Expecting Lonergan’s Baby

by Maureen Child

  And now that they were, she wasn’t at all sure how to say what had to be said.

  He sat at the kitchen table, the ranch accounting books laid out in front of him. Turning from the sink, she stared at him for a long minute and let the knots in her stomach slowly tighten.

  His dark hair fell across his forehead as he bent his head to look at a row of figures. He trailed his long fingers down the line of numbers slowly as he checked and rechecked the totals at the bottom. Leaning to one side, he flipped through a stack of papers and sifted through them until he found the one he was looking for.

  The quiet drone of the television played in the background, and outside, the wind tapped against the windows with chilly fingers.

  Maggie sighed, dried her hands on the dish towel, then carefully hooked it over the handle on the oven door to dry. This wasn’t going to get any easier. Best, she thought, to just say it and say it fast.

  “Sam?”

  “Hmm?” He didn’t even look up. Just scribbled a notation on a legal-size yellow pad of paper to his right.

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “Sure,” he said, making another note.

  “It’s important.”

  The hesitant tone of her voice must have gotten through to him because he set his pencil down and swiveled his head to look at her. Frowning slightly, he asked, “Something wrong?”

  “No,” she said, though she was forced to admit that he might see things a little differently. What was to her a gift, Sam would no doubt consider a trap. A trap she had no intention of springing on him. “At least,” she amended slightly, “I don’t consider it a problem.”

  He gave her a brief smile. “Now I’m intrigued.” Standing up, he crossed the room to her. Glancing into the living room to make sure Jeremiah was still sleeping in his recliner, he looked back at Maggie. “What’s going on?”

  She drew a deep breath, blew it out in a long rush and then tried a smile of her own. “I’ve been practicing all day just how to tell you this and now that I’m here—”

  He cupped her face in his palms. “Just say it, Maggie.”

  “Right.” She lifted her hands to cover his. A flutter of warmth filled Maggie as she looked up into his dark eyes. Joy and misery twisted inside her as she realized that if things had been different, this moment might have been a celebration.

  She wanted to tell him how much she loved him. How much she would always love him. But she knew that confession wouldn’t be any more welcome than the one she was about to make.

  The truth was undeniable, though. She loved a man who had no intention of loving her in return. A man whose only thought was to leave as quickly as he could. Her heart ached at the knowledge of all they might have had together, all they would never share.

  “You’re starting to worry me, Maggie,” he said, his voice a low hush of sound barely discernable over the rumble of the TV.

  “Don’t,” she said, shaking her head. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. Better than fine.”

  It didn’t matter, she realized suddenly. Didn’t matter if he would never love her. It was enough that she loved.

  “Let’s go outside,” she said, stepping away from him and heading for the back door. She didn’t want to tell him here—with Jeremiah snoring in the other room.

  He followed her, and once outside, Maggie kept walking until she was standing in the middle of the yard, with the pale wash of moonlight covering her. He stopped alongside her and said, “Okay, we’re outside. Now tell me.”

  “I’m going to,” she said and swallowed hard. “But before I do, I want you to know I don’t expect anything from you. I’m only telling you because it’s the right thing to do.”

  “Maggie…”

  “I’m pregnant.”

  Eleven

  Sam felt like he’d been hit over the head.

  Pregnant?

  He scraped one hand across his face and tried to think of something—hell, anything—to say. But it was impossible with the flurry of thoughts racing through his mind. A baby. It felt as though a cold fist was squeezing his heart, and damned if that thought didn’t make him ashamed.

  He’d made a child with Maggie. Whether he’d meant to or not, the deed was done.

  “You don’t have to say anything,” Maggie told him quickly.

  He blew out a breath as his gaze fixed on her. Moonlight draped over her like a pale cloak, and her eyes shone with it—that and a joy he hadn’t noticed before. Clearly she was pleased about this pregnancy.

  He wished he could be.

  Instead fear grabbed the base of his throat and held on tight. Not something he wanted to admit to. Not even to himself. But it was there.

  “How long have you known?” he finally managed to ask.

  “Since this morning,” she said, reaching out to lay one hand on his forearm. “Sam, I know this isn’t something you wanted, but I’m glad about it. Believe me.”

  “I can see that.” Her smile wasn’t forced, but there was concern now flickering in her eyes. Concern for him.

  “I don’t expect anything from you, Sam,” she said and lifted her chin proudly. “I only told you because it was the right thing to do. You have a right to know that you’re going to be a father.”

  “God. A father.” A part of him hungered for it. For the rush of expectation. For the simple pleasure of having a child. A home. And a woman like Maggie to love.

  “You don’t have to look so spooked,” she said, forcing a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s not like I’m about to go into labor or anything.”

  “I know, it’s just—”

  The wind whipped past them, lifting her hair into a tangle of dark strands around her head. She pushed them out of her face and kept her gaze locked with his. “I want you to know you don’t have to worry about me—or the baby. I’ll take good care of him—her—it.”

  “I know that.” He nodded while thoughts and plans ran wildly through his mind. Maggie was smart, capable, funny. She could handle anything. She’d proved that just by living her life. As a kid, she’d been given a hard road. But she’d made herself the life she’d always wanted. He had no doubt at all that she could care for their child just as well.

  But she shouldn’t have to.

  Every instinct he possessed was telling him what to do. What to say next. “I can’t let you do this alone, Maggie. This baby is my responsibility, too.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Meaning…?”

  “Meaning,” he said, straightening his spine and accepting his duty even as he inwardly worried about it, “I want you to marry me.”

  She staggered back a step from him, looking at him as though he’d grown another head. Safe to say he’d surprised her. Well, he’d surprised the hell out of himself, too.

  “What?”

  “You heard me. We should get married. Like you said before, it’s the right thing to do.” It was easier to say the second time. What did that mean? He didn’t have time to search for answers. “It’s my child, too, Maggie. It deserves to have its father.”

  The surprise etched on her features faded into sorrow as she shook her head slowly. “Oh, Sam. If I thought that was what you really wanted, I’d be so happy.”

  “It is,” he said and wondered briefly if he was trying to convince her or himself.

  “No,” she said and unshed tears glimmered in her eyes. When she spoke again, her voice broke, but she lifted her chin as if trying to gather the strength she needed. “It’s not. You don’t want roots. You don’t want love. You don’t want me—or this baby.”

  “Maggie—”

  “Don’t, Sam,” she said and took a step toward him. “Don’t say something you don’t really mean.”

  In the soft light of the moon he read regret and disappointment and understanding in her eyes. It almost killed him.

  “We both know,” she continued gently, “that if you stayed, you’d never be happy. Eventually you’d resent me and even the baby for trying to hold
you.”

  Hard to argue with the simple truth, but God, he wanted to. Wanted to be a different man. Wanted to feel differently. But how could he?

  “I want to say you’re wrong,” he said, “but I just don’t know. For fifteen years,” he whispered, choking the words out through a strangled throat, “I’ve been running from the demons chasing me. I loved Mac and I failed him and he died. That’s something I can’t change. And if I loved you and our baby and failed you the same way, I don’t think I could stand it.”

  A small, sad smile curved her mouth as she reached up and cupped his cheek in her palm. “And that’s why I can’t marry you, Sam. Even though I love you.”

  He felt the punch of those words as he would have a fist to the midsection. Everything in him wanted to grab her, pull her close and hang on. To savor the words he’d never thought to hear. Never thought to want to hear. But the look on her face warned him to keep still.

  “Yes, I love you. But I can’t marry you, Sam, because I want our baby to be raised with love, not fear. To feel faith, not despair.”

  He covered her hand with one of his own and held on as if the touch meant his life. “I wish it could be different.” And even while he said it, he knew the words were useless. Knew that saying it, wanting it, didn’t make it so.

  “That’s the sad part,” Maggie said, slipping her hand from his. “It could be different. You just won’t let it be.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Yes, it is,” she said. “You say you’ve been running from the demons chasing you—but that’s not true, either.”

  “What?”

  “It’s not demons chasing you, Sam,” she said, her voice soft and filled with pain. “It’s only Mac. And he loves you.”

  His features tightened and Maggie felt him emotionally withdraw. She wanted to cry but knew it wouldn’t help. She wanted to reach him and knew that though he was standing right in front of her, he was further away from her than ever.

  And just like that, a piece of her heart died. Swallowing back the tears gathering in her throat, she said only, “I don’t want a husband who thinks it’s his duty to marry me.”

  “Maggie…”

  “I think it’s best if you leave at the end of summer, just as you planned. I don’t want you to be a part of the baby’s life.”

  He swayed as if she’d physically struck him. “It’s my baby, too, Maggie.”

  “Yes, but you don’t want him. I do.”

  “Damn it, Maggie—”

  Whatever else he might have said was forgotten as a sweep of headlights sliced across the darkened yard, flashing briefly in Maggie’s eyes. She turned her head and squinted at the SUV pulling into the yard and parking just a few feet from them.

  The lights blinked into darkness and the engine was cut off. The driver’s-side door opened and a tall man with broad shoulders and hair as dark as Sam’s stepped out and walked toward them.

  “Looks like I’m interrupting something,” the man said, glancing from Maggie to Sam and back again. “My timing always sucked.”

  “Cooper,” Sam said, walking toward him and holding out one hand. They shook hands, then Sam turned and said, “Cooper, this is Maggie Collins. She’s…Jeremiah’s housekeeper.”

  She winced inwardly at the distance in Sam’s voice but told herself it was just as well that Cooper had arrived to stop their conversation. They only would have ended up going around and around in a never-ending cycle of pain.

  “Nice to meet you,” she managed to say, then tore her gaze from Cooper Lonergan to focus on Sam again. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Maggie…”

  She backed up a step or two, said, “G’night, Sam. Cooper.” Then she turned and hurried across the moonlit yard to her own house. Stepping inside, she closed the door behind her and leaned back against it.

  Knees weak, heart breaking, she closed her eyes and gave herself up to the pain.

  “So you want to tell me what’s going on here?” Cooper asked after Jeremiah had gone off to bed. “I still can’t believe he tricked all of us.”

  “Yeah, surprised the hell out of me, too.” Sam took a couple of beers from the refrigerator, handed one to his cousin and motioned him down into a chair. Twisting off the cap, he took a long pull of the icy beverage, relishing the taste of the cold froth. Swallowing, he took a seat himself and explained everything he knew about Jeremiah and his pretense of dying.

  When he was finished, Cooper laughed shortly and took a drink of his beer. “I’ll give him this…I’m so glad he’s not dying, I’m not even mad at him.”

  “Same goes.”

  “Who would have guessed that the old man could be that sneaky? Hell, that creative?”

  Smiling wryly, Sam acknowledged, “Must run in the family.” Cooper Lonergan’s horror novels had been giving Americans nightmares for the last five years. Each of his books was just a little creepier than the last. And the fact that Cooper was pretty much a recluse only added to his appeal.

  Leaning back in his seat, Sam cradled his beer bottle between his palms and said, “I read your latest book.”

  “Yeah?” Cooper asked. “What’d you think?”

  “Spooky,” he admitted. “Just like all the others.”

  A tired smile crossed Cooper’s face briefly. “Thanks.” He looked around the familiar room and sighed a little. “Man, nothing here has changed at all. Like stepping into a time warp or something.”

  “Saw Mike Haney in town,” Sam offered.

  “No kidding?” Cooper chuckled, remembering. “How is he?”

  “Married to Barb Hawkins with three little girls.”

  “Man,” Cooper said after another long drink. “We’re old.”

  Sam stared across the table at the cousin he hadn’t seen since they were kids. Except for getting taller and broader in the shoulders, Cooper looked pretty much the same as he had all those years ago. And in his dark Lonergan eyes Sam recognized the same shadows he faced every morning when he looked in a mirror.

  Mac’s death had affected them all.

  “So want to tell me about the housekeeper?”

  Sam stiffened, took a drink of beer and asked, “Tell you what?”

  Cooper chuckled. “Don’t get so defensive. It just looked like you two were talking about something…important.”

  Setting his beer on the table, Sam stood up, walked across the kitchen to the pantry and yanked the door open. Grabbing up a plastic container filled with cookies, he opened it and walked back to the table. He took a couple for himself, then shoved the tub toward Cooper.

  “What kind?”

  “Chocolate chip.”

  “With beer?” Cooper asked.

  “Something wrong with that?” Sam demanded, taking a bite and then washing it down with another drink of beer.

  “Not a thing.” Taking a bite, Cooper chewed and stared at the cookie as if it were made of gold. “These are amazing.”

  “Yeah.” Sam grumbled the word and thought about how good Maggie had looked yesterday while she’d been baking these cookies. She’d had flour on her nose and her hair in a crooked ponytail and she’d danced a quick two-step in time with country music streaming from the radio. He’d had a hell of a time refraining from throwing her onto the floor and burying himself inside her.

  Every move she made touched him like nothing else ever had. Every one of her smiles lit up his insides. Her touch was silk. Her taste intoxicating.

  He wanted her with every breath.

  “Hell,” Cooper said, leaning forward to grab a handful of cookies from the tub, “is she married?”

  “Why?” One word. Snarled.

  “Whoa,” Cooper said, holding up both cookie-filled hands in mock surrender. “Don’t shoot. I was just asking.”

  Sam blew out a breath. “Sorry.”

  “So she’s spoken for, then?”

  “Leave it alone, will ya, Cooper?”

  “Right.” A couple of long minutes pa
ssed before he spoke again, and when he did, it was to offer a change of subject—for which Sam was grateful. “If Jeremiah’s not dying, why are we here?”

  “He won’t say,” Sam told him. “Not until we’re all here. Have you heard anything from Jake?”

  “I talked to him right after we got the news about Jeremiah. Said he’d get here as soon as he could. But he had some things to wrap up where he was first.”

  “Spain?”

  Cooper shrugged. “You know Jake. He’ll go anywhere for a race.”

  The night crouched outside the brightly lit kitchen and the wind began to whisper at the windowpanes. The old house was quiet but for the few creaks and groans it made as it settled, like an ancient woman lowering herself into a chair.

  “It is good to see you,” Sam said.

  “You, too. We never should have let it go so long. I’ve missed you guys.”

  “Me, too.” Sam picked at the damp label on the beer bottle. His cousins had once been the best part of his life. Losing all of them had cost him more than he wanted to think about.

  Silence stretched out until all they heard was the ticking of the clock, like a heartbeat, measuring time. Then finally setting his unfinished beer on the table, Connor stood up and said, “I’d better get going.”

  “You sure you don’t want to stay here?”

  “I’m sure. I mean, I’m glad to see you. And Jeremiah. But the memories are a little thick in this old house.”

  Sam couldn’t argue with that one.

  “Besides,” he said, picking up his long black coat off the back of a kitchen chair, “I’ve got to work while I’m here, and with all of us staying here, that’ll never happen.”

  Sam nodded and followed his cousin as he walked out of the kitchen. “Can’t believe you rented the Hollis place,” he said. “People still say it’s haunted.”

  Cooper stopped, one hand on the car door, and grinned at his cousin. “Why the hell do you think I picked that place? What better house for a horror writer to live in for the summer?”

  “Right.”