She wasn’t aware that the truck had stopped, but suddenly Tate was holding her, pressing her face into his shoulder. Weeks of keeping the fear and worry bottled up inside spilled out. She clung to him, embarrassed and ashamed of losing control. “Oh, God. I’m sorry. I’ve just been so scared,” she sobbed the words. “There’s no one I can talk to and I don’t know what to do.”
She felt the tension in his body as his arms tightened around her.
“You don’t have to be scared anymore, Abby. We’ll figure something out, I promise. We’re in this together.”
As much as she hated to, she pushed away from him. They were parked in front of her house and she glanced at the darkened windows. Anything to keep from looking at him. It hurt too much to hope.
“When was the last time you had a decent meal?”
“Yesterday.” She hesitated, unwilling to admit that there was no food in the house. “It’s the morning sickness. Except I seem to be having it all day. It makes it hard to eat.”
“Have you been to the doctor yet?”
Abby looked down at her hands, twisted together in her lap as if they had a mind of their own. “No. I just used one of those home pregnancy test kits. I’ll go soon.” Like never, she added mentally.
“Come on.” He opened the truck door and then held his hand out. It was a large hand, the fingers long, the back corded.
“You don’t have to come in. I’ll be fine.”
His hand never wavered. A light sprinkling of dark hair showed under the cuff of his sleeve. “I told you, we’re in this together. Now, come on.”
Reluctantly, she let him help her out of the truck, then followed him up the steps. As soon as they were inside, he made a beeline for the kitchen. Mortified, Abby listened to the sound of the refrigerator door opening and closing. Before she had time to blink, he was back, his broad shoulders blotting out her tiny, shabby living room.
“You aren’t planning on going to the doctor, are you?” Even though his words were soft, they rang with accusation.
Hands clenched at her sides, she squared her chin and faced him. “No. I couldn’t pay him.”
His expression lost some of its grimness as he stared at her. “That’s what I thought. Get your clothes. You’re coming home with me. At least I can make sure you’re fed.”
Shock warred with surprise. “Are you crazy? I can’t go home with you! Everyone in this town would know it by tomorrow night. I can’t let you do this.”
“You can’t stop me. Now, either you get your clothes or I will. You’re coming with me if I have to drag you. You’re going to eat, then you’re going to get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow we can decide what to do.”
Pride urged her to argue, common sense forced her not to. The truth was, she couldn’t handle this alone. Part of her had known that from the beginning. And besides, she was hungry. The thought of food, real food, made her mouth water. One night surely wouldn’t hurt. Head down, she went to the bedroom and packed.
Chapter Two
Abby clutched the plain brown bag to her chest and stared at the outline of the huge old house as Tate’s truck came to a stop. The bag, containing only a change of clothing and her ragged nightshirt, had suddenly become her only anchor in a world gone mysterious and strange. She shouldn’t be here, didn’t belong in a place like this.
“Looks like Buddy’s in bed already.”
They were the first words he’d spoken during the entire fifteen-minute ride. “Buddy?”
“My brother. He’s sixteen.” He shut the motor off and reached for the truck door.
“Tate, wait. I don’t think I can do this. I have to be at work tomorrow. I can’t lose my job. And what’s your brother going to think? Please, just take me back home and we’ll forget the whole thing. You don’t owe me anything. I told you, it was all my fault.”
His eyes glittered icy blue in the beams from the light that sat atop a pole at the far edge of the front yard. “Get out of the truck, Abby.”
She stared at him for a minute, then grabbed the door handle and yanked, pinching the skin on one finger when it got trapped between the metal and the frame. Stifling the pain, she climbed out and followed him up the steps.
A scrabbling of claws on the wooden porch made Abby take a quick step to the side as a rather large dog appeared out of the darkness. Uneasily, she watched him approach. “He doesn’t bite, does he?”
By the time Tate glanced around, the dog was sniffing her ankles, head turned to one side, tail erect and unmoving.
“Lie down, Dog.” Tate’s voice barely changed from a conversational tone but the dog turned and flopped to the floor, his unblinking gaze still fixed on Abby.
She watched the animal warily as a light came on, almost blinding her. As Tate held the front door open, she edged past him, then stopped and looked around. Her entire house would fit in this one room alone.
The floors were a rich, dark hardwood, polished by years of wear. The few scratches here and there only gave it character. And the furniture. Abby couldn’t help staring. The couch and chairs weren’t new by any means, but the floral material didn’t have a single hole that she could see. They looked over-stuffed and comfortable.
Next to the stairs at one end of the room, sat an old grandfather clock, its pendulum swinging back and forth hypnotically. Between a set of windows on the other side resided a huge fireplace, its mantel covered in pictures and ceramic figurines. An upright piano, its top adorned with more pictures, inhabited the space just down from the clock.
“Oh, it’s beautiful,” Abby sighed. Instantly, a wave of heat rose to her cheeks when Tate gave her a strange look.
“It’s just an old, run-down ranch house.”
To him, maybe, but she’d never been in a house this fancy before. Or as big. It was the kind of house she dreamed of on the rare occasions she let herself dream. The kind of house meant for a real family.
“Put your things on the chair for now. I’ll show you where you can sleep later.”
Abby looked at the chair, then at the bag in her hands. When Tate turned his back, she deposited the bag on the floor next to the chair.
“I’m not much of a cook and neither is Buddy.” His voice floated from the next room and she arrived in time to hear him finish. “Sandwiches all right?”
“Yes, thank you.” Since he was leaned over peering into the fridge, she addressed the remark to his rear, feeling her cheeks heat at the memory his anatomy aroused. Not that she’d gotten to see much of it that night.
Tearing her gaze away, she looked around the kitchen. The sink behind him was full of dirty dishes, mostly glasses and cups, she noted.
“Have a seat.”
The table was massive, taking up almost half the kitchen. Abby pulled a chair out and sat down gingerly, watching while Tate pulled dishes out of the fridge and carried them to the counter. He worked in silence, concentrating on the job at hand.
Two slices of thick bread slathered with mayonnaise went onto a plate first. Abby stared as he started piling ingredients on each one. First went the meat, what looked like ham, turkey and roast beef, and then two different kinds of cheese. To these he added tomatoes and lettuce and, almost as an afterthought, pickles. The top layer of bread went on and Tate stepped back to contemplate his masterpiece. The sandwiches looked a little top-heavy to Abby and apparently they did to him also. With one hand, he squashed each of them down onto the plate.
“There. Eat up.” He put the food in front of her then filled a glass with milk.
It was more food than she’d consumed at one sitting in ages. Lately, her daily intake of nourishment consisted of cereal for breakfast and a bowl of soup for supper. If she were careful, she could afford crackers to go with the soup, and maybe a peanut butter sandwich.
She shot a fast glance at Tate, but he had his back to her, making coffee. Tentatively, she picked up a sandwich and nibbled at one corner. When her stomach stayed in place and the world didn’t collapse around her
, she took a bigger bite. Her eyes closed in bliss as she chewed. It was a battle not to cram the entire sandwich into her mouth, but she still had her pride.
Even so, by the time he’d finished the coffee, she was almost done with the second sandwich. She stopped long enough to take a drink of milk, and saw his gaze go to the plate. His expression never changed.
“You can stay in my parents’ room. It’s the biggest one in the house. No one’s used it in a few years, so you might want to open the windows and let it air out.”
Abby swallowed another bite. “Where are your parents?”
“Mom died when Buddy was twelve. Dad had a heart attack about two years ago. It’s just been me and Buddy since then.” He nodded toward her now empty plate. “There’s more if you want it.”
Another wave of heat swept over her face. “No thanks. I’m full.” She was, finally. Uncomfortably so. The faster she got out of his presence and into bed, the faster tomorrow would get there and she could leave. She drained the rest of the milk. “I am tired, though.”
“Bedroom is this way.” He put his cup on the table and led her back through the living room and up the stairs, ducking when they reached the top to keep from banging his head on the edge of the floor above. “This is Buddy’s room,” he pointed at the first door on the left. “This one is mine.” It was directly across the hall from his brother’s. “Bathroom is there.” He gestured at the door next to his brother’s.
He opened the door next to his own and ushered her inside, putting the bag he’d picked up in the living room on the bed. “There are sheets and blankets in the cedar chest next to the closet. If you need anything, just let me know.”
“Thanks. I will.” She listened to his steps going back down the hall, then turned and looked around her. It was a corner room with windows lining two walls, curtains tied back on either side. Here, the furniture was wood, the bed a huge four-poster, with a dresser and chest to match.
Abby went to the windows and opened them to let the late spring breeze in. The room did smell a little musty. She ran a finger across the top of the dresser then wiped the dust on her jeans. Tate was right. It looked as if no one had been in here in two years.
As soon as the bed was made, she hurriedly undressed and donned her nightshirt. With a sigh, she climbed in and snuggled down under the blanket, the faint scent of cedar drifting up from the sheets and filling her nose. In spite of her unease, a full stomach combined with a long day of work forced her eyes closed. Soon she was sound asleep.
* * * * *
Tate picked up his coffee and carried it out to the back porch, leaning against one of the supporting post as he drank. A square of light from the second floor window illuminated a patch of new spring grass and he watched the shadowed movements of the woman inside as she readied for bed. As soon as the light went out, he stepped off the porch.
Even in the darkness his feet found the well-worn path with no trouble. Lord knew, he’d spent plenty of time following it in the last two years. Every time he had a problem, every time he’d been overwhelmed with running the ranch alone and trying to raise a younger brother, this was where he wound up.
The gate of the white-washed fence squeaked a little as he pushed it open and he made a mental note to oil the hinges.
Thin bars of moonlight created silvery lined shadows on the headstones as he picked his way between them. There weren’t many on the acre that had been set aside for a family plot. His grandparents. Two of his uncles who had died before he was born. A maiden aunt. And his parents.
He squatted next to the newest mound and absently pulled a weed that had sprung up. “Well, Daddy, I got me a real problem this time.” He paused, thinking. “But I guess you know that, don’t you? See, there’s this girl sleeping upstairs in your bed tonight. She’s a stranger, Daddy. I barely know her, but she’s pregnant and it’s my baby. She lives in a worn-out old house, not much more than some boards and a tin roof, but I guess it’s the best she can do, only working two nights a week.”
He lowered one knee to the ground, sitting on his heel, and propped one arm across his other knee. The coffee in his cup had long since cooled. “She’s starved half to death, too. Not that she’d admit it. She wasn’t going to tell me about the baby even though she’s scared out of her mind.” He smiled slightly. “She’s too proud to ever ask for help, keeps telling me it wasn’t my fault. I guess nobody told her the facts of life before. It’s kind of hard to get pregnant all by yourself.”
His smile faded. “You always taught me to take responsibility for my own actions, Daddy, and I’ve tried. But this time, it’s tearing me apart. I know you never cared much for Diane. Just the fact that you never said anything about her told me that much. She may come across as a spoiled rich kid, but deep down she’s just a lost, lonely little girl. Joe was right. She has put me through hell, but I understand why she does it. And I have a responsibility to her, too. Even though she fights it, part of her knows that sooner or later she’ll give in and marry me.” He hesitated and his voice lowered. “I guess what it comes down to is who has the greatest claim on me. I know what I have to do, what the right thing is. I can’t let that girl go through this alone. I’ve known it all along. But it’s not going to be easy, Daddy. Telling Diane is going to be the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. It’s going to hurt her bad.”
He straightened, his gaze going back to the silent house. For a moment he stood in the moonlight, then with one final look at the grave, he turned and started back. Something else that wasn’t going to be easy was getting Abby to go along with the solution he’d come up with. But the truth was, neither of them had much choice at this point. One thing she hadn’t seemed was stupid. He’d have to put it to her the right way, a way that let her keep her pride intact.
* * * * *
Tate broke another egg into the bacon grease, then eyed the piece of shell that had fallen in with it. He was chasing the fragment of white around the cast iron skillet with a spoon when Buddy clattered down the stairs and into the kitchen. Almost as tall as Tate, if still somewhat on the scrawny side, the sixteen-year-old came to a sliding stop and stared in amazement.
“You’re cooking?”
“I think the right word here would be ‘trying,’” Tate mumbled as he continued to fish for the shell. He finally gave up and grabbed it with his fingers, burning them in the process.
“Would this have anything to do with whoever that is barfing up a lung in the bathroom upstairs?”
“Damn.” Tate dropped the spoon on the countertop and headed out of the room. “Watch the eggs,” he called over his shoulder.
He could hear the sounds of Abby’s distress from down the hall and cringed inside. It was his fault she was in this condition, no matter what she said. Without bothering to knock, he pushed the bathroom door open.
Abby was sitting on the floor, her legs tucked to the side, her forehead resting on the arms she’d propped on the toilet seat. What he could see of her face was pale, with a green tinge. She didn’t as much as twitch while he wet a couple of washcloths in the sink.
Squatting next to her, he folded one and pushed her hair aside to lay it on the back of her neck. “Abby?”
She groaned. “Please. Just go away and let me die in peace.”
“You aren’t going to die, even though it may feel like it right now.” He held out the other cloth. “Here, wipe your face with this.”
Blindly, she reached out and he deposited the wet lump in her hand, watching as she pressed it to her face. “Finished now?”
A weak nod was her only answer.
“Good. Then let’s get you back in bed.”
Suddenly she sat bolt upright, strands of long black hair tumbling across her face. For the first time, he realized she was still wearing a nightshirt, one worn to the point of transparency. She might have been a little on the thin side, but, although small, her breasts were full for their size and plainly visible through the material.
Ta
te quickly averted his gaze, but not before he saw the tinge of red that stained her cheeks, the involuntary move to cross her arms over her chest. And not before he felt his own body reacting with great enthusiasm.
“I’m fine, really. I don’t need to go to bed. Just give me a few minutes to get dressed.”
He studied her brown eyes, barely visible through the curtain of hair, then nodded. “Come downstairs when you’re ready.”
Buddy was at the table, a bowl of cereal in front of him. “The eggs burned, but at least they match the bacon.” He tilted his head toward the stove.
“I told you to watch them.”
“Hey, you don’t see any flames shooting through the roof, do you?”
Tate stared at the congealed mess in disgust, then picked the skillet up and dumped it in the sink. Abby probably wouldn’t feel like eating, anyway, if that episode upstairs was any indication.
“So, are you gonna tell me who you’ve got stashed upstairs?”
There was no doubt Buddy would find out soon, but he wanted the chance to get things settled with Abby before he gave him the details. He couldn’t do that with an audience. He leaned back against the sink and looked at his brother. “I’ll give you a rundown later, but for now, I need a favor.”
“What?”
“Make yourself scarce for a while. It’s your turn to feed the stock anyway. Don’t come back to the house until I come and get you.”
“That serious, huh?” Buddy looked intrigued, but he scooted his chair back and stood. “Okay, but you owe me. Big time.”
The back door closed behind him just as Tate heard Abby’s tentative steps descending the stairs.
He turned when she stopped in the doorway. She was dressed in a pair of jeans and T-shirt, the brown bag once again clutched in both arms. She hadn’t put her hair in a ponytail, but she had combed it back. Her face looked as if she’d scrubbed it to a shine.
“Why don’t you sit down? Think you could eat some toast? Seems like I remember Mom doing that when she was pregnant with Buddy.”