Temptation Ridge

Page 49

“Abby,” he said calmly. “It’s legal details. It can be handled. We just have to figure out the best approach and—”
“Stop! This is my problem! I need time to breathe!”
Cameron wasn’t too worried about things like prenups and credit-card debt. It wasn’t that he thought he could buy their way out of this mess; he didn’t have a ton of money. But he was sure there was a compromise in there somewhere. His biggest concern was getting the mother of his twins to trust him a little. He put a large hand over her slightly rounded middle. “Have you been seeing a doctor since the beginning?” Again she nodded, but this time she lifted her eyes. “And everything is going fine? You’re feeling all right?”
“Fine,” she said. “If I didn’t miscarry from being a nervous wreck, I guess I must be in good shape.”
He smiled. “You should have called me. I could have helped.”
“I was afraid to get involved with someone I didn’t know. I already screwed up on that once. You could be a lunatic for all I know.”
“I could be, but I’m not.”
“I can’t be sure of anything. Anyone. You have to understand that. Don’t take it personally—there are very good reasons for me to be cautious.”
“I smoked a little pot in college,” he said with a smile. “Otherwise, I’m relatively safe.”
“Relatively?”
“Yeah. I’ve been known to do insane things like chuck a thriving practice to come to a town of six hundred for practically no money because it’s quiet, clean and the people make you feel useful. My family thinks I’ve lost my mind,” he added, laughing. “Other than that, I haven’t had a severe personality shift since puberty.”
“When I saw you at the clinic, it scared me to death,” she said.
“That’s the first thing we have to work on,” he said. “There is absolutely no reason to ever be afraid of me. I would never hurt you. Why would I? What would that get me? I’d like a chance to get to know you a little bit. I told you that back in Oregon, that I’d like to know more about you. I’m not going to screw up that chance by being cruel. Forceful.” He grinned. “You have that list. Forceful isn’t on it.”
“And you have very good manners,” she added softly. And for the first time that day, she really looked at him. He looked different from that night. He was dressed in jeans, a denim shirt, laced boots.
“You have to promise you’re not going to run away,” he said. “We’ll act like we just met, you don’t even have to tell Vanni you knew me before. You’re not my patient, it’s not a problem for me to want to get to know you. I’ll see you around. You’ll show up at Jack’s sometimes, and I get dinner there. And if I see you there sometimes, maybe we’ll be friends. That’s why I was trying to get in touch with you. Just to see you again. Give it a chance.” He smiled at her. “Come on. You like me. You know you do.”
“How are you going to explain some interest in a single, pregnant woman?” she asked him.
He laughed. “Abby. Look in the mirror.”
“I should get out of here before there’s trouble….”
“No, you can’t go,” he said calmly, firmly. He really didn’t want to play hardball with her, but he shouldn’t have to tell her what she would be able to put together after she thought about it a while—he’d turn the earth upside down to find her if she was carrying his children. Cam had the DNA to prove he was the father. “You have to give this a little time. I have a vested interest here.”
“That’s exactly why I didn’t call you. It scares me. What if I get to know you and decide you’re just not the kind of man I want involved with my children?”
He smiled and lifted one eyebrow. “Really? And what if I get to know you and decide you’re not the kind of woman I want raising mine?” The surprise was evident in her eyes, as was a little fear. “Just because I’m not carrying them and birthing them doesn’t mean they’re any less mine.”
“Oh God,” she moaned.
He stood up, grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. He slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her carefully against him, holding her sweetly, tenderly, lightly caressing her back until she seemed to calm and lean against him. He pulled back and looked down into her frightened eyes. “I just want you to remember one thing,” he said softly. Then he lowered his lips to hers in a gentle kiss. Then he pulled back, smiling into her eyes. He kissed her again, again gently. And then he came down on her lips in a more serious kiss, moving over her mouth carefully, sensually, until her arms slowly and reluctantly encircled him, her eyelids dropping closed. He stayed on her lips until she kissed back, letting him open her lips. He tilted his head for a better angle, enjoying her response. Not knowing when he’d get a chance like this again, he stayed with that kiss for a long time, tasting her mouth, being tasted by her. When he released her mouth, he smiled. “Ah,” he whispered. “You do remember.” And he kissed her again.
He released her grudgingly. “That’s a good place to start. Nothing to fear, everything to gain. Now, I’m going to get out of your hair so you can unpack.”
Seventeen
The Valenzuela baby, Ness, was almost six weeks old when Luke called and asked if he might stop by with Art. Art was very excited; he got himself all cleaned up, put on freshly laundered clothes, his new heavy jacket and wiggled in the truck all the way there. “Settle down a little,” Luke said with a laugh. “You know Mike and Brie. It’s just a baby.”
“I won’t touch it,” he said by way of a promise.
“If you want to touch the baby, you have to ask politely. And if the answer is no, it’s no.”
“Okay,” he said.
“And we should be kind of quiet around the baby,” he said. And Art nodded.
Luke invited Art to carry the brightly wrapped gift, all pink bows and gewgaws with a pair of crochet booties tied into the bow. When Mike opened the door, Art pushed it at him proudly. “Thanks,” Mike said with a laugh. “Would you like to come in?”
“Okay,” Art said. “I’ll be quiet. Can I touch it? The baby?”
Mike held the door open. “My wife handles all special requests. But she’s very generous. Let me get her.”
Mike dropped the gift on the coffee table and disappeared into the house. A few seconds later he was following Brie into the living room. She held the wrapped baby against her shoulder. She grinned at Art and said, “It’s so nice to see you, Art. How’ve you been?”
“I’ve been very good.”
Brie lowered the baby. “Well, Art, meet Ness. And Ness, this is Art.”
“Oh,” he said a little breathlessly. “Oh.”
“She’s sleeping. When she’s awake she has a very big cry.”
“Very big,” Mike affirmed. “When she’s fifteen, she’s going to kill me with it. It’s already one of those girl-screams. Terrifying.”
“Art, if you’d like, you can hold her.”
Art got a stricken look on his face for a second. Then he wiped his hands on his trousers and put them out, palms up.
“No.” Brie laughed. “Not like that. Come over to the rocker, take your jacket off and sit down. Get comfortable. I want you to hold her like this,” she said, demonstrating cradling the baby in her arms. Art very quickly positioned himself in the rocker and got his arms ready. Brie placed the baby in his arms and said, “Now, don’t squeeze her—she’s very fragile. And hold her just like this.”
He stared down at the baby for a second in awe, in wonder, and then he lifted his eyes to Brie’s and broke into a huge smile. “She doesn’t feel like anything!” he said softly.
“I know. It takes some getting used to.” She sat down right beside Art, just in case he needed her.
“Can I get you something to drink, Luke?” Mike asked. “And Art, when you’re done holding the baby?”
“I’ll hold the baby,” Art said. And then very quietly he said to her, “Shh. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”
That dug into Luke. It left him speechless for a moment, seeing Art so tender and sweet with the baby, echoing Shelby’s words. Then he recovered himself and said, “Ah, no thanks, Mike. But we did have another reason for coming to visit. Me and Art, we might need a little advice.”
“Sure,” Mike said, sitting down. “What can we do?”
Luke sat forward a little in his chair. “I haven’t explained the details about how Art and I were introduced,” he began. To curious townsfolk, he had said that Art “turned up” and could use some work. So he told the real story, from finding him sleeping in one of the cabins, a black eye, on the run, to how he gave him shelter for chores. Then he ran down his visit to Eureka, to the grocery store and the group home. “Art’s mother’s gone now and he doesn’t want to go back to that group home, doesn’t want to work for Stan at the grocery store, and I’d like him to stay where he is. He’s a good friend and a big help. But we don’t want to break any rules or laws. I need to know who to talk to, how to proceed, so we do it right.”
Mike said, “Whew. Complicated.”
“If he has to go back to a group home, it can’t be that one. And if there has to be a next one, I’ll visit him every day to be sure it’s all right, if I have to. I’d really like to make arrangements for him to stay in Virgin River where he’s pretty happy. But we have to do it right.”
Brie gave her attention to Art and very gently asked, “Art, how old are you now?”
“Thirty years old. November seventeen. We had a cake, me and Luke and Shewby.”
“Did you earn money at the grocery store?”
He nodded.
“And did you sign your paychecks so they could be cashed?” Again he nodded. “Did you sign any other checks?” He nodded again. “And who did you give the checks to?” Brie asked him.
“Shirwey or Stan,” he said.
“And did they give you money?”
He smiled and nodded. “Fifteen dollars every week.”
“Okay, Art—do you happen to know—are you a ward of the state? A ward of the court?”
He furrowed his brow.
Brie, a former Sacramento prosecutor and currently a consultant to the Humboldt County D.A.’s office, looked at her watch and then turned her attention to Luke. “I can run this by the district attorney, but here’s my guess—Art is a thirty-year-old man. An adult. He might be collecting social security benefits because his parents are deceased and he’s disabled. He could be in a group home that’s subsidized by the state through social services, but if he’s not a ward of the state, he’s not obligated to stay there. If he leaves, the subsidy ends and he gives a change of address for his benefit checks. The D.A. can find out his status.
“That other matter,” she went on, “should probably be turned over for investigation. I can still get the D.A. on the phone. Do you have some names for me?”
Luke pulled a piece of paper out of his jacket pocket—names, addresses and phone numbers for Shirley and Stan—and handed it to Brie.
“Mike?” she asked, standing. “You’re in charge.”
“Sure,” Mike said, but he waited until Brie left the room before he very casually and unobtrusively moved himself to the chair near Art, just in case there was a reason to be close, though Art was doing great with the baby. He balanced his elbows on his knees, clasped his hands together and leaned toward Art. “So, Art. That your first baby?”