Brannigan's Baby

‘There is no Brannigan capital! Edmund Maxwell told me that yesterday, before he left. So you see, you have nothing to gain by standing in the way of my selling.’

‘My grandmother used the capital? You’ve been living off the capital? My God, I can’t believe—’

Whitney cringed from his burning anger and outrage. ‘So you see, there’s no option but to sell. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t afford to keep up this place.’

‘Da-da-da...’

The plaintive call for attention came from the kitchen.

‘Get a jacket.’ Mouth set grimly, Luke glowered down at her. ‘I want to take a closer look at what we’ve got. But I tell you now, you can forget about selling this place. It’s not going to happen.’

Brannigan House was situated at the end of the northern tip of the Naramata bench. The vineyards, perched on the valley’s steep slopes, with a south-western exposure, climbed above Emerald Lake. The neat rows striped the rolling hills like wales in heavy green corduroy.

Whitney had thrown on a parka over her T-shirt and jeans, but although Luke had dressed the baby cosily, and tucked the blue cap on his head, he himself wore no jacket.

Perhaps the carrier cut the breeze, at least on his back, Whitney reflected as they walked together down the road that cut diagonally across the planted vines.

‘You say you’ve had nothing to do with the vineyards.’ Luke didn’t look at her as he spoke.

‘Not because I wasn’t interested,’ she said steadily. ‘It’s just that with my fair skin, I can’t stay out too long in the sun, so working outside was never an option for me—’

‘Anyway, you were an academic.’ He broke in roughly. ‘Your nose was always stuck in one school text or another. Did you stay on at Penticton High?’

‘For a year, then your grandmother sent me to boarding school on Vancouver Island. After graduation, I went to UBC...and before you start sniping, I waitressed part-time and paid all my tuition fees myself—’

‘Ah. The University of British Columbia. So you...eventually...took my place...even there.’

‘Your place was always open to you, Luke, if you’d wanted it.’ She glanced a him, sideways, and saw that Troy had grabbed two handfuls of his father’s sun-bleached blond hair and was enjoying a tug of war.

‘Then what?’ Luke asked. ‘After UBC...’

‘I took a year off to travel in Europe. And when I came home I got a job teaching English at Penticton High.’

‘When do you go back?’

‘I won’t be going back.’

He glanced at her, his expression cynical. ‘So you gave up your job in expectations of inheriting the Emerald Valley Vineyards? You thought you’d be a lady of leisure.’

‘I gave up my job a year ago in order to look after your grandmother—’

‘Didn’t they keep your position open for you?’

‘Are you completely out of touch with what’s been going on in this province? Of course they didn’t keep it open. When I left, they had dozens of applicants for the post.’

‘So...you and I are in the same situation. No job, no prospects...but at least we have a roof over our heads.’ Veering off the road, he started walking downhill, between the vines, and didn’t resume their conversation.

Which suited Whitney just fine.

She followed him, pausing behind him when, from time to time, he stopped to inspect a vine, tug out a weed, pick some dry soil and let it run through his fingers, or examine a sagging overhead trellis.

On one such occasion, Troy threw back his head, and looked at Whitney upside down.

She smiled at him. What a little love he was! She made a soft coo-coo sound, for his ears alone, and he smiled back, charming her, and then he focused his attention once again on his father’s hair.

After about ten minutes, Luke turned, so abruptly that Whitney almost walked into him.

‘Let’s go back,’ he said. ‘I’ve seen enough.’

‘I’m going to walk on down to the lake.’ At least that way she would have some time on her own to think.

Troy gave a wide yawn.

‘The baby should be in bed,’ she went on quickly, afraid Luke might say he’d come with her. ‘Do you need more blankets? You’ll find some in the airing cupboard—it’s upstairs, next to the—’

‘I don’t need a map to find my way around Brannigan House, Whitney.’ His tone was harsh. ‘I was born here. I know every nook and cranny, every cupboard, every—’

‘Point taken. Only you don’t need to be so nasty about it! You may have been born here... but I never asked to live here. At twelve years of age, I was given no choice in the matter. And—’ her eyes sparked ‘—if I’d had a choice, this is the last place on earth I’d have chosen. You were the cruelest person I’d ever met, so wrapped up in your own jealousies and insecurities you never gave one thought to—’

‘Didn’t you suggest I stop hanging on to the past?’

His icy tone had the effect of a hard slap.

She brushed roughly past him and took off down the slope, her feet making quick padding sounds on the ground between the rows of vines.

She couldn’t bear it; couldn’t bear having him around.

And she’d changed her mind about one thing: She wasn’t about to wait till Edmund Maxwell came back. After lunch, she’d drive into town, drop by his office and ask his partner to make the enquiries about Luke’s financial state.

She’d hang around till the necessary calls were made. And when she had the answer she confidently expected—that Luke had been lying about his barren bank account—then she’d drive straight home again, and tell him where to go.

And if he needed a lift to the nearest bus stop, she’d be more than willing to oblige.

It took only ten minutes to get to the lake.

Once there, she sought her favorite quiet spot, sheltered from the breeze, and sat down on the grass with her back against the trunk of a tree. Soon she became lost in her thoughts, thoughts that didn’t include Luke.

They did include his grandmother.

At the funeral reception, Jack McKay, Cressida’s doctor, had said to her, in an attempt to offer consolation, ‘She was in a great deal of pain, Whitney. For her sake, be glad she is no longer suffering.’

And Cressida’s best friends, Amelia Pitt and Martha Gray, had said, ‘It’s for the best, dear. And it’s not as if it was unexpected. You must be glad it’s all over. We know how hard it’s been on you.’

Yes, the last year had been a hard one, but though she had many times been exhausted almost beyond endurance, after sitting up with Cressida through nights racked with agony, she knew she’d never be glad Cressida was gone. Glad for Cressida’s sake perhaps, but not for her own. She was already missing her terribly.

And there, with no one to see or hear, but a couple of robins, several ducks bobbing closely by on the lake and a solitary black squirrel, at last she let the tears fall.

She didn’t return to the house till noon.

And when she saw an unfamiliar station wagon parked at the front door, she uttered a small sound of exasperation.

Visitors. The last thing she needed. But even as she decided to veer around the side of the house and slip in the back way, the front door opened, and two people came out.

Luke...and Dixie Mae Best.

At the sight of the sexy blonde, Whitney almost stumbled. She’d always known Luke was a fast mover, but this was ridiculous!

They’d both seen her, unfortunately, and stifling a frustrated sigh, she rammed her hands into her parka pockets, and walked toward them.

‘Miss McKenzie.’ Dixie had been giggling as she came out the door, but as soon as she saw Whitney, her expression sobered. ‘I was real sorry to hear about Mrs. Brannigan.’

‘Thank you, Dixie.’

‘Well.’ The blonde glanced at her watch. ‘I’ve gotta run. Luke, it was great hearing from you.’ She smiled up at him. ‘I’ll have to tell Patsy—’

‘Patsy Smith? She’s still around, too?’

‘Oh, sure...and Beth, and Liz, and Chantal McGee, and—oh, all the old gang! Laura Logan that was, and the Patterson twins and...’ She grimaced. ‘Even Begonia Bright.’

‘Good old Begonia,’ Luke said, laughing.

Dixie shook her head, and her heavily made-up eyes sparkled. ‘I can’t believe it—Luke Brannigan a daddy!’

Her hips swiveled under the thin fabric of her pink miniskirt as she walked over to her station wagon. Once inside, she rolled down the window, and as she pulled away, she called back to Luke, ‘You call me now, y’hear?’ And with a cheery wave she took off, leaving a cloud of dust in the air—and a sharper-than-ever tension between Luke and Whitney.

‘Perhaps you should have waited a day or two,’ Whitney said curtly, ‘before making yourself so at home.’

‘Oh, and why’s that?’

But Whitney didn’t answer. Suddenly aware that his gaze had narrowed and he was looking scrutinizingly at her face, she remembered her weeping bout, and wondered if her eyes were revealingly red-rimmed and swollen.

She stalked past him and ignoring his startled ‘Hey, wait up!’ marched into the house.

Making straight for the stairs, she went up to her room. She wasn’t going to wait and eat lunch after all. She was no longer hungry...and he could fend for himself. The fridge was full of leftovers from yesterday’s reception.

She was going to drive into town now, and talk to Edmund Maxwell’s partner—his older brother Charles.

If she didn’t get rid of Luke right away, she had a very strong feeling that she might come home someday very soon and find Dixie Mae Best ensconced in his bedroom...

Dixie Mae, Patsy Smith, Chantal McGee...and all the ‘rest of the old gang’...even including Begonia Bright!

‘Luke was telling you the truth.’ Charles Maxwell sat back in his swivel chair as he looked across his desk at Whitney. ‘Both his lawyer and his banker have confirmed his story.’

Whitney felt a dull sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach as she rose unsteadily from her seat.

‘So...I have to give Luke a home. And I can’t sell the house, or the vineyards—’

‘You could go to court, and contest the codicil.’ Charles’s knees creaked as he got to his feet.

‘No. It’s what Cressida wanted. I can never forget that if she hadn’t taken me in after my mother died, I’d have ended up in a foster home. She didn’t want me to turn Luke away if he needed somewhere to stay...and she would never have countenanced turning away a baby.’

She scooped up her purse from the floor, and swung the strap over her shoulder. ‘Thank you very much, Mr. Maxwell. I appreciate your getting onto this so promptly.’

‘Whitney,.’ The elderly man rounded his desk. ‘Before you go...’

She paused. ‘Mmm?’

‘Luke’s lawyer seemed to assume that I knew all about the events leading up to his present situation, and from what she said, I’ve gathered that Luke’s marriage—’

‘I don’t want to know anything about that,’ Whitney said in a rush. ‘Bad enough that I’ve had to ask you to check out the truth of his story, without... delving further into his private life.’

‘But it might help you understand Luke—’

‘It’s not necessary for me to understand him.’ She touched the lawyer’s arm, feeling the need to reassure him that if she was upset, he wasn’t responsible. ‘Now, you’ll fill your brother in on what’s been happening?’

‘Of course. And if you’ve any more questions you need answering in the meantime, don’t hesitate to call.’

As she walked out to the street, Whitney’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. She wouldn’t have been human if she didn’t have questions. Of course she’d wanted to ask about Luke’s marriage. She wanted to find out about his wife, wanted to know why she wasn’t here with him...wanted to know why she wasn’t caring for their baby. But she’d done the right thing, in cutting the lawyer off. She had to be able to face herself in the mirror each morning, and she couldn’t have done that, not really, if she’d given in to the keen curiosity Charles Maxwell’s words had ignited inside her.

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