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

by ALLISON LEIGH,

  “Five hours.” He strode up the quaint stone walkway to the front door and pushed open the door, waiting for her. “It’s too hot to stand out there in the sun.”

  She ducked her head slightly and went inside.

  There was nothing remarkable about the house’s interior. The door opened straight into a small living room occupied by a drab couch, a couple of worn chairs and a scarred coffee table that looked straight out of the sixties. “You’ve mastered the Early First-Apartment style, I see.”

  “Picked up everything at Mariana’s Market.” He dropped his overnighter and her tote on the couch. “It was cheap and it gets the job done. Sorry if it doesn’t live up to the Hudson standards.”

  She bit her lip. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I know.” He went through a doorway. “I’m putting on a shirt that fits,” he said over his shoulder. “Then we’ll get going. There should be cold drinks in the fridge if you want to grab a couple. If not in there, then check the garage. There’s a spare fridge out there, too.”

  She plucked her hairbrush from her tote and dragged it through her tangled hair as she glanced around. Three doorways led from the living room. She assumed the one he’d taken went to the bedrooms. She chose the one in the middle.

  Vile orange tile covered the kitchen floor, but it struck her as very clean. Adam always had been a neatnick. She’d been the one who’d left her clothes tossed around carelessly.

  She pushed that memory to the back of her mind and yanked open the small, old-fashioned refrigerator.

  Inside, save the label-less brown bottles that she instinctively knew contained beer that Adam had brewed, the metal shelves were nearly empty.

  She closed the fridge and opened the door on the opposite side of the room, correctly assuming it led to the garage.

  There wasn’t anything as ordinary as a vehicle parked inside, though. What Adam hadn’t spent on furniture, he’d more than made up for in brewing equipment. Large stainless tanks lined one wall. Supplies were stacked neatly on shelves on the other wall. There were plumbing lines and flow pipes and pumps and electrical equipment, and for a moment she remembered the rudimentary setup he’d had back in New York.

  “You find something to drink?” Adam’s voice called from inside the house and she quickly wiped away the moisture that had formed at the corners of her eyes. She crossed to the gigantic stainless steel refrigerator on the far wall.

  Still no food to speak of, but there were several bottles of vitamin-infused water and a few cans of soda.

  “Yes,” she called back. She took two waters and went back into the kitchen, closing the door after herself.

  He was bent over, looking inside the small refrigerator. The Durango shirt was gone, replaced by a charcoal gray button-down.

  “There’s nothing much in there.”

  He shut the door and straightened. “I noticed.” He turned to face her and held out his hand for one of the vitamin waters. Along with the fresh shirt, he’d also brushed his hair and it no longer fell engagingly over his forehead. His eyes were hooded, and with that near beard, he almost looked like a stranger.

  She chewed the inside of her cheek. There were things that she should say. But what?

  “You need your own brewery,” she blurted, which wasn’t at all what she really wanted to say.

  “Yeah, well, maybe one day I’ll have enough money to get one. It’s going to be an hour to Houston. Bathroom’s down the hall if you need it.”

  “Thanks,” she muttered like the gargantuan coward that she was, and left the kitchen. She went through the doorway he’d used and found the bathroom on the right. Like the kitchen, it was tidy and clean.

  She left it that way a minute later.

  He was flipping through the mail that was collected on the small table next to the front door. “Ready?”

  She shouldered the canvas tote in answer.

  His expression seemed to tighten, though she had no idea why, and he ushered her out the front door again, locking it after them.

  The big black truck parked at the curb was the destination and she climbed up inside when he opened the door for her. “Nice truck,” she murmured, even though she felt distinct regret as she watched the small silvery sedan through the side mirror.

  His phone gave a little chime and he glanced at it when he stopped at the corner stop sign. He sighed slightly.

  “Ashley?”

  “Yeah.” He slid the phone into a slot on the fancy console between their seats. “She thinks she’s got the flu. I need to stop by the restaurant and take care of a few things that can’t wait. Won’t take me long.”

  “Whatever you need to do.” She wasn’t in any position to dictate the schedule.

  He turned at the stop sign and soon they’d left behind the neighborhood of bungalow homes just like his. He drove past a municipal complex. A post office. The buildings grew fancier. Newer. A spa. A Mexican restaurant where cars were overflowing the parking lot.

  She suddenly clutched his arm. “Stop. Wait.”

  He muttered an oath, obviously startled. “What?”

  She was staring at the brick building across the street. “There. The pediatric center. I want to go in there.” Then she shook herself. “You can drop me off. Pick me up again when you’re finished at Provisions.”

  He turned into the parking lot. But instead of dropping her off, he parked.

  “You don’t have to go with me.”

  “You think I’m going to leave you alone? Here?” He got out of the truck when she did, and together they went up the wide, shallow steps of the restored building. Adam pulled open the door for her and they went inside.

  She looked around. Anxious. Eager.

  For a medical clinic, it wasn’t the least bit clinic-y. Lots of exposed brick. Wood floors with a gleaming, warm patina. Two women wearing colorful scrubs stood behind a reception desk, and beyond them, Laurel could see a play area.

  Adam’s fingers grazed her elbow. “Remember being here?”

  Her shoulders fell. She’d so hoped. “N-not at all.”

  She turned to head back to the entrance.

  “Adam?”

  They both stopped. A white-haired man with an equally white beard was hurrying around the reception desk. He had a broad smile on his face as he clapped Adam on the shoulder. “Haven’t had a chance to talk since you had the harvest. How are you?”

  “Good.” Adam’s gaze slanted to Laurel. “This is Dr. Green.”

  She managed a smile of sorts. “I recognized you from the news story.”

  The doctor nearly did a double take. “My God,” he breathed, the twinkle in his eyes turning to shock. “You’re—”

  “Laurel Hudson,” Adam provided, sounding much calmer than Laurel felt. “Linus’s mother.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Laurel heard twin gasps coming from the women in the scrubs and suddenly wished that she hadn’t asked Adam to stop at the pediatric center at all.

  Dr. Green recovered more quickly than anyone else. He clasped Laurel’s hand in both of his. “My dear. I am so happy to see you. The last time—well, it was quite a muddle, wasn’t it? The grand opening going on and you going into labor right there on the steps. And then—”

  “Yes,” she said quickly, really and truly reluctant to hear his recap of her behavior after that. She couldn’t tell if he knew anything about her accident or her memory loss. And she didn’t want to know. It was bad enough to think how much gossip she must have caused by abandoning Linus right here, much less so soon after he’d been born. “It’s good to see you, too,” she lied, then tugged her hand away to tuck it through Adam’s arm.

  As if he sensed her overwhelming discomfort, Adam closed his hand over hers. “We’re on our way to Houston.” His words were as smooth as the way he began moving toward the door. “
Just wanted to stop in and say thanks for everything you’ve done for Linus.”

  “Of course.” The doctor’s genial voice followed them. “Dr. Patel’s reports have been very promising.”

  Laurel stopped. She looked around Adam’s broad shoulder. “They have? But Linus had a fever.”

  Dr. Green’s eyes were kind as he approached her again. “Very promising,” he assured. “Despite a little fever.” He pulled a business card from the pocket of his white coat and slid it into her free hand. “If you ever feel like talking,” he said quietly. “About anything.”

  Her vision blurred. How could anyone who knew what she’d done treat her with any kindness at all? She looked away. “Thank you.”

  “Dr. Green,” one of the women called his name. “Becky’s ready for you with Nathaniel in room two.”

  The doctor nodded. He clapped Adam on the shoulder again before hurrying back toward the reception desk.

  Laurel breathed easier once they were outside again. She didn’t say anything when they returned to the truck and made a short drive before Adam pulled into a parking lot outside the large building that was obviously Provisions.

  “It used to be a grain warehouse,” he explained.

  There was still a lot of industrial vibe going on, Laurel thought as they entered the building. It was the middle of the afternoon and more than half of the tables inside were occupied. As soon as Adam’s presence was noticed, people seemed to come at him from all sides. “Give me a sec,” he told them all and escorted Laurel over to the bar where wooden stools sat in perfect alignment.

  He pulled one out. “Relax. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He turned on his heel and strode across the wood-planked floor, disappearing through a swinging door at the far end.

  She’d barely slipped onto the stool when a young man approached from behind the bar. “What can I get you?”

  “I don’t suppose you have hibiscus tea?”

  He smiled. “New on the menu, thanks to Adam. I’ll have it for you in two shakes.”

  “Thank you.”

  She folded her arms atop the gleaming wood bar top and looked around. The row of black-and-white photography on one wall drew her attention and she wandered over to take a closer look. She wasn’t the only one. An older woman was standing in front of one photo in particular. Laurel stopped next to her. “Is that the pediatric center?”

  “Back when it was an orphanage.” The woman barely glanced at Laurel as she donned a pair of glasses and leaned even closer to the image. “Look at all of those children. They don’t look unhappy, though, do they?”

  Laurel found it disturbing to look too closely at the dozen or so children, dressed in shapeless dresses and pants that were inches too short. Two of the older kids were holding babies in their arms. All were lined up on the steps of the building that used to be the foundling hospital.

  She realized the woman was still looking at her, clearly expecting an answer.

  “No,” Laurel said, making herself take a second look. “They don’t look unhappy.” Some more solemn than others, but not unhappy.

  “This baby. The one with the blanket.” The woman tucked the reading glasses into her bleached blond hair and tapped a suntanned fingertip against the canvas-backed photo. “First time I’ve seen the photo enlarged like this and I could swear that’s my mother. She never told me she was adopted, but what other reason would she be right there at the foundling hospital?” Her laugh was a little brittle. “My wild imagination. Next thing I’ll be wondering just what that monogram on her blanket means.” She shook her head slightly and gave Laurel another look. “Haven’t seen you before.” She suddenly stuck out her hand. “I’m Mariana.”

  Bemused, Laurel shook her hand. “Of the Market?”

  The woman gave a loud bark of laughter that was much less brittle this time. “That’d be me.” She patted her plump hips. “In the flesh. I remember a time when I knew every face in this town.” She lifted her arms, seeming to encompass all that surrounded them. “Now we have places like this and The Shoppes and gated neighborhoods where the rich folks go.” She peered at Laurel. “You look like one of them.”

  There wasn’t anything particularly accusatory in her tone, so Laurel had no reason to take offense. “Don’t see how,” she said wryly. She looked down at her smiley-face tennis shoes that were more grungy now than white and the jeans she’d been allotted from the women’s shelter in Seattle. “I’m Laurel, by the way.”

  “It’s not the clothes, sweetie,” Mariana said sagely. “It’s what’s underneath.”

  “That’s even less impressive, I’m afraid.”

  Mariana barked her laugh again, then spotted a slickly handsome dark-haired man enter the restaurant. “There’s my date,” she said a little mischievously. “See you around, Laurel.” She headed toward the man. “Yoo-hoo, Mr. Dimples,” she greeted with a wave.

  Laurel looked back at the photograph, focusing on the two babies in particular, as if by doing so, she could force herself to remember leaving her own child. The one that had so taken Mariana’s interest had a blanket wrapped loosely around her legs. The corner that dangled had a clear “F” embroidered on the edge. While the other baby had no blanket at all.

  Had Laurel left anything personal with Linus? Or had she simply just...left?

  “Thinking about taking up photography?”

  She startled at the sound of Adam’s voice. He was holding out a transparent to-go cup. “Your hibiscus tea.”

  She took it, unintentionally brushing his fingers with her own. Feeling flustered, she focused on the enlargement once more. “I never had the talent for photography. Whoever did these enlargements did a nice job, though. Very evocative. You can almost feel the effects from the Dust Bowl and the Great Depression from their faces.” Feeling self-conscious, she busied herself flipping open the little flap on the cup lid so she could take a drink. “Are you finished already?”

  “Yeah.”

  A young woman with a black apron tied around her trim hips hurried toward them with a twine-handled paper bag in her hand. The name of the restaurant was splashed across the front. “Here’s your order, Adam.”

  “Thanks.” He took the bag, not seeming to notice the adoration gleaming from the girl’s pretty brown eyes.

  “She’s half in love with you,” Laurel told him once they were in his truck again. “That waitress.”

  “She’ll get over it. Give me one of the sandwiches in there.”

  “How do you know?” She looked into the bag. “Does it matter which one?”

  He slanted her a look that gave her shivers, though she couldn’t quite say why. “Because they always do,” he said almost inaudibly. Then he cleared his throat. “And yes, it matters,” he added almost indignantly. “The one marked No Avocado.”

  She pulled out the sandwich, unwrapped it and handed it to him along with one of the paper napkins that were also tucked in the bag.

  Then she unwrapped her own sandwich. Fat, rich slices of absolutely perfect avocado resting atop grilled chicken sat between two thick slices of aromatic sourdough bread.

  No, she thought. They don’t always get over you.

  She knew that she wouldn’t.

  * * *

  “Put on these gowns,” the nurse said, handing Adam and Laurel each a plastic-sealed package. They were standing outside the closed door of Linus’s hospital room. “Mask on the face. Booties on the shoes. No gloves, but you’ll need to wash your hands at the sink there.” She gestured toward the sink nearby. “Use the soap that’s provided. You can use the lounge behind the desk here to get gowned up if you want.”

  Adam was aware of Laurel’s increasing pallor as Angelica reeled off the instructions.

  “Usually, we wouldn’t need all of this,” the nurse went on. “Every room in the transplant unit is equipped with specialized air-filtra
tion systems that minimize patient risk of contracting infections. But after Linus’s fever, Dr. Patel has ordered stricter measures.”

  “How, uh, how long can we stay with him?”

  “As long as you want,” Angelica assured Laurel. “As a general rule, we limit visitors to two at a time, but parents are always allowed. Any other questions?” Her bright eyes moved from Laurel’s face to Adam’s. “No?” She smiled as she reached for a chart on her desk. “If you need me, just push the call button on the wall over the baby’s crib.”

  Adam pushed his thumb through the thin plastic bag and tore it open. He shook out the gown, and he barely caught the booties before they fell onto the floor. Laurel on the other hand was squeezing the package between her fingers, looking terrified.

  He took her arm and led her unresistingly into the nurse’s lounge. “Sit down before you pass out again.”

  “I’m not going to pass out.” But she did sit before she finally tore open her package. “He doesn’t know me,” she whispered.

  “He doesn’t know me, either.” Adam sat down and worked the booties over his shoes, then stood up again and shoved his arms into the sleeves of the gown. It was exactly the same style that Eric had worn the day of the transplant.

  He calculated. It had only been nine days ago.

  “What if we scare him, dressed up in these things?” She shook the pale blue mask at him.

  “We’re not going to know until we go in.” He tied the back of the gown behind his neck and then looped the mask over his ears. “We’ve spent the last three and a half days getting here, Laurel.”

  “I know. I know you’re right.” Looking more determined, she shook out her own gown and pulled it on. “At least I’ve made it further than I did in my nightmare,” she muttered as she pushed aside her hair to tie the back of the gown. “And there’s a comforting absence of nurses who look like ducks.” She leaned down to work the booties over her shoes. When she straightened, there was more color in the cheeks that she then hid behind her mask.

  “Ducks?”