by Anna Jeffrey
She angled a look up at him. “I think you’re taller than you used to be.
He couldn’t remember how tall he used to be. He said nothing.
She bumped his arm with her shoulder. “As I remember it, we were almost eye-to-eye. But now, I think I’d have to stand on my tippy-toes to kiss you.”
Not taking the bait or flirting back, he ventured sideways, putting a foot of space between them.
“Love the posterwork,” she said taking in the murals on both sides of the hallway’s walls.
“It’s not posterwork,” he said, cranky-voiced. “It’s original art. Painted by a local artist.”
“Ooh. Impressive.”
They reached his front door and he pressed in the combination that unlocked it. Once inside the condo, while slipping off her coat, she made the usual oohhs and aahhs that everyone made about the view. It was colder than a witch’s tit outside, but she had on a white top that looked sort of like a bra, sort of like a bathing suit top. Instantly, the male animal in him saw that it hooked in back and tied around her neck. One pull on the right string and it would be gone. She was also wearing low-cut jeans that showcased a glittery object in her navel.
She handed him her coat and walked over to the window wall. She looked to be tanned all over, he couldn’t keep from noticing, with no sign of bathing suit lines. Living in Arizona, she probably had not gotten that uniform tan in a salon. He was a morning sex guy. Not much stimulation was required for him to get hard. Her attire and a visual of her tanning nude beside a pool set off a stir inside his shorts. He diverted his attention to hanging her coat in the entry closet.
She walked around the living room/dining room, looking around, the heels of her high-style cowboy boots clacking against the hardwood floors. One of those tribal-looking tattoos showed on her back just above her glittery belt.
She strolled into the kitchen and he followed. “Nice,” she said, running her fingers along the granite island.
Up close, he saw that her top barely covered her nipples and didn’t cover her breasts entirely. Too round and too perfect to be real. She hadn’t been that chesty when they were kids.
He must have been staring because she stopped, ducked her chin and gave him an inviting look. “Yes, Drake. I had a boob job. Don’t you remember how I used to complain about my flat chest?”
He felt his cheeks heat. “Guess I forgot that.”
Unsmiling, her eyes locked on his. “I had a very good plastic surgeon. Would you like to see?” She raised her arms, placed her hands behind her neck as if to untie the strap.
“No,” he blurted. “Not necessary.”
She shrugged, then frowned. “The only thing I hate is that my nipples are kind of numb. I always liked having my nipples touched. Don’t you remember?”
Heat began to crawl up his neck. He said nothing.
She turned and walked over to the window wall again. “Is this all of it? Where do you sleep?” She made an abrupt turn and started back to the hallway, on her way to his two guest bedrooms where guests, if he had them, slept.
Thrown off his game, he gave himself a few seconds, then followed her and caught up with her in the largest guest room that also had a spectacular view.
“Who sleeps here?” she asked.
“Family sometimes.”
She walked out of the room and back up the hall, then stopped and peeked back at him from around the corner. “I want to see where you sleep.”
She ambled off in the opposite direction, where she would find the master suite if she kept going. He followed. When she wandered to the bathroom, he followed her there, too, and stood in the doorway, his back against the doorjamb, his arms crossed over his chest. At least the bathroom wasn’t humid from his shower. He had showered and shaved before leaving the ranch this morning.
“On, my gosh, this is some shower,” she said looking it over. She came toward him and passed through the doorway in front of him, her bare shoulder brushing his forearm. She gave him another inviting smile. “Looks like fun.”
His mouth had already gone dry; now his brow broke into a sweat. He swallowed. She ambled toward the bedroom door, giving him plenty of opportunity to admire her firm ass in her skintight jeans. “Are you going to join me in a swim?” she asked.
“I’m going to work pretty soon.”
She stopped in the middle of the bedroom and faced him. “Are you still hot?”
His brow squeezed into a frown so tight it was painful. “What?”
“Hot. That’s one of the things I remember about you. How good you were, even as a kid. You had so much…um, energy.”
His whole head, face and body grew warm. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Tammy.”
She came to him and looked up at him with those inviting eyes. “Yes, you do,” she said softly. “In man-talk, I think they call it stamina. And you used to have a lot of it. You used to blow my teeny little mind. I still remember that first time you went down on me. After we watched that porno movie when Mom and Dad were gone that time?”
“Tammy, I’m seeing someone,” he choked out.
“I know. Betty told me.” Her eyes traveled down and landed knowingly on the bulge at his fly.
“But see?” she said. “Here you are all excited and she isn’t here. And I am.”
He shook his head, grasped Tammy’s arm and urged her toward the bedroom doorway.
She lifted her arm from his hand. “Okay, Okay. I get the message. But if you change your mind, all you have to do is call. I’ve been fixed, so there’s nothing to worry about that way.”
Back in the kitchen, she spotted the golf tournament on the living room TV. “Oh, I forgot about the golf tournament today. Is Tiger playing?”
He didn’t believe she had forgotten about the golf tournament. She had been married to a pro golfer for chrissake. She probably knew the circuit by heart. And she had always been a wizard at sports statistics. She would know the day and time of every tournament everywhere and probably the players. “Not today. I was just going to get some coffee. Do you want some?”
“No, thanks.”
Whether she wanted coffee or not, he did. He refilled his mug and added a dollop of brandy to settle his nerves. The ring still sat on the cooking island. She picked up the box, opened it, then closed it. After a pause, she looked up at him, a crestfallen expression on her face.
Please, no tears, he prayed.
“The one you bought for me was bigger.” She cleared her throat and set the box back on the counter. “You know something? When I heard you had never gotten married, I thought we might have a chance to—”
“Tammy, don’t.” He shook his head. “I’m going in another direction. And that has nothing to do with you.”
She ducked her chin and toyed with a fingernail. “I see that.” She looked up at him again, a glister of moisture in her eyes. “Going back to old times just for fun wouldn’t be too much for me to handle, but I can see it’s too much for you. You always did have this honorable streak.”
Then just like that, she smiled brightly. “You don’t mind if I watch a little of the golf tournament, do you?”
Chapter 39
As Shannon and her grandmother left church, the subject of today’s sermon stayed in her mind—engaging in positive acts to receive positive results. It had struck a harmonious note inside her and persuaded her to act rather than react to her circumstances.
She still hadn’t made up her mind to rush up to Fort Worth and tell Drake he was soon to be a father. Then, after church, she found a text message on her phone: I know you’re mad at me, but I don’t know why. Please let me come down to Camden. Or come up here and tell me what I’ve done.
That message and today’s sermon made her decide it was time to drive up to his condo and tell him the news in person. Not to tell a man who had been your lover that he was to be a father was meaner than she could be. Who knew? He might be happy. Surely he had considered that he was thirty-five years old a
nd not getting any younger.
She knew that Sunday was often the only down time he had in his fast-paced life. He used it to think and refill his energy well. She was fairly certain he would be home today. After she and Grammy ate lunch, she changed her clothes, putting on her best-fitting jeans and a thick green sweater that flattered her figure and showcased her hair and eye color. They might have no future together, but she still cared about how she looked when he saw her.
She would tell him she didn’t expect him to marry her, she mused, while she took extra pains re-doing her hair and makeup. And she didn’t expect that from him. They had known each other only two and a half months, which hardly seemed enough time to make a decision about the rest of your life. But in her heart, even unmarried, she hoped he would want to be a part of their baby’s life.
Soon she was motoring toward Fort Worth with an unusual joy filling her heart. Now, for some reason, she could hardly wait to tell him.
When she arrived in Lockhart Tower’s parking garage, she saw that both his pickup and his Virage were parked. A case of nerves struck her as the elevator zoomed her to the twenty-eighth floor. She couldn’t even guess what to expect when she told him the news.
She pressed in the code at the glass doorway, then quickstepped to 28C. Before she could press his door bell, the door opened and there stood a blonde who must surely be a movie star. And her upper torso was practically bare. Shannon did a double-take, thinking at first she had buzzed the bell at the wrong unit. Then she saw Drake walk up behind the blonde.
“Shannon,” he said, his eyes as round as saucers.
“Hi,” the blonde said.
Shannon stared. For a moment, she stopped breathing. Finally, adrenaline took control of her brain and body and she turned and ran down the hallway toward the glass doorway.
When she reached the glass door, it glided open on cue and at the same time the elevator doors slid open. She heard Drake calling to her, but she didn’t stop. She stepped into the elevator car and it whisked her away. Minutes later, she was in the parking garage and inside her car. As she exited the garage onto the street, through her rearview mirror, she saw Drake step out of the elevator into the garage.
Tears rushed to her eyes, but she continued blindly toward the highway home. Before she reached it, she began to sob and hyperventilate and turned off the road into a Red Lobster parking lot. After long minutes of weeping and self-flagellation, she composed herself, wiped her eyes dry and blew her nose. What was wrong with her? She couldn’t sit in a parking lot and bawl. She had to get home.
As she pulled out onto the street, her brain finally engaged. That woman in his condo had a familiar face, like…Brittany Spears! His former fiancé, Tammy McMillan.
“Oh. My God,” Shannon mumbled. “Oh. My. God.” And he had told her he wasn’t in touch with his former financé, had no idea what she was doing. He had lied to her, used her until something else he wanted more came along. Grammy Evelyn’s words came down on her like a big hammer: …You must be careful. Those Lockharts, they’re takers….They think the world belongs to them…
How could she have been so naïve? How had she let him talk her into trusting him? He had spellbound her with sex. He was what she had feared in the beginning. She had seen plenty of evidence, but she had let herself be blind to it. Anger replaced grief.
She reached the highway and headed south. Her phone bleated from inside her purse. She dug it out, saw Unknown Number on the tiny screen. She threw it back into her purse, hating him as much as she hated herself. A few minutes later it bleated again. And again. After half a dozen times, she pressed it to OFF.
Back in Camden, she couldn’t go home, couldn’t face her grandmother. Her face was red and swollen form crying. She made her way to Christa’s house.
“Come on into the kitchen,” Christa said. “I’m cooking. Ronald took both boys to the movies, so I’m baking him a pie. And I’m baby-sitting my sister’s baby.”
Ronald was Christa’s first husband and the father of her oldest son. Christa’s beautiful little niece, Victoria, just under a year old, was sitting on the floor playing with a plastic toy. Shannon had always thought she looked like a Gerber baby.
Babies suddenly engaged a block of Shannon’s attention. She thought back to when she had gone to see Victoria at the hospital just after she was born. She picked her up and had an overwhelming urge to bury her nose against the soft little cheek. “Hiya, Vic.”
She took a seat at the kitchen table while Christa resumed her pie-making and set Victoria on her on her lap. “How old is Victoria now?”
“Eight months,” Christa said. “Can you believe it? She’s such a good baby. Nothing like my rowdy boys.”
The baby laughed and gurgled and touched Shannon’s face. And from out of nowhere, tears rushed to Shannon’s eyes and she began to sob. Victoria screeched. Christa rushed over and picked up the baby. “Shanny, what’s wrong?”
“I’m so sorry,” Shannon said. “I didn’t mean to upset her.” She grabbed a baby wipe from a box on the table and dabbed at her eyes. “I just got back from Fort Worth.”
“What happened?”
“He was with a woman. His fiancé from years ago. I suspected there was a reason he took so long to call me.”
The baby calmed when Christa gave her a cookie. She returned her to the floor to play. Then she pulled her chair close and listened while Shannon told her the whole story between bouts of weeping a nose-blowing.
“You don’t know why she was there,” Christa said.
“She was half-naked.”
“Maybe there’s a logical explanation.”
Shannon gave her a look.
“Okay, okay. But it doesn’t matter. If he doesn’t know about the baby, you can’t presume he doesn’t want it or that he doesn’t want you,” Christa said.
“He’s a womanizer, Christa,” Shannon said with finality, her speech thick from the crying
jag. “I’d never be able to trust him. I shouldn’t have trusted him already. Even if he wanted to do something crazy, like marry me, I couldn’t. My God, in the two months I’ve been with him, I already know of three different women he’s slept with. I’ve been face-to-face with two. Who knows how many there are?”
Christa gave a huge sigh. “Men can change, Shanny. Maybe it wasn’t what it seemed. You need to give him a chance to explain. If you’re going to have his baby, you can’t just shut him out without giving him a chance.”
Shannon rolled her eyes. Calmer now, she got to her feet. “I’ll have to think about it. I’m going to go, Christa. I don’t want to be here when Ronald brings your kids back and have him see me crying.”
They walked to the front door together. “No matter what happens, I’ll be here for you,” Christa said.
Shannon gave her a wan smile. “Thanks, Christa. You’re the best friend I have. Meanwhile, I have to stop bawling. Every time I turn around I’m breaking into tears.”
“It’s hormones. Your hormones are all screwed up. Being pregnant does that.”
Shannon at last went home. Her grandmother made no comment about her swollen eyes and red face, for which Shannon was grateful. While they ate supper, Grammy Evelyn chattered away about Arthur and church and making cupcakes for the children at church. She was making an effort at being nonchalant.
Instead of watching TV with Grammy Evelyn, Shannon went to bed. She had never been so tired in her life. Solitude and sleep were what she needed now. And intestinal fortitude. At some point, she had to tell her grandmother about her condition.
****
Shannon set out the next morning determined to have a normal day without tears. She had many blessings for which to be thankful. She was healthy. She had loyal friends and associates. Her business was doing better than most of the real estate offices in Camden.
Her team members went out early, leaving her alone with the receptionist. She was thinking about lunch when the front door chimed and she could tell from Chelsea’s co
nversation something had been delivered. She left her office at the end of the hall and walked up to the reception room. There she saw Chelsea holding a tall vase with a beautiful bouquet of blood-red roses. Instinctively she knew they were from Drake. They were too elegant and looked too expensive to be a gift from a team member’s husband.
“They’re for you,” Chelsea said with an ear-to-ear grin and handed her a card.
She took the card, but said to Chelsea, “Just put those somewhere out here in the reception room.”
Inside her office, she slid the card out of its small envelope: DRAKE. One word. Typical of his ego. She tore it in half and dropped it in the trash can.
When the workday ended and Chelsea put on her coat to go home, Shannon gave her the roses, telling her she didn’t want them to be a topic of conversation in the office.
The next day, at about the same time, the same florist brought a dozen white roses tied with a red ribbon and another card: LET ME EXPLAIN. This time, her team members all giggled and teased her, but she didn’t share the message with them. Knowing Chelsea lived near the hospital, Shannon asked her to take the flowers to Mrs. Bates, one of their customers who’d had surgery.
On Wednesday, a padded envelope arrived in the mail. Inside, Shannon found a small gold
heart pendant and yet another card: DAMMIT, PICK UP YOUR VOICE MAIL.
Indeed she had ignored his calls, hadn’t even listened to his messages. She wasn’t taking orders or even suggestions from him anymore. Flustered, she stuffed the heart back into the envelope, took it and one of Drake’s business cards out to Chelsea and instructed her to mail it to Drake’s office address.
The week and weekend passed. The middle of the morning of the following Monday, Christa called. “Are you sitting down?”
Her tone had an ominous ring. “What’s happened?”
“Your five acres closed at Star Title in Dallas. I’ve got a friend who works there and she called me. The buyer is Lockhart Concepts, LLC. That wouldn’t be Drake’s company, would it?”