture. "No. Don't try to soften the blow. Just say it. It's all my fault."
"But it's not."
At least she stopped rocking and put her hand down. She said softly, miserably, "It is."
"We both get full credit, you know that. True, you didn't listen when I suggested the morning-after pill. But we both forgot the condom. It was a joint act of irresponsibility. So don't play the martyr on me. It's not your style."
"You really feel that way?" She tried to hide it, but he heard the hope in her voice.
He spoke slowly and clearly. "I do. I honestly do."
She blew out a hard breath and sagged back against the sofa. "Well. At least you know. And it's a bonus that you're not blaming me."
"Yeah. It's good that I know. And I'm glad that you told me right away." He took her hand and felt somewhat encouraged when she didn't jerk away. "It's not the end of the world."
"I know. And you should know, in case you were wondering, that I'm keeping it."
"Damn right you are."
She almost smiled. "Well, at least we're agreed on that."
Now he was getting over the shock, he could see that it wasn't a bad thing at all. It was good. In more ways than one. Now, she would have to see that they really should get married.
He suggested, reasonably, "We can certainly afford another child."
She gave him a sad little shrug. "Yeah. There's that. It could be worse. We could be broke. It costs so much to raise a kid these days…."
"And we're not getting any younger."
She laughed, which he took as a good sign. "I don't know what that has to do with anything, but, yeah. True."
"I just mean, people get older. The years go by."
"Yeah, they do."
"Kira would love a new brother or sister."
"You're right. She would. And a lucky thing, too. Because she's getting one."
He could see it all now, so clearly. He wanted her to see it, too. "It's going to be fine. We'll get married. Right away. We can fly to Vegas—or maybe you want a big wedding. That's fine. Either way's okay with me and we—"
"Matt."
He knew by the way she said his name that there was a problem. "Yeah?"
"I, um, no. Not marriage. I didn't say marriage."
He took a long moment to let that—the sheer idiocy of it—sink in. "No marriage."
"That's right—and come on. Don't look at me like you want to strangle me. We've been through this."
Calm and reasonable, he told himself. He was staying calm. He was speaking reasonably. Softly, he reminded her of the patently obvious. "Everything's changed now."
"No, everything hasn't. I'm pregnant, yes. But I was pregnant before. We didn't get married then."
"It's…different now."
"How so?"
Reasonable. He repeated the word slowly in his mind. He would remain reasonable. He would not, under any circumstances, lose his cool about this. He tried for humor. "Well, I mean, one child without a wedding is bad enough. Two is downright embarrassing."
She didn't laugh. After a minute, she said flatly, "You want to marry me to save yourself from embarrassment."
"Corrie, come on. It was a joke."
"Not a very funny one."
"Sorry. I'm doing my best here. And what I'm really trying to say is…" What was he trying to say? "…I'm older, you're older. We're both ready to do the right thing now."
"But you weren't, back then."
He studied her for a long, hard minute, wondering what was going through that female mind of hers. Finally, he asked, "Is that your problem? You're still mad at me for something I did six years ago?"
"I'm not mad."
Bull. "Oh, yeah. You are. You're mad. I said I would marry you then."
"That's right. You did. And you were scared to death I would actually take you up on it."
"What? Are we rewriting history now? The way I remember it, you came to me and told me you were pregnant, right after which you announced that you didn't expect me to marry you. But still, I said I would."
"But you didn't want to."
"The bottom line is, I would have married you."
She let out a snort of disgust. "I saw the look on your face when I told you. You were terrified and you felt trapped."
"But I was willing. That's the point. I would have done it."
"And then resented me for the rest of your life. No way. I wasn't going for that. I'm worth more than that."
Christmas at Bravo Ridge Page 15