The Pregnancy Secret (Harlequin Romance Large Print) (5 page)

CHAPTER SEVEN

T
HE
NIGHTGOWN
BROKE
FREE
, and her casted arm went through the right hole and the rest of the garment whispered around her. She used her left hand to tug the hem down to a decent level over her legs.

He bent his head and put his teeth on the fabric of her blouse, and the stubborn seam released. With one final, gentle tug that did not hurt Jessica’s arm at all, the blouse was free from the cast.

“A good tailor can probably fix that,” he said, laying the destroyed blouse in her lap.

“I’m not divorcing you,” she said. “We’re divorcing each other. Isn’t that what you want?”

He found where her sling was discarded on the floor and looped it gently over her head.

“It seems to be what you want all of a sudden,” he said. “There’s something you aren’t telling me, isn’t there?”

She felt suddenly weak, as if she could blurt out her deepest secret to him. How would it feel to tell him?
Kade, there is going to be a baby after all.

No, that was not the type of thing to blurt out. What would be her motivation? Did she think it would change things between them? She didn’t want them to change because of a baby. She wanted them to change because he loved her.

What? She didn’t want things to change between them at all. She was taking steps to close this door, not reopen it! She was happy.

“Happy, happy, happy,” she muttered out loud.

“Huh?”

“Oh. Just thinking out loud.”

He looked baffled, as well he should!

“Go to bed,” he told her. “We’ll talk later. Now is obviously not the time.”

He had that right! Where were these horrible, weak thoughts coming from? She needed to get her defenses back up.

With what seemed to be exquisite tenderness, he slipped her cast back inside the sling, adjusted the knot on the back of her neck.

His touch made her feel hungry for him and miss him more than it seemed possible. He put his hand on her left elbow and helped her up, and then across the bathroom and into the bedroom.

He let go of her only long enough to turn back the bedsheets and help her slide into the bed. She suddenly felt so exhausted that even the hunger she felt for her husband’s love felt like a distant pang.

He tucked the covers up around her, and stood looking down at her.

“Okay,” she said. “I’m fine. You can leave.”

He started to go, but then he turned back and stood in the bedroom door, one big shoulder braced against the frame. He looked at her long and hard, until the ache came back so strong she had to clamp her teeth together to keep herself from flicking open the covers, an invitation.

Just like that, the intimacies of this bedroom revisited her. His scent, and the feel of his hands on her heated skin, his lips exploring every inch of her.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “You’re beet red.”

Flushed with remembered passion, how embarrassing.

She would do well to remember all that passion had not been able to carry them through heartbreak and turbulence.

She had bled all the passion out of this bedroom. She had become, she knew, obsessed with having a baby after the two miscarriages. It had become so horrible. Taking temperatures and keeping charts, and their lovemaking always faintly soured with her desperation.

Seeing him standing in the doorway, she remembered she had stood in that very spot watching him pack his things after their final night together.

“Please don’t,” she’d whispered.

“I can’t stay.”

“But why?”

Those cruel words that were forever a part of her now.

“Jessica, you’ve taken all the fun out of it.”

“Out of making love?” she had asked him, stricken.

“Out of everything.”

These were the things she needed to remember when a weak part of her yearned, with an almost physical ache, to be loved by him. To be held by him. To taste his lips again, and to taste faint salt on his skin after they’d made love. To feel the glory of his well-defined muscles under her fingertips. To smell him fresh out of the shower, to laugh with him until she could barely breathe for the ecstatic joy of it.

No, she needed to remember the pain, not the glory, the loneliness and the disappointment, and all the hurtful things. She needed to remember when she had needed him—when she had felt so fragile it had seemed as if a feather falling on her could have cracked her wide-open—Kade had been unavailable in every way.

“I’m fine,” she said to Kade now. “Please go.”

He heard the coolness in her tone and looked offended by it, but she told herself she didn’t care. She told herself she felt nothing but relief as she heard him close the door of the house behind him, and then lock the dead bolt with his key.

She told herself she didn’t care that he had gone and that she was alone again. For a woman who was happy, happy, happy, she felt an overwhelming need to cry. With her good arm she grabbed her pillow and put it over her face to try to stifle her desire.

Desire.
Why had that unfortunate word popped into her head? This further evidence of her weakness made her fight harder not to cry.

It was weak—it was not the woman she wanted to be. Today hardly even rated as a bad day. She’d had two miscarriages.
Those
had been bad days. She’d had the husband she loved madly leave her.
That
had been a bad day.

But despite her every effort to talk herself out of them, the tears came, and they came hard, and they came for every bad day Jessica had ever had.

* * *

Kade left the house and stood on the front step for a moment. There was a little peekaboo view of the downtown skyline. It was the only place on the property that had any kind of a view, and he and Jessica used to sit out here with a glass of wine on a summer’s night, planning the deck they would build someday to capitalize on their sliver of a view.

But that had been before the pregnancy quest. Then wine, along with renovations, had been off her list.

He didn’t want to go there.

He glanced at his watch and was shocked how early it was in the day. It wasn’t even noon yet. It felt as if he had put in a full day, and a hard day, too. Still, there was a place he could go when he didn’t want to go
there
for that walk down memory lane.

Work.

He called his assistant. The handyman had already been dispensed to Jessica’s business. If he went and liked the guy’s work, he could surrender the list. It might minimize encounters like the one he had just had.

He decided he liked the handyman, Jake, and he liked his work. Patty had provided him with the surveillance and security system she had found, and it was already installed when Kade arrived.

“It’s really cool,” Jake said. “It’s motion activated, but you can program it to only send an image to your phone if a door or window is touched. Give me your phone number.”

Kade had the fleeting thought it should be Jessica’s number that he gave him, but on the other hand, how could he trust her not to rush right down here if her phone alerted her to an intruder?

He gave him his number, and they chortled like old friends as they experimented with setting the alarm and then touching the door, watching their images come up on Kade’s phone. Along with the alarm system, a new door was nearly installed, and Jake had matched the old one very closely and even gotten one with shatterproof glass. He was reinforcing the frame so that the dead bolt would not break away.

But somehow when Kade left, the list for the fixes at the house he and Jessica shared was still in his pocket. He had not surrendered it to the obviously very capable handyman.

Why? He suspected it was not because he had not got an answer from her about the floors.

He mulled it over as he drove into the office. Somewhere between her house and there, he had decided he was doing the fixes himself.

But why?

He wasn’t particularly handy. The state of the kitchen cupboards over there and the fireplace that did not work were ample evidence of that.

Then he knew. It was time to finish it. Not just the house, but all that house represented. It was time to finish his relationship with Jessica. She was absolutely 100 percent right about that.

And as much as he wanted to, he could not hand those finishes off to someone else. It would be cowardly. And he sensed it would leave him with a sense of incompletion that he could never outdistance.

He would go over there, and he would do all the fixes on the list in his pocket, and then they would get a real estate agent in to appraise the place, and then they would put a for-sale sign on it, and it would sell, and that last thing that held them together would be done.

And how should he feel about that?

“Happy, happy, happy,” he said.

Though when Jessica had muttered that, obviously under the influence of whatever, she had looked about the furthest thing from happy! And he was aware that happy, happy, happy was about the furthest thing from how he was feeling, too.

But that just showed him how true it was and how urgent. They needed to be done. He called his assistant and did something he had not done for a long, long time.

He asked her to clear his weekend.

It wasn’t until he hung up the phone that he was aware that, for someone who wanted to finish things, another motivation lurked just behind his need to fix the house.

Was Jessica going to be okay after being mugged? Not her arm. That would heal. But her. She had always had that artistic temperament, ultrasensitive to the world.

If he knew Jessica—and he did—she was not nearly as brave as she was trying to be.

So, on Saturday morning, feeling a little foolish in his brand-new tool belt, Kade knocked on the door of the house he had shared with Jessica. He was certain she had said she would be at work, but she opened the door.

He could see why she wasn’t at work. She would scare people away from her fledgling business in the getup she had on. She was wearing a crazy sleeveless dress that was at least four sizes too large for her.

But, in truth, it was her face that worried him. Just as he suspected, her drawn features hinted she might not be doing well. There was the gaunt look of sleeplessness about her, as well as dark circles under her eyes.

“It’s a maternity dress. I have three of them.” Her tone was defensive. “They’re easy to get on. See the buttons down the front? That is a very hard thing to find in a dress.”

“I didn’t say anything.” Her arm was in the sling. At least she was following doctor’s orders.

“But getting dressed was not that easy, even with the buttons. I’m running late.”

He noticed her cast had been decorated with all kinds of signatures and drawings.

In college, she had always been surrounded by friends. But then marriage had done something to her. Her world, increasingly, had become about him and their house. When the pregnancy quest had begun, Jessica had quit the job she’d had since earning her arts degree. Admittedly, it had not been the best job. She had barely made minimum wage at that funky, fledgling art gallery in east Calgary.

At first, he’d liked it that Jessica was home, and doted on him. He’d liked it quite a lot, actually. Maybe he’d liked it enough he’d encouraged it. Who didn’t want to come home to fresh-baked bread, or roast beef and Yorkshire pudding or three dozen chocolate-chip cookies still warm out of the oven?

Who didn’t want to come home to the most beautiful woman in the world waiting for him, with some newly inventive way of showing she loved him? Once it had been rose petals floating in a freshly drawn tub. Another time it had been a candlelit wine tasting in the back garden, a garden that she had single-handedly wrested from a weedy demise.

But slowly, all her devotion had begun to grate on him. He was so aware that Jessica’s world was becoming smaller and smaller: paint colors for rooms rather than canvases. She was always trying new recipes. She discovered shopping online and was constantly discovering useless bric-a-brac that he was supposed to share her enthusiasm for.

It had pierced even his colossal self-centeredness that she was becoming a shadow of the vibrant person she had once been. The obsession with the baby had just intensified the sense he didn’t know who she was anymore.

She’d started buying things for a baby they didn’t have: little shoes just too adorable to pass up, hand-crocheted samplers for the walls of a nursery they didn’t have yet. The magazine racks—God forbid a magazine was left conveniently out—were stuffed with parenting magazines.

She was forever showing him articles on the best baby bottles, and strollers, and car seats. She wanted him to go over fabric samples with her because she had found a seamstress to custom make the crib bedding. But it didn’t matter which one he picked. The next day she had more for him to look at. She was acquiring a collection of stuffed animals that would soon need a room of their own, not to mention require them to take out a second mortgage to pay for them all.

“Jessica,” he remembered shouting at her, “nobody pays three hundred dollars for a teddy bear.”

She had looked crushed, and then unrepentant.

The anger, he knew in retrospect, though he had no idea at the time, had nothing to do with the teddy bear. It had to do with the fact he felt responsible for the awful metamorphosis taking place in her. It had to do with the fact that he was aware, in her eyes, he was not enough for her.

She brought him back to the present. “You didn’t have to say anything about the dress. I can see in your face how you feel about it.”

He was fairly certain it was the memory of the three-hundred-dollar-teddy-bear fight that had been in his face, so he tried to banish those thoughts and stay in the moment. “I’m not sure why you would wear something so...er...unflattering.”

“Because I don’t care what you think, that’s why!”

Or, he thought looking at her, she was trying very, very hard to make it appear that she didn’t care what he thought.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“I
LIKE
THE
CAST
,
THOUGH
,” Kade told Jessica.

And he did. He liked it that she had a bigger world again. All the scribbling on the cast was evidence of friends and coworkers and a life beyond the house. Okay, it grated a bit that she had managed to make a bigger world without him, and somehow it was still about babies.

“The dress is what I could get on by myself. See? Buttons down the front.”

“About the dress,” he said, deadpan. “Are they all that color? What would you call that color?”

“Pink?” she suggested.

“Nausea, heartburn, indigestion...” It was the slogan of a famously pink stomach-relief medication.

“The other ones are worse—”

“No, no, they can’t be.”

“Spiced pumpkin and real-woods camo.”

“A camo maternity dress? I guess my next question would be, how are sales?”

“They are very, very popular.”

“Tell me it ain’t so,” he groaned.

“They are part of an extraoversize line.”

“Look, you are scaring me with the visual.”

“Well, your visual is a little scary, too,” she said, standing back from the door to let him by her. “A tool belt? And what is that you’re driving?”

“I borrowed a truck.”

“A truck worthy of a camo-wearing pregnant lady, too.”

“I needed it for the vibrating floor sander I rented to refinish the floors.”

“A floor sander. The scariness increases. You always thought we should just replace the floors,” she reminded him.

“You always thought we should refinish them.”

“But it doesn’t matter now!” she said, but it felt as if it did. It felt as if it was part of all that was unfinished. In the house, and between them. But Kade did not tell her that.

“What do you know about refinishing a floor?” she asked, looking at her watch.

“Oh, ye of little faith,” he said. “I went on the internet. It’s easier than you think.”

Jessica looked insultingly doubtful.

“I think that refinishing will be less time-consuming than ripping out the old floor and putting down a new one,” he told her. He didn’t add it might be more in keeping with his skill set.

“Why are you tackling it? Why didn’t you just hire someone? That guy you hired to install my door was excellent. By the way, I owe you some money for that.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

She looked as if she was going to argue, but then remembered she already was in the middle of one argument with him and decided to stick to that one. “I mean this is not exactly your line of work, Kade. It’s certainly not in keeping with your current lifestyle.”

“What lifestyle is that?” he asked her.

“You know.”

“I don’t.”

“CEO—chief everything officer—at a prestigious company, resident of River’s Edge.”

“I already told you I work all the time.”

“That’s exactly what I’m trying to say. You work all the time, and not at renovations. You have a very sophisticated lifestyle. You move in very high-powered circles. I don’t understand why you want to do this.”

“I started it,” he said grimly. “And I’m going to finish it.”

She looked at him, and he knew she got it. She got it at every level that he had meant it at.

“Well, I’d love to stay and help—”

He could tell she meant it to sound sarcastic, but instead they both heard the wistfulness there, and Jessica blushed.

“—but I have to go to work. It already took me nearly forty-five minutes longer to get ready than I thought it would, and my part-time staffer can only stay until noon today.”

“You slept in,” he guessed.

Jessica looked as if she was going to protest, but then didn’t. She sighed. “I had trouble sleeping.”

“I thought you would.”

“What? Why?”

“There aren’t very many people who could walk away from being assaulted without being affected by it. And you’ve always been more sensitive than the average person anyway.”

She smiled wanly and gave in, just a little bit, to the fact that he was her husband. He
knew
her. “I’m okay till I lie down, then I feel as if I hear glass breaking. I jump at the sound of the furnace turning on, and that tree branch outside the bedroom scraping the window. Then, since I’m awake anyway, I contemplate how to protect my shop, and hate how helpless I feel.”

He drew in a deep breath. The warrior in him wanted to devote his life to protecting her.

But she looked as abashed at her confessions as he was at his reaction to them. Jessica glanced again at her watch. “Yikes! Would you look at the time! Sorry, again. I can’t help.”

“It doesn’t matter. There is a lot of legwork before I actually do anything. I have to move furniture before I get started on the floors.”

She cast a look at Behemoth. She was obviously thinking moving furniture was a two-person job, but he had also rented a dolly this morning with that recliner specifically in mind.

But Jessica surprised him. The practicalities of moving furniture were not what was on her mind.

“Remember the day we brought that home?” she asked softly.

These were the conversations he didn’t want to have. Because the truth was that he remembered everything.

“You protesting the whole way home how ugly it was,” Kade reminded her. He thought her exact words had been that it didn’t fit with her
vision
for their house. He hadn’t become totally jaded with the vision yet. Or maybe he had started to, because he had brought home the chair over her strenuous protests.

“And then we couldn’t get it in the door. It weighs about a thousand pounds—”

“Well, maybe fifty,” he corrected her wryly.

“And I was trying to hold up one end of it and you were trying to stuff it through the door. I told you it was a sign the house did not want it, and then you shoved extrahard. The frame of the door cracked and Behemoth catapulted into the house and nearly crushed me.”

“Except I saved you,” he said.

She looked at his face. Her eyes were very wide. She looked as if she was going to step toward him.

Suddenly, he remembered how they had celebrated getting that chair into the house. On the chair. And she had seemed affectionately tolerant of Behemoth after that.

The memory was between them, liquid and white-hot. It didn’t mean anything that she still had the chair, did it?

“Go to work,” Kade said gruffly, deliberately stepping back from her. “You probably wouldn’t be of any help in your delicate state anyway.”

Too late, he realized that a delicate state usually referred to pregnancy, and that, of course, was the topic that was a minefield between them.

Thankfully, she seemed a little rattled, as he was himself, by the Behemoth memory. He didn’t intend to share the secret of the furniture-moving dolly with her. She would come home, and the floors would be completely done, and the furniture back in place and she would be filled with complete admiration for his adeptness in all things masculine.

And she would be so sorry things had not worked between them.

That thought blasted through his brain from nowhere that he could discern.

“Where should I put the furniture?” he asked hastily.

“Oh. Good question. Try the guest room. I use it as an office. It probably has the most room in it right now.”

“Okay.”

She cast one last rather insultingly doubtful look around the living room, but then looked at her watch and made a squeaking noise. She disappeared and came back in a few minutes, her look improved ever so slightly by a nice handbag, ultrahigh heels and dark glasses that hid the circles under her eyes.

“All right,” she called. “Good luck. See you later.”

Then she turned and, with her heels clacking sexy defiance of that horrible dress, went through the kitchen and out the back door. The door seemed to snap shut behind her. Was he mistaken, or had she been eager to get away from him?

* * *

Jessica could not wait to get out of that house! Her husband was an attractive man. His executive look—the tailored suits and linen shirts and silk ties, the manicured nails and the beautifully groomed hair—was enough to make any woman give him a second glance.

And yet the man he was this morning felt like
her
Kade. Casual in jeans faded to nearly white, his plaid shirt open at the beautiful column of his throat, his sleeves rolled up over the carved muscle of his forearms, a faint shadow of whiskers on his face. It was who he had been in private—dressed down, relaxed, so, so sexy.

Add to that the tool belt riding low on his hips, his easy confidence about pitting all that masculine strength against Behemoth...

Behemoth. Back in the day. When everything was still
fun
.

Good grief, she had wanted to just throw herself against him this morning, feel his heart beating beneath her cheek, feel his arms close around her.

The robbery had left her far more rattled than she ever could have believed. Her sleep was troubled. She started at the least sound. Her mind drifted back to that morning if she let down her guard for even a second. And she felt dreadfully alone with the stress of it.

It was making her weak. The fact that he
knew
how she would react made her lonely for him, even though the sane part of her knew wanting to lean on Kade was an insane form of weakness. She had already tried that once, and he wasn’t good at comforting her. Probably what had stopped her from throwing herself at him this morning was uncertainty. Would he have gathered her to him, rested his chin on the top of her head, folded his arms around her? Or would he, after an uncomfortable moment of tolerating her embrace, have stepped away?

She did not think it would be a good idea to make herself vulnerable to Kade again.

But even with that resolve strong within her, Jessica arrived at work feeling rattled.

Her stomach was in knots.

“Good grief,” said Macy, her part-time staffer, stopping in her tracks. “Where’d you get that dress?”

“You know perfectly well I got it from the rack of Poppy Puppins at the back.”

“It looks horrible on you.”

Jessica didn’t want to look horrible. She hated it that Kade had seen her looking horrible, even though she had deliberately worn the outfit to let him know she did not care one whit what he thought of her.

Sleep deprivation, obviously, was kicking in, plus it was some kind of reaction to being the victim of a crime, just as Kade had said, because Jessica felt as if she was fighting not to burst into tears.

“It has buttons on the front!” Jessica exclaimed for the second time that day. Ignoring the pitying look from Macy, she headed to office and slammed the door behind her.

She could not focus, even before she had
the
thought.
The
thought made her stomach feel as if it had become the lead car on the world’s biggest roller coaster. It plunged downward and then did a crazy double loop. She bolted out of her office and into the store.

“Jessica? What’s wrong?”

Jessica stared at Macy, not really seeing her. This was the thought that was tormenting her: Had she told Kade to put the furniture in the guest room? But she used that room as an office! And if she was not mistaken, she had the names of adoption agencies and lawyers who specialized in that field strewn all over the desk.

“Are you okay?” Macy asked. She dropped a tiny stuffed football and rushed to Jessica’s side. “Are you going to faint?”

Jessica looked down at the bill of lading she still had clutched in her hand. She did feel terribly wobbly. “I think I’m okay,” she said doubtfully.

“I was supposed to babysit for my sister at noon, but if you want, I’ll see if my mom can do it instead.”

Jessica was ashamed that her distress, her weakness, was that obvious to her employee. But her soon-to-be ex-husband had always had a gift for rattling her world, in one way or another.

What did it matter if he knew she was contemplating adoption? But at some deep, deep level, she did not want him to know.

So though usually Jessica would have said a vehement no to an offer like Macy had just made, she didn’t. Usually, she would have pulled herself together. She could just phone and tell Kade to put Behemoth in her bedroom instead of the office.

She looked at her watch. He’d been there, in her house, for an hour and a half. It was possible he was already in the office, poring over her personal papers, uncovering her secrets.

“Oh, Macy, could you? I’d be so grateful.” She shoved the bill of lading into Macy’s hand.

And it wasn’t until Jessica was halfway home that she realized she had not even waited for Macy’s answer, but had bolted out the door as if her house was on fire.

Which, in less than half an hour, it would be.