The Baby Gamble

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  She didn’t have any chocolate chips. But she knew Mike would let her do the article, anyway. He always did.

  Wandering though her house, Annie longed for daylight and a good long bike ride. The tub invited her in for a soak. She thought about that, too, before declining. She couldn’t sit still. Didn’t want to be trapped in one place with her thoughts.

  Was she crazy? Did she have some of her father in her, after all, and this was a low?

  And sex with Blake had been the high?

  Or was this merely the dark night of the soul that came before awareness? Had she been sleeping since she was thirteen, and was only now, finally, coming completely awake?

  Feeling a powerful pressure to figure herself out, to know, Annie couldn’t find a place to land, or anything to occupy herself with. It was too late to go out, but too early for bed. She’d only lie there and torment herself.

  Hand on her lower belly, thinking of the child who would need her whole and healthy, she found herself back in the nursery—the room that, until recently, had given her all the magic in her life, the promise of good to come. It had given her a reason to get up in the morning, something to look forward to on weekends. A purpose.

  Tonight, it gave her back a piece of her past. And of her future. It gave her a piece of herself.

  Confused, knowing that she was on the brink of something, sensing the pain lodged in the region of her heart, Annie sat in the rocker in that beautiful room, intending to lull herself into peace with the gentle motion. But she slid down onto the floor instead. She stared at the cradle for a long time, trying to remember her father’s hands as they worked the wood.

  Eventually, her own hands found it, touching a spindle—tentatively at first, then lovingly, as her mother had. And her father, too?

  Tim Lawry had made this bed for her. She’d paid an inordinate amount of money to buy it for her baby.

  There was a message there for her. If only her mind would let her find it.

  The knock on her front door wasn’t as much of a surprise as it should have been. Nor was Blake’s face on the other side of the screen.

  She might have told herself that she wasn’t going to see him again. Wasn’t going to speak to him until after she’d used the little blue stick she’d purchased the weekend before. And that communication might have just been a voice mail. Or an e-mail.

  She might have told herself this, but her heart knew differently.

  There was more than history and a possible fertilized egg between her and Blake. It went deeper than that. Life had something to show them. And then, perhaps, once they’d found peace in their apartness, they’d both be able to move on. Away from each other. Toward something new. Someone new.

  The thought of someone out in the world someplace, just waiting for Annie to find him, moved her not at all.

  But she clung to it just the same as she opened her door to the man she’d lost her heart to so long ago. It was time to take it back.

  “I OWE YOU SOMETHING,” Blake said from the other side of the door.

  Annie nodded, stood aside for him to come in.Still dressed in slacks and a white business shirt, Blake looked tired as he stood in her foyer, but Annie couldn’t offer him a seat at the kitchen table. It was too warm and friendly, too familylike.

  Instead, waiting for him to state his business, she wrapped her arms around herself. She wasn’t going to make a mistake here, lose herself through a lack of self-control. She wasn’t going to be physically weak, give in to the temptation he posed, standing there so real and warm and…all that was Blake.

  “I love you, Annie.”

  She fell back against the wall. Stared at him. Waited for something else, an indication of what he’d really said, since she’d obviously transposed her own hallucinations on top of his message.

  “I’ve always loved you.”

  He did. He had. Frightened, Annie leaned there, watching him. Was he going to sprout wings, too? Or propose to her?

  Could she stay in this state of self-delusion forever? If she spoke to him would he disappear? Or would he be telling her that he was sorry for not loving her and that he never wanted to see her again?

  The sadness in his eyes was not indicative of a man in love. Professing his love.

  “This doesn’t change anything,” he continued into her silence. “I have no interest in a relationship of any kind—other than to be a presence in my child’s life, if, indeed, there is a child.”

  So he was still on board with that. Annie clung to the one thing she seemed able to grasp.

  He appeared to be awaiting a response. “Okay.” It seemed appropriate, given her understanding of the situation—which was slim to none.

  “Okay, then.” He turned to go.

  She couldn’t let him do that. Straightening, she called, “Blake?”

  “Yeah?” He stopped at the door, turned.

  “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “Telling me.”

  He nodded. “I’m just sorry that I didn’t do so six years ago. You should have heard it then.”

  “I’m glad I’m hearing it now.” He’d said he loved her. Blake had told her he loved her. And he was walking out the door?

  “Would you like a glass of wine? Or tea or something?”

  Hesitating, with his hand on the door, he seemed about to say something more, and then just nodded, following her down the hall to the kitchen.

  She opened a bottle, poured two glasses and carried them over to the table.

  As if he hadn’t slept in weeks, Blake dropped into a chair. Sipped his wine. Rubbed his eyes.

  “Verne Chandler died tonight.”

  “He did?” Cole hadn’t called. “I’m really sorry to hear that.”

  “When he didn’t regain consciousness, they figured it was coming.”

  Cole had called the day before and had told her the same thing. Jake’s uncle had spent too many years living hard for his body to have the capacity to fight back.

  “They said his liver was hardly functioning at all. If he’d lived he’d have needed a transplant.”

  “Judging from what I saw of the man around town, he didn’t look in good enough health to survive surgery like that.”

  “Probably not.”

  Blake seemed to be taking the whole thing so personally. “You did all you could, Blake. You gave him a fighting chance. Probably his only chance.”

  “I know.” Still, his eyes were shadowed.

  “So what happens next? No one knows where Jake is. What if the authorities can’t locate him?”

  “I suspect they will. They’ve got sources you and I don’t have access to.”

  “And the body just waits until they do?”

  Blake shrugged. “My guess is the sheriff will find Jake pretty quickly now that they have a good reason to do so. Cole asked to be the one to call him.”

  That wasn’t going to be easy. But she respected her brother for making that effort, especially considering how hurt he had been by Jake’s failure to ever contact him over the years, leaving his best friend in the dust, just as he had the town that had scorned him. “Are they going to let him?”

  “Yeah.”

  His wineglass half-empty, Blake didn’t appear to have anything else to say. Or be in any hurry to leave. She’d never seen him like this. Didn’t know what to make of any part of the visit.

  “Why’d you come here tonight, Blake?” She didn’t want to open the door to anything more personal between them. The question came, anyway.

  His perusal was completely personal. And weighty.

  “For you,” he said finally. “I’ve had a lot of time to…think.”

  The conversation was not easy for him. Sensing the effort it was taking Blake to sit there and attempt to engage with her in this way, Annie felt like crying.

  “And I can see how my reticence hurt you. I never meant to hurt you, Annie.”

  “I know. I never thought I could hurt you, either, but th
en I did.”

  He didn’t seem inclined to say anything more. And Annie felt as if they’d only just begun to scratch the surface of all that needed to be said.

  “I always thought that love would be enough,” she murmured, almost to herself, replaying not only her relationship with Blake, but the conversation she’d had with her mother. “Yet sometimes it’s just not, is it?”

  “No.” Blake stood. “Sometimes it’s just not.” He took his glass to the sink. Rinsed it and put it in the dishwasher, loading it exactly as she would have done. But then, he’d know how she loaded the dishwasher. They’d done it together hundreds of times.

  He was going to leave her. She knew that had to happen. That for them to consider any alternative would only bring more pain to both of them.

  And tonight she wasn’t herself. She was changing right before her eyes. Wasn’t sure who that self was going to turn out to be.

  Tonight she didn’t have any rules.

  “Blake?” She spoke to his back for the second time in half an hour.

  “Yeah?”

  He didn’t turn. And Annie couldn’t wait. Close behind him, she slid her arms around his middle, pulling him back against her. Laying her head on his stiff back, she began to caress him, tentatively at first, and then, when he moved and she feared he was going to pull away, to leave, she dropped her hand down to the part of him that had been reserved for only her at one point in his life. Just for tonight, she wanted it to be for her again.

  “Please?”

  With a groan, Blake turned, slid his arms beneath her and carried her in to the bed.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  THE ONLY WAY TO HEAL was to understand the disorder, recognize the challenges and face them head-on. Blake recited words from his counselor as he sat in the Lincoln on Friday night, once again heading back to River Bluff.

  Not to see Annie. He’d meant what he’d said about that. He was never again going to allow himself to consider a relationship with her. He loved her too much, and whomever he was with was going to be hurt by his PTSD. Statistically, that was a given.But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to do all he could to heal. Barely aware of the trees, the grass and rolling grazing lands as his expensive car purred down the road, Blake thought of the child he might have—Annie’s child—and knew that he would push himself every day to overcome the effects of the anxiety-ridden condition that plagued him.

  He was not going to live side by side with Annie, grow old with her. But they would share a child—a part of him and a part of her together forever—and for that he would be grateful. Thankful. Happy.

  In the meantime, despite a strong inclination to go home and stay there for the weekend, he’d accepted an invitation from Cole to watch the Godfather and share a pizza. He’d never seen the famous movies, and Cole was constantly quoting from them. “Taking it to the mattresses” his friend said when the going got tough and he refused to give up.

  All Blake could think about when he heard those words was Annie.

  Cole had been after him for months to join him for a movie fest. So here Blake was, taking another step out, pushing himself to live. For Annie’s baby.

  Since his divorce, Cole had devoted his evenings and weekends to finishing his house. He was far from finished. Nothing much on the walls, the place was devoid of furniture, too, except for a large-screen television and the pair of black leather recliners his ex hadn’t wanted.

  Downing his first beer more quickly than normal, Blake focused almost completely on breathing, relaxing, repeating mantras that Dr. Magnum had taught him. He was sitting down to watch three movies about organized crime. There would be violence.

  But they were only flicks. Fiction.

  He’d never been the victim of physical violence.

  “Any word on Jake?” he asked his friend as they waited for the pizza to be delivered.

  Shaking his head, Cole opened a second beer for himself and poured a quarter of it down his throat before dropping into a reclining chair next to Blake. They sat right in front of the screen, which was playing, and replaying, the opening sequence of the DVD.

  “He wasn’t at the last known address. The sheriff says it could take a day or two to hear back, since it’s not an emergency. They’re looking for a social security match on other records.”

  Surprising himself with the extent of his curiosity over the absent Wild Bunch original, and Cole’s best childhood friend, Blake asked, “Where was that address?”

  “Someplace in California.”

  “Is that where he went when he left here?”

  Cole tipped the bottle to his lips again. “I have no idea.” There was more than a hint of attitude in his response.

  “He didn’t even tell you that much?”

  “Nope.” Another sip, and Cole held the dark glass bottle against the leg of his jeans. “Fifteen years of friendship and he just up and left. Didn’t even tell me he was going.”

  “And he’s never called.”

  “Nope.”

  “You sure he wasn’t abducted? It happens, you know.”

  “I’m sure. He took everything he cared about. Which wasn’t all that much. And left a note for Verne, telling him to do whatever he wanted to with the Wild Card.”

  “Did Verne ever hear from him again?”

  “Not so’s he ever said. But who knows with Verne? He had a hard time remembering if he’d had breakfast on any given day.”

  Yes, and there but for the grace of God went Blake. He took another sip of beer, knowing that he’d have his limit and be done. While the immediate relief alcohol brought might be welcome, the long-term effects were not.

  He had a life to think about. Maybe more than one, if Annie’s test on Tuesday was positive.

  “From what I’ve gathered, the people in this town gave Jake a hard time while he was growing up.”

  “He brought it on with his devil-may-care attitude,” Cole said, and then softened. “It was all a cover-up, though. Jake was a great guy. The best. He just couldn’t get a break. He was a bastard and his old lady was the town’s barmaid. Growing up in the back of the bar…The things that guy heard and saw made the rest of us drool, even in the retelling.”

  It couldn’t have been easy, Blake figured, being so different in such a small town. He’d struggled a time or two with his own untraditional upbringing, with fitting in and feeling like a normal kid during those insecure adolescent years, and he’d lived in a town where you didn’t even know the people who lived in the condo above you.

  “I think what did him in was falling for Rachel Diamonte. Her father, Mike Diamonte, owned quite a successful spread just outside of town. It was a classic heartbreak waiting to happen, boy from the wrong side of the tracks in love with one of the beautiful rich girls.”

  “Did she like him?”

  “Seemed to. But when he finally got up the guts to ask her out, she said no. He saw her alone once more after that, in the pecan grove by the bar. He never told me what happened, but I gathered it ended badly.”

  “Whatever happened to her?”

  “Last I knew, she’d married, was living in Chicago and was expecting a baby.”

  “Are her folks still around?”

  Cole shook his head and emptied his bottle of beer. “Mike died about five years ago. His wife, Sarah, sold the ranch. Moved into an elite development in River Bluff.”

  “You’re doing a good job on this place,” Blake said next, looking around.

  “It’s coming. But slowly.”

  “Need some help? I got time this weekend.”

  Cole was in the middle of enthusiastically accepting the offer when the doorbell rang.

  Dinner had arrived.

  SONNY CORLEONE WAS a hothead. A concern, considering that, as the eldest son of Don Vito Corleone, the godfather, he was next in line to run the family. And take on responsibility for handling many millions of dollars in businesses, as well as managing politicians and hit men.

  With his
last bottle of beer just started, Blake pushed back in the lounger. He was replete with pizza. Enjoying comfortable, nonthreatening companionship that demanded nothing of him, and an interesting film. He was good. Better than good. He was fine.A few scenes back, when Sonny had started beating up Carlo, husband to Sonny’s sister Connie, for roughing her up, Blake had had a moment of discomfort. But that had turned out to be nothing more than the normal adrenaline rush that came with experiencing something secondhand.

  Alone when another call came through, Sonny heard that Carlo was at it again. That Connie was being brutalized. And with the famous Godfather theme playing in the background, Sonny rushed to his sister’s rescue. Disregarding his father’s orders that he go nowhere, ever, without his entourage of bodyguards, he blew out into the streets in his big black car. If he lost even a second, it might cost Connie her life.

  He was going to show that bastard what happened to a man who disrespected his women. He was going to beat the pulp out of him. He was going to make him pay for what had been done to his sister.

  Reading all of this in the man’s expression, Blake was there with Sonny, determined to set the world right for his woman. Sometimes there were just things a man had to do—regardless of what he’d been told. And taught. Sonny might have a temper, but this time it was serving him in good stead.

  He was a big brother going to the rescue. A knight in shiny black armor.

  Reaching the entrance to the gated community where Connie and Carlo lived, Sonny skidded to a halt at the closed gate. It didn’t open. He pulled up to the gatehouse, ready to drive through the damn thing if he couldn’t get a response at once.

  Hurry, Blake urged silently. Every second of hell for Connie, for the victim, was another infusion of stress, another series of memories, another level of walls being built to endure—walls that would imprison you forever, if they became too thick. If you needed them for too long.