Somebody's Baby

Which was why she just shrugged and looked out into the night. She couldn’t bear to tell him that right now—with him, in Shelter Valley, at Montford—there was very little that didn’t scare her.

“HERE’S THE THING,” John said when he pulled up in front of her house.

Hand on the door handle, thankful that she’d made it through the evening without whatever horrible conversation she imagined he wanted, Caroline turned, every muscle tense and waiting.

“I loved my wife.”

She nodded. That much was obvious.

“Too much, probably.”

She turned away from the door handle, facing the car’s interior. “How can you love someone too much?”

He’d shut off the engine, leaving them in darkness except for the light coming from the streetlamp half a block away and the dim glow from the front window of Mrs. Howard’s house.

“I can’t love anyone else.”

Ironically, with those words, Caroline relaxed. “You’re trying to warn me not to get any crazy ideas.”

His head cocked slightly to the side, John shrugged. “It wasn’t so much a warning as an explanation. I don’t want you to think it’s you….”

“John.” She almost laid her hand on his arm, and restrained herself just in time. Grainville familiarities might not be recognized here. “You have nothing to worry about from me. I meant it when I said I wanted nothing from you. Nothing. I married once, for a lifetime. And found out that fate had other ideas in mind. There was nothing I could do—it was out of my hands. I can’t go through that again.”

“You warning me off?” he asked, with a wry grin.

“Just explaining.”

Leaning back against the corner of the door, he was quiet for a moment. “I’m not afraid of the commitment,” he said. “Not afraid of loving again. I just can’t get beyond her.”

“Have you tried?”

“I was engaged to the women’s softball coach at Montford until a week before I came to Kentucky.”

No wonder he’d seemed as emotionally raw as she’d been, so needy and yet willing to settle for nothing but escape.

“What happened?”

“I couldn’t let go of Meredith.”

“Do you have to?” she asked, frowning. Randy would always be part of her, no matter what. They’d spent nineteen years together.

“I…talk to her.”

She talked to Randy, too, but hadn’t thought the habit would last for years—just until she got used to living alone. “About what?”

“Everything,” he said, his voice soft. “I shot a hole-in-one over Thanksgiving, playing in a tournament with some of Shelter Valley’s best golfers. The only person I even considered telling was Meredith. Not Lauren.”

For one absurd second, Caroline was jealous of a dead woman.

CHAPTER FOUR

PHYLLIS LANGFORD SHEFFIELD COULDN’T stop herself from taking one last backward glance as she accompanied her closest friend, Tory Sanders, down the walk of Tory’s small home. Their neighborhood was perfectly safe, featuring quiet stucco houses with desert landscaping in the yards.

“Let’s just do this block,” she said, her feet moving in place as she geared up for the jog Tory had planned for them.

Tory’s soft blue eyes glinted with an unusual confidence as she, too, glanced back at the house. “There are only eight houses on this street,” she said, grinning. “You gotta establish a rhythm and get into the groove if you’re going to tolerate jogging.” She’d taken both of them shopping the previous day for top-of-the-line running shoes, leggings and soft cotton zip-up jackets. Phyllis’s was black. Tory’s was pink, which complemented her short dark hair and expertly lined eyes.

Bouncing some more, Phyllis nodded. “A groove. Okay…” She didn’t move from her spot.

“They’re going to be fine,” Tory said gently, with the strange mixture of neediness and confidence that had first drawn Phyllis to the younger sister of her murdered best friend. “Alex is great with all the kids. You know that.”

Alex. The eleven-year-old adopted daughter of Tory’s husband, Ben. The little girl had been abused by her biological father and mother and come to live with Ben, her stepfather, at about the same time Tory—also an abused child and then abused wife—had found refuge in Shelter Valley. If all went well, Tory would soon be adopting Alex. “I know,” Phyllis said. She was ready to head up the street. Really. As soon as her feet felt warm. “But she’s never been left alone with my two,” she said, on the off chance Tory hadn’t already heard Phyllis’s worries on that score. The jogging was Tory’s idea—to help Phyllis keep off the weight she’d had trouble losing after having her twins two and a half years before.

“But she has been alone with Chrissie,” Tory reminded her. Chrissie—Phyllis Christine—was the four-year-old daughter Tory and Ben had together. “Calvin and Clarissa won’t be a problem for her,” she added. “They’re just like their mother, too analytical for their own good sometimes, but practically perfect in every way. They’ll have Alex reading to them the entire time we’re gone.”

“Unless Chrissie gets bored…” Tory’s daughter was at that age.

“As long as she’s sitting in her big sister’s lap, she’ll be completely content.” Tory started jogging slowly down the sidewalk. “Come on, we aren’t going to be away very long…”

“I HAD A LETTER from Brad.” Doing as she’d been told, Phyllis concentrated on the rhythm of her breathing in conjunction with the sound of her feet hitting the pavement. So far, jogging still felt like an endurance contest. Only Tory—the sister she’d never had—could’ve managed to get her to do this.

“Why would your jerk of an ex-husband be writing to you after all this time?” Tory, not even a little out of breath, glanced over. “When did it come?”

Phyllis moved aside to avoid a parked car as the two women jogged side by side along the road. “Yesterday.”

“What did he want?”

“He made a pie-in-the-sky investment when we were married—had to do with satellites.” She paused to breathe. “During the divorce…he got his broker to claim a potential value for it that far exceeded its worth at the time.” More breath. In and out. She had to think about the rhythm of her feet against the pavement. That was here and now. “The judge allowed the value to stand…. Brad magnanimously gave that investment to me in exchange for our more liquid assets.”

It smarted even to talk about those days.

“And in an effort to keep the peace, you let him get away with it.”

By now, Tory knew all the sordid details of Phyllis’s marriage to her egotistical, unfaithful and completely selfish first husband.

“I was fighting for my self-esteem. Money paled in comparison.”

“And part of you hoped that if you were generous and cooperative, he’d suddenly realize that your intelligence wasn’t a threat to him and he’d find you desirable again.”

“Which only goes to show that I wasn’t nearly as smart as he thought I was,” Phyllis said, slowing as they approached a corner with a stoplight. The blue sky above, glistening with sunshine that gave a cheery brightness to everything around them, reminded Phyllis that none of it mattered anymore. She was a different woman than the one who’d gained weight after her husband’s numerous affairs and the emotional torment he’d caused her. Married to a man she adored, working in a job she loved, mothering the two most precious children ever and jogging with the sweetest friend a woman could want in sixty-degree weather on the second Wednesday in January, she bore absolutely no resemblance to that other Phyllis at all.

Except that occasionally, like now, she still felt the sting.

“So why was he writing to you?”

She’d known Tory would get back to that.

“The worthless investment suddenly become a windfall?”

“As a matter of fact—” Phyllis jogged across the deserted street beside Tory “—it did. Apparently I’m sitting on a quarter of a million dollars, minus taxes.”

Tory stopped in the middle of the street. “A quarter of a million dollars?”

“Before taxes.” Phyllis met her friend’s incredulous stare before grabbing her arm and pulling her to the opposite corner.

“And why do I get the feeling that Brad wasn’t writing out of the goodness of his heart to tell you about this?”

“Maybe because you know what he’s like,” Phyllis said with a humorless chuckle.

“He wants part of it,” Tory guessed, walking now as they approached her road again.

“He wants all of it. The original investment was his, and his name’s still on some of the documents. I didn’t think it was worth the couple of hundred dollars it would cost in legal fees to have it changed.”

“What does Matt say about all this?”

“I haven’t told him yet….”

JOHN HAD DECIDED to stay away from her. On the golf course early Wednesday morning with Will Parsons and Matt Sheffield, he’d spent the entire front nine feeling guilty and given up his usual first-place ranking for last. The back nine had gone better. In the guilt department at least. When the baby was born, he’d do his part. Until then, he had nothing to contribute. He certainly didn’t owe Caroline Prater anything.

He’d come in last on the back nine, as well.

She picked up her cell on the first ring. And agreed to take a walk in the desert with him before dinner. He hadn’t even tried to talk her into sharing another meal. Finishing up early at the office on Wednesday afternoon, knowing he’d be working late that night, John stopped at home only long enough to put on his jeans and walking shoes. Then he picked her up at Mrs. Howard’s place before she could change her mind.

“Are you sure it’s safe out here?” she asked when he stopped the Cadillac on a dirt path Will had shown him. As a kid, Will had roamed this desert as though it were a ball field in the middle of town. It hadn’t taken John an hour to fall prey to its wonder.

“Safe how?” he asked, looking over at the woman who was still such a stranger to him. And had his baby growing inside her. “As in, are we going to get mugged, or robbed by a gold-panning squatter, or taken captive by an Indian warrior?”

“Indian warrior?” Caroline asked with an arched brow. “I was talking about the nonhuman variety of danger.” Her boots barely made a sound as she trod slowly down the path that led to a rocky ledge. It overlooked a surprisingly green ravine up ahead.

Careful to keep enough distance between them so he wouldn’t be inhaling the fresh lilac scent of her hair—he supposed it was the kind of shampoo she used—John shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and shrugged. “Yeah, the desert can be dangerous, but not if you’re careful.”

She slowed, glanced over her shoulder at him. “So those javelina I read about on the Internet, are they around here? Or only up in the mountains?”

“They’re here,” John said, focusing on both sides of the path—playing a game of name that plant. Cholla. Prickly pear. Palo verde. It was either that or look at her nicely rounded butt moving back and forth in those threadbare jeans. “But javelinas usually stay out of sight. Mostly you want to watch for rattlesnakes. As long as you don’t step on one, they’ll leave you alone. And you never, ever, want to be out here without water. Something as simple as a sprained ankle could leave you out in the desert for hours or days.”

Her step picked up again. “I’m guessing you’ve got water in that pack thing you’re carrying?”

“Yep.” The leather pack had been a Christmas gift from Becca and Will two years before. “A bottle for each of us. And a first-aid kit, too. I go with the theory that if I have one, I won’t need it.”

“Good theory.”

John enjoyed the silence that fell as they continued their walk. Maybe on the way back he’d point out some of the different varieties of Arizona desert plants they were passing. For now, he was feeling more peaceful than he had in days.

As long as he didn’t think about that body ahead of him—and the life it was hiding. Then he felt the need to unbutton his long-sleeved corduroy shirt and let in some air.

They reached the rock Will had shown him that first day and sat, not quite touching, facing the ravine.

“Did you know that saguaro are only found here in Arizona, Mexico and a few places in New Mexico?” she asked, staring out. He had known that, but wasn’t familiar with many of the other facts she regaled him with during the next ten minutes. And he’d spent the past couple of years making a point of picking up information on one new plant a month.

“How do you know all this stuff?” John finally asked.

She shrugged, her ponytail sliding up and down her back with the movement. “The Internet.”

He should’ve guessed. She’d found a college that way, too. And Caroline seemed like the kind of person who’d make it her business to find out everything there was to know about whatever she was doing.

Including having a baby?

“We have to talk about it, you know,” he said, glancing at his watch. They couldn’t keep meeting like this—casually chatting, getting to know each other. They had to get on with business. It was the only reason he’d called her.

There was no marked difference in her, just a changed energy in the air around them. She said nothing.

So, fine. Probably easier like this. Just state his facts, come up with a plan that was agreeable to both of them and go their separate ways.

“Have you chosen a doctor yet?”

Head turned away from him, she appeared to be taking in the desert beyond the rocky hill that descended down to green bush and wild grass below them.

“Really,” she said, her voice small, “you don’t have to do this.”

“Do what?” he asked, although he knew.

“Be involved.”

“I’m as responsible for this predicament as you are.” The words weren’t news to him; he just hadn’t confronted them head-on until that point. “There is no way I can go on with my life as usual while yours is being turned upside down.”

“It’s not a predicament.”

He didn’t know what he’d expected her to say. But it hadn’t been that. They had real issues to discuss here.

“Sorry.”

She turned, her green eyes narrowed and filled with a fire he hadn’t seen there before. “We’re talking about a person here, a child’s life. My child’s life. He or she is not and will never be a predicament to me.”

“Okay…”

“Just because I didn’t choose to have a baby—or choose the father, for that matter—does not mean this pregnancy is any less valid than one I’d planned and hoped for. Because the life that results will be just as valid.”

He had the most incredible urge to pull her toward him, kiss her forehead, rub her back. He sat on his hands. “True.” The temperature was only sixty-three degrees, but in the sun, John was starting to sweat. The breeze coming over the ravine was a relief. With the sudden tightness in his chest, he was finding it a little hard to breathe.

He waited to see if she had anything more to say. And then, when it appeared she didn’t, he told her, “All the more reason for me to be involved.”

He heard her sigh. And felt it, too. “Look.” She turned on the rock until she was facing him. “You’re right. Part of the reason I came here was so you could be involved in this baby’s life if you chose. He deserves a father just like everyone else. Deserves to know his biological father if you’re interested in having him know you.” She wasn’t even stopping for air. “So, after he’s born, if you want to be involved, we’ll set up whatever visitations you need. But until then, this is just about me and the job my body has to do.”

“I disagree.” Shut up! his mind screamed. She’d just given him exactly the out he needed. And wanted. “There’ll be costs. And hardships as you find it more difficult to do certain things. For instance, what if you have to take your computer in for repair? Once you get further along, you won’t be allowed to lift heavy things.”

He was winging it. And afraid that was exactly how it sounded. Why the hell had this suddenly become so important? Just because she’d told him no?

He’d never been a man who had a problem with women in authority.

“Don’t believe everything you hear, Strickland,” she said, her tone reminding him of the friendly woman he’d known so briefly that weekend between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Very different from the self-conscious though still capable Caroline she’d been since arriving in Shelter Valley. “Kentucky women come from strong stock. Goodness, if they had to slow down the whole time they were pregnant, their families and farms would be in trouble. A small farm doesn’t run itself, you know.”

An iguana—a desert lizard—scooted by an inch from John’s shoe. Caroline watched it go.

“They’re kind of cute,” she said as it scurried away. “I read that they’re good to have around your yard at home because they eat crickets.”

“And other bugs,” John agreed. He didn’t want to talk about desert plants or wildlife anymore.

“Listen, Caroline,” he said, not even sure what she’d be listening to. Compelled by an uneasy feeling inside, he continued anyway. “As you say, that baby you’re carrying is as real as any other child conceived. He’s also my flesh and blood, and I’m not the type of man who can turn away from that responsibility. I don’t even want to.” He was surprised to find that much was true. “I’d like to be around to hear that first heartbeat. Or at least some of the heartbeats. I want to hear what the doctor has to say about his size and growth and overall health. I want to see the ultrasound that might tell us if he’s a boy or a girl.”

God, he couldn’t breathe. And he didn’t know how in hell he was going to make any of this happen. Or follow through on it. They were discussing a new life. And his world revolved around the memory of a dead woman.

“Okay.”

He blinked. Stared at her. And then down into the ravine. He loved the browns and golds of the desert. But sometimes that green just looked so good. Cool and peaceful and…breathing.

“Really?”

She nodded. “You’re his father. I have no right to deny you access to his life. As long as you understand that except where it’s absolutely necessary, you have no role in my life.”

That was that. Much easier than he’d expected.

Then why did he feel so…out of his league? Why did he feel he wanted to start running and not stop until he collapsed on the ground?

Meredith should be here. Spending the next months with him. Learning it all with him.

But she wasn’t. The pain of that was almost unbearable. As he’d known it would be. When he’d lost Meredith, he’d vowed never to have children. She’d been too much a part of that dream.

And now here he was, having a child with a woman he barely knew.

He should resent Caroline.

But he didn’t.

“CAN I ASK YOU something?”

Caroline glanced over at him, her auburn hair glinting in the light from the setting sun. “I guess.”

John didn’t know how it had happened, but they’d been there for over an hour. Sometimes talking. A lot of the time lost in their own thoughts. There was so much to discuss, so many decisions to make. But he didn’t really feel like doing these things. And, perhaps, neither did she.

He pulled out the bottles of water, opened one and handed it to her before taking a long swig from his own.

“Why did you react so strongly when I referred to the pregnancy as a predicament?”

She took a small sip of water. Recapped the bottle. Held it with both hands on the rock between her knees. He wasn’t used to spending time with women who didn’t wear makeup and was surprised by how much he liked the freshness of her natural beauty when she turned toward him.

“Have you ever looked in the mirror and wondered where you belonged?”

“No, I don’t think so,” John said slowly, watching her.

“Or considered the idea that your life was worth less than the lives of those around you?”

“No.” He’d had the usual teenage insecurities, of course. But his parents had always encouraged him to believe that the world was his to do with what he could. He’d been dreaming big his whole life.

Until the dream came crashing down.

“I have,” she said.

And although he didn’t want to know, he had to ask. “Why?”

She wasn’t going to tell him. He’d overstepped the boundaries she’d set less than an hour before. Her chin was set, her eyes showing very little of the emotion that he suspected must be roiling around inside her.

And then her mouth softened, her eyes focusing on the distance, perhaps a farther distance than the vista spread before them.

“For starters, I was an only child,” she began. “On a farm out in the country in Kentucky. That in itself is very isolating. And no matter what I did, I never fit in. Not at home with my folks. And not at school, either. I was different from everyone else. Saw the world differently. When it came time to make decisions, my opinions were almost always opposite to my parents’. Things that mattered to me didn’t seem to concern them, and a lot of the time, the reverse was true.”

Caroline pulled her feet up on the rock, the worn, rounded toes of her brown leather boots hanging over the edge. Arms wrapped around her knees, she shifted back slightly. John wondered what she was thinking.

“I had this insatiable need to know. Not what other people in town were doing, or who was marrying whom, but why the sun rose and how. And where air came from. I wanted to know who was in national office and I cared about every major decision out of Washington.” Her grin was a little sad. “My poor parents. They were worried about having enough fertilizer for the field and finding ways to make the equipment last another year while I went on about global warming. I’m sure I drove them crazy.”

Mesmerized, John didn’t move. He didn’t want to do anything that might remind her he was still there, make her aware that she was opening up to him after just telling him he could play no part in her personal life. He didn’t want to lose this glimpse of her.

When he’d first met Caroline Prater he’d found her an interesting enigma. And—not that he allowed himself to dwell on that night—she’d been a pretty decent lover, as well. Now he was just plain intrigued. He’d never known anyone with so many facets. All of them different. And all of them sparkling in their own way.

“Anyhow, one day when I was about seven, I yelled at my mother in a fit of frustration, telling her I couldn’t possibly be her kid because she didn’t care that a popular hamburger chain—I’d only eaten out twice in my life and both times it had been there—was being accused of stealing characters from my favorite television show, H.R. Pufnstuf.”

A quick grin accompanied her words before her focus turned once again to the desert. “You can imagine how surprised I was—and how little I suddenly cared about the company’s ad campaign—when my mother yelled back that I wasn’t her child. I was adopted.”

Shit. What a way to tell a seven-year-old kid something as earth-shattering as that. John didn’t know what he could possibly say that would make any difference. So he said nothing.

“I’d already been considering that I’d been planted in Grainville by aliens.” She laid her cheek on top of her knee. “From that point on, I quit fighting. I’d already been rejected by one set of parents. What would happen if the second set decided I was too much trouble?”

John, not detecting even a note of self-pity in her tone, wondered for a split second what it would’ve been like if he’d met her at a different time. Say fifteen years before, when they were both starting out.

He had a feeling he’d have liked her. A lot.

“I spent the next ten years of my life feeling like I didn’t belong anywhere. In a town as small as Grainville, where everyone belongs to everyone else, feeling that way wasn’t easy.”

He wondered what had happened to her at seventeen to change that but didn’t ask.

She stood up, brushed herself off, gave a shaky laugh. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to go on like that,” she said, heading back the way they’d come. “Put it down to overprotectiveness. I just don’t want any child of mine feeling that way. Not if I can help it.”