DEFIANT (A WESTERN BAD BOY ROMANCE) (15 page)

I
feel
like a heel for sneaking around, but I've agreed to meet Taylor in a little cafe forty miles out of town; Jackson is too small, and people talk.

Besides, I don't even know if her story's true, and the more I think about it the more I’m determined it’s false. My past is generally a blur of faces and names, but Taylor stands out because she was so clingy and weird after sex. She kept going on and on about her soul and her energy fields and how she felt that we were 'aligned' or something. It was seriously enough to weird me out. For all I know this whole charade could purely be a ruse to get me to talk to her.

Or, it could be true… Oh my God! Of all the women to accidentally impregnate!

I arrive early to the little diner. I'm not surprised to see that Taylor's there already, in a corner booth sipping coffee.

"Clif!" she waves and shouts inappropriately, her face lighting up. The few patrons there are stop what they’re doing to turn and look.

I cringe. She's wearing some sort of hippy bag dress and a pair of teal cowboy boots, with a big silk scarf tied around her neck. She's lean and tan, with that waterfall of straight brown hair that I remember so well. If it weren't for the crazy light in her eyes and her intense, expressive gaze, I could have mistaken her for half the rich girls in Jackson.

"I don't have a lot of time," I growl as I slide into the booth across from her. "Taylor, before we move forward with anything, you have to prove to me you're pregnant."

"Clif. I'm so, so happy you came! But I knew you would." She reaches forward like I'm going to take her hands. I don't. I'm feeling sullen and suspicious. Besides, I literally haven't seen her since we hooked up.

No more games. I lean in, rest my forearms on the table and intertwine my fingers. "Taylor, first thing’s first: you’ve got to prove to me you're pregnant."

She sighs. "I understand, baby."

Did she just call me
baby?
I watch as Taylor pulls her big purse up onto the table. She sighs again, as if asked to do an onerous chore.

Then she pulls out something small and white. My stomach drops. It's a pregnancy test. She hands it over. I scrutinize it: two clear, pink double lines. I look at it long and hard. There's no denying.

Oh, hell.

"See, baby? I took this this morning, just to be sure. Still positive. Now are you ready? Can you share this miracle with me?"

Ready? Hell. I'd rather get bucked off a horse and trampled to shit than spend another minute with her.

"Baby, what's wrong?" she says with a concerned expression, taking my hands in hers.

I jerk my hands away and push my boots hard against the dirty floor just so I can feel the ground pushing back. My heart is beating a million times a minute. I can’t breathe. I want to throw up.

This can’t be happening. This can’t possibly be true. But it is. Plain as day.

If this is true...if this is true, then…I've got to be a man and see this through with her. No matter what.

All my childhood I wished I had a real father. It took a lifetime to fill that hole in my heart. I can’t be a deadbeat like that. No way in hell, not me. I never wanted to be a father, and I most certainly never imagined it would happen like this. This is the worst fucking way possible—and with the worst possible woman.

But so be it. I guess this is what I deserve for being such a self-centered dick. But I will be there for my baby.

"Are you going to be there for me?" Taylor is pleading. "Please, Clif, say yes."

"Yes."

She beams and sweeps a tendril of hair behind her ear, then goes in for a kiss, right before the waitress saunters up to the table. "Coffee for you lovebirds? My, aren't you two a pretty picture?”

N
othing to do
today except prep the garden for planting and wait for Noah. He’s in the area and said he’d stop by for a visit. We’ve remained friends.

My new rental is small and sunny, in a suburb several miles from downtown San Francisco. It's the best I could afford since the medical bills—including the drug my insurance still won't cover—have been astronomical.

But my father's doing better, and that’s all that matters. I thank God every day for his recovery. No matter how much you prepare yourself for the death of a loved one, it always ends up being a tremendous loss. I can’t imagine my life without him; just thinking about it makes me want to cry.

Clif never called, never came looking for me. I was disappointed at first, but ultimately I knew I had to move on. It’s for the best. Still, even after nearly three months, I keep replaying in my head over and over everything that happened.

I wish I could let it go, but I can’t seem to. Like Dad said: the past is past. So why is it so hard to move on?

I put down my trowel after packing down the dirt over the bulbs I planted for spring. I want the new place to be as bright and cheerful as possible. Then I head indoors, pull off my soiled apron and wash my hands. I play the voicemails on my phone as I place a pot of water on the stove for tea. At least I've got job offers. Life is moving on, whether I want it to or not.

Sadly, the debt is always on my mind. How am I ever going to pay it down? It'll be a burden for the rest of my life; maybe even my child's.

The doorbell rings. Noah.

I open the door and see him standing there, looking slender and dapper, in fitted jeans and a striped t-shirt. "Hi, Katie."

"Hey, Noah. Come in." We exchange hugs. It feels like it’s been forever since I’ve last seen him.

"How are you?"

I shrug. "I'm okay. My dad pulled through, at least for now; and that's the most important thing. But his bills are astronomical, so, you know, still selling myself to the highest bidder. How about you? You doing okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'd say so. We wrapped up shooting
Roses on a Vine
a couple weeks ago. I can't believe it: they were happy with my work. I've got another gig lined up. I don't want to be too optimistic, but...I think I finally made it. And obviously the money's great."

"That's wonderful!" I'm happy for him. Noah looks different: fit and happy.

We sit down on the couch, swap stories and drink tea for close to an hour. After giving him a brief tour of my new digs he says, "Let me take you out sometime. I owe it to you."

Why not? I could use a fancy night out after all the stress. Just to take my mind off things. "Sure," I smile. “That sounds nice.”

N
oah picks
me up in his new Jaguar later that night and brings me to one of the trendiest downtown restaurants.

"Good to see you again, Mr. James," the maître d’ bows. “It’s been awhile. Right this way, please."

"Gosh, Noah, this is so nice," I say, marveling at the beautifully appointed décor.

"I'm telling you, Hollywood’s been treating me well."

We sit down and glance over the menu. After ordering, we discuss his upcoming projects, my current freelancing gig, and other superficial topics.

The food eventually arrives. It is the most amazing meal I’ve had in a long, long time. Halfway through our first course, Noah lays his fork down and puts on a serious expression. "Katie, I need to come clean about something."

I stop chewing and look up at him—with a mouthful I nod, "Okay."

"I had a fling. While you were in Jackson."

"Yeah, I know. I wasn't born yesterday." I go on eating because it’s no big deal.

‘Oh
,’ his expression seems to say; nevertheless, he soldiers on: "I made a mistake. It's just...just let me explain." He looks like a guilty puppy with his tail between his legs.

What do I care? His sex life doesn’t concern me one jot, but if he’s going to bring it up, why not talk about it? Got to talk about something. "What’s she like?"

"Easily impressed, I guess. Katie, it was a mistake. All those years, when I was struggling, I had no idea why you'd ever date me. It got to the point where I started to lie about my job prospects to you. You were the best thing in my life, and I was so scared of losing you. It got to the point where I started to resent you because you were already so successful. I resented the power you had over my life. That's why I treated you so poorly. Katie, please forgive me."

I wipe my mouth and put down my fork. "Noah, I never cared if I was out of your league. In fact, I never in a million years thought we were keeping score. I just needed you to be there for me when it mattered, and you weren't."

He looks down at his plate. "I know. And I'm so sorry."

I shake my head. "Anyway, I had a fling too,” I say matter-of-factly.

“Really?!” Now he really looks stunned.

It’s strange, but all along, this was what I thought I wanted to happen: him come back to me and tell me he’s sorry, that he loved me. That he needed me. But it was too late now, that ship sailed long ago. I’m over him.

“Yeah…and I'm pregnant."

His jaw drops. "
Pregnant?!
"

"My boss. You met him. But we fell apart and I left, so it’s over.”

"Have--have you told anybody? That you're..."

I shake my head. "Just my dad."

"Please, Katie. Please take me back. I want to be there for you. And your baby. I know things between us have been…difficult, but I want to make us work.”

I shake my head. I just don't feel anything for Noah anymore. But maybe I could again. Maybe. After all, we were in love once. Maybe that means we can be again. And the money, that would help tremendously...and marrying him could help explain the baby, too... No no no! I feel cheap just considering it! No, Katie! No!

"Please, Katie," he implores.

Well…
the medical bills are murderous!

After a long pause I look him squarely in the eye and say, "Let me sleep on it."

"
D
o
we really need a golden shovel?"

Vince eyes me before he answers. "What's got into you?"

"Nothing's got into me. I just asked about the shovel. I think it’s a waste of money, that’s all."

Today's a big day for the Seven Group. After three years of blood, sweat, toil and tears, we're finally breaking ground on Caddis Flats. Winter is turning into spring, and after an unseasonably warm spell we're commencing one month ahead of schedule.

I know I should be happy. But…

"I'm serious," Vince presses. "What the hell has gotten into you? Are you still pining after Katie?"

I look away; I don't want to talk about it.

"Jesus Christ, you’re pathetic. It's your own damn fault for knocking up Hippy Chick. We reap what we sow…"

"I just can’t believe her story about the baby. She's fucking crazy."

"Well, the test don't lie and—"

I cut him off angrily. "If you're going to feed me some line about manning up and taking responsibility for my actions, you can fucking stuff it! I'll be there for my child. I'm just voicing my suspicions about the whole damn thing."

He spits in the dirt next to the golden shovel, then looks across the valley pensively. "Yeah. I know you'll do the honorable thing. I've known you my entire life. You’ll do right by her.”

I stare at the ground and remain silent.

"Aw hell." Vince pulls me in for a hug. "I’m proud of you, Clif. I’m proud of us. We did it! We took a gamble and got this place built. It'll save this valley. We'll be richer than shit. And we did something good to give back to our workers." He releases me and clasps my shoulder. "Cheer up now! The press is coming. I'm sorry about the girl, but there’ll be others."

Just then a small procession of vehicles comes rolling around the bend. I do my best to be good-natured as the mayor of Coal Butte and other politicians and financiers critical to the project step out, as well as photographers and reporters. Donny Gambino pulls up a minute later with his son Jeff in tow.

“The men of the hour,” the mayor announces jovially, stretching his arms out to Vince and I. “None of this would have been possible without these two gentleman.” He shakes our hands, then turns to his assistants and says, “Rick, Kevin, get the refreshment table set up pronto.”

The press members take their positions next. The photographer who shot the calving incident, the one Katie initially hired, will be the official photographer.

The ceremony begins. The mayor is the first to speak, followed by Donny.

“Here’s to the future,” Donny shouts at the end of his spiel, popping the cork off a bottle of champagne. Everyone cheers and holds up their glasses as the bottle is passed around. I seem to be the only one not enthusiastic.

Shit, the future…what's it hold for me?

"Got a light?" The photographer asks, breaking me from my trance. He’s got a giant joint dangling from his lips.

"Sure." I light it for him. "Hey, you hear anything about Katie?”

"Man, she got back with that movie director. I went to art school with him, he's a tool."

"Hm," I nod sullenly. Three months have passed since I’ve last spoken or seen her, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still feel the sting of her departure.

The mayor whistles for everyone’s attention and directs us to pose for the pictures. We stop and turn towards the camera. The photographer gets ready. I muster up a smile and say a few words while the shovel is handed to me.

I take a stab at the ground but the shovel does nothing. "Well, shit," I say with a smirk. “The ground’s still frozen.” I take another dig, harder this time, but it doesn’t penetrate much deeper.

We all share a hearty laugh while I hack away until there's a hole big enough for the picture.

People laugh and talk and rub elbows long after the ceremony concludes. But I find myself drifting off. I amble away from the party and towards the river that cuts through the valley.

I walk along it while considering how hurt I feel that Katie dropped me for that uncaring asshole. But then, who am I to talk? I haven't exactly been good to women myself.

I just wish I could stop thinking about her and that her memory didn't make my bones hurt.

I can build an empire, bed the most gorgeous women around...but I know I can't change the mind of that headstrong girl I'm in love with.

I pull out my phone and look at the pictures we took at the hot spring.

Then I put it away. She's never coming back.