The Sweetest September. Liz Talley

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СКАЧАТЬ and you’ve been pretty damn decent.”

      He spread his hands. “What else could I do?”

      “You could have done a lot of things that weren’t as nice as what you did. I dropped a tornado on you and you didn’t hide in a cellar.”

      “I don’t have a cellar. This is Louisiana.”

      Shelby smiled and took time to study him in the golden light of the room. Despite the grimness shadowing his eyes, John Beauchamp was a fine specimen of a man. No pretty boy, he had a ruggedness that called to mind Clint Eastwood in his younger days. Brows that easily gathered into perplexity, a hard jaw that spoke of stubbornness and a sensual mouth that, though often drawn into a line, could curve into a wicked smile.

      She remembered his scent, remembered the way his muscled chest felt beneath her fingertips, the way he’d kissed her...like a man starved.

      Now that she knew he’d lost his wife over a year ago, she understood the desperation in his kiss, recognized the same need throbbing inside her. After Darby dumped her, her ego had been fragile and she’d been ripe for the plucking...or ripe for the—well, she wasn’t going there. Suffice it to say, she’d been just as desperate as John to feel the touch of another person.

      “Time to process all of this would be nice,” he said. “So, I’ll let you rest and say good night.”

      She nodded because she still struggled to believe her whole life had been turned on its ear. In six and a half months she’d become a mother...if she didn’t lose the pregnancy. Process? Not a bad idea.

      “Good night, John,” she said.

      For a moment he looked uncertain, like he wondered if he should extend his hand or offer a hug or something.

      Luckily, a knock at the door interrupted the awkwardness, and Abigail hurtled inside, balancing a tray, which she sat on the desk.

      “I hope it’s enough,” John’s sister said, arranging the silverware on the napkin. A single yellow chrysanthemum brightened the tray holding a sandwich, fruit and a slice of pecan pie.

      “It’s perfect. Thank you,” Shelby said, rising.

      “Don’t get up,” John said, lifting the tray and crossing the room, setting it on the bedside table.

      “I could have done that,” Abigail said, eyeing her brother with an odd expression.

      “I’ll see you tomorrow,” John said, glancing down to where Shelby sat, one foot hooked beneath her.

      “You’re in the middle of harvest.” Abigail looked as if she’d been tossed in a lake. “You can’t come here tomorrow.”

      “I’m not too busy for a friend,” he said.

      “Who are you?” Abigail asked.

      “A man not that busy.”

      “Hmm,” John’s sister muttered before turning to Shelby. “Let me know if you need anything. Extra toiletries are in the bathroom. You wouldn’t believe how many people forget basics.”

      “Thank you,” Shelby called as Abigail headed toward the door.

      John waited until his sister disappeared. “What about clothes...a, uh, nightgown?”

      Shelby pointed to the plastic bag. “That’s why I asked if you’d stop at the store. I nabbed a few things including an oversize shirt to sleep in along with a toothbrush. I can manage.”

      “If you’ll give me your hotel info, I’ll send someone to Baton Rouge to gather your things.”

      “Don’t bother. Things are scattered all over the room, and I really don’t want a stranger packing my personal items. I can climb out of bed long enough to do that.”

      “I’ll drive you, then,” he said.

      “No. Just send my rental car over. Besides you looked pretty busy in your fields. Abigail seemed to indicate—”

      “I’ll be here at noon,” he interrupted, tone firm. “Besides I need to stop in Baton Rouge for a part Homer needs.”

      John Beauchamp was a driven man. Easy for her to recognize since she’d been around driven people all her life. Her entire family was listed under the definition in the Merriam-Webster’s dictionary.

      “If you insist,” she said.

      “I do. Good night, Shelby.”

      “’Night.” The door closed with a soft snick and Shelby fell back on the bed.

      Jesus.

      At that moment, she wanted someone, anyone, to hold her. To tell her all would be okay. A mother to lean on would have been nice, but Shelby’s mother had never been the type to welcome weakness. Maybe someone like Picou Dufrene, Darby’s mother, would run a careworn hand over Shelby’s brow and help her figure things out, but that thought was insane. Darby didn’t belong to her anymore, if he ever had, so she couldn’t lay claim to anyone in that warm, quirky family. Like always, Shelby was on her own.

      Going back to Seattle to her family wouldn’t change it.

      Her parents weren’t horrid—they’d never locked her in a closet or even missed any of her important ballet recitals or graduations—but Shelby had always felt they loved her because they were supposed to, ticking off a list on a job description. As for her siblings, Shelby’s brother seemed to equate her with something a seagull vomited, and her older sister hadn’t wanted Shelby in her wedding. Sela had even joked in front of the bridal party she didn’t deserve a bridesmaid with less than a master’s degree.

      Yeah, Sela was a bitch who had required her husband to pack his testicles away the day they wed. What had Shelby expected?

      Shelby dashed the moisture from the corner of her eyes, staring at the fabric gathered at the crown of the bed.

      Alone.

      She placed a hand over her stomach.

      Please stay in there, little pea. It’s me and you. We can do this together.

      Even if John Beauchamp was the fly in the ointment.

       CHAPTER SIX

      JOHN JOGGED DOWN the steps of The Laurel Woods Bed-and-Breakfast wishing he could start running and never stop. Like Forrest Gump.

      Or maybe he’d head over to Ray-Ray’s and drink until he didn’t give a hot damn about anything anymore.

      Of course the last time he’d gotten drunk he’d gotten Shelby pregnant so maybe Forrest Gump had something with that whole cross-country jaunt.

      But running wouldn’t work...eventually a man had to stop, and reality would catch up. John climbed into his truck and punched the steering wheel, making the horn beep.

      He СКАЧАТЬ