Cowboy Daddy (19 page)

She was almost to her room when she heard him calling her. She walked to the top of the stairs. He stood at the bottom, his black Stetson in one hand.

He looked different, she thought, wary of his intense gaze. The lines of his face had deepened and his mouth pulled straight. There was an aura of controlled energy about him. Something hiding just under the surface, as if he fought with an emotion he couldn’t quite control.

“Would you come down and join me?” he asked, pointing to the living room. His voice gave nothing away.

Anne hesitated for a second, then placed her hand on the cool wooden railing and slowly walked down the stairs. When she reached the bottom, Jake held out his hand, indicating she should precede him. She walked to the far couch and sat down on the edge of the cushion.

He tossed his hat on the other sofa, then stood in front of her. He braced his feet apart and rested his hands on his hips. Even with all that had gone on between them that morning, it was difficult to ignore the way he made her feel. Just seeing his long, powerful jeans-clad legs made her glad she was sitting. The proud set of his shoulders and head made her want to cling to him and borrow his strength. A fierce feeling of gladness stole through her. It didn’t make any sense at all, but she was pleased he was the father. Her child would be strong because Jake was strong.

The silence between them lengthened. She glanced around the empty room, but there wasn’t anything to look at so she found herself returning his intense stare. She wanted to ask what he was thinking, then realized she was too chicken to really want to know. What if it was awful? What if he still thought she’d lied?

At last she cleared her throat. “You took off without giving the men instructions,” she said. “When they came looking for you, I didn’t know when you’d be back. I told them to take care of their normal chores, then continue with what they were doing yesterday.”

“Thank you for that,” he said, never taking his eyes from her face.

“It’s nearly noon,” she blurted out. “I didn’t know how long you were going to stay gone. I didn’t know what to tell Laurel. She heard us fighting this morning.” Concern flashed across his face. “Not what we were saying,” she added hastily. “Just the loud voices. I told her it was an argument and it didn’t mean anything.”

Jake shoved his hands into his pockets and paced to the window. When he reached the wide expanse of glass, he turned and walked back to her. He reached down and pulled her up next to him.

She stood reluctantly, prepared to step away if he started yelling at her again. But he didn’t say a word. He touched her face with the back of his hand. His knuckles moved up and down against her cheek. His thumb brushed across her mouth. The softness of the brief contact made her want to lean forward into his embrace. But she held herself straight and waited.

He rested his hands on her shoulders and looked down at her.

“You’re pregnant,” he said quietly.

“Thanks for the news flash, but I believe I already told
you
that.”

He smiled and reached down toward her stomach. She started to back up, then stood still. Slowly, tentatively, he pressed his hand against her belly. She felt the warmth through her jeans and panties, all the way to her quivering skin. Heat flared and traveled with her blood until every part of her body hummed from

the contact. Her breasts tightened. She didn’t dare look down to see if her nipples were betraying her state of arousal. He was treating her with all the reverence of a worshiper at a shrine, and all she could think about was having him touch her more.

His hand moved back and forth, creating delicious friction. She glanced at his face. He had the strangest expression, as if he’d just discovered something wonderful. Their eyes met, and he smiled.

“You’re pregnant,” he repeated. “And I’m the father.”

Chapter 10

J
ake heard the cursing even before he entered the kitchen. He grinned. Anne swore again, then something hit the floor. He walked to the entrance and leaned against the doorframe.

Bowls and dirty utensils were scattered on all the counters. Pots covered the stove. The sink was filled with dirty dishes. Anne stood with her back to him. She wore an oversize shirt and jeans. Thick socks covered her feet. A headband held her hair off her face. She turned to grab something and he saw a streak of red sauce on her cheek.

“You want to talk about it?” he asked.

She shrieked and dropped the spoon she’d been holding. “Don’t do that,” she said, spinning toward him. “You scared me to death. I didn’t hear you come in.”

“That’s because you were cussing too loud.”

She flushed and stared down at the counter. “I’m having a little trouble with this recipe,” she said, motioning to an open cookbook.

“So it would seem.”

“Oh, stop it,” she said, and went back to her mixing. “I know what you’re thinking, and you’re wrong.”

He moved into the kitchen and pulled out one of the cow chairs. After turning it around, he sat straddling it and resting his hands on the back. “What am I thinking?”

Her shoulders raised and lowered in an exaggerated sigh. “That I’m trying to compete with a paragon. Sainted Ellen.” The spoon clattered into the bowl again. She turned toward him and covered her mouth with her hand. Her eyes widened in horror. “Oh, Jake, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”

He waited, wondering if he would get angry with her. Nothing. He prodded his heart, the broken part that still missed Ellen. There wasn’t any pain. He knew he would mourn her always, but the woman he missed had died so long ago. The wife he’d lost two years before had little in common with her save name and appearance.

“It’s okay,” he said, and was pleased to find out he meant it. “Ellen could be a little intimidating for all of us. She had this thing about her world being perfect.”

Anne glanced around at the disaster that when he’d left that morning had still been a kitchen. “She probably kept things clean, too. I just never learned how to cook neatly. I know you’re supposed to wash as you go. Put things away when you’re done with them.” She picked up a jar of spices. “I try to, but then I get caught up in the recipe or something boils before it’s supposed to and then I can’t do anything but handle the crisis.” She frowned. “You probably think I’m completely incompetent, but really, I’m good at my job.”

“I believe you,” he said, liking this flustered woman much better than the controlled, competent stranger he’d met in Houston. He liked her in jeans instead of tailored trousers. He liked her sleepy in the morning because she’d stopped drinking coffee. He liked the way she started projects and didn’t complete them.

Laurel’s room was almost finished. The walls were done, but the furniture hadn’t been delivered. Anne had already tackled the living room and the library together. Samples of wallpaper were tacked up in the front room. Between the bookshelves she’d dabbed bits of paint so they could “live” with the color. She’d taught Laurel some needle craft and pieces of embroidery floss littered the floor. She’d found an old sewing machine and was making curtains for the kitchen. He glanced at the scraps of fabric on the far counter and cringed at the cow print. She’d convinced him that they would blend with the table and chairs, but he sensed that he’d been had.

Ellen had kept his house orderly. Rooms had been decorated one by one, and kept closed off while the work was being done. She’d rarely appeared out of their bedroom without makeup. He liked the chaos; it reminded him that he was alive.

“What are you cooking?” he asked.

“Lasagna,” she said, then looked at him. “Let me guess. You hate it.”

“It’s one of my favorites.”

“Ellen had a secret family recipe?”

He shook his head. “To the best of my knowledge, she never made it.”

“Thank God.” She motioned to the mess on the stove. “I decided to make the sauce from scratch. Then I wanted to use fresh tomatoes instead of canned and well, it all got out of hand.”

“This isn’t a competition,” he said softly.

“I know. I tell myself that. Most of the time, I almost believe it.”

“I was worried when I moved out to the ranch. I didn’t think I’d measure up to what my grandfather did.”

“Really?” She looked over and smiled. “You hide it well. I can’t picture you not being the best.” She bit her lip and ducked her head as if she regretted the compliment.

“Michael told me I was a fool for leaving the company. That I’d never amount to anything.” He shrugged. “I tried not to let it get to me. There was plenty of money, so I didn’t have to make the ranch pay, but it wasn’t about finances. I wanted to build something of my own. My grandfather talked about his dreams for this place. He never saw them realized. After hearing about them, they became my dreams, too.” He stopped, suddenly, feeling self-conscious. “That sounds pretty dumb, huh?”

“Not at all.” She pulled a lasagna noodle out of a large pot and placed it in a casserole dish. “I think it’s wonderful. I hope you get everything you want. I just don’t understand your father-in-law’s part in all this. Why was he so creepy?”

“I don’t know. I tell myself it doesn’t matter anymore, except as it relates to Laurel.”

“Do you think—?” Anne concentrated on layering the cheese.

“What?” he asked.

“I—Don’t get mad, but do you think Ellen knew? About the sterility thing, I mean?”

“No,” he said quickly. She looked at him. He squeezed the back of the chair. “I don’t know. I want to believe she was an innocent party in all this. The woman I loved would never have been that dishonest.” But the woman he’d loved had been gone so long, it was hard to remember what she was like. The other Ellen, the woman she’d become in later years, she would have kept that kind of secret if it had meant holding her perfect world together.

“I’m sure you’re right,” Anne said, spooning sauce into the dish.

He studied her, trying to see if she was humoring him. She gave him an impatient glance.

“I mean it,” she said. “You and Ellen grew up together. You knew each other very well. If she’d been hiding something that big, you would have been able to sense it. Besides, she would have been devastated by the news. I doubt anyone would be able to hide that kind of pain.”

“Did you hide the pain of losing Laurel?” he asked without thinking.

She slowed in her work, then stopped all together. “I don’t know.” She placed her hands on the counter and stared at the casserole dish. A spot of sauce lay on the tile. She wiped it with her finger, then cleaned herself on her jeans. “I gave birth in August, and I was leaving for college about four weeks later. I don’t remember much about that time except sitting in the shade and reading book after book. I just wanted to get lost and forget everything that had happened. My mother knew of course, so I didn’t bother hiding it from her.” She reached in the large pot and drew out a lasagna noodle to start the second layer. “At college—” she shrugged “—it took me a while to make friends, so I didn’t have to hide it from anyone because they wouldn’t have known in the first place.” She looked at him and smiled. “You’re right, Jake. Ellen couldn’t have known. As much as you and Laurel loved her, she couldn’t have been that cruel.”

“Thank you for that,” he said, rising to his feet and walking over to stand next to her. He leaned on the counter. “I know this hasn’t been easy for you.”

“If you tell me that you appreciate me, I’ll attack you with this sauce spoon,” she said, waving the utensil in the air.

“I do appreciate you.”

“I warned you.” She reached into the smaller saucepan and scooped up a spoonful of thick red sauce.

He backed up, holding his hands out in front of him. “I take it back,” he said, and smiled. “I don’t appreciate you at all.”

She eyed him for a moment, then dropped the spoon into the pan. “Better,” she said. “At least we’re a little closer to the truth.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’re being nice to me because of the baby.”

“I—” His denial died before he finished speaking it. Was he? “I’m excited about the baby, Anne. I’ll admit that. I’ve never had a child before. If I’m a little crazy and overprotective it’s because I’m concerned.”

“About the baby?”

”Yes. “

”I’m the one who wanted you to be honest.” She reached for the cheese and began smoothing it in place. Her shoulders were hunched as if she carried a heavy weight.

He tried to figure out what he’d said to upset her. “I’m not like Michael. I won’t say or do anything to hurt you. I haven’t lied to Laurel about you or tried to influence her against you.”

“I know that. I appreciate it.” She chuckled. “I can’t seem to get away from that word.”

“Then what did I say?” he asked, confused by her sudden change in mood.

“Nothing, Jake.” She looked up at him. “Forget it. I understand that you’re feeling protective. I am, too. I worry about Laurel, about what’s going to happen when she finds out about the baby.”

He glanced at her stomach, but the oversize shirt she wore hid it from view. “Were you big with Laurel?” he asked, trying to picture her swollen with his child.