Heath's Hope (The Brothers of Beauford Bend Book 5) (11 page)

What she hadn’t been up for was Gregory’s spelunking accident that had left her a widow with one month to go in her pregnancy—nor her guilt over her unreasonable anger at Gregory for doing such a foolhardy, dangerous thing in the first place.

It had been easy to let the parents take her hand, lead her back to Boston, and put her to bed in her old room. It had been easy to lay there and grieve until Phillip was born, and easy to return to that room to recover from the difficult birth and the news that she wouldn’t have any more children.

So easy, until the morning she’d woken, gone to the nursery, and found Phillip gone.

She must have looked like a lunatic standing there barefoot, in her nightgown, with her hair falling in her face as she screamed down the house.

“Calm down, Abigail! Whatever is the matter with you?” her mother had demanded in a quiet whisper as she looked over her shoulder to see if any of the servants were coming out of the woodwork.

“Where is my baby?” Abby wasn’t so quiet with her question.

“Is that all? He’s fine. Meg and Nate took him to Martha’s Vineyard for the weekend.”

Suddenly, a calm that Abby hadn’t known in a very long time settled over her—the kind of calm one has to summon to take control.

“They did
what?”
Though she didn’t really need it repeated. “They took my two-month-old child three hours away for the weekend without consulting me?”

Susan Brooks looked a little chagrined, but Abby doubted if she felt it. “Now, Abigail. It was spur-of-the-moment, and it seemed a shame to wake you. Meg and I thought you could use the rest.”

Meg Whitman had never done anything spur-of-the-moment in her life, and neither had Susan. They just hadn’t seen fit to tell Abby. But Abby didn’t point all that out to her mother. Instead, she calmly dressed and went after her child. That night, she was on a plane back to Beauford.

Though she’d had droves of acquaintances growing up, from birth her life had consisted of her family and Gregory’s. Neither she nor Gregory had ever made real friends, because they’d always had each other. She had never entertained the thought of so much as having a cup of coffee with anyone else, and she doubted if he had either. Their marriage had been a foregone conclusion.

She wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that their parents had signed a blood document in the Brookses’ palatial library on the day she was born—which was exactly three months after Gregory’s own world debut.

Life on her own in Beauford was hard, but it was rich, too. Before moving here, she’d been wispy and transparent—though she hadn’t realized it, because she’d never known anything else. It had been an ordered tea party of a life with no chance of escape into a rabbit hole. But Gregory had found a rabbit hole and had brought her along for the adventure. Living in Beauford among people who fought, loved, and worked hard had shown Abby there was something else in life—even if she didn’t have it for herself. She mourned Gregory—how could she not? She’d loved him her whole life. But she knew in her heart their relationship had not been the grand passion that her friends, Gwen, Emory, Noel, and Neyland had—though she suspected that had more to do with her basic nature than anything lacking in her relationship with Gregory. Some people were just not cut out for grand passion.

But grand passion or no, Abby was tired of their parents treating her like an eight-year-old who’d been sent to the wrong summer camp. Even now, they were trying to control her with their wealth. After facing that she was not going to move in with either set of parents, they’d offered to buy a brownstone and hire a staff for her if she’d just come back—all the while making clear that they would not enable her in this continued, crazy insistence of living a thousand miles from anyone who cared anything about her.

Except there were people here who cared for her—lots of them. Of course, having friends was costly, too. There were lunches, birthdays, and she’d been a bridesmaid in Emory’s wedding last spring. Emory had insisted on buying the attendants’ dresses, but there had still been parties and incidentals. And now, Noel’s wedding was coming up in a couple of weeks, and Neyland was engaged. But in spite of the problems, Abby liked the slow pace, the weather, and the sense of community in Beauford. She wanted that for herself and for Phillip.

However she also wanted a big boy bed for him when the time came, and things were getting tougher and tougher. Though they had come from very old and very abundant money, and though Gregory had briefly been an investment banker, they’d had no money of their own. And that Harvard PhD in Shakespearean studies wasn’t doing her much good in Beauford.

Sometimes she wondered why she had pursued the degree. She was competent and intelligent, but she had no passion for the subject matter, at least not the same way her classmates and professors had. They thought Shakespeare all the time, lived it, quoted it. As for the advanced degree—Gregory had wanted to finish his graduate work before they got married, and she’d been filling her time.

But despite her lack of passion, she had been a competent student who achieved, and she knew she could be a competent teacher who achieved. Last year, she had applied for teaching jobs at Belmont and Vanderbilt Universities in Nashville. They’d been impressed with her, and she could have easily made the half-hour drive every day, but there had been no open positions.

So she just kept hanging on, waiting tables, and hoping for a teaching job or a miracle—which amounted to about the same thing. But wasn’t it a shame to equate a miracle with obtaining something she didn’t even want very much except as a means to an end?

Though it was it was scarcely five-thirty when Abby approached the Beauford Bend guardhouse, there were a few reporters and die-hard Jackson Beauford fans hanging around the gate. As the guard waved her through, someone snapped her picture. It wasn’t the first time. They’d all gotten a big laugh when she and Phillip had appeared on the cover of a grocery store tabloid as “Jackson Beauford’s mistress and secret love child.”

The Beacon Hill set hadn’t been amused, however—not one bit. It had been tempting to tell them it was too bad it wasn’t true, since Jackson’s child wasn’t likely to want for anything. But they would have just reminded her that Phillip didn’t have to want for anything either. They were willing to help her—just not on her terms.

And they didn’t have to. Phillip was her child. So far, he was healthy, fed, clothed, and sheltered. The fear inside her was much worse than the reality.

Though lately, when the fear became terror, Abby had begun to comfort herself with the knowledge that she could move back to Boston—and that scared her almost as much as the thought of not being able to care for her child. She’d move if she had to—even if it meant regressing back to her wispy, transparent self until she faded into nothing.

Abby gave herself a rest from her fears and let herself enjoy the sight of the Beauford Bend Plantation house. The noble, brick structure was especially beautiful in the golden September light.

She would have passed the house and turned down the road to the renovated gristmill where Gwen and Dirk lived, but a bit of bright blue near the rear family wing entrance caught her eye. It looked like Rafe Beauford’s truck, but he shouldn’t be here. He was off riding bulls, and according to Emory, they wouldn’t see him until Thanksgiving. Something must be wrong.

Gabe had left yesterday for Dallas where the Titans were playing the Cowboys on Sunday, but if something had happened to him, Neyland would have called. Jackson and Emory were fine. That left Beau—the special ops soldier and the baby of the family.

Abby backed up and turned toward the house. If something had happened to Beau, everyone would be up, and Gwen and Dirk would likely be with them. If this were Boston, Abby would have turned around and left, not wanting to intrude—but this was Beauford, Tennessee where it was expected for everyone to do all they could in times of trouble.

She parked beside Rafe’s truck and said to Phillip, “Just sit still for a minute, baby. Mama needs to check on something.” She’d stick her head in the kitchen. If there was no activity, she’d proceed on to Gwen’s. If there was trouble, she’d come back and get Phillip.

But when she stepped out of her car, something in Rafe’s truck caught her eye—and it appeared to be Rafe Beauford, himself, slumped over the steering wheel. At first she thought he was sick or—even worse—dead, but he shifted and pushed his hair away from his eyes before settling back into what had to be the most uncomfortable sleeping position ever thought up by man, woman, or acrobat. He was asleep, or maybe drunk—though she’d spent a little time with him at Jackson and Emory’s wedding last spring, and he didn’t seem to be the kind to drink and drive. But he wasn’t driving. Maybe he’d done his drinking after arriving. But if that were the case, why not go inside? Each of the brothers had his own suite of rooms in the family wing of the historic mansion.

When Abby looked around the truck cab for signs of drunken debauchery, what met her eyes instead was evidence of gluttony gone bad. There were open packages of Oreos, Chips Ahoy!, Nutter Butters, Fritos, and chili cheese fries flavored potato chips. And it was all tossed around willy-nilly with half-eaten Happy Meals and open bottles of chocolate milk.

She didn’t know what was going on here, but it was nothing good and time Rafe Beauford woke up.

It was when Abby opened the passenger door and put her head in with the intention of rousing Rafe that she saw what was in the back seat—a set of sleeping twin girls about the same age as Phillip. They were strapped in their car seats, leaning toward each other so that their bright blond heads almost touched. Their faces were covered in what looked like mustard, ketchup, and chocolate milk. From the smell of things, they both badly needed diaper changes.

And—even if their dresses hadn’t been filthy—clothing changes. There was plenty astounding about this situation, but what those babies were wearing might take the cake and the crystal stand it sat on.

Their matching bright turquoise satin dresses were covered with enough spangles and glitter to light up a New York sky, and there couldn’t be a ribbon, flounce, or rosette in the particular shade left in the universe, because it was all here filling the back seat of Rafe’s truck. One of the girls still wore a headband with a huge turquoise organza flower accented with feathers and crystal beads, but the other girl had apparently liberated hers and thrown it onto the seat among the broken cookies, cheese puffs, and melted ice cream cones. The baby seated directly behind Rafe idly kicked the back of his seat in her sleep. Who knew they made crystal-encrusted shoes in that size?

Abby came from a world where little girls were dressed in pastel batiste dresses with smocking and shod in English sandals. Things were different in the South, but Abby couldn’t imagine Gwen dressing Julie in such a thing. Where had Gabe Beauford gotten these dresses?

She almost laughed at the absurdity of her pondering. So distracted she had been by all the trappings and food debris, she had not wondered at all where Rafe had gotten these children.

But she wondered now.

She retrieved her cell phone from her pocket.

“Emory? I’m sorry to wake you so early, but I’m parked outside the family wing entrance. I think you’d better come down here.”

To purchase this ebook and learn more about the author,
click here
.

Praise for
Redeeming Rafe
:

“Pace combines romance and chemistry with family and turbulent pasts in a manner that had me glued to the pages. She weaves a tale that is so much bigger than simply her main characters.” —5 stars, Pure Jonel

For more from Alicia Hunter Pace, check out:

Forgiving Jackson

Praise for
Forgiving Jackson
:

“This story is about much more than boy meets girl. Crisp dialogue …[and] supportive secondary characters add to the solid story line.” —Library Journal

“…[an] engaging story of healing and discovery.” —Heroes and Heartbreakers

Reforming Gabe

Praise for
Reforming Gabe
:

“Pace's writing is so real that you experience it. There was one argument in the novel when I could actually hear the characters yelling at one another.” —4 stars, Pure Jonel

“A story that will both lighten your heart and pull on it at the same time, this one is well worth your time.” — Eat, Sleep, Read Reviews

Nickolai’s Noel

Praise for
Nicolai’s Noel
:

“Whether you like sports-themed romance, small town settings, family and tradition, or compelling characters, there's something for just about everyone…” — The Romance Reviews

“This novel was a great as addition to the Beauford Bend series or on its own. Pace definitely has a winner with this one.” — Pure Jonel

Sweet Gone South

Praise for
Sweet Gone South:

“Charming and clever with richly drawn characters and a heartwarming, sigh-worthy happily-ever-after, Alicia Hunter Pace is a natural-born storyteller.”—Rhonda Nelson, National Readers’ Choice Award winner

Scrimmage Gone South

Praise for
Scrimmage Gone South:

“For a sweet and fun romance that will make you laugh and enjoy from beginning to end,
Scrimmage Gone South
by Alicia Hunter Pace is a great choice.” —Harlequin Junkie

Simple Gone South

Praise for
Simple Gone South

“…
a heartwarming, sweet and entertaining read that will keep you laughing and sometimes even have you shed a tear or two.” —Harlequin Junkie

Secrets Gone South

Praise for
Secrets Gone South

“
What a story! Pace has nailed writing emotions into her stories … She definitely had me jumping for joy and bawling like a baby more than once … This was a thoroughly enjoyable read that I couldn’t put down.” —Pure Jonel