What Price Paradise (10 page)

Hank took a tentative sip of hers, then a longer drink. “Perfect. You make the tea for the party. We’ll need at least eight gallons. I’ll make one of my special cakes.”

Tate stifled a groan as Abby joined them at the table and she looked at him in question. He gave her a slight shake of his head.

“Hank, we really don’t need a party.”

“Bull puckey. You know folks will expect it, so you might as well get used to the idea. We’re gonna show up here Saturday whether you want us to or not. Besides, any excuse for a party is a good excuse. Oh, and be sure you set the tables up under those trees out back.” Suddenly she cackled with laughter. “Haven’t had a good chivaree in a long time. This is gonna be fun.”

Abby glanced at Tate just in time to see the blood drain from his face. She had no idea what a chivaree was, but apparently Tate wasn’t thrilled with the idea. A twinge of nervousness hit her. If his reaction was that strong, she was probably going to hate it.

Hank finished the rest of her tea in one long gulp and pushed her chair back. “Well, I best be heading home. No telling what the boys are up to without me around. I’ll spread the news about the party and drop back around Saturday morning to help you get ready.”

Tate stood with her. “You want me to deliver those seeds for you or are you going to pick them up?”

“I’ll send one of the boys around later this week to get them. Won’t start planting until next week. What about you?”

“Got most of mine in the ground last week. Only a few more acres to go.”

Abby listened to their voices chatting about weather and crops as Tate walked the woman outside. He reappeared in the kitchen soon after the sound of an engine starting and leaned casually against the door frame.

“There’s something you need to know about Hank’s cakes before the party.”

“What?”

“She kind of experiments with her baking. Sometimes, the results are fantastic, but other times, you’d think she was trying to poison you. The problem is, you never know which it’s gonna be until you take a bite. Since most folks don’t want to hurt her feelings, they just close their eyes and pray beforehand.”

Abby smiled at him wryly. “I’ll be sure to remember that. Now, tell me what a chivaree is.”

To her surprise, his face reddened. “It’s kind of an old tradition. Sort of a serenade for the newlyweds, only the instruments are pots and pans.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad.”

Tate cleared his throat. “That’s not exactly all. You see, while they’re serenading, the guests put the bride and groom to bed. Together. The women take the bride up first and get her…ready. Then the men bring the groom up.”

Abby felt the blood drain from her face. “Oh, my God.”

“There’s no need to panic yet. Maybe I can talk them out of it.”

“Do you think so?” She stared at him hopefully.

He sighed and came back to the table. “No, not really. I doubt they’ll listen to me. But I’ll try.” He pulled his chair out and sat down. “Not much sense in worrying about it now. We’ll get through it if we have to and, to my knowledge, no one has ever actually died from the embarrassment yet. Why don’t you go ahead and call the doctor’s office?”

Easy for him to say, Abby thought as she walked to the phone and picked up the book from the table under it. Just because no one had ever died of embarrassment before didn’t mean there couldn’t be a first time. And it would probably be her. The thought of having Tate shoved in bed with her in front of strangers had her hands shaking so hard she could barely turn the page of the phone book.

She finally found the number and punched it in, waiting until a harried-sounding voice answered the phone.

“I need to make an appointment.”

“Name, please?”

“Abby Gr— McCullom.”

“What kind of problems are you having, Ms. McCullom?”

If you only knew
, Abby thought. She took a deep breath and blurted, “I’m pregnant.”

“How far along?” The voice never changed tone.

“Six and a half weeks.”

There were some paper rustling sounds then the voice came back. “How does Wednesday morning at nine sound?”

Abby glanced at Tate. He was watching her. “Wednesday at nine?”

“That’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” she spoke into the phone again, then hung up after the woman’s “We’ll see you then.”

Unease settled over her as she turned from the phone. She’d told Tate the truth last night. She really wasn’t afraid of him. She just didn’t know what to say to him. For a second she racked her brain trying to think of something, then gave up.

“I guess I need to get changed and start supper.”

Tate nodded. “Okay. I’ll help you.”

She looked at him blankly.

His face reddened. “Cook supper, I mean.”

Abby fled the room like the hounds of hell were on her heels, but she slowed once she reached the second floor, her brain whirling. She never would have thought Tate was the type to be embarrassed about anything. She’d watched him at Delly’s even before that night, longing filling her body. Watched the easy way he’d laughed and cut up with his friends. Watched the gentle way he’d treated his fiancée.

And she’d watched the way Diane acted when he wasn’t around. Tate was one of the few people in town who hadn’t either totally ignored Abby or treated her like trash. He had always nodded hello when they met on the street, and once he’d even held the door for her at the grocery store. Part of her hated to see the way the blonde treated other men when Tate wasn’t looking, but she suspected he knew. Knew and loved her anyway. Now she’d ruined it for him.

When it came right down to it, she’d had very little choice in the matter. And it was his baby as well as hers. She couldn’t replace Diane in his heart, but at least she could do everything possible to make this whole mess easier on him while she was here.

Maybe if she just thought of him as a friend, she decided, pulling on her jeans. He had been good to her after he’d found out about the baby, trying to make her feel comfortable here. It might be nice to have a friend. Even if it was one she’d been in love with for years now. But that was something he’d never know. Not if she could help it. It had been her secret for all this time. It was going to stay that way.

When she went back downstairs, Tate was still in the kitchen, but she noticed he’d changed into jeans and a T-shirt, too. He was standing at the sink looking out the window, but he glanced around when she came in. He motioned her closer and Abby moved next to him.

“See that plot of ground there that’s a little higher than the surrounding area? That’s where Mom always had her garden. I’ve been thinking. If you’d like to take a shot at it, I can till it up for you.”

She smiled up at him. “I’d like that, but I’m afraid I don’t know any more about gardens than I do about chickens.”

“I’ll help you.”

Abby went to the refrigerator and started removing items. “What do we need to plant?” She handed Tate a plastic-wrapped package of chicken. “Here. You can cut this up for me.”

He took it and pulled a knife out of the drawer. “Mom always planted tomatoes, purple hull peas, snap beans, okra, potatoes.” He gave a slight shrug. “Things like that.”

“Maybe some peppers?”

Tate’s hands slowed, his head tilted as he stared out the window. “Yeah, now that I think about it, seems like there were two or three different kinds. And radishes and onions. I think we’ve got some seed catalogs around here somewhere. We’ll make a list later tonight and pick everything up after you see the doctor Wednesday.”

“Where do you get them?” Abby dumped the batter she’d been stirring out onto a floured board and began to knead the dough.

“At the feed and seed in town.” Tate finished the chicken and put it in a bowl to one side. “Now what?”

“You can peel some potatoes.”

He got the bag out of the pantry and went to work. Abby watched his precise movements from the corner of her eye as she cut out the biscuits from the dough and put them in a pan. When she was done, she got another knife and began cutting up the potatoes as he finished peeling them. “What was your mother like? Was she pretty?”

“I doubt most folks would have thought so, at least until they got to know her. But she had this way of making people comfortable. She never met a stranger, never had a bad word to say about anyone. And she laughed a lot. I guess she was one of the happiest people I’ve ever known.”

“Do you look like your father?”

“Buddy and I both took after Dad. Mom’s hair was mostly brown when she was young.”

Abby glanced at the thick ebony strands of hair spilling onto his forehead. His father must have been gorgeous. “What was his name?”

“Jonathan Sean, but he went by Sean.” He handed her the last potato. “What about your father? You’ve never mentioned him.”

Abby stared at the potato in her hand. “I don’t know who my father is. Neither did my mother. He could have been anyone.”

Tate leaned against the cabinet next to her. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“It’s okay. I learned to live with what my mother was and I learned to live with the way people treated her because of it.” She looked up at him seriously. “But that didn’t make her a bad person. She did her best for me.”

“Did she love you?”

“I guess in her own her way, maybe she did. At least she tried to protect me from the men who visited her. The older I got, the harder that was to do. I started spending a lot of time at the library on her busy nights.”

“You didn’t turn out like her.” His voice was soft, quiet.

“No. I don’t think I could have. I saw too clearly what it did to her. She was only in her forties when she died, Tate, but she looked sixty. She was worn out even before the cancer. Her pride was gone. There was nothing left for her to care about.”

He reached out and pushed a lock of hair away from her face. “And yet, you let me in that night. Why, Abby? I’ve tried to figure it out. Why then? Why me?”

Tears misted her eyes but she blinked to clear them before they could spill over. “Because you needed me,” she whispered. “No one had ever needed me before. You were the only one who’d ever treated me halfway decent. And maybe a little because I was lonely, too.”

Suddenly he gathered her in his arms and buried his face in her hair. “I’m sorry, Abby. God, I am so sorry. For everything. But especially the way I treated you that night. It must have been awful for you.”

“It wasn’t your fault. I didn’t have to let you in.” She leaned back a little and looked up at him, forcing herself to smile. “And it wasn’t that bad, really.”

He returned her smile. “You don’t lie worth a damn. I know it couldn’t have been what you were expecting.”

“From everything I’d read, it pretty much was. Well, except for—” Abby stopped abruptly and heat rushed to her face.

“For what?” He was looking at her curiously.

“Nothing.” She shook her head.

“Come on. You started it, now you have to tell me.”

Was it possible for a face to actually burst into flames? She lowered her gaze to his chest and kept it there, wishing fervently she’d kept her mouth shut. “It’s just that there was a little…more…of you than I thought there would be.”

Tate made a choked sound, his whole body shaking, and her gaze flew back to his face. He was laughing!

Before either of them could say another word, the front door slammed and Buddy’s voice rang though the house. “Anybody home?”

Abby felt a tiny stab of disappointment when Tate released her and stepped back.

“We’re in the kitchen,” he yelled back.

Buddy came through the door and dumped his books on the table. “I hate to break this to you, but the news is out. Everyone in town knows the two of you are married.”

Tate sighed. “Looks like Hank didn’t waste any time. She stopped by earlier today. Seems we’re going to have a party Saturday.” So much for breaking the news to Diane himself. He couldn’t even call her, since he had no idea where she was staying. His only option was to make damn sure he got to her before anyone else did when she got back.

“All right!” Buddy’s grin went from ear to ear. “Can I invite Amy Fletcher?”

“Might as well. Her folks will be here anyway.” He gazed at Abby for a long moment. “Well, if you’ve got things under control here, I’ll go check on the stock.”

She nodded. “Thanks for the help.”

“No problem.”

“Mrs. McCullom?”

Tate poked Abby gently on the arm when she didn’t respond. “That’s you.”

“Oh.” Her face heated as she put the magazine down and stood.

The doctor’s waiting room was filled with women in various stages of pregnancy and Tate was feeling more than a little out of place. When he stood with her, Abby shot him a look of surprise, but he suspected that if the doctor gave her any prescriptions, she’d never tell him about it. He was going to make sure she got them filled even if it meant suffering through this ordeal every time she had an appointment.