The Sweetest September. Liz Talley

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СКАЧАТЬ cerulean background. A turn of her head showed her John’s stoic profile, jaw squared as he contained his emotions.

      Okay. She’d done it. She’d told him about the child growing in her belly. Their child. Mission accomplished. Now all she had to do was go back home, tell her parents, move out of the guesthouse, get a permanent job, take a birthing class, register for preschool, start a college fund....

      Oh, dear God.

      Parenting wasn’t for wussies...and she’d be alone.

      Sweat broke out on her upper lip and her body started to tremble as the enormity of her situation, combined with the residual anxiety from telling John, crashed over her. Her teeth chattered as the knot inside her unwound, releasing some strange hormonal thing that smothered her.

      John stopped the cart and climbed out.

      But she couldn’t move.

      Silly as it was, all the emotion she’d balled inside over the past four weeks rolled over her, rendering her, well, overwhelmed.

      “Shelby?”

      Oddly enough, during the middle of what was possibly a panic attack she realized she liked the way he said her name. He had a drawled Southern accent quite different from Darby’s soft Acadian dialect. Maybe a slight lilt.

      Shelby waved her hands as if she could make the panic enveloping her go away. “I’m just a little—” Gulping deep breaths, she couldn’t finish.

      “Jesus,” John said, taking huge steps around the mule to reach her side.

      “No, don’t touch me,” Shelby said, brushing away the hand reaching for her, shrinking from him.

      “It’s okay. Breathe.”

      Shelby wanted to say something biting like what in the hell did he think she was doing, but she couldn’t seem to care enough to be a smart-ass.

      “Come into the house,” he said, taking her by the forearm, his touch as gentle as his words. “We’ll have some tea or something and take a few minutes to process all this.”

      “I just wanna leave,” she said, teeth still chattering, her breathing ragged. She figured if she didn’t get out of there, away from him, she might hyperventilate. “I told you. That’s it. I’m done.”

      He stiffened again, but didn’t release her arm. “I understand, but you need to gather yourself before you drive. Come inside. It will be okay.”

      “It won’t be okay,” she said, inhaling deeply, trying to find her calm, trying to find herself in the hysteria edging in. How dare he even imply such a thing? It will be okay. What a fat lie. She might be resolved to her fate, but having the baby of a stranger was not even remotely okay. “This is a screwup of enormous magnitude.”

      “You’re right, but it will be okay.”

      “Stop freaking saying that.”

      He clamped his mouth shut and studied her for a moment. The same perusal he’d given her earlier. Scientific. “You don’t need to drive. You’re upset.”

      “Duh. You think?” Shelby drawled, the anger, the lack of control pissing her off. She’d had a plan. Tell him. Leave. But somehow her body...or her mind...or something...hadn’t gotten the damn memo to play it cool.

      He didn’t respond. Just stared at her. And tugged on her arm in an insistent manner.

      “Fine,” she said finally, struggling to her feet. “I’ll gather myself and have a cup of tea. We can even pretend we’re normal people.”

      Again, nothing from him. He released her arm as she stood.

      Shelby took a deep breath, relieved her task was nearly over. Now someone other than her doctor knew about the life knitting together within her womb. Of course, she’d shared that information with a man she didn’t know beyond the investigative report sitting in her sock drawer...and the fact he sang off-key to old George Strait songs when he danced.

      Wordlessly, side by side, they climbed the steps. When they reached the top step, where Shelby had perched a mere half hour ago, John stopped.

      Shelby turned around, still fighting the edging panic.

      “You’re not alone, Shelby.”

      His words did what he meant them to do. Found their way inside her, creating a small bit of warmth in the midst of the madness of her life.

      John stood there, handsome as sin, saying the right thing at just the right moment.

      Damn him.

      He was still the bastard who had treated her like a fungus, impregnated her with a child and implied she was some sort of whore.

      But he knew exactly what to say.

      And as he took her hand and pulled her toward the door, she realized he also knew exactly how to make her feel cared for.

      And that was more dangerous than any other feeling she’d had since seeing him again.

       CHAPTER THREE

      JOHN LED SHELBY up the steps of the house that had been his home for a decade, every nook and cranny known and loved despite the flaws. Inside, he quaked as much as Shelby did. Outside, he maintained a semblance of control. Like always.

      Shelby was pregnant with his baby. Or at least she said she was. The irony of the situation rubbed him, bitter and biting.

      Rebecca’s desire for the pitter-patter of little feet had been a driving force in their marriage for the past year of her life. With her death, the thought of children ceased to exist. And now, he’d gotten what he’d once desired so greatly...at the hands of a drunken hookup in a crappy bathroom off Hwy 5.

      God had a sense of humor. Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe God liked to sucker punch John for the hell of it.

      He pulled the screen door open, holding it with his boot as he turned the century-old iron doorknob and pushed inside.

      His yellow Lab sat, tongue lolling, ready to greet him.

      “Down, Bart.” John pushed the hairy beast with the generous kisses off his thigh and walked inside the cool darkness of the living room, turning right and escorting Shelby toward the kitchen. Bart followed after them, tail threatening the doodads on the low antique tables Rebecca had scattered throughout the foyer and formal dining room. He should pack them away, but something held him back.

      It always did.

      “You have a dog,” Shelby said like she’d never seen one.

      “Yeah. This is Bart.” John released her hand and pulled out a chair in the kitchen. He didn’t know why he’d grabbed her hand to begin with. Maybe because for a moment she looked like a lost child and he hadn’t wanted her to run away. “Here. Sit. I’ll boil some water for tea.”

      Bart СКАЧАТЬ