The Baby Gamble

The readers of River’s Run, the local five-days-a-week newspaper, would be expecting Annie’s weekly tidbit on living positively. She could talk about taking control of your life, about being a doer rather than a victim. She could even tell them about the baby she was going to have.

She could talk about Wade Barstow, the richest man in town, and the generous contributions he’d made to the schools and the city and the local churches. Wade was generous when it came to money. Annie just wasn’t sure his motives were philanthropic.

She could talk about what a gift the beautiful weather was.

Yet what she really felt like doing was crying. Which made no sense at all. Nothing had changed in the past twenty-four hours. She’d been twice divorced then, too. No one close to her was sick or dying.

Annie settled her laptop more firmly on the card table that served as her kitchen table, coffee table and desk, reminding herself of all the reasons she was glad to be alive.

Yet all she could think about was Blake. The things she’d had and lost. The things she’d wanted and never gotten.

Standing abruptly, she shut down her computer, closed the lid and put it in its case. She made a quick trip to her bedroom, past the twin bed and trunk that took up too little space in the room, and into the adjoining bath to fasten her hair back with barrettes and freshen her lipstick. Then she returned to the kitchen, stopping for only a brief moment to survey the bedroom next to hers, with its new carpet and the hand-carved, Tim Lawry-original crib. A changing table and matching rocker in wood, and the wallpaper she’d bought the previous weekend… The nursery was coming along nicely.

As soon as it was done, she’d start on the rest of the house.

For now, however, she was going to the office. And she’d pray that she found some positive inspiration when she got there.

SHE’D TALKED ABOUT the importance of honesty and self-awareness, and Mike thought it was the best column she’d ever written. Annie didn’t know about that—she wrote three columns a week, and also covered most of the small town’s more newsworthy stories—but she felt one hundred percent better than she had earlier that morning.

Strapping the laptop case to the rack on her bicycle outside the River’s Run offices on Main Street, she threw one leg over the bike and started off. Becky Howard, the highschool nurse, only had half an hour for lunch, and Annie was eager to talk to her best friend—to tell her about the previous night’s encounter with Blake.

Everyone in River Bluff knew about Annie’s past—her fairy-tale marriage to Blake Smith, his disappearance and declared death, her second marriage and then Blake’s homecoming. She’d felt as if the eyes of the world had been upon her the morning she’d gone to meet Blake’s plane. People she’d never spoken to in her life had been waiting to see if she’d stay with Roger or return to Blake. And most—with the exception of Roger’s friends and loved ones—couldn’t help being a little saddened by her choice.

Many had told her so, thinking she’d turned her back on true love.

Only Becky had understood. And maybe Blake.

Her mother certainly hadn’t. But then, June Lawry and Annie hadn’t seen eye to eye since Annie had been in junior high.

River Bluff High School was on the outskirts of town, part of a complex that also housed the junior high where Annie had been the day her father had shot himself. Avoiding that part of the school grounds where she’d heard the news, she unlatched her laptop from the bike carrier—theft happened even in River Bluff, if you made the temptation great enough—and left her yellow ten-speed unlocked in the rack with a dozen other bikes.

Becky wasn’t in her office.

Nor was she in the lunchroom. Or the teachers’ lounge.

Fifteen minutes of her friend’s lunch break had already passed and Annie had no idea where to look next.

“Hi, Ms. Kincaid.”

“How you doing, Katie? Tell your mom thanks for the apple jelly. It was great!”

“I will.” The blond senior smiled as she continued on her way down the hall, and then turned. “You wouldn’t happen to know where Shane is, would you?”

“I hope in class,” Annie said, wondering why the girl would be asking about a boy who was three years younger than she was. Wondering, too, why the girls here all thought it was okay to expose themselves in those extremely low cut pants and two-inch shirts.

And when had Katie gotten that butterfly tattooed on her lower back? Her mother must have shed some tears over that.

SHE FOUND BECKY IN HER silver Tahoe—sitting alone in a parking lot filled to capacity with cars, but no people.

One look at the tears on her friend’s face and Annie opened the passenger door without waiting for an invitation.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, sliding in and closing her door with a quick jerk on the inside handle.

“Oh.” Becky gave her an embarrassed glance, sniffled and made a swipe at her face, as if she could erase the evidence of her distress. “Hi. I didn’t know you were here.”

Annie frowned. If someone had hurt her friend…

“I’ve been thinking about you all morning,” Becky said, her attempt at a smile weak at best. “Tell me how it went.”

As far as Annie was concerned, her trials and tribulations were a low priority at the moment.

“What’s wrong, Bec?” Her friend’s auburn curls had pulled loose from the ponytail she always wore when she worked.

Naturally curly hair was only one of the many things Annie and Becky Howard had in common.

“I just sent a student to a hospital in San Antonio for tests.”

Annie’s skin grew cold. “Is it serious?”

“I think he has an ulcer. He’s been vomiting blood.”

Staring at Becky’s bent head, Annie tried to read her friend’s mind. Certainly a sixteen-or seventeen-year-old with an ulcer had a serious problem. It would be indicative of some pretty severe emotional struggles, if nothing else. But it was still treatable.

She’d watched Becky work a car accident one time on the side of the road; they’d passed just after the crash occurred, and had stopped to see if they could help. One young man had died, but Becky had saved the life of another.

And she’d never shed a tear.

“So what’s really wrong?”

Becky looked up, and her eyes filled with fresh tears.

“I just saw Luke coming out of the grocery store. I wanted yogurt for lunch.”

Damn. “They don’t have yogurt in the cafeteria?”

“Not strawberry banana.”

“Did he say something?” Annie asked gently. Becky was the most loving person she’d ever known. Luke’s leaving town to join the army sixteen years before, walking out on Becky and their love affair so abruptly, without a backward glance, had nearly destroyed her friend. And just as abruptly, a month ago, he’d returned to town.

“No…” Becky’s voice trailed off. “I didn’t give him a chance.”

“Do you think he saw you?”

“He looked straight at me.” Becky’s lips trembled. “I can’t believe this, Annie,” she said with a deep shudder. “I got over Luke Chisum years ago. I want nothing to do with him. And still, seeing him out of the blue like that, I turn to mush.”

Annie wanted to believe that a girl could get over her first love. Even if he had been the knight-in-shining-armor kind.

“It’s just that, seeing him up close…”

Remembering her first sight of Blake, two years before, when he’d stepped off that plane, Annie felt her own throat tighten. “Aw, hon.” She hated seeing her friend hurt. “I’m sorry.”

Becky sniffled and blew her nose.

“It gets easier,” Annie murmured, though she wasn’t as certain of that this morning as she might have been the day before.

Becky nodded. “It has to, doesn’t it?”

Annie sure as hell hoped so.

“He’s got this tiny scar by his left eye….”

“From the helicopter crash?”

“I don’t know, but probably. It’s still a little pink, so it has to be fresh.” She paused, glanced out the windshield and then looked back at Annie, her eyes filled with tenderness —and pain. “I just can’t stop thinking about him over there in Iraq, about all the things we hear about that place. About the crash. What if he’d been taken hostage?”

Grabbing her friend’s hand, Annie gave it a squeeze. “Don’t let those demons get you, Bec,” she said. “You’ll drive yourself crazy.”

And Annie, more than most, knew the truth of this. “Cole says he’s fine,” she continued. “Still the same old joking-around Luke.”

“All that joking covers a lot.”

Annie didn’t doubt it. Luke Chisum had been home only a month and already he was taking his father to therapy, doing everything he could to make his mother’s life easier, doing his share at the family ranch—in spite of an older brother who treated him with open hostility every chance he got.

“Still, other than some color blindness due to damage to the optic nerve, he seems to have completely recovered.”

Becky tried to smile. And failed. “Do you know how long he was at Walter Reed?”

The amount of time he’d spent in the veterans’ hospital would give a medical professional like Becky a fairly good idea of the extent of Luke’s injuries.

“I don’t.” Annie hesitated, thought and then continued, “I know that he got a medical discharge, though. With his vision the way it is, he wouldn’t meet army regulations.”

“I wondered,” Becky said, and looked at Annie again. “He’s back for good, isn’t he?”

“Cole thinks so.”

“Think he’ll let me just go on not speaking to him for the rest of our lives?” Becky’s attempt at a smile was a bit more successful that time.

Annie tilted her head, trying to assess her friend. “You want him to?”

“Depends on the day.”

Annie understood that completely.

“SO TELL ME ABOUT LAST night.” Becky was calm once more, her capable, reliable self as she turned the tables on Annie.

Glancing at her watch, Annie asked, “Don’t you have to get back?”

“I’m working at the clinic this afternoon. I have another hour before I have to be there.”

“Did you get that yogurt you were after?”

Becky grimaced and shook her head. “I was on my way in when I saw Luke. So I turned around and came back here.”

Annie had figured as much. “Why don’t we load the bike up and go to my place? I’ll make us some tuna salad and we can talk.”

SHE ADDED PICKLES and onion to the tuna, put a plate of thin wheat crackers on the table, and they nibbled as Annie relayed, almost word for word, the scene between her and Blake the night before.

“Do you think I’m crazy?” she asked her friend as her story came to its end.

“Not at all.” Becky didn’t hesitate. “The world has changed so much in the past five years,” she said. “Not only has it become common for women to assume challenging roles in the workplace, we’re learning that we have all kinds of personal strengths we didn’t realize we had. Society, as a whole, is also more focused on getting the most out of life. Going after what we want. And you’re a product of that.”

“I live in a tiny town in Texas, in the middle of nowhere,” Annie reminded her.

“With the Internet, no place is in the middle of nowhere anymore.”

Annie knew she’d needed to talk to Becky. Her friend had always had a way of making sense of the world, most particularly when Annie couldn’t seem to do so herself.

“I wrote in my column this morning about being honest,” she said, thinking aloud. “And the one thought I kept coming back to was how badly I want this baby. I mean, I get a little scared sometimes, when I think of raising a child all alone, but mostly I just feel peaceful about the idea. I’m so sure this is the right step for me.”

“Not that it matters,” Becky said, laying a hand on top of Annie’s, “but I think so, too.”

“You do?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve never said so.”

“I didn’t want to encourage you, in case you weren’t sure.”

“So what makes you say so now?”

“It meant so much to you that you were willing to risk the pain of seeing Blake again—even knowing that he’d say no.”

Annie was tempted to say nothing. But this was Becky.

“He didn’t actually say no yet.” It meant nothing. “I think he has to at least give the appearance of considering the idea, because of his friendship with Cole.”

Damn Cole for putting her—and Blake—in this position. As much as she adored her younger brother, there were times when his stubborn refusal to accept that she and Blake were over grated on her nerves.

Becky was staring at her. “Blake didn’t say no?”

“Not yet. But he will.”

“What did he say?” The interest in Becky’s eyes scared Annie. As if there was something there…

“That he’d think about it. Like I said, he has to, because he’s still Cole’s friend.” She wanted to make that point abundantly clear.

“Did he say when he’d let you know?”

“No. He’ll probably just give Cole a call. I’m half expecting to hear from my interfering brother any minute now.”

“What if he doesn’t say no?”

Annie’s heart nearly stopped, and then her breathing followed suit. Both started again raggedly. “He’s going to say no.” That’s all there was to it. “I’ve got my first interview with a prospective donor next week in Houston.”

“Who with?” Becky’s surprise seemed to distract her—which was a good thing as far as Annie was concerned. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I just set it up this morning,” she replied. “He’s a communications professor, a friend of someone I worked with at the station in San Antonio when I was married to Blake. He’s widowed, fifty-seven, has two grown kids and a woman friend who is in complete support of the ‘project,’ as he called it.”

“He called your baby a project?”

Annie hadn’t been thrilled with that, either.

“HEY, DO YOU KNOW WHY Katie Hollister would be looking for Shane?” Annie asked as she and Becky tidied up after the lunch they’d barely touched.

“They hardly know each other,” Becky said, shaking her head. “She’s a senior, and Shane just started high school.”

“That’s what I thought.” The Hollisters lived across the street from the three-bedroom ranch home Annie and Roger had bought when they got married.

Annie repeated the conversation she’d had with her young neighbor at school earlier that day.

“She’s seen Shane over here often enough with me,” Becky said. The women frequently had Sunday dinner together.

Becky, who was the daughter of River Bluff’s sheriff, had been raised by her father’s exceedingly strict mother, and she was sometimes as eager as Annie to escape family get-togethers.

“Guess that’s why she’d assume you’d know,” Becky was saying now, but she was frowning, and she seemed to be thinking about far more than that.

“Could also be that we live in the same town we grew up in and everyone knows we’re best friends,” Annie teased, wiping crumbs off the counter. “So what’s up? Why would a popular girl like Katie be looking for a guy three years younger than she is?”

“I have no idea, but I intend to find out.”

“If it’s a romantic thing, I doubt your son is going to open up to his mother about it,” Annie observed.

“Of course it isn’t romantic.” Becky’s voice became more adamant with every word. “He’s barely fifteen years old,” she added, as if that explained it all. “Girls like Katie Hollister go for football captains and college guys, not younger boys.”

Unless the boy in question had great muscles and a gorgeous face like Shane Howard’s? Annie sure hoped not. The last thing Becky needed right now was problems with her son. And the last thing Shane needed was to be led off track by hormones and a slightly wild older woman. He was a good kid, with decent grades and a plan for his future.

ANNIE FOLLOWED BECKY back out to the car to retrieve her bike.

“You call me the second you hear from Blake,” her friend demanded, closing the back of the Tahoe.

“I’m not going to hear from him.”

Becky’s expression was firm as she stood there, shoulders back. “You might, Annie. You need to be prepared for that.”

No, she didn’t. But she’d be fine, either way.

“Have you thought about what you’ll do if he says yes?”

“He’s not going to say yes.”

Becky’s keys dangled from her fingers as she put her hands on her hips. “I hope you’re right.”

Annie knew what Becky was trying to do here. She wanted Annie’s eyes wide open so she wouldn’t be blindsided—and get hurt. “Remember last New Year’s Eve?” she asked.

Shane had been at a party hosted by the town council for all the local teens. They’d been locked in at the high school. And Becky and Annie had spent the night in Annie’s newly empty house, grilling steaks, drinking wine and thinking positively about the life ahead of them.

“Yeah,” Becky said slowly.

“We said we were going to keep our thoughts on the things we want. And that we weren’t going to worry about things that haven’t happened—most particularly, when they probably won’t happen.”

“We were talking about getting cancer or being hurt or…”

“Blake saying yes to fathering my child.”

“Oh, honey, bless your heart,” Becky said, as she saw the tears in her eyes.

“He did that once, you know.” Annie’s voice was little more than a whisper.

And then he’d left the country on business, even though Annie had begged him not to go, and she’d miscarried, and he hadn’t come back….

CHAPTER THREE

“THANKS FOR SEEING ME, Mr. Smith. I brought a copy of my résumé for you.” The twentysomething, smartly dressed young man seemed to have enough energy for the two of them Friday morning. A damn good thing, as Blake had slept little in the two nights since his ex-wife’s invasion of his life.

“I’m sorry if Marta gave you the impression I’m hiring,” he said now, taking the linen-covered portfolio he’d just been handed. “I’m a one-man show in here and my secretary’s got all of the administrative duties covered.”

“She did relay that information,” Colin Warner said, his slightly spiky hair bringing an inward grin to Blake’s rather bleak state of mind. He tried to picture any of the Wild Bunch showing up at the poker table with similar hair—or any kind of styling, for that matter. “I’d still like to speak with you, if I may.”

Better that, Blake told himself, than think about friendships and impossible requests from determined women.

“Marta said you have a proposition for me.”

“I do—an investment.”

Eyes narrowed, Blake shifted in his chair. “Go on.”

“Just not your usual sort.”

“How do you know my usual sort?” If he had one, he didn’t know about it.

“Everyone has his or her own unique signature, a personal collection of habitual actions, with which he leaves an individual mark on the space he occupies.”

In theory, Blake agreed.

“You, for example, tend to buy based on three things—global use, word of mouth and thorough financial analysis. You’ve been in business for two years, you’ve dealt mainly in real estate and insurance, though there’s the half interest in Cowboy Bob’s….”

A steak franchise that one of his uncle’s former clients had brought his way.

“Land, peace of mind and food—things everyone needs. You buy only when you’re approached, and you’ve made a profit on every single transaction to date.”

Did this kid know Blake was set to clear close to a quarter of a million this year, too?

Did he know what kind of toilet paper Blake used?

Because he prided himself on giving everyone a shot—and was in need of a diversion —Blake continued to listen.

“What I have to offer you fits only one of those three models.”

“What do you have to sell?” Blake asked, wishing he’d taken a moment to look over Warner’s résumé. The kid was entertaining, if nothing else.

“Me.”

“You.” He’d just said he wasn’t hiring. The income he’d earned this past year could just as easily be cut in half if he made a bad choice. But Blake could take that risk when he had only himself to consider.

And Marta. While most of Smith Investment’s profit went back into the business, Blake could afford one decent salary.

One. Not two.

“I’ve got a bachelor of business administration in finance from Texas A & M, with a specialization in investment analysis and valuation.”

Blake wasn’t surprised.

“In two years you’ve more than doubled your initial investment, Mr. Smith,” the younger man said, leaning forward, almost as if his eagerness might launch him across Blake’s desk. “You’re ripe for growth. Yet you wait for people to come to you with opportunities.”

Blake didn’t like the way that sounded. He chose to do business as he did for two reasons, he reminded himself. First, because he was still, after four years locked up in a hole, rediscovering his financial legs. A lot had happened with the Internet, and with the economy, in the time he’d been gone. And second, with his and his uncle’s old business contacts, there were enough opportunities to keep him busy.

“I have no money to invest, but I have the skills and interest required to seek out potential buys—to do all the tedious research needed to put you in the driver’s seat on any deal you choose to pursue,” Colin continued, apparently undeterred by Blake’s silence.

Which kind of impressed Blake. Or maybe he was just grateful to the kid for interrupting his life. A life that had suited him fine until he’d gone to play Texas Hold’em the other night.

“I can’t afford another salary yet.” He figured Colin already knew that—it wasn’t hard to figure out if he’d followed Blake’s investments and knew the profit margin on them. “I started with a chunk of money I inherited, and I’ve done well enough, but I’ve not been at this long enough to be certain that my good luck will continue.”

“Your decisions rest on more than luck, Mr. Smith. That much is obvious.” Colin’s sincerity was beginning to verge on hero worship.

And Blake, in his current state, wasn’t entirely immune to that.

“Luck only works a percentage of the time,” Colin added. “What I’m proposing is this. You take me on as part of the company, providing the usual benefits, which you can get at a decent cost because you own part of a growing insurance company. And I’ll work strictly on a commission basis. Any deal I find for us that you close, I get five percent of the profit.”

Intent now, Blake studied the young man. “How do you live, in the meantime?”

“I’ve got about a year’s worth of living expenses saved. If I don’t do something for us in a year’s time, I’m not as good at this as I think I am, and I need to move on.”

“Do you smoke?”

“No.”

“Have any preexisting conditions I need to be aware of?”

“No.”

It was just going to cost him the insurance premium on a healthy, fit, low-risk male.

“You’d also have to be willing to handle any day-to-day follow-up and phone calls for me, if I need to be out of the office for any reason.”

Blake hadn’t had a vacation since his return home. And certainly not in the four years before that.

“Does this mean you’re investing in me, sir?”

“You a Cowboys fan?”

“Isn’t everyone?”

“Ever heard of Brady Carrick?”

“The wide receiver who busted his knee, had to retire and ended up losing a fortune in Vegas?”

“That’s the one. He’s recently moved back to the area and is looking for a horse.”

“You know him?”

“He’s a friend.”

“And you want me to find him a horse?”

“Brady’s family owns the Cross Fox Ranch in River Bluff. You may have heard of it.”

“Can’t hardly be from around here and not hear of them, can you? At least not if you watch the news. They train serious moneymaking, winning-circle horses. I saw a shoot of the Cross Fox once when I was doing a livestock research analysis for class. They’ve got this thirty-six-stall stable that looked more elegant than the place I was living.” The young man’s enthusiasm just didn’t quit. “They ship to racetracks all over the South and Southwest. You want me to find that kind of horse for Brady Carrick?”