And she was still wearing Cord’s suit jacket. If she was going to return to the reception, she’d have to go back to the apartment and find something else to wear over her dress. And she didn’t have anything that matched.
Unfortunately, she heard the clink of metal on rock. Oh, great—she’d dropped the key again and the flashlight, as well. As she bent and scrabbled among the weeds at the edge of the path, Cord’s jacket trailed in the dust, which made her realize that she was going to have to offer to pay for dry cleaning. She didn’t want to talk to him ever again, and as her stomach started to heave, she realized that she was going to have to talk to him, like it or not. Mostly not.
She felt awful. The nausea came in waves, worse than she’d ever experienced it, but her fingers closed around the barrel of the flashlight and she quickly found the key. By the time she stood up, she was overcome with the unfairness of life. She had loved Leo, and she had lost. Her emotions were balanced on a fine edge, and she felt herself slipping into a state that, if she were writing about this experience, she would describe as overwrought. Her nose was running, and her eyes were tearing up, and she thought she might be sick after all.
Some people were walking along the road, and she recognized none of them. She knew, however, that she didn’t want them to come across her while she was sniffling and feeling sorry for herself, so she looked wildly around for someplace to go. There was what appeared to be a walled garden in the rear of the Big House, and much to her relief, the gate was open. She slipped inside, relieved to see a bench where she could rest for a moment.
The moment became several minutes, and the tears became sobbing, and all she could think as she huddled there beneath Cord’s jacket was Oh, God, dear God, what am I going to do about this baby? And what about me?
BROOKE WAS SO WRAPPED UP in her troubles that she almost didn’t hear the click of the gate latch. She leaped to her feet, ready to run.
“Easy,” said Cord, letting the gate swing closed behind him. The mellow glow of the house lights behind the windows fell upon his face and struck golden glints in his dark hair. He stood with his hands hooked through his belt loops and looked taken aback at her tear-stained face.
She sank onto the bench. “What—what do you want? I told you not to follow me.”
“Why? So you could cry in private?”
She blotted at her eyes with a tissue. “No. Crying was not what I thought I’d be doing.”
His mouth quirked. “It does seem like an overreaction to losing your key.”
“I wasn’t—oh. You’re joking.”
“I’m trying to find out what’s the matter.”
“Nothing you would understand.”
He crossed the flagstones in two steps and sat down beside her. “I guess you’re right.”
She stuffed the tissue into her purse. It wouldn’t close.
“Did you find the key?”
“Yes.”
He thought about that. If she wanted to talk, he’d let her, though he didn’t relish the idea of listening to all her problems. He wouldn’t be able to summon anything but boredom if she wanted to speak of love gone wrong, or arguments with her girlfriends, or any of the other mostly inconsequential things that women cried about.
“I know you must think I’m overemotional,” she said in a low tone.
He shrugged. “Maybe.”
“The truth is that I feel weepy all the time. It’s not the way I usually am. I can usually take things in stride. But now….” Her voice trailed off, and he considered that maybe he should suggest walking back to their apartments. He forced himself not to look at her, though she didn’t look half-bad even with her eyes all red and her makeup washed away by tears.
“I should never have come to Rancho Encantado,” she said miserably. “I’m not in any state to be working.”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” he said cautiously.
“I mean—oh, I don’t know what I mean. I have to work. I have no choice now.”
It was the “now” that caught his attention. Did she mean that she hadn’t always had to work? That she’d had a choice prior to coming here? And why was that so, if it was?
She went on talking, her tone reflective. “Sometimes, you have your life all wrapped up in a little box, pretty paper, nice bow. Then the bow unravels, and the paper crumples, and inside the box is a bunch of stuff that you never expected.”
Cord could identify. His life had been about rodeos. Then a tractor-trailer rig had careered out of the night and changed all that. He was lucky he wasn’t a paraplegic. A broken back was a major injury.
“The thing is, can you ever tie the bow back up again, uncrumple the paper? I keep wondering.” She sighed.
“Depends,” he said.
“Even if what’s in the box is something totally different from what you expected?”
“Different doesn’t mean worse,” he said. His life now wasn’t worse than his old life. It was different. He hoped it would be more meaningful.
“I never thought I would be in this situation,” she said. “Never.”
“What situation?” He didn’t like women who never got to the point. Usually, that is. But he liked Brooke. He couldn’t help himself. Something about her appealed to him, and he didn’t know if it was her manner, which was mostly defensive, or the thinly veiled vulnerability that he sensed beneath the veneer of sophistication.
He had avoided looking at her face, not wanting to intrude on what privacy she had. But now he focused his gaze on her eyes and saw with unease that they were filling with tears again. This was getting way too sticky for him, and he wished he hadn’t looked.
“Oh, there’s no point in—”
“Brooke,” he said more gruffly than he intended, “you remind me of a skittish mare, wanting to get friendly but ready to bolt at any minute.”
“I can see why you’d say that. I’m not myself lately, that’s for sure.” She managed a rueful quirk of her lips that could have passed for a smile if he hadn’t known better.
“Well, why not?”
“I just found out I’m pregnant,” she said, her voice very quiet.
Oh, hell, he told himself, wishing he had stayed in his apartment and watched TV, instead of coming after her. The last thing he needed in his life right now was a pregnant woman, and that was the truth.
Chapter Three
Sitting beside him in the garden adjacent to the Big House, Brooke noticed that Cord’s boots were thick with dust. One of her tears fell on the right one, which was crossed over his knee. The tear ran in a runnel and dripped from the sole to the ground. Brooke wiped her eyes again, wishing she could stop crying. This pregnancy had turned her into a real waterworks.
“You’re not happy about being pregnant,” he said. It was a statement, not a question.
“I should be,” she said miserably. “Once it would have been the best news in the world.”
“I see,” he said.
“Then—but I don’t want to get into that.”
“So when is the baby due?”
“In about six months.”
“That’s a long time.”
“It doesn’t seem like it,” she said doubtfully. She forced herself to rally. “You know, I’ve got to start thinking about this in positive terms. I’ve just begun to regard it as a baby, not a nuisance. A baby should be welcome. Its arrival should be an occasion for happiness. I’m shortchanging this child by not feeling joy over it.”
“True,” Cord said, looking pensive and gazing off into the distance.
“So,” she said, “I’d better buck up.”
“Sensibly said.”
“If I can.”
“You seem like a strong woman.”
She glanced over at him. “I was. I can be again.”
“Good attitude.” He stretched and said, “You want me to walk you back to your apartment, or would you rather walk alone?”
She bit her lip. “I’d like the company. I’m sorry if I
was rude earlier.”
“Maybe I’m the one who was rude. I shouldn’t have hassled you. I thought you wanted what I wanted.”
“No.”
“All right. Let’s call a truce.”
“Fine.”
“Want to shake on it?”
He was halfway surprised when she hesitated, then stuck out her hand. It was cool and soft, and for some odd reason, a picture sprang into his mind of her hand smoothing his forehead after a long day at work. This was ridiculous in the extreme. What could have put such an image into his head? It wasn’t the kind of thing he usually thought about.
She stood up. “I haven’t mentioned to anyone that I’m going to have a baby. Would you mind keeping it a secret?”
“Won’t be too hard. I’m not in the habit of gossip.”
“I didn’t think so.” She shot a tentative smile up at him, and his jacket fell off her shoulder. He reached over and adjusted it for her.
They fell into step with each other, keeping a fair distance between them. The sky was filled with stars. They gleamed against the backdrop of the night, the Milky Way clearly visible in an endlessly drifting path. The sky was so vast, the stars so bright, and Brooke was reminded how insignificant her problems were in the grand scheme of things.
Perhaps there was a reason for her pregnancy, a reason that this baby should be born. What if her child could perform some valuable service to humankind? Save the world? Or, forget saving the world—there were lots of things that needed doing on this planet. Curing the common cold. Or figuring out how to make nations get along with one another. Or teaching people how to read, for heaven’s sake.
“You’re smiling,” he said. “Want to tell me what’s so funny?”
She had forgotten momentarily that he was walking beside her. She told him her thoughts, and to her surprise, he threw his head back and laughed. It was a delight, that laugh, deep and wholehearted. Somehow, she’d gathered that he didn’t laugh much.
“I guess I’m trying to make myself feel better about this mess,” she admitted.
“That’s okay. It’s a mental exercise that will give you the strength to cope.”
He spoke so seriously that she shot a questioning glance at him. “You sound like the voice of experience.”
“Maybe.”
They were close to the stable now, and they walked on in silence. A coyote howled somewhere in the direction of the old abandoned borax mine that she’d seen as she drove onto the Rancho Encantado property, and she shivered. The cry was such a lonely sound. It reminded her that she was alone, and she didn’t want to be.
As they approached the door to her apartment, Cord said uneasily, “See you tomorrow, I guess.”
“I’ll be hard at work.”
“Get your mind off what’s troubling you.”
“Yes.”
“Well, then, good night.” He turned toward his own door.
“Cord?”
“Yes?”
“Would you like a cold drink? I bought some things at the little store next to the Registration building before I went to the wedding.”
“I see,” he said.
“I—I didn’t know if your refrigerator had been repaired yet.”
He put one booted foot on the bottom step and stared at her. She hoped he hadn’t taken her offer the wrong way.
“As it happens, the fridge is still on the fritz. I’d appreciate very kindly something cold to drink.”
“Come in,” she said as she swung the door open and led the way.
She stood blinking at him uncertainly in the cold light of the overhead fluorescent. “What would you like? I bought a bottle of wine. Some lemonade, too.”
“Should you be drinking wine? Pregnant women usually give up alcohol.”
She flushed. “I wasn’t thinking. Like I said, I’m not used to the idea yet.” She attempted a laugh. “I’d better stick with the lemonade.”
“Wine for me.” He sounded as if he didn’t care for wine much.
“I’m sorry I don’t have beer.”
“That’s okay.” He stood looking irresolute.
“Won’t you sit down. I have some crackers and cheese. I wasn’t hungry before, but now I regret not eating at the reception.”
He sat and pushed a chair away from the table while she got out two glasses and poured wine for him, lemonade for her. Her back was to him as she spread cheese on crackers, so she wasn’t looking at him when he cleared his throat and said, “The father of the baby isn’t around, I take it.”
“Oh, he’s around. Not around me, that’s all.” Her tone was brisk, but she still felt bruised and depressed over her encounter with Leo.
“It doesn’t sound as if you have any feelings for him,” Cord said.
She brought the plate of crackers and cheese over to the table and sat down across from him. She took her time replying.
“The only feelings I have for Leo now are disgust and pity, which is distressing to me. I wanted to marry him. Now I see it’s impossible, and I think a child needs a father in his life.” She blew out a long breath. “This baby will never know its father, and that’s sad.”
Cord took a gulp of wine and set his glass down on the table. His fingers traced the base of the glass, and he seemed to be thinking. “You’re right,” he said at last. “A child should know his father. Life isn’t so easy for kids without parents.”
He usually spoke abruptly, even gruffly, so his thoughtful tone grabbed her attention. He seemed very intense, focused, even a bit pensive.
“Is that a firsthand observation?” She didn’t know what made her ask; something in his expression, perhaps, or his voice.
“It’s not important.”
Even as he made the statement, she knew that it was important, and in a uniquely personal way. That he was trying to evade discussion clued her in to his inner turmoil about the issue. She had often been told that she was good at empathizing, and now she intuited that there was more to this than Cord wanted to admit.
She decided that self-revelation might be the key to finding out more about what Cord wasn’t saying.
“I was fortunate,” she said. “I came from a two-parent family. I learned how lucky that was when my cousin Tim moved in to live with us after his father skipped out on him and his mother. His mom couldn’t support him, so he was with us for five years. He tagged around after my dad like a lost little puppy, wouldn’t let him out of his sight. Tim had been in trouble. He’d started experimenting with drugs and was picked up for shoplifting a couple of times. He straightened out when he began to see my dad as a role model.”
Cord looked interested in spite of himself. “What happened to Tim?”
“He’s mayor of the little town where we grew up. He has a wife and two kids, is a model citizen.”
“That’s a great story, Brooke.”
She smiled. “It is, isn’t it?”
“Not every boy in trouble has the good luck to find someone like your dad.”
“No.” She felt a pang of sorrow for the new little life that she harbored in her belly. “I only hope my child won’t suffer because his father doesn’t want anything to do with him.”
“If a child has one caring parent, that’s enough. You’ll be a good mother, Brooke.”
She drained her lemonade. “I wish I could be sure that I’ll be a good mom. I’ll do my best. I know that.”
Cord’s eyes flickered for a moment with an emotion that she would have translated as tenderness if she’d thought he was the tender type. “You’ll do fine.” He finished his wine, and she offered him a refill.
“I’d better be on my way,” he said. He stood.
“Before you go, can you tell me where I’m supposed to plug in my computer? There’s no plug near the desk.”
He looked chagrined. “That’s my fault, I reckon.”
“Your fault?”
“I was supposed to move the desk from the bedroom to the alcove in the hallway after the phone guy f
inished his work. Want me to do it now?”
She shrugged. “Sure, if you don’t mind.”
She led him into the bedroom. He flicked his eyes momentarily toward the bed, then jerked a thumb at the desk. “Bring the lamp, okay?”
She picked up the lamp, and he hefted the small desk as though it had no weight at all. She followed him to the alcove, and he set the desk down.
“Electrical outlet on the right, phone outlet on the left, and once you’re plugged in, your computer will be ready for work and for e-mail.”
“Thanks, Cord.”
“Don’t mention it.” He headed for the kitchen, but she was right behind him.
His hand was on the outside doorknob.
She spoke quickly. “No need to go out that way. You can nip right over to your apartment through the adjoining door.”
“Guess I could, if you don’t mind.”
She went and unbolted the door, then held it open. All of a sudden, she remembered his jacket, which she’d slung over the back of a kitchen chair when they’d come in. “Wait a minute. Here, you’d better take your coat with you. I may have gotten it a bit dusty. Maybe I’d better have it dry-cleaned.”
He held the jacket up and inspected it. “Nothing that a good brushing can’t fix.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive. Anyway, with any luck at all, I won’t have to wear it again anytime soon. I’m not much for fancy dressing.”
She liked the way he looked in his jeans, western shirt and cowboy boots, but she thought he might be uncomfortable if she said so. “I appreciate your taking care of me tonight.”
“It wasn’t much.”
For a moment she thought he wanted to say something more, but she must have been mistaken.
“Good night,” she said.
He didn’t say good-night, only nodded abruptly.
After he had gone back into his own quarters, she closed the door behind him and bolted it. The thought occurred to her that she should have asked him if he wanted to keep a few things in her refrigerator until his was working again. For a moment she considered knocking on the door and asking him, but she was afraid that he was thinking that he was well rid of her after hearing all about her pregnancy and putting up with her emotional outbursts.
Baby Enchantment Page 4