AFRICAN AMERICAN URBAN FICTION: BWWM ROMANCE: Billionaire Baby Daddy (Billionaire Secret Baby Pregnancy Romance) (Multicultural & Interracial Romance Short Stories) (121 page)

              I cried out, “Don’t I? Don’t I have a right? After everything we’ve been through? After we left Boston together, planned a life together, built a business together? After we hunted down those rustlers what took your stock four years back? You and I, we did all those things together. Weren’t we going to grow old together? Weren’t going to love each other until the end of time? That’s what you said when we got married here. It was right here, just down this road a piece, do you remember? You said I was the angel that you never expected to find. I forgave your blasphemy then, because I knew you were just trying to flatter me. It worked. I was flattered. I’m still flattered by you. Even after you tried to throw me away. I still love you, Matthew. Do you understand that?”

              Matthew grabbed the barrel with one hand. He pushed it down towards the ground. At some point, I don’t recall when, my finger had found its way onto the trigger. Without realizing it, my finger contracted. The gun exploded in a burst of fire and noise. The bullet struck the ground in front of me. It dug out a small hole for itself. A tendril of smoke drifted out from the gun’s barrel. I dropped it then. It clattered in front of my feet. I didn’t care. I realized that I couldn’t shoot either Matthew or his mail-order bride even if I wanted to. I just didn’t have it in me.

              Matthew’s face went white as well when the gun discharged so close to him. It didn’t matter that the bullet hadn’t actually struck him. He had been close enough to feel the heat of the blast, and hear the deafening noise of the shot. He held a hand up to his ear. A trickle of blood escaped from beneath his hand.

              He put a shoulder on my hand and said, “Mary, this is goodbye. You can keep your gun and your bullets. Lord knows you’ll need them in this country. But this is the last time we’ll talk to one another. If you need help, seek out Father Drake. He’ll help you.”

              I collapsed to the ground in a heap, crying. I was aware of Heather’s discomfort as Matthew led him away. I was aware that Harold had come out of his shop to see what the matter was. I was aware that there was, by now, various people on the street watching me sit there and weep. There was nothing I could do about that, for the tears just wouldn’t stop coming.

6.

              I took my gun and my bullets and went my way out into the wild. I happened upon an abandoned camp with a sleeping blanket, vittles, a journal, an ink pen, and a large knife. Someone had even gone to the trouble to gather kindling for a fire. There are a handful of sites here and there throughout the countryside. A man who forgets to wake up when men are skulking about nearby is a man who will soon have his throat slit. As often as not, the man’s possessions are left where they are on the off chance that someone might recognize those possessions and figure out what happened. There was no blood anywhere at the campsite, which I found passing strange. I tried not to question it, for the common wisdom of the frontier instructs a person not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

              I have spent the last week here biding my time, trying to think of what I will do next. I can’t go back to my family. I don’t know the way. I have no one to guide me to Boston, much less to provide me with enough supplies to last me until I got there. I was alone for the first time in my life. Solitude agree with me. I need to be around people. I need to hear the lively voices of animated conversation. I need the stimulation that only fellow human beings can provide. For that reason, I have decided to track down Father Blake. It might be that he can find a way to help me. I don’t like having to ask for help from anyone. My prideful nature balks at the notion. Yet I must, for I am a sociable woman bred to thrive in polite society who is alone in the wild.

              I would have turned the gun on myself that day in the street if I had known the despair and misery that would follow. My appetite has left me. I must confess that I haven’t eaten very much at all. My strength is departing me, little by little. I must force some food into my belly before I become useless to anyone. As there are few pages in this journal remaining, I will use the rest of them to describe my meeting with Father Blake as best I can.

7

It took me a day to recover my strength sufficiently until I reached the point when I felt confident enough to walk back to town. As I did, what I had done shamed me. I had nearly killed a man. Then I had walked away from one of the two only places in the world that I have ever known. I might have starved, if I had not happened upon that camp. As I walked, I started wondering how it was that the food was left behind. Anybody who ambushed the campsite would have taken the vittles, ate them at the first opportunity, then left the cans to lay wherever they would.

              I found Father Drake in his small church a mile away from the town. He fancies himself another Saint John of the Forest. His congregation is small, for he is a Catholic priest in a country that doesn’t hold much with any faith that comes out of the mouth of another man. I found him working in his garden with a pair of shears.

He got up slowly, struggling to stand. The years had not been kind to him. He had turned sixty just a year before. He walked like a man who was halfway to being crippled. He limped along, holding his hip. Wisps of white hair remained on his forehead where once uncombed black hair had been. His hands had become wrinkled, along with his face. In spite of all of this, however, his eyes remained as sharp and as clear as they had ever been.

He said, “My my, Mary Callahan. I must confess I did not expect to see you again.”

He had no need to explain why that might be. I could easily imagine how it might be that the townsfolk all thought that I had run away in shame. Indeed, it had almost transpired to be exactly that.

I said, “Father Drake. I’ve come seeking your help.”

Father Drake smiled. I expected him to give me a line about how only God can help people who are in need. Instead, he surprised me by saying, “I will do what I can. Would you care to come inside? I fear there is a slight chill in the air. Winter will be here soon.”

I said, “All right, Father. I have a lot to tell you.”

He patted me on the back while we walked. The touch felt comforting. He said, “As it happens, Mrs. Callahan, there is someone here that has been waiting to see you.”

I did not respond. I was too weary to respond. I hoped that it wasn’t anyone from the town, yet who else could it be? Unless, by some miracle, my father had come all the way from Boston just to fetch me back. If he had, there would have been no reason for him to do so. Even with telegraph wires springing up everywhere across the country. there would have been no way for him to cross the country so quickly. I doubted that my father. Even though I wished to see him again, it seemed unlikely that I would.

I passed through the doors of the church and into the vestibule. There was only a single row of pews in the entire church. Those sat directly in front of the pulpit. They were reserved for the elderly who had difficulty standing for extended periods of time. Everyone else had to stand through the entire two hours of Father Blake’s Sunday morning service. In one of the pews, I saw the head of a man with wavy brown hair on top of it. The head turned to see who had come in. My heart almost stopped when I saw who it was.

Luke Kingston, the one man other than Matthew who had courted me with serious intent in Boston, sat in front of the pulpit with both hands on his lap. He had a worn cotton shirt on his chest, together with trousers that had worn away at the knees. He did not have any shoes on. His feet were brown, caked with the mud that he had walked through. He smiled when he saw me.

That smile brought back memories of warm days with flowers and cold days sitting by a fireplace. At the time, I had longed for the frontier. When I saw Luke sitting there, as calm as can be, I realized that I had not valued what I did have. I had only ever set my eyes on the future. I had thought that by going west, I would have a better life than that which I would enjoy in Boston. For the first time, I wondered if I had been wrong.

Luke stood up. He said, “Mary.”

That one word was all he needed to say to make me run towards him. So focused on him was I that I didn’t see Father Blake duck out of the church to return to his garden. He had left Luke and I alone in the church. I would have ran to Luke even if Father Blake had been watching. I clasped my arms around his neck. He was exactly my height, which made him a short man. I felt his warm breath on my cheek and on my earlobes.

I said, “Dearest Luke, it has been so long.”

Luke said, “Don’t you want to hear how I got here? It’s been a long journey.”

“You can tell me later. Not right now. Right now, I just want to hold you. I can’t believe you came all this way.”

He said, “I came for you, Mary. Your husband sent a telegram to Boston. He said that you and he would be having a divorce within a month’s time. That telegram was meant for your father. He gave it to me. He thought I might be interested.”

I put my forehead against his forehead. Having him so close overloaded my senses so that I had to close my eyes. I listened to the steady cadence of his breath while his hands pressed against the small of my back. I said, “I’m glad he did. I’m glad you’re here. I’ve never needed you more.”

He let out a soft laugh. The sound made me happy in a way that I hadn’t expected. It didn’t matter to me that I was clinging to the first port I found in a storm. He had come for me. He cared enough to come across the continent for me. He cared enough to wait in Father Blake’s wilderness church for me. That was all that I needed. I needed someone who cared.

He said, “I’ve missed you. These last twelve years, I’ve missed you so much. I never married anyone else. It was you or no one. You wouldn’t believe how much my heart has ached to see you. This is a dream that I never dared to dream. It is-”

I didn’t need to see his face to know where his mouth. I stopped his speech by planting my lips against his own. His hands gripped my shirt. The kiss invigorated me. It made me feel young again, as though anything was still possible. It made me feel like a twenty year old girl again with a head full of impossible notions. My mind whirled as I thought of all the time that I had spent married to Matthew. I tried not to think of him as Luke’s tongue rolled along my teeth. A shiver shot through my spine. My body trembled for a moment before I forced myself to become steady.

Had I been a candle, I would have melted on the spot. His kiss was passionate. He let himself go, not caring that he stood in the middle of a church, not caring that I had been cold to him twelve years before when he asked for my hand in marriage. Then, I had seen him as anchor that would keep me rooted to Boston. Now, I saw him as my strange, unexpected, happy salvation.

A warmth spread through me that I could not explain. Some people like to say that they experienced something when they never did. That’s not me. While we walked into his wilderness church, I felt- for the first time since Matthew handed me his papers- that there was enough sunshine in the world for the smallest ray to fall upon my face.

Roomates

Want to receive
FREE
Romance Kindle E-Books
delivered right to your inbox?

Click this link or enter:
http://mitspages.com/mits/PonderosaPublishing/lgbt
into your browser.

BACK TO TOP

Chapter 1

Rebecca

“I hope our dorms are close together. It would be nice if we were in the same building,” Scott said.

              “It would, but you know my mom was worried about us using the opportunity to do things. Even in the same building, she would have made sure we were on different halls in separate wings. She signed me up for one of the last buildings that was strictly women’s living,” I replied.

              “I know, and I understand. She wants her daughter’s virtue to remain intact. After all these years though, she should know I will be the last person to hurt you,” he laughed. “Rebecca, we made it through high school with little more than kissing.”

              It was true. We had been friends since we were babies. I don’t really know when we started dating. If I had to pinpoint the moment Scott became my boyfriend I guess I would say the summer before high school. All through middle school people thought we liked each other and were dating. That summer, during a sudden rain shower, he kissed me. I still was a little behind liking boys, but all my friends thought Scott was amazing. They’d had crushes on him and other boys since elementary school. When the opportunity to really be an item arose, I took it and hoped the feelings would come.

              We had graduated and were headed to college. I was sure he was my best friend of a lifetime. I was also fairly certain that was all I would ever feel for him.

              “I think this is you here,” Scott said, nodding his head toward a reasonably welcoming building.

              There were lots of girls and parents going in and out. Two girls came out holding hands. I watched them for a moment. They made their way down the sidewalk, kissed, and parted ways.

              “Looks like your mom forgot to consider that I may not be your only temptation in college,” he teased.

              “I can see it now: ‘Mom, I think I’m a lesbian. My resident advisor was irresistible with her long legs and perky breasts,’” I said with a hand to my chest and the other at my forehead.

              “I think you mean perky legs and long breasts,” he said.

              We both had a good laugh. He found a parking spot. Before we began unloading my things from his car, we leaned against the trunk and really took in our new surroundings. He put an arm around my shoulder and let out a low whistle.

              “There is definitely temptation,” he said, looking around smiling.

              I looked around as well. We were surrounded by people, most of them female. The campus ratio was clearly unbalanced, but I had a good idea why. I don’t know if these girls really knew themselves that well already or came to college with a mind to experiment, but female couples were everywhere. That or some very close, questionable friendships.

              “But my greatest temptation is still you,” Scott said.

              He wrapped his other arm around me and pulled me close.

              “Well, maybe now that we are in college we can think about moving forward in other areas,” I said.

              “Do you mean that?” he asked.

              “Well, I mean, I still don’t want to just jump into bed. I have been thinking about us a lot, though. We’ve been together in one way or another since we were babies. I’ve been dragging my feet in some things and you have been more patient than any teenager should be. We’re both eighteen now. We’re in college. What am I waiting for?” I asked.

              “It doesn’t matter what you are waiting for. If you need to wait, we wait. When you want to move forward, we move. I love you. My life is you. Sex will happen when it happens,” he said.

              He kissed my forehead. I rested in his embrace a moment. Then we grabbed my things and began the search for my room. We passed lots of girls who seemed exceptionally close. There were parents sprinkled in the milieu as we made our way. The freshmen with them looked jealous of anyone whose parents came and went quickly or who were able to come on their own. Few looked sad to see their parents go. A few guys were there helping friends or girlfriends.

              “This is me,” I said.

              The door for G6 was already open, but there was no one inside when we entered. It looked like my roommate had started bringing things in and unpacking, but had to step out.

              “Looks like you’re rooming with an athlete,” Scott said.

              A few duffel bags were half unzipped on the bed. There were a variety of athletic shoes and balls in one, athletic equipment in another, and the third held neatly folded and arranged uniforms and workout clothes.

              “Great. Maybe she will rub off on me to be more active and healthy,” I said.

              “Or maybe she will always smell sweaty and use all your shampoo,” he joked.

              “Well, I do use a lot of shampoo. My hair is long,” said a girl, who I presumed was my roommate, as she entered the door.

              She was holding another duffel bag and smiling at us.