by Janet Dailey
Yet from the shambles of failure had come this innocent little baby—never planned, but loved all the same.
What if she’d said yes to Jubal when he’d proposed? How many lives would have been changed, for better or worse, by a single word?
* * *
At 4:00 that afternoon, Ellie and Clara walked next door to the smaller home where Ben, Jess, and Ethan lived. Ellie carried a covered sheet cake pan. Her bag, with Beau tucked inside, was slung over one shoulder. Clara clutched her arm for balance on the uneven sidewalk.
They mounted the porch to an open door, held by Ethan. Ben’s son, a young charmer at this past summer’s wedding, had grown taller in the past six months, but his grin was the same. “Hi, Aunt Ellie. Dad told me you carry your little dog around in your purse. Is he in there now?”
“He is. I knew you’d want to meet him. Help your grandma to a chair, and I’ll get him out for you.”
Ellie stepped into the living room. The décor was plain, and most of the furniture looked secondhand. But there was an aura of welcoming warmth about the little home. The dining room table was set for five. From the kitchen, the aromas of roast beef and fresh-baked rolls drifted tantalizingly. Ellie glanced at Ben, who’d just taken their coats. She’d never seen her brother look more contented.
Once Clara was seated, Ellie lifted Beau out of her bag.
“Wow! He’s so little! Can I hold him?” Ethan loved animals. Ellie had no worries about trusting him with her dog.
“Let him sniff the back of your hand first,” she said. “When his tail starts to wag, I’ll hand him over.”
Getting acquainted didn’t take long. Beau was licking Ethan’s chin when Jess popped her head around the kitchen door. “Dinner’s almost ready,” she said. “Give me about ten minutes and it’ll be on the table.”
“It sounds like you could use some help.” Leaving Beau with his new friend, Ellie rose and hurried into the kitchen.
Jess, in a red sweater and tight jeans that outlined her tiny waist, was stirring gravy in a pan on the stove. “Oh, thanks!” she said. “You’re just in time. How would you like to drain and mash the potatoes?”
“Sure.” Maneuvering her belly into a corner next to the sink, Ellie set to work. “Thanks for making me feel useful.”
Jess flashed a grin. “You are useful, and you’re looking good.”
“Thanks. I feel like a big, clumsy elephant—especially next to you.”
“I’m the one who should be envious,” Jess said. “Ben and I have been hoping for a little one. So far, no luck—just a lot of fun trying.”
“Maybe you’re trying too hard. Give it time. You’ve only been married six months.”
“That’s what the doctor says. Everything’s in the right place. And Ben’s already a father, so he’s fine. Maybe I need to stop working so much.”
“Just relax. It’ll happen when it happens.”
Like it did with me. What a shock.
Jess skimmed the fat off the gravy. “I’ve been thinking I’d like to give you a baby shower,” she said. “I know you’re going to need a lot of things for your little girl. And it would be a fun way for the ladies in the town to get to know you.”
Ellie’s grip froze on the potato masher. “But why on earth would anybody come? After ten years away, I’m a stranger here. I have no friends at all—unless I can count you.”
Jess squeezed Ellie’s arm as she turned away from the stove to get the gravy boat. “You can. You can count on my mother, too. And don’t you worry about who’ll show up—hey, it’s a baby shower! In Branding Iron, that’s a big social event! Everybody will want to come. We can have it at the B and B. All I need from you is to agree on a date. I’ll do the rest.”
Ellie sighed in surrender as she scooped the mashed potatoes into a bowl and added a dollop of butter. “That’s really sweet of you. I’ll need to—uh—check my very busy social calendar.”
“Seriously, let me know. We’ll want to do it soon, before Christmas. Okay?”
“Okay. I’ll give you some dates. Since you know what else is going on in town, you can narrow them down. And thanks, Jess. Really.” Ellie picked up the bowl of mashed potatoes and carried it to the table.
In the living room, Ethan and Beau were playing fetch with a rolled-up sock. The little poodle was having the time of his life, chasing the thrown sock and dragging it back to Ethan for a gentle, growling tug-of-war.
An ironic smile tugged at Ellie’s lips. She’d fled San Francisco with the idea of becoming invisible—lying low in her mother’s house until she could have her baby, get back on her feet, and leave as quietly as possible. But she should have known better. Little by little, whether she liked it or not, she was being pulled back into Branding Iron and the small-town life she’d vowed to leave behind.
* * *
On Monday morning Ellie stopped by the clinic to have a routine checkup and start the registration process for her delivery in the Cottonwood Springs Hospital. Somebody had put up a shabby artificial Christmas tree in the reception area. The lights were burned out and the ornaments looked left over from the seventies, but at least they had enough holiday spirit to make the effort.
It was more than Ellie could say for herself. She’d had a restless night, with the baby kickboxing her bladder and Beau starting awake at every unfamiliar sound in the old house. At 7:30 she’d hauled herself out of bed to escort Beau to his favorite tree, then made coffee for herself and her mother. Clara had been glad to watch the little rascal while Ellie reported to the clinic.
The nurse, a young man in scrubs who looked like he belonged in middle school, took the form she’d filled out, jotted down her weight and blood pressure, and ushered her back to an exam room to change and wait for the doctor. The room was chilly, and Ellie had left her coat outside. By the time the doctor walked in a few minutes later, she was seated on the edge of the exam table, shivering beneath the thin cotton gown.
“Oh, I’m so sorry! This place takes forever to warm up in the morning.” Dr. Ramirez looked fresh and pretty. One hand carried Ellie’s chart on a clipboard. The other hand held a plaid flannel blanket, which she draped around Ellie’s shoulders. Ellie closed her eyes. The blanket was warm.
“Thank you!” Ellie breathed the words. “This feels heavenly!”
“We have a warmer in the back. Nice on mornings like this. Now, let’s see how you’re doing.” She studied the chart a moment. “You say you’re due in January?”
“January third—more or less.”
“Your weight looks about right. But your blood pressure’s a little high. Is that usual for you?”
“Not really. But I’ve been under some stress. Moving here from San Francisco took a lot out of me.”
“You’re divorced?” Ellie had checked the box on the form.
“Yes. Recently. It’s a long story.” Ellie hoped she wouldn’t be asked to tell it.
“Having a baby alone is tough,” the doctor said. “Believe me, I know. I’m raising a ten-year-old daughter. While I’m on rotation here, I drive back and forth between the clinic and Cottonwood Springs five days a week.”
“I’m luckier than some.” Ellie realized it was true. “I have family in Branding Iron—a mother and a married brother. That’s why I came here to have my baby.”
“You are lucky.” After checking for the baby’s heartbeat, Dr. Ramirez slipped on latex gloves and swung the stirrups into position on the table. “I’m sure you know the drill by now. We’ll just take a quick look to make sure everything’s all right. Not fun, I know. But I promise you, the speculum will be warm.” She laughed. “Only a male doctor would use a cold one.”
“Thanks, that helps.” Ellie willed herself to relax.
“Oh—how’s the little girl with the cat scratch?” The doctor was chatting, probably to put her at ease while she did the delicate exam.
“I haven’t seen her since Saturday. But I’m sure she’s fine.”
“Her father, the
man you came here with. He’s your brother?”
“No, he’s just . . . an old friend.”
“Oh—a friend. I had the feeling you weren’t related. And those blue eyes! He’s a mango, that one!”
“A mango? Like you eat?” Ellie was confused.
“Sorry.” The doctor laughed. “In Cuba, that’s what we call a really good-looking man.”
“You’re Cuban?”
“I was born in Miami. But I did my medical training in Cuba. My grandfather still lives there. He pulled a few strings for me.”
“But you didn’t want to stay?”
“No . . .” Her pause spoke untold volumes. “I didn’t. I couldn’t.” Her tone changed. “All done. Everything looks just fine. So you can get dressed. Ryan, outside, will help you register with the hospital.”
“Thanks.” Ellie sat up and swung her legs off the table.
“We’ll want to keep an eye on your blood pressure. Getting more rest may bring it down. But you should come back in a week to have it checked—sooner if you don’t feel well for any reason.” She picked up her clipboard and headed for the door. “See you next week. Say hello to the mango for me.”
By the time Ellie had dressed and finished with the hospital registration, the clinic was filling up with people. Making a mental note to come early again next time, she put on her coat and went outside.
A couple of elderly men were standing by her BMW, looking at the car and commenting. “Ain’t never seen a car like that for real,” one of them said. “Bet it’ll go like a bat out of hell.”
“Maybe.” The other man spat a stream of tobacco onto the asphalt. “But I wouldn’t have one here. If it breaks down, there won’t be no parts for it in a hundred miles.”
As Ellie walked toward the car, the men smiled, tipped their hats, and moved away. She wouldn’t have expected that kind of politeness in the city. At least folks in Branding Iron still had manners.
She started the car and drove down Main Street under strings of glowing Christmas lights. She needed to pick up some groceries and a prescription for Clara, who didn’t drive. Then she’d have some time to rest at home before picking up Gracie after school.
Say hello to the mango for me.
The doctor’s parting words replayed in Ellie’s memory. The pretty Latina had probably just been making small talk. But Jubal was a compellingly handsome man—like Harrison Ford in his prime, but with Paul Newman’s eyes. If anything, the maturity of ten hard years had only added to his appeal. A decent, responsible man with his looks could likely get any woman he wanted.
So, Ellie wondered, with his wife gone four years and his little girl needing a mother, why hadn’t Jubal married again?
But what did it matter? She’d turned her back on Jubal ten years ago. His life was no longer any of her business.
Jubal would doubtless feel the same way about her, especially given that she was pregnant with another man’s baby and looked about as attractive as a cow.
The cavernous Shop Mart store was crowded. The list Clara had given Ellie was a short one, but it took her a long time to locate each item. By the time she’d waited in the lengthy checkout line, with “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer” blasting her ears and the baby flip-flopping like a little gymnast, all she wanted was to collapse somewhere and rest.
The grocery items—eggs, oranges, bacon, potatoes, a half gallon of milk—filled the large paper bag Ellie had chosen instead of plastic. By the time she’d paid for everything, another shopper had wheeled off her empty cart. Never mind. There was no reason she couldn’t carry the bag to the car.
Concerned that the paper handles might break, she slung her purse over her shoulder and hefted the bag in her arms. It was heavier than she’d expected. As she made her way out to the parking lot, she could feel it slipping.
Which way was her car? Heaven help her, she couldn’t see over the top of the bag! Ellie could imagine her blood pressure rising as she twisted sideways, trying to look around the bag and spot her BMW. No luck. Wherever it was, the low sedan was lost amid a forest of tall SUVs and pickups. And her grip was weakening. The heavy bag was sliding downward, onto her belly. If she didn’t find her car soon, her arms would give out, and the bag would go crashing to the pavement.
“Could you use a hand?” The deep voice came from behind her.
Turning, Ellie looked up into Jubal’s mocking eyes. She could feel her knees start to give way. “I could use two hands,” she muttered.
As if it weighed nothing, he lifted the bag out of her arms. “Now, where’s your car?” he asked.
“I . . . don’t know. I can’t find it.”
He shook his head. Same old scatterbrained Ellie, he was probably thinking. “Okay, I’ll help you look. Do I need to guess what kind of car you have?”
She remembered then that he hadn’t seen her car. “It’s a BMW.”
“Of course it is. And I won’t need to ask you the color because it’ll be the only one in the parking lot.” He scanned the sea of vehicles. “There it is, two rows down. Come on.”
He led the way, Ellie struggling to keep pace with his long strides. She used her remote key to open the trunk. He lowered the bag inside and closed the lid.
“Thank you, Jubal.” She stood looking up at him, her eyes on a level with his stern jaw. “I owe you.”
“You don’t owe me anything, Ellie. I’d do the same for anybody who needed help.” His expression was guarded, almost cold. “Will you be all right?”
“Yes. Fine.” She let him open the driver’s side door. Maybe if they had a chance to sit and talk they could settle things between them and at least be polite, if distant, friends. But that wasn’t going to happen now. She lowered herself to the seat and eased her belly into the space beneath the steering wheel. “Thanks again,” she said, thrusting the key into the ignition.
He took a step back, then paused, with her door still open. “Gracie hasn’t stopped talking about your plans for after school today. I hope you didn’t forget. Not that it would make much difference to me, but she’d be mighty disappointed if you let her down.”
Like I let you down?
“I haven’t forgotten,” Ellie said. “In fact I’m looking forward to it.”
“I called the school office and told them you’d be picking her up, so they won’t be expecting her to get on the bus.”
It would be like Jubal to think of that. In his quiet way, he’d always taken care of whatever needed to be done. “Good idea,” she said. “I’ll be there early, so she’ll see me when she comes outside. And of course, I’ll drive her home afterward.”
“Don’t keep her too late. She’ll need time to do her homework before bed. Gracie can show you the way to the ranch.”
“I know the way, Jubal.”
“So you do.” Something flashed in his eyes and was gone—as if a memory had come to light and been forcefully blotted out. “Here’s a card with my cell number on it,” he said, reaching into his jacket’s inner pocket to remove it. “Keep it in case anything comes up.” He handed her the card, closed the car door, turned, and walked away.
* * *
Jubal willed himself not to look back as he crossed the parking lot to his truck. He had come into town to check the property deeds in the county recorder’s office. On the way home, as an afterthought, he’d stopped at Shop Mart for a few basics. He’d loaded the groceries into his truck and was about to pull out of his parking space when he saw Ellie staggering out of the store with her heavy bag. Without a second thought, he’d leaped out of the truck and raced over to help her. Somehow he’d managed to stop behind her, catch his breath, and calm his nerves before speaking.
Lord, why Ellie? Why now? Even after ten years—even pregnant—she still had the power to make him feel like a hormone-crazed sixteen-year-old. But letting Ellie distract him was the last thing he needed—or wanted. She’d walked out on him once. Given the chance, she’d do it again without a flicker of regret.
Not that she was going to get that chance. Whatever her story was, he didn’t need her, didn’t want her. Besides, he had far more urgent things on his mind.
At the recorder’s office, he’d found the deed to the ranch. Updated four years ago, the owner was listed as Shumway and Sons Property Management, Inc., an outfit Jubal had never heard of.
It had been all Jubal could do to keep from ripping the recorded deed to shreds and stomping on the pieces. This was crazy. Who were these people? How could his father have let them get their hands on the family ranch? And why hadn’t they tried to boot him off and take possession of the place?
As he drove home, Jubal forced his memory back four years, looking for answers. It wasn’t an easy time to revisit. Laura had recently died, taking their unborn baby with her and leaving him a grieving wreck with a small daughter to care for. Little wonder that his father, who was still running the ranch, didn’t want to bother his son with financial matters.
The old man, his mental powers already failing, must have made a deal with some shysters who’d taken advantage of him. Since he didn’t gamble or drink to excess, that was the only explanation that made sense.
But what could he do about it now? Jubal’s hands tightened on the steering wheel till the knuckles ached. If a crime had been committed, where could he look for proof, especially when the one person who might tell him what had happened—his father—was gone?