What Price Paradise (25 page)

Her eyes widened. “Oh, but I can make any clothes I need. Really. There’s no reason to buy anything.”

“Abby.” He put a finger under her chin and lifted. “I know you could make them. But this is my first baby, too. I want to be a part of all of it. So, make me happy and let me do this for you.”

“Well, when you put it like that, how can I say no?” Her smile lit up the whole room. “Just let me finish the dishes and I’ll be ready.”

“Forget the dishes. We’re going now.”

“But Tate—”

“No buts. Come on.”

* * * * *

“Well, I was wondering when you two were going to make it in. I’d just about given up hope.”

Tate grinned at the elderly lady behind the counter. “How are you, Mrs. Simpson?”

“Can’t complain, Tate. My health is fine and business is good. ‘Course, being the only maternity shop in town doesn’t hurt.” She laughed. “Now, are you gonna introduce me to your wife?”

“Mrs. Simpson, this is Abby. I want you to fix her up with everything she could possibly need and don’t take no for an answer.”

Abby shot him a stricken gaze and he grinned at her as Mrs. Simpson answered.

“Don’t you worry a bit, Abby. Just leave everything to me and we’ll have you all set in no time at all. When’s the baby due?”

“December sixteenth.”

“Hmm. That means you’ll need summer and winter outfits both.” She waved a hand at Tate. “You might as well get on out of here, Tate. This could take a spell.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Before he could leave, Abby grabbed his hand desperately. “Tate, I don’t know what to do! I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Just relax and enjoy it, sweetheart. It’s going to be fine. Mrs. Simpson’s been doing this forever. You can trust her.”

“Where are you going?”

Tate ran a finger down her cheek. “I’ve got some errands I need to run. I’ll meet you at the cafe when you’re all finished. Okay?” He smiled at her and she gave him a tentative smile back.

“Okay.”

He waited until Mrs. Simpson started dragging clothes off the rack, then slipped out of the store. By the time he’d finished all his chores, an hour and a half had passed. Abby must be getting close to being done if she wasn’t already.

Pushing open the door of the cafe, he let his gaze sweep the room, then let out a sigh. Good. He’d been afraid she would panic if he weren’t waiting on her. He took a booth on the outside wall, putting the bag he carried on the table.

“Hi, Tate. What can I get you?” A glass of water was plunked down in front of him.

“Just coffee for now, Deb. I’m waiting on someone.”

“One coffee coming up.” The waitress stuck her order pad back in her pocket and headed toward the counter, murmuring a vague “excuse me” to someone who had just come in.

He’d barely taken a sip of water when he suddenly knew. The scent of her perfume filled the air, floating ahead of her, exotic and mysterious. His whole body tensed, his stomach clenching into a hard knot that sat in his middle like a lump of lead. He’d know that fragrance anywhere. Diane.

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.”