She slid into the booth across from him, her blonde hair swinging as she studied him. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”
Tate set the glass carefully back on the table. “What is there to say?”
“How about hello? Or maybe that you’ve missed me as much as I have you.”
“Or congratulations? I heard you got married.” Tate fought to keep his voice even.
“Yes, I did. Does that upset you?”
He was saved from answering by the return of the waitress with his coffee. As soon as she was gone, he looked at the woman across the table.
“What do you want, Diane?”
“Don’t you know that by now? I want you, Tate. I always have.”
She reached across the table for his hand, but he moved it out of the way. “You’ve got a husband. You don’t need me.”
“You’re wrong, Tate. I do need you. Clayton isn’t half the man you are. He never will be.”
“That’s not the way I remember it from our last conversation.” The memory of that meeting still had the capacity to fill him with guilty pain.
Tears welled up in her green eyes. “You know I didn’t mean that. Not any of it. I love you, Tate, and you hurt me so badly. That’s why I said those things. I almost went out of my mind after you left.”
“Looks to me like you went right straight to Clayton’s bed.”
Diane looked down at the table, one long, red nail making tiny circles on the scarred surface. “I didn’t want to marry him, you know. But you didn’t leave me any choice.” She looked up at him through her lashes, a move he’d seen thousands of times before, one she probably practiced in front of a mirror. “I tried to call you. I needed to talk to you so much. But your brother wouldn’t let me speak to you.” She paused for effect. “Neither would your wife.”
Tate went still. “You talked to Abby?”
Diane shrugged. “She hung up on me.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Believe what you want to, Tate. But maybe if I’d talked to you, I wouldn’t have gotten married. Clayton’s changed.” She hesitated. “He scares me now. Really scares me. He spends most evenings drinking and he stays mad all the time. I don’t know what to do. I’m afraid he’s going to hurt me. Look.” She pushed the sleeve of her blouse up just enough to give him a glimpse of the purpling bruise on her arm. “He did this.”
Anxiety stabbed through him, but he didn’t dare show it, couldn’t let her know she’d found the chink in his defenses. “Leave him. Just get out.”
She leaned over the table, this time capturing his hand in spite of his efforts to avoid her touch. “Oh, Tate, please leave with me. We can both get a divorce and then we’ll be together. We’ll go somewhere far away and start all over. You know you want to.” She leaned back slightly. “You still have my ring, don’t you? And we both know why. All you have to do is admit it.”
“I won’t do that and you know it, Diane. What I want doesn’t matter. My responsibility is to my child. My child and my wife. I can’t help you anymore.”
Her attention was diverted by the bag on the table, the edge of a small knit blanket sticking out. When she reached for it, Tate pulled his hand from hers and picked up the bag, dropping it onto the seat beside him.
Diane’s eyes met his. “That could be for our baby, Tate,” she said softly. “Yours and mine.” Suddenly her gaze shifted over his shoulder and a tiny smile played across her full lips.
* * * * *
Abby was practically in shock. For almost two hours, Mrs. Simpson had her trying on clothes, stacking outfit after outfit by the cash register. This was the last one, she promised. No matter what Mrs. Simpson said.
She stepped out of the dressing room for what she’d started to think of as “the inspection,” and found the elderly lady waiting in the same spot she had been in each time before.
Slowly she walked around Abby, her gaze taking in every detail of the dress. Finally she smiled. “I think that should just about do it. That shade of blue is certainly your color, dear. It sets that black hair off to a tee. And the style is perfect for your figure. Why don’t you wear that one out and surprise your good-looking husband. I’ll just have my grandson take the rest of it to Tate’s truck for you.”
“Thank you.” Abby breathed a sigh of relief. She’s been afraid it was going to take her three trips to carry it all. “How much do I owe you?”
“Don’t you worry about it,” Mrs. Simpson waved her away. “I’ll just send the bill out to the ranch.”
She hesitated. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. Why, Tate’s mama bought her maternity clothes from me with both those boys. I’d trust a McCullom for a lot more than what you’ve got here.”
Abby smiled at her. “Thank you, Mrs. Simpson. I appreciate your help.”
“If you need anything else, dear, you just give me a call. I’ve got your size on file now.”
As soon as she pushed the door open, the early June heat slammed into her. Thank heavens the dress was light-weight cotton. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in a store window and stopped.
Mrs. Simpson had been right. The dress seemed to have been made just for her. And the way it was designed, it didn’t even look like a maternity dress. It just looked…sexy, Abby decided with a smile. The irony was, it was made on almost the same line as her green dress. But this one was new and it was all hers. She couldn’t wait to show Tate.
Starting toward the cafe three blocks away, Abby was amazed at how different the town seemed to her now. People she barely recognized spoke to her as they went by, most of them with a smile. Had she changed, or had they? Maybe a little of both, she mused.
Now that she’d married Tate they probably considered her “respectable.” But she couldn’t put the blame for the way they’d treated her before entirely on these people. After all, she’d done very little to encourage any friendships. She’d been so embarrassed and ashamed of the way she lived, what her mother was, that she wouldn’t even look up when she’d had to go out in public.
Well, those days were over. She was Abby McCullom now and, no matter what happened, she could never go back to being the old Abby. No more scared little mouse. The new Abby had a backbone. She had a family. She had…
Abby sucked in a deep breath of air as she pushed open the cafe door, and came to a sudden halt. Tate was already there, sitting with his back to her, and he wasn’t alone. Someone jostled her as they went by and she saw Diane’s gaze focus on her. A smug smile played at the edges of the woman’s lips.
Anger hit Abby like a runaway freight train. Tate was her husband now. Her back straightened and her chin went up, every movement a declaration of war.
Forcing a smile, she walked to the table and slid onto the seat next to Tate. Putting a hand on his arm, she leaned over and gave him a quick kiss. “Hi. Sorry I’m late. Have you been waiting long?”
He was looking at her like he’d never seen her before. Slowly he shook his head. “Only a few minutes.”
Abby glanced across the table. Diane was watching her like a hawk ready to pounce. “I don’t believe we’ve ever been introduced. I’m Abby. Abby McCullom.”
Diane’s smile was sickeningly sweet. “Yes, I know who you are. Tate and I were right in the middle of a private conversation. I’m sure you wouldn’t mind excusing us for a few minutes would you?”
“Actually, I would,” Abby said, careful to keep her tone conversational. “It’s been a long day. I plan on spending the rest of it with my husband. I’m sure you understand how that is now that you’re married. How is Mr. Caldwell, by the way?”
Diane’s smile faded, her eyes glinting with ice. Ignoring Abby, she grabbed her purse and slid off the seat. At the end of the table she paused, her gaze fixed on Tate. “Call me. Please? We need to finish this conversation. In private,” she added, shooting Abby a glare.
“The conversation is over.”
“Tate, you have to listen to me.”
His eyes met Abby’s before he answered. “No,” he said softly. “I don’t have to listen to you. Go tell Clayton, Diane.”
Abby was barely aware that Diane had gone. She couldn’t seem to tear her gaze away from Tate’s.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I wanted this to be a special day for you. If I’d known she was going to come in, I never would have suggested meeting here. I didn’t ask her to sit down, Abby. I swear. I’ll never leave you and the baby.”
Abby studied him intently. She didn’t even have to ask what he and Diane had talked about. He’d just told her. “I know you won’t.” She smiled ruefully. “You are too responsible to do something like that, aren’t you?” She cupped his cheek with her hand. “Are you upset because I barged in on your conversation?”
He turned his head just enough to kiss the palm of her hand. “You had every right to do what you did. You’re my wife.”
It was so hard not to tell him she loved him. The words trembled on her lips with every breath she took. But she couldn’t. Not yet. Not until Tate was ready to admit to himself that he didn’t love Diane.
Why was it so hard for him to see when it became clearer to her every day? But until he was finally ready to let go of Diane completely, Abby’s feelings had to take a backseat.
“You know something?” Tate put an arm across the back of the seat, his hand caressing her shoulder.
“What?” She smiled at him.
“You get more beautiful each time I look at you.”
“You say that now,” she teased, “but wait until you get the bill for these new clothes.”
“Whatever they cost isn’t enough. But that reminds me.” He reached down onto the seat next to him and retrieved a bag. “I saw this in the window of the department store. See what you think.”
Abby reached into the bag and pulled out a baby blanket. The yarn was downy soft, the colors in shades of pale green and yellow, mixed with white. Tears filled her eyes as she brushed it against her cheek. “It’s wonderful, Tate. Do you know, this is the first thing our baby’s gotten?”
“Then you like it? I was afraid you might want to pick everything out yourself, but at least with these colors it won’t matter if it’s a boy or a girl.”
“I love it. And I’m glad the baby’s first gift came from you.”
The waitress stopped at their table again. “You folks ready to order now?”
“Yes,” Tate said, his gaze still holding Abby’s. “I want at least four kids. Doesn’t matter what flavor.”
His voice sounded normal, but Abby didn’t miss the trace of desperation in his eyes. Was that other Tate, the one who’d sought her out and gotten her pregnant, now afraid he might be losing the battle? Was his comment a last-ditch effort to hang on to her?
Debby propped her hands on her hips. “Sorry, shug, but we’re fresh out. Will hamburgers and fries work?”
“For now, Deb.”
“On their way.” She left again.
Abby felt like her heart was breaking. “Did you really mean that?”
Tate picked up her hand and kissed it. “Would you mind?”
“No,” she whispered, fighting the words she really wanted to say. “I don’t mind at all. Four sounds like a nice round number.”
Where was Joe when she needed him? She certainly could have used a few words of wisdom right now. How did you wage a battle for a man’s spirit when the man himself wasn’t sure he wanted you to win?
She watched Tate from the corner of her eye. His face still looked strained and worried. Oh, Tate, she thought. Will you be able to see what you’re doing to yourself, to us, before it’s too late?
At that moment she could have hated Tate’s father, in spite of Joe’s avowal that he was a good man. If not for his teachings, Tate wouldn’t be suffering such agonies now. And he was suffering. His perceived responsibilities to both her and Diane were tearing him in half.
Abby stared at the food the waitress slid in front of her and gave a tiny sigh. She’d always been a pretty good seamstress. Maybe with a little luck and a lot of hard work she could mend each rip to Tate’s soul before the damage became permanent.
Chapter Nineteen
Tate wiped a forearm across his sweat-covered brow and leaned on the window sill, careful not to let the paint roller touch the frame. He and Buddy had spent most of the morning moving things from the sewing room into the attic and he’d been painting ever since. The walls were done now, the soft eggshell white gleaming in the late afternoon sun that poured into the room. It was going to make a wonderful nursery for the baby.
A burst of laughter caught his attention and he looked down into the backyard. The laughter was what had drawn him to the window in the first place. Abby’s laughter. For some reason she had decided to give Dog a bath. Dog, apparently, had other ideas on the subject.
At the moment, he sat in the tin tub she’d filled with water, a disgusted look on his shaggy face. A pile of bubbles adorned the end of his nose. Abby had managed to get him soaped down by holding him with one hand. Now she made the mistake of letting go while she reached for the hose.
Dog was out of the tub like a bullet, slinging water all over the yard. Abby let out a little cry, then threw both arms over her face as Dog paused long enough to shake. The tremor started at his nose and traveled all the way to the tip of his tail, covering Abby with soapy water in the process.
Then he was off again, running across the yard like a race horse. When he reached the far side, he made a U-turn and headed back, his tongue hanging out as he circled Abby at a safe distance, still at top speed.
Stupid dog thought she was playing with him. Maybe she was, Tate mused, watching as she leaned over and tried to coax the animal closer. Her voice drifted through the window.
“Come on, Dog. That’s a good boy. Just a little bit more. You’re gonna look so pretty,” she crooned. “And smell good, too.”
Dog stopped just out of reach, his front half stretched out on the ground, his rear up in the air. His tail was going ninety miles an hour as he issued an excited bark.
“Now, you just stay right there.” Abby edged a step closer, her hand extended. “You’re such a good dog.” She lunged, but Dog saw her coming and dodged out of the way. Abby wound up face-down in a puddle of water.
A tickle of anxiety ran through Tate, then eased as he realized she was laughing again. Dog decided this was a new aspect to the game and pounced on her, doing his best to lick her face.
Giggling uncontrollably, she turned her head to one side, both fists buried in the dog’s coat as she held him off. “I’ve got you now, you rascal. And this time, I’m not letting go.”
Tate sucked in a deep breath as she reached for the hose again. The thin, white cotton blouse she had on was soaked. It clung to her like a second skin, exposing her breasts to the point where he could see the darkened nipples pushing against the fabric.
He shifted uncomfortably, his sudden erection pushing painfully against his zipper. His mouth literally watered at his need to taste those dark mounds. They had only made love once since the day Diane had shown up at the cafe and that had been a week ago. Abby had been the one who instigated that one time, he now realized.
What was wrong with him? For almost three weeks after he found out Diane had gotten married, she’d never once crossed his mind. Now she appeared to have taken up permanent residence. He constantly saw her face as she told him she was afraid of Clayton. The man wasn’t stupid. He wouldn’t really hurt her, would he? Clayton might be slick, but he’d never struck Tate as the violent type.
He pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. He had to stop this, had to get Diane out of his mind. Maybe he should call her. Just to make sure she was okay. Then he could stop thinking about it all the time.
Another burst of laughter from the back yard distracted him. Abby was trying to rinse the soap from Dog, and every other second the animal was doing his shimmy routine to shake the moisture off.
A faint smile curved Tate’s lips at their antics. It did look like they were having fun. He glanced at the paint roller in his hand. Maybe he should wash it out before the paint dried. He could always call Diane later if he decided to do it.
Abby looked up as he stepped out onto the back porch, her dimples prominent as she grinned at him. “All finished?”
“For now. Still have to put up the border after the paint dries.”
“Looks like you got more paint on yourself than you did the walls. That should probably be washed off before it sets.”
Her words should have warned him, but the spray of icy water that hit his chest had him gasping in surprise. Damn, it was cold!
Abby was bent double laughing when he started toward her, but she straightened in a hurry at the intent look on his face.
“Now, Tate. It was just a joke.”
“One I plan on getting even for.”
“Oh yeah?” She put her hands on her hips, her tone belligerent. “How do you plan on doing that when I’ve got the hose?”
“Like this.” He lunged at her just as she turned the water on him again. He ignored the spray, grabbing her around the waist and hanging on for dear life.
She squealed and tried to twist away from him, but his grip was too tight. With one quick movement, he ran the paint roller down her face.
Abby’s mouth dropped open, paint and water dripping from her eyelashes when she blinked. “I don’t believe you did that.”
It was Tate’s turn to collapse in laughter at the expression on her face.
“I’m gonna get you for that, McCullom.”
He barely had time to catch her as she tackled him. They went over backwards, landing with a squishy splat in the mud created from Dog’s bath.
Tate’s laughter ebbed as Abby’s weight pressed into him, then died completely as her mouth touched his. His reaction was instantaneous. With his hands fisted in her hair, he lifted his head off the ground, kissing her ravenously, savagely hungry for the taste of her.
A desperate groan escaped his throat. “Abby, I need you. I need you now. I can’t wait.”