The Mountain Between Us (8 page)

“Thanks.” Olivia gave Maggie a curious look. “Why are you so interested?”

She abandoned her determination to keep the news secret. It wasn't as if everyone wouldn't know eventually. And maybe Jameso had already told people. “I . . . well, I just found out I'm pregnant.”

“Really? Does Jameso know?”

“Of course he knows. I mean, I wouldn't tell anyone else before I told him.”

“And he didn't freak out about it?”

“Why would he freak out?”

Olivia fiddled with the camera, maybe to avoid looking at Maggie. “No reason, I guess. He just doesn't seem like the daddy type, you know?”

“Yeah.” She knew. Jameso with his hot motorcycle and ski-bum avocation. He was the guy women lusted after and men wanted to hang out with—not the type to tote a diaper bag and warm bottles. “He seems good with it,” she said. Not exactly thrilled, but maybe it would be easier when she started to show. The baby was scarcely real to her right now, beyond an increased fatigue and nausea.

“Jameso's a stand-up guy,” Olivia said. “I'm sure he'll pay support and everything, something my ex never bothered with.”

“Right.” She hadn't even thought about child support. Not that Jameso would be able to contribute much. His approach to finances seemed to be to work enough part-time jobs to pay a minimum of expenses and not worry about anything else. And with the money from the French Mistress and her job at the paper, she didn't really need a lot more.

She realized Olivia was the first person who hadn't assumed she and Jameso would marry. “He hasn't said anything about this at work?”

“No, he was probably waiting for you to make the announcement. Guys are funny about stuff like that.”

Guys were funny, all right. She could never tell what they were thinking.

“I'm sure he'll do fine,” Olivia said. “At least he didn't leave town right away or anything like that.”

Maggie stared at Olivia. Was she remembering how Jameso had skipped town in the summer when Maggie's ex showed up? Or had she, like Maggie, pegged him as the unsteady type? “Do you know something about Jameso I should know?” she asked.

“No.” Olivia stowed the camera in her purse. “Some guys are just the type to duck out on their responsibilities. But not Jameso. Like I said, he's a stand-up guy.”

She hoped Olivia was right, but she didn't think she could count on Jameso sticking by her to the bitter end. Not when no other man had managed it.

“Well, congratulations.” Olivia started backing toward the SUV. “And don't worry about the single mom thing. Women do it every day.”

Yes, women did it every day. But that didn't mean Maggie had to. And she knew from her own fatherless upbringing how much a child needed a dad in her life. Maybe Barb was right. If she wanted Jameso to contribute more to the baby than his sperm, she'd have to think of jobs for him to do. Reasons for him to stick around. She'd start by putting him to work on the nursery. She'd let Barb design it and Jameso carry out Barb's decrees.

She smiled. The plan was genius. As tough as he liked to think he was, Jameso Clark was no match for Barb Stanowski. If he survived her ordering him around during the creation of a nursery, staying with Maggie for the birth would be a cinch.

 

By the end of the first week after the council meeting at which they'd approved investing Eureka's savings with Gerald's firm, Lucille and Gerald had been to dinner twice and once to a play in Montrose. Townspeople had pegged them as a definite couple, and Lucille had stopped worrying about it. Gerald had been ardent and Lucille had basked in his attention.

Tonight was their third dinner date, and by the time the main course arrived she was feeling mellow from two glasses of champagne from the bottle Gerald had insisted on ordering. “What are we celebrating again?” she asked as he topped off her glass.

“The final funds transfer came through today. Tomorrow I'll execute the buy order for the Swedish stock. This time six months from now you can expect the city's funds to have doubled.”

“You sound awfully sure of yourself. I thought financial markets were notoriously unpredictable.”

“Only when you don't know the business as well as I do.” He took her hand. “But let's not talk shop. This night is for us to enjoy each other.”

She had never met a man like him, with the soul of a poet and the face of a Greek statue. He wooed her with oysters and shrimp, expensive wine, and tales of the places he'd like to show her—Austria and Paris and Thailand. He was handsome, intelligent, and besotted with her.

But years of caution kept her from rushing headlong into deeper intimacy. “You mentioned a son,” she said. “So I assume you've been married before.”

“I've been married three times before.”

Her shock must have shown on her face. He chuckled and took her hand. “I know it's a lot. I could have lied and not mentioned the two marriages that didn't produce children, but I believe in being honest.”

“I appreciate that,” she said.

He gently massaged her fingers, caressing the knuckles, kneading the flesh between each digit. “Don't think of it as three failed marriages. Think of it as proof that I believe in marriage and monogamy. And I've learned how to be a better husband from each of those unions. Next time I'm sure I'll get things right.” His eyes met hers, a look filled with meaning. Her heart fluttered wildly and she had to look away.

“What about your marriage?” he asked. “I'm assuming there was only one.”

“Yes, only one. Mitch and I were very young. I was only twenty and he was twenty-four. We were together three years; then he left me for someone else.”

“It still pains you. I can read the hurt in your eyes.”

“No one likes to be rejected.” Her love for Mitch had died long ago, but the shame of him choosing someone else over her still burned, just a little.

“He was a fool,” Gerald said, his voice gruff with emotion. Lucille felt the bands around her heart loosen another notch.

After dinner they walked out into a frosty night lit by a full moon. At the car, he stopped her and pulled her into his arms for a kiss. She snuggled against him and returned the kiss with a new fervor, giving herself up to the desire she'd resisted for too long.

“Well, well.” He smiled down at her, a wolfish look that sent heat curling through her. “I like this new fire in you. May I claim a little responsibility for this passion?”

“You may.”

He pulled her tighter against him, letting her feel the hard evidence of his desire. “What should we do about it?”

It was her turn to smile, a seductive look meant to singe him. “I think you should take me back to your place.”

 

Olivia had filled most of a sketchbook with drawings for the proposed mural, sketching ideas, then ripping out the pages in frustration and starting over. She'd drawn faces and animals and scenery from imagination and from photographs, and had cried tears of frustration at her inability to translate to paper anything that was as good as the pictures that lived in her head.

In the end, she'd chosen three drawings: a miner with hammer and drill who looked suspiciously like a somewhat younger Bob Prescott, a pioneer woman who looked enough like Cassie to keep people guessing, and a boy who was clearly Lucas who held a fish for a shadowy man to admire. “The first two pictures represent the past and the boy represents the present and the future . . . tourism and all that,” she explained to Janelle and Danielle as she handed over the sketches. She'd stopped by before her shift at the Dirty Sally, just as the café was closing for the evening.

“They're perfect,” Danielle said. “Just what we're looking for.”

“Of course I'll fill in with scenery from the area,” Olivia said. “And animals . . . a burro for the miner, a bighorn sheep, and maybe an eagle. And the mountains, of course.” She was babbling, but she couldn't help herself. She'd let this commission become a lot more important to her than she'd wanted to. Investing so much emotion in anything made disappointment that much harder to bear.

“It will be beautiful,” Janelle said, returning the drawings to her. “When can you start?”

She had the job? It was that simple? She clutched the back of a chair, willing her legs not to give way in relief. “Next week, if that's okay. I'll need to buy some supplies.”

“We'll write you a check for half the fee tonight and the rest on completion,” Danielle said. “Does that sound okay?”

“Yes, that sounds wonderful.”

“You can take all this down.” Janelle indicated the skeletons, spiders, and other Halloween decorations that adorned the back wall. “And work whenever you like. The customers will enjoy watching you.”

The idea of performing for an audience made Olivia nervous all over again, but she vowed to overcome it. She was an artist—being paid for her work!

While Danielle went to the back to get her checkbook and Janelle continued clearing the tables, Olivia examined the oversized poster she'd designed for Bob's betting pool. She'd cut snowflakes from white cardboard and placed them in a box decorated with more snowflakes. Participants in the contest wrote their name on a snowflake and pinned it to the grid on the poster, over the date they guessed would see the first snowfall of an inch or more in the street in front of the Last Dollar. To get around gaming laws, participants were asked to make a donation to the town funds for each guess they proposed.

“Here's your check.” Danielle handed Olivia the first payment she'd ever received for her artwork. She was tempted to frame it. Then again, she needed the money for supplies. Maybe she'd frame a copy of it instead.

“Thanks.” She slid the check into her pocket. “I'll be back in a day or two to start work.” The girls said good night and Olivia headed down the sidewalk to the saloon, hugging her coat tightly around her against the cold. Eureka may not have seen snow yet, but winter was definitely here. Frost glittered on the windshields of the cars lined up in front of the Dirty Sally, and the moon shone like a 100-watt bulb in the impossibly clear night sky.

Jameso was behind the bar, which Olivia had spent a previous day draping with fake spiderwebs and glittery black spiders. He was talking with Junior Dominick and another man Olivia didn't know. She studied him with a new appreciation. Was he really okay with the idea of being a father? She waited until he moved away from the other men, then walked up to him.

“Congratulations,” she said, bumping him with her hip. “Daddy.”

Two spots of color bloomed high on his cheeks. “How did you find out?”

“I saw Maggie yesterday and she told me.”

“She did?”

“Are you hard of hearing? I just said she did.”

“I guess I thought she was trying to keep it quiet.” He folded his arms across his chest. “I mean, until she started showing and all.”

“She didn't ask me to keep it a secret or anything. Or would you rather people not know?”

“Me? No, I'm fine with it. I mean, it's exciting.”

“You don't look very excited.” In fact, he looked a little sick. “Are you worried?”

“No, why would I be worried?” He grabbed a bar towel and began scrubbing at an imaginary spill on the bar's mahogany surface. “It's a little scary, though. I don't have any idea what to do with a kid.”

“Does that mean you wish she wasn't pregnant?”

“No! It's just a surprise, that's all.” He stopped scrubbing. “But the idea's growing on me.”

“Men!” She threw up her hands in disgust.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Meaning a baby is the most wonderful, magical thing in the world and all you can say is that the idea is growing on you.”

“That's not fair. The way I see it, you women are in on the news from the start—the baby is growing in you. You can feel it, or the effects of it. All we have is the results on some plastic strip and an idea we can't feel or see for months. It's hard to wrap your mind around something like that.”

“Especially when you never planned on being a dad in the first place,” she said.

The guilty look in his eyes told her she'd hit a bull's-eye. “I wouldn't say never,” he said. “But you have to admit Maggie and I are doing things out of order.”

“So marry her already. You still have plenty of time.”

He looked grim. “Neither of us is ready for marriage.”

Something flickered in his eyes—hurt? Understanding dawned. “Did she turn you down?”

“This is really none of your business.” He headed back down the bar to retrieve Junior's empty beer glass.

Olivia pondered this revelation as she bused tables. Why would Maggie turn down Jameso's proposal? True, they hadn't been together long, but they seemed crazy about each other.

Olivia would have married D. J. in a minute, back before he left for Iraq. She'd been expecting a proposal the night he told her he'd taken the job. Instead of planning a wedding, she'd watched him pack up to move overseas. And he hadn't understood why she was so upset.

Her life had pretty much gone to hell after that. Only desperation could have made her drive across the country to move in with her mother. She hadn't seen Lucille in six years before then.

But it had worked out all right. Better than she'd expected, actually. Lucas liked it here, and Lucille had mellowed with age. Or maybe Olivia was the one who had mellowed. She and her mom got along better now than they had all the years Olivia was growing up. Things had been good, at least until D. J. showed up, opening up the old wounds as surely as if he'd slashed her with a knife. She'd told herself she was almost over him and he'd proved her so wrong.