Karen Rose - Their Baby Bond

And today he’d caught her gazing at the mountains and known she was appreciating their color, their texture, their majesty.

Slamming the tailgate closed on the truck, he decided that being anywhere around her was a mistake. This trip today had been a mistake. After a year, he’d finally found a balance for his emotions, and he didn’t want that balance disrupted by desire that couldn’t be satisfied, beauty that was out of his reach, a woman who’d captivated him as a teenager and now even more so as an adult. He was in temporary mode. Tori was about to become a mother. He never intended to get married. She was the type of woman who deserved vows.

Climbing into the driver’s seat, his mood darkened as he caught another whiff of her perfume and noticed the creaminess of her skin where her sleek hair fell against her neck. He turned the key in the ignition.

He’d taken a side road toward the center of Taos when Tori asked, “Do you have to be back at any special time?”

He certainly wasn’t in the mood to prolong this outing, to corral his libido and fight his fantasies. “Why?”

“There’s a church near the Plaza—Our Lady of Guadalupe. There’s a painting inside that I just love. I thought maybe we could stop there for a few minutes. Would you mind?”

It had been a while since he’d been in a church, even before Marion had died. In his work he’d seen too much of the seedier side of life to think a few prayers could fix anything. When he’d attended Marion Montgomery’s funeral, the ritual and ceremony and words from the priest had only made him feel guiltier, as if he didn’t deserve to be remembering her with the other mourners.

Tori could read his hesitation. “It’s okay. I can visit another time.”

They were less than three minutes from the church parking lot. He wouldn’t deny her such a simple request. “It’s no problem.” Silently, he made the turn that would take them to Our Lady of Guadalupe.

After they parked, they walked toward the rusty-pink adobe church. Tori headed for a door that took them into a vestibule located to the side of the main building.

Stained-glass windows, shadows and the sacred hush compelled Jake to say, “Go ahead. I’ll wait here.” As he wandered over to the brochures in a wall rack, he added, “Take your time,” although he was hoping she would get her fill in a few minutes and they could be on their way.

He knew the painting she spoke of on the side wall of the church. It portrayed Our Lady of Guadalupe and her appearance to an Indian on a hilltop in Mexico. Golden light shone all around her.

After he’d read every brochure in the holder, after he’d studied the church bulletin, after he’d stared at the stained-glass windows, there wasn’t one more thing to occupy him. He wandered toward the doors leading into the church, and he saw Tori—not in a pew near the painting, but rather on the kneeler in the small alcove in back where candles were lit. As she looked up at the statue of Our Lady of Guadalupe, he knew what she was praying for.

Finally she stood, blessed herself and joined him in the vestibule. The dimness of the lights, the hushed silence of a holy place seemed to form a net around them.

“You prayed that Barbara wouldn’t change her mind, didn’t you,” he said, his voice husky.

Tori nodded. “I want what’s best for her baby, but I want to be a mother so much it hurts.”

He had no bolstering words for her. He’d been gifted with words before he’d sent Marion into the hostage situation. He’d known what to say and how to say it and the best person to say it to. Now words always eluded him when he needed them most.

When he stepped outside into the sunshine, he didn’t think he could bear being confined in the truck with Tori again right away. “How would you like to walk up to the Plaza? We can stretch before the ride back.”

“Are you sure you have time?”

“I’ll make the time.”

As they strolled side by side the couple of blocks, hot sun bounced off the pavement. The breeze tossed tendrils of Tori’s hair along her cheek. Jake longed to brush them away. He longed to do a hell of a lot more than that.

Taking Tori’s elbow, the feel of her skin was soft and almost scorching under his callused fingers. After he ushered her across the street, they took the ramp that led down into the Plaza where huge trees were surrounded with adobe borders and a dark brown cross stood as a memorial to veterans. He was guiding her toward one of the benches when he stopped cold.

“What’s wrong?” Tori asked.

The woman coming down the steps from the pavilion looked like Marion’s mother, Elaine. She had the same short salt-and-pepper hair, wore the same flowing broomstick skirt.

Then the sun hit her face and Jake realized the woman was a stranger. He felt relieved. He hadn’t said two words to Marion’s mother since her daughter had been killed, and he’d steeled himself for the confrontation ever since he’d been back in Santa Fe, since that was where the woman lived. He knew the possibility existed they could run into each other—in a mall, in a restaurant, on the street. Even in Taos.

“What’s wrong?” Tori asked again.

“Nothing.”

Her hand clasped his forearm. “Something is wrong.”

What was wrong was that the past year hadn’t eased his guilt or the memory of what had happened one iota. “I’m fine,” he said evenly, wanting Tori to drop it.

“I don’t think you are. You’re different than you used to be.”

That comment snapped his gaze to hers. “Hell, yes, I’m different! And so are you. It’s been twelve years, Tori. The police work I did taught me a few things and opened my eyes to others.”

“Who was that woman?” she asked.

He realized that when his gaze had riveted on the older woman, Tori couldn’t help but notice. “I thought I recognized her, but I was wrong.”

“Who did you think she was?”

“Drop it, Tori. Just drop it. I’m going to be doing some work for you. That doesn’t give you the right to pry into my life.”

When he saw the hurt on Tori’s face, he almost apologized. Then he told himself that a wall between them was a good thing. “We’d better get back.”

She didn’t argue, and he could see that she now wanted to end this outing as much as he did.

T o Jake’s dismay, when he arrived at Tori’s on Tuesday morning her car was still in the carport. She’d given him a key to her house after their uncomfortable ride home from Taos, and he’d hoped she’d have already left for work when he arrived. But it was only eight o’clock, and he guessed the gallery didn’t open until nine.

Instead of using the key, he pressed his finger to the doorbell. He was surprised when, after a couple of minutes, Tori didn’t answer. Certainly she’d be up by now. He pressed the bell again. Still no answer.

Maybe she was having a cup of coffee on the back patio and couldn’t hear the bell.

Following the narrow pathway around the carport to the back, he saw the patio was empty. Maybe she went for a run as part of an exercise regimen. Maybe she’d walked to a coffee shop or a bakery.

Wherever she was, it didn’t matter. He had to get started. The sooner he got this job done, the sooner he’d be out of her life. End of sleepless nights, vivid dreams and heart-stopping urges that made him feel as if he’d been kicked in the gut.

He couldn’t remember when a woman had ever made him feel so turned inside out.

Using the key Tori had supplied, he opened her front door. When he called her name, she didn’t reply.

Returning to his truck, he took his toolbox out of the back and carried it into the house. He’d set up the saw on the patio. First he’d work on the closet in the baby’s room, building and fitting shelves, attaching a low bar that a child could eventually reach. When he’d discussed prefabricated closet organizers with Tori, she’d wanted this done the old-fashioned way. He didn’t blame her. The fixtures would be sturdier and last a lot longer. Hopefully he’d finish the closet today and could begin the patch plastering. This job could go into next week when all was said and done.