Little Secrets. Maureen Child

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       Four

      Rita actually felt shock slam into her like a physical blow. Whatever she’d been expecting hadn’t been this. She knew she was staring. Knew she should say something, but for the first time in her life she was absolutely speechless. He was serious, that much she could see. But surely he didn’t expect her to agree.

      He laughed shortly, but it was merely a harsh scrape of sound against his throat. There was no humor in his eyes and no easing of the tightness of his mouth. “Not the usual reaction when a man proposes.”

      Finally she found her own voice. “It’s not the usual situation, is it?”

      “No,” he admitted solemnly, “it’s not.”

      “Jack, you don’t want to be married to me.” God, how it hurt to say that, because six months ago, at the end of their week together, Rita had had dreams. She’d believed that when he came home from war, they would get married, have kids, live happily ever after. All the normal fantasies that women spin when they meet a man who makes their blood burn and their heart sing.

      But that dream had died with him, or so she’d believed at the time. Now he was here, but it was a different Jack who faced her asking her to marry him. It was a colder, harder man than she’d once known and the loss of that rang deep and true inside her.

      He pushed one hand through his hair then scrubbed the back of his neck. “No,” he admitted, looking directly into her eyes. “I don’t want to be married. To anyone.”

      “Then what is this about?”

      “I also don’t want my kid born without my name.”

      Rita sighed heavily. “Of course you’ll be on the birth certificate, listed as the father.”

      He frowned. “Not what I’m talking about. I want us married when the baby’s born,” he told her firmly. “After that, we can divorce and I won’t bother you again.”

      Just when she thought the shocks couldn’t be more earth shattering, he said something else that ripped away what was left of the earth beneath her feet. “Seriously?”

      Moments ago, she’d worried about a custody battle, but in reality he wanted nothing to do with his own child? What kind of man was he?

      He blew out a breath, shoved his hands into his slacks pockets and admitted, “I’m not asking you to understand—”

      “Good,” she interrupted. “Because I don’t. If you don’t want me, then fine. I get it. But how can you not want anything to do with your own child? My God, who are you?”

      “Still me,” he insisted, but she didn’t believe him.

      When she first met him, he’d been more quiet than chatty, more solemn than happy, but there hadn’t been such a marked coldness about him. Now it was as if he’d submerged his old self under a layer of ice.

      “Think whatever you like about me. Can’t change it. But I want my kid born into the Buchanan family.” His mouth tightened and the muscle in his jaw twitched as if he were grinding his teeth together. “After that, you can raise it.”

      It. So impersonal. So distancing. Rita hadn’t wanted to know what her baby was, preferring to be surprised. But now, at her next appointment, she would ask. Because she wanted Jack to see their child as a person. But that was for later. “So you’ll just put your baby aside like you did me and move on, is that it?”

      He scrubbed one hand across his jaw. “You’re putting words in my mouth.”

      “Because you’re not explaining any of this.”

      “Damn it, Rita, you don’t have to make this harder than it already is.”

      “No, I don’t,” she said sadly. “Because you did that just fine on your own.”

      “I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”

      Her eyes nearly popped out of her head at that insult on top of everything else. Rita had reached her limit. She walked around the edge of the counter, leading with her belly, and didn’t stop until she was standing in front of him. “You think I want money from you?”

      He met her gaze and Rita would have given anything to be able to read what he was thinking, feeling. But there was no clue there for her. He was a blank slate. Deliberately. This new Jack had such a tight handle on his emotions, she couldn’t see past the facade.

      “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I know you don’t want money.”

      “That’s something, anyway,” she muttered, still looking up into his eyes, still looking for some shred of the man she’d loved.

      “Do this, Rita,” he said quietly.

      “Why would I marry you knowing you don’t want me?”

      “Because I need it,” he admitted and it looked as though it cost him to give her that much. “I need to know my kid has my name. That I did the right thing.”

      “The right thing.” She huffed out a breath and folded her arms across her growing middle. “This isn’t the ’50s, Jack. Single mothers do just fine on their own and so can I.” She didn’t believe in what he was saying, but Jack clearly did.

      Rita knew she would be fine raising her child alone. She had her family’s support. She had her own business, a home and the strength to do whatever she had to do to succeed.

      “It’s not a matter of that,” Jack argued. He picked up the biscotti again and when his hand fisted around it, let crumbs fall to the marble counter. “I know you could do it. I don’t want you to. I get you don’t owe me a damn thing and I’ve got no right to ask for this. Still, this is important to me, Rita. I don’t want my kid knowing his parents weren’t married.”

      “Oh, for heaven’s—”

      “Look, this is the best answer for all of us,” Jack said quickly.

      “How is a meaningless marriage the best for anyone? You’re crazy.”

      “That’s been said before,” he admitted wryly. “But not about this. This is important enough to me that I’m not going to back off or give up until you agree.”

      She laughed shortly, turned her back СКАЧАТЬ