A Baby of Her Own. Brenda Novak

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ won’t let me do much of anything else these days. I’m just sitting here getting fat.”

      Uncle Ralph was at the barbershop, probably drinking his own share of coffee while he complained about the rising price of gasoline to the same friends he’d met there every Sunday for the past thirty years. Dundee was nothing if not comfortable with routine.

      “Uncle Ralph likes the way you look, and so do I,” Delaney said, straightening the covers on Aunt Millie’s bed.

      Aunt Millie raised a gnarled hand to pat her arm. “You’re a good girl, Laney. I’ve always been so proud of you. I knew the moment I saw you when you were just six years old that you were nothing like your mother. And you’ve never disappointed me.”

      Delaney felt the bonds of obligation grow a little tighter, tying her hands, trapping her in the mold Millie had created for her. And fear overwhelmed her as the memories she’d been trying so hard to suppress for the past twenty-four hours quickly surfaced—Conner standing at his hotel room door wearing only his jeans…Conner smiling above her…Conner’s lips, his hands, his body…

      She closed her eyes, feeling as though she might pass out. What if she was pregnant? What if she had to tell Aunt Millie and Uncle Ralph that their perfect little girl wasn’t so perfect after all?

      “It’s getting kind of late,” she said awkwardly, her face growing hot. “If I don’t head home, there’ll be people breaking down my door for pies. You think you’ll be okay here until Uncle Ralph gets back?”

      “Of course.” Aunt Millie waved her away. “I’ve got my cross-stitch. And the books you brought me.”

      Delaney moved the stack of romances she’d checked out of the library closer to the bed so Aunt Millie could reach them, then did the same with the remote control to the television. “You want me to raise the blind a little higher?” she asked, hearing the reedy thinness of her voice and hoping Aunt Millie wouldn’t notice it. “It’s overcast right now, but the weather report said we’re supposed to get some sun later this afternoon.”

      “That would be nice, dear.”

      Delaney raised the blind, put away the dust cloth, gathered the coupons Aunt Millie had clipped for the weekly grocery shopping—which Delaney did every Monday before work—and reclaimed the breakfast tray. “There’s an apple pie in the fridge for your dessert,” she said, dropping a quick kiss on Aunt Millie’s lined cheek.

      Then she ducked her head and hurried out of the room, eager to escape that loving smile and those adoring eyes, afraid that Aunt Millie would see what a fraud she really was. Afraid that if Aunt Millie looked too hard, she’d realize Delaney was her mother’s daughter, after all.

      CHAPTER FIVE

      THE MEMORIES OF THOSE FEW YEARS when Conner had lived at the Running Y were far more vivid than he’d ever dreamed they would be. After all, he’d been only six when his grandmother died and the whole household had moved to California, and the twenty-five intervening years had changed him into another person entirely. The hopeful little boy who’d ridden behind his grandfather to rescue a stranded calf, whose job it was to feed the chickens and gather the eggs, was long gone. Yet something as simple as the crackling fire beneath the large stone mantel in the living room, the lingering scent of pine and smoke or a glimpse of the snow-covered mountains crouched protectively on either side of the house flooded him with images and snatches of conversation he thought he’d completely forgotten.

      “Why do you get up so early, Grandpa?” he’d once asked, entering the very room in which he sat now, his grandfather’s study, to find Clive hard at work, even though the sky beyond the windows was still black and dawn seemed hours away.

      “Because I have a lot to do, son,” his grandfather had replied, glancing up from the papers on the desk.

      “No one else gets up so early.”

      “You do,” he’d responded with a wink. “And that’s why we Armstrongs are going to stay one step ahead of our competition. You’re my future, Con.”

      You’re my future. Such hope, such confidence. At the time, Conner had swelled with pride to think the same blood flowed through his veins. But that was before he’d found out he wasn’t really an Armstrong at all, before his uncles had made it abundantly clear that he was nothing but a bastard, a ward, a parasite.

      Other memories threatened, but Conner forced them from his mind and returned his attention to the ranch’s account books, which lay open before him. As he’d feared, the financial picture wasn’t good. His grandfather had bought the place over fifty years ago, when ranching was still profitable. It had given the old man his start, and he’d built an empire from there. But for the past five years, the cost of feed and hands had climbed steadily while the price of beef had fallen. Unless something significant happened, the ranch wasn’t going to make it, and even a frat boy who’d spent most of his time at college trying not to learn could see that.

      The end was coming, Conner thought. There wasn’t a thing he could do to change the inevitable. Why was he even sitting here, going through the books, racking his brain for solutions?

      Clive would tolerate the losses for only another year or so before he sold out. And Conner knew he was in much the same situation. Like the ranch, he’d started out full of promise but had eventually fallen into decline. He’d barely graduated from high school, had dropped out of college just as he was about to receive his diploma, and had spent more time traveling and playing than working. He’d drunk, gambled and squandered money. He’d spent his time driving fast cars and associating with even faster women. And his grandfather had finally drawn a line in the sand.

      Tough love. What a concept. His grandfather loved the ranch more than he loved Conner.

      Staring out the window, which looked over acres of pasture, Conner stopped fighting the past and let the memory of his last meeting with Clive play in his mind. His grandfather had summoned him to the office at the winery, where Conner’s uncles already waited. Forty-three-year-old Dwight had offered him a seat, as though he were some sort of stranger. Thirty-eight-year-old Jonathan had smiled, obviously relishing a moment he’d anticipated. And the balding, thirty-five-year-old Stephen had come right out and told Conner that his wild days were over. If he didn’t settle down and start contributing to the family, he’d be cut off from the Armstrongs forever.

      Conner would have expected nothing less from his uncles. But his grandfather…What had happened in that meeting had twisted something inside him that Conner had thought long dead. Clive had sat behind his expansive desk, fingers steepled beneath his chin, watching and listening to everything that occurred. He’d nodded when Stephen announced that they were sending Conner to the Running Y, adding nothing until Conner stood to leave. Then he’d said only this—that he was sending Conner back to Dundee where he belonged.

      Which was absolutely laughable because Conner didn’t belong anywhere.

      The telephone rang. Conner hesitated, expecting Dottie, the widow his grandfather paid to cook for the cowboys and manage the house to answer it, but she didn’t seem to be available.

      He picked up at the same time as the answering machine came on. “You’ve reached the Running Y. We’re either out with the animals or running an errand in town—”

      When Conner spoke, the machine automatically shut off. “Hello?”

      “Conner? Is that you?”

      His СКАЧАТЬ