Cowboy Daddy (26 page)

“You leave Ellen out of this.”

“How can I? She surrounds all of us. To the best of my knowledge, the woman never even lived in this house, yet her presence is everywhere. If you want to live your life in homage to the dead, go ahead, but that’s not part of my deal. I’m tired of being compared and found wanting.”

“Then maybe you should do a better job.”

She told herself he was just lashing out and that it didn’t mean anything, but she felt the sting of his remarks all the way down to her heart. She squared her shoulders. “I’m doing a fine job. I’ve been better to you and Laurel than either of you deserve. I’ve done my best to fit in. I’m not playing that game anymore. If you want an Ellen clone, go find yourself one. Some dark-haired beauty with the right manners and a perfect pedigree. I’m just Annie Jo Baker, from a trailer park a little east of nowhere.” She leaned forward and glared at him. “I’m also Laurel’s mother, and nothing is ever going to change that.”

She was finally getting through to him. She could tell by the veins throbbing in his neck. His muscles tensed. “You shouldn’t mind being compared to Ellen. After all you’re the one trying to take her place in Laurel’s heart and my bed.”

“That’s a lie, and you know it. You’re the one who wants me to be a replacement. You’re the one who wants to get married because it’s so damned convenient for you. You’re the one insisting I stay. Have you thought about that, Jake? Do you ever wonder why you’re so scared of me? I’ll tell you why.”

She moved until they were inches apart. Heat radiated from his body. She knew its source was rage, but that didn’t stop her body from responding to his. She had to dig deep for her own temper to find the courage to tell him the truth.

“You don’t trust anyone to love you enough to stay. You hold on to Laurel so tightly, I’m not surprised she ran away. You’re afraid of losing her. You don’t have the guts to admit you might need me, so instead of trying to keep me here by caring about me, you talk about ‘the perfect solution.’ More than that, more than anything, you’re afraid of losing your baby.” She touched her belly. “It’s my child, too, Jake. I’m the one carrying him, and possession is nine-tenths of the law.”

The silence nearly deafened her. Jake’s eyes gave little away, save a growing ugliness directed at her. “Damn you,” he growled. “Don’t you threaten me. I’ll never let you keep my son.”

A soft sound made them both turn. Anne saw Laurel standing in the door. She must have come in from the barn without either of them hearing her.

“Daddy?” she said, her voice shaking. She turned her hazel eyes on Anne. “Annie? Are you having a baby? A baby you’re going to keep this time? How could you?” The question came out as a scream. “How could you?” She turned and ran from the room.

Chapter 14

J
ake took off after Laurel, but she beat him to her bedroom. He heard the door slam, followed by the click of her lock.

“Let me in,” he said, then pounded on the wooden door. “Dammit, Laurel, I’m not kidding about this.”

“Go away,” she screamed. “Just go away.”

Her voice shook with sobs. He wanted to break down the barrier between them and hold her until this all went away. Instead he leaned against the doorframe and closed his eyes. It wasn’t going away. He’d put off thinking about Laurel and how this would affect her. In his happiness about the baby, he’d deliberately ignored her feelings. He hadn’t wanted to think about the problems and had instead concentrated on the reality of actually being able to father a child.

“Laurel,” he called through the door. He deliberately spoke softly. “Please, honey. We have to talk.”

“I don’t want to talk to you. Go away, Daddy. Leave me alone.”

If she’d claimed to hate him, he would have felt better. Her emotional outbursts never lasted very long. But this uncontained agony was more than he could stand. Determined to give her the time she needed, he turned to leave. Anne stood behind him on the top of the stairs.

“I hope you’re happy,” he said, pushing past her. “You’ve just destroyed your daughter’s life for the second time.”

“Don’t you dare blame this on me,” she said. “I’ve wanted to discuss telling Laurel from the very beginning. You’re the one who wouldn’t listen. You’re the one—”

But he didn’t wait to hear his part in the problem. He continued down the stairs and out to the barn. He started to go into his office, then realized the last thing he needed was to be cooped up. Emotions bubbled through him. Frustration at the situation, anger at Anne, regret for hurting Laurel, determination to keep his son. They boiled through him until he wanted to put his fist through a wall.

He jogged out of the barn and around to the side. Logs had been stacked, ready for splitting. It was late October. The first snowfall would come with the next storm. They needed the wood for their fireplace. He eyed the ax and the huge pile of wood. Perfect.

He took off his wool work shirt. The late-afternoon breeze cut through his cotton T-shirt, raising goose bumps on his skin. He didn’t care. It wouldn’t take long for him to warm up.

He positioned a log, then picked up the ax. His stroke was sure and true. The wood split down the center. He left the halves where they fell and reached for another piece.

The rhythmic motions raised his body temperature and cooled his temper. Random thoughts filled his mind. Why the hell couldn’t Anne be more cooperative? If she’d just agreed to marry him, everything would have been fine. They could have put off telling Laurel about the baby until she was ready to hear about it.

He must have done something wrong. He hadn’t used the right words or something. He would have thought after all those years of living with Ellen and watching her get her way in everything, he would be better at manipulating people. God, he’d hated living in her perfect world. That damned house in Dallas. He grimaced remembering the matching wallpaper and drapes, the furniture that looked beautiful, but untouched. The rose-colored lace in their bedroom. He remembered how she always took so long to get ready to go out, it wasn’t usually even worth the trouble to go. Ellen couldn’t just take off to the movies or a picnic. Everything had to be perfectly choreographed.

Not like in the early days. His ax cut through the logs, one by one. Sweat broke out on his back and forehead. He remembered when they first had Laurel and had both stayed up all night. Neither of them had known what her crying meant. They’d stared helplessly at their newborn and prayed for someone to give them some guidance. He remembered the afternoons he’d rushed home from work so he could be with his wife and daughter. Of the times they’d spent at the park.

He stopped in midswing and took a breath. The air was crisp and clean, smelling faintly of pine, freshly cut wood and horses. When had she changed? Had it simply been a function of time? Was it when they’d moved to the big house? Had it started the night he’d said they should think about a separation?

Laurel had been five, maybe six. He’d finally realized that even though Ellen was his best friend and he loved her, he didn’t want to stay married to her. He sensed there was something missing. Their friendship and youthful feelings hadn’t matured into something that would last. Had it started then? Had she changed to keep him, not knowing that by turning into the perfect wife and mother she had killed what he had loved about her? He remembered the pain in her eyes and the way she’d defied him to leave her. She’d said that he owed her—she had stayed with a man who couldn’t give her the one thing she’d wanted most in the world. He was the reason she couldn’t have a baby.

He’d stayed because leaving had been too hard. He’d allowed her words to build a paper cage around him, closing him inside with a lock fashioned from guilt. He raised the ax and drove it through the logs, one after the other, hating Ellen for what she had done to him. Cursing her name, her memory.

When his muscles trembled and he couldn’t raise his arms high enough to split another log, he sank onto the tree stump and struggled to catch his breath. The sweat on his body evaporated, leaving him chilled, but he made no move to reach for his shirt. He prayed she would burn in hell for what she had done to him. She had used him to her own end. And he had let her.

He started to stand up, then sank back to the log. He had let her. He dropped the ax on the ground and slumped forward, resting his elbows on his thighs and his head in his hands. Dear God, he had /ef her manipulate him. She hadn’t made him stay. He could have left, but he didn’t.

Images from the past flooded him. Of course, he thought, startled by the realization. Staying had seemed like the right thing to do at the time. It had also been easier to stay in the life he knew than risk starting over. He’d done what everyone wanted. Just as Annie had done when she’d given up Laurel. But unlike her, he’d done it out of fear. She’d been right when she’d accused him of being afraid of losing it all. If he’d left Ellen, he might have lost Laurel. If Anne went back to Houston, he would lose his son. He would also lose Annie, and he couldn’t bear to think about that.

He raised his head up toward the sky, but found no answers in the coming night. He had chosen his own path and now he had to live with the consequences. As Anne had to learn to do. She had chosen this path as well.

He shook his head. No, that wasn’t fair. He’d been the one to get in touch with her. He’d been the one to bring her out to Colorado because he hadn’t wanted to take Laurel back alone and risk her not forgiving him. He’d been the one who wouldn’t discuss the realities of the pregnancy, because he’d been afraid of what would happen with Laurel. Annie wasn’t the guilty party. Yet her innocence did nothing to change the fact that they had both hurt Laurel.

He had lost his best friend years before when Ellen had changed. Then he had lost his wife. Annie would be taking away his unborn child when she returned to Houston. He could very easily lose Laurel because he’d put off dealing with the truth. He would be left with nothing, and he had no one to blame but himself. None of this would have happened if he hadn’t withdrawn after Ellen’s death. If he’d only thought about his daughter instead of himself. But the realization came two years too late. He didn’t know how he was supposed to make it all work now.

* * *

A
nne sat in the hallway and leaned her head against Laurel’s door. She hadn’t heard anything for almost ten minutes. She didn’t know if that was good or bad. It didn’t really matter, she thought sadly. She had to try to make Laurel understand.

Tm sorry you found out this way,” Anne said, raising her voice so she could be heard through the door.

“Go away.”

At least she hadn’t said she hated her. Maybe that was something. “I can’t go away until we talk.”

Laurel’s response was to turn up her stereo until the music pounded through the walls, blocking out any possibility of conversation. Anne waited. She tried to gather her thoughts together and figure out what she was going to say. She should have told Laurel before, when she’d wanted to. At least then she could have planned her words in advance and tried to soften the blow. To hear the truth that way, blurted out in anger…. She winced. She wasn’t even sure what she and Jake had been yelling at each other, but she would bet it had been ugly and unsuitable for a thirteen-year-old to hear.

Oh, baby, she thought, touching the door between them. If only it had happened differently. If only she and Jake hadn’t made love that night in the desert. She touched her stomach. No, that’s not true. She wanted the baby. She wanted Laurel. Her mouth curved up in a slight smile. She might as well finish the list and go for it all—she wanted Jake. But not like this. Not with everyone bleeding inside. She’d come here to make a difference, to make it better. Instead everything was going wrong.

In a few minutes the music stopped. She drew in a deep breath. “You will always be my daughter, Laurel,” she said, hoping the girl would at least listen. “I still love you and want you in my life.”

The door flew open. Laurel glared at her. “No, you don’t. You want your b-baby.” Her voice cracked. Her long brown hair hung down in two braids. With her warm plaid shirt and baggy jeans hiding her budding figure, she looked young and fragile.

Anne scrambled to her feet. “I’m sorry you found out this way.”

Laurel glared at her. “You’re not sorry you’re pregnant, are you?”

“No.”

“I knew it.” Fresh tears formed in her eyes. “You never cared about me. That’s why you gave me away. You never wanted me. You only came here because you wanted to get pregnant. You wanted the baby so you could keep it. You’re going to keep it.”

Laurel balled her hands into fists and struck out. Anne grabbed her wrists, holding her at arm’s length. The girl thrashed for a few seconds, before going still.

“You didn’t keep me. You gave me away.” Her hazel eyes, so like Anne’s mother’s, accused her of the most heinous crime. “You were supposed to be my mother. Now you’re going to be someone else’s mother. I can’t even hate you anymore. You made me want to have you stay here forever. But it was lies. You lied to me.”

Anne pulled her close. Laurel resisted at first, then sagged against her. She wrapped her arms around the sobbing girl and murmured soft, meaningless phrases. “Hush, honey. Hush.” She led Laurel over to the bed and sat next to her. “I’m sorry.”