The Sweetest September (Home in Magnolia Bend) (3 page)

“No, I went back.”

“But you’re here again.” His words held the question.

She glanced at him and then back at the men still casting inquisitive looks their way as they followed the tractor down the furrows.

John got the message and stepped on the accelerator, this time heading toward the huge combine sitting silent in the opposite field.

Shelby yelped and grabbed the edge of the seat with her other hand, nearly sliding across the cracked pleather seat and pitching onto the ground rushing by the wheels. John reached over and clasped her arm, saving her from meeting the hard ground.

“You good?” he asked, releasing her arm and making no apology for the abrupt launch and turn.

“Yeah,” she said, finding her balance, her stomach pitching more at the thought of revealing why she sat beside him than at the actual bumpy ride.

So how did one do this?

Probably should just say it. Rip the bandage off. Pull the knife out. He probably already suspected why she’d come. If it had been anything other than her being pregnant, she’d have found him before now.

As they turned onto the adjacent path, Shelby took a deep breath and said, “I’m pregnant.”

He made no sound, but she felt his reaction. Glancing sideways, she saw him go rigid, knuckles white on the steering wheel.

“Pregnant?” he said, his voice low, perhaps even angry. “By me?”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“That’s very unlikely.”

“Oh, I am. Went to the doctor. Saw the heartbeat on the ultrasound. Pretty sure there’s a baby in there.”

He slowed down and eyed her in the brightness of the afternoon, looking as if he studied an insect that had landed on his windshield. Squash or let it blow away on its own? “I understand the concept, but it’s not mine. We used a condom. I remember because it was bright pink and I’d never seen anything like that before.”

“Yeah, I thought pink condoms were kind of fun, but that’s not important. Or maybe it is, because something went wrong with it. Besides you ran out before—” She snapped her mouth closed, wishing she hadn’t mentioned his running out. The fact he hightailed it like a coward was the least important part of the whole travesty. “The condom must have broken. Or did you notice any, um, leakage maybe?”

His head snapped around. “No.”

For a moment he didn’t say anything and she wondered if he was searching his memory for that night. “Look I don’t remember much, but I’m pretty sure I would remember that. I was drunk but not stupid.”

“I’m not lying.”

John frowned. “I’m not saying you are, but I can’t accept you got pregnant that night.”

“Look, I’m not thrilled, okay? I’m only here because I thought you should know.”

“Are you sure it’s mine?”

She almost slapped him. Would have been melodramatic and very Scarlett O’Hara-like, fitting considering she sat in the middle of a field in the Deep South feeling rather beat down. “Thanks for the unspoken accusation that I’m a whore. And a stupid one at that.”

John slammed the brakes, his arm catching hers before she could slide forward into the dashboard. “I’m not calling you anything. A woman I barely know shows up saying she’s pregnant, I think I’m entitled to ask a few questions.”

Shelby yanked her arm away and shifted even farther from him. “I came to tell you. That’s it. I don’t expect anything from you. I can take care of the baby on my own.”

John sank against the cracked bench seat, looking as if someone had taken the starch out of him. “Just give me a sec, okay?”

Shelby didn’t say anything more. She got it. She’d needed a lot of moments herself over the past few weeks.

For several minutes they sat; the only sounds were the tractor humming, the occasional shouts of the men working the fields and their mingled breaths, which was vastly different from the last time they’d been together. Very sober. Maybe too sober for the reality that had just crashed into both of their worlds.

“So what are your plans?” he asked. “Are you going to, uh, move forward with the pregnancy?” He sounded choked, as if the words stuck in his throat.

“Yeah. At first I thought about taking care of it—”

“Oh, God,” he breathed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I can’t imagine. I can’t—”

“I know, but my first reaction was to erase the mistake we made then I could just move forward, but...” She trailed off, wondering how she could put into words what she’d experienced when she’d seen the heartbeat, heard the rhythm established by a life growing inside her. It was almost sacred.

John’s eyes met hers, his gaze still convoluted, still shocked. “But what?”

“I heard the heartbeat,” she whispered, swallowing the sudden emotion. Something warm crept up her spine. It wasn’t an
aw
emotion. More like something that might eat her and swallow her whole. Not danger, but something life altering, something that made her palms sweaty.

John said nothing, merely turned his attention to the field full of glossy green leaves of sugarcane stirring in the slight wind. Captured stark against the horizon, he stood in sharp relief. John was a man shaken to his core.

“I’m sorry,” she said, after several more seconds of nothing from him. The knot in her stomach grew tighter. She didn’t know what to do, how to make it better for him. Or her.

“Me, too,” he offered, his eyes fastened on the horizon.

“If you’ll take me to the house now, I’ll let you get back to work,” she said.

John scratched his head beneath the Ragin’ Cajun ball cap. “Not yet. Let me run this part out and then we’ll go back to the house.”

Shelby didn’t want to spend any more time with him. She wanted to go to her hotel room in Baton Rouge, take a bath and curl up beneath the coverlet with the TV drowning out everything in her life. Escape sounded perfect, but obviously John wasn’t going to let her slink away. The knot inside her tightened and twisted. “Fine.”

After handing off a part to someone named Henry and bumping back along the original path, John headed to the farmhouse. It appeared around the bend, plain and lonely against the cerulean background. A turn of her head showed her John’s stoic profile, jaw squared as he contained his emotions.

Okay. She’d done it. She’d told him about the child growing in her belly. Their child. Mission accomplished. Now all she had to do was go back home, tell her parents, move out of the guesthouse, get a permanent job, take a birthing class, register for preschool, start a college fund....

Oh, dear God.

Parenting wasn’t for wussies...and she’d be alone.

Sweat broke out on her upper lip and her body started to tremble as the enormity of her situation, combined with the residual anxiety from telling John, crashed over her. Her teeth chattered as the knot inside her unwound, releasing some strange hormonal thing that smothered her.

John stopped the cart and climbed out.

But she couldn’t move.

Silly as it was, all the emotion she’d balled inside over the past four weeks rolled over her, rendering her, well, overwhelmed.

“Shelby?”

Oddly enough, during the middle of what was possibly a panic attack she realized she liked the way he said her name. He had a drawled Southern accent quite different from Darby’s soft Acadian dialect. Maybe a slight lilt.

Shelby waved her hands as if she could make the panic enveloping her go away. “I’m just a little—” Gulping deep breaths, she couldn’t finish.

“Jesus,” John said, taking huge steps around the mule to reach her side.

“No, don’t touch me,” Shelby said, brushing away the hand reaching for her, shrinking from him.

“It’s okay. Breathe.”

Shelby wanted to say something biting like what in the hell did he think she was doing, but she couldn’t seem to care enough to be a smart-ass.

“Come into the house,” he said, taking her by the forearm, his touch as gentle as his words. “We’ll have some tea or something and take a few minutes to process all this.”

“I just wanna leave,” she said, teeth still chattering, her breathing ragged. She figured if she didn’t get out of there, away from him, she might hyperventilate. “I told you. That’s it. I’m done.”

He stiffened again, but didn’t release her arm. “I understand, but you need to gather yourself before you drive. Come inside. It will be okay.”

“It won’t be okay,” she said, inhaling deeply, trying to find her calm, trying to find herself in the hysteria edging in. How dare he even imply such a thing?
It will be okay.
What a fat lie. She might be resolved to her fate, but having the baby of a stranger was not even remotely
okay.
“This is a screwup of enormous magnitude.”

“You’re right, but it will be okay.”

“Stop freaking saying that.”

He clamped his mouth shut and studied her for a moment. The same perusal he’d given her earlier. Scientific. “You don’t need to drive. You’re upset.”

“Duh. You think?” Shelby drawled, the anger, the lack of control pissing her off. She’d had a plan. Tell him. Leave. But somehow her body...or her mind...or something...hadn’t gotten the damn memo to play it cool.

He didn’t respond. Just stared at her. And tugged on her arm in an insistent manner.

“Fine,” she said finally, struggling to her feet. “I’ll gather myself and have a cup of tea. We can even pretend we’re normal people.”

Again, nothing from him. He released her arm as she stood.

Shelby took a deep breath, relieved her task was nearly over. Now someone other than her doctor knew about the life knitting together within her womb. Of course, she’d shared that information with a man she didn’t know beyond the investigative report sitting in her sock drawer...and the fact he sang off-key to old George Strait songs when he danced.

Wordlessly, side by side, they climbed the steps. When they reached the top step, where Shelby had perched a mere half hour ago, John stopped.

Shelby turned around, still fighting the edging panic.

“You’re not alone, Shelby.”

His words did what he meant them to do. Found their way inside her, creating a small bit of warmth in the midst of the madness of her life.

John stood there, handsome as sin, saying the right thing at just the right moment.

Damn him.

He was still the bastard who had treated her like a fungus, impregnated her with a child and implied she was some sort of whore.

But he knew exactly what to say.

And as he took her hand and pulled her toward the door, she realized he also knew exactly how to make her feel cared for.

And that was more dangerous than any other feeling she’d had since seeing him again.

CHAPTER THREE

J
OHN
LED
S
HELBY
up the steps of the house that had been his home for a decade, every nook and cranny known and loved despite the flaws. Inside, he quaked as much as Shelby did. Outside, he maintained a semblance of control. Like always.

Shelby was pregnant with his baby. Or at least she said she was. The irony of the situation rubbed him, bitter and biting.

Rebecca’s desire for the pitter-patter of little feet had been a driving force in their marriage for the past year of her life. With her death, the thought of children ceased to exist. And now, he’d gotten what he’d once desired so greatly...at the hands of a drunken hookup in a crappy bathroom off Hwy 5.

God had a sense of humor. Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe God liked to sucker punch John for the hell of it.

He pulled the screen door open, holding it with his boot as he turned the century-old iron doorknob and pushed inside.

His yellow Lab sat, tongue lolling, ready to greet him.

“Down, Bart.” John pushed the hairy beast with the generous kisses off his thigh and walked inside the cool darkness of the living room, turning right and escorting Shelby toward the kitchen. Bart followed after them, tail threatening the doodads on the low antique tables Rebecca had scattered throughout the foyer and formal dining room. He should pack them away, but something held him back.

It always did.

“You have a dog,” Shelby said like she’d never seen one.

“Yeah. This is Bart.” John released her hand and pulled out a chair in the kitchen. He didn’t know why he’d grabbed her hand to begin with. Maybe because for a moment she looked like a lost child and he hadn’t wanted her to run away. “Here. Sit. I’ll boil some water for tea.”

Bart sat, too. Right at Shelby’s feet. She patted the dog’s head, causing Bart to nudge her hand for more.

John never made tea because he always went for a beer at the end of a long day. In the pantry he found some boxes of herbal tea that had expired a few months before. Tea didn’t go bad, did it? Probably. But this would have to do.

He found the kettle and lit the flame on the stove, eyeing Shelby out of the corner of his eye. Her teeth had stopped chattering, and though she was pale, she looked less panicked.

The woman was almost too pretty, with flaxen hair likely achieved in a high-end salon. Wide blue eyes were framed by inky long eyelashes; high-rounded cheekbones and a mouth he remembered thinking belonged on a pinup girl. Plump and made for sex. Large breasts, nice legs and a waist that was still trim despite her pregnancy. A freaking Playboy Bunny of a woman.

God.

He filled the kettle at the sink and tried to figure out how to handle the situation. Shelby had seemed offended when he asked if she was certain the child she carried was his, but he had to ask, right? He knew nothing about her, and she’d seemed more than willing to pull that condom out of her purse that night.

Of course, it didn’t mean she was morally loose.

Morally loose? Jesus. He sounded like his father.

Stay away from those kind of girls, Johnny. No girl who gives it away is worth your name, and if you knock her up you’ll have to marry her.

So should he insist on a blood test? How did those work? Maybe the baby had to come first before they could test and that was months away. He didn’t know how to handle this situation. Hell, who really knew how to handle this situation? He felt like he’d fallen into a well and was treading water with no foothold on the slick walls, no way to heft himself up.

He focused on what he could control. “Looks like all I have is Apple Orchard or Peachy Keen.”

Shelby stopped petting Bart and the dog whined his displeasure. “Either, as long as it’s caffeine-free. I’m not supposed to have caffeine.”

John put the kettle on and stepped toward the back door, whistling for Bart to come. Reluctantly, the dog stood and waddled to the door. “Go tee-tee,” he said out of habit.

When he turned, Shelby had a weird look on her face. “Go tee-tee?”

He shrugged. “Started when he was a puppy. Somehow changing the term to
piss
seemed wrong.”

The kettle whistled, and John grabbed a cup, plunked in a tea bag and poured the water. Then he grabbed himself a beer. He’d allow himself only one, though he felt like he needed a six-pack to deal with the woman sitting at his kitchen table. But he needed to get back to the fields.

Pulling out the chair beside her, he slid the cup to her and cracked open his beer. “Feeling better?”

“Yes and no,” she said, lifting the tea and inhaling. Just like Rebecca. The memory punched him. “Thank you for the tea.”

“You’re welcome. So...I’d like to talk a bit more.”

“I assumed that’s why you made me come inside and drink this.” She didn’t look happy about his wanting to know more. What had she said?
I told you. Now I’m done.

“So what are your immediate plans regarding the pregnancy?”

“Immediate plans? Go back to Seattle, break the news to my parents and find a permanent teaching job.” She fiddled with the teacup, bending a finger around the rim. Her nails were clipped short and painted a soft pink. Definitely a nice manicure.

“You’re a teacher?”

“I teach high school math. My last teaching assignment in Spain ended this past spring, and I didn’t come stateside in enough time to interview for a permanent position. It’s hard to pick one up midyear so I’ve been substituting in the Seattle school district on a part-time basis. The baby’s due in June, so I should be able to maintain a permanent position next year.”

“The baby’s due in June?”

“The due date’s June 24.”

“My birthday’s the eighteenth,” he said, wondering why the hell that even mattered. But even so, the image of a small bundle cradled in his arms appeared. A son with dark hair and fair skin, his little mouth doing that lip quivering thing as he cried annoyance at being taken from his mother’s arms.

“I know. I hired a private investigator to find you. I was fuzzy on your name.” Her bite of laughter was bitter and when she looked up he saw shame in her eyes.

“I remembered yours. Thought it was a pretty name.” He’d remembered her name, the way she smelled—like something sweet and expensive—and the small encouraging sounds she’d moaned as he pulled up her skirt.

He hadn’t wanted to remember, but on dark, lonely nights when he lay awake staring at the crack in the ceiling he needed to repair, he recalled Shelby and the way she’d felt against him. He hated himself for it.

For a few minutes, they each contemplated the enormity of the situation.

A baby. Good God.

“So,” she said. “I’m feeling a little better. I’m embarrassed I sort of freaked out. Guess it was everything built up. I’m not usually so...wimpy.” Her smile was embarrassed, almost pained. “I won’t keep you from your work.”

John cradled his beer in both hands. “Are you staying in town?”

“No, I’m going back home to Seattle tomorrow. Besides, staying in town a few days is what got me in trouble in the first place.” She gave a humorless chuckle.

“This is crazy,” he said.

“Yes, it is,” she agreed with a nod, “but it’s not the end of the world. I can deal.”

“I’d like it if you could stay at least a day or two,” he said, suddenly alarmed about the finality in her voice. Did she think she could drop this bomb and walk away...and he’d just go back to cutting cane like the news she’d brought was equal to “I sideswiped your mailbox” or “I accidentally broke your window.” This wasn’t something a person confessed to and then walked away. This was about a child...his child. “Just give me some time to wrap my mind around this and help you.”

“I don’t need your help,” she said, pushing the teacup away. “I’m not trying to interfere in your life. Just thought telling you about the pregnancy was the decent thing to do.”

“And that’s it? I get to know and that’s all?”

Shelby’s eyebrows knotted. “I didn’t think you...” She paused and looked hard at him. “You don’t have to do anything. I didn’t come here asking for money or a way out of this. I’m not a girl in trouble. This isn’t the ’50s or ’60s. I can take care of the baby myself. I’m financially secure and mentally stable...mostly.”

He made a face.

“I’m kidding,” she said, her complexion pinking, her eyes resuming a less-tragic glint. “I’m mentally stable.”

“But it’s my baby, too.” John set his beer aside and leveled her with the same look his father had used on him when he thought to take the easy way out. John wasn’t going away. If that’s what she’d thought, she’d been wrong.

She gave an exaggerated, slow nod. “Okay, so technically speaking, it’s your child, but you don’t have to be involved.”

“Too bad,” he said. “You came here to tell me I’m the father of the child you’re carrying. Did you really think I’d say ‘thanks for the info’ and go about my life as normal? What kind of man do you think I am?”

“I have no idea what kind of man you are,” she said, scooting her chair back, looking as if she might run for the back door. “I didn’t think you would—I never considered anything other than...” She knotted her brow, twisting her lips as if searching for the right way to say she didn’t want him to care.

“Doing the right thing?” he finished. “I believe that’s the way you put it. So why even tell me if you don’t want anything from me?”

“Because you have a right to know.”

“But not a say-so?”

“Why would you? You ran,” she said, looking up at him. “Remember? You left me in that bathroom, drunk, ashamed and...knocked up. Why on earth would I think you’re the kind of man who would stand with me? And why would I want you to?”

John felt as if she’d just hit him in the face with a wet dish towel. The kind of man who would run? Yeah. She wasn’t wrong. He’d been running for the past year...from his family, his friends and the grief that consumed him. The only thing he hadn’t run from was the incessant work he did in the fields as some kind of penance to his wife’s family. As if he could make up to Carla Stanton the loss of her daughter by keeping the Stanton legacy alive in some way. Rows of cane and this empty house were all he had left in his life. Even knowing how pathetic it was to close out the people who loved him hadn’t stopped him from soaking himself in work and regret. “Okay. I’ll give you that. I ran. I was a total dick. For that I apologize.”

Shelby’s sculpted eyebrows lifted. “Oh. Thank you for apologizing.”

“I know this is a hard situation. I’m not asking you to do anything other than stay a day or two so we can figure some things out together. Obviously, you’ve been carrying this burden by yourself. Maybe you could use my help. Maybe fate threw us together and gave us, uh, a baby for a reason. So whether you wanted me involved or not, I am.”

Shelby looked annoyed. “You’re making this complicated. It’s not.
I’m
pregnant.
I’m
having a baby.
I’m
making the decisions. You provided the sperm. Job over.”

“No. It’s not that simple and you know it. I’m not going away just because you want me to. You’re not being fair.”

“What? I’m being more than fair. I flew down to tell you. I didn’t have to do that.”

“But you did. It was the right thing to do, and you can’t legally keep me out of the child’s life. I’m the father. You said so yourself.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why are you doing this? I live thousands of miles away. I can’t give you what you’re asking for.”

“Well, I’m not satisfied being a phantom figure who mails a check once a month. Is that what you thought I would do? Never want to see my child?”

Anger burgeoned in her eyes. “I shouldn’t have come.”

“But you did.”

“So you keep reminding me,” she said. “I only wanted to tell you about the baby. I didn’t want anything else from you...not even a check.”

“Too bad.” John stood and scooped up her cup. He walked to the counter and set the half-filled cup in the depths of the scarred farm sink. His feelings were twisted into a giant ball of so many emotions he couldn’t begin to identify them, but in the midst of the disappointment, regret and anger was something that surprised him.

Joy.

Seemed impossible, since he hadn’t felt an inkling of happiness in well over a year. But despite feeling out-and-out terror, inside John thrilled at the warm thought of a child in his life. “We made a mistake a few months back. Not you. Not me. We. Which means going forward is something we’ll do together.”

Shelby eyed the empty spot where her tea had been. “Why did you pick up my tea? And why do you think you have the right to decide anything about my future?”

John eyed the cup in the sink before turning back to her. “Sorry.”

She glared at him.

“You’re carrying something inside of you who is as much a part of me as you. You would deny me the right to know my own son or daughter?”

Shelby paled but said nothing.

For a few minutes, they stared at each other, once strangers with a compulsion...an urge to feel something that dark September night, now tied together by the tiny life growing within Shelby.

“I need to use your restroom before I head back to Baton Rouge,” Shelby said, her voice firm and teacherlike. She seemed set on ignoring his last question. As if she could make him go away.

John studied her, seeing too much or maybe not enough of the woman beneath the highlights and sophisticated clothes. The woman beneath the expensive leather boots and jewelry that probably cost more than his broken-down truck. This was a woman nothing like his wife. But this was a woman he wasn’t going to run from this time. He conceded the battle, but the fight wasn’t over. “Down the hall to your left.”

She stood up too quickly and hit the table with her thigh. His beer fell, emptying its contents on the table he’d inherited from his grandmother May Claire. He scooped the bottle from the table, droplets of yeasty beer mixing with the scent he remembered from that night long ago—a sultry warmth that belonged to a woman he’d never thought to see again.

A scent that belonged to a woman who carried a part of his future.