by Diana Palmer
“Well,” Becky exclaimed. “That’s nice of her.”
“She loves me,” he said with faint wonder. “I want to give her the world. But next time, I’ll try to do it in a conventional way. I think I might turn my life around now, if I try.”
“I’m glad you want to try,” Becky said. “I’ll help, too.”
“You already have, just by believing in me.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Becky, how’s Granddad?”
“No change,” she said. “None at all. He just lies there. He hasn’t said a word.”
He grimaced. “What a mess I made.”
“Granddad’s old and tired,” she replied. “Mack and I are lonely without him, and you, but we’re bearing up.”
“No crop, though,” he guessed shrewdly. “Nobody to help you plow and plant and hay. Nobody to look after the livestock, either. If you asked Kilpatrick, he’d find you somebody.”
Her face closed up. “I’d starve before I’d ask him for anything.”
“Why?” Clay asked. “Just because he was having me watched and I got caught?”
She refused to look at him. Of course that wasn’t the reason. The real reason was that Rourke had betrayed and seduced her and then abandoned her once he had Clay in hand. He’d taken all she had to give and thrown her over. That was why. Added to that was the growing threat of pregnancy. And about that she wouldn’t think, not yet.
She got up from the bunk and smoothed the skirt of her plaid shirtwaist dress. “I’m glad you’ve got a good attorney,” she said. “I’ll help in any way I can. Will you tell him that?”
“I will, but he knows that already.” He hugged her impulsively, and then moved away with faint embarrassment. “Thanks for coming to see me. I’m sorry I landed you in this predicament. There’s going to be more publicity, too, I’m afraid. Mr. Davis is running for office, you know, and he’s sure to use this case to his advantage. It’s probably the reason he agreed to take it.”
“Yes,” Becky agreed. She’d reasoned that out herself already. She searched his eyes quietly. “Take care. If you need anything, just have somebody call me, okay?”
“Okay. Get some rest, Sis,” he added quietly. “You look…bad.”
“I’m just tired,” she said, and forced a smile to her lips. “I go to see Granddad every day, even though he doesn’t notice me. I still have meals to get, and the house to see to.”
“They ought to put Dad in here,” Clay said suddenly, scowling. “It’s where he belongs for leaving us all in your lap.”
“That’s something we won’t worry about. It’s years too late to matter. Anyway, I think I’ve done a pretty decent job on you guys,” she said with a grin. “Even you turned out good, eventually.”
He chuckled. “Not as good as I needed to,” he sighed. “Think about what I said, Becky, will you? Life is passing you by.”
That was what he thought. Life had caught up with her. “I’ll think about it, but I won’t adopt Mack out. I’ve invested too much time in him.”
He shook his head. “No man is going to want to take on your burden, you know,” he said seriously. “It’s too much to ask.”
Becky felt her heart rock. She’d thought about that, too—far too often since Rourke had started taking her out to lunch. He wouldn’t have wanted the responsibility for her entire family. Probably that was one reason he hadn’t come back, even after he’d seduced her. Sex was one thing, but committing himself to years of looking after in-laws wouldn’t appeal to most men. She’d accepted years ago that she’d have her family to look after all her life. What a pity she hadn’t refused Rourke’s first offer of coffee and made the best of her lot in life. Her desire for freedom and love had taken a terrible toll.
She mumbled something appropriate and kissed Clay good-bye. When she left the courthouse, she made sure that it didn’t involve going past Rourke’s office again. One snub was all he was going to get.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Rourke left the restaurant where he’d had lunch in no better humour than when he’d arrived there. After Becky had gone past his office and he’d seen how worn and thin and pale she looked, his conscience had hurt him so much that he’d given everybody hell for the rest of the morning. He was lonely without her, and hurt because she thought more of Clay than she did of him. He was jealous of her fervent defense of her brother and her loyalty to her family. He wanted that kind of unconditional love himself, but he knew he’d ruined things by backing her into an emotional corner with seduction. He knew how old-fashioned and conventional she was. If only he’d kept his glands in check that night, things might have worked out for them. But he’d wanted her so badly, needed her. He’d been without a woman for a long time, and Becky’s response had simply been too much for him to cope with. That was no excuse, of course, and now he’d given her the additional burden of a possible pregnancy that she wouldn’t want.
He’d allowed himself some impossible dreams about that condition. Rourke had been alone all his life, except for Uncle Sanderson. He’d thought about a family many times, but he’d never found a woman he wanted it with. Then Becky came along with her mischievous personality, ready smile, and generous heart, and he found himself thinking about shared things instead of solitary ones. Even that night they’d slept together, he’d thought of the possibility of pregnancy with delight instead of dread. He’d been so smitten that he’d deliberately put precautions out of his head.
That hadn’t been fair to Becky. As ignorant as she was about men, she wouldn’t have known what to do anyway. But he wasn’t ignorant, and he hadn’t given her a choice. She wasn’t the type who could have an abortion without beating herself to death mentally for it, and to bear an illegitimate child would scar her just as much.
He wouldn’t mind marrying her, he decided. No, he wouldn’t mind at all. The question was going to be how to get her to agree in her present venomous state of mind.
It had only been about four weeks. They couldn’t detect pregnancy, as far as he knew, until six weeks. He’d have to bide his time and work out a strategy. He wished he’d spoken to her when she’d gone past his office, but just the sight of her had lacerated his conscience. He’d put a wall between them that was going to be hard to tear down.
He was still thinking about it when he got back to his office, and not paying too much attention to what he was doing when he opened the office door.
Mrs. Delancy had heard him coming and called the other members of his staff. They were all standing at attention in front of her desk, waving white handkerchiefs.
Rourke burst out laughing. He hadn’t done much of that since he’d stopped seeing Becky. He shook his head. He hadn’t realized he’d been that irritable.
“You idiots,” he said, chuckling. “All right, I get the message. But you’d all better get back to work, because even with unconditional surrender, I don’t take prisoners.”
“Yes, sir,” Mrs. Delancey said with a grin.
He waved the others away and sat down behind his desk. He had a lot of work to get through, and he’d spent a good deal of his day thinking all too much about the future. The present was more than enough to keep him busy during court weeks.
Becky came back from the doctor’s office two weeks later with blank eyes.
Maggie, who’d suspected what was going on all along, drew her gently into the rest room and closed the door.
“What did he say?” she asked the younger woman.
Becky was very pale. She’d tried to convince herself that all her symptoms added up to was fatigue, but Dr. Miller had gently cut the ground from under her feet.
“They did tests, and the results won’t be in until tomorrow,” Becky said absently.
“But?” Maggie prompted.
She met the smaller woman’s dark eyes levelly. “Can’t you guess?”
Maggie smiled gently. “Do we cry or celebrate?”
“I don’t know. I just don’t know. I’m scared to death.” Becky wrapped her a
rms around herself. “It’s not the scandal that worries me; it’s the thought of being responsible for a little human being. I was responsible for Mack when Mama died. But this one is different. This one is going to be part of me.”
“It’s part of someone else, too,” Maggie said. “Even if you hate him, he has a right to know.”
Becky’s face colored angrily. “He knew there was a risk, but he hasn’t called or written or said one word to me since that day he came to the office. He doesn’t care. He never did. It was because of Clay that he took me out, just as I thought once.”
“Don’t underestimate Kilpatrick,” Maggie said. “He’s not stupid. I’d bet anything I have that he knows the exact date you’ll know for sure about your condition, and that he’ll either be on the phone or sitting on your doorstep by the end of the day.”
Becky hated having her heart jump at that prediction. She didn’t want Rourke to call or visit. She didn’t, she assured herself. He was a traitor and she was well rid of him.
Then she thought about the baby and wondered which one of them he or she was going to favor. Would the baby’s eyes be dark like his or hazel like hers? She forced herself not to think about it. She couldn’t have this child, she told herself. And then she thought about the only alternative to having it, and got so sick that she had to sit down. A woman who couldn’t even kill a bee that had stung her was an unlikely candidate for a drastic alternative. Besides, when she thought about holding the tiny thing in her arms, she burned with delighted pleasure. Having a baby of her very own, to love and nurture and raise, was…awesome.
Rourke was thinking the same thing as he sat on the front porch of the Cullen home, making himself at home in the porch swing. Six weeks to the day, and she’d know for sure by now. He’d phoned Dr. Miller’s office to see if she had an appointment, and sure enough, she’d made one. He smoked his cigar, feeling a pleasant sense of anticipation. She hated him, but that was just a minor obstacle. He was stubborn. He’d wait her out.
Her car drove up to the porch, and he saw the flash of shock on her wan face when she saw him there. She got out of the car alone, and he wondered idly where Mack was.
Becky came toward him, wearing a loose blue sleeveless overdress with a soft, short-sleeved pink blouse, her hair in a ponytail. She looked trendy and very young, and radiant despite her gaunt face.
She stopped on the porch facing him, her hand curled around the faded paint of the banister. “Did you want something, Mr. Kilpatrick?” she asked coldly.
He let out a cloud of smoke and his dark eyes slid over her with soft pleasure. “Just the usual things,” he said carelessly. “Fabulous wealth, regular meals, an island of my own, a Rolls-Royce or two.” He shrugged. “But I’ll settle for coffee and conversation.”
“I don’t have any coffee and I don’t want to converse with you,” she said belligerently. “You said some horrible things to me the last time we met, and when I walked past your office in the courthouse at Clay’s hearing, you snubbed me.”
“You looked like hell and I felt guilty,” he said quietly. “I still do.”
“Thank you, but there’s no need. Clay’s got a good attorney, Granddad’s in a nice nursing home where he’s getting care and government assistance, and Mack and I are doing fine.”
“Where is Mack?” he asked, glancing at her empty car.
“Spending the day with one of his friends at Lake Lanier. They have a boat.”
He eased his tall frame out of the swing, the smoking cigar in his hand. It was a weekday, and he was still wearing a pale tan suit with a nice brown and tan speckled tie. His black hair had been neatly trimmed. He looked elegant and dangerous, and when he moved closer to Becky, he smelled of luxurious cologne. It brought back some wounding memories and she wouldn’t look at him.
“Why are you really here?” she asked curtly.
He tilted her chin up and searched her hazel eyes. “You saw Dr. Miller today. I want to know what he said.”
“You haven’t been very interested up until now,” she said with bitterness.
“There wasn’t any use asking until now,” he replied. His dark eyes slid down her body to her flat stomach and back up again to her eyes. She jerked back from him, and that in itself was almost answer enough.
She turned away and unlocked the door, powerless to prevent him from following her inside. She turned on the lights, because it was already almost dusk, and went straight into the kitchen to make coffee. But only because she wanted a cup of it, she assured herself mentally.
Rourke found himself an ashtray before he pulled up a chair and straddled it. Then he sat and watched Becky move around the room, his heart lighter than it had been for the weeks they’d been apart. It hit him all at once how very alone he’d been without her.
“You haven’t answered me, Becky,” he said after she’d filled the percolator and started it.
“He ran some tests,” she said tersely. “I didn’t get the results today.”
“My God, you’re stubborn,” he sighed, shaking his head. “You and I both know that tests are just a formality by now. There are unavoidable symptoms. Shall I name them? Fatigue, nausea, swelling, being hardly able to stay awake at night…”
“How many times have you been pregnant?” she asked irritably.
He chuckled, his white teeth flashing against his dark complexion. “This is my first time,” he murmured dryly. “But I bought a book about pregnancy and it gave the symptoms.”
“If I am pregnant, it’s mine,” she informed him.
“If you’re pregnant, it’s ours,” he corrected imperturbably. “I helped you make it.”
She went scarlet. “There’s a good chance that I’m not,” she muttered, glancing away. “There are a lot of things that have those symptoms, including fatigue, overwork, and worry.”
“Sure.” He lifted the cigarette to his lips and smiled smugly. “When was your last period?”
“You…!” She grabbed up a cup and threw it at him, missing his head by inches. The pottery shattered against the clapboard wall, a sound that echoed violently in the high-ceilinged room.
“At least six weeks overdue, I gather by the evidence,” he murmured, clicking his tongue at the shards on the floor. “What a mess!”
“I wish your head was lying beside it!” she raged at him.
“That’s no way to talk to the father of your child,” he told her. “When are we getting married?”
“I’m not marrying you!” she shot back, furious that he was taking such a profound subject so lightly. It didn’t occur to her that he was feeling his way as he went, trying not to let her see how delighted and awed he really was.
“Yes, you are,” he replied. “Illegitimacy is no easy thing. I know. I’ve carried it around all my life.”
“I’ll marry someone else!”
“Really? Who?” he asked. He looked genuinely interested.
She went to fill two cups with black coffee. She was so rattled that she almost upended both of them as she put them on the worn wood tabletop.
“Thank you. You make good coffee,” he said.
She didn’t answer. She sipped her own, trying not to look at him. After a minute she raised her eyes. “Marrying me would hurt your career,” she said. “Not to mention that it would put us both in the limelight again. I’ve got my family to think about, besides. I have to take care of Mack and Granddad.”
His eyes kindled with anger. “Your family could take care of itself if you’d let it. You won’t let them be independent. You want them to lean on you. It’s a hell of a lot easier than trying to let yourself depend on someone for a change, isn’t it?”
“I’ve never had anybody I could lean on,” she said shortly. Her face flushed with temper and her freckles stood out vibrantly against her nose. “And there isn’t anyone on earth I trust enough to depend on myself, especially you! I trusted you once, and look what happened!”
His dark eyes narrowed on her flushed face. “T
ell me you weren’t willing,” he invited. “Tell me I forced you.”
“You could have taken precautions!” she raged.
She had him there. He couldn’t deny that. “Accidents happen,” he said curtly. “We made a mistake. Now we have to live with it.”
That wasn’t what she wanted to hear. She wanted him to say that he loved her, that he wanted a child with her, that he was happy bout it. Words like accident and mistake and live with it weren’t quite what she had in mind.
“You don’t have to live with it,” she said proudly. “I can take care of a baby. I don’t need you to make any sacrifices on my account.”
His eyebrows lifted. “You might at least give me credit for being interested in my own child.”
She averted her eyes. “I’m sorry. Yes, I can give you credit for making the most of a bad situation. I don’t imagine you really want it any more than I do,” she lied.
He went pale. His jaw tautened. “I want it, all right. If you don’t, I’ll take care of it myself. All you have to do is carry it to term.”
She’d regretted the words the minute they were out. She regretted them even more when she saw his expression. “No, I didn’t mean…”
He got up and towered over her. “I’m not totally insensitive,” he said gruffly. “I know you’ve got all you can handle with your brothers and your grandfather. A baby is the last thing you need.” He rammed his hands into his pockets, and his eyes were terrible as they met hers. He didn’t want to say it, but she had rights, too, and he was putting his own before hers. He had to be fair, despite his own prejudices. He ground his teeth together and forced the words out. “I can’t force you to have the child, of course,” he added stiffly. “Your body is your own. So if you think an abortion is the only sensible way to go—if you really want one—I’ll pay for it,” he added between his teeth. Inside his pockets, his hands were clenched so hard the knuckles were white.
“Oh, my God!” she breathed in total disbelief. She drew a shaky breath and lowered her gaze to the tabletop. She’d never meant to give him that impression. He was trying to be fair, she realized that, but the way he looked when he said it cut her to the heart.