A Winter's Rose (19 page)

He began to pace, visibly fighting for control. Bentley watched him, her heart hammering. She'd never seen him this angry, she realized, swallowing hard. He'd always had his emotions leashed. The too-quiet voice she'd always associated with his fury was actually the result of tremendous control.

Finally, Jackson turned to her. “When did you find out?”

“When I went to Houston…to my doctor.”

“And you're just telling me now?”

She nodded. “I wanted the…timing to be right.”

“Timing,” he repeated, laughing tightly. “Interesting word choice, considering the topic of discussion.”

As if something had just occurred to him, he swept his gaze over the the carefully prepared table, over her. When he met her eyes once again, the cynicism in his tore at her. He shook his head. “That's what this is all about, isn't it? Timing?”

Thinking of honesty, she took a deep breath and met his eyes. “Yes.”

He swore viciously.

Bentley stood and held out a hand to him. “But I couldn't go through with it. I—”

“How long have you suspected?”

“I didn't.” She shook her head. “It was a complete surprise.”

“`A complete surprise,'” he mimicked her. “How convenient.”

“Jackson, I didn't plan this!”

“You didn't?”

“No!” Fury chased away fear and hurt, and she clenched her hands at her sides. “How could I? I thought I'd never have a baby. If you knew how much that hurt, you wouldn't be able to stand there and accuse me of trying to…to trap you.”

The words were between them. The ones she hadn't even allowed herself to think. All along she'd known that was how he was going to feel, what he was going to think. She had wished for a different reaction;
she had been fooling herself.

At his expression, Bentley instinctively backed up. But she didn't avert her gaze, and she jerked her chin up defiantly. “I didn't try to trap you. I'm still not.”

He took a step closer to her. “So, what do you want, Bentley? What is it you expect of me?”

She opened her mouth, then shut it, knowing how damning the truth would sound.

He took another step. “Do you want me to marry you?”

Her eyes filled and her heart beat so heavily against the wall of her chest that she thought she might faint. “Yes,” she whispered. “I do.”

He sucked in a slow, careful breath. “And can you deny you thought about the fact that I'd married for this same reason before?”

She wished she could. Lord, how she wished it. She wrapped her arms around her middle. “No…I can't.”

His lips twisted. “You probably figured if I'd done it once, I'd do it again.”

“No, it wasn't like that.” She moved her head in denial, her tears brimming, then spilling over. “You make it sound so—”

“Conniving?” he supplied. “Dishonest?”

“It wasn't like that. It wasn't.”

“You're happy about this,” he said, as if the thought had just occurred to him. “The last few days you've been walking around on air. I wondered what—” He choked back the words. “I thought it was me. The holidays.” He laughed, the sound hard and self-mocking. “Dear God, what is it about me and women? How can one man be the same fool twice?”

“Don't, Jackson.” Bentley closed the distance between them. “I am happy I'm pregnant. I'm ecstatic.” She caught his hands. “I thought I'd never be a mother. I wanted to be one so badly.”

He made a move to turn away from her and she tightened her fingers on his. “I wish the circumstances were better, Jackson. I wish you wanted this. I wish you loved me.” She drew in a deep, shuddering breath. “I love you, Jackson.”

“Love?” he repeated incredulously. “Don't try to confuse what's going on here. Just don't—” Swearing, Jackson dragged his hands from hers. “I've got to get out of here. I've got to think.”

Wheeling around, he strode across the room, grabbed his coat and slammed out of her apartment.

Bentley stared after him, tears sliding down her cheeks. A Christmas Eve to remember, she thought, pain twisting inside her. One she would never forget.

Wrapping her arms around her middle, she sank to the floor and cried.

* * *

Jackson drove. Without destination, too fast for safety, he hoped only to outrun the emotions churning inside him.

How could he have allowed this to happen to him again? he wondered, taking a corner at a speed that should have left him breathless. And with two women who were so much alike? It was too unbelievable for coincidence. It was as if life had dished up one of its perverse little tests.

And he'd failed.

Swearing, Jackson flexed his fingers on the steering wheel. Unlike Victoria, who had admitted to having gotten pregnant on purpose, Bentley hadn't planned to trap him. He believed her—with his gut—even though he didn't want to. He wanted to think of her as dishonest and manipulative. He wanted to be angry.

He felt cornered instead. Trapped. Because whether she'd planned to or not, that's what he was.

Jackson realized he was in front of St. Mary's Hospital, that he had driven there on instinct. He paused a moment, then gave in to the impulse and turned into the parking lot. Shutting off the Blazer's engine, he stared at the building's brightly lit facade.

Red and green lights twinkled around the entryway, and in front a nativity had been set up. Jackson stared at the softly lit manger scene, at the silent figures, a strange sensation in the pit of his stomach.

The night Chloe had been born had been one very much like this. He could recall it as if it had been yesterday, could recall every nuance of the way he had felt. The knowledge that in a matter of hours he would be a father had thrummed in his head, turning him inside out and sideways. Along with the adrenaline of fear, and excitement. He'd been the stereotypical first-time father.

Without a conscious plan, Jackson opened his door and climbed out. With long strides, he closed the distance to the hospital's welcoming doors and let himself in.

Carollers sang in the lobby, and a group of hospital personnel were gathered around them. Jackson stopped to listen. The words of the song, ones about the birth of a child, about the gift of that child, moved him as they never had before.

He didn't want to be moved. He didn't want to feel soft and achy, or to be reminded of Chloe's first hours of life.

Life didn't always offer options.

Jackson turned away from the carollers' glowing faces and started for the elevator. He remembered which floor obstetrics was on. He could have found the nursery blindfolded. Letting his memory guide him, within moments he stood before the big window used to present all the new little people to the world.

Jackson gazed at the sleeping babies, at their wrinkly, red faces, his heart turning over. Would it be a boy this time? Or another girl? It mattered not at all to him, either would be perfect.

And this time, Jackson vowed, perfectly loved. He would see to it. This time he would do everything right.

Everything right. He thought of Bentley. And of Victoria. He hadn't been fair when he'd likened the two women. For just as there were many things about them that were alike, there were many that were different.

Bentley was kind. Bentley was soft, vulnerable. Bentley cared about others, she cared about life.

But he and Bentley were from two very different worlds. Even worse, they were from polar perspectives. She was here in Galveston, at Baysafe, testing herself, learning what she was made of.

He respected her for it. But he also believed, with everything he was, that she would grow tired of this quiet island and his quiet life. And then she would leave, go back to Houston, to society and a life-style he could never tolerate.

Panic tightened in his chest. Then she would leave. And she would take his child.

A baby in the nursery began to howl, and Jackson touched the nursery glass lightly, wishing he could comfort the infant.

He sucked in a deep, determined breath and thought of Chloe, of what he'd said to her. Not this time, he vowed again. This time he would fight. He wouldn't just let go. This time he wouldn't make mistakes.

Bentley. She'd said she loved him. Maybe she did, or maybe she just believed she did. Either way, a marriage between them wouldn't last. He frowned. It seemed wrong going into a marriage knowing it would end.

But he couldn't not go into it. He touched his fingertips to the nursery glass once more. Maybe he was old-fashioned, but he thought it was important that this baby—
his
baby—have a legitimate father, that the baby have his name.

He wanted this child. Looking at the rows of infants, his breath lodged in his chest. His hesitation had nothing to do with not wanting another child, but with the circumstances. He didn't want to feel forced into getting married.

And without the baby, he wouldn't marry Bentley.

And no matter what she said about love, Bentley wouldn't choose to marry him. Not in the long run.

The nurse who had come in to soothe the crying infant turned to the window, wondering which baby he wanted to see, thinking him one of the proud new daddies. Not yet, he thought, shaking his head. Not for eight long months.

The nurse smiled, her eyes moving to his ring finger, then back up to his eyes. Her smile brightened.

Jackson lifted a hand in goodbye, turned and walked away from the window. Funny, he felt married to Bentley already. When the woman had glanced at his hand, he'd felt odd. Naked without his wedding ring.

Jackson left the hospital, suddenly eager to share his decision with Bentley. Suddenly aching to see her, to hold her.

But first, if he was going to do it right, there was something he had to get.

* * *

It was the middle of the night before Jackson made it back to Bentley's. The streets were silent, the houses dark. All of Galveston slept, awaiting Santa Claus and the dawn of a new Christmas.

Jackson pulled up in front of Bentley's apartment building and climbed out. Tipping his head, he looked at her dark windows. He'd considered waiting out the day and letting Bentley sleep, but only for a moment. He felt as if he would burst if he didn't see her immediately, if he didn't cradle her and their unborn child in his arms.

He entered the building and instead of waiting for the elevator, took the stairs. He ran up them and within moments was pounding on her door.

Bentley answered just as he started to panic. She swung it open, and his breath caught at her appearance. She'd been crying. Her eyes were red and swollen, the expression in them heartbreakingly sad.
She held on to the door frame so tightly her knuckles were white; she looked as if she might pass out.

Tenderness moved over him like the scent of roses, slowly but potently. Without a word Jackson stepped into her apartment and closed the door behind him. He swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed.

After laying her gently on it, he shrugged out of his coat and eased down beside her. She started to cry and he cradled her in his arms. “Shh…it's okay.” He stroked her hair. “We're going to get married…it's going to be all right.”

Bentley shuddered. “I was so scared I'd lost you.” She tipped her head to meet his eyes. “I never thought this could happen, Jackson. I didn't. You have to believe me, I wouldn't—”

“I do believe you.” He pressed his lips to the top of her head, breathing in her light, sweet scent. “I was shocked. I lashed out at you. I shouldn't have.”

“I love you.”

“Shh…it's going to be all right.”

Bentley pressed her face against his chest, tears filling her eyes once again.
He didn't love her. He might never love her.

“I would have been here sooner, but I had to drive to Port Arthur.”

“Your parents?” she asked, tilting her head, searching his expression. “Why?”

“Wait here.” He rolled off the bed and went to his coat. Out of one of the pockets, he pulled a folded tissue. Crossing to the bed, he knelt on the edge and handed it to her.

Bentley looked at him in question, then unwrapped the tissue. Inside was a ring. Small. Simple. Two delicate strands of rose gold, braided together and set with three tiny diamonds.

Jackson took it from her trembling hands and slid it on her third finger. “It was my grandmother's. Mama meant for me to have it, and I didn't want to do this without a ring. It didn't seem right.”

“Oh, Jackson.”

“I know it's not much, but until I can get you something that's grander—”

“No,” she whispered, not taking her eyes from the ring. “It's perfect. I don't want anything else.”

“You need to sleep,” he said, his voice thick. “You're exhausted.”

“Make love to me.”

“Bentley…honey…” He brushed the curls away from her face. “You need sleep.”

“I need you more.” She cupped his face in her palms, his cheeks rough with his morning beard. “Please love me.”

So he did. Gently, tenderly, he stroked her body. Carefully he fondled her, exciting her with caresses no louder than whispers, but no less cataclysmic for being so.

As he moved his hands and mouth over her body, he paused almost reverently on her abdomen. Their eyes met and in his she read all the things he'd never said to her, all the things she longed so desperately to hear.

Drawing him to her—and inside her—she arched and cried out her love. Jackson caught her words, but didn't return them.

His silence tore at her.

As Bentley drifted off to sleep, she wondered if she had imagined the things she'd seen in his eyes. And she wondered if she could go on if she had.

Chapter Twelve

B
entley slept, deeply and until late. When she awakened, Jackson had already showered, dressed and made himself coffee. She opened her eyes and found him sitting on the edge of the bed, watching her.

“Morning,” she mumbled, burrowing a little more deeply into her pillow.

Jackson leaned over and kissed her. “Merry Christmas, sleepyhead.”

“Nice.” She smiled, then yawned. “What time is it?”

“Almost noon.”

It took a moment for the words to register, and when they did she dragged herself up. “Noon! But your parents—”

“Know we're going to be late,” he said, grinning. “I already called them.”

Bentley sagged against the pillows and groaned. “I'm making a great first impression—knocked up and sleeps until noon. Terrific in-law material.”

“Hey…” Jackson tipped her face to his, gazing deeply into her eyes. “They're not going to judge you. That's not the way they are.”

Jackson hadn't been merely placating her, Bentley discovered later. His family was genuinely nice and seemed to accept her not only warmly, but with open arms. The Reese clan was like no family she'd ever known, loud, boisterous and without a bashful bone among them. She took plenty of ribbing about shotgun weddings, just as Jackson took plenty over his prowess.

Every time she began to feel a little overwhelmed, she looked up to find Jackson's eyes upon her. He smiled as if to say, “You're doing great,” and her balance returned, along with an incredible warmth and feeling of acceptance.

They'd called Chloe and talked to her from Jackson's mother's bright kitchen so that everyone could get in a hello and a Merry Christmas. She and Jackson had agreed beforehand to wait until Chloe returned at the end of the week to tell her their news.

When they did tell her, Jackson's worries, for the most part, proved unfounded. Chloe sat quietly for several moments, before looking from her father to Bentley. She inched her chin up. “So,” she said, her tone cocky, “do you still want me to hang around? I mean, now that you're getting married and are going to have a new baby maybe I'd just be in the way.”

For all her bravado, her throat closed over the last words, betraying her. Jackson must have heard it, too, because he hugged her so tightly Chloe squeaked in protest.

“Of course I want you to stay.
We
want you to stay,” he amended. “A baby isn't going to change how I feel about you. Nothing could change that.”

Chloe searched both their expressions, her own hesitant. She opened her mouth, then closed it again and shook her head. “Never mind.”

“Tell us what you're thinking, Chloe,” Bentley said, touching the girl's hand lightly. “We want honesty all around. That's the way we're playing it.” Chloe bit her lip and eyed her warily. Bentley smiled her encouragement. “Go ahead. Say whatever's on your mind.”

“Well,” Chloe began, “if you guys get divorced, who would…it live with?”

Bentley's heart stopped, then started again with a vengeance. Chloe was a sophisticated child; she knew the circumstances of her own birth, she knew these were similar. She had to be worrying that the end result would be the same. Bentley opened her mouth to reassure Chloe; Jackson beat her to it.

“Try not to think about that, sweetie. I'm going to do everything in my power to keep this family together, and no matter what the future brings, this baby will always be your little brother or sister.”

Bentley stared at Jackson, her mouth dry, her pulse fast. His words, their meaning, ricocheted through her.

Jackson expected this marriage to fail.

He was, truly, only marrying her for the baby.

Through the following weeks, Bentley held that painful realization to herself. It ate at her contentment, her happiness. She found herself watching Jackson, studying the expression in his eyes, listening to his words, hoping to hear something other than what she knew in her heart was true.

She didn't broach the subject with Jackson, although it was at the front of her mind all the time. She was afraid to. It was as simple—and as complicated—as that. She couldn't imagine confronting him and hearing him speak the words.

Because, if he said the words aloud, she would have to deal with them. She would have to make a choice. It was so much easier—and more difficult—to pretend everything was as it should be.

Three weeks after their talk with Chloe, Bentley drove to Houston to have lunch with her mother. She and Jackson had made their announcement to her parents almost immediately, but this was the first time she'd been able to break away to see her mother since. Bentley's legs shook as she stepped out of her car and handed her keys to the valet.

Both her parents had been nonplussed by her engagement and pregnancy, but particularly her mother. And she wanted her mother to be happy for her. She wanted the two of them to have, finally, a comfortable and accepting relationship.

Bentley entered the restaurant, scanning the diners for her mother's familiar platinum head. As she spotted her, at a table at the very center of the dining room, she indicated to the maâitre d' that she could find her way on her own. Taking a deep breath, she started across the room.

“Mother,” Bentley said, reaching the table. “Sorry I'm late. I got stuck in traffic.” She bent and kissed her mother's cheeks, then slid into the chair opposite hers.

Trixy waved aside her apology. “Between your daddy and brothers, I'm used to sitting alone and waiting in restaurants. Last week I'd been waiting an hour before your daddy called the restaurant to make excuses.” She swept her gaze critically over Bentley, taking in every detail of her appearance. “You look a bit tired.”

Not so long ago, that glance and tone from her mother would have sent Bentley scrambling for her compact and brush. Not today. The realization made her smile. “I am, a little. It's the pregnancy. But you look wonderful, as always.”

Trixy fluffed her hair. “Thank you, darling. I work very hard at my appearance.”

The waiter came with their menus and took their drink orders. When he'd left the table, Bentley turned to her mother. “This is a new place.” Bentley looked around the lushly appointed dining room. “It's lovely.”

Her mother followed her gaze. “Yes, it is. I keep forgetting you've been away.”

Bentley laughed. “Galveston is hardly another country.”

Trixy's expression suggested that it might as well be. “This is
the
place to go right now. Were it not for the Cunningham name, we never could have gotten reservations on such short notice.”

“Sorry about that, but now that I'm working it's harder to get away. Besides, anywhere would have been fine. The important thing is that we're getting a chance to visit. It's been so long.”

“It has,” Trixy murmured, a shadow crossing her expression. “Since before you took that job.”

Bentley laughed. “And I have you to thank for finding it for me. Although your methods…” She shook her head. “I was mad as hell at you.”

“Bentley!”

She laughed again. “Well, I was. Who would have thought it would have turned out like this?”

“Who indeed?” Trixy picked up her menu and scanned it.

Bentley leaned toward her. “I love fund-raising. And I'm really good at it. I've gotten a tremendous amount of support for our cause in a very short time. Jackson says my success has been phenomenal.”

“I'm sure he does.” Trixy looked at her daughter over the top of the menu. “But you are planning to retire when you and Jackson get married.”

“Why would I?” Bentley picked up her own menu. “I love the work. It's challenging, it's fun. In fact, I hope to continue after the baby comes.”

“Oh, honey, I'm so sorry.”

At her mother's words and tone, Bentley looked up from her menu questioningly.

“Maybe this will help.” Trixy reached into her pocketbook and pulled out a small, square envelope. She held it out.

“What's this?”

“Your credit cards. I thought you'd want them back now.”

Bentley stared at the envelope a moment, then lifted her gaze to her mother's. “But why would you think that?”

“Well, I just thought, with the wedding and then the baby coming…”

Her mother meant well. She did. Bentley understood that to Trixy Cunningham, existing on an average person's salary was inconceivable. Bentley shook her head. “Mama,” she said gently, “Jackson and I
can live quite comfortably without Cunningham Oil's help.”

Confused, Trixy tried again. “But that's not necessary. We have the means, take them, the cards are here.”

Bentley shook her head. She closed her mother's fingers over the envelope. “Yes, it is necessary. Jackson and I would rather do it our way. But thank you for thinking of us. And be sure to thank Daddy, too.”

Her mother couldn't understand or totally approve of her actions. But it didn't hurt the way it used to; it didn't make her doubt herself. She and her mother would never agree on this subject or on many others. But that was okay, Bentley realized, looking at her mother as if for the first time. It was okay to be different. People could love and respect each other without being clones.

The waiter arrived with their water and a basket of warm, soft bread, then took their lunch orders. Bentley broke off a piece of the bread. “Jackson and I have decided on a date,” she murmured, looking longingly at the butter for a moment before giving in and spreading a bit on the bread. “March tenth.”

“March tenth,” her mother repeated. “We need to start making plans.”

“We've been through this before, Mama. Jackson and I want immediate family only. It's the second time for both of us and—”

“And the circumstances are less than ideal.” Trixy held up her hand. “I know. But there are many people you simply
must
invite.” She lowered her voice. “This isn't at all like your first wedding. Jackson's name isn't what your daddy and I would have hoped for, but proper arrangements must be made, anyway.”

Anger surged through Bentley. She drew in a deep, calming breath, attempting to shrug it off and finding she couldn't. “But David did have the kind of name you'd hoped for.”

Trixy made the tiniest sound of annoyance. “Now, don't get peeved, darling. Jackson is a perfectly…nice choice. And it's not that we're displeased. He does have a certain…stature because of Baysafe. And—”

“And nothing, Mother,” Bentley snapped. “I love Jackson. He's a good man. He's real and he's kind.” She took a deep breath. “I don't care about his name or lineage or portfolio. He may be a shrimper's son, but he's going to be my husband and I expect you to show him the same respect you would the governor.”

“Of course I will, darling.” Trixy glanced around them, then lowered her voice even more. “I didn't mean to suggest I wouldn't. And I didn't mean to upset you.”

“Why don't you be honest with me, Mama? You're disappointed.”

Unnerved, Trixy brought a hand to her throat, then dropped it to her lap. “It's not that I dislike Jackson, it's just that I…”

“What, Mama?” Bentley prodded. “I think we're both grown up enough to tell each other the truth.”

Trixy met her eyes, then looked away. “I wish you and David's marriage had lasted.”

Bentley swore silently. She wasn't surprised. And the blame for her mother's wish rested squarely on her own shoulders, because she'd never told her the truth about her marriage. Because she'd been afraid her mother wouldn't believe her, afraid her mother would side with David.

She wouldn't have, Bentley realized, noting her mother's concerned expression. Her mother loved her. The realization sent happiness and confidence soaring through her.

It was time she told her mother the truth. It was time she stopped hiding and pretending. She was done being afraid.

“Mama,” Bentley said gently, “I need to tell you about my and David's marriage, explain to you why it didn't work. Why it would never work. And after I do, I hope you'll understand why I never again want you to toss David's name up to me as if he was some sort of saint.”

Bentley fisted her fingers in her lap. “The David you saw in public was not the man I married. The real David is sick and cruel and twisted. From the day we were married he did everything he could to destroy my self-esteem. He verbally abused and tormented me. He told me I was nothing, that I was useless, an embarrassment to him and the entire family.”

Bentley's eyes swam with tears, and she fought to control them. She wouldn't cry over David, she vowed. Never again. “He took everything away from me, hoping to break me. He
almost
did. I thank God every day that I was strong enough to escape him.”

Trixy stared at her daughter, her throat working. When she finally spoke, her voice shook. “But…you can't mean…our David?”

“Our David got off on manipulating and crushing people. The less he made me think of myself, the more powerful he felt.”

Trixy brought a hand to her chest. “But I don't understand. Why didn't you… I didn't have a clue that something was wrong.”

There were plenty of clues, Bentley thought, searching her mother's expression. She just hadn't wanted to see them. But sometimes people didn't want to see, Bentley reminded herself, sometimes you had to force them to.

“I should have told you. I know that now. But at the time, I didn't believe in myself enough to stand up for myself.” Bentley reached across the table and caught her mother's hand. “Someday I'll tell you everything, but not today. Today I want to talk about the future, not the past.”

“Well, if it isn't my beautiful ex-wife.”

At the sound of David's voice, Bentley's blood ran cold. She looked slowly up at him, her stomach twisting into a dozen different knots.