What Price Paradise (2 page)

The rage that hit Tate was uncontrollable. Before he even knew he was going to, he’d grabbed the front of Joe’s shirt and hauled him halfway across the table. “I think you better learn to keep your mouth shut until you know what you’re talking about.” He forced the words through tightly gritted teeth.

“Easy, there, Hoss. Easy.” Joe held up both hands, palms out. “I didn’t mean anything.” He sank back into his chair as Tate released him. “I just don’t understand how you can keep taking Diane back time after time. No woman is worth what she puts you through.”

Tate reached for his wallet and slapped some money on the table. “It’s not your problem. It’s mine and I’ll handle it my way.” He pushed his chair back and stood. “See you later.”

* * * * *

Abby tied the sleeves of her sweater around her waist and stepped out the door. Normally, she enjoyed the walk home after work. The air of calm serenity that fell over the town in the wee hours was soothing after the noise and crowds of the tavern. But tonight nothing would soothe her.

Panic hit her as she thought of the tiny life that had taken up residence inside her. What did she know about having a baby, much less raising one? She could barely buy food for herself. There was no way she could afford a doctor or medical bills. And as soon as Pete discovered she was pregnant, she’d lose her job. Admittedly, it wasn’t much of a job, but at least the tips kept a roof over her head.

She angled across the parking lot and turned north. There were no sidewalks here. Delly’s was on the very edge of town, too far out for such amenities. She walked on the grassy verge, her sneakers silent in the dew-dampened weeds.

Deep in her own whirling thoughts, she didn’t hear the pickup until it slowed almost to a stop next to her.

“Get in. I’ll give you a ride home.”

The voice sent a burst of anxiety through her. She glanced up but kept going, fear making her heart pound against her ribs. He couldn’t possibly know. “Thanks, but I’d rather walk.”

The truck shot ahead of her and pulled over, the red flare of lights almost blinding her as he hit the brakes. The sound of the door slamming behind him echoed across the empty street.

She hesitated, then increased her speed, intending to go right by him. When she was even with the truck, he caught her arm. His hand was warm, his grip firm and determined. The speed of her heartbeat increased another notch.

“Abby, we need to talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. Go home, Tate.” She pulled her arm loose and started walking again, praying he’d just go.

He fell into step next to her. “You’re pregnant, aren’t you? You don’t have a virus.”

The air went out of her lungs as though she’d slammed into a brick wall, and the blackness threatened again. She staggered to a halt, fighting to draw in a breath. He knew. Dear God, he hadn’t believed her earlier excuse for being sick.

Until he caught her, lifted her, she hadn’t realized she was falling. There was a dizzying sense of motion, then she found herself propped up on the seat of his truck.

“Abby?” His voice seemed to come from a long way off. “Abby, if you don’t answer me I’m taking you to the hospital.”

That got her attention. No way could she pay a hospital bill. She forced her eyes open. Tate leaned over her, blue eyes reflecting concern. Dark hair spilled onto his forehead. Would the baby look like him? Hysteria welled in her at the thought. Fighting it off brought her back to her senses.

“I’m okay.” At least, she would be if he’d just go away.

He shot her a look that said he didn’t believe her, his eyes narrowing to speculative slits. “No more arguments. I’m driving you home.” He climbed in next to her and started the motor. Abby managed to slide across the seat until she was huddled tightly against the door, as far from him as the space allowed. “It’s on Maple.”

“Yeah, I remember.” The words carried a cynical edge. He glanced at her. “You weren’t going to tell me, were you?”

Abby remained silent. There was no way he could know for sure. He was only guessing.

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice after a while?”

She turned from the window to look at him. “Assuming you’re right, that I am pregnant, what makes you think the baby is yours? I’m the town whore, you know. Or hasn’t anyone told you that yet?” Abby tried to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. The label shouldn’t hurt after all this time, but it did. Just because it was true about her mother didn’t mean she was the same. But try to convince the people in this town of that. And now they had even more ammunition to convince themselves she was a carbon copy of her mother.

“I may have been drunk that night, Abby, but I wasn’t unconscious. You were a virgin. If you’re pregnant, we both know it’s mine. Don’t you think I have the right to know if you’re carrying my child?”

“No,” she whispered. “I don’t think you have any rights at all where I’m concerned.” The lights of the town grew closer together, plunging them in and out of darkness. “This isn’t your fault. It’s mine. So if you’re feeling guilty, you can forget about it. It was my choice, my body, and it’s my baby. Mine, and no one else’s.”

“You’re wrong, Abby. It’s mine, too. Whether you like it or not.”

“Oh, right, Tate.” She was dangerously close to panic again. “You’re just going to proclaim to the whole town that this is your child. Your fiancée should really love that. Maybe we can all get together and have lunch after you break the news to her. She and I can even compare notes on your technique. Should be really interesting. Of course, I only have that one time to use as an example, but it was enough. Boy, was it enough.” To her horror, tears streamed down her face and she made a belated attempt to wipe them away. It didn’t help. The harder she tried to stop them, the faster they fell.

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.

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.