Loves Me, Loves Me Knot (27 page)

Or the blow for him, especially after she’d looked at him that way, then simply turned and walked out of the
room. She hadn’t closed the door behind her, but she might as well have slammed it for the hollow, resounding heartache she left in her wake.

Gage straightened what was left of the covers before leaving the room and heading downstairs. He suspected Jenna had slept—or not slept, as was more likely the case—on the sofa after leaving him. He’d thought about following her, but what would have been the point?

So he’d stayed where he was and hoped she wasn’t completely miserable, even though he’d known wishing for that was like wishing rain would fall up instead of down.

The stairs of the old farm house creaked as he took them slowly one at a time. He stopped in the entrance of the living room, but there was no sign of Jenna. No sheet or pillow on the antique settee. Not even the big, white plastic needles and purple yarn he’d tossed aside last night when things had still been good between them.

Good,
ha!
Before the conversation to end all conversations, things hadn’t just been good, they’d been freaking fantastic. He could have gone on that way with her . . .

Yeah, well, if he’d been lucky, forever. But where Jenna was concerned, he didn’t seem to be walking around with a four-leaf clover in his pocket. More like a black cat, a handful of spilled salt, and an upside-down horseshoe. Maybe even the number thirteen tattooed on his ass.

Turning away from the living room, he headed for the kitchen, but didn’t find Jenna there, either. Her yellow VW was still in the drive, he noticed when he glanced out the window, so unless she’d taken off on foot, there was only one place left where she could be.

He considered going out to the barn after her, but was in no hurry for the confrontation he knew was coming. Silent treatment or screaming match, either way it wasn’t going to be pretty.

There was coffee in the pot on the counter, so he poured himself a cup, then sat at the table to await Jenna’s return. He tried not to think about last night’s argument, but flashes flitted through his head. The words, the hurt, the ultimate outcome.

Just because he was responsible for ninety percent of it didn’t mean he didn’t have regrets. In a perfect world, he would change if he could. But the fact that this
wasn’t
a perfect world was the very reason he couldn’t change his mind, couldn’t change anything.

He was on his second cup of coffee when he heard Jenna outside the back kitchen door. She stomped her feet to kick the morning dew off her shoes, then stepped inside, closing the door behind her and shrugging out of the light jacket she’d worn out to the barn.

When she turned from hanging the jacket on a hook beside the door, she saw him and froze. But only for a split second. She recovered quickly, averting her gaze and moving about the kitchen as though he wasn’t there.

She could ignore him all she wanted, but he wasn’t going away. Not yet.

They might be right back where they’d started . . . well, practically. Thanks to her friends and their little sex plan, they’d technically started out in bed, with Jenna on top of him.

Things stirred behind the zipper of his jeans and he clamped his teeth together to put a stop to any more of
those
wayward memories.

They might be
pretty much
back where they’d started, but he still needed some answers of his own before he could leave, no matter how cold a shoulder she might aim at him.

“I see you got yourself a cup of coffee,” she said in a tone
this close
to being accusatory when she finally decided to acknowledge his presence.

“Yeah.”

She carried her own cup to the table and sat down across from him. Hostility—or possibly hurt, disappointment, and any number of other emotions blended together into hostility—rippled off of her in waves. Her actions and body language all but screamed,
I’m not afraid of you. Look, I’ll sit right here and act perfectly normal to prove it
.

And maybe she wasn’t afraid—she’d never been afraid of him and he didn’t want her to be, had never given her any reason—but she sure wasn’t happy with him. Didn’t want to be in the same room with him.

Same room, same house, same state. It didn’t take a psychic to figure out that she’d have probably stripped down and done an Irish jig on the tabletop if she’d come in from the barn and discovered him gone.

After blowing softly on her steaming coffee and taking a couple of sips, she set her mug down and faced him square on. Her green eyes were shadowed, both beneath her long, black lashes and in their shimmering depths.

“I think you should go,” she said quietly. The words were firm and forceful, but he noticed a brief, telltale quiver to her bottom lip.

His gut clenched, and every masculine instinct in his body screamed for him to get up, go to her, do
something
to end her suffering. But what could he do when he’d caused it all to begin with and wasn’t willing to go back on anything he’d told her?

Nothing, that’s what. Not a damn thing but sit there, hands fisted in his lap, fighting the urge not to leap to his feet.

“Go where?” he asked, not surprised when his voice scraped like sandpaper.

“Go,” she repeated, the words steadier than his own. “Leave. Collect your things and get out.”

“I can’t leave,” he told her. “Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“You know why.”

Her eyes narrowed, but in case she hadn’t seen it before, he reached to his side and slid a box along the tabletop. The same box he’d picked up on his way out of the guest room and set aside when he’d first come downstairs.

“You can’t be serious.” Her shoulders went back and her spine snapped straight while an expression of disbelief crawled across her face.

He raised a brow, but otherwise didn’t respond. She’d reacted the same way the first day he’d confronted her with a home pregnancy test and asked her to take it. Since then—after they’d wordlessly agreed to disagree and sleep together, anyway—she’d taken the boxes from him each morning and grudgingly taken the tests just to appease him.

So far, they’d each been negative. He wondered if his luck would continue to hold out on that score, or if he’d run out of pixie dust the same as he had last night in bed.

Grabbing the box from the table, Jenna pushed to
her feet. Her movements were stiff and jerky with fury.

“This is the last one,” she said.

She might have been only five-foot-three, but her petite form still managed to tower over him while he remained seated and she stood like a sentinel only inches away.

“I’ll take this, and then you’re going to leave.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but she stopped him with a shake of her head. “I’m not taking no for an answer this time, Gage. This is it, we’re done.”

Without waiting for his response, she stalked past him and climbed slowly up the stairs.

He stayed where he was, the knuckles of one hand turning white around his coffee mug as the seconds ticked by. He didn’t know why he was suddenly so pissed.

This was exactly what he’d wanted, wasn’t it? For the sticks to keep turning up minus signs so he could know Jenna wasn’t pregnant and get back to his life, back to his job.

But the past few days had spoiled him, lulled him into a false sense of contentment. It had been so easy to push all the important stuff to the back of his brain and focus only on the fact that he was with Jenna again. They weren’t fighting and were enjoying each other’s company.

More than enjoying. A couple of times, he’d damn near enjoyed himself straight into a coma.

Now, though, reality was smacking him full in the face. His ex-wife was upstairs peeing on a stick that could very well show a positive sign this time. Then where would they be?

Nowhere he wanted to think about right now, that was for sure.

It wasn’t in Gage’s nature to bury his head in the sand over anything, but at this particular moment, he was happy to play ostrich rather than let his mind wander down all sorts of paths he wasn’t ready to deal with. If he
had
to deal with them, he would—what other choice did he have?—but not until it was absolutely necessary.

Shifting in his seat, he tipped his coffee cup, which had only a couple of swallows left at the bottom. His butt was getting sore and his coffee had grown cold. How long had he been sitting here? he wondered. How long had Jenna been in the bathroom?

With a frown pulling down his brows and the corners of his mouth, he checked his watch. More than twenty minutes had passed since Jenna had stomped her way upstairs.

Well, she hadn’t come back down, that was for certain. He hadn’t heard her moving around up there, either, but then, he hadn’t exactly been paying close attention.

The legs of his chair scraped across the floor as he pushed to his feet and started for the second floor. Jenna was nowhere in sight, and the bathroom door was still closed.

He debated going back downstairs to wait her out, then thought twice about it. The image of her sitting in there holding a little white stick with a plus sign on it flickered across his mind’s eye and tightened the muscles low in his gut.

Shit. This possible impending-fatherhood thing was worse than a prostate exam.

Taking a deep breath and hoping trepidation didn’t shrink his balls to the size of marbles, he leaned a shoulder against the jamb and rapped his knuckles softly against the door. “Jenna? You okay in there?”

A couple of muted scuffles followed his query and a minute later the door opened. Only a crack at first, then all the way as she stepped out into the hall.

“You okay?” he asked again.

“Fine.” The reply was blunt and emotionless, but when she lifted her head to meet his gaze, he could see it was also a lie.

She wasn’t crying now, but her eyes were rimmed with red, her nose slightly puffy and mottled.

His heart lurched. Was that a good sign or a bad sign?

Did he even want to know?

“Here,” she said, thrusting the small white stick from the test kit at him. Her balled-up fist hit him in the center of his abdomen, driving the air from his diaphragm as his hand automatically came up to take what she was offering.

The instant they touched flesh to flesh, she released her hold on the plastic wand and yanked her hand away. He tried not to flinch, but felt her rejection like a two-by-four to the back of his knees.

“Congratulations, you win again,” she said, her tone pinpoint-sharp and dripping with derision. “And you can save yourself the trouble of coming back here every day with another test, or calling and pestering me to take one, because it’s no longer necessary. I just got my period, so there’s no baby, and probably won’t be one any time in the near future. Maybe never, thank you very much.”

Her voice cracked on the last, and he caught the threat of tears brimming in her eyes just before she brushed past him and rushed down the stairs.

He’d thought he would be relieved when she finally got her period, when there was definitive proof that she hadn’t gotten pregnant during their one night of unprotected sex.

Instead, he felt oddly disappointed. He wanted to run after her, but knew she wouldn’t welcome his company at the moment, and had no idea what he’d say even if he did.

The best thing he could do now was thank his lucky stars and get the hell out of Fertile Valley before he did something stupid like kiss her, apologize, sleep with her again, or—God forbid—offer her another shot at his little swimmers just to wipe the look of devastation off her face.

No. He’d dodged the bullet once, he was not going to risk a direct hit next time around. It was done, finished, over with. Life could go back to normal . . . or at least what he’d come to accept as normal over the past year and a half.

And if he wasn’t particularly happy, if he came home to an empty apartment and fell asleep in front of the television every night with only memories of better times to keep him warm . . .

Well, he could live with that. Especially since he didn’t seem to have a choice.

Gage stood in front of his locker at the precinct, stowing his watch and trading his boots for an old pair of sneakers that had seen better days.

His team was going out on some undercover drug busts, so the faded jeans and white T-shirt he’d worn in could stay, but he’d add a skull-and-crossbones do-rag and a ratty, sleeveless denim jacket covered in scary-looking patches. That, along with his own personal body ink and a few other minor touches, should work to convince dealers he was up to no good and looking to score.

“Hey,” Eric Cruz, one of his buddies and a fellow undercover officer, said as he came up beside Gage to open his own locker. “Glad to have you back.”

“Thanks,” Gage offered without much genuine sentiment. He’d only been gone a little over a week, but knew from experience that when one of the guys was missing from an op, you felt the loss and it altered tactical strategy accordingly.

Gage had expected to feel exhilarated by his return to work. He’d always enjoyed his job, gotten a thrill out of
almost every aspect of it. It was a rush to go undercover and play a role that got the bad guys to trust him, then drop the hammer and put them in jail. It was exhilarating to organize a bust and be there for the take-down.

So, yeah, lately he hadn’t felt quite as enthusiastic about it all, but when he’d first asked for time off to stay with Jenna, he’d been kind of pissed at having to leave. Then he’d decided that going away for a while might put things back in perspective and help him appreciate the job even more once he returned.

They hadn’t been in the middle of anything big when he’d taken leave, either, which was a plus. But the thought of distancing himself from his team, of having something come up that he wouldn’t be aware of, rubbed him the wrong way.

Then, after a while, he’d stopped thinking so much about what he was missing at work and had begun to simply enjoy relaxing, hanging out, and being with Jenna. He hadn’t even minded helping out with the alpacas, despite the fact that the little buggers spit when they got scared. A couple of them had also trampled his toes and come damn close to making him sing soprano.