“Are you going to leave the walls yellow?” he asked, trying to make conversation.
“I thought I would. I could hang little boy decorations on them.”
He chuckled. “You mean like baseballs and footballs?”
“I have some photos of horses and a few catalogs with more ideas. I just haven’t gotten serious about decorating yet.”
He let that comment hang in the air as he propped the crib against the wall, then went to the tool belt he’d brought up earlier that was lying in the corner.
“Can I help?”
He took a Phillips screwdriver and a wrench from the belt and then approached her. “You can hold on to these. I’ll need them once I open up the crib.”
She took the tools from him, their fingertips grazing. Her breath caught and maybe so did his, because he froze for a few seconds and then moved quickly away.
Ten minutes later the crib was angled in a shadowed corner of the room. Francesca stood by, ready with a set of pale blue sheets and a navy-and-white spread. Grady lifted the mattress from its position against one wall and plopped it into the crib. Francesca shook out the cotton sheet.
He watched as she fitted it on the mattress. But she had trouble with the fourth corner.
Without a word, Grady rounded the crib to stand beside her, took hold of the material and yanked it into place. The side of his body was practically smack against hers. She could feel his heat, his muscled tautness as he straightened and didn’t step away. She held her breath.
“It’s hard to believe that in a few months our baby will be sleeping in this crib.” His voice was rough and she could tell the thought affected him deeply.
“Sometimes it doesn’t seem real to me, either. But then I just put my hand on my tummy. I’m connected to this little person in a way I’ve never felt connected before. I feel as if the future has opened up in front of me. Each step will be a new adventure.”
“Sometimes I can feel your joy,” he surprised her by saying. “It just radiates from you.”
She wasn’t aware of that. She just knew that at moments she was completely happy and content. Maybe that’s what Grady could feel.
He was facing her now. When his arms came around her, she automatically slipped her arms around him. No matter what her doubts were, they were sharing this adventure. This baby was his, too, and she was realizing more each day that she couldn’t cut him out of her life.
Standing with her like that, he gave her a slow smile. “The baby’s getting bigger.”
She felt her cheeks heat. “So am I.”
“Not really.” He ran his hands slowly up and down her back, sending shivers up her spine. “Your breasts are fuller.”
“Grady—”
“Well, they are. I notice things like that, especially since I remember exactly how they looked before.”
“Stop,” she protested softly.
“Why? It’s not as if we haven’t been intimate.”
Physically. But how connected were they emotionally?
She pondered the question. Yet as Grady’s head bent to her and his strong arms grew a little tighter, as she leaned into him more, letting their baby press into him, she knew she was becoming connected emotionally to a man—really connected—maybe for the first time in her adult life.
That realization careened against the walls around her heart. Yet fear hardly had a chance to start because when Grady’s mouth captured hers, she felt something much different. Something more than a simple connection. One that could lead only to heartache.
Yet didn’t she deserve something more than fear and separation? Didn’t she deserve to see a dream in the distance and hope one day she’d find the right road to lead her there?
Grady’s hands slid from her back to her waist. He grasped handfuls of her maternity top and lifted it until he felt her skin. She wanted to feel his, too, yet—
What if this attraction was only that for him—an attraction? What if physical satisfaction was all he was seeking? What if this was simply a means to keep her and the baby close? Did she dare take a chance?
He must have felt her hesitation because his hands dropped away from her midriff…and the baby. His tongue stopped probing and his lips clung only a second before they separated from hers.
He gave them both a few moments to cool down and then he asked, “What are you thinking about?”
“Why you came back to Sagebrush. I also want to know why sometimes you mistrust me almost as much as I mistrust you.”
“Maybe you want to know too much,” he replied tersely.
“Maybe. Or maybe I have the right to know who the father of my baby really is.”
Grady began to unpack the play saucer.
Francesca felt as if the road to her dream had just grown much longer.
Chapter Eight
“That’s the last box,” Grady said fifteen minutes later as he plopped it on the floor.
Looking up, he was surprised to see Francesca hanging framed photographs of horses on nails she must have hammered in. When she turned, he felt that sucker punch that was becoming all too familiar. Her eyes had the power to do that to him and he didn’t like it. He liked it about as much as the personal questions she’d been asking.
“Did you take those?” he asked. “In fact…” He studied the photographs more carefully. “Aren’t they Vince’s horses?”
“I have a digital camera. It doesn’t take a genius to do something like this now. I sent them to be printed in eight-by-tens, found mats and frames and here they are.”
“So you were serious about the horses?”
“I’m living in Texas now. Why wouldn’t I be serious about horses?”
Maybe he had hoped for a different answer. Maybe he had hoped his horses and his ranch had something to do with it, because their son would be spending time there.
She was studying him, and he didn’t want her to skip from one realization to another. “You need a rocking chair.”
“Actually I found one at a yard sale two months ago. Tessa knew someone who refinished furniture and I’ve been using it in my bedroom. I guess I just wasn’t ready to put this room together yet. But now I think my nesting instincts are kicking in. I’ll have to buy a chest and a changing table, diapers and bottles, stroller and car carrier. Goodness. I guess I’d better get started.”
Now he remembered a rocker in her room. He hadn’t paid attention to the furnishings when gathering her clothes for the stay at his place. “Maybe Santa will bring some of the things you need.”
“I’ve never written a letter to Santa.”
“Are you serious?”
“I never thought he could give me what I needed. I wasn’t interested in toys. I was interested in a real home.”
Francesca seemed to be as genuine as a woman got. He was finally learning about the feelings and fears and the hell she’d been through as a child. “Why don’t I go get that chair? You can decide where you want it.”
“My room’s a mess. I wasn’t planning on a visitor.”
He just touched his hand to the side of his hat as if to say, “That doesn’t matter,” and headed for the Wedgwood blue-and-white room.
He stood in the doorway this time, having more than a few minutes to take it in. She’d told him she’d brought her furniture from Oklahoma. It was plain, with straight lines and a beautiful wood grain. The room might seem like a mess to her, but it just showed him the evidence that she lived here. Sweatpants and a T-shirt lay over a corner of the bed, running shoes at its foot. The bed was made, however. The dresser held a jewelry box, a mirror and a framed photo of an older woman he presumed was Francesca’s mother. Other than that it was uncluttered. The white ceramic lamps and white trim around the doors and baseboard lent a pristine aura to the space.
He spotted the rocking chair over by the window. Unlike the rest of the furniture, it was a bit more decorative, with its tall, rounded back and staves for support leading from the top down to the seat. The arms were
solid wood and sturdy with spokes leading to the seat also. The planks on the seat were molded in such a way that they looked almost comfortable rather than stiff and unforgiving. The rockers were large and would give good motion. It was an interesting chair, as interesting as the woman who had chosen it.
He lifted it, carrying it to the nursery. He had to decide which of the rooms in his house he would turn into a nursery. Did he want Francesca’s input or would he rather do it on his own? He might keep the horse theme, but in a more primitive way. Liam was great at drawing. Maybe he could paint a little cowboy with a rope on one wall and a horse on the other. The more Grady thought about it, the more he liked it.
Bringing the chair into the nursery, he set it by Francesca, who was standing at the window, staring out into the yard. “We’ll have to look at swing sets. They have baby seats now that that you can attach to them.”
“And a jungle gym for when he’s older. Boys like to climb and explore.”
She turned. “Girls don’t?”
“Oh, no. I’m not stepping into that one!” He examined the room with a critical eye. “Where are you going to find a chest and a changing table?”
“I’m not sure, but I still have time.”
They gazed at each other, more quiet than they’d been since she’d asked him her questions.
“I could use something to drink. Got anything in the refrigerator?” he asked.
“Sure. Soda, juice, beer for when Vince visits and wine for Jared.”
“A bottle of beer sounds good.”
She looked around the room again and smiled. “I’ll have to write your sister a thank-you note. This has really helped me get started.”
“You don’t have to write her a note. Everybody’s coming to the ranch this Sunday. I’m going to play Santa. You’re welcome to join us. You can thank her then.”
“I don’t know, Grady. I often work Sundays.”
He knew when Francesca was going full tilt she might work seven days a week. “You can’t get away for a few hours?”
“Let’s see what the weekend brings.”
Did she want to see what the weekend brought or did she want to see how much he’d give of himself? He hated talking about the past, and especially about what had happened with Susan, because he felt like such a fool.
A short while later they’d gone downstairs. Francesca poured herself a glass of milk and brought him a longneck beer. They sat on the sofa, silent at first, and awkward together in that silence. They’d been intimate, but not really. They were friendly, but were they really friends? She kept her guard up with him and his past few years of not wanting to get involved with anyone kept him from becoming involved with her. At least in a real way.
He knew why she was hesitant. She’d had a rough road. He guessed the worst part of it was that she didn’t trust her own judgment now. She was sharing more and he wasn’t. The least he could do was to be as forthright with her as she’d been with him.
He didn’t know how to start, so he just jumped in. “You asked why I’m not married.”
She didn’t say anything, just gazed at his face and listened. Her complete attention did something to him. It loosened words that had been stuck in the back of his mind.
“When I went to Chicago, I decided I wanted a life outside of Sagebrush. I’d grown up here. I wanted to make my mark in a big city…see more of the world. And I did. Or at least I’d started to. I was willing to travel and it helped me move up in the firm. I saw Hong Kong, Amsterdam, Geneva, Paris and even New Delhi. A colleague and I started an affair. I thought it was going somewhere. I thought it would lead to marriage and children and a life in Chicago, different from the one I’d seen in Sagebrush, but with the same family values.”
“And she shared your values?”
“Well, that’s the thing. I thought she did. I thought everyone looked at marriage the way I did, the way my parents did, the way my sister and brothers did. But then the opportunity for a promotion came up and we were both in line for it.”
“It’s hard to compete with someone you love,” Francesca said with understanding.
“I think we could have handled the competition. I could have handled the competition. But apparently she felt she needed an edge. She slept with our boss to get the promotion.”
“Grady, I’m so sorry.” After a pause she asked, “Did she get the promotion?”
“Yes, she got it. The worst part of it was she didn’t think she’d done anything wrong. Afterward she told me sleeping with him was just part of the game. It didn’t mean anything. I remembered all of the nights we’d spent together and wondered how much they’d meant to her.”
“How did you find out she’d slept with him?”
“One of my ‘friends’ told me. He’d seen them together in the boss’s office late one night. I didn’t want to believe it. I asked her why she’d been there that late, and she admitted that’s how she’d gotten the promotion. She didn’t just sleep with him once, either. They met at a hotel two or three times, nights I thought she was out with friends or working late.”
“You must have felt so betrayed by both of them.”
“Betrayed…deceived…used. So I confronted him. As long as that was the way he did his business, I was quitting. The whole thing left such a bad taste in my mouth, I came back here. After I licked my wounds for a few weeks, I decided Sagebrush was where I belonged. I missed my family. I missed the ranch. I missed loyalty, honesty and forthrightness.”
“But you lost your ability to trust a woman.”
“I absolutely didn’t understand how she could say she loved me in one breath, then tell me she slept with a man to get ahead in the other. Those two concepts just don’t work side by side. That’s when I realized our values were very different.”
Francesca was studying him curiously.
“What?”
“But there must have been good parts. Do you ever miss your life in Chicago?”
“People talk about the advantages of big city life, the cultural events, the stores, the employment opportunities. But I don’t see it that way. I can find anything I want in Sagebrush. Just give me a good horse, a loyal dog, work I like and my family around me and I’m satisfied.”
Francesca bowed her head and looked down at her hands in her lap. She picked up her glass of milk, took a few sips and then set it back on the coffee table on the coaster. “Do you believe what I tell you?” she asked.
“I try to. I try to give you the benefit of the doubt. But the truth is, Frannie, I half expect you’ll take our child, move to Timbuktu and I’d never see you again.”
He noticed she didn’t say she wouldn’t do that. The hell of it was, he understood why. If he turned out to be an SOB like her father or like this Darren character, she’d be off without a second thought.
When she turned toward him, her glossy hair fell over her shoulder. He thought about the times his hand had slid into it so easily. The whiff of a clean, spicy floral shampoo scent came with it, and he realized she got to him in a way Susan never could.
Her gaze was wide with doubts as she asked, “Do you really want me to come on Sunday?”
He loved playing Santa for his nieces and nephews. He wanted Francesca to be comfortable with him at the ranch so she’d bring their baby there often. He didn’t want her to lock him out of her life. “Yes, I want you there.”
She took a deep breath and let it out, as if this was a major decision for her. “All right. I’ll make sure I’m not needed at the hospital on Sunday. I’ll see if I can arrange it so I can stop in for a while.”
“One of my family can pick you up.”
He intended to make Sunday convenient for her. But those doubts were back in her eyes. She didn’t know what his family would mean to their child. She didn’t know if his family would be more than she could handle.
He was going to have to warn them all to back off.
But that could be a hopeless cause.
“Ho, ho, ho!�
��
Francesca had been standing at the dining-room table at the ranch arranging food for the gathering. Patrick Fitzgerald had opened the front door to his son. All of the children ran toward him, including John’s nine- and ten-year-olds. But little Seth, who came running through the dining room at full tilt, tripped and fell.
When he began crying, she realized his mom had gone to the guest-room closet for more napkins. Francesca rushed to him and hugged him. “It’s okay. I don’t think you’re hurt, are you?”
The little boy shook his head. “I want to see Santa.”
Francesca stood with Seth’s hand in hers and guided him through the living room to the foyer where all the children were gathered with Grady. He was busy shaking hands with the older kids, patting the little ones on the head. But when he spotted Francesca with Seth, his gaze held hers. The intensity of his focus seared a path right down to her toes. She wondered if they could ever just be in the same room together without producing enough electricity to light up his tall Christmas tree.
She stepped forward a little. “Seth wanted to say hello to Santa. I think he was afraid he wouldn’t get here in time.”
Grady tried to smile under his Santa beard. “Not in time?” His voice was an octave lower than it usually was. “All the children are in time. Let’s go into the living room and see what Santa has in his bag.”
On the floor behind him sat a huge red bag with drawstrings. In it, he’d loaded candy canes, oranges, bags of gummy bears and puzzles. As Grady ho, ho, hoed his way to the living room with the bag, the adults laughed and followed, too.
Except for Maureen, who sidled up next to Francesca. “I think you’re going to make a really good mom.”
Surprised by the certainty in Maureen Fitzgerald’s voice, Francesca asked, “Why do you think that?”
“Because you didn’t hesitate to comfort Seth.”
Francesca knew she was good with babies, and she loved kids. But would she make the right choices for her own child? Her mother had gotten trapped in a bad situation because of the decisions she’d made.
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