The Texan's Baby Bombshell (The Fortunes 0f Texas: Rambling Rose Book 6)

by ALLISON LEIGH,

  “Oh, baby.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “I’m sorry. So sorry.”

  She swallowed hard against another wave of nausea and wrenched away from him. He was comfort. And safety.

  And she didn’t deserve it.

  “I’d visited them last fall. It was the first time in years. I was pregnant but I wasn’t really showing much. I intended to tell them, but—” She swallowed hard. “We argued. We always argued. About my friends. My hairstyle, my clothes. You name it. But this time it was my work. Mother was okay if she could brag about me working at some museum in Europe, but she went ballistic when I mentioned a modern gallery in Vancouver that was interested in me. Even though I’d thought I could stay with them for a while, I just...couldn’t. If I’d have stayed, I would have lost myself all over again and I walked out the front door and didn’t look back.” She closed her hands over the sides of the sink and pulled in a shuddering breath. “You know what they say about the third time. When my father called after Christmas to tell me she’d finally succeeded, he made sure to remind me that mother had been upset about Vancouver.” She shook her head, even though there was no denying the truth. “Every time.” Her throat felt raw. “Every time she tried hurting herself, it was because of me.”

  “You are not at fault.” His voice was adamant. Immediate. “I don’t know much, Laurel, but I do know that.”

  She glared at him. “Now every time I see this,” she slapped her wrist, “I’ll remember!” It was no wonder she’d hated her scars from the very first time she’d seen them.

  He grabbed her arm. Tight. Insistent. “Every time I see this,” he said, his voice rough, “I’ll remember, too. I’ll remember that you’re still here.”

  His head ducked and his lips pressed against the inside of her arm. “You’re—” he kissed her wrist “—still—” and her hand “—here.”

  And when he raised his head, his eyes gleamed. He flattened her hand against his chest. His heart was thundering almost as violently as hers.

  “You’re still here, Laurel. I won’t pretend to understand what you’re feeling. How to understand what drove your mother. But I do know this. No matter what you think, you’re not like her. And you’re not responsible for the things she did.”

  “Why do you even care?” Her voice broke.

  “Because I—” He didn’t finish. Instead he swore. Loudly and fiercely. It echoed around the tiled, antiseptic-smelling room.

  He let go of her and turned his back, head bowed, hands on his lean, jean-clad hips. Then his shoulders moved, straining the limits of the Durango T-shirt even more. “Because I do.”

  Then he bent over and picked up her cardigan from the floor where it had fallen. He turned to face her again and held it open for her. “Because I do,” he repeated. “Put your arms in.”

  She swallowed hard, fresh tears threatening all over again, this time owed strictly to him. “I hate crying,” she hiccupped.

  “I hate you crying, too.” Since she hadn’t moved, he did, circling behind her, and she felt the soft, familiar safety of her pink sweater being drawn up over her arms. “And never more than when I know there’s not one damn thing I can do to make things better for you.”

  She looked at his face, blurred by tears, but so, so very clear. She swiped her cheeks while he began buttoning her sweater, pushing one button after another through their holes from the bottom up. “You make everything better. I feel like you have always made everything better.”

  Instead of smiling, though, his lips twisted in a frown. “Laurel, there’s something I need to tell—”

  “Sorry.” Ernie the clerk knocked loudly even though the bathroom door was still open from Adam’s entry. “Just wanted to check.” He looked awkward, avoiding actually looking in at them. “Getting a line out at the pump, see, and—”

  “That’s my fault.” Laurel wiped her cheeks again and despite her still-clumsy feet, slipped around Adam. “I’m sorry. We’ll get out of the way now.”

  “Some mornings are rougher than others getting going.” Ernie’s voice followed her through the door.

  There were several people now at the coffee machine. She ducked her head and hurried out of the building. The cool air felt even colder thanks to her wet shirt. The thin sweater was no match.

  Ernie hadn’t exaggerated about the line. Six vehicles waited for a chance at the gas pump.

  She sank into the car’s back seat and grabbed a shirt from her canvas tote. She’d change in the car, the same way she used to when Adam would pick her up after her last class of the week on their way to Larkin Square. Once there, they’d eat—usually food from one of the ever-present food trucks—and they’d sit on the grass together and study or, just as often, end up dancing to the music from one of the local bands. Then he’d go to his shift at The Yard and she’d take the bus back to their apartment.

  Why...why had she ever accepted that fellowship that had taken her away from him?

  The question wasn’t really a question considering she now knew the answer. Along with every other memory about her parents that had exploded in her mind, she’d remembered that.

  She’d chosen the fellowship because she’d been afraid of what her mother might do if Laurel chose Adam.

  Adam opened the driver’s door and his weary eyes skated over her in the back seat.

  She held up the fresh shirt in silent explanation.

  He handed her the plastic bottle of orange juice that she’d entirely forgotten about and then slid behind the wheel and closed the door. A moment later, the engine rumbled and they were driving away from the pump.

  She turned and looked out the back window to see the line of cars jockeying for fresh positions. “Ernie needs another gas pump.” She turned back around and Adam’s eyes seemed to trap hers in the rearview mirror.

  Every memory BA that she’d regained—good and bad—had been because of him.

  “Do you still want to stop in Horseback Hollow?” he asked her.

  “I think we’ll have to,” she said huskily. “These will never last you the rest of the way to Houston.” She lifted the nearly empty bag of cookies for him to see and smiled shakily. “And you hate bananas.”

  * * *

  When they reached The Grill in Horseback Hollow—Ernie hadn’t exaggerated about the place not being much to look at—Adam phoned the hospital while Laurel perused the restaurant’s one-sided menu.

  She was calmer than she’d been. Her tears had dried, her eyes no longer red. She’d changed out of the flying pig pajama pants and wet camisole into narrow blue jeans and a white button-down shirt that would have looked like a man’s shirt except for the way it hugged her slender curves.

  Adam figured the only reason she wasn’t wearing that ever-present sweater was because the shirt had long sleeves.

  Not a single scar on her arm showed.

  Neither did the gold necklace hanging around her neck. A gold necklace that he’d given her.

  It had shaken the hell out of him to see it on her back in Seattle.

  He was acutely aware of how brittle she was. As if one hit from a strong Texas wind would send her toppling.

  If he was certain he was the one meant to catch her, he wouldn’t feel as brittle himself as he did.

  “Mr. Fortune.” The night nurse who was still on duty that early in the morning finally came on the line. “I’m sorry for making you wait. We had a small emergency.”

  His nerves tightened. “Not Linus—”

  “No, no,” she assured quickly. “We had a security alarm malfunctioning. Maintenance has been all over up here working on getting it fixed. Linus is sleeping, though. He had a good night. The fever hasn’t diminished. But it hasn’t worsened, either. His fa—Mr. Johnson, I mean—fed him last evening before leaving for the night and Linus ate very well. Finished his entire bottle for the first time in several days
. We don’t want to change his diet too much during this stage of his recovery, of course, but he’ll certainly be ready for introducing more baby food when it’s time for him to come home.”

  He should know that his son was ready to eat real food. He should know a million and one things, and Adam didn’t know any of them.

  There was a reason why pregnancies took so long. To give parents an opportunity to get used to the idea of actually being a parent.

  In Adam’s case, there’d been no time at all.

  “We tried pureed bananas the other day,” the nurse was saying. “Just a taste. Little guy didn’t want anything to do with them. But that’s common. You’ll just try offering them again sometime down the road. Chances are he’ll have completely changed his mind about them.”

  “Not if he’s anything like—” He broke off, realizing what he’d been about to say. Like me. He cleared his throat. “Any idea when that time to go home might actually be?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said sympathetically. “It’s too soon to speculate on that.”

  Which he already knew. But he couldn’t help asking.

  The server—a girl who looked about thirteen—was heading their way with two glasses of water. She set them on the table then went away again when she saw he was on his cell phone.

  “His mother and I should be at the hospital sometime this afternoon,” he told the nurse.

  “Angelica made a note in his chart that you’d be arriving soon. For some reason, I thought it wouldn’t be until tomorrow.”

  He looked at Laurel. She was listening raptly to his side of the conversation, the menu forgotten. “Is she going to be able to see him? And I don’t mean with a window separating them.”

  “That’ll be up to Dr. Patel. You know the rules.”

  He rubbed his hands down his face. The rules that had prevented him from being able to hold Linus were the same rules that could prevent Laurel from doing so, too. “Isn’t there a test or something you can run? Something that proves she’s not carrying any kind of germ or infection?”

  “Dr. Patel—”

  “Yeah, I know. Everything’s up to Dr. Patel.” He shoved his fingers through his hair. The shower he’d grabbed in Durango seemed like it had been days ago. If he weren’t consumed with worry over Linus and Laurel and what sort of situation awaited them in Houston, he felt like he could sleep a week straight. “I should have cell service pretty consistently from here on out, so if anything—”

  “We’ll call you, Mr. Fortune. Please don’t worry yourself unnecessarily. Linus needs you to be fit and able. That means you need to take care of yourself, as well.”

  “You give that same lecture to Mr. Johnson?”

  He could hear the smile in her voice. “We give that same lecture to all the families of our patients, Mr. Fortune. Unless you have any other questions, I really should—”

  “No. I appreciate your time.”

  “Of course. We know this is a challenging time. Whatever we can do to help ease the pain of waiting, we’ll try to do.” She hung up.

  “No change, I gather,” Laurel concluded quietly.

  He pinched his eyes closed. “Not yet.” Then he deliberately set aside the phone and tapped the menu. “Well? Anything interesting? Guacamole on toast or something?”

  “It’s avocado on toast,” she corrected wryly, “and no.” She handed him the menu. “I’m sticking with Ernie’s recommendation.”

  After a quick glance down the limited choices, he agreed. “So am I.” They gave their orders to the server and Adam leaned back as far as his chair allowed and stretched out his legs.

  Laurel, on the other hand, seemed to be making herself as small as humanly possible.

  “What’re you worrying about? If the maple syrup here is the real thing or not?”

  Her aquamarine eyes lifted and the corners of her lips twitched. “I was...” She let out a sudden, noisy breath. “Actually, I was wondering what will happen once we get to Houston.”

  “Parents can stay twenty-four-seven in the room with their kids.”

  That fact didn’t seem to ease her mind any.

  He sat forward again and rested his arms on the table, covering her twisting hands with his. “I don’t think Eric usually spends the night there. He’s got a business to run, too.” He wasn’t leaving her alone with the guy, either, until he knew for certain that she didn’t fear him for some reason. And if she really didn’t, he still didn’t want to leave her alone with him.

  Yeah, she was still wearing that necklace after all these years, but she’d also told Adam to his face last June that she intended to honor her engagement. She was marrying Eric and what had happened between her and Adam after Oozefest was best forgotten.

  Not wanting to think about that fact didn’t mean it hadn’t happened.

  Her fingers moved inside his, dragging him back from the edge of that particular pit. “Are all donors usually granted this sort of access?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know. The way you’re able to talk to the doctors and nurses about the patient who received your donation?”

  He heard a strange ringing in his ears as his mind went blank. His hands went lax and he sat back in his seat.

  “Or is it just because they know—” she moistened her lips and picked up her fork to study it as if it were the most fascinating thing on the planet “—that they know I’m with you?”

  “Yeah.” Like the coward he was, he latched onto the vaguely plausible excuse that she’d conveniently dropped right into his lap. “Yeah. That’s it. Probably.”

  Her expression didn’t look any less anxious, though.

  “You don’t have to stay there at the hospital, though,” he assured. “Not if you aren’t ready for that. Nobody’s going to judge you if you aren’t.”

  She was chewing her lip. “Truth? I don’t know what I’m ready for. I don’t think I’ll know until I actually get there. But—”

  It dawned on him, then. What was at the root of the uncertainty clouding her eyes. “You can stay with me.”

  Her lips parted softly.

  “Kane and me,” he revised. “We’re renting a bungalow not too far from Provisions.”

  “A bungalow.” She’d stopped biting her lip, but had started twirling her fork in her fingers. “Sounds small.”

  “Two bedrooms.” He worked his jaw to one side, trying and failing to loosen it up. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  Her lashes lowered.

  He felt increasingly cornered. “If you need a place, that is. You might not, once you’ve seen—”

  “Linus.”

  His pulse pounded in his head for a prolonged moment. “I was thinking of Eric Johnson,” he admitted finally and his words seemed to sit like a ticking bomb in the air between them.

  “Here we go.” The server arrived, cheerfully setting two oversize plates in front of them, each loaded with a steaming, golden brown waffle, a mound of fluffy scrambled eggs and several strips of thick, masterfully cooked bacon.

  Despite the situation, Adam’s stomach growled.

  Laurel heard.

  Her expression finally lightened and she smiled slightly as she picked up the small carafe of syrup the server had also brought. “What do you think? Real maple or imitation? Shall we place bets?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The syrup was real maple.

  And the taste lingered on Laurel’s tongue long after they’d left The Grill—and the small town of Horseback Hollow—in the rearview mirror.

  Texas was a big state. She knew it would take hours yet before they reached Houston.

  She’d already tried sketching. The decaying remnant of what had once been a barn that they passed. Adam’s hand and the way his wrist hung over the top of the steering wheel as he drove. The three hot-air balloo
ns in Durango. But the motion of the car meant everything showed the slight vibration of the engine and the constant buffeting of the wind blowing across the plains. She finally replaced her pencils in their box and closed the pad.

  “Give up?”

  “I only have a few pages of paper left. I don’t want to waste them.”

  “You can get another sketch pad.”

  She lifted her shoulder, a noncommittal “hmm” in her throat. She didn’t know how, when she had no source of income at all. She doubted that the job offer in Vancouver she’d accepted was still waiting after she’d managed to be a no-show thanks to the car accident. She couldn’t quite put her finger on what had occurred during those days between her father calling to tell Laurel about her mother and the car accident. Not only had she forgotten the baby, but she couldn’t even remember her mother’s funeral, and there surely must have been one. But it seemed safe to assume the reason she’d been heading north from Seattle during the storm was to get to Vancouver.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive for a while?” They were surrounded by nothing but miles and miles of windblown plains, punctuated occasionally by a windmill or oil pump jack. And the only thing on the car radio again was static.

  “You don’t have a driver’s license on you, remember?”

  She sighed loudly. “Details.” She lifted her hand, absently pressing against the necklace hidden beneath her shirt. “I wonder how long it will take to get a copy of my birth certificate.”

  “Too long, if I had to make a guess.”

  He sounded so cross, she shot him another look. “If you won’t let me drive, then pull over for an hour so you can sleep.”

  “I’m fine.” He flexed his hand on the steering wheel. “It’s more complicated than you might think, getting a copy of a birth certificate. That’s all.”

  She frowned and stared out the window.

  “My mom still has copies of all of ours,” he said after a moment and just left it at that. Like a person who drops a stone in a pond to watch the ripples.