by Janet Dailey
Suddenly uneasy, Dean backtracked and pulled the pocket doors shut, then turned around and moved hesitantly forward. "Is something wrong?"
"That's what I'd like to know." R.D. sat down on the walnut-framed swivel chair padded with navy-blue leather and tilted it back to fix his gaze on Dean.
"I don't follow you." Frowning, Dean shook his head slightly, all the while feeling more uncomfortable.
"I think you do," R.D. stated and rocked his chair forward to rest his arms on the desk in front of him. "Where did you go after you left the office tonight?"
"Why?" Dean struggled not to look guilty, well aware that inside he was squirming just like he had when he was a kid, caught doing something he shouldn't. "Did something happen?"
"Just answer the question."
Lying had become second nature to him. "Babs has a birthday coming up. I. . . was out looking for a present for her."
"Like you met Lane the other night?"
Dean tried to laugh. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Dammit, boy! Don't lie to me!" R.D. brought a hand crashing down on the desktop. Then he stood up and breathed in deeply, making a visible effort to control his temper. "You know damned well what I'm talking about. You've been seeing some woman in Galveston, so don't bother to deny it. She's an artist, I understand—no, doubt the one who did that yellow painting you've got hanging in your office."
"Her name is Caroline Farr."
R.D. snorted. "I wish she was Farr—far away."
"I'm in love with her." It was almost a relief finally to admit that to his father.
For a moment there was only silence in the room as R.D. looked away, his face expressionless, as if he hadn't heard what Dean had just said. "It's one thing for a man to get a little somethin' strange on the side now and then, but it's another to let himself get involved." He swung back to glare at Dean. "Have you forgotten you're married? That you've got a wife upstairs?"
"I haven't forgotten." Dean couldn't meet the accusing look in his father's blue eyes.
"She knows. You do realize that?"
"How?" Dean frowned.
"You've been seen and the talk's gettin' around."
"I didn't know." He hung his head, realizing just how complicated the situation had become—and how much worse it could get.
"Tell me one thing, Dean. Just what do you plan to do about it?"
"I'm not sure. I—"
"Well, you can be sure of one thing. There has never been a divorce in the whole history of the Lawson family. And there isn't going to be one now. That little gal upstairs is your wife and you married her 'for better or worse.'"
"I know that."
"Well, if you know it, then you bring this little affair of yours to an end—and damned quick."
"You don't understand, R.D." Dean raised his hands in a helpless and angry gesture of frustration. "I'm in love with Caroline."
"I'm truly sorry about that," R.D. stated. "But I don't see where that changes anything."
A fan whirred in the corner of the beach house, slowly wagging its head from side to side, the blades spinning to circulate the air. But Dean hardly noticed its refreshing draft as he sat slumped on the living-room couch with his head resting on the seat back, his legs stretched out in front of him, and Caroline's dark head pillowed on his stomach. He was glad of the silence. A half a dozen times in the last hour, he had tried to get the words out that would tell her it was better if they didn't see each other again, but every time they'd become lodged in his throat. Regardless of what R.D. said, no matter how he tried, he just couldn't imagine life without her.
"I like your nose. It has a very noble line."
Dean glanced down to find Caroline watching him with her dissecting artist's eye. "It does, eh?"
"Yes." She shifted her position slightly, changing the angle of her head on his stomach to give herself a better view of his face. "Have you ever wondered what a child of ours would look like?"
"No, I haven't." Such talk was painful to him. It spoke of the future, and Dean wasn't sure they had one. "I think I'll get another beer." He slid a hand under her shoulders and gave her a little push off of him. Obligingly she swung her feet off the couch and sat up. "Want anything?" Dean asked as he walked over to the refrigerator.
"No."
He took a long-neck out of the refrigerator and pried the top off with the opener that was lying on the counter beside the cap of his last bottle. Turning, he took a swig of beer and saw Caroline standing by the counter island, her hands stuffed in the side pockets of her shorts.
"I'm going to have a baby, Dean."
"You're. . . you're what?" After the first shock of disbelief passed, Dean started to laugh—happily, uproariously. This changed everything. Even R.D. would have to agree to that. There was no other choice now except for him to divorce Babs and marry Caroline. He couldn't allow a child of his to be born illegitimately. The bottle of beer sat forgotten on the countertop as Dean lifted her off the floor, holding her high in the air, and spun around the room.
"Dean, stop. This is crazy," Caroline protested, but she was smiling, too.
"Crazy. Wonderful. It's all that and more." He kissed her shoulder, her neck, and her lips before he let her feet touch the floor again.
"I'm glad you're happy about it."
"Happy? I'm delirious!" He gazed at her, certain she had taken on a new radiance. "How long have you known?"
"A couple of weeks."
"A couple of weeks? Why didn't you tell me before?"
"I wanted to be sure this was what I wanted. I've always liked children, but I've never seriously thought about having one of my own before. My paintings were always my children. But I had to face the fact that I'm twenty-nine years old. In a few more years, I'll be too old. It's a case of now or maybe never." When she paused to look at him, she lost her serious expression and smiled. Dean was relieved. She had sounded so coldly logical that it had scared him a little. "And besides, I happen to love the father of this baby very much."
"And I love you, Caroline." He drew her into the circle of his arms and held her close, shutting his eyes tightly as he rubbed his cheek against her hair. "We'll get married as soon as I can arrange the divorce, but I promise you, it will be before the baby is born."
She seemed very still in his arms. "And then what, Dean?"
"What do you mean?" He nuzzled her hair, wondering whether it would be a boy or a girl. He still felt a little dazed at the prospect of becoming a father. A father.
"I mean"—gently but firmly she pushed away from him, creating some space between them—"what will we do? Where will we live?"
"At River Bend, where else? I'll breed my Arabians and you'll raise our baby—and maybe one or two more—and paint. Maybe we can talk R.D. into turning his billiard room on the third floor into a studio for you."
"I don't think so." She turned out of his arms and walked a few feet away.
"It's worth a try. Give him a grandson and R.D. will probably give you the moon." Dean laughed.
"I meant that I don't think that would work." Caroline twined her long fingers together, revealing an agitation that was totally foreign to her. "I love you, Dean. I'll always love you. But I would hate living there."
"You don't know that," Dean protested, stunned by her statement and its implications. "Wait until you see it. It's a beautiful old home with turrets and bay windows. . . the design of the parquet floor, you'd fall in love with it. The craftsmanship of the woodwork—"
"The beautiful furniture, the crystal, the china, the elaborate clothes and the entertaining that goes with them—I don't like that kind of life, Dean. Please try to understand that's not the way I want to live," she said insistently.
"You're being emotional right now. It's the baby." Dean grabbed at any excuse rather than accept what she was saying.
She sighed heavily with a mixture of exasperation and despair. "Could you live anywhere else than River Bend? Would you be happy for the rest of
your life living in a house like this one, without all the fine and beautiful things you're used to?"
"I. . . could try." But he just couldn't imagine it.
"I won't ask you to, Dean. I don't expect you to give up your life for me and I can't give up mine for you. Just the same, I'm glad that you wanted to marry me."
"What are you saying?" He stared at her, icy fear clutching at his throat.
“I love you, but I won't marry you." She turned her back on him and faced the table strewn with brushes, paints, cleaning fluids, and rags. "I was offered a teaching post at a private school in California. I've decided to accept it." Her shoulders lifted in a little shrug. "After all, I've never seen the Pacific Coast. I'll be leaving in ten days."
"You can't! You're going to have my baby."
"I can have it in California as easily as I can have it here." She sounded so callous.
"If you love me, how can you leave me?" As he caught hold of her arm and turned her around, he saw the tears in her eyes. "Dear God, Caroline, I don't think I can live without you."
"Don't—" Her voice broke. "Don't make this any harder for me than it already is."
"Then stay."
"I can't."
No amount of cajoling, demanding, begging, or arguing on Dean's part could persuade her to change her mind. In the following ten days, he tried time after time with no success. She was going to California. "If you want to see me, you can come there," she said and gave him the address and phone number of the school in Los Angeles. When he tried to give her some money, she shoved it back in his hands and informed him that she would not accept any financial support from him. If he wanted to pay part of the medical expenses he could, but she insisted that she was more than capable of raising the baby without his help.
That first week Caroline was gone, Dean went through hell. Twice he called the number she'd given him; both times he was told she hadn't reported in yet. When he was almost driven crazy with the thought that she'd disappeared from his life for good, she called. She'd had car trouble in Arizona. No, she was fine. She'd found an apartment in Malibu, near the beach. The Pacific was so different from either the Gulf or the Atlantic, she could hardly wait to start painting it. And she missed him.
Life suddenly seemed worth living again. Dean started making plans to fly to California and see her as soon as Babs was feeling better. Two days ago she had collapsed at a charity luncheon. The doctor was certain it was merely a case of exhaustion brought on by the heat and a slight case of anemia. With a couple of weeks of rest and a well-balanced diet, she would be on her feet again.
As soon as he arrived home that night, Dean went upstairs to see her. She was reclining in the chaise longue, wrapped in a ruffled silk robe of mint green. A bed tray was across her lap, but Dean noticed the food on it had barely been touched.
"You're supposed to be eating," he admonished as he bent down to drop a kiss on her forehead. "Doctor's orders."
"I don't want it."
Dean glanced at the food on the plate. "You've always liked spinach omelettes. Surely you can get down a few more bites."
"That tastes like. . . squashed meat."
"How about if I have Justine fix you something else?"
Babs turned away to look out the window, but she couldn't turn far enough to hide the quivering of her lower lip. "I don't care."
"Babs, what's wrong? This isn't like you." He sat down on the edge of the chaise and took her hand in his.
"You don't really care," she retorted, sniffling and lifting her chin a fraction higher.
"I certainly do" Dean frowned.
"I know you don't love me anymore."
"Babs—"
"It's true. You think I haven't noticed the way you've been acting this last week. Well, I have. You've been mooning around here like—"
Never once had Babs accused him of being unfaithful, even though, as R.D. had told him, she knew. Grateful for that, Dean tried now to ease her mind a little. "She's gone, Babs." He heard her quick little intake of breath. "She left last week. I never meant for you to be hurt. I'm sorry."
"Then"—she gazed at him hopefully—"you're going to stay?"
She was so vulnerable, so childlike, constantly needing assurance. How had he forgotten that? "Yes."
"I need you so much now." She clutched at his hand, a wondrous smile breaking through the tears. "Darling. . . we’re going to have a baby."
Babs's pregnancy was a complicated one, and toxemia had kept her bedridden for the last few months of her term. Dean managed to squeeze in two short trips to Los Angeles in the next few months to see Caroline and assure himself that all was healthy and normal for her. He didn't like the garage apartment she had rented, but Caroline insisted it was adequate for her needs and flatly refused to move into a five-room house he found. But as Babs grew closer to term, Dean was too concerned about her health to leave her, trusting that healthy and self-sufficient Caroline would somehow manage, as she claimed.
Two weeks before Babs's due date, her doctor decided to take the baby by caesarian section. Dean sat out the operation in a private waiting room with R.D.
The doctor walked into the waiting room, still clad in his surgical gown and cap. "It's a girl, Mr. Lawson. Five pounds ten ounces and bawling her head off."
Dean came to his feet as R.D. stopped pacing. "Babs—how is she?"
"She's going to be fine," the doctor assured him. "They have taken her to Recovery. She should be coming out of the anesthesia fairly soon.
"I'd like to see her."
"Of course. Come with me," the doctor said.
"Here." R.D. reached inside his jacket. "Have a cigar."
Dean was there when Babs came to. She was groggy and a little silly, but for Babs, that was normal. Relieved, Dean joined his father at the nursery window.
"There she is." R.D. pointed to a red-faced, squalling infant wildly waving her little fists. A downy mass of black hair covered her head. "Strong little tyke, isn't she? And a Lawson through and through. Look at her yellin' her head off, lettin' the world know she's here. And those eyes, too, they're Lawson blue."
"All babies have blue eyes when they're born, R.D." But Dean smiled at the obvious pride his father took in the child. He felt it, too.
"Not blue like that. Are you still going to name her after your grandma?"
It had been Babs's suggestion to name the baby after the woman who had raised both himself and R.D. if it was a girl. Dean had agreed, knowing how much it would please R.D. "You're looking at Abigail Louise Lawson."
"I like that." R.D. nodded approvingly, a softness entering his expression before it slowly turned thoughtful. "When's the other one due?"
Dean was surprised by the reference to Caroline. R.D. had rarely mentioned her since that day last August when Dean had informed him Caroline was going to have his baby. R.D. hadn't said much except to remind him that a father had as much responsibility as a mother to see that a child was properly brought up, provided for, and educated. But the lecture had been unnecessary. Dean knew he could never abandon Caroline or the child born of their love.
"Soon," was all he said in reply.
At the Lawson Company headquarters the next morning, Dean waded through a gauntlet of backslapping congratulations on the birth of his daughter before he reached the haven of Mary Jo Anderson's outer office. "Sorry." He held his suit jacket open to show the emptiness of his inner pockets. "I'm fresh out of cigars. Those guys out there got them all. At this rate, I'm going to have to buy them by the case."
"I don't mind. R.D. would probably have a heart attack if he walked in here and saw me smoking a cigar anyway. Congratulations, just the same." But she didn't seem as enthusiastic as everyone else. Dean wondered if it was because she knew about Caroline. He'd had to confide in her. As his private secretary, Mary Jo screened all his mail and phone calls, and handled a lot of his personal bills. In an emergency, Caroline had to be able to reach him. Where else was safer than here at the office? And s
omeone had to know where to reach him when he went to California, especially when Babs had been so ill during her pregnancy.
"She's a beautiful baby, Mary Jo. We decided to name her Abigail Louise after my grandmother, but we're going to call her Abbie." Feeling self-conscious about the way he was carrying on, Dean walked over to her desk and picked up the previous day's messages. "Have a dozen yellow roses sent to Babs at the hospital, will you?"
"Of course." She paused a moment then said, "You had a phone call yesterday that's not with your messages."
Tense with anticipation, Dean looked up from the now unimportant pieces of paper. "Caroline?"
"Yes. She had a baby girl yesterday morning. Rachel Ann."
Yesterday. The same day that Abbie was born. Stunned by the coincidence, the terrible irony, Dean was speechless.
Chapter 6
The bay stallion snorted restlessly and tried to elude her hand, but Abbie continued to hold him there and rub his cheek. She needed this excuse to avoid looking at Lane. She didn't want him to see the tears that smarted in her eyes.
"I remember stopping by his office one day," Lane said, continuing with his story. "You would have been. . . probably four or five years old at the time. Dean was sitting behind his desk, reading a letter. There was a color snapshot on his desk of a little girl with big blue eyes and long dark hair. . . pulled in a ponytail, I think. She had on a swimsuit, and there was sand in the background. The little girl stood there smiling shyly at the camera. I thought it was you and said something to that effect to Dean. He corrected me.
"That isn't a picture of Abbie,' he said. 'It's Rachel. It's amazing, isn't it, how much they look alike?' I must have picked up the photograph, because I remember Dean took it from me and stared at it. 'And both born on the same day, too,' he said. 'Every time I look at Abbie, I see Rachel. It's almost like having both of them with me all the time. When I go places and do things with Abbie, I can almost believe that Rachel is there, too.'"