Small-Town Girl (Mills & Boon Vintage Superromance) (Mills & Boon Superromance)

by Carmichael, C. J.

  “Yeah. It was.” He went to lean over the railing and stared out to the water. The moon’s rays hit a point in the center of the lake like a spotlight.

  “Where’s Watson?”

  “He had a drink, then collapsed in his bed.”

  “I don’t wonder. How far did you go?” She stood, folded the quilt and slipped her feet back into her mules.

  “Across to the beach.”

  She ran down Willow Road and back most mornings. The route took her about twenty-five minutes. Walking would have taken longer. But Russell had left the house before eight. So what had he been doing for almost three hours? Maybe he’d met some people and stopped to chat. But if so, he’d likely have mentioned something.

  She sighed, and the sound came out louder than she’d intended.

  “I think I’ll have a bath.”

  Russell nodded but didn’t say anything, didn’t even turn around.

  Inside, Julie saw traces of sand on the floor. The leash hung once more on the hook by the back door. She peeked into Ben’s room. Watson had conked out in his little dog bed, on the floor at the foot of Ben’s bed. Ben himself seemed to be in an equally deep sleep, curled on his side, clutching a pillow in his arms.

  Fetal position.

  Julie sank to the floor and placed a cheek on the sheet next to Ben’s pillow. She cataloged every feature and freckle on his face, which was more familiar to her than her own. This was her son. Yet, he wasn’t.

  She ran a fingertip down his cheek. Ben? Are you in there still? The boy who slept with his arms flung out, who embraced life, who didn’t know fear.

  “My beautiful boy.”

  She wiped away a tear from the corner of her eye, then settled a kiss on his forehead next to a curl of his hair.

  As she eased up, she glanced around the room, at the poster of the Vancouver Canucks hockey team on the wall and Ben’s latest Lego creation on his dresser. Reassuring, normal boy stuff, she thought. Even Ben’s dirty socks on the floor were a welcome sight. With one hand she scooped them up and tossed them into his hamper.

  After leaving the door ajar, Julie headed for the bathroom. Twenty minutes later, she was ready for bed. She expected to find Russell reading on his side as usual. But he wasn’t there. She went down the hall, flicking out lights, searching for him. He wasn’t on the sofa watching news, or in the kitchen making himself a snack. She turned off the light there, too, and then in the dark finally glimpsed her husband through the window.

  He stood in the exact position she’d left him, leaning over the deck railing. She felt that if she went outside and touched him on the arm he wouldn’t even acknowledge her.

  A shiver of premonition filled her with dread.

  She’d asked if something had him upset and he’d said no. But he’d lied. Something was wrong. Why wouldn’t he tell her?

  THE NEXT MORNING JULIE awoke to an empty bed. But Russell had spent some portion of his night next to her—his pillow bore the indent of his head, and Julie could feel a trace of sand between the sheets.

  She focused on the white ceiling and tried to think of a good reason for getting up. She felt so tired and lethargic. PMS, she supposed; she’d been expecting her period all week. Maybe she’d skip her run again today.

  Reviewing her schedule, she found little to look forward to. She had a feeling Russell would be in the same strange mood as last night, which meant they’d share a strained breakfast with both of them faking cheerfulness. What else was new?

  She had work to finish for the magazine, but doing it at home wasn’t the same as going to the office. She missed the frenetic pace of her old job. Missed her colleagues, working with them to meet deadlines, the atmosphere…

  Ben, she reminded herself. Ben was her reason to get out of bed.

  She forced herself through each step of her morning routine. Washing, dressing, fluffing pillows and drawing up the bedsheets. When she checked on her son, she found him standing by his open bureau drawer.

  Since the accident, he had trouble making decisions. She pulled out a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt, and he accepted them gratefully.

  In the kitchen, Russell had piled toast on a plate in the center of the table and filled three glasses with juice. But where was he?

  Julie glanced out the window, almost flinching when she saw him. Except for the coffee cup in his hand and the change of clothing, he could still have been standing there from last night. She gazed past him, to the placid surface of the lake where a family of ducks trolled for insects and minnows.

  Russell didn’t make an appearance in the house until Ben was ready to leave for school. As she handed her husband the folder he carried to and from work, he kissed her cheek and she caught the scent of his citrus shampoo.

  “Sleep okay?” she asked him.

  He shrugged. “Ready, Ben?”

  With his son by his side, he headed for school, leaving Julie on the front step with more questions than ever.

  She strolled around the empty house for a few minutes after cleaning the breakfast dishes. She brushed her fingers over the book on Russell’s side of the bed, then took his dirty clothes down to the washing machine in the basement.

  As she checked the pockets of the jeans he’d been wearing last night, she felt a rush of emotion—a sort of guilty anticipation. But she found no clues to Russell’s strange behavior in his Levi’s.

  Leaving the washing machine to its agitating, she climbed the stairs fully intending to head to her office. Instead she slipped out the front door and made her way to the café.

  JIM WERNER HAD BAKED corn bread muffins this morning, and the nutty flavor mingled with the usual background aroma of bacon and eggs. Despite the toast with peanut butter she’d already eaten, Julie felt hungry as she slid onto a bar stool.

  The regulars were already in attendance—Adrienne, T.J., Lucky—lined up with her at the counter. And behind the counter, Donna reigned with typical understated efficiency. She poured Julie her coffee, cleared the plates from a nearby booth, made change for a farmer in a hurry, who clearly had no plans to leave the extra dollar as a tip.

  “That’s Edgar Tyler,” Adrienne whispered for Julie’s benefit. “The skinflint is one of the richest men in the region.”

  Julie nodded. “Those muffins smell delicious, Donna. I think I’ll try one.” Ten seconds later, Donna set down a plate with a large muffin slit in half, a packet of butter and another of honey arranged temptingly on the side.

  Talk that morning focused on preparation for the Harvest Festival. Lucky had a shipment of pumpkins due that day. T.J. wondered how much chalk he’d need for the traditional sidewalk art competition put on by Handy Hardware. Donna groaned over mixing pancake batter for more than two hundred people.

  “At least you don’t have to cook them,” her husband called out from the kitchen.

  Donna rolled her eyes.

  “They love every minute of it,” Adrienne confided to Julie.

  By a quarter to ten half the people in the café had cleared out. Julie ate the last of her scrumptious muffin. Worth every gram of fat, she decided.

  “Say, Julie, I was wondering if I could ask you something.”

  The taciturn Donna seemed unusually flustered. Julie paused, waiting expectantly.

  “I’ve read that magazine you work for. What’s it called again?”

  “West Coast Homes.”

  “Yeah. Smart-looking rag. I saw your advice column.”

  “What did you think?” According to Suzanne, she’d done a wonderful job. But Julie knew the final nod of approval had to come from the readers.

  “It was great. I didn’t realize you were an interior decorator.”

  “Well, designer, actually. But yes, that was my background before I started in magazines.”

  “Everyone’s been admiring the job you did on your house, and well…Jim and I hoped you might be able to freshen the exterior of this old joint up, as well. Nothing too extensive. Maybe a new sign, and a nicer doo
r. Shutters, too, maybe. And an awning? Or would that be too much?”

  Donna’s reined-in enthusiasm touched Julie. “That’s a great idea, Donna. Sure, I’d be glad to help you.”

  “We’ll pay, of course. I know you decorators charge by the hour. But if you don’t mind me asking your rate…?”

  Julie wouldn’t have considered mentioning the fee she’d billed when she’d worked as a designer in Vancouver. She divided the number by three. When Donna still blanched, she added quickly, “I guarantee my results, Donna. I’ll make sure you’re happy.”

  “Can we have it done by Christmas?”

  “Probably sooner.”

  Donna smiled, something Julie hadn’t thought was physically possible.

  “Then we have a deal.”

  Brilliant. Julie left the café in a state of suspended elation. She’d never expected she’d be able to work as a designer in this town. Wait until Russell heard about this. Tempted to stop in at the school to tell him, she remembered his strange mood from last night, and the fizz went out of her excitement.

  WHEN HEATHER AVOIDED the staff room at recess that morning, Russell felt a mixture of relief and guilt. A lot had been said between them last night. But much had remained unsaid, as well.

  Including any discussion about how in the hell they were supposed to work with each other and act as though nothing had happened.

  Russell wondered what Heather would expect from him now. Was he supposed to forget he had a son he’d never met, a son who’d been given to different parents to be raised?

  Or had she told him the truth anticipating he would try to find their child? But if he did, what then? What role could he and Heather play in their son’s life?

  And what about Julie? And Ben? They were the truly innocent parties here. Was he willing to rock their world with the announcement of another child?

  God, his thoughts were in such a tangle he almost wished Heather had lied to him last night. She could have made up a plausible story to explain away that extra year. A passionate affair, a lengthy illness—hell, anything but being pregnant with his child.

  The time to have told him the truth was long past. Now she’d armed him with information that he could do nothing about. If only she still had her husband…and children of her own. Then the thought of her giving up their baby might not seem so awful. And he wouldn’t have to feel so much…

  Guilt. It socked him like a bad head cold.

  “Excuse me, Russell.”

  He raised his head from the cup of coffee that he must have been staring at for the past ten minutes. The cup felt cool in his hands now, and a skim of cream had formed on the surface.

  A hint of worry creased lines on Bernie’s forehead. “Are you okay?”

  “What? Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “I have something to ask you—”

  “Fire away.” He feigned interest along with a smile.

  “Well, I’m heading the committee for the Harvest Festival this year and we’d like to decorate the hall for the potluck dinner and dance.”

  Russell nodded. Nothing could interest him less.

  “Anyway, I’m wondering if we can use those fabulous posters the grade fives and fours made of pressed leaves. They’d be perfect for the fall theme.”

  “I’m sure the kids would be thrilled to have their artwork on display.”

  “The thing is, our decorating committee is already overloaded. Could you and Heather put them up for us the night before the potluck? That would be next Friday,” she added.

  Oh, shit. As soon as he felt the first stirrings of dismay, he recognized how unreasonable he was being. He and Heather were going to have to get over this…issue…and learn to work together eventually. Might as well be while decorating the hall for the Harvest Festival as anything else.

  “Sure, Bernie. No problem. I’ll talk to Heather if you like.”

  “Thanks. That would be great.”

  Bernie went to rinse her coffee cup. Watching, Russell noticed her hand resting against her flat stomach. The gesture gnawed at him until he remembered that…

  When she was pregnant, Julie had done the same thing. He’d found the pose appealing and had often circled his arms around his wife to lay his hand on hers.

  Now he thought, unavoidably, of Heather.

  Had she put out a protective hand to their baby when she was carrying him? Had she stopped drinking alcohol and coffee? Had she taken vitamins and gone to the doctor regularly?

  He had no idea. Absolutely no bloody idea.

  And what about the baby? Heather had said he was a boy. Did he have Heather’s red hair? The good teeth from the Matthew side? Had he been—

  Crazy. He was driving himself crazy. Russell tossed out his coffee, washed his mug and set it on the drainer. As the bell rang, he headed for class, almost bumping into Heather in the hall.

  “Sorry.” He grasped her elbows and held her. Heat flamed in her cheeks as she lowered her gaze from his eyes to his chest.

  For several seconds the loudest sound Russell could hear was the pounding of his own heart. Then came the pounding of children’s sneakers on the old wooden floor. He dropped his hands and said, too curtly, “We need to talk. Soon.”

  Heather nodded, then walked away.

  THE HARDEST PART OF Russell’s day was going home to Julie. He felt like a fraud. He might not have been aware of it at the time, but he’d entered into matrimony under false pretenses. If he’d had a right to know about the baby he’d made with Heather, well, so had Julie.

  What would she say if she found out now?

  Russell didn’t want to put her to the test. Didn’t she have enough on her plate with Ben’s accident and their big move? This bombshell of Heather’s was his problem. And he would deal with it on his own.

  Yet keeping a secret of this magnitude from his wife would be no easy feat. He avoided her at first by raking the lawn as soon as he got home. Then he bagged the leaves and pruned dead stalks from the raspberry bush. Usually he and Julie made dinner together, but tonight he stayed out in the yard until she called Ben and him in to eat.

  At the table, he noticed she was pale. She often was these days, but he supposed he’d worried her last night. She’d sensed something was wrong. But she hadn’t pried and Russell was grateful. At least so far he hadn’t had to lie.

  “I had an interesting day,” she said, clearly struggling to sound casual. “It started at the café when…”

  Russell couldn’t concentrate on what she was saying. He forced himself to eat, to smile, to nod. He hoped he at least seemed to be paying attention.

  After dinner, he played catch with Ben again, then supervised the bedtime routine so Julie could go for a walk with Watson.

  “Didn’t have time for a run today?” he asked. Julie rarely missed two days in a row.

  She gave him a troubled frown, the way Bernie English had earlier. “I already told you I went shopping in Yorkton. Plus I worked up some sketches for the café.”

  He had no idea what sketches she was talking about. “Well, go ahead and have a good walk.” Already he was thinking, This is my chance!

  Once Julie and Watson were out the front door, Russell scooted Ben into the shower, then picked up the phone. He had fifteen minutes, maximum, and prayed Heather would be home.

  She was.

  “Look, Heather, this is getting crazy. Bernie wants us to hang our autumn posters in the town hall next Friday night for the potluck. And you can’t avoid the staff room forever.”

  “I know you’re right, but it’s been hard. Maybe I shouldn’t have told you the truth last night.” Her voice was raspy, as if she’d been crying.

  “Why did you tell me? Now, when it’s too late for me to do anything to help the situation?”

  “I don’t know. I thought I was over all that, Russ. Then you moved back and suddenly our baby became all I could think about.”

  He’d caught those worried looks many times. Never had he guessed, though, what lay
behind them. “I’m sorry, Heather. I guess us moving back here was the last thing you needed.”

  “Don’t be silly, Russ. I’m glad you came back. I believe a part of me has always wanted to tell you the truth. And maybe now I can finally let go.”

  “I hope so, Heather.” After twelve years, it was time she did. He moved to the window in front of the lake and searched for the ducks he’d watched that morning. They were gone, probably headed south for the winter.

  “I wish I’d put aside my pride and phoned you when I first found out I was pregnant.”

  God, so did he. But the blame couldn’t only go to Heather. “And I wish I’d called you that autumn, or at least come home for Christmas. You do realize that if I’d known about the baby, I would have tried to help. However I could.”

  “Would you have, Russell?” Her soft voice trembled with insecurity.

  “Of course. I should have been there to go on your doctor visits with you, and to prenatal classes….” He’d done those things with Julie. And, once again, it pained him to think of Heather on her own. How intensely lonely she must have felt.

  “I almost called you when the labor pains started,” she confessed.

  “I should have been there then, too. Was it awful, Heather? Were there any complications?”

  “It wasn’t too bad. Mostly I was just so scared. My mom came into the delivery room with me, and that helped.”

  “I’m glad you weren’t totally alone.” He had one more question. He was almost too afraid to ask it, but he knew it would just keep plaguing him until he did.

  “I’ve been wondering, Heather. If I’d offered to be an active father, would you have been tempted to keep the baby?”

  Over the line, he could hear her swallow. “What do you mean be an active father?”

  “Well, you know. Have visitation rights and make monthly payments and send gifts at Christmas and birthdays.” The sort of things long-distance divorced fathers did all the time.

  “Oh.”

  Heather’s voice wavered and he was afraid she might be crying. “Hey, I’m sorry. That wasn’t a fair question.”

  “No, it’s just…. Russ, I have to go. I can’t talk right now.”