by Amy Lillard
Damn that article. She was only here because she had realized that he wasn’t a poor work-a-day cowboy, but one of the wealthiest men in West Texas—oil excluded.
She smiled.
He scowled.
Damn he wished he could remember her name. Had they even exchanged names? It would be so much easier to kick her gold digging rear off the property if he could call her by name.
“Jake.” She said his name as if she were trying it on for size.
He stopped and propped his hands on his hips. He really didn’t have time for this.
Kota had no such reservations and continued on toward the interloper. He sniffed his way toward her.
She held her ground but gave the dog a cautious glance. “Will he bite?”
“Only if you break from the herd.”
She nodded, then a nervous laugh escaped her. “I—”
He broke in. “Let me save us both the trouble and the embarrassment. I know why you’re here.”
“You do?” Her brown eyes widened. He might not remember her name but those melted-chocolate eyes were burned into his soul. Along with the feel of her underneath him, on top of him . . .
“The article in Out West magazine.”
A frown wrinkled her brow, and she tilted her head to one side as if needing a better angle on the situation.
You’re going to need more than that, sweetheart.
The hot Texas sun glinted off the chunk of purple on one side of her seal brown hair. That he didn’t remember. Purple?
“And you should know, you better just clear on out right now,” he continued. “I’m not interested in it.”
The frown deepened. “It?”
“It.” He waved a hand in her general direction. The word had sounded so much more forceful in his head.
“I don’t think you understand.”
“I don’t think you understand.”
“Can we go inside and talk?”
“Nope.”
“It’s hot out here and I just—”
“If you don’t like the heat, stay out of Texas.”
She thought about it a second, then gave him a small smile. “That was a joke.”
“I’m trying to be as nice as I possibly can, but I’ve had more women crawling around here in the last few weeks than I ever imagined. It’s best you just go on home.” He turned to walk away, hoping she took the hint. Maybe if he went back into the house without inviting her she would lose interest and leave.
Yet that feeling that something about her was different panged at his midsection.
“Jake?” Grandma Esther stood on the large stone porch. “Aren’t you going to invite her in? It’s mighty hot out.”
“That’s true, Grandma, so get on back in the air conditioning.”
“Jacob Dwight! How are you ever going to find yourself a bride if you don’t invite these women in?”
He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath, his feet stuck in the dirt somewhere between the driveway and the big house.
“Are the women coming here to marry you?” she asked from behind him.
“He is the seventeenth most-eligible bachelor in Texas.”
“Fifteenth,” he corrected, then winced at his own words. He wasn’t making this easier on himself.
Her laughter rang, sweet and clear like a babbling brook.
Wait . . . what?
The sun had to be getting to him. He whirled around, wondering why she hadn’t left.
Then he realized what was so strange about the situation, why would a hippie chick want to marry a cowboy? True, he’d shown her a few tricks in the saddle, as they say, but one completely incredible, fantastic, amazing night did not a lifestyle change make. Or something like that.
“I don’t want to marry you,” she said. The light in her eyes told him she wasn’t lying. “But I do need to talk to you about something.”
Just as bad.
“Come on in this house, girl.” Grandma Esther waved her in with the business end of her cane.
The brunette—why couldn’t he remember her name?—edged past him.
Kota nipped at her heels.
She yelped. The cow dog had never actually bitten anyone, but Jake knew that his nips and nibbles could be a bit unnerving if you weren’t used to them. He hid his smile as she skipped to the house.
Reluctantly, he followed behind.
Grandma Esther stepped to one side as she entered the house. He watched her rear disappear into the shadows of the cool foyer.
The porch offered a reprieve from the blistering sun, but another heat filled Jake. Memories of that one night when he had let his guard down. When he’d lost his resolve and tried once again to find the answers at the bottom of a bottle. He hadn’t had a drink since then, but he didn’t count days sober. It wasn’t like that for him. But he knew with so many ghosts of could-have-beens and should-have-beens haunting him that the alcohol could take over in an instant and it was best to just stay away.
But that one night . . .
“Esther, what is going on out here?” His mother skidded to a halt when she caught sight of their visitor. But Evelyn Duvall Langston was nothing if not composed. She brushed down the sleeves of her rose-colored pearl-snap shirt. “Hello.”
“Hi.” The brunette flashed his mother a nervous smile. Bre? Was that her name? No, but it was close. Briana? Nope. That wasn’t it either.
“I wasn’t aware that Jake had a guest.”
“She’s not a guest.” He frowned to silently instruct his mother to drop the matter.
Mom opened her mouth to speak—she never was much at following his wishes—but Grandma Esther stepped in, her cane rattling against the stone floor. “Come on, Evie. Let’s give these two some privacy.”
For once Jake was grateful for his grandmother’s interference. He certainly couldn’t toss the brunette out on her pretty little behind with his grandmother and mother watching. Well, he could, but he would never hear the end of it.
He watched Grandma Esther lead his mother into her office, then turned back to his unwanted guest.
Once again she shot him that nervous smile. She hadn’t been so nervous three and a half months ago when they had—
“I don’t know how to say this except to just say it.” She sucked in a deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”
He went numb as his gaze flickered to her midsection hidden under her blousy, gauzy shirt. A bus could be parked under there. Or maybe that was the point.
“Pregnant?”
Was this true? Would she even be here if it wasn’t? Maybe. He had become such a target lately. Slowly he raised his gaze to hers. She was telling the truth. Somehow, someway, he knew it.
His heart constricted and the air left his lungs even as he tried to speak.
His worst nightmare.
His stomach clenched and his fingers tingled from a combination of adrenaline and terror.
Nothing would ever be the same again.
“Get rid of it.” His lips barely moved. Fear gripped him. Fear like he had only known once before. He was the dutiful brother. Reliable. Dependable. The caretaker. The responsible one. Always responsible. He’d never been careless. Never.
That night in June flashed through his mind and mixed with one fall afternoon down by the river with Cecelia. A picnic meant to bring the spark back into their marriage. And yet all it had brought about was her death.
The night with this stranger blurred and frayed until the two merged into one and all he could think about was the fear.
“I—I beg your pardon.” Her voice was no more than a whisper. But it held the weight of the ages. Betrayal, disbelief. He’d never meant to hurt her.
“Get rid of it.”
She trembled, her own nervousness eclipsed by an emotion he couldn’t disc
ern. She opened her mouth, and when she spoke her voice was no more substantial than a wisp of smoke. “You mean like an . . . an abortion?”
“That’s exactly what I mean.” An invisible hand clutched and clawed at his throat until he could barely breathe. This couldn’t be happening.
“Jacob Dwight Langston!”
His mother stormed into the room, but Jake couldn’t think, couldn’t move.
“I’m sorry, Miss . . . Miss . . .”
Evelyn looked to him.
“Bryn,” he croaked. Oh, now he could remember her name.
“What my son means to say, Miss Bryn—”
“Talbot,” she corrected, then shifted from one foot to the other and adjusted the strap of her enormous orange handbag.
“Miss Talbot,” his mother started again, but Bryn shook her head.
“I . . .” She faltered. “I just thought you’d want to know.”
She spun on one heel and headed for the door.
* * *
Out of all the possible scenarios she had expected, this was not one of them. Weren’t cowboys supposed to be noble?
Bryn shook her head at herself and palmed her keys. What the heck did she know about cowboys anyway? Just that one sizzling night where she had done the unthinkable and hooked up with a man she didn’t even know. A perfect stranger.
Not perfect at all.
She tripped down the steps and hurried toward her car. This stop had put her behind schedule. But she had thought he should know. Didn’t every man deserve that much?
She just hadn’t expected his reaction. Disbelief maybe. Denial, probably. Even anger.
Coldhearted bastard. Except he hadn’t been so cold that night. He’d been more warm that night. Hot, burning up, dazzling.
As if.
“I should have never come here,” she muttered. But she hadn’t expected his reaction.
Still there was something in his eyes when he said the words, that unthinkable act. Sadness, remorse and . . . guilt?
She pushed the thought away and slid behind the wheel of her car. What did he have to feel guilty about? They had entered that hotel room together.
“Looks like it’s just the three of us again.” She pressed a hand to her rounded belly and glanced over at the urn sitting in the passenger’s seat. “Just the three of us.” She cranked the car and put it into reverse. The best-laid plans.
“Miss Talbot?” Jake’s mother came rushing out of the door and over to where Bryn had parked. At least she thought she was Jake’s mother and the older lady his grandmother, though neither one looked particularly like the man. Neither had those fabulous green eyes. Or that dark hair that just begged a woman’s fingers to—
Bryn rolled down her window. “Yes?”
“Won’t you come back into the house?” Mrs. Langston stooped down so she could look into Bryn’s car. Her gaze flickered to the passenger’s seat, then back to Bryn. She’d be damned before she would explain herself.
“I don’t think so.” She shot the woman her most polite Southern smile and turned to get a good look out the rear window as she backed up.
Jake’s mother clutched her arm. “Please, Miss Talbot. Come in. Let me apologize for my son’s behavior.”
She whipped around, but shook her head even as she made no move to leave. “There’s no need.” He didn’t want the baby they had created. So be it. She did. The child she carried was a new beginning. A fresh start. One she so desperately needed.
“I believe there is.”
Something in the woman’s voice had Bryn putting the car into park, had her cutting off the engine.
“Just for a bit.” His mother smiled encouragingly, then moved back so Bryn could get out.
Her limbs were stiff and jerky as she opened the car door and stepped into the Texas heat once again. It was different from Georgia. Not as humid by far, but hot all the same.
Together the two of them walked back to the sprawling ranch house. It was a beautiful structure, though Bryn had been too nervous before to truly appreciate its majestic beauty.
“Let’s go into my office where we can talk.” She led the way, then turned back to face Bryn. “I’m Evelyn, by the way. Jake’s mother.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Bryn murmured. Southern manners kicked in when all else failed. At least she had called it right. “This really isn’t necessary,” she said.
Evelyn ignored her and opened one of the large doors to a leather-and-bronze office complete with a gently worn sofa with a brown-and-white cowhide tossed over the back. Bryn was fairly certain it was the real deal and not a designer version from Pottery Barn.
“Go ahead and have a seat. Grandma Esther went to get us some refreshments.”
“Really,” Bryn gently protested one again. “This isn’t necessary. I don’t want anything from Jake. I—”
“Sit.” The one word was spoken like a woman who was accustomed to getting her way. Always.
Bryn perched on the edge of the sofa, while Evelyn eased into the overlarge chair behind the desk.
“How did you and Jake meet?”
Bryn shook her head. This was not going at all as she had planned, but then again, what had she really expected? That she could come in, announce that she was having Jake’s baby, and they would just let her waltz out the door without so much as a by-your-leave?
A girl could hope.
But when she got back to Georgia, she was having a long talk with Justin about personal boundaries and bad advice. A girl had to depend on her best friend to help her through tough situations. So far, he had encouraged her to latch onto a cowboy—the very same cowboy who’d gotten her pregnant—and then had pointed out his picture in Out West magazine, thereby negating her arguments that she didn’t even know his last name. That night trivial matters like surnames had never come up.
“I was in Austin in June. I believe Jake was there for a weekend conference. He really didn’t tell me.” She shook her head. She was making a mess of this. She stood. “Listen, you don’t owe me an apology. I’d rather just be on my way.”
“Carrying my grandchild.”
Bryn made a face. “She sort of has to go with me.” She placed one hand protectively over her growing mound of a baby. No matter how much she watched what she ate, she seemed to be packing on the pounds.
“It’s a girl?” Evelyn asked. Her voice was barely audible.
Bryn shrugged. “I just want it to be.”
Jake’s mother smiled. “So did I, but I ended up with five boys.”
“Five?”
“I’m afraid so.” But her smile took all the venom from her words. “Jake didn’t mean what he said. He . . .” she started, then shook her head. “He had a tough time when his first wife died.”
“He’s a widower?” Of course he had been married. The women in Texas knew a good thing when they saw it.
“Cecelia—that was his wife—she died giving birth to their daughter, Wesley.”
He has a daughter? Bryn sank back to the couch cushion. “I see.”
“He just needs some time to adjust to the idea of being married again. And having another baby.”
“I’m not marrying Jake.” The idea was ludicrous. They didn’t know each other. A baby did not a marriage make. “It was a mistake coming here.” Bryn pushed to her feet and slung her purse over one shoulder.
Evelyn was on her feet in a heartbeat. “I told you, Jake didn’t mean what he said.”
Bryn pinched the bridge of her nose. “This has nothing to do with what he said. Well, maybe a little, but we don’t know each other. We can’t get married.”
“You know each other well enough to have made a baby.” Evelyn’s words stung with the truth.
“That’s not really the point, now is it?”
“Why are you in such a hurry?”
She spun around. Grandma Esther stood in the doorway with the promised refreshments.
“Oh, you know. I’m a busy girl with things to do.”
“If you’re going back to Austin, then I hope you’ll leave your number and address so we can keep in touch,” said Evelyn.
“I’m not going back to Austin.”
“Your car has Georgia plates,” Esther said.
“That’s right. That’s where I live.”
“You’re from Georgia?” asked Evelyn.
“That’s right.”
“You never did answer me,” Esther pressed.
“I have a . . . meeting on the West Coast.” That was a great way of putting it. Surely beat the heck out of “I’m dumping my baby sister’s ashes in the Pacific.” “I’m supposed to be there the day after tomorrow.”
“Then you have plenty of time.” Esther waved away Bryn’s protests with a flick of one gnarled hand.
“That’s right,” Evelyn said. “You can have dinner and spend the night here.”
“I—”
“We won’t take no for an answer,” Evelyn said.
“Besides,” Grandma Esther interjected, “it’ll save you the hotel charge.”
Money wasn’t an issue. But staying with these people . . . that was. She should get out now while the getting was good.
“Please.” Evelyn’s voice was filled with heartfelt emotions. “Please give us a chance. We need to get to know you. After all, you’re having my next grandchild.”
She didn’t want anything from these people. In fact, if it hadn’t been for that blessed magazine, she wouldn’t be standing here now. But she had wanted to give them a chance, let them know that in six months’ time another Langston was entering the world.
“How do you even know I’m telling the truth?”
Evelyn smiled. “If you weren’t and you were just trying to trap Jake into marriage, why would you walk away?”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Amy Lillard is the author of more than ten novels. She lives in Tulsa, Oklahoma, with her husband and son.
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