Wine & Roses (13 page)

Her mouth tilting into an uncertain smile, Marguerite remarked, “Having his baby is a sure way to keep him in your life for a good long time.”

“I didn’t do this on purpose,” Abby protested, for the first time considering that Jason might think the same thing.

Marguerite shook her head.
“I wasn’t implying that. I’m just saying, the two of you are going to be connected forever through this child, no matter what happens between you.”

Abby crossed her arms, frowning at the disconcerting thoughts now forming in her mind. “I wouldn’t want him to stay with me just because I’m pregnant. I already know he doesn’t want to get married or have a family right now, but he might just do the gallant thing and propose for the baby’s sake.” The idea of his proposal was one that made her heart swell with anticipation—if only this recent development wouldn’t complicate his reasons.

“When are you going to tell him?”

“Tomorrow, I suppose, when he comes home.”

* * *

Two cars were parked in the driveway, blocking Jason from driving in. He recognized Abby’s little blue convertible, but not the tan BMW beside it. Damn, she had a visitor. For five weeks he’d been fantasizing about his reunion with Abby, picturing himself hoisting her into his arms and carrying her straight to the bedroom—a room he had yet to see. He supposed he’d have to wait until the visitor was gone before proceeding as planned. Abby was home, at least, and that was a start.

Parking his car down the street, Jason walked the half-block to her house, his stride quick and light on the sidewalk. He felt his heart begin to patter in anticipation of holding her in his arms again, and the luscious kisses with which he intended to greet her.

As he stepped around the cars in the driveway he could see the rear of the porch swing, and noticed the back of her head above the seat back. He smiled to himself, recalling the warm evening they had sat there together and talked for hours, lulled by the gentle sway of the swing, her cheek resting against his shoulder.

When he saw Marguerite’s blonde head beside Abby’s darker one, his smile turned downward.
Great
. The one person he didn’t relish seeing right now.

Standing directly below the porch, Jason was about to climb the steps and announce his presence, when Marguerite’s robust voice reached his ears, her words bringing him to an abrupt stop.

“You should have told him when he called. Then you’d know already where things stand. You’re going to suffer through another sleepless night.”

“I’ll tell him as soon as I see him,” Abby said, sounding agitated. “I just don’t know quite how to do it.”

“It’s very easy, Abby. You just say ‘Jason, I’m having your baby.’ Quick and simple.”

Jason stood frozen, his heart dropping into the pit of his stomach. Although the meaning of the words he’d overheard was perfectly clear, and the way in which the situation came about completely obvious, somehow it didn’t make sense. Abby had told him she couldn’t have children.

In a moment adrenaline took over, propelling him up the steps two at a time until he stood on the porch, facing the two women.

“You’re
pregnant
?”

Abby jolted, her eyes wide with alarm. She looked pale, her elegant features strained. Despite this, and the shock of what he’d just overheard, the sight of her warmed him to the core.

“Even quicker and simpler than expected,” Marguerite remarked dryly under her breath.

Ignoring her friend, Abby goggled at Jason, struggling for a moment to speak. “What are you doing back already?” she asked, her voice high and thin.

“Things wrapped up early in France, and I wanted to surprise you. Turns out
I’m
the one being surprised.”

Marguerite shot to her feet. “I’ll go freshen my drink,” she said, having the good sense to leave Jason and Abby alone. Glancing between them as she went, she scooted inside with her glass of iced tea, still half-full.

After pulling in a few deep breaths, Jason ambled over to the swing and lowered himself into it, settling next to Abby. “Are you sure?”

“I had a blood test,” she said. “I’m sure.”

“How long have you known?”

“A few days.” She peered down at her hands, twisted together in her lap. This wasn’t the way she’d wanted him to find out, and her unease was apparent. “I was going to tell you tomorrow, when you came back.”

“I didn’t think—”

“I know, you didn’t think it would happen. Neither did I.”

Reaching over to gently separate her tightly clasped hands, Jason threaded his fingers through hers. He remembered what she’d said the night of the charity gala, about her dream of a home with a husband and children—a dream she’d been forced to abandon. He’d felt compassion for her then, never imagining this outcome.

“Are you feeling all right, physically?” he asked.

Abby’s shoulders lifted. “Not too bad. A little tired and woozy at times.”

“Are you happy?”

“I am.” A small smile curved her mouth, as colour bloomed high in her cheeks. “The timing is off, but I suppose, at my age, I can’t be choosy.” Her amber eyes searched his face, deciphering his detached response to the life-altering news he’d just learned. “Don’t worry, I’m not expecting to get married. But I’m going to have this baby. Your level of involvement is up to you.”

“I will look after the child,” Jason assured her at once. “I’ll be there, I promise you that.” He tried to envision the child he would soon bear responsibility for, but the reality of it was too new. He’d always imagined having children someday, once he was married and settled. This wasn’t how he’d pictured becoming a father. In an instant his entire future had been reshaped, thrusting his life in a direction for which he hadn’t been prepared.

“That’s reassuring,” Abby said coolly. Her gaze lingered on him, her expression wilting. This wasn’t how she’d pictured becoming a mother, either, and his lukewarm reaction had done nothing to ease her mind. A couple finding out they were having a baby were supposed to rejoice, embrace, call their families with the good news. Abby deserved that. She deserved to have him sink onto one knee and ask her to be his wife. A braver man would do it without hesitation. But Jason found himself paralyzed, unable to do more than squeeze her hand.

Frustrated with himself, he raked his free hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, I don’t really know what more to say right now. I suppose I just need some time to absorb this.” What he wanted to do was draw Abby into his arms and hold her close, but her guarded expression kept him at bay. She’d expected something more from him, and he’d disappointed her.

“Sure. Meanwhile, I’ve got to get to the bathroom.” Abby stood up, disengaging her hand from his. “Why don’t you go home and rest? You must be jet-lagged. We can talk later.”

Jason nodded. “All right,” he agreed, with the dreadful sense that he’d been dismissed.

Left alone after she disappeared into the house, Jason got to his feet and headed down the porch steps to the driveway, his legs oddly rubbery as he walked.

He was halfway to his car when he heard rapid footfalls on the pavement behind him, and turned to see Marguerite sprinting down the sidewalk after him, her blonde hair billowing behind her.

“Where are you off to in such a hurry?” she asked sharply as she reached him.

Jason slowed his pace, but had no intention of stopping to endure an interrogation from Abby’s hostile friend. “Home. I’ll be back.”

“Will you?” she demanded. “I had you pegged from the start, Jason Brinleigh. You used my friend and now that she needs you, you’re letting her down.”

“You don’t know me,” he growled, spinning to face her. “Where do you get off—”

“I know your type,” she went on, stabbing a reproving finger in his direction. “You’re no better than Colin. He turned on the charm when it got him what he wanted, but deep down he was just a spoiled child and a coward.”

“Don’t you
dare
compare me to Colin Bennett,” Jason flared, barely controlling his anger. “I didn’t
use
Abby.”

Unfazed, Marguerite raised her chin in challenge, her fists thrust onto her hips. “Do you love her, Jason? You should know, she loves you like crazy. And I think you just broke her heart.”

Jason drew a shallow breath, her words constricting his chest. Some of the anger seeped away from him, replaced by an agonizing pang of remorse. “That’s the last thing I wanted to do. I just need some time to think.”

Marguerite glared at him, unmoved. “Think about this newsflash—Abby isn’t Brianna Kent. She’ll never betray you.”

“What do you know about it?” he barked, taken aback.

“Enough. If you know who to ask, the grapevine can be quite enlightening.” After a pause, she let her hands drop to her sides, her voice and manner softening. “I get it, Brianna ripped out your heart and you’re determined not to let it happen again. If that’s all that’s holding you back, then let me assure you, Abby’s well worth the risk.”

Jason didn’t reply at first. With all of his being he wanted Abby, soul and body—she touched a place in his heart that no one else ever could. But he knew Marguerite wasn’t wrong. He was a coward, and he was letting fear guide his actions. As much as his heart told him to run straight back to Abby, he needed to be by himself for a while.

“I have to go.” Turning on his heel, he paced down the sidewalk toward his car, leaving Marguerite standing alone.

“Take all the time you need,” she called out coldly behind him. “I’ll be here, comforting my friend.”

Chapter Eleven

Abby pushed her dinner plate aside. She’d been famished and had managed to eat most of the meal before her stomach began to sour.

“I thought the chicken pot pie was your favourite,” Oscar remarked, stopping by her table.

“It was excellent, but I’m full.”

“You look a little down.” He eyed her with concern.

“I suppose I am, a little. But I’ll be fine.” Abby summoned a wan smile, though she was weary and beginning to feel a bit woozy. It was after nine o’clock; she’d be curled up in front of the TV in her pajamas by now if not for the insistent craving for chicken pot pie that had brought her to The Roses. Only a handful of customers remained in the pub with her, enjoying a drink or dessert and coffee at nearby tables.

“Need something stronger than that?” Oscar suggested, glancing at her glass of milk.

“Yes. But no thanks.”

He observed her more closely, taking in the discomfort that must have shown in her face. “Are you suffering from something?”

Definitely suffering
. Jason had promised to return to her house, but she hadn’t heard from him in the day and a half since she broke the news of her pregnancy to him. Desperate as she was to talk to him, she had no intention of calling him and forcing any decisions or commitments. It was torture, not knowing what was on his mind—although Abby had a pretty good idea what he was thinking, judging by the deer-in-the-headlights look he gave her when she told him she was expecting his baby. She understood he was shocked, but she had somehow expected, or hoped for, something more than a vague promise to care for the child. She’d hoped his vow would extend to caring for her. But if it wasn’t what he wanted, she would have to accept it and focus on the baby she carried. Over the past day and a half, she’d been forced to consider that Marguerite may have been right about Jason all along.

Remembering that Oscar had asked her a question, Abby managed a sedate tone. “Thanks for your concern, Oscar, but I’m all right, really.”

“Rebecca’s been on the prowl again,” he said. “A couple of guests were relaxing in the lounge last night and some books tumbled out of the bookcase.”

“They are stuffed in there pretty tight.”

Oscar’s thick eyebrows rose, underscoring his cautionary tone. “From what the couple said, the books shot right across the room and hit the wall.”

Abby straightened in her chair, a quiver darting along her spine as she remembered the portrait dropping from the wall upstairs. “After what I saw the night I stayed over, nothing surprises me.”

“That
was
pretty creepy. I’m surprised you stayed the whole night.”

At once memories of that night flooded her mind; funny that what had begun as the most disturbing night of her life had evolved into the most sensual. She’d relayed the events to Oscar the next day—well, not
all
the events, only the unexplained ones.

“If there really
is
a ghost,” Abby reflected, “why do you suppose she’d still be here? What does she want?”

Pulling out the chair opposite hers, Oscar sat down, resting his arms on the table. “I’m no expert, but I’ve heard that spirits sometimes hang around if they’ve been through an ordeal that was never resolved, or a traumatic death. Rebecca had both; she was still mourning the loss of her husband when she died in childbirth. Personally, I think she may have stuck around to watch over her orphaned child, and just never left. Or perhaps she simply doesn’t realize she’s dead.”