The Cowboy's Pregnant Bride (St. Valentine, Texas)

by Green, Crystal

  He supposed she’d missed her period and was just too much of a lady to say it in front of him.

  “Then what happened?” he asked.

  “I ignored what everybody always says about keeping the bride and groom away from each other before the ceremony. It’s supposed to be bad luck if you see one another at that point, right? But I rushed to his dressing room, anyway.” She fidgeted with the edge of her sweater. “He wasn’t alone.”

  Jared tensed up.

  Annette noticed. “I see you guessed it. I wasn’t the only member of the bridal party who was saying ‘I do’ that day. And the worst part of it was that she was a friend. A good one, I thought.”

  “Annette...”

  “No, don’t be sad for me.” She tugged down the sleeves of her sweater, wrapping her hands in them, making her appear more soft and vulnerable. “Something came over me at that moment, just as she was fixing her dress and he was telling her to get out. I knew deep down that I could never love him after that. I felt stupid because I’d never even guessed he’d do something so awful.”

  “You’re not stupid.”

  “Okay, maybe ignorant is the better word because I never had all the information I needed about him. Looking back, I should’ve known that he was staying out late for more than oil company meetings with his family. Or that he was taking midnight calls in his study from more than business partners. Maybe I didn’t want to believe anything was wrong and I ignored the details.”

  Jared couldn’t believe any man could be so idiotic as to play a woman like Annette. But maybe Casey, his ex-wife’s husband, had thought something similar about him.

  Annette said, “I called the wedding off then and there. Turns out that Brett didn’t have the same conclusion in mind.”

  “He wanted to go through with it, even after that?”

  “Yes. He actually tried to justify himself. He told me that his father had been doing it for years and his mom didn’t seem to mind. ‘Everyone does it,’ he said. It was all very Kennedy-esque.” She laughed shortly. “Then there was the topper—he tried to apologize for me seeing him in the act.”

  It struck Jared that she had a maturity that went beyond her years. Maybe that came with the class she carried, even in a small-town waitressing uniform.

  “I imagine,” Jared said, “that you put him in his place.”

  “I did.” Her face went pink, but she didn’t add any more.

  Something about her reaction made a protective streak flash through him, but when she got to her feet before he could go over to help her up, he realized that Annette didn’t need any help from anyone.

  And that was fine by him, seeing as how knowing this much about her lent him a sense of responsibility that hadn’t been there before. It was a strange feeling for a man who’d never wanted any of it in his life.

  She strolled over to the bassinet, just as if she hadn’t revealed anything about herself to him. “You did a great job. Thank you so much for everything.”

  “It was nothing.” But that wasn’t true. This afternoon had been something.

  When she smiled up at him, it was as if his bones turned to hot water, which was apt considering that, if he got too much deeper into her, that’s what he’d be in.

  Hot, scalding, bubbling water that was likely to strip him bare.

  “You have that journal with you?” she asked.

  “It’s in my coat pocket.”

  “Mind if I read it while you see to the garden?”

  “Not at all.” He absently stroked the whiskers on his chin. “There’s something I was going to mention about that garden, though.”

  “What?”

  “I’m afraid I’ll make a mess of it.”

  She widened her gaze. “How much of a mess?”

  “A mess that might have me repotting and replanting.”

  She didn’t answer for a moment, and he saw his chances at finding any more Tony Amati relics circling a drain. He even wondered if he should start knocking on her neighbors’ doors to see if they wouldn’t mind a stranger making a disaster zone out of their own backyards.

  But a second later, she was smiling at him again. “Your peace of mind is far more important than some herbs. Dig away.”

  Jared never tolerated big shows of emotion, but he definitely felt a victorious inner fist pump inside of him now.

  “Great. Thanks, Annette.” He had the grace to seem sheepish. “Truth is, I have pots and tools from Gran’s in the back of my truck already.”

  Her eyes sparkled, just as they did when they were in the diner across the counter from each other. But this time, there was no barrier between them, and his heart started doing a panicked, stimulated dance.

  “You can predict what I’ll do that easily?” she asked.

  He managed a small laugh because she was leaning closer to him.

  And when she was just inches from him, he thought—no, he wished—that she would stand on her toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. The very idea seemed to shine in her eyes.

  Or maybe that’s just what he wanted to see there.

  His pulse seemed to fill the slight space between them.

  Bang, bang. Each sound echoed against her, then right back at him, hitting him hard in the chest, the belly.

  But then she blinked, as if she were coming out of a spell, and he did, too, barring his chest with his arms out of a lack of any better response.

  She laughed, cutting the tension, and started to walk out of the room. But then she turned back, her voice a bare, nearly shaking whisper, as if she’d suddenly realized that she shouldn’t have told him a thing about herself.

  “Jared, Brett doesn’t know where I am.”

  That protective streak reared up again. Good God. She’d run away from Brett?

  She was watching him closely. “You’re going to keep my secret, just like I’ll keep the one about Tony’s journal, right? Because I’m going to have to lie to the rest of this town. I don’t want Brett to ever find me.”

  That vulnerability he’d only now discovered in her clutched at his rarely used heart, and he couldn’t help giving himself over to her, just this once.

  His voice was as quiet as hers when he said, “I won’t say a word.”

  Chapter Four

  As the clouds parted to reveal a splash of afternoon sun, Jared tipped back his hat and got to his haunches, surveying the garden.

  And the mess.

  He’d started near the white picket fence, which lined the little concrete patio and herb-spotted patch of dirt that Annette called a backyard. It’d been obvious where she’d been digging when she’d come upon the journal—almost right up against the fence itself, near a dying butterfly bush that she’d told Jared she wanted to take out. It seemed that, when the fence had been put in, the workers had just missed hitting Tony’s journal with the posts.

  So Jared had started there.

  Yup, he’d been honest with Annette when he’d said he was going to do some damage, far more honest than he’d been a couple of hours ago, when he’d told her, I don’t know a thing about what it’s like to have a child.

  All the time he’d been working, the lie had stabbed at him. But why should he feel compelled to spill his guts to her just because she’d done it for him when she’d talked about her ex-fiancé?

  Maybe it was because, even now, years after Jared had left his daughter behind, the guilt still weighed heavy on him. Could that be the reason a part of him wished he could unburden himself to someone?

  He wouldn’t do it, though. Couldn’t. Especially to Annette because he couldn’t stand to think of the look she’d probably give him if she found out that he was just as immoral a man as her ex-fiancé had been in a lot of basic ways.

  Behind him, the screen door slid ope
n. He didn’t have to turn around to know Annette was there because he could feel her presence, tickling his back like the soft touch of fingers over skin.

  “Hungry yet?” she asked.

  He brushed off all the heaviness that’d been perched on his shoulders. “You planning on rewarding me with food for tearing up your backyard?”

  She laughed. “After you taste my food, I’m not sure you’ll be calling it a reward.”

  He finally looked over his shoulder. She was still wearing that simple white baggy sweater over khaki pants, but it was enough to send his libido pumping. It seemed that all she had to do to turn him on was appear.

  And if that wasn’t a dangerous thing, he didn’t know what was.

  Standing, he brushed off his jeans with his glove-covered hands. “I’m sure your cooking is good.”

  “I’m no Top Chef, but I’m no bottom one, either. Why don’t you just take a break and see for yourself?”

  Smiling, she stood aside as he stripped off the gloves, dropped them to the patio, then moseyed toward her and the condo. While he wiped his boots on a fake-grass mat with a plastic daisy blooming in the corner, he tried not to let the smell of her hair get to him. Was it lilies?

  Once inside, the aroma of her meal took over, and he went to the washroom, taking care not to make an even bigger mess than he already had outside as he soaped off the dirt and got himself halfway presentable. He even doffed his Resistol, hanging the hat on a hook on the back of the bathroom door, for lack of a better idea.

  Just before he left, he caught sight of himself in the mirror, and he quashed the urge to run his fingers through his dark hair to wrangle it into some kind of style.

  But why take those sorts of pains? It wasn’t as if he should be impressing Annette Olsen.

  He went to the quaint kitchen, with its cheery yellow curtains and a few knick-knacks on the counter—a farmhouse napkin holder, a wooden block holding a set of knives, a few cookbooks piled on each other, all of them with healthy titles like Mommy’s Organic Kitchen.

  Annette noticed the direction of his gaze as she pulled out a cushioned chair for him at the tiny, age-scratched pine table. “Don’t worry. I didn’t put stuff like weird cheeses or quinoa in the meal.”

  “What the hell’s keen-wah?”

  She laughed again, and it seemed to come so easy to her when, for so many years, he hadn’t been able to laugh himself.

  But here he was, smiling. “So sue me. I’ve never heard of the junk.”

  “To tell you the truth, I didn’t even know how to say quinoa the first time I read about it in a recipe. I found out that it’s what they call a pseudocereal with a lot of protein. Maybe I’ll whip some up for you someday.”

  Someday.

  The word balanced on his shoulders, taking the place of the guilt he’d felt earlier. He barely moved, fearing that her offer might fall off him with one false start.

  But why should he care if it did?

  She brought over a plate with a grilled cheese sandwich, dill pickle slices and some funny-looking multicolored shoestring chips, plus a steaming bowl of soup. She’d already set out the silverware, and he took a red-striped napkin and spread it over his lap, just as if he was in a high-class joint.

  And, truthfully, he kind of was, mostly because Annette made it seem that way. She seemed to class up anyplace she was in.

  He picked up one of the shoestring things.

  “Those would be vegetable chips,” she said, sitting down with her own food. “And I have to warn you that they’re addictive.”

  “You think a man can survive on them?” There didn’t seem to be much to them.

  “If they’re too prissy for you, I can run out and get you some greasy, manly onion rings.”

  He popped the food into his mouth and damned if he didn’t like it.

  “See?” she said, looking mighty pleased. “Eating healthy isn’t going to kill you, but I have to say, I even had to get used to it.”

  “You had good reason to make a change.” He gestured toward her belly, which was hidden by the table.

  She rested her hand on her tummy, as if happy that she didn’t have to hide her pregnancy anymore. “There’re a lot of changes I’ve made. Meals, exercise, lifestyle.”

  Before he knew it, he asked, “How far along are you?”

  Shut up, Colton, he thought. There’s no need for you to be digging anywhere but in the dirt outside.

  She didn’t mind, though. “Third trimester.”

  “And you still run around the diner?”

  She dipped her spoon into the soup. “Technically, I don’t run. You might’ve noticed the changes I’ve made with work, too. I take breaks and sit down whenever I can. But, soon, I’m going to have to tell Terry about why I’ll need some time off.”

  The diner’s manager seemed to be a stand-up guy, based on St. Valentine gossip. Lord knew that Jared had made an art of listening to all the talk going on around him and sorting through it for truths and falsehoods, especially when it came to Tony Amati.

  He stirred his soup. Nothing about the manager of the diner or how he accommodated his pregnant waitress would be his affair, but, for the first time in his life, he felt protective of someone. Felt as if he could be something like a friend to Annette before he got his business done in St. Valentine and left it behind.

  He hadn’t been much of a friend to anybody. Not his wife. Not to the daughter who’d ended up better off without him, anyway. Considering all that, now he started to wonder if it was friendship or all that remaining guilt making him ask questions about Annette and her child.

  “What is it?” she asked, munching on a vegetable chip. “Is the soup terrible?”

  “No, not at all.” He took a spoonful in, just to prove it. “Best I ever had.”

  She smiled again as she continued to eat. Jared took a bite of his sandwich, and that was good, too, even with whole-wheat bread. Either Annette had a habit of downplaying her kitchen skills, or she truly didn’t know that she could cook grilled cheese with the best of them.

  Meanwhile, he kept thinking about her and the baby.

  After polishing off his sandwich, he found himself talking.

  Again.

  “Do you ever get nervous about...”

  “The future?” She caught on right quick, as if she’d been hoping he would be up for more chatter. “Sure. I’d be a fool not to be concerned about how I’m going to take care of my baby the best I can. I know I’m going to be a great mom, though.”

  He nodded, his throat tight. He wondered what was so wrong with him that he’d never been so confident about being a good dad. That he had made every choice possible to avoid being one at all.

  Like birth mother, like son, he thought.

  Clearing his throat, he couldn’t help asking, “So you’re going to raise him or her all on your own?”

  Annette set down her spoon, tilting her head. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “You’re a single mom with no one to help you out.”

  “Jared, are you asking if I ever thought about giving this baby up?”

  From the expression on her face, he knew that it had never even been something she’d considered. For the first time in his life, a spark of sunlight touched him, right in the center of his chest, but he quickly snuffed it out.

  They were so different, Annette and him. One of them was made to be a parent, the other...

  Not hardly.

  He wolfed down the rest of his food so he wouldn’t have to talk anymore, but he could tell that Annette was searching for something to say. Wasn’t she perceptive enough to know that there was a line between him and everyone else that shouldn’t be crossed?

  Even if he’d just done some heavy-duty crossing himself?

  Finally, he wi
ped his mouth with the napkin, stood, then cleared his plate.

  “That really hit the spot,” he said. “Thanks for going to the trouble.”

  “No trouble at all, Jared.”

  It was too much for him—her using his name in a setting that was far more private than the public anonymity of the diner. Not to mention her sitting there with her light blond hair shining under the kitchen light, begging for him to just let down his guard and run a hand over it.

  After retrieving his hat, he went back toward the garden, where he wouldn’t be tempted.

  And where he wouldn’t have to stop himself from asking questions that shouldn’t concern him.

  * * *

  Annette sat at the table long after Jared excused himself.

  She couldn’t figure him out. In the diner, he was one man—closed off, yes, but open to a little bit of easy banter.

  But here?

  Here she’d seen another man. More guarded than usual. Seemingly haunted in some way, too. It was as if their time in the baby’s room when he’d been putting together that furniture had changed him in some way.

  What was his story?

  And why was she hell-bent on wondering about it?

  Carefully, she rose from her chair, using the back of it to help her up. She’d never had to do that before her recent tummy pop, so she slowed down as she went about cleaning up the kitchen.

  Had she said too much today about her life, and had that put off Jared in some way? After all, he’d only come to her place to search the garden for Tony Amati artifacts. It hadn’t been as if he’d promised to be her best friend or confidant or a sounding board for all her woes.

  So why had she felt as if there was something connecting them earlier, during their baby-room conversation? An understanding. Simpatico.

  That was why she still didn’t regret confiding in him today, even though she’d stopped short of telling him about Brett’s near abuse on their wedding day. It was just that Jared seemed so interested in her story, and in a town of strangers who had no real idea who she was or what she had run from, confiding felt good.