Authors: Christina Brunkhorst
Torn (22 page)
“
So… When are
you
due?”
Wait a second. Her mind started up again, raced to catch up to the beating of her heart. Did he put an emphasis on
you
? Did he know? When she was pregnant with the girls, did he ask when are
you
? Or when are
we
? Shit. And now would not be a good time to quick run to the girls’ keepsake boxes for her pregnancy journals to find out, would it. Crap.
Crap!
Quickly, she closed her eyes.
I’ll feign sleep. Hear no evil, speak no evil
.
“Chelsea, come on. How long have we been together? I know when you’re sleeping, and I know when you’re awake ––“
Jake kept talking –– she could feel his lips moving against her hair –– but she didn’t hear the rest. Her brain was stuck on the Santa Clause jingle:
I know when you’ve been bad or good…
It was driving her insane.
What ever happened to doctor-patient confidentiality? Goddamn small towns. Where was that blessed anonymity that big cities enjoyed? It stayed in those big cities, obviously. It’s not as though Dr. Jessie had any reason to suspect that Jake
wouldn’t
have known about her pregnancy. Having delivered their other two children, it was only safe and logical to assume that this one too, would be joining the ranks in the Morgan dynasty.
She needed to answer him, she knew that. But damn it! This wasn’t how she’d pictured it. Of course, she didn’t really
have
a plan worked out, just something along the lines of being a chicken and breaking the news to Tyler first. But still…
Chelsea nodded. Wow. Did Jake just bring up astrology? They
had
been together a long time.
“I remember you telling me how you’d love to have a Sagittarius baby,” Jake murmured. His hand slipped from her waist. “Looks like you got your wish.”
The air behind her became cold and Chelsea knew that he had moved away from her. She rolled onto her right side to face him. Jake lay flat on his back, one arm across his forehead, his blue eyes –– nearly purple in the dim light from the lone porch lamp –– fixed at the ceiling. It was suddenly all too easy to remember him saying, after Grace was born, that two was plenty. That the world had too many human mouths to feed. That they had been blessed with two incredible girls and he wanted to leave it at that.
Chelsea, on the other hand, wanted more. She had grown up with one brother. She’d always wanted more siblings. More siblings meant more to choose from when you got into a fight with one. More siblings made the world more interesting and colorful. Squabbles and hugs. A team. But it didn’t work out that way. It was just her and her brother, Lee. And, while she loved him and enjoyed his visits, she’d always yearned for a sister. Now that she had given birth to sisters, she yearned to give them a brother. Perhaps she now would. But at what cost?
Jake cut her off, and she blinked. Jake was never curt with her. He was the well of proverbial patience that never ran dry. She blinked again. Did he know?
Then he sighed, sounding resigned, almost sad. He reached for her and she went into his arms, grateful for the gesture. “You need your rest.”
For a third time, Chelsea blinked in surprise. That was it? That was
it?
Relieved to have been given a reprieve, she snuggled up closer to her husband, the man who had been her best friend for years. The morning would have something different to bring –– she was sure of it –– but for now, Chelsea took the exit Jake offered, and slept.
She never saw the tear that ran down Jake’s temple, swallowed by the pillow beneath his head.
W
hen Chelsea Morgan opened her eyes the next morning, she was alone in the bed. It was dark in the room –– the drapes were closed. She distinctly remembered opening them the night before to let in that cool, night air –– Jake must have closed them.
Wondering what time it was, she turned and stretched, looking to the alarm clock on the headboard. Eleven. Wow, she’d really slept in. And the house was so quiet. Where was everyone?
Suddenly apprehensive, she flung back the covers, swung her legs around to the edge, and stood. Too quiet.
“Jake?” She picked her pale peach silk robe from the hook on the back of the door and slipped into it as she turned the knob. The door opened silently, and she poked her head out into the hall. “Jake?”
Tying the sash into a tight bow around her waist, Chelsea stepped onto the dark green runner in the hallway. She shivered and rubbed her arms, crossed them over her breasts. “Faye? Gracie?”
Her full lips pinched in a frown, she walked into the kitchen and looked out the back window. Jake’s truck was gone.
The phone rang and she pounced on it. “Jake?”
“
Nooo,”
a female voice on the other end drawled.
“It’s Lynn.”
“Lynn?”
The caller sighed.
“How quickly they forget the little people. Yes, Lynn. You’re best bud? From Billings? Remember? I saw your uterus… not once, but twice? Godmother to your girls? Stop me when I start to ring a few bells.”
Even frazzled, her friend’s dry sense of humor soothed her, and Chelsea relaxed. “Lynn, I know, I’m sorry. I slept late and woke up feeling completely disoriented… And Jake’s taken the girls somewhere ––“
“
He probably just took them to the store. You need to chill, Girlfriend.”
“I don’t know. I’m pregnant, Lynn. And Jake just found out last night. Before
I
had a chance to tell him.”
Her friend’s excited shout had Chelsea holding the phone away from her ear. When it was safe, she brought it back, started to pace the length of the kitchen.
“
Oh, Chelsea! This is
fabulous
news! Congratulations! When are you due?”
She smiled, enjoying the sounds of her infant goddaughter protesting her mother’s excitement, and Lynn murmuring reassurances to the baby. “December fourth.”
“
Damn, Girl! You always said your next baby would be a Sagittarius like his or her Auntie Lynn. Did you plan it? You do realize you’re gonna have to have my baby on my birthday, right?”
Chelsea’s smile stretched into a laugh. “Your birthday is November twenty-second.”
“
So? You usually carry thirty-nine weeks anyway. The way I figure it, That makes delivery day on my birthday.”
“We’ll see.”
“
What’s your guess? Boy or girl?”
Chelsea sighed, leaving the kitchen and going into the dining room. She sat down on the plush, vanilla leather glider rocker and rocked gently. “I don’t know. I haven’t gotten to that point yet.”
“
No? Well, Jake seems to have an exclusive contract with the X-chromosome, so I’m thinking it’s safe to say girl. But, because it’s safe to say girl, I’m going to be contrary and say boy.”
Boy was as good a supposition as any. Since it wasn’t Jake’s baby, Chelsea hadn’t a clue. Tyler didn’t have any children, so she couldn’t even try to guess from his progeny.
Good lord. She put her feet down from the ottoman and stopped the chair’s movement. She was carrying his first child. Not only was Tyler going to want to know about it, this was going to be a
big
deal for him. His
first
child.
“
Chelsea? Yoo-hoo!”
Chelsea shook her head. “Sorry, Lynn. Spaced out.”
“
You’re entitled, you’re pregnant! I’m so happy for you. And I wouldn’t worry about Jake. You know how he likes to take those long drives each time he learns that you’re pregnant. I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”
As if Lynn had conjured him, Chelsea heard a truck pull up to the back of the house. She stood and raced into the kitchen to look out the window again. “He’s back,” she said, her relief evident.
“
Isn’t he always?”
Lynn asked.
“Jake loves you and he’s a good man. He’ll fall in love with this baby, just like he did with Faye and Grace. You’ll see.”
“Maybe,” she replied, doubtful. “He’s getting the girls out of the truck.”
“
Okay, I’ll let you go then. Kiss my girls for me!”
“You do the same.”
“
Love you, and tell Jake I said congrats.”
“Will do. Love you too, Lynn. Take care.”
Chelsea replaced the phone back on its hook just as Faye tore into the house, half-carrying and half dragging, a bag full of groceries. “Mornin’ Momma!”
She bent to pick up the shopping sack and dropped a kiss on her firstborn’s head. “Good morning, sweetheart.”
“Gracie and me went to the store with Dad!”
“Gracie and
I
,” she corrected absently, “and I see that. What did you buy?”
“Food.”
Chelsea hid a grin behind her hand. “Food is good.”
Jake entered the house, carrying Grace like a monkey on one hip, a gallon of two-percent milk in his free hand. Their eyes met, and he stopped, freezing in the middle of the room. Chelsea tucked a stray lock of hair behind an ear. Her smile was nervous and it trembled on her lips. “Hi.”
He set their second child down, and Grace ran over to her mother, scrambling for a hug. Chelsea knelt to give her one; her gaze locked with her husband’s, who looked as though he didn’t know quite what to say. “Hi,” he echoed.
Chelsea fiddled with the sash of her robe, wanting to give him the second part of Lynn’s message, but thinking it wasn’t appropriate given the circumstances. Wow. This lying thing just kept going and going… Like that goddamn pink bunny.
Her husband nodded again and straightened, his hands going into his pockets. The silence yawned between them as his sky blue eyes searched hers. He gestured towards the back door. “I’d better bring in the rest of the groceries.”
Jake turned and took the first step out the open door. Chelsea hurried after him. “Jake…”
He stopped at the truck, lifted out a couple more sacks of items. Wanting to help, Chelsea grabbed the case caffeine free Coke. “Hey!”
At Jake’s exclamation, Chelsea stared at him, startled. He nudged out his elbow, indicated that she should tuck the case inside the crook. “You shouldn’t be lifting things that heavy. You have a baby to think about.”
Chelsea bit her lip, feeling tears burn under her lashes. “Jake,” she whispered, the word shaky.
He hooked a sack containing a loaf of bread and a carton of eggs around one finger, and held it out to his wife. “You can bring this in.”
She blinked, and the tears welling in her eyes fell, making wet, silent tracks down her mocha skin.
Jake leaned towards her, and with infinite tenderness, brushed his lips across the moist cheek. “Let’s go inside.”
T
o say that Tyler Benson was having a bad week would be an understatement. This acting assignment, the one he’d been so looking forward to, had turned into nothing but his own personal hell, and his wife was its core.
Somewhere along the line, Jennifer had come to the conclusion that the best way to drive her husband to the brink of insanity would be to treat him as though they were still newlyweds. That meant hanging on him, clinging to his arm, posing
nice
for the camera. And because the film relied so heavily on the marketability of its two super stars, there wasn’t much he could do but grin and bear it.
His lawyer hadn’t filed the divorce papers right away. She’d held onto them, waiting for a chance to speak with him regarding the timing of filing. Diane Jackson, of the law firm of Jackson & Rivers, made the stellar judgment call that it was in her client’s best interests to delay the divorce proceedings until
after
the husband and wife movie was made and promoted.
Tyler had been flaming mad with her after that conversation. He’d threatened to fire her, accused her of working on the side of his wife ––an accusation that had his attorney howling with laughter over the phone. But once he’d calmed down, he knew she was right, damn it to hell.
Then there was his cellular phone. The tiny, four hundred dollar, piece of technological shit was useless in Kivalina, Alaska because his wireless provider didn’t have coverage this far northwest of Juneau. He’d used Jennifer’s to order one of those new global satellite phones, but it wouldn’t be in his hands for another two weeks at least.
A
People
magazine was tossed onto the table in front of him, its slap as it hit the cherry red Formica startling Tyler out of his musings. He glanced at it, then looked up to see Jennifer saunter away from him, smug written all over her walk.
“Page nine,” she smirked at him from over one golden shoulder. “It’s about a week old or so, but that’s how mail is around here.” She shuffled through the small stack of envelopes in her hand, looked over at him. “I put your mail in to mark the article. No need to thank me.”
As Tyler flipped through the pages, he heard Jennifer slap at her arm, and mutter a curse –– something to do with mosquitoes from hell. He also saw that Jennifer had indeed placed his mail inside the magazine, nestled next to page nine. Just one letter in a security envelope, no return address. “Thanks, Jen,” he murmured, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from making a smart-ass remark about how the surprisingly large, biting insects didn’t bother him in the least. Keeping the peace. Get the movie made. Priorities.
