His Woman, His Child (11 page)

Nine

Within twenty minutes, he pulled his Lexus into Susan's driveway. She held the nearly empty ginger ale bottle in her hand. Neither of them had said much on the trip from the courthouse to Susan's home. He wasn't sure why she was so quiet, but he knew why he'd kept his mouth shut. If he said what he was thinking, he'd make her angry. And the last thing he wanted to do right now was upset Susan any more than she was already.

Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Dobson had both been in court today. Hank breathed a sigh of relief that neither neighbor was nearby, lurking in the bushes or on their front porches, waiting to pounce on him and Susan with a hundred and one questions.

He opened the passenger side door for her and when she started to get out, he lifted her up into his arms.

"I can walk," she told him.

"Just shut up, will you?"

Dammit, didn't she have any idea how he felt? How he'd felt every day of the trial, seeing her in court, watching the pain in her eyes, knowing the extent of her mourning. He had tried to tell her the first day, but she wouldn't listen. He had worried about her and about the baby, afraid the mental and emotional stress of the trial would hurt them. And he'd been right.

But she had as good as told him that what she did was none of his business. All or nothing. That's what Susan wanted—what she expected. But he couldn't give her everything—not marriage, not the forever-after kind of life she'd had with Lowell. But even Lowell couldn't give her the forever-after happiness she deserved. Didn't she realize that nothing was forever—not affairs or marriages and not even love?

When he reached the front porch, he halted. "Give me your key, so I can unlock the door."

"If you'd just put me down, I could unlock the door myself." She squirmed in his arms.

"Be still." He spoke softly but firmly. If she didn't stop arguing, he wasn't going to be responsible for his actions. "Give me the damn key."

Susan clutched her purse to her chest. Reluctantly, she opened the leather bag, rummaged around inside and withdrew her key chain. "Here, take it!"

He unlocked and opened the door, carried her into the foyer and closed the door behind them. The mutts met them, yapping and sniffing in greeting. The two felines perched on the landing upstairs and stared down at them. Susan kept her arm securely around Hank's neck as he carried her down the hall and into the den. He deposited her on the big, comfortable sofa that was draped with a floral chintz slipcover. When he tried to remove her jacket, she slapped his hands away, took off the jacket and handed it to him. Fred and Ricky lay on the rug in front of the sofa.

"What next?" she asked. "I'm home safe and sound. There's no reason for you to stay."

"I'm staying."

"Why?"

"I'm getting fed up with this attitude of yours," he warned her. When he noticed the astonished look on her face, he forced himself not to grin. "You're staying put on that sofa. I don't want you to move. Understand?"

"No, I don't—"

"You're going to rest and relax and let me take care of you. Now, stay put. I'll fix you something to eat."

"I'm not—"

"I don't care whether you're hungry or not. You need something in your stomach. How about some soup and crackers?"

"Oh, all right. Soup and crackers will be fine."

"Why don't you lie down, see if you can nap. I'll bet you haven't been sleeping well lately, have you?"

"No, I haven't."

He placed two square pillows at the end of the sofa, grasped her shoulders and eased her down, then removed her shoes and covered her, up to her waist, with the afghan he'd taken off the back of the sofa.

"Close your eyes," he said.

She did as he instructed, succumbing to the pleasure of having Hank take care of her. Enjoy it while it lasts, she told herself. All this fuss he's making over you doesn't mean a thing. He's doing his duty—taking care of Lowell's widow.

She heard the closet door open and close. He'd hung up her jacket. Then the sweetly delicious strands of Shumann's "Dreaming" filled the room with the tender, emotional piano music. He'd turned on the CD player. She sighed. She had left one of her Classical Treasures CD's on the player. Debussy and Chopin and Beethoven would follow Shumann. Romantic music, created from the depths of the composers' souls.

Within minutes her entire body relaxed into the sofa cushions. The headache that had plagued her all day began to ease. She heard the echoes of cupboard doors opening and closing and the clatter of pots and pans. Hank Bishop was loose in her kitchen. Heaven forbid! But how much harm could he do opening a can of soup?

Surrounding her with tender, loving care had been second nature to Lowell. He had been the dearest, kindest man in the world. And often she had felt unworthy of him. And guilty that she didn't love him more. But she had never lied to him about how she felt, never pretended that theirs was a passionate love match. But Lowell hadn't seemed to care. He had loved her, been devoted to her and treated her like a queen. The love and respect and compatibility they shared had made up for any lack of passion in their marriage.

My poor, darling Lowell. If only you were here. If only you hadn't died and left me.
Tears gathered in the comers of her eyes and trickled down into her hair and over the tips of her ears. She lay there, quietly, sobbing softly so that Hank couldn't hear her.

She had almost dozed off when Hank came back into the den. She felt his presence, then opened her eyes and stared up at him. He stood there holding a large tray and watching her intently.

"Are you feeling any better?" he asked.

"Much, thank you."

"Do you want to eat now? I've got vegetable soup here—" he nodded to the large bowl on the tray "—a grilled cheese sandwich and a glass of milk."

As if on cue, her stomach rumbled. Smiling, she eased herself up into a sitting position and slid her legs off the side of the sofa. "Actually, I am hungry."

He placed the tray in her lap, then sat beside her. "Try not to think about the trial anymore. Carl Bates is going to prison for the rest of his life. My guess is that Judge Ware will give him life without parole. So, it's all over, honey. Time to let it go and move on with your life."

"Carl Bates spending the rest of his life in prison won't bring Lowell back, but it will keep him from ever harming anyone else. And as far as it being all over … well, it was all over the night Lowell died. Nothing will ever be the same without him."

"Yeah, I know." Hank wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her, but he knew that if he touched her, comforting wasn't all he'd do. "Come on. Eat up, while it's hot."

The canned vegetable soup was delicious and even the slightly burned grilled cheese sandwich tasted good. She'd gone too long without food. She wouldn't do that again.

When she finished off the last drop of her milk, Hank took the tray and returned to the kitchen. She got to her feet and followed him. He stood at the sink, washing the dirty dishes.

"You could've just left those," she told him. "Or put them in the dishwasher."

"Not enough to fool with the dishwasher," he said. "What are you doing in here, anyway? You're supposed to be resting."

"I'm all right, now." She stood just inside the doorway, waiting for him to turn around and look at her. "Hank?"

"Yeah." He still had his back to her.

"I've missed you."

His big, broad shoulders tensed. He placed the bowl and the glass on the drainboard and then turned around slowly.

"I've missed you, too, honey."

"Don't you think you could stop by every once in a while? We could sit and talk and … Don't you think we could handle our … our attraction to each other, now that I'm not so attractive." The corners of her mouth lifted in a weak, halfhearted smile.

"What do you mean, now that you aren't attractive?"

"Well, look at me." She ran her hands over her protruding tummy. "I'm six and half months' pregnant and I'm—"

"Beautiful." He crossed the room hurriedly, halting directly in front of her.

She took in a deep breath when she saw the look of desire in his eyes. "You think I'm beautiful?"

He knew that if he touched her, he'd be lost. But, God help him, he wanted to touch her more than anything. "I think you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Tummy and all." He grinned.

The bottom dropped out of her stomach. Why did he have to go and say something so darn wonderful? "You won't come back, after today, will you?"

"No."

"It's so unfair." She reached out to touch him, but he backed away from her. "Lowell should be alive and I should be in love with him. And this—" she laid her hand over her belly "—should be his baby."

"You're right on all counts. Lowell deserved a better deal than he got."

"He knew I wasn't in love with him." She focused on Hank's black eyes, wishing she could see past the surface, into his soul. "But he never knew how I felt about you. And the strange thing is, I think that if I'd told him, he would have understood."

"He was crazy about you." Hank closed his eyes to shut out the sight of her. "I remember when he came to see me to ask me to be the sperm donor for your artificial insemination. He kept saying how much he wanted you to have a baby, that you were the kind of woman who'd never be complete without a child. That man would have walked over burning hot coals for you."

"Yes, I know." Susan closed the distance between them, reached up and cupped Hank's face with her hands. "You and I were the two most important people in Lowell's life. He loved us both and we loved him. He would want to see us happy. Don't you know that if he could, he'd tell you that you don't have to feel guilty for caring about me?" She reached down, grasped Hank's hand and held it over her belly. "He'd want you to love this child and be a father to him."

Hank pulled her into his arms, hugging her close, stroking her hair, whispering her name repeatedly. She melted against him, as if the heat of his body had seeped into her and bonded them together. He kissed her forehead and her temples and then her cheeks.

Glorying in his touch, she lifted her face and offered him her lips. "Don't leave. Stay with me tonight. I need you so, Hank."

He took her mouth in a hot, hungry kiss that conveyed his desire. She clung to him as he wrapped her securely in his powerful embrace. When he deepened the kiss, he eased her up against the wall.

Suddenly they heard a loud rapping at the back door. Hank broke the kiss, lifted and turned his head just enough to see through the glass section of the kitchen door. God Almighty! Caleb was peering into the house. Sheila was at his side.

"It's my damn family," Hank said. "I should have known that they would have to come by to check on you."

Susan was well aware of her mussed hair, flushed face and swollen lips when Caleb, Sheila, Tallie, Peyton and Donna entered the kitchen.

"Good thing we were the first to arrive," Tallie said. "Y'all might have had some difficulty explaining the situation, if it hadn't been us."

Hank shuffled uneasily. Susan's face reddened even more.

"Half the town of Crooked Oak is on the way," Caleb said. "Folks want to celebrate this victory with Lowell's widow. You can expect dozens of people to stop by anytime now."

"They're bringing food and have plans for a party," Sheila said.

"Oh." Susan looked at Hank. "I had no idea."

The back door swung open. Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Dobson breezed in as if they weren't intruding. Each carried a covered dish.

"I see y'all have started without us," Mrs. Brown said. "Now, Susan, dear, you just go on and greet your guests at the front door. Teenie and I will take care of all the food and arrange everything on the dining table."

"Yes, thank you." Susan continued staring at Hank, wishing he would say something, react in some way.

Tallie laced her arm though Susan's and led her out of the kitchen. By the time they entered the den, the doorbell rang.

"Do you want me to get it?" Sheila asked.

"Yes, would you, please?" Susan replied.

Within fifteen minutes her house was filled to capacity with the same group of people who had, only five months ago, shared her grief over Lowell's death. Now they were sharing the relief that Lowell's killer had been tried and convicted.

Hank stayed for about an hour, mingling and mixing with the citizenry. Then he made his way over to her. She knew before he spoke that he was leaving.

"I'm heading out," he said. "I need to stop back by the office for a while." He didn't touch her, didn't even take her hand. But she knew he wanted to touch her, knew by the way he was looking at her that he'd like nothing better than to take her upstairs and make love to her. "I'll call you in the morning."

"Yes, please call."

"If you need me—"

She lowered her voice to a whisper. "You aren't coming back, are you? Not tonight or any other night."

He didn't respond. He didn't have to—she knew the answer. Once again Hank was walking out on her. Running scared. And she didn't know what she could say or do that would change his mind—now or ever. She couldn't make him love her. Couldn't force him to put aside his fears and uncertainties. Time was running out for Hank and her.