His eyes, tortured, met hers. She flinched at the raw emotion she saw there. She nodded. “I understand,” she said quietly.
She didn’t understand at all!
So that was that. She hadn’t expected him to change his mind. Still, she felt a powerful sensation of loss, and she clenched her hands in the pockets of her jacket, desperate to keep her composure. Couldn’t he see for himself that it was silly to expect the same thing to happen to her as had happened to his first wife? Couldn’t he see that his wife’s death had been one chance in…in ten thousand?
But, no, she kept forgetting that to him it hadn’t been one chance in ten thousand. It had happened to him, not to someone else, some stranger. It had been his wife. And his child. They were both dead. And no matter what the facts were, what reason said, deep down he believed he’d been responsible. She couldn’t argue with that. If he couldn’t recognize the facts for himself…well, she was too proud to beg.
But after all, it was her dream, too, that had just crumbled. Sure, she’d believed she’d come to grips with the fact that it was extremely unlikely now, at thirty-five, that she’d marry and have children. But when the opportunity had presented itself that very day, fully fledged, completely unexpected, in the midst of Fraser’s dilemma, her heart had leapt and grabbed at the chance. It was the future she still so desperately wanted. It was the dream she’d never really given up— a home, children to love, a decent man to share her life with. Maybe even a baby tugging at her breast one day, her own flesh and blood. And Fraser’s.
Was she so different from other women? Were her terms really so unreasonable? Wouldn’t another woman, wouldn’t Katie Barker, for instance, want a child of her own? If he didn’t care who he married, if it didn’t matter to him, why wouldn’t he marry her so that at least one of her dreams could come true? She could live with a man who didn’t love her, but why should she be denied the experience of being a mother, of giving birth to her own child?
He’d said no; he’d turned her down flat.
Her cheeks burned, but her jaw was firm. She wouldn’t say another word about it ever. Not another word.
HE HADN’T REALLY UNDERSTOOD what her offer had cost her. Not until he saw her face go white. Then, moments later, she’d turned away from him, eyes overbright, cheeks red. Something kicked him in the gut with the force of a half-broke mule—she was embarrassed. He’d hurt her feelings terribly by telling her he wouldn’t marry her, not on her terms.
After all, she’d had the courage to make the offer in the first place.
And still, three days later, he’d settled nothing. He’d phoned the county office and told them what had happened and that the mother had appointed him guardian—not quite a lie—and that everything was okay. That wouldn’t last. Someone would be out soon to see what was going on. Maybe take the girls.
He waited in the barn, with a growing sense of irritation, for the feed truck he’d been expecting all morning. He had some accounts to go over and calls to make so he could organize the trip to Blackwell’s to take him the rams he’d promised. The trip would give him time to think.
But he had to settle this marriage thing first. Sure, it might have been simpler just to drive down to the Barker ranch and ask Katie if she’d marry him. She’d do it. At least he knew Katie pretty well, knew he could probably get along with her all right. Physically, well…he wasn’t worried about pleasing her in bed. But something Martha had said stuck with him and stopped him from jumping in his pickup and going down to ask Katie.
Martha had said Katie was in love with him. Was she? Her father had seemed to think so at the wedding. And if Katie really was in love with him, or thought she was, it made him damned uncomfortable, because there was no way he was in love with her. Not only that, he figured there was no way he ever would be. It’d be a low-down miserable trick to pretend he was. He wouldn’t lie to her. Katie deserved better.
Nor, he recollected, frowning, did the girls particularly like Katie. He considered a couple of other women he’d taken out from time to time since he’d been on his own. Halfhearted affairs that had gone nowhere. Was there any sense in pursuing that line of thought? He could be going from the frying pan into the fire if he didn’t watch it.
And where did Martha fit into this? For a few seconds Fraser felt thoroughly fed up with Martha Thomas. Everything about the woman seemed to aggravate him. He—and everybody else—would be a lot better off when she finally left Blue River.
Then Fraser allowed his thoughts to drift. He saw her stretched out there in the snow. Relaxed, smiling. He felt again the impulse that had made him hunker down beside her, had made him want to reach out to touch the curve of her cheek. He’d barely stopped himself from stretching out beside her in the snow as if Spook and the girls weren’t there at all. He’d wanted to bend down and kiss that wondrously kissable mouth. Full and soft and vulnerable. The brightness of the winter sun had picked out a few freckles on her nose he hadn’t known she had. A few tiny lines at the corners of her eyes. Lines of laughter.
For a woman of nearly thirty-six, she had somehow retained an innocence, a freshness that was a powerful draw for him. Something about her scared him silly. He’d been aware of it since the day he’d met her. He had to watch himself. There was no one more cynical, more worn-out with the ups and downs of loving too much than Fraser James McKenna. No one knew that better than he did.
But she’d made her offer clear. It was plain, simple, straightforward. He wouldn’t have to go through any hoops with her. He wouldn’t have to pretend with her as he’d have to with another woman, even Katie to some degree. Martha didn’t love him and he didn’t love her. They’d be starting square and straight. What they did share was worth building on—they both loved the girls. Fraser hadn’t admitted it to himself until that very instant, but it was true; somehow those two girls had weaseled their way into his heart. And dammit, whether he wanted to face it or not, nothing was ever going to be the same again.
The regret he felt because he couldn’t go back to the solitary existence he’d carved out for himself in the past couple of years was mixed with the hope and pleasure he felt at the amazing unexpected prospect of the girls’ becoming a real part of his life. And the life of the woman who would share his, he reminded himself. That was the trouble with love—you couldn’t go back on it. Once you found yourself loving someone, you couldn’t stop just because you’d made up your mind it was no good for you.
Charlotte Mae. She’d been too full of life; he’d loved her too much. So had Weston, and his relationship with his brother had never been the same after his marriage. Weston had wanted her, too. But if she’d wanted to marry Wes, she would have. She’d chosen him, Fraser.
His chest hurt just thinking about it. All those feelings when Charlotte came back from San Francisco— disbelief, triumph, a shattering of the limits he’d put on what he’d allowed himself to feel until then. Charlotte had come back and she’d wanted to marry him.
He hadn’t cared whose child she brought in her belly. He hadn’t wanted to know. He’d been happy. What he’d told Martha was true—it hadn’t mattered to him. If the child had brought her back to him, if she’d needed him to give the child a name, he was happy to do it. He wanted them both. Then she’d lost it, and some spark in her had dimmed, some secret happiness had been lost. Until, nearly four years later, she’d become pregnant again.
And then he’d lost them both.
Fraser swore angrily and thoroughly.
The grain truck finally arrived, and he heard the blast from its horn with relief.
He’d never forget the horror of that night. He’d never forget the sight of all that blood, so red, so much—the smell of it. Two weeks later he’d burned the very clothes he’d worn, crusted with her blood, dried and hard in the folds. No, he’d never forget how she’d died, or why, or how much it had hurt him.
And now Martha Thomas wanted a child, too.
As he signed for the completed grain delivery
an hour later, he glanced toward the ranch house. Martha wasn’t back yet from picking up Anne. She’d taken Daisy with her and had told him before she left that they’d probably go on to Birdie’s for an hour or two so the girls could toboggan with Birdie’s granddaughter, Jenny, who was visiting.
He pulled down his hat and squinted against the bright sun. Who the hell was that driving up to the house? Two of the sheepdogs were making a hell of a racket. Fraser felt a foreboding that had nothing to do with the fear he’d felt for months about the authorities finding out he had the girls. It was no secret now; the facts were out.
Lord. His heart slammed in his chest. Surely to God that damn sister of hers wasn’t coming back for them.
But, no, the car had Wyoming plates. Fraser walked toward the house. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders unconsciously. Government plates. Looked like the social-worker lady he’d been expecting all this time had arrived.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“WELL, THAT JUST ABOUT wraps it up, Mr. McKenna.” The social worker glanced up with a smile and gathered the papers spread on the table in front of her. “I’ve got everything I need to make my report. I wouldn’t say no to that second cup of coffee now.”
“Sure.” Fraser picked up the coffeepot and brought it to the table.
He wasn’t sure what he thought of the last half hour. Certainly Rose Pivnicki had been more understanding than he’d expected, in a cool bureaucratic kind of way. But he could see that she didn’t approve of him keeping the girls and he knew she definitely wasn’t thrilled that he’d already had them for almost four months.
“Thanks.” She looked up at him, and he eased himself into the chair opposite her. Forcing her to look up put him in a dominant position, and he didn’t want anything—not even accidental body language—to get this woman’s back up.
“After I talk to my supervisor, I’ll call you about keeping the girls temporarily. I can tell you, if our situation with foster parents wasn’t so desperate at this particular time, there’d be no question about—”
“No question?”
“I’d be taking them back with me right now,” she said, pressing her lips together firmly. “Until, well, we could make a more permanent arrangement.”
Fraser saw red for a second or two and fought to control his response. Measured, reasonable, conciliatory—mustn’t get her angry with him. “I appreciate that, ma’am. Blossom and Daisy have known me all their lives, and they’re comfortable here. In fact—” he took a deep breath and plunged ahead “—my situation will be changing shortly. I’m hoping to—”
“Changing?” She studied him over the top of her cup.
“Yes. I’m getting married soon and, uh, I’d like to initiate steps to adopt the girls legally if I could.” He held his breath. What had he said? He was committed now either way….
Rose Pivnicki stared at him, a speculative look that had him squirming inside. Could she see through his scheme with those large-framed innocent-looking bifocals of hers?
“That’s very interesting, Mr. McKenna,” she said slowly. “I had no idea you’d considered pursuing adoption. I must say your marriage would make it a lot easier for the department to support such an application. Hmm.”
She continued to stare at him, then raised her eyebrows. “Frankly you wouldn’t stand much chance adopting them on your own, you know. As a single man.” She shook her head. “And the girls will be difficult to place permanently elsewhere, considering their ages. Most people want to adopt an infant. Then, well, there’s the two of them.”
He nodded politely. “I understand that.”
Rose Pivnicki got to her feet and stuffed her papers into a bulging black nylon briefcase. “Well, I’ve got to be on my way,” she said. “I’m sorry I missed meeting the girls, but I’ll be back soon.”
She’d be back soon. Fraser stood at the window and watched the social worker drive slowly away from the house, carefully negotiating the frozen ruts. He stood there for a long time, ignoring the soft whimpers of the dog at his feet. Then suddenly, ears perked, Spook barked sharply and rushed to stand by the kitchen door, wriggling with anticipation.
Sure enough, a minute later, Fraser saw the Bronco come around the bend in the road toward the house, Martha driving over the frozen track just as carefully as the social worker had. He watched her pull to a halt outside the house, felt his heart squeeze as Daisy opened the rear door and tumbled out, Anne right behind her. Then he saw Martha, laughing, get out on the driver’s side, her arms full of packages, her hair tangled by the wind.
An enormous feeling of loss came over Fraser, then anger followed. Why couldn’t he protect these girls and this woman under his care? Why couldn’t he make things right for them? He felt frustrated. He felt angry. He felt he’d failed as a man. A real man would take action. A real man would make sure no harm came to those he cared about, would risk everything to protect the ones who’d put their faith in him. Their trust.
Brenda, God forgive her, had put her trust in him; these girls trusted him to take care of them, to do the right thing; even this woman he’d hired, this stranger, had trusted him enough to reveal her innermost dreams to him.
Why couldn’t he take the risk? Why couldn’t he trust himself?
The door flew open. “Fraser!” Daisy threw herself into his arms, the action signifying more strongly than words ever could her relationship with him. Her trust.
“Look what we made with Jenny.” Daisy rooted around in the bag she carried and pulled out a rumpled piece of paper with a crayoned drawing. “A turkey! We’re gonna hang it on the fridge, Martha says. For Thanksgiving.”
Thanksgiving. A couple of days away. Did they have much to be thankful for?
“Looks good, darlin’.” Fraser smiled at her.
Anne burst in the door. “Hi!” He’d rarely seen her in such a good mood. Spook barked and Anne scooped him up, laughing.
Martha followed Anne into the kitchen, her cheeks red, her eyes shining. Fraser caught her questioning glance—she’d obviously passed the social worker’s car on the ranch road. Their gazes held for only a second or two, but to Fraser it seemed an eternity. The sounds of the children, the dog yelping—all of it faded to a muffled roar inside his head. The light in the kitchen seemed bent and distorted, as though he were underwater, warm water. Dream water, deep water, sweeping him away, leaving him weak as a kitten, powerless. He breathed deeply, sharply, to quell the dizziness.
“Where’s some tape?” he heard Daisy ask Anne. “I need some tape to put up my turkey.”
He gestured to Martha. “I need to see you, Martha. Alone.”
Something about his expression must have told her not to ask any questions, not now, because she immediately followed him down the hall. The door to his office was open. He turned into it and shut the door behind Martha after she entered. He leaned against it, breathing hard. In the distance he could hear Anne and Daisy arguing good-naturedly over the tape, and Spook still whining with excitement.
“What is it, Fraser?” Martha’s eyes were wide and blue.
“I’ll marry you,” he said roughly, cursing himself for breaking it to her like that. But if he didn’t tell her now…“On your conditions. That’s if you still want to…to go ahead with it.”
She stared at him. “I do,” she finally whispered, her face pale. Then, with a weak gesture, “Why…what made you change your mind?”
“I don’t know,” he said brusquely, turning away from her, thrusting his hands into his pockets. “Maybe it’s because I finally figured you were right. You’re right, Birdie’s right, the doctors are right about…this thing…” He froze, couldn’t get the rest of it out for a second or two. “This thing about Charlotte. It was a freak chance. It’s not the sort of thing that happens too often. Those are the facts. And that’s what I’ve got to make up my mind on. Facts.”
It was true, but the truth didn’t make it any easier. Nor did the truth change the fear, the near-panic that had gr
ipped him tighter and tighter since he’d made his decision, standing there by the kitchen window, cursing himself for a coward and a fool.
He knew he’d made the right decision—by the girls, by Brenda, by Martha Thomas.
But that didn’t mean he had to like it.
SHE WAS MARRYING a man she’d never even kissed.
The brief words of the scaled-down civil ceremony floated in her head.
This wasn’t a dream. She was marrying Fraser McKenna, after all. He had changed his mind and agreed to her terms, for reasons she still didn’t fully understand. This man who stood beside her tall and strong, dressed unfamiliarly in suit and tie—where were the jeans and sheepskin vest?—this man was about to become her husband, with the official consent of the state of Wyoming. And in the eyes of God.
Martha’s heart beat so quickly she thought she’d faint. She heard Daisy giggle somewhere behind her and heard Birdie’s “Shh!” At least they were pleased. The girls had been so keyed up they’d barely slept the past couple of days, and the LeBlancs had been shocked—impossible to miss that—but at the same time absolutely delighted at the news. It was hard not to feel that Fraser’s neighbors had expected it all along. Probably half of them thought she was already pregnant, thus the haste. Even Tom, the dour foreman, had shaken her hand warmly, then winked broadly at Fraser and thumped him on the shoulder and called him a sly old son of a gun.
It was so hot in here, and there was such a buzz in her head! She wished now, stupidly, that she’d bought the green dress she’d tried on in Pine Ridge’s only decent clothing shop the day before, not the blue.
Pay attention, she told herself, panicking. How can you worry about the color of your dress when you’re in the middle of one of the most important ceremonies of your life? You’re marrying this man beside you, a man you hardly know, for better and for worse. No matter where this marriage went in the future, even if it ended one day, every vow she uttered this hour, this minute, came straight from her heart.
Judith Bowen Page 14