The Sweetest September (Home in Magnolia Bend) (5 page)

“Right.”

“Doesn’t matter. Shannon will tell the whole town about me being with a woman at the local ob-gyn’s office.”

“That ship just sailed, huh?” And that was it. Her sanity snapped and the giggling started. John stared at her like she was deranged.

She was. At least temporarily.

“Sorry,” Shelby said, turning away, holding her belly, trying to find the remote control to her feelings. She teetered on the edge, the rollicking emotions pulling at her, making her wish for safe harbor from the storm.

Safe harbor.

The laughter boiled up again at the continued nautical nonsense, but she managed to stifle it. Turning around, she found John heading for his truck. He looked pissed, resigned, shell-shocked and pretty good in his jeans. She wished she hadn’t noticed that last thing, but there it was.

The man who had impregnated her in the bathroom was pretty hot, sad and grumpy.

Hey, a girl had to look for silver linings somewhere.

* * *

J
OHN
OPENED
THE
door for the woman who he suspected was either crazy as hell or suffering the start of a breakdown. Could be both, but either way she’d rolled into his world and pulled the rug out from beneath him. He’d hit the proverbial dirt so hard his proverbial ass had bruises. On an actual literal level, his head throbbed and the churning in his gut was something no antacid could cure. World rocked was an understatement.

He could get perspective later, though. At present he needed to convince her to stay in town.

Which could be a huge problem on a lot of levels, but still...he couldn’t help the inclination he felt to press Pause. He needed some time to think, some time to figure out possibly the rest of his life.

Shelby climbed inside the truck, allowing him to assist her, looking contrite after laughing like a cuckoo bird in the doctor’s parking lot.

He shouldn’t have been surprised. That night months ago, her vivacious laugh had first attracted him to her. Okay, if he were being honest, her body had been the first thing, but when she’d laughed, telling him lame jokes, he’d felt almost normal again. And then she’d flirted, pressing her polished nails against his chest, gazing into his eyes, telling him how good he made her feel...how much she needed someone like him to make her forget about the world.

That goddamn bright smile of hers and those baby-blues. By the time he was on his fifth beer, Shelby had been the answer to his prayers and he wanted to sink inside her, allow her to take the damn pain away and replace it with something as light as her laughter for just a little while.

God, send me something to take this damn pain away.

In John’s mind, God had answered, delivering Shelby with her perfect teeth and lush body.

Yeah.

God liked to play jokes...or maybe it was more his punishment for Rebecca’s death.
Thanks, God. Good one.

John fired the engine, sliding a glance over to the woman who now sat solemnly, clutching her purse like it held the antidote to a horrible disease. Her knuckles were white.

“My sister has a bed-and-breakfast. You’ll be close by so I can check on you.”

“I have a hotel in Baton Rouge...all my things are there. Staying at your sister’s place isn’t necessary.”

“This isn’t just about you.”

She didn’t say anything, so he gave her time, rolling onto Main Street, heading back toward home. The postman gave him a curious glance...along with the woman who worked the dry-cleaning counter. John waved because it was expected, but he knew they wondered why he wasn’t out in the fields...and why a blonde sat next to him.

“True,” Shelby said finally, settling her gaze on him. “I get that you’re trying to do the right thing...that you feel bad about what happened that night—”

“You need help.”

“I don’t. That back there was a weird reaction to stress. I can’t help myself sometimes,” she said, looking sheepish, “but I’ll be fine on my own.”

“So beyond the half breakdown you nearly had, are you okay? I mean is the baby okay?”

“Yeah, Dr. French thinks it’s an infection.”

“I heard through the door. He said no traveling.”

“He
recommended
no flying.”

“Stay in Magnolia Bend.” He tried to keep his tone neutral. Half of him wanted her to fly out of his life, but the other half clung to the thought this woman carried his son or daughter in her womb. He didn’t want to feel anything for her. At all. But he couldn’t let her go.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” she said. “I don’t belong here and it doesn’t seem fair to you to invite questions. I bet your town is full of Shannons who will be disappointed in their golden boy.”

John’s mind flipped to an image of his parents. They’d be very disappointed, along with his brothers and sister. Well, maybe not Jake. Then his mind flipped to his former mother-in-law, Carla Stanton, and the churning in his gut intensified. When Carla found out he’d fathered a child with a random woman, she’d be devastated. The idea he could lose everything popped into his mind. But if he let Shelby leave, he could lose something even more unimaginable—his child. “Having time to decide how we’ll handle this trumps what everyone else thinks. I shouldn’t care what anyone thinks.”

Not even Carla.

“But you do. You just sneaked me in the back door of the doctor’s office. You had a life...”

“Key word is
had,
” he said, his heart tripping over the truth Shelby had unearthed. He was ashamed of what he’d done that drunken night. He’d been untrue to Rebecca, sullying the day she’d left this earth with selfish desires. He’d sown this discord in his life and now he’d have to deal with the reaping. “Look, I don’t know how to feel. I wish I could say I didn’t give a damn about what people thought about me and the way I live my life, but—”

“You do?”

“I haven’t attended a single social event in town since Rebecca died. I’ve been in mourning and people accepted that. So to show up in town with a beautiful woman at my side, having people stare makes me feel...” He left off because he didn’t know.

Vulnerable? Guilty? And, yeah, maybe embarrassed he’d been so stupid. Getting a girl pregnant was a bonehead move and so unlike the salt-of-the-earth reputation he’d established in the town that had been home to the Beauchamps since the Civil War. Maybe if he hadn’t been such a part of the community it wouldn’t matter. Shelby was right. They weren’t living in the ’50s...though sometimes the small Louisiana town felt very much that way.

They passed the general store run by the Burnsides who were cousins on his mama’s side and the old men sitting outside playing checkers and lying about the fish they caught raised hands in greeting. He then tooted his horn at his uncle, Howard Burnside, who stood outside the courthouse wearing his sheriff’s uniform. “My whole family lives here.”

“Strange.”

“That’s the way it is in these small towns. I know almost everyone who lives here...and they know me.”

“So having me sit here pregnant from the one time you decided to take off your mourning clothes is a bit like crawling out from under a rock only to get pissed on?”

He had no reason to smile, but, damn, she’d nailed it. “I’d say that’s an accurate depiction.”

“So why do you want me to stay?”

“I can’t let you traipse off to Baton Rouge and hole up in a hotel room without someone to look after you.”

“Why? I’m a grown woman. I have a cell phone.”

She had a point, but something inside him balked at her leaving. He didn’t know exactly what he wanted in regards to the child, but if Shelby left Magnolia Bend, he might never know. Her leaving felt wrong. “Look, I know you can take care of yourself, but do me this solid—stay here. If something goes wrong, you’ll have someone to help you. I’ll get your things from the hotel. My sister won’t pester you or ask questions. I swear.”

“You’ll be working so what does it matter if I’m here or in Baton Rouge?”

“I can visit you each evening. We can get to know each other better.”

“Better than sex on a bathroom sink?” she snorted.

“Yeah, not my best moment.”

“I’ll say.” After a moment, Shelby continued, “I don’t need you to apologize for what happened or feel guilty. I don’t blame you anymore than I blame myself. We both screwed up and fiddler’s bill is steep.”

“Yeah, but I wish the dance had been a little better,” he said, recalling the cheap linoleum, the naked lightbulb and the way he’d made her feel when the realization of what he’d done washed over him. Not well done of him. Cheap, shoddy and now that he knew Shelby a little better, not deserved. “But it’s too late for regret. Best both of us can do is to move forward, doing what is best for our baby.”

“Our baby,” she repeated, her voice sounding lost.

Right as he pulled onto the highway, Shelby touched his arm. Her hands were small, still polished and soft looking. Nothing like Rebecca’s hands, worn from washing them too often at the preschool where she’d taught. Shelby’s touch sparked something in him, something he’d rather ignore and keep hidden.

Hunger for something more than what he’d lived for the past year and nearly three months.

“For the baby’s sake, I’ll stay until I get the all clear from Dr. Jamison, but I can promise you nothing beyond that.”

John looked over as she pulled her hand back into her lap and focused on the broken yellow lines of the road zipping beneath the old truck. “Okay, we can start there.”

CHAPTER FIVE

T
HE
L
AUREL
W
OODS
Bed-and-Breakfast had a polished shine that John’s small plantation lacked. The house boasted plush Oriental carpets, shining mahogany and framed John James Audubon original paintings centered above marble mantels. The soaring ceilings and glittering chandeliers nearly overwhelmed, but the sincerity in Abigail Orgeron’s eyes set Shelby at ease...something she needed in spades at the moment.

Abigail, for one, didn’t ask a single question, as promised, merely ordered a smartly dressed young man to ready the Rose Salon and take up the shopping bag Shelby carried before waving Shelby into the dining room where a carafe of tea sat along with some pecan-studded muffins and perfect tea cakes.

“John, why don’t you fetch some milk for the tea and call Birdie inside? The sun’s about to set and I don’t want her breaking her fool neck in that oak tree,” Abigail said to her brother, dismissing him as she sank onto a velvet flocked chair of crimson. “Sit down and I’ll pour you a cup of tea.”

Shelby didn’t want to be there and didn’t want tea, but she sat down anyway. John glanced at her, concerned, but slipped through the swinging door no doubt leading to the kitchen. “You have a lovely place.”

“Thank you,” Abigail said, lifting the steaming pot and pouring the fragrant tea into a delicate cup. Handing it to Shelby, she smiled. “Hibiscus herbal tea. I can’t tolerate caffeine this close to bedtime. Stay awake all night.”

“Thanks,” Shelby said, taking the cup and balancing it on her knee, glad she hadn’t had to ask for decaffeinated.

“Sugar?”

“One spoonful, please.”

Swirling the spoon and clanking it on the lip of the cup, Shelby glanced up to find John’s sister staring at her with a curious expression on her face.

John’s sister looked older than him. She had an elegant silver forelock that swept her inky shoulder-length hair. Her eyes were a clear green, cheekbones high, chin long, mouth generous. Her navy slacks and trim apple-green cardigan portrayed no nonsense and easy sophistication. Soft tan leather ballet flats backed up the impression. Here was a woman who chaired committees, ran a house like a field general and...waited for others to explain themselves.

Silence sat fat between them. Abigail sipped her tea, never wavering in her stare, waiting for someone, presumably Shelby, to clarify the situation.

Shelby shifted in her chair as John reentered carrying a carton of milk and dragging a young girl with tangled hair and a pair of binoculars around her neck.

“Mom, I can’t believe you’re making me come inside. I had just gotten my ’nocs trained on that woodpecker. How am I supposed to draw him in his habitat? This is preposterous,” the tiny girl declared with a stomp of her sneaker.

“Birdie, you’ve been out there for the past hour and still have some reading to complete,” Abigail said, her eye going immediately to the dirt left by the sneaker stomp. “You’re tracking in the house.”

The girl wore glasses that made her blue eyes look impossibly large. The skinny jeans made her more waiflike and the oversize Flash Gordon shirt didn’t help. She looked exactly like her name. “It’s Thanksgiving break, Mom. I’m not reading that stupid AR book over my holiday.”

Abigail’s eyes widened but she said nothing, turning instead back to Shelby. “Shelby, this is my daughter, Eva Brigitte. We call her Birdie.”

“Hi,” Shelby said.

The girl glowered but muttered, “Hey.”

“Now, get cleaned up for dinner. Shelby is one of our guests tonight and doesn’t want to hear our squabbling over homework.” Abigail’s voice brooked no argument.

Birdie flashed her mother a withering look and ran toward the stairs, leaving more zigzag dirt on the polished floor. She may or may not have muttered “whatever” on her escape.

John stared after his niece looking as perplexed as Shelby felt. “Since when has she been fond of sketching woodpeckers?”

“Oh, it’s those Audubon prints scattered all over the inn. She’s so strong willed and—” Abigail waved her hand. “Let’s not do this right now. Birdie is Birdie.”

John’s lips tipped up, softening him. “She’s something else.”

His sister nodded. “That’s one way to put it. So, Shelby, how long will you be with us?”

“I’m not sure. Through Saturday?”

Abigail gave her the “you don’t know?” look and then glanced toward John, the unspoken question in her eyes.

“At least through Saturday. Actually, I’m bringing Shelby to Thanksgiving dinner.”

Abigail’s eyebrows rose nearly to her hairline. “Really?”

Shelby swallowed, wondering if she should correct him or merely accept the fact she was stuck with John in Magnolia Bend for a week.

“It’ll be nice to have a guest at our table. Friends are always welcome,” Abigail said, sliding another glance to John. The unstated questions literally pulsed in the quietness.

Shelby knew Abigail wanted to grill John, but likely relied on Southern graciousness in order to bite her tongue. Shelby wasn’t from the South so she said, “Just so you know, we’re just friends. Met a few months back.”

“Oh,” Abigail said, her gaze meeting Shelby’s. “I didn’t know John had started dating again.”

“We’re
not
dating,” John said, settling his hands on his lean hips. “Like Shelby said we’re just friends.”

“Yes,” Shelby agreed. “Just friends.”

“But he’s brought you home to meet his family,” Abigail persisted, unconvinced.

“I had some business to take care of down here,” Shelby said, setting the half-empty cup back on the antique tea cart with a clatter. “Getting to spend time with John is a bonus of sorts. Unfortunately, my health prevents me from flying back to Seattle and spending the holiday with my own family. John volunteered to help me get settled here for a few days, thinking I’d enjoy the small town atmosphere better than the busyness of Baton Rouge.”

“I knew she’d like Laurel Woods...just wasn’t sure you’d have room,” John said.

“I have room until Friday. This weekend the Candy Cane Festival starts, and I’m booked solid for a week. You’re welcome to stay until then. What about your health? Is there anything special I need to know?” Abigail looked worried, as if at any moment she might whip out Lysol and start spraying.

“No, nothing contagious,” Shelby said, almost laughing. Almost. ’Cause there wasn’t anything really funny about being an unwed, unemployed single mother who’d conceived a baby in the bathroom of a roadside honky-tonk that also sold bait and beer during daylight hours. “I appreciate you putting me up on such short notice, but I think I’ll head to my room for a shower and an early night.”

“Can I at least make you a sandwich?” Abigail volunteered. She didn’t look as worried anymore. “Ham? Turkey?”

“If you have peanut butter and jelly, that would be perfect,” Shelby said, rising and scooping up her purse. “Thank you for the tea.”

“Sure,” Abigail said, setting her cup on the cart and standing. “Let me know if there’s anything else you need.”

“I’ll walk her up,” John said to Abigail.

Seconds later, they climbed the grand staircase to the second floor. The rooms were all marked by placards, most named after flowers. Shelby withdrew the old-fashioned skeleton key and inserted it in the keyhole, the whirring machinations releasing the lock. Vintage outside, modern inside.

John pushed open the door and Shelby sucked in her breath.

“Oh, wow,” she breathed out.

“Yeah, pretty grand,” John said.

The room had raspberry walls stretching up to a ceiling with insets and heavy crown molding. The huge bed sat on a platform, the green silk canopy gathered in the center, cascading down the sides of the ornately carved bed. Large linen European shams banked the profusion of needlepoint pillows and the plump duvet beckoned weary travelers to lay their burdens down and burrow within the depths. The elegant antique furniture complemented the room and the adjoining door gave a view of an enormous claw-foot tub.

Shelby eyed her bag sitting at the end of the bed. “Well, thank you.”

John stared at her, his face impassive.

“You can go. I’ll be fine. Your sister seems capable of handling most anything.”

At this he snorted. “My parents should have named her Colonel so people would know what to expect when they find themselves facedown in the mud with tank marks on their back.”

“It would be hard for a girl to go through life with the name Colonel. She’d never find a personalized key chain or snow globe,” Shelby cracked, wanting him to go away, wanting him to stay so she wouldn’t feel so alone.

His flash-bang smile surprised her. “That’s the girl I remember from Boots.”

“Yeah, I have a good sense of humor when I’m not hormonal, on the verge of tears or cracking up...though I bet you wish you had never answered that knock-knock joke at the bar.”

“It
was
funny.”

“Yeah,” she said, walking toward the bed and sinking onto the plush comforter. “So...”

“I’m writing down my number.” He picked up the notepad by the phone. “If you need anything...”

“I won’t.” She hadn’t wanted anything from him in the first place. Her plan had been so simple—tell him about the child and fly back to Seattle. Okay, she hadn’t
wanted
to fly back to Seattle and face the music with her family...over turkey no less. She’d imagined the scenario several times over the long flight to Louisiana. “Pass the green bean casserole. Oh, and by the way, I’m pregnant.”

How fun was that?

Spotlight on her as she enacted the next installment of “Shelby the Eternal Screwup”—a yearly special airing near the holidays when family members were apt to ask things like “How are you?” And since Shelby prided herself on being honest and relishing the jolt on the faces of her brother, sister and assorted cousins, the answer was always shocking.

“How are you, Shelby?”

“Good, David. I lost my virginity to Dad’s junior partner, who swore he loved me and would marry me when his wife died. How are you?”

Yeah. That’s pretty much how it went. Come to think of it, saying, “I’m pregnant by a man I met at a back-road honky-tonk” sounded tame by comparison. Maybe dropping that doozy over the white-chocolate-cranberry cheesecake wouldn’t be so bad.

“Look, Shelby, I know we’re veritable strangers.”

“Veritable?”

“Virtual?”

“We know each other carnally. That’s pretty much it.”

He lifted both his eyebrows. “And that’s all it took.”

“Touché,” she said.

“My point is that I’m here for you. You aren’t alone.”

Shelby ran her hand over the fine needlework of the velvet lumbar pillow. “It’s been a tough afternoon, and you’ve been pretty damn decent.”

He spread his hands. “What else could I do?”

“You could have done a lot of things that weren’t as nice as what you did. I dropped a tornado on you and you didn’t hide in a cellar.”

“I don’t have a cellar. This is Louisiana.”

Shelby smiled and took time to study him in the golden light of the room. Despite the grimness shadowing his eyes, John Beauchamp was a fine specimen of a man. No pretty boy, he had a ruggedness that called to mind Clint Eastwood in his younger days. Brows that easily gathered into perplexity, a hard jaw that spoke of stubbornness and a sensual mouth that, though often drawn into a line, could curve into a wicked smile.

She remembered his scent, remembered the way his muscled chest felt beneath her fingertips, the way he’d kissed her...like a man starved.

Now that she knew he’d lost his wife over a year ago, she understood the desperation in his kiss, recognized the same need throbbing inside her. After Darby dumped her, her ego had been fragile and she’d been ripe for the plucking...or ripe for the—well, she wasn’t going there. Suffice it to say, she’d been just as desperate as John to feel the touch of another person.

“Time to process all of this would be nice,” he said. “So, I’ll let you rest and say good night.”

She nodded because she still struggled to believe her whole life had been turned on its ear. In six and a half months she’d become a mother...if she didn’t lose the pregnancy. Process? Not a bad idea.

“Good night, John,” she said.

For a moment he looked uncertain, like he wondered if he should extend his hand or offer a hug or something.

Luckily, a knock at the door interrupted the awkwardness, and Abigail hurtled inside, balancing a tray, which she sat on the desk.

“I hope it’s enough,” John’s sister said, arranging the silverware on the napkin. A single yellow chrysanthemum brightened the tray holding a sandwich, fruit and a slice of pecan pie.

“It’s perfect. Thank you,” Shelby said, rising.

“Don’t get up,” John said, lifting the tray and crossing the room, setting it on the bedside table.

“I could have done that,” Abigail said, eyeing her brother with an odd expression.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” John said, glancing down to where Shelby sat, one foot hooked beneath her.

“You’re in the middle of harvest.” Abigail looked as if she’d been tossed in a lake. “You can’t come here tomorrow.”

“I’m not too busy for a friend,” he said.

“Who are you?” Abigail asked.

“A man not that busy.”

“Hmm,” John’s sister muttered before turning to Shelby. “Let me know if you need anything. Extra toiletries are in the bathroom. You wouldn’t believe how many people forget basics.”

“Thank you,” Shelby called as Abigail headed toward the door.

John waited until his sister disappeared. “What about clothes...a, uh, nightgown?”

Shelby pointed to the plastic bag. “That’s why I asked if you’d stop at the store. I nabbed a few things including an oversize shirt to sleep in along with a toothbrush. I can manage.”

“If you’ll give me your hotel info, I’ll send someone to Baton Rouge to gather your things.”

“Don’t bother. Things are scattered all over the room, and I really don’t want a stranger packing my personal items. I can climb out of bed long enough to do that.”

“I’ll drive you, then,” he said.