His Woman, His Child (7 page)

With an identical red mug in one hand, he pulled out a chair from the table with the other. Crossing his legs, ankle over knee, he leaned back and brought the cocoa to his mouth. He drank a few sips of the rich, sweet liquid, all the while eyeing her over the rim of the mug.

"Drink up," he said.

She sipped the cocoa. Warmth spread down her throat and into her belly. "Hank, I want to apologize again, about disrupting your date. I hope Ms. Camp didn't leave early on my account. You did explain to her about our relationship, didn't you?"

Hank set the mug on the table a little harder than he'd intended. The dark, creamy liquid sloshed over the sides and onto the floral place mat. "And just what is our relationship? What should I have told my date? 'Oh, don't pay any attention to the way Susan ran out of my apartment in a huff after she caught us making out. Lowell's widow and I are just friends. You must have misunderstood her reaction. She wasn't jealous. She has no reason to be. You see, even though Susan is pregnant with
my
baby, she and I have never had a sexual relationship!'"

All she could do was sit there, mouth agape, startled eyes open wide, and stare across the table at him. Dear Lord, he knew. He knew she'd been jealous when she'd seen another woman in his arms. And his date—this Kendra Camp—had known, too.

"Is that what you thought … what she thought? That I was jealous." Susan forced a shrill, fake laugh. "I was embarrassed, that's—"

Hank shot up from the chair and rounded the table so quickly that Susan's breath caught in her throat. He towered over her, his face tense, his jaw taut. For one tiny instant, she was afraid of him. Afraid of the rage she saw in his black eyes.

"Don't you dare lie to me." He spoke through clenched teeth.

He was angry with her. But why? Because she'd been jealous? Because her reaction had driven away his date? Or because she was trying so hard to hide the way she truly felt?

"What do you want me to say?" she asked, her heart beating wildly.

"I want you to tell me the truth," he said. "Don't you think it's time we both faced the truth and quit trying to pretend there's nothing going on between us."

"But there isn't anything going on between us." She shook her head in denial.

"You're pregnant with my child. I think that constitutes—"

"A child that was never meant to be yours." Susan gripped the edge of the table with white-knuckled strength. "You don't want this child. You think you owe it to Lowell to look after me now and be around for my child after it's born. You're just here because you're trying to act responsibly."

Hank reached down, placed his hands at her waist and lifted her to her feet. She struggled momentarily, then ceased her movements and stood perfectly still. "All that you said is true enough," he told her as he cupped her face between his two big hands, forcing her to look directly at him. "But I'm not talking about the baby or Lowell or responsibility. I'm talking about what's been going on between us ever since I came back to Crooked Oak for Lowell's funeral."

"Nothing's been going on—"

He ran his thumb over her lips. "I've pretended it wasn't there. I've tried to deny it. But trying to ignore it isn't going to make it go away."

"Please." Tears gathered in her eyes. "Please, don't do this."

He kissed her forehead. "Do you think I want to feel this way?" He kissed one of her cheeks and then the other. Sweet, tender kisses. She trembled from head to toe. "Do you think it's easy for me to admit that I want my best friend's widow? That every time I'm around you, I get hard just thinking about making love to you?"

Susan opened her mouth to speak, but all that came out was a choked gasp. Tears spilled from her eyes, ran down her face and onto his hands.

"You want me, too, don't you, honey?" When she tried to lower her head, he urged her face upward until she met his gaze. "You're as hungry for me as I am for you."

"I can't … I can't …" Didn't he understand what it would mean if she admitted how she felt about him? Didn't he know that the only thing standing between the two of them—the only thing keeping them from becoming lovers—was her fear? If she ever succumbed to her emotions, ever gave herself to him completely, she'd be lost.

Loving Lowell had been safe and simple and easy. She'd never had to give him everything—her whole heart, her total passion, her very soul. Lowell had accepted and been content with what she'd been able to give him. But Hank would never be satisfied with half a portion. He'd want it all. And he'd take it. And when he left her—as he was sure to do one day—she'd have nothing.

She had to convince him that he was wrong, that he'd misunderstood her actions these past two months. She opened her mouth to speak, to once again deny her innermost feelings, but before she could utter a word, his lips covered hers in a kiss that allowed no refusal. Hot and hard and demanding. He grasped the back of her neck with one big hand and used the other hand to cup her hip and press her intimately against his arousal. She tried to resist, tried valiantly to refuse him, but her body betrayed her. Her weak, sex-starved body surrendered completely.

She had spent a lifetime dreaming about being in Hank Bishop's arms. He had been her first love—secret though it was. She had yearned for him as only a teenage girl can yearn. She had envied every woman he'd ever touched, ever kissed.

She had loved him from afar—from a safe distance—but all the while she'd wondered what his lips tasted like, what he smelled like, how his body would feel against hers. And now she knew. And the reality far exceeded her expectations.

The kiss deepened and intensified, going on and on, until she thought she'd die from the pleasure. She reached out for him. Clung to him. Pressed her tender breasts against his hard chest. Allowed him to bring her up and brush her mound against his throbbing sex.

She barely recognized the husky, breathy sound she heard as a sexual moan escaping from her own lips. When he covered one breast with the palm of his hand and gently kneaded, she groaned with pleasure and then came apart in his arms when he rotated his thumb over her nipple. Even through the layer of her flannel gown, the sensation inflamed her.

She was fast losing control and so was he. If she didn't stop him now, there would be no turning back. Hank was going to make love to her. A war raged inside her. Desire battling with common sense.

He doesn't love you, she reminded herself, while she still could manage a rational thought. He only wants you. You cannot take him into your body, allow him to become your lover and escape unharmed.

When he moved his lips down her neck, edging closer and closer to the vee of flesh revealed by the top two undone buttons of her gown, Susan realized she had to do something to stop him. It was the most difficult thing she'd ever done.

Shoving against his chest, she said, "No, please. I can't. We can't." Using the most logical explanation for why they couldn't act on their feelings, she told him, "Lowell … Lowell's only been dead two months."

She had known before she spoke that the mention of Lowell would bring their interlude to a halt. Quickly. Painfully.

Hank glared at her, his eyes hazed by passion. Breathing hard, his chest rising and falling rapidly, he withdrew from her—first emotionally, then mentally, and finally physically.

Without saying a word, he turned, walked across the kitchen and out the back door. Susan slumped into a chair before her knees gave way. She laid her head atop her crossed arms on the table. When the reality of how close she'd come to fulfilling a lifelong dream—of possessing and being possessed by Hank Bishop—hit her, she sobbed. She wasn't sure how long she sat there, crying her heart out, but eventually she became aware of Ethel and Lucy curling about her legs. She reached down to stroke them and noticed Fred and Ricky sitting at her feet, staring up at her. Despite the presence of her precious pets, she had never felt so alone.

She caressed her tummy. But she wasn't alone. Hank might never belong to her, might never love her, but a part of him—his child—would belong to her forever.

The next morning she was sitting at the kitchen table, eating a bowl of cereal, when Hank knocked on the back door. She hadn't expected him to make his routine morning visit. Not after what had happened between them last night.

"Come in," she said. "The door's unlocked."

Hank opened the door, but hovered just inside the doorway. "Are you all right?"

She nodded. "Yes, I'm all right."

"I just stopped by to tell you that I'm going to start looking for another apartment," he said, his gaze riveted to the floor.

"Oh, I see."

"I thought, after what happened last night, it would be better if I wasn't living so close by." He lifted his gaze and looked directly at her. "Don't you agree?"

"I—I don't know." She was going to lose him completely now. Because she'd been afraid to give herself to him. Because she'd used her husband—his best friend—as an excuse to not succumb to his lovemaking. She couldn't bear the thought that he was leaving her.

Better now than later, she told herself. It'll hurt now, but later, if we became lovers, it would destroy me when he left.

"Are you saying you want me to stay?" he asked.

"Yes … no …" She turned her face so that she didn't have to look into his eyes. "You're right. You should look for somewhere else to live. Offering you the garage apartment was a bad idea. I should have known …"

"I'll start looking for another apartment right away," he said. "I'll call a Realtor and see what's available."

"People will wonder why you moved out. There'll be talk."

"There would be a lot more talk if I stay, don't you think?"

"Yes," was all she could say.

"If you need me—"

"I'll call."

He let himself out quickly and quietly, leaving Susan alone. She wanted to run after him, to call him back, to beg him not to leave her. But she didn't move. Not a muscle. She barely breathed.

It'll be better this way, she told herself. You'll see. It'll be so much easier when he's gone.

Six

"Did you put the kittens in the pet carrier for Mr. Heffernan?" Susan asked. "He's going to pick them up at ten-thirty this morning."

"They're all ready to go." Resting his forearm atop the broom he held, Scooter Bellamy looked at Susan through the thick lenses of his black-framed glasses. "Mr. Heffernan's got a big farm, doesn't he? And a great big old barn where the kittens can stay when it's cold or rainy."

"That's right," Susan assured him. "You know I wouldn't let the kittens go to anyone who wasn't going to be good to them."

"Of course I know that," Scooter said in his slow, slightly slurred speech. "Oh, yeah, I done give the cocker-lab mutt a bath, so he'll be all bright and shiny when that little girl comes and gets him today."

"Thanks, Scooter. That mutt is Carrie Johnson's birthday present. Her mom's bringing her by around noon, right before her birthday party."

Susan felt fortunate to have Scooter working as her assistant at the animal shelter. Folks said he wasn't very smart, and a few even made fun of him. But Susan loved the learning impaired man because he had one of the biggest hearts in the world. And he loved animals as much, if not more, than she did. Scooter was nearly forty, had never been married and still lived at home with his widowed mother.

"I'm going to be in the office for a while," Susan told him. "I have a lot of paperwork to catch up on."

"I'll stop by and we'll have coffee together at ten-thirty." Scooter tapped the face of his Mickey Mouse watch and grinned a toothy, lopsided smile.

"I'll have the coffee ready." Susan returned his smile, then headed for the small room at the front of the shelter that she had redecorated when she'd taken over the job as manager ten years ago.

Susan opened the shutters to allow the morning sunshine to warm her office. She made preparations for the coffee and set the timer on the machine so that she and Scooter would have a freshly brewed pot for their morning break. After hanging her camel-colored wool coat and beige hat on the oak coatrack by the door, she sat down at her desk, lifted a stack of correspondence out of a top drawer and placed it on the blotter in front of her. She needed to get these letters written and mailed today! She'd been so busy making plans for the Christmas Open House at the shelter, she'd let other matters slide. But the open house had become a yearly event, and in the past they'd often been able to give away up to half their residents as Christmas presents for families who wanted pets.

She thanked God that she had something to keep her busy, something to occupy her mind—something other than Hank Bishop. Even though they'd shared Thanksgiving dinner together with the Bishop family at the governor's mansion in Nashville—everyone except the elusive Jake— Hank had kept his distance from her since the incident in her kitchen nearly two weeks ago. He called her every day instead of stopping by to check on her. She told herself that she should be thankful that he wasn't pursuing her because she honestly didn't know how long she'd be able to hold out against him if he did.

She often stood at the back door and watched him leave for work in the mornings, but she was usually in bed when he returned at night. She didn't know where he went or with whom he spent his evenings, and she had purposely avoided asking Sheila or Donna if they'd heard anything about his dating.

He hadn't called her today. Not yet. But she knew he would. He never missed a day. Yesterday he'd told her that the Realtor had finally found him an apartment, but he wouldn't be moving until the first of January. After that, even her daily glimpse of him from afar would come to an end.

Just as Susan removed the rubber band from around the stack of letters, a soft rap sounded at the door.

"Please, come in," she said.

The door opened and Donna Fields, draped in a purple calf-length coat, breezed into the office, dropped her purple leather bag on Susan's desk and unbuttoned her coat. "Do you have a few minutes?" Donna asked. "I really need to talk to you." She hung her coat beside Susan's on the rack, then turned around and let out a long sigh.

"Sure. I can make time," Susan said as she stood and walked around the desk. "Is something wrong?" She motioned to the leather sofa. "Do you want to sit down?"

"No, thanks," Donna said, and paced around the office, her purple heels tapping against the wooden floor. "You're my first stop and then I'm headed over to the garage to see Sheila."

Susan grabbed Donna's arm, halting her frantic movements. "What on earth's the matter with you?" Never had she seen her cool, sophisticated friend so nervous.

Donna placed her hand over Susan's and patted her, then smiled sadly. "Remember this past August when Joanie Richardson and I took that three week archaeology tour out West and I stayed over a few extra days?"

"Yes." Susan stared quizzically at her elegant friend, a woman whose innate good taste and pedigree lineage Susan greatly envied.

"Well, I met a man. A very interesting man. I stayed over to be with him."

"You did?" Susan smiled, delighted that Donna had finally found someone who'd made her forget her devotion to her late husband's memory. "That's wonderful."

"It was wonderful. For a short time. We—we got married—"

Susan gasped loudly. "You what? When?"

"We got married in August. A whirlwind kind of thing. But after a few days, I realized I'd made a terrible mistake and … well, I came home and we had the marriage annulled."

"I see." But Susan didn't understand at all. Why was Donna telling her about this now? Why not months ago? "I'm sorry it didn't work out for you."

"The thing is … you see … I'm pregnant."

"You're pregnant?"

"Four months pregnant and I'm going to be showing soon, so I have to be prepared for a great many questions from friends, acquaintances and colleagues."

"Does he know? Your husband, er, that is …" Susan noted Donna's flushed cheeks and downcast eyes. Donna didn't blush. And she never avoided direct eye contact. Something was wrong here.

"No, he doesn't know, and I don't intend to contact him. I never want to see the man again as long as I live."

"You don't want to see him again, but you want to have his baby."

Donna stared, openmouthed, at Susan. "I … well, I … This is my baby. I don't think of it as his."

"What's his name?" Susan asked, beginning to figure out what was wrong with Donna's scenario.

"His name?"

"Yes, his name. You know … John Smith, Jimmy Brown, or maybe it was Bill Jones."

Donna slumped down on the sofa, sighed dejectedly and said, "You know, don't you?"

"Whoever fathered your baby was never your husband, not even briefly. And my guess is you don't even know his name."

"I know his name!" Donna said indignantly. "It was J.B."

"J.B. what?"

Donna buried her face in her hands. "I don't know. Just J.B."

Susan sat beside Donna and wrapped her arm comfortingly around her friend's shoulders. "You had a fling out in New Mexico with a guy named J.B. and now you're pregnant and have to come up with some sort of explanation that the locals might believe. Is that it?"

"Yes, that's it." Donna looked directly at Susan. "But if I couldn't convince you, how will I ever be able to convince anyone else. You're the most trusting person I know. So if you didn't believe me—"

"Sheila and I will help you perpetuate this myth of yours," Susan said. "We'll claim that you told us all about it just as soon as you came home from your trip last August."

"Thank goodness I have friends who are willing to lie for me." Donna paused briefly, blushed again and said, "He … that is, J.B. took precautions. We didn't have unprotected sex. I suppose one of the condoms was defective or … Oh, God, Susan, I've never done anything so foolish in my entire life! Ron was my only lover and I was a virgin when I married him."

"You really want this child, don't you?"

"Yes, I do," Donna admitted. "Despite the circumstances of my baby's conception, I want her or him very much. I know you can't begin to understand. You're so lucky that the child you're carrying is Lowell's. You won't have to figure out how someday you're going to explain why your child has no father and you can't even give her or him the man's name."

"Oh, Donna, if you only knew." Susan sighed.

"What do you mean,
if I only knew?"

"You aren't the only one who did something foolish and is now reaping the consequences."

"What are you talking about?" Donna asked.

"No one else knows," Susan said. "Besides the doctors, that is. Only Sheila and Caleb."

"Only Sheila and Caleb know what?"

"Lowell was sterile. This baby—" Susan laid her hand over her tummy "—was conceived by artificial insemination."

Donna gasped. "You're kidding me? Are you saying that you agreed to be impregnated with sperm from some anonymous donor?"

"Not exactly."

"You know who the donor is?"

"Yes." Susan realized that she should have shared this information with Donna when she'd confided in Sheila, but she and Sheila had been friends since childhood and she'd thought it wise that as few people as possible know the truth. "Lowell asked Hank Bishop to … donate … his sperm."

"Hank Bishop! Oh, my God! Hank Bishop, who's living in your garage apartment? Hank Bishop whom you once had a mad crush on when you were a teenager?"

"Yes, that Hank Bishop."

Donna giggled. Once. Twice. And then she burst into full-fledged laughter. She laughed until tears streamed down her cheeks. For a couple of minutes Susan sat there and stared at her friend in a she's-lost-her-mind way, then suddenly Susan, too, burst into laughter.

And that's how Sheila Bishop found them when she flew into Susan's office. Susan wiped the tears from her eyes and smiled at Sheila, but one look at Sheila's solemn face told Susan that something was terribly wrong.

"What's wrong?" Susan asked. "What's happened?"

"It's Hank," Sheila said. "He and his deputies captured Carl Bates this morning. Bates had come back to Marshall County and was hiding in a shack out in Kingsley Woods. He didn't surrender without a struggle. There was a gunfight and—"

Susan jumped up off the sofa, grabbed Sheila by the shoulders and demanded, "What happened? Is Hank all right?"

"He was shot," Sheila said.

"Oh, dear Lord," Susan cried as the painful reality struck her. "Is he … is he—"

"He's alive. That's all I know. They took him straight to County General. The minute we got word, Caleb left straight for the hospital and I came to get you."

"He can't die," Susan said. "I can't lose Hank, too."