Shameless (9 page)

Their idyll lasted for six months.

One morning, the principal called him to the office, and Jennie was there with her parents. His insides clenched when he saw the heightened color in her cheeks. She never looked up from her hands, which were knotted together in her lap.

The principal asked him to sit down, but he said, “I'll stand.” And he did, his hands stuck in the back pockets of his Levi's to keep anyone from seeing how they were shaking.

“You are not to go within twenty feet of Jennifer Fairchild when she is in school,” the principal said. “Is that understood?”

“Who's going to stop me?” he snarled.

Jennie looked up at him with dismay in her wounded gray eyes, and he realized he'd given exactly the wrong answer. He should have been smarter. He should have pretended to agree.

“See what I mean?” Jennie's father said. “He's an animal! I want him expelled.”

“I understand your concern, Mr. Fairchild, but since Jennie says the sex was consensual—”

Mr. Fairchild pointed a daggerlike finger at Matt. “He's responsible for this abomination!”

“Daddy, please. It's not Matt's fault!” Jennie cried.

“Shut up!” Her father raised his hand as though to strike her, and Matt lunged for him.

The principal stepped between them, catching the arm that would have struck Jennie and keeping Matt from reaching her father. “Go back to class, Matt.”

“That sonofabitch was going to hit her!”

“I'll take care of it. Go back to class. Now.”

Matt leaned around the principal and said, “You better not touch her, you bastard.”

“Matt! Leave!” the principal said.

He'd stalked out, determined to see Jennie as soon as she left the principal's office, already planning how they could run away together.

But that was the last time he'd seen her.

Jennie's parents had sent her away somewhere he couldn't find her. He'd gone crazy trying to locate her, but all his efforts had been in vain. He'd gone to his father for help, but King thought things were better left as they were. He'd heard nothing about Jennie for the next three months, until his father told him that she'd died during childbirth, along with their baby. The pain he'd felt was like a blistering fire in his chest that burned down through his gut.

Matt had become a wild child, refusing to follow rules, constantly getting into trouble, not caring whether he ended up in jail. King had made sure none of his troubles came to public light. It was almost a year later that Uncle Angus revealed that Matt's child was alive—and so was Jennie. Angus had found their little girl, but Jennie's whereabouts, now that the baby had been born and supposedly died, remained a mystery. Uncle Angus told him that his father had known all along where Jennie had been taken when she left Jackson, and that he'd lied to Matt to keep him from ruining his life.

Matt could still remember the first time he'd held Pippa in his arms. She'd looked back at him with Jennie's gray eyes, and it had taken all his fortitude not to break down. He'd taken his daughter and gone as far from his manipulative, scheming, controlling father as he could get.

And goddamned if he wasn't back here again. King hadn't changed. He was the same lying bastard he'd always been.

It had taken years more to find Jennie. By then, Matt was married to a woman he hoped would be a good mother for his daughter. It turned out Jennie was married, too, to the junior senator from Texas, Jonathan Hart, living part-time in Washington and part-time on her husband's Texas ranch.

She'd never had another child, which made Matt wonder if there had, in fact, been complications when Pippa was born that made it impossible for Jennie to have any more children. He bore a great deal of the responsibility for that tragedy, if it was true. He was the one who'd gotten her pregnant when she was only fourteen.

They were both older and wiser. He wanted to see Jennie again, to hold her in his arms, to kiss her, to make love to her. And if that weren't possible, at the very least she deserved to know that their daughter was alive and well.

It was that last part he feared Jennie would never understand or forgive. Because of what he'd done, she'd never had a chance to experience the joy of being a mother and raising their child. Matt had stolen that opportunity from her when he took Pippa and disappeared.

He wondered if Jennie had ever discovered the truth. Did she have any inkling that their daughter was alive? Or would Pippa's existence come as a complete surprise to her?

Their daughter had never needed a mother's advice and counsel more than she did now. He shouldn't put off contacting Jennie any longer. After all, reconnecting with her was one of the main reasons he'd agreed to come to America. That and the opportunity to punish King Grayhawk. Thwarting King was the easy part. The hard part was finding the courage to seek out Jennie with the truth.

P
IPPA SPENT A
restless night considering everything her father had said, wondering about her mother—and wondering what sort of mother she herself would be. Her resentment had grown overnight. Her father had not only cheated himself when he'd left her mother behind. He'd cheated Pippa as well.

She was having trouble coping with her feelings. Her father had always been her hero, but lately, it felt like he was pressuring her to make the choice he thought would be best for her. The same way he'd made the choice to keep her mother from her. She didn't agree with either one.

She felt confused and unhappy. In Australia she would have taken Beastie and gone into the Outback and let the sunshine and open spaces heal her soul. She'd found a similar escape here in Wyoming at the pond, but she couldn't take the chance of running into Devon. She felt trapped.

She arrived in the kitchen for breakfast and discovered to her dismay that the twins had returned.

“So you've decided to join us this morning. To what do we owe the honor?” Taylor said from her seat at the breakfast bar. She was eating a bowl of oatmeal. Victoria sat beside her with a bowl of strawberries in front of her.

“How was Texas?” Pippa said in an attempt to remain cordial.

“Frustrating,” Victoria admitted. “We didn't find out a thing we didn't know before we left.”

“What were you hoping to discover?” Pippa asked, her curiosity piqued.

“Why your father left,” Taylor said. “And why he came back.”

“To what end?” Pippa asked, dropping a slice of bread into the toaster—checking the setting before she pushed down the lever—and then retrieving her Vegemite from the fridge.

“So we can figure out how to get him to leave again,” Taylor said.

Pippa immediately felt both alarmed and indignant on her father's behalf. Especially since she now knew that at least one of the reasons her father had returned was to reunite with her mother, a story in which King seemed to be the villain. “Maybe instead of snooping into my father's life you should be examining the actions of someone a little closer to home—like your own father.”

“What does King have to do with Matt leaving?” Victoria asked.

Pippa realized she'd opened a can of worms, and that if she wasn't careful they might all wriggle out. The more she said, the more she would be revealing of her father's private business. The last thing she wanted to do was give her horrid aunts ammunition they could use against her dad. What if they pressured King for answers and he gave them?

“Forget I said anything.” She got a knife from the drawer, retrieved the toast when it popped up, and began slathering it with Vegemite.

“You brought it up,” Taylor said, dropping her spoon on the granite bar with a clatter. “You're the one slinging mud. Finish what you started.”

Pippa pursed her lips.
Slinging mud?
There were so many things she
hadn't
said that she wished she could.

“Why can't you just leave me alone?”

“Because you won't leave us alone,” Victoria retorted. “You and Matt and your nuisance of a brother are turning our lives upside down.”

Pippa bit her tongue. It was bad enough to attack her or her father, but Nathan should have been off-limits. She saw a flash of remorse on Victoria's face when she realized what she'd said, but it was too late. The words had already been spoken.

“Vick is right,” Taylor said. “None of you belongs here. This is
our
home. You should go back where you came from.”

Pippa gladly would have returned to Australia, but she couldn't. Her home was gone, and she was pregnant. But these two women knew nothing about that, nothing about her or her father or her brother or what they'd been through over the years to survive.

Her hormones were working overtime, and Pippa felt angry tears rising in her eyes. Her throat was swollen with emotion, and she was only a heartbeat away from screaming in rage and frustration. She wasn't about to give her aunts the satisfaction of seeing her fall apart.

She left her toast sitting on a plate on the counter and headed for the door.

Taylor slipped off her bar stool and caught Pippa's arm as she hurried past, stopping her. “Hold on a minute. I'm not done talking to you.”

Pippa looked down at her arm and then back at Taylor through dangerously narrowed eyes. “Let go of me.” Her father had taught her enough self-defense that she could easily have broken her aunt's arm to free herself.

Taylor held on long enough to say, in a voice more poignant for its quiet intensity, “I just want to know what's going on. We're being thrown out of our home. Can you understand that?”

Pippa understood all too well. But the last thing she wanted to feel was sympathy for her aunts. She jerked her arm free, then met Taylor's gaze and said, “Your father is at the bottom of all this. Get your answers from him. Just stay the bloody hell away from me!”

She grabbed her coat and managed not to run as she escaped out the door. She couldn't spend a whole year with King's Brats. She couldn't spend another minute with them!

Pippa started toward the stable, scrubbing at the tears in her eyes, and stopped in her tracks. If she went to the pond, she might run into Devon, and she was certain that if he opened his arms, she'd walk right into them. That sounded wonderful, but she couldn't accept comfort—or kisses—from him without telling him the truth. Was she ready to do that? Not now. Not yet.

She wanted more of the tenderness, the kindness, the
friendship
he'd offered, all of which might go away when she told him she was carrying another man's child. But honestly, if she spent more time with him, how long could she hide the fact that she was pregnant? Not long. She felt like an animal on the run, desperate to avoid the perilous, steel-jawed trap that seemed poised to snap closed on her.

Pippa couldn't seem to catch her breath. It felt like she was suffocating. She gasped a breath of air and realized her lungs still felt empty. She sucked in another breath, frightened at how hard it was to get enough air to relieve the pressure in her chest.

She saw her father's pickup parked at the back door and realized she needed to get away faster and farther than a horse could take her. Pippa took a chance that the keys would be over the visor, where he usually kept them. She had the engine started and was ready to slam the truck into gear when she was startled by a knock on the window. She angled her head and saw her father standing there, a worried look on his face.

She debated whether to drive away or open the window.

He knocked again insistently, and she heard him say, “Open the window, Pippa, and talk to me.”

She opened the window and asked, “What do you want, Daddy?”

“Where are you going?”

She started to make a flippant response, but she didn't want to argue with him. She just wanted to be gone before he realized how close to the edge she was. “I'm going to town for breakfast.”

He frowned, and she realized he wasn't sure whether to believe her.

“The twins are back,” she said. “I can't endure any more ear-bashing from them.”

He pursed his lips, acknowledging her point. “When will you be back?”

“I'm not sure,” she said, irritated that he'd asked, making her feel like a kid with a curfew. He was the one responsible for her being in this situation. If she'd had a mother…If he'd sent her away to school…If he'd said something about Tim being married…This was all his fault!

“King made plans yesterday to spend time with Nathan at the barn this morning,” she added. So he couldn't accuse her of shirking that responsibility. “I don't know how long I'll be gone.”

“Maybe you should see an obstetrician. At least get an appointment.”

Pippa's neck hairs hackled. “Oh, so now you want me taking care of this baby? The one you want me to give away?”

“I want you taking care of yourself,” he replied through tight jaws.

“And the baby can go to hell?”

“Don't put words in my mouth.”

Pippa felt her face heating and her stomach revolting. “Don't worry, Daddy. I'll take care of myself
and
my baby. You don't have to worry about either one of us!”

She gunned the engine, the tires screeching as she backed the truck, then took off down the drive that led to the main road, scattering gravel and leaving a trail of dust.

As she raced away, she watched her father in the rearview mirror through eyes blurred by tears. She felt another spurt of resentment toward him. Sure he loved her and wanted the best for her, but she felt smothered by his concern.

Pippa was suddenly gasping for air again and quickly pulled to the side of the road. She crossed her arms on the steering wheel and dropped her head onto her hands, choking and sobbing. She wanted to run away. But where could she go? And how would she support herself when she got there?

She felt the urgent need to escape, to run away from all her troubles. But there was no escape from the reality she faced. A child—her child—was growing inside her. In a matter of months she would be a mother.

I want my mother.

She realized that made no sense. She'd never had a mother to seek advice from. Her father had always been the one she'd turned to. But it was her mother she wanted, all the same. She needed a sympathetic ear. She needed a soft shoulder to cry on. She needed someone who would be on her side. She had a mother out there somewhere who could perhaps fill all those needs. The problem was Jennifer Hart might not want anything to do with her supposedly dead daughter—even if Pippa hadn't been unwed and pregnant.

Pippa wasn't sure how long she sat there, but her stomach growled, and she realized she was hungry. She swiped the tears from her eyes with her sleeve, started the pickup, and followed the road into Jackson.

Staying on the correct side of the road required concentration, which was a blessing, because her mind skittered from one possibility for the rest of her life to the next and the next, without ever settling on one. She had no idea what she wanted to do and no idea where to go from here.

The one thing Pippa knew for sure was that she wanted to meet her mother. She knew her mother's name and that she was living in Texas. Surely she could find her.

Every time Pippa got to that point, she couldn't help wondering how her mother would feel about a long-lost pregnant daughter who showed up unexpectedly. Maybe she should wait until the baby was born. But she was only in the first trimester. Did she really want to wait that long?

Pippa was no closer to knowing what she wanted to do when she reached town than she had been when she'd left the ranch. She parked her father's pickup on the town square, which she found quaint—because each of the four corners had a wide, freestanding arch built entirely of weather-whitened antlers. The nearest establishments were nightspots and art galleries, and she started walking down Cache Street, looking for a café where she could get some breakfast.

She turned left onto Broadway, the main street through town, figuring that was the most likely place to find what she was looking for. Instead she discovered ice cream shops and fashion outlets. She turned right on King Street and found the Sweetwater Restaurant, but it didn't open until 11:30. She glanced at her watch. It was 8:30 a.m.

She was standing on the corner, trying to decide which way to go, when she spied Devon across the street. He was coming out of one of the Jackson Hole Fire Department's open truck bays cradling something in his arms that was swathed in a baby blanket.

Curiosity kept her standing in place. Then he looked up and saw her, and it was too late to escape without being noticed. She blotted her damp eyelashes again with her sleeve, wondering if he could tell she'd been crying.

He seemed as unsure as she was about what to do. Then he crossed the street and headed toward her.

“What do you have there?” she asked when he reached her.

He opened the blanket so she could see inside. “It's a juvenile Great Gray Owl.”

Pippa studied the tiny gray-and-white-feathered bird, its yellow eyes sunken in concave circles bracketed by downy gray backward parentheses.

“One of the firefighters found this little one on the ground after they put out a small forest fire. The vet told him it probably wouldn't survive because of smoke damage to its lungs, but it was still alive this morning, so my brother Brian—he's a firefighter year-round and a smoke jumper in the summer—called me to come pick it up.”

“Can you help it?”

He covered the owl back up. “I can give it a quiet place to recuperate, and it either will survive, or it won't.” He surveyed her face and asked, “Are you all right?”

Pippa flushed at his perusal, knowing she must look like hell warmed over. “I'm fine,” she lied.

“What are you doing here in town?”

“Things got a little crazy at the ranch, and I made a break for it.”

“Sounds like the Brats have been acting bratty again.” He smiled, one side of his mouth tilting higher than the other, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

Pippa suppressed a gasp as her body flooded with desire. How did he do it? How did he make her want him with so little effort? “I'd better go,” she said.

“Have you had breakfast yet?”

She thought about lying again but then shook her head. She was hungry, and she needed to eat to keep her stomach from getting upset. “I've been looking for an open restaurant.”

“I need to get this owl settled into a comfortable nest. How about coming home with me? I can offer you scrambled eggs and bacon.” He must have seen she was on the fence, because he added, “You can meet Satan—the horse that refuses to be tamed.”

She was intrigued as much by the chance to see where Devon lived as by the horse that couldn't be broken. Besides, visiting his cabin would keep her away from home a little while longer. “All right,” she said. “I'll come.”