Текст книги "About that Night"

Автор книги: Beth Andrews

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

CHAPTER TEN

THE NEXT MORNING, C.J. met the deliveryman at the door of Bradford House, accepted the envelope from the PI Oakes had hired. The envelope filled with information about Ivy, about her past and who she really was. He paid and tipped the deliveryman, then shut the door. His fingers tightened on the packet. He stared at it, wondering what he’d find out inside, wondering if he even wanted to know.

He looked up and felt his heart tumble when he saw Ivy walking toward him, holding hands with a little boy.

He had a flash, a premonition of her coming toward him, fingers linked with their child’s, her smile soft and inviting and sexy just for him, her stomach softly rounded with their second baby.

He shook his head, dispelling the image. Crazy. He wasn’t a man prone to flights of fancy or who believed in premonitions or visions of what was to come. The future was what you made happen. He didn’t believe in fate or destiny; he believed in hard work and following through.

But it had been a nice daydream, one he’d never thought he’d have pictured for himself, especially not with someone who wasn’t the type of woman he’d ever thought of having a future with.

“Skulking around, trying to get a look at me?” Ivy asked with that sexy smirk. “Or are you just taking your stalking up to a new level?”

“Neither,” he said, holding up the envelope. “Just had some work delivered.” He glanced at the boy, who was whining and holding his arms up to Ivy. Ivy picked him up, and C.J.’s stomach turned. Would he find out from the information the PI had gathered that this kid belonged to her? “Your son?” he asked, his words tight.

Though she and the boy both had blond hair, C.J. didn’t see much resemblance between them. “Would it bother you if he was?”

Hell, yes. “Is he yours?” he asked instead, not liking feeling so judgmental.

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t make a habit of getting pregnant by random men. You’re the first. This is Mitchell, Fay’s youngest son. She has two, both born within the bonds of holy matrimony, in case you were harboring disparaging thoughts about her.”

He stepped closer. “I wasn’t. Hello, Mitchell.” The kid pressed his face into the side of Ivy’s neck and hugged her with enough force to have her eyes bugging out. C.J. frowned at her. “Is he afraid of me?”

“He’s shy.” She rubbed the child’s back. “He’s not used to strangers, and he’s not big on men in general, are you, buddy?”

“You’re good with him.”

Her mouth quirked. “You sound surprised.”

He was. She was so overtly sexy and not exactly maternal. “Do you have siblings?” Maybe she had younger brothers and sisters she’d helped with while growing up.

“Nope.” She winked. “Only child. I figure my mom was smart enough to realize once you hit perfection, there’s no point having more kids.”

He grinned. “I agree. Too bad that logic didn’t stop my father from having three more sons.”

“Just your father?”

“He had one of them with my mother. The other two with other women.”

The kid lifted his head and started playing with Ivy’s hair, and C.J. almost envied him. He remembered how soft it was, how fragrant, how it had trailed across his body, branding his skin. “Maybe I should be asking if you have a habit of getting women pregnant,” she said.

“You’re the first.”

“Good to know.”

“This whole thing is a first,” he admitted, following her as she carried the kid upstairs. “I’m not...used to kids. Except my niece, but she’s seventeen now, and when she was that little, I didn’t spend much one-on-one time with her.”

“Yeah, well, this is all new to me, too. Before I started working here I’d never been around kids. Never babysat or had friends with younger siblings.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Guess we’ll figure it out together.”

“Should you be carrying him up the stairs like that?” he asked.

“As opposed to having him tossed over my shoulder or dragging him up by his feet?”

“No. I meant, is it safe for you to be carrying something so heavy at all, especially up the stairs?”

“As far as I know. Again, this is my first time. But I do know that women all over the world have kids—often times more than one—and that they probably have to carry the older one during pregnancy, so I’m guessing it’s fine. My doctor says I’m perfectly healthy, and since I’m beyond the first trimester, she thinks things should go smoothly.”

C.J. shoved his hands into his pockets as they reached the second floor. “Good. That’s...good.” And made sense. He was just so out of his element here, felt so helpless, and he hated it.

“Yes. It is.” Ivy studied him, since he was just standing there. “I suppose you’ll want to go to your room, get working on those papers you have there,” she said with a nod at the envelope.

He stared at the envelope having forgotten about it. Now he wondered what to do. He didn’t often feel guilty about his decisions, wasn’t usually this indecisive. “I do have work.”

He always had work. Always had responsibilities and people counting on him.

She shifted the boy to her other side and he smiled, patted her cheek. “Love you, Ivy.”

She kissed the top of his head. “Love you too, buddy. You’re my favorite guy, you know that?”

He nodded and went back to singing a song and playing with her hair.

Something tightened in C.J.’s chest, as if she’d reached inside and squeezed his heart when she’d smiled so softly at the little boy, when her expression had softened with so much love. Who the hell was she? Why couldn’t he get a read on her?

“I’m going to call my doctor,” Ivy said to C.J., drawing his thoughts back to their conversation. “See if I can get an earlier appointment, maybe even today. If I do, you can come with me. We’ll have her do an ultrasound in the office. I’m not sure about the paternity stuff but you’ll get to hear it straight from her how many weeks along I am.”

He nodded. “I appreciate it.” He wouldn’t apologize for wanting proof. They didn’t know each other. Every time they were together that fact was brought home yet again.

“I’ll come get you when I find out what time,” she said before walking away.

He stepped into his room, shut the door behind him. Stared at the envelope. Thought about how she was letting him go to the doctor with her. How she’d admitted she was new at this, too. And he tossed the sealed envelope on his bed and crossed to the desk to get some work done.

* * *

AS SOON AS Gracie stepped out of Bradford House onto the back patio, the heat hit her, like a slap to the face. She turned right around, ready to go back inside and tell Fay she couldn’t possibly take Luke a glass of lemonade. It was too hot out. And did Fay have any idea what the humidity did to hair like Gracie’s?

She’d likely give Luke—used to looking at his pretty girlfriend with her smooth, shiny hair—a heart attack.

And thinking of Kennedy only reminded her of how the other girl had treated her that day in school last fall. Nothing could have shored up her resolve better. No way was she going to let Kennedy scare her off.

Especially when the redhead wasn’t even here.

She shut the French door with a soft click, feeling defiant. Rebellious. Ha. Take that. She may not be popular, may not be beautiful and golden, but she wasn’t a coward. And after Luke had been so nice about her brothers Saturday, after he’d walked her home from Andrew’s, she’d decided there was no reason for her to continue being so standoffish. Then, at some point in the future, after they’d gotten to know each other better, if they’d discovered they had enough common interests and views on certain subjects, then they could possibly become friends.

It wouldn’t be the same as it had been with Andrew, she insisted to herself as she walked across the patio, the smooth stones hot under her bare feet. She and Andrew hadn’t been friends. Hadn’t taken the time to get to know each other. Everything between them had happened so quickly. One day they were neighbors who’d never even spoken to each other, and a few weeks later, she’d slept with him.

She switched the sweating glass of lemonade to her other hand, wiped the moisture from her fingers on her jean shorts. Her own fault for being so needy. For falling in love with him after such a short time.

Her fault for believing it when he’d said he loved her, too.

All in the past, she assured herself. She was over it. Mistakes happened and, honestly, if you couldn’t make a few during your teen years, what was the point of adolescence?

She followed the low rumble of the lawn mower around the back corner of a shed on the far side of the yard. Watched Luke push the machine, his shirt damp and clinging to his broad shoulders, the width of his back. She’d been unfair in assuming Luke was just like Andrew. Unfair and judgmental, which stung.

She hated being judged, and yet she’d done it with Luke. Had assumed, since he and Andrew were best friends, since Luke was an athlete and good-looking, that he must be a user. A liar.

Of course, she wasn’t ready to swear a blood oath that he wasn’t either of those things. She was just willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

For now.

Luke turned the corner, started back toward her, nodded to let her know he’d seen her, then finished the row and shut the machine off. He went to the side of the shed, turned on the hose and took off his hat before aiming the water at himself, soaking his hair and the back of his neck. Gracie thought it was a bit strange that he left his sunglasses on, but maybe the sunlight bothered his eyes. Who was she to judge? After shutting off the water, he straightened, shook himself pretty much like Sauron had done yesterday and put his hat back on.

He walked toward her, his eyes still covered by those dark sunglasses, the upper half of his shirt now completely wet and molding itself to his muscular chest. Oh, my. Her throat went dry. Her face got hot. Well, it was over ninety in the shade today, but she doubted that was the reason for her reaction.

Stupid, fickle hormones. Always getting women into trouble.

“Hey,” he said when he reached her, his brows lowered, his mouth a flat line.

No happy greeting, no asking how she was. She’d gotten used to his good moods, his affable nature and friendly personality, so his grim expression and decidedly cool greeting had her frowning.

Her eyes widened. Did he...did he suspect that she’d been ogling him, like the freshmen girls who all giggled and batted their eyelashes when he passed? Now she gave an inner eye roll. Talk about egotistical. He probably wasn’t thinking about her at all. Why assume his mood had anything to do with her? Maybe he was having a bad day. Maybe he was just overheated and cranky, like Chandler after being in the sun too long.

She’d promised herself she wouldn’t jump to conclusions about him anymore, that she’d give him the same chance she’d want someone to give her and that was what she would do.

“Fay thought you might like a drink,” Gracie said, holding out the glass.

“Thanks.” He took it and drained the liquid in four deep gulps.

“Didn’t you bring a water bottle with you?”

“I forgot,” he said, his voice a low grumble.

“You’re going to get dehydrated. When you work in heat like this, you need to make sure you stay hydrated so you don’t get heatstroke.” She took back the glass. “I’ll get you some more of this.”

“I’m not thirsty.”

She had no idea what to say. Not when he’d sounded so...churlish.

Though his attitude did give her an excuse to use that word.

“The grass looks nice.” Okay, that had been lame, but at least she was trying. Giving him that chance she’d talked herself into.

His answer? A shrug.

Had she really thought he was nice?

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Trying to engage him socially. She should have stuck with her instincts, the ones telling her they were from two different worlds. But something told her he had a reason for not acting like himself.

She pursed her lips. Narrowed her eyes and studied him. She was used to boys and their sulks. Her brothers’ moods tended to shift dramatically from hour to hour, situation to situation. But she didn’t like thinking Luke was like that. Didn’t want him to pout when he was upset or throw things when he was mad.

Well, she thought in exasperation, what did she want? For the boy to be a robot, humorless and emotionless? Jeez. Talk about unfair. Why couldn’t she give him the same chance she gave everyone else? No judgment. No snap decisions.

Why was she still letting Andrew and what he’d done to her control her thoughts? Guide her choices?

“Have you started the AP English work yet?” she asked. The other day they’d talked about the reading they needed to do over the summer for their advanced-placement class.

Staring somewhere over her shoulder—she guessed, it was hard to tell with those sunglasses—Luke shook his head.

She chewed on the inside of her cheek. “Your neck is getting red,” she blurted. “I’ll get you some sunscreen.”

“I don’t want it.”

She blinked. Not because he didn’t want to protect himself from possible skin cancer, but because his voice had been so rough. So angry. “Late afternoon is the part of the day when the sun’s rays are strongest,” she told him. “You need to apply sunscreen and reapply it after swimming or sweating.” Which he was doing. Profusely. “Even though we’re young, we can’t ignore the statistics about skin cancer and how to prevent it. At the very least, you’ll be saving yourself from a painful night battling sunburn.”

He clenched his jaw. “I said I don’t want it.”

Her head snapped back at his harsh tone. But she lifted her chin. Kept her own tone cool. “Fine. Then I’ll just let you get back to work.”

She turned on her heel. Heard him mutter an expletive under his breath but didn’t stop, just walked in calm, measured steps back toward the house.

“Gracie,” he called. “Wait.”

She shouldn’t. She owed him nothing. He was the one always talking to her, trying to engage her in conversation, telling jokes and asking questions. All she’d done was be nice back.

But when he caught up to her, gently touched her arm and said “please,” his voice low and gruff, she couldn’t do anything but stop.

He took his hat off, hit it against the side of his leg. “I’m in a rotten mood, and I’m taking it out on you, which is just stupid. I’m sorry. Really.”

She wanted to believe him. Guess they were both stupid. “You don’t have to say that,” she told him. “I’m not going to tell Fay or anything.”

He frowned. “I’m not apologizing so I don’t get in trouble, Gracie,” he said quietly. “I’m apologizing because I was acting like an ass.”

She swallowed. “Oh. Well.” She didn’t know what to do with her hands. She wanted to cross her arms, but she still held the glass with the quickly melting ice. “It’s okay. We all have bad days, right?”

He laughed, but the sound held no humor. “Right. Thanks. It’s just...” He shook his head, took off his glasses and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the bottom of his shirt.

She was so mesmerized by the ridges of his exposed stomach that he was already putting his sunglasses back on before she noticed the bruise. “Oh my God,” she breathed, tugging the hand with the sunglasses down. “Are you all right?”

“It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“Thank goodness, because it looks really, really bad.” His eye was swollen almost shut, the skin around it a dark purple. “What happened? You don’t have to tell me,” she added quickly when he averted his gaze. “Unless...did your dad hit you? Because if he did, we have to tell social services and the police.”

His lips twitched, as if he was fighting a smile. “My dad didn’t hit me. It was nothing like that.”

“Oh, well, that’s good. I’m sorry if I offended you—or your dad, who I’m sure is a very nice man. It’s just I watched this fascinating documentary last week about domestic violence, and most people still believe it’s a problem only for those with lower incomes, so I didn’t want to assume that your family could be immune to it. Not that I’m assuming your dad is the kind of person to hit his family or anything, either.”

She caught her breath. Most people interrupted her, but Luke waited her out. It was nice, knowing he was listening. That he didn’t want her to just be quiet already.

“My dad is a nice guy,” Luke assured her. “He’d never hit me or my mom. Or anyone.” He gestured to his black eye. “Drew gave me this.”

“Andrew?” That didn’t make sense. “It must have been an accident. During football practice or something?”

Luke hooked his sunglasses on the collar of his T-shirt. “Not during practice and not an accident. He punched me.”

“Why would he do such a thing?”

Another shrug, this one irritable. “Probably because I punched him first.” As if reliving the memory, he flexed and straightened the fingers of his right hand. “Broke his nose.”

“You... Why...?” She couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t even imagine them fighting like that. “Is he all right?”

Luke’s good eye narrowed. “He’s great. Why shouldn’t he be? He’s screwing my girlfriend, after all. I mean, my ex-girlfriend.”

Gracie went cold all over. Which was so weird, considering the sweat forming between her breasts, the sun burning her forearms and shoulders. “Andrew and...Kennedy?” She shook her head. “No. No, he wouldn’t do that.”

“He would and he did.” Luke shoved a hand through his hair, then put his hat back on. “I caught them. They were at her house last night. In her room.”

“You...you caught them...having sex?”

He shook his head. “They’d just finished. He didn’t have a shirt on, and her hair was all messy, and she was in shorts and her bra.” He gave another of those harsh laughs. “At first they tried to tell me nothing happened, but then Drew admitted they’d been hooking up behind my back for a while now. So I punched him. He got one in, too, but his nose was bleeding so badly and Kennedy was freaking out...so I left.”

Poor Luke. Gracie gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “I’m so sorry.”

Sorry his girlfriend was such a bitch. Sorry his best friend had betrayed him. Sorry he was hurting.

He turned his hand, linked his fingers with hers and squeezed back. “Thanks. I just... I feel like such an idiot, you know? For not seeing the signs sooner. For being so clueless. I had no idea. Pretty stupid, huh?”

He wasn’t the only one who’d been fooled. If anyone had thought something was going on between Kennedy and Andrew, word would have gotten back to Luke. Even after Kennedy had treated Gracie so badly in front of Andrew, Gracie had never considered the other girl’s meanness was due to her and Andrew hooking up behind Luke’s back.

She should have, she realized now. She should have guessed that the reason Andrew had pretended they barely knew each other was that he didn’t want Kennedy to find out they’d hooked up. That the reason Kennedy had been so rude to Gracie, had called her a freak, was that she was into Andrew.

“You’re not stupid,” she told him softly. “You trusted them.”

Just as she’d trusted Andrew.

Luke’s smile was small and incredibly sad. “That’s why I feel so stupid.” He rolled his head side to side. Sighed. “I’d better get back to work. Thanks for the lemonade. I’m sorry for acting like a jerk.” He took a step away but stopped. Cleared his throat. “Do you want to hang out sometime? It’s cool if you don’t or if you’re busy,” he said, his words rushing together, color flooding his cheeks. “I just thought it’d be...you know...nice to...hang out.”

She opened her mouth to say no. Why would they hang out? They barely knew each other, and she doubted they had anything in common.

Except they did. They’d both been betrayed and hurt by people they’d loved.

Besides, he needed someone to be there for him. To help him get through this. And she couldn’t turn away anyone in pain.

“I’m actually not doing anything tonight.”

“Yeah? Me, neither. We could watch a movie at my house. My parents will be home. I can pick you up around eight?”

Her inner voice screamed at her to take it back, tell him that she changed her mind. But he looked...well...not happy. Hard to look happy the day after discovering you were playing the part of King Arthur in the whole Arthur-Guinevere-Lancelot love triangle, but at least he didn’t look so sad. So lonely.

“Sure,” she said. “Eight works for me.”

She went back inside, her words to him echoing in her head.

You’re not stupid. You trusted them.

She wished she’d meant them. Wished she could believe them.

* * *

IVY HAD LUCKED out and gotten an after-hours appointment with Dr. Conrad late that afternoon. Now she and Clinton were in the small exam room. Clinton, she noted, was taking everything in.

“First time in one of these?” she asked as he frowned at the table complete with stirrups.

He nodded, his hands in the pockets of his dress pants. “It’s...different from how I imagined it.”

Ivy hopped onto the table. Might as well do it now. In a few months, any hopping would be impossible. “Yeah? How so?”

“I thought it would look more like some sort of torture chamber. But that’s only because I accidentally overheard my mother talking to one of her friends about her annual pap exam when I was a teenager. Scarred me for life.”

Ivy couldn’t help it. She smiled. He looked so out of place, and he winced when he told the story, as if just remembering it was painful. “It’s not all that bad. And there will be no torture involved this time. The doctor will come in, squirt some gel onto my stomach and use her magic wand to bring up a picture of the baby.”

“You’ve already had an ultrasound done?”

“My first appointment. But it was hard to tell what was what. The doctor explained where the head was and everything, but it all looked like a blob to me.”

She’d felt like a failure, as if she’d gotten a big fat F on her first test as a mother, but the doctor had reassured her that she wasn’t the only mother not to be able to make out her baby’s head from its bottom at this early stage.

Dr. Conrad, a tiny, compact woman with silver-streaked blond hair, came in and introduced herself to Clinton. “Ready for this?” she asked Ivy.

“You bet.” Ivy undid the button of her shorts, unzipped them and wiggled them down just past her hips. Clinton, she noticed, averted his eyes.

“Here we go,” Dr. Conrad said as she squirted the thick gel onto Ivy’s stomach.

Ivy watched the screen on the monitor. She wasn’t sure why she’d brought Clinton here, except there had been something in the way he’d admitted this was all new to him that had made him seem not quite as dangerous. More human. Approachable.

As approachable as someone that wealthy could be.

But now she watched his expression as the picture formed on the screen and Dr. Conrad pointed out what was actually baby.

Awe. Pure, unfiltered awe.

And terror.

Welcome to her world, buddy.

“Everything looks great,” Dr. Conrad said, still moving that wand over Ivy’s stomach. “Would you like to know the sex of the baby?”

“No,” Ivy said at the same time Clinton said, “Yes.”

Dr. Conrad smiled and put the wand away. “Why don’t I step out for a moment, give you time to decide?”

Ivy wiped the gel off her stomach, slid to her feet and pulled her shorts back up.

“You don’t want to know if you’re having a boy or girl?” Clinton asked.

“Nope.”

“If you find out, you can be better prepared. Clothes. Nursery colors. Names.” He paced, looking too big, too masculine for the room, with its posters of pregnant women and babies. “You’ll have time to adjust to having either a son or a daughter.”

“I don’t plan on buying many clothes beforehand, just the necessities like onesies and pajamas. They don’t have to be gender specific. As far as the nursery, I live in a one-bedroom apartment. The baby will be bunking with me for the foreseeable future, and if he or she doesn’t like the color, he or she will just have to live with it. And I’ll come up with a name for each. As far as adjusting, I’m not sure what sort of adjustment I’ll need to make. Seems to me, you have a son or daughter, and you love them just the same.”

“You really don’t want to know?” he asked again, looking as if she’d told him she wanted to go in for elective surgery without knowing what it was for.

“There are too few surprises in life. Why would I want to ruin one of the biggest ones I’m ever going to have?”

“Seems to me this whole pregnancy is a surprise. Should be a big enough surprise.”

“Believe me, it was. But while it wasn’t all that happy of one, this one will be.”

He frowned. “I want to know.”

“Too bad. We’re not finding out. If you find out, you’ll slip up and tell me. And you don’t want to ruin it for me, do you?”

“Fine,” he said. “We won’t find out.”

She blinked. Shook her head. “I’m sorry, but did you just give in to me without trying to charm me, intimidate me or buy me off?” She narrowed her eyes. “You’re being nice. I don’t like it.”

He grinned, slow and easy and sexy enough to make her knees weak. “Darlin’, I’m very nice.”

“No. You’re not. You’re charming, yeah, but that’s not being nice. I know the difference. You’re only giving in to me now so you can use this against me later.”

“I’m not going to use anything against you later. If it’s that important to you not to find out the baby’s sex, then we won’t find out. I’m not a complete ass, Ivy,” he said softly.

She needed him to be. It was easier to keep her distance, to not count on him when he acted all bossy and arrogant. “Thank you.”

The door opened then, and Dr. Conrad came back in as if she’d known how long their conversation would take. “Have we decided?”

“We’re going to wait to find out the sex,” Ivy said, in case Clinton was tricking her.

“All right.” Dr. Conrad sat on the stool, gestured for them to take seats on the chairs. “Ivy, you said you had some questions.”

“We need a paternity test,” Ivy said, refusing to feel embarrassed by it. Certainly she wasn’t the first woman to ask for one in this office. “I’m not sure what our options are.”

“There are several,” Dr. Conrad said with absolutely no judgment in her tone or expression. “You can wait until after the baby is born and we can take a sample from the umbilical cord, swab the baby’s cheek or take a blood sample from the baby’s heel.”

Clinton frowned. “Does that hurt the baby?”

“It’s a little prick,” the doctor said, “and we won’t need much.” She smiled reassuringly. “Trust me. The baby won’t remember the pain and will be over it in a matter of seconds.”

“What if we don’t want to wait until after the baby is born?” Clinton asked, and Ivy tried not to get upset. She’d known he didn’t want to wait until after she gave birth, but if he didn’t believe he was the father, why was he in Shady Grove? Why had he come to this appointment with her?

“I don’t want to do anything that jeopardizes the baby,” Ivy said. “If there’s no medical reason to do an amniocentesis, then I won’t have one.”

“What’s an amniocentesis?” Clinton asked.

“A thin needle is inserted into the uterus through the stomach and a small amount of amniotic fluid is taken,” Dr. Conrad explained.

He went so pale, Ivy worried he was going to pass out. “Are you all right?” she couldn’t help but ask.

“Fine.” He sounded and looked anything but. “Just...the thought of it...” He shook his head. “No. We don’t want to do that.” He looked at her. “I would never ask you to do that. I would never ask you to do anything that would endanger the baby or cause you pain in any way.”

He sounded so sincere, she had no choice but to believe him.

“There are other options,” Dr. Conrad said. “The most accurate, noninvasive way to establish paternity before birth is to take a blood sample from both of you. The lab can analyze the baby’s DNA found naturally in Ivy’s bloodstream.”

“It’s safe?” Clinton asked. “For both of them?”

“Perfectly safe,” the doctor assured him. “As I said, we’ll just need blood samples from both of you. And it’s 99.9 percent accurate. It can be done now, since Ivy’s past her first trimester.”

“When can we have our blood drawn?” Ivy asked, not wanting to delay the inevitable.

“I can get the lab orders printed out within five minutes,” Dr. Conrad said.

Ivy stood, not looking at Clinton. “Sounds good. The sooner this is done, the better.”

The sooner she could prove to Clinton he was her baby’s father, the sooner they could both move on with their own lives.