Bad Penny (11 page)

Cat swiped at her cheeks, irked that she seemed to be coming undone. “And I’m sorry I reacted the way I did.”

Wilson’s heart skidded to a stop. Had the twister done something awful to her that she was just now realizing? Had she been hurt in some way from the beating she’d suffered and now was afraid to tell him? A thousand scenarios ran through his mind in the space of seconds, and none of them were good.

“If there’s something you want to tell me, we can deal with this together. Whatever it is…know that you don’t have to do this alone.”

“I know,” she said. “Just get me home and then we’ll talk. I don’t want to go into it yet.”

Wilson tried to put on a brave face, but he was past scared and getting down to terrified. He couldn’t imagine what was wrong, but this was Catherine’s call. She’d asked him to wait until they were home, so wait he would.

The drive home was silent. The sack Cat had carried out of the pharmacy was in her lap, beneath her hands. Every so often the plastic would crackle a little, like a rattlesnake shaking its rattles, a warning for all to remember it was there and steer clear.

Wilson kept glancing at Cat, trying to read her mood, but it was impossible. He finally gave up and just drove.

Cat knew she’d handled this badly. She’d led him to believe something was wrong, but that wasn’t true. She wasn’t worried, just anxious. She wanted it to be true, but all of this was taking some getting used to.

She’d never even thought about her future until she’d met Wilson McKay, and she’d never really thought about having babies until she’d found baby Maria Elena and her dead mother in the desert on her way to Agua Caliente. There’d been something so natural about cuddling the little girl to her breast—and surprisingly painful about giving her up.

Now, here she was, trying to come to terms with the thought of having a baby of her own. If only…

“We’re home,” Wilson said.

Cat looked up in surprise. She’d been so lost in thought, she’d missed them turning off the highway, then driving down the long road to the ranch. But then what he said finally registered.

Home. He’d said they were home.

She looked at the sprawling ranch house with the gray roof and white siding, and its deep shady porches, and thought of all the children and laughter this house had held. In the short time she’d been here, it had become more of a home to her than her Dallas apartment had felt like all the years she’d been there.

Wilson killed the engine, gave Cat a long look, and then quietly got out of the car and went into the house.

She took a deep breath and followed him in.

The kitchen was rich with the scent of chicken frying. A large red plate was piled high with homemade cookies. Carter was opening a jar of peaches, and Wilson was at the sink, washing his hands.

“Hey, there you are,” Dorothy said. “I was wondering if you two would come back for dinner.”

Cat glanced at Wilson, then managed a slight smile. “Give me a few minutes. I’ll be back to help.”

“You just take your time,” Dorothy said. “Carter is all the help I need.” Cat nodded, then left the room. The closer she got to the bedroom, the

faster she went. By the time she was inside, she was running. She went straight to the bathroom and closed the door, took the test kit out of the bag, tore into it and began reading. After following the directions, she took the test stick, went back into the bedroom, sat down on the side of the bed and began to stare at the clock.

It was turning into the longest three minutes of her life.

She began remembering bits and pieces from her childhood that she hadn’t thought of in years—times when her mother had slept with her when she was sick. Times when her mother had taught her to say her ABCs while she brushed the tangles from her hair. Memories of baking cookies and picking flowers and holding her mother’s hand when they crossed a street. Then she’d been killed in the car wreck and Cat had lived, and now memories were all she had left.

She glanced out the window, watching the old tomcat stalking a meadowlark in the backyard. Her vision blurred. She wiped away tears, then looked toward the clock. Only a minute? It seemed like a lifetime.

She glanced at the afghan lying in a heap on the bed and pictured it wrapped around her own shoulders while she sat in the chair nursing her child. She shivered and looked at the clock, watching as the numbers blinked, indicating yet another minute had passed.

Two down. One to go.

Her hands were shaking. It was hard to breathe. If this test was positive, then she’d been pregnant when Solomon Tutuola had beaten her senseless, and she’d been pregnant when she’d been sucked out of Wilson’s pickup truck and tossed into the tornado funnel like so much garbage. If she was having a baby, would it be okay, or would the things

she’d endured be the cause of it coming into this world less than healthy and whole?

She gave the digital clock one more look just as the numbers changed again.

Three minutes were up. The test stick was in her hand.

All she had to do was open her fingers and look down.

It wasn’t much. Just the simple act of opening a thumb and four fingers, and bending her head, but—dear God—so much was riding on this. She whispered a prayer then looked down.

Her legs were shaking as she stood up, but all she could think about was getting to Wilson.

She headed for the door, only to meet him striding down the hall. “I was coming to look for you,” she said.

Wilson stopped at the threshold, waiting for an invitation. “Here I am,” he said.

Cat took his hand and tugged. “Come inside with me.”

Wilson couldn’t read her mood, but her eyes were glassy, proof she was on the verge of tears. In his mind, that didn’t bode well. He didn’t know what to think, but he was scared. When she turned to face him, it was the jut of her chin that startled him. He hadn’t seen that in months. Mutiny had been an active part of her past, and he didn’t want it back. Even scarier, when she began to speak, he couldn’t read the tone of her voice.

“Do you remember when you came over to my apartment with beer and pizza right before I took off for Mexico?”

Wilson began to get nervous. “Yes?”

“And do you remember those five twenty dollar bills you tossed on my bed when you left?”

He felt like he’d been kicked in the gut. His eyes narrowed. “Is this what you’ve been stewing about all day? If it is, then please tell me what I’ve done now that resurrected the attitude.”

“I’m not stewing, and I don’t have an attitude,” Cat said. “Then why are you bringing it up if you’re not still pissed?” Cat handed him the test stick.

“This is what you bought for your money.”

Wilson looked down. For a few seconds the implication didn’t register; then he began reading the company name on the plastic stick, and

suddenly, he got it.

He looked up at Cat and could tell she was nervous—even a little anxious.

“Oh my God, Catherine. Did we just go into Austin to buy a pregnancy test kit?”

She nodded.

His heart skipped a beat.

“Does this cross mean you are—or you aren’t?” “Are.”

He started to smile. “You’re pregnant?” “Yes. Are you okay with this?”

He couldn’t speak. He just picked her up in his arms, swung her off her feet and kissed her. Softly, at first, and then with as much passion as he could muster in the face of overwhelming joy.

The warmth of his lips was a mirror to the warmth in her heart. Right now, her world couldn’t be any better. Then he turned her loose with a soft, achy groan and hit her with the same question.

“From my side of the fence, this is the best news I’ve had in years, but how do you feel about being pregnant?”

“Oh, Wilson, I want this baby so much, but…I’m scared.” He frowned. “Scared of having a baby…or becoming a parent?”

“No. None of that. But if the test is correct, then I was pregnant when Tutuola beat me to within an inch of my life, and pregnant during the tornado that chewed me up and spit me out somewhere in the middle of one of your dad’s pastures. What if the baby’s been harmed?”

Wilson kissed the side of her cheek, then laid the flat of his hand on her belly.

“Right now that little baby is in the safest place it could ever be. And if you had been going to lose it, I think it would already have happened. Still, I’ll call my sister and find out the name of her obstetrician.”

Cat grabbed his hand. “Wait. If you do that, then they’ll all know.” He grinned. “So? I want the world to know.”

“Look, it’s no big deal to me, but I have a feeling that it will matter to your folks that we’re not married.”

“Oh, hell no,” he said. “Mom’s been trying to get me married off for so many years, she’ll just look at this as the perfect incentive. Besides, you and I have already talked about getting married. We just haven’t done anything about it.”

“I know, but there’s the matter of Jimmy Franks still being at large.”

Wilson frowned. “And they may never catch the bastard. I’m not going to let someone like him ruin the rest of our lives just because he’s hiding out in the sewers of Dallas.”

Cat sighed. “So what do we do?”

Wilson cupped her cheek, then brushed a kiss across her lips. “Go eat Mom’s fried chicken before she comes looking for us.” “Just like nothing is wrong?”

Wilson put his arms around her and pulled her close.

“Baby…nothing is wrong. In fact, for the first time in years, everything is right.”

“Okay, lead the way, but remember, no telling anyone yet. I want to get a doctor to verify this before we drop the bomb.”

Wilson nodded as he led her out of the room.

“Just remember, when they do find out, they’re going to be very, very happy.”

It began to rain in Dallas just before nightfall. Jimmy Franks was on the

streets and heading for a homeless shelter he knew about when the first drops fell on his face. He shivered, then pulled the collar of his jacket up and hunched his shoulders as he headed for the awning over a bakery shop a couple of doors away.

He got beneath it just as the rain began to fall in earnest, then looked around to make sure he was alone before he pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. He’d lifted it from the old woman he’d met at the other homeless shelter, along with the twenty-four dollars she’d had in her purse.

He didn’t care that he’d taken all her money. Someone would take care of her. But he couldn’t ask for help for himself, because the cops were looking for him. However, with this phone, he could try to find his brother, Houston. The only place he knew to start looking for him was to call home. And he also knew that if he did, his mother was going to give him hell for the mess he was in. She might be seventy-nine and walking with a cane, but she was as tough as they came, and even now, after all the years of trouble he’d been in, she was the one person who could bring him up short. Still, he had business to tend to, and he could use Houston’s help—even if the bastard had abandoned him before.

He dialed the number to his family home in Abilene, shivering from the blowing rain against his pant legs as he waited for someone to answer. Just when he thought there was no one home, he heard his mother’s voice.

“Hello?”

She sounded breathless, as if she’d been hurrying to get the phone, and Jimmy knew how red her cheeks would be, and how her long, graying hair would be straggling down from the ponytail she always wore.

“Hey, Mom, it’s me, Jimmy.” Silence.

Jimmy was immediately on edge. She must have already talked to Houston, or she wouldn’t be this pissed.

“Mom? Are you there?”

“I’m not giving you any money.”

Jimmy stifled a curse. “Did I ask you for anything? Did I? Did I? No! I just called to talk to my mother, like a good son should.”

He heard what sounded like a snort, then Momma lit into him.

“Good son? You don’t know the meaning of the word ‘good.’ And before you start spinning one of your big lies, I’m going to tell you now that Houston was here. He told me what you went and did. He told me that you shot and killed your bondsman. I didn’t raise you to be a druggie. I didn’t raise you to be a killer. I’m done with you, do you hear me?”

Before he thought, he blurted, “Well, you’re wrong. The bondsman isn’t dead.” Then he groaned, realizing he’d just admitted to shooting Wilson but not finishing the job.

The line went dead in his ear.

He stared down at the cell phone, then, in a fit of anger, threw it to the

ground and stomped it until it was in pieces. Despite the rain, he left the shelter of the awning and started walking, with his head down and his mind on revenge. He would get to Austin and finish what he’d started, if he had to walk the whole way and choke the man with his bare hands.

But the stolen twenty-four dollars were burning a hole in his pocket, and before he’d gone three blocks, he found a dealer who’d taken shelter in an abandoned car in the alley between two apartment buildings and bought himself a fix.