His Shotgun Proposal

by Karen Toller Whittenburg

  Great. Abbie had managed to get Jess on her side and had planted the idea that he’d somehow offended her. It spoke to her devious nature that in such a short amount of time, she’d already instigated speculation about him between his cousin and his mother. Probably Aunt Vi had been included in the discussion, as well. She and Rose seemed to be spending a lot of time together lately and enjoying their long-delayed friendship. But if his absence from dinner last night, breakfast and lunch today, along with skipping his normal trip into the office to harass Jess this morning, was being commented upon and attributed to Abbie’s presence, he would only give the idea credence by denying it. “I can’t really remember what I said, but I certainly don’t recall it being anything that could possibly have been offensive to her, unless her condition just makes her hypersensitive.”

  Rose looked at him closely, then turned to watch Olivia and Khalid again. “He has a stubborn streak, too,” she said. “Just like his father.”

  Mac pushed up from the riser, feeling as if he had to get moving in any direction that Abbie—and the subject of Abbie—wasn’t. “I have an appointment this afternoon in Austin,” he said. “Lest anyone think I’m avoiding her…or him.”

  Rose’s smile seemed suddenly full of secrets. “Be safe, my son.”

  “Always,” he replied, and tried to act as if he hadn’t a worry in the world as he strode away.

  ROSE REMAINED in the viewing area after Livy gave Jabbar’s colt a final reward and led him, along with Kalahari, into the attached barn. Inhaling the horsey smell of the arena and the woodsy scent of the shavings, she experienced a pang of homesickness for Sorajhee, where she had known such great happiness. She knew full well that she was a fortunate woman to have loved Ibrahim, even if his murder had cut short so many of her dreams. But she had his sons—Alim, Makin, Kadar—finally, wondrously returned to her, and with today’s mail, the possibility that the baby that had been taken from her at birth was alive and too much like Ibrahim to be anyone else’s son. Sharif. The adopted son of her husband’s ally. It had stunned her to see his face among those in the pictures of the wedding of Kadar and Serena in Balahar. At first, she’d believed it was an hallucination, a throwback to the vivid dreams she’d experienced in the sanitarium. But then, slowly, as she listened to Serena talk about her father, King Zak of Balahar, and her brother, the crown prince, Rose had begun to see that the son she’d delivered during those first dark months of her confinement could be miraculously restored to her. She’d written King Zak already, stating her belief that Sharif was her birth son. It was a precious secret she held close to her heart. There would be time enough to share it when the truth was finally discovered. She would wait for Zak’s answer before she raised any hopes other than her own.

  “Hi,” Livy said shyly, returning from the barn sans colt and mare. “I’m finished inside for today, but I think Stanley Fox is working with a couple of horses in the outdoor ring, if you want to watch.”

  Rose smiled, liking this pixie of a woman-child, with her violet eyes and wild, wispy brown hair. “Thank you, but I am content where I am. You have an extraordinary gift.”

  “With the horses, you mean?” Livy looked down, brought her gaze up again. “I guess, maybe. Mac says I might grow into a good trainer.”

  “My brother has told me that Makin had an almost mystical bond with the horses even at a very young age. He recognizes that gift in you, as well, or he would never have given over the training of Jabbar’s last colt to you.”

  Livy’s face flushed with pleasure and she came nearer, leaning against the rail that separated the arena from the viewing risers. “I heard about the way you smuggled Jabbar and your sons out of the country where they were born. That must have been pretty scary, even for a queen.”

  Rose heard the awed emphasis on the title and smiled into Olivia’s brightly curious eyes. “It was such a long time ago,” she said. “And so much has happened since, I honestly cannot remember being afraid, although I’m sure I was.”

  “It’s like you lived a real fairy tale, marrying a prince from another country, becoming queen when he was crowned king, and then having to escape when he was killed.” A frown crossed Livy’s face and she caught her lower lip between her teeth. “I’m sorry, that was a tactless thing to say. I just get sort of caught up in stories about Arabian Nights and Arabian princes who ride out of the desert and sweep unsuspecting princesses away to the Casbah.” She blushed furiously. “Comes from the reading material I found at the orphanage, I guess. Anyway, it’s probably painful for you to remember and I shouldn’t have brought it up. I’m just…” Her explanation trailed into an embarrassed silence.

  “You’re just curious,” Rose said, believing she could understand some of the fantasies a young orphan might nurture within the walls of her loneliness. “I had something of a fantasy about a desert prince when I was young, too, and you know what?” She was rewarded when Livy’s eyes reclaimed their inquisitive sparkle. “It came true. Well, except for him riding out on a white stallion and sweeping me away.”

  “He drove a car, huh?” Livy wanted to know.

  “No, the stallion was black. Jabbar’s sire, in fact. A beautiful animal, but I had eyes only for the man who rode him.” The memory of Ibrahim’s courtship flooded her with sweet pleasure, and she savored it for a moment before focusing again on the young woman before her. “The part of the fairy tale that is absolutely true, though, Livy, is the part where the princess falls deeply in love with the prince. I loved my prince and it wouldn’t have mattered to me if he’d chosen to be a tour guide instead of a king. I loved him for who he was, with or without his royal titles. Keep that in mind, when you are imagining your own happy ending.”

  “Oh, I don’t think about that anymore.” But Livy’s answer was too rushed, too emphatic and besides, Rose recognized the blush. There was a bit of a princess in every woman, she supposed, and maybe the glimmer of a prince in every man. “I just wondered, you know, what it was like to be a real queen.”

  “Until the last couple of months in Sorajhee, it was the happiest time of my life. But now…well, now, I’m very happy to be living here on the Desert Rose with my family.”

  “It seems like you’ve always lived here. I guess you always have, in spirit, anyway. I mean, even the ranch is named for you.”

  It was a sweet thing to say and Rose stood with a smile. “Thank you, Olivia,” she said. “If I had had a daughter, I like to think she might have been something like you.”

  Livy didn’t reply, but as Rose walked out of the arena, she thought she heard a soft, jaunty, tuneful whistling of “Some Day My Prince Will Come.”

  ABBIE WALKED THROUGH THE BARN casting glances into each and every box stall she passed, whether it was occupied or not. For their part, the horses in the stalls observed her presence with varying degrees of interest. “Hello,” she whispered to one who twitched her perky ears in response. “Hello there,” she said to another, who ignored her completely, although his neighbor in the next box nickered in soft reply. Horses, Abbie was discovering, were as individual as the humans who loved them. In the two days she’d been at the ranch, she’d already learned more than she’d ever realized there was to know about ranches and the breeding, training and showing of Arabian horses. She’d done a damn good job of staying out of Mac’s way, too, possibly because he’d virtually vanished since her arrival. Well, except for that little interlude by the lake. But since then, she hadn’t even caught sight of his cowboy hat in the distance.

  Which was fine with her. The less she had to see of him, the better. Unfortunately, Jessie was quick at jumping to conclusions based on little or no evidence and kept saying things to indicate she thought Mac’s behavior odd in the extreme and connected, somehow, to Abbie’s arrival. If Abbie had been a little less distracted herself, she’d have kept her mouth shut instead of thoughtlessly answering Jess’s questions. But the queries had been so subtle, so innocuous on the surface, it hadn’t occurred to Abbie to be
on her guard. Then suddenly, she realized she’d expressed her belief that the baby would have dark eyes, dark hair, skin that turned a rich golden-brown in the sun, and since she possessed none of those traits, she’d essentially described the basic appearance of her baby’s father. Maybe that in itself wouldn’t have been so incriminating until Jess asked casually about the due date and counted quickly—and accurately—back to the end of December and the graduation party. Panicking just a bit, Abbie confessed that she’d met a mystery man that night, but she hadn’t even found out his name as she’d never expected to see him again.

  The truth circled back around on her and in practically no time, Jess was mentioning Abbie’s remark that she had recently told the father about her pregnancy. From there, it was just a hop, skip and a jump to the question about when, exactly, and where she’d run into this mysterious stranger again and how embarrassing that must have been and what on earth had he said and wasn’t Abbie going to insist he, at least, pay child support? After all, the baby was as much his responsibility as Abbie’s, no matter if he wanted to admit it or not. Then Abbie was explaining that he didn’t even believe the baby was his, a tactic that seemed to halt the questions in midstream. Jess seemed preoccupied after that, but even after going over and over the conversation in her head, Abbie didn’t believe anything she’d said pointed directly to Mac as the father. Still she’d have to be more careful from now on. More guarded in what she said. More conscious of where a perfectly innocent question could lead.

  Glancing at her watch, Abbie felt the tension knot in her stomach as she lifted the cell phone from her pocket and, with a deep inhale, punched in the auto dial for home. Probably the barn wasn’t the best place to make the call, but reception in her bedroom was sketchy and she didn’t want one or all of her brothers deciding she needed a new cell phone with a broader range of service. That would mean, of course, that they’d have to deliver it en masse and in person so they could give her instructions on how to work the silly thing. “Hi, there,” she said brightly when Brad answered on the first ring. “I’m checking in, as directed and—I’ll have you note—a few minutes early.”

  He laughed, as if the last thing he’d ever do was worry if his kid sister failed to call at a certain time, certain day, certain exact moment. “How’s it going, kiddo? You tired of being a camp counselor, yet?”

  “Hardly. I’m having a great summer!” It was an effort, but she infused her voice with a camper’s enthusiasm. “The kids are great, the camp is great, I’m great. Couldn’t be better.”

  “Well, maybe you should give it a couple more days,” he said, his tone indulgent in humoring her. “You haven’t even been there a week. I’ve got to tell you, Abs, Mom isn’t happy that you couldn’t find two minutes to get home for a visit before you hightailed it out of Miss Amelia’s Academy and headed for the Poconos.”

  “You’re the one who wasn’t happy about that.” She called his bluff. “Mom and I talked and she understood the timing just wasn’t right. I’d have been exhausted from the traveling instead of having those couple of days to get my bearings here.”

  “Well, we expect to see you soon. Forget this nonsense about going the whole summer without seeing your family. Otherwise, we may just have to show up there for Parents’ Day.”

  Panic. Abbie forced a gay laugh. “Ha-ha. You won’t show up that day, for sure. I wouldn’t have five seconds to spend with you. It’ll be utter chaos here.”

  “Okay, then. Name another weekend. Or better yet, save us a fortune in plane fares and get yourself a weekend pass.”

  “Good idea,” she lied, then rushed on to ask, “Who else is there? Jaz? Ty? Mom, Dad?”

  “Every last one of us,” he said. “Just waiting for the chance to hear your voice and make sure you’re okay. Who do you want to talk to next? Quinn?”

  Finding a bale of hay, Abbie sank onto it, giving her shaky legs a break and herself a good view of the open doorway, in case any of the Desert Rose residents walked by and came close enough to overhear. “Let me say hi to Dad first,” she requested, and then spent the next thirty minutes trying to say as little as possible and get off the line without arousing even a single suspicion that practically everything she did say was an outright and outrageous lie.

  JESSICA DISCREETLY EYED her cousins as they argued good-naturedly over whether Mac had cheated the last time the two of them had drawn straws to settle a disagreement. It was the way they’d almost always settled their disputes, at least the ones that could be resolved with a straw broken into two unequal parts. Jessie couldn’t imagine herself in such a contest with anyone. She’d prefer a battle of wills any day. But it worked for the twins. This last time, it had worked out especially well, bringing Cade and Serena together…first in a marriage of convenience and then in a ceremony that celebrated their true love match.

  At the moment, Cade was laughing at Mac’s assertions that he always got cheated by his younger—by twenty-three minutes—brother. Jessie had never seen the younger twin so happy or the older one less so. Oh, Mac was putting a good face on it—playfully teasing his sister-in-law about how if only Mac had drawn the shorter straw, Serena wouldn’t have had to marry the runt of the litter. It was nonsense, of course, said playfully and meant only to complement the newlyweds’ obvious bliss. Serena was fathoms deep in love with her Prince Charming, as was he with her, and Mac was supremely content to be the only remaining bachelor sheikh on the Desert Rose.

  Or was he? Jessica had a glimmering of an idea—a crazy and persistent idea—that somehow, some way Mac and Abbie had met somewhere before he’d picked her up at the airport, had—and this was the crazy part—actually met the night of the big graduation party. Which would make Mac not only Abbie’s mystery man, but the father of her baby. Jessie knew that had to be all but impossible, and yet the idea persisted, growing more and more appealing as the answer to why Mac was avoiding Abbie and Abbie was avoiding Mac and why, when they did happen to be in the same room, like now, neither of them came within right angles of looking at the other. It gave some justification for Abbie’s pale and edgy arrival at the ranch and a reason for Mac to have been madder than a jackrabbit with a crooked ear when he dropped her off. It went a long way toward explaining why Mac had been so inquisitive about Jessie’s school friends in the months since her graduation.

  Jessie knew she was daydreaming, trying to put together a theory that was more than likely based on a faulty equation, but it had tumbled into her mind and wouldn’t be dismissed. Something was wrong about Abbie sitting on one side of the family room, talking quietly with Hannah, while Mac sat on the other side, pitching his voice a little too loudly, a tad too merrily to go unnoticed.

  He was making an effort to prove his total indifference to Abigail Jones, and convincing Jessie, if no one else, that he was so aware of Abbie he could hardly think straight. It would have been funny if it wasn’t so serious. Abbie was pregnant and, although it was hard to believe, the more she thought about it, the more Jessica believed the baby belonged to Mac.

  “I didn’t cheat.” Mac laughed, his glance never shifting anywhere near Abbie. “You held the straws. All I did was pick one. How can it be my fault that I got the longer straw?”

  “All I’m saying,” Cade said, his voice and laughter a perfect duplicate of Mac’s, “is that it seems odd you lose so often. That’s all.”

  “Well, look at it this way,” Mac replied. “You may have drawn the short straw this last time, but it turned out to be the luckiest thing that ever happened to you, now, didn’t it?”

  Cade, so much like Mac it was scary, turned to smile at the green-eyed, auburn-haired Serena, who smiled back, leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the lips. “I am the luckiest Texas sheikh there ever was,” Cade said.

  “And a most fortunate Sorajhee sheikh, who is son-in-law to the king of Balahar,” Serena added, teasing. “Perhaps you should insist that Mac begin now to call you Prince Kadar.”

  “Not in this lifetime,�
�� Mac replied with a grin. “The day I have to call this guy by some highfalutin title, I’m packin’ my cowboy boots and heading for the high country.”

  Over in her corner of the room, Abbie laughed softly in her conversation with Hannah, Rose and Vi. Jessie kept her gaze on Mac and watched his shoulders stiffen with tension at the sound. Her theory had some holes, to be sure, but she hadn’t seen anything yet that discredited it. In fact, the longer she thought about it, the more plausible it seemed. Mac and Abbie had met by accident rather than design at the graduation party. They’d spent the night together and, for whatever reason, agreed to go their separate ways the following morning. Mac was the father of Abbie’s baby. It was the only reason the two of them could be acting as if they were oblivious to the other, when clearly neither of them was oblivious at all.

  Still she couldn’t just blurt out that she’d figured out the reason for their silent hostility. She wasn’t certain she was right, only almost certain. So if she couldn’t just ask if she’d gotten the right answer, she’d do her best to throw them together over the next few days and see what kind of fireworks she set off. Starting tomorrow morning, avoiding each other was going to become an exercise in frustration for both her cousin and her friend. It made Jessie grin like a kid with a snow cone just thinking about it.

  Chapter Five

  Amazing, Abbie thought. A week ago she’d barely known one end of a horse from the other and today she was on her way to a horse show. As an exhibitor, no less. Well, in truth, she was just a warm body, another pair of hands, someone to fetch coffee or hamburgers for the Desert Rose staff, make phone calls, mend costumes or simply be willing to do whatever needed doing. No-brainer stuff, Jessica had termed it, claiming she’d have loved to go herself, if only she could get away from the office, if only Nick Grayson—the son and heir of her father’s business partner—wasn’t the bane of her existence and hadn’t demanded she deliver immediately—if not sooner!—a detailed report only she could produce. It wasn’t fair, of course, Jess had admitted, but would Abbie please, please consider going in her place?