Peggy Moreland - In Name Only

She closed her hands around the edge of the scarred table and drew herself forward, her expression growing more earnest. “I heard you say that you might have to sell your horse if your luck didn’t change pretty soon.”

His ego took a beating, knowing that she’d overheard that. Not that he was desperate for money. He wasn’t. The comment had been made in jest. What embarrassed him was that she was aware of his current losing streak. He dropped his gaze and stirred his fork through his mashed potatoes. “My situation’s not quite as bad as it sounds.”

“How much is your horse worth?”

He jerked up his head to peer at her. “You’re wanting to buy my horse?”

Obviously startled by the question, she shook her head. “Oh, no! I don’t want to buy your horse. Heavens!” She laughed weakly and placed a hand over her breasts, as if the idea alone was enough to bring on a heart attack. “I wouldn’t know what to do with a horse. I’ve never even been on one.”

“So why do you want to know how much he’s worth?”

“I…I—” She pressed her lips together and forced her chin up a notch. “I’m just interested, is all.”

“Twenty-five thousand.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Twenty-five thousand dollars!” At Troy’s nod, she sank weakly against the back of the booth. “Twenty-five thousand dollars,” she repeated, then closed her eyes, her shoulders sagging in defeat.

When she opened her eyes, Troy would have sworn he saw tears in them.

“I don’t have that much money,” she said, her voice heavy with regret. She pushed to her feet. “Thank you for your time, Troy. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

He stretched a hand across the table, stopping her. “Hold on a minute.” She glanced at the hand that gripped her arm, then back at him and slowly sank back down, her gaze now watchful. Realizing he’d frightened her, Troy released his hold on her. “I thought you said you wanted to buy my horse?”

“Oh, no! I just wanted to know how much he was worth.”

“Why?”

She shifted uneasily on the booth. “Well,” she began, then averted her gaze, her cheeks turning pink again. “I was hoping that I could…well, that I could make a trade with you.”

“If you don’t want my horse, then what is it you want me to trade?”

He watched the pink turn a brilliant red. She plucked a paper napkin from the holder on the table and kept her gaze on her fingers as she began to shred it.

“Your name,” she said in a low voice.

Troy leaned closer, sure that he’d misunderstood her. “My name?”

A tear rolled over her lower lashes and down her cheek. She swiped at it furiously with the shredded napkin. “Yes. Your name.” Another tear quickly fell to replace the first.

Troy lifted a hip and worked a handkerchief from his back pocket and offered it to her.

“Thank you,” she murmured, sniffing as she blotted the handkerchief beneath her eyes.

“Why would you want my name?” he asked in confusion.

“Not just your name, actually.” She caught her lower lip between her teeth.

Frustrated, Troy shoved aside his plate and leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Maybe you should tell me just exactly what it is you want from me.”

She pressed the handkerchief against her lips, then fanned it in front of her eyes when they filled with tears again. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to cry. It’s just that I had so hoped you would agree to marry me and let me use your name.”

Troy was sure that he had stepped into a scene from the Twilight Zone. “Did you say marry you?”

She pressed the handkerchief beneath her nose and nodded. “I’d pay you, of course,” she hurried to explain. “I’ve got the money.” She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “But not $25,000. I only have about $5,000 in my savings account.”

Troy braced his hands against the edge of the table, pushed himself back against the seat and released a shuddering breath. He stared at her a long moment, trying to figure her angle. “And why would a pretty young lady like yourself want to marry an old cowboy like me? Hell,” he said, gesturing at her. “You don’t even know me.”

Her eyes flew wide. “Oh, no! I don’t want to marry you—I mean, at least, not in the sense you must think. I just need your name. My plan was for us to marry, go our separate ways, then divorce after the baby is born.”

Troy choked, his eyes going wide. “Baby?” he gasped hoarsely.

Tears filled her eyes. “Yes…baby.” She pressed her hand over her stomach, her lips trembling. “I’m pregnant.”

He dropped his gaze to her hand and the flat stomach beneath it. The Twilight Zone, he told himself again, swallowing hard. He’d landed himself in an episode of the Twilight Zone. Or maybe he’d been set up for one of those television shows where they caught an unsuspecting person in an unbelievable situation and filmed his response for all of America to laugh at later. He glanced quickly around, looking for the hidden camera. But all he saw were empty booths and the waitress working at the counter, refilling salt and pepper shakers.

Slowly he brought his gaze back to Shelby’s.

“Baby,” he repeated dully.

She nodded.

“Why don’t you just ask the man who fathered the child to marry you?”

Her shoulders hitched and she pressed the handkerchief over her mouth to stifle the sob that bubbled up. Then she looked up at him, her blue eyes filled with a heartbreaking mixture of pain and humiliation. “I…I did, but h-he refused.”

Frustrated by the entire conversation, Troy didn’t even try to hide the disgust in his voice. “You should’ve thought of the consequences before you slept with the guy. Or at least taken the necessary precautions. Pregnancy is easy enough to avoid these days.”

Her chin came up at his accusatory tone, and her eyes turned a steely blue. She cut a glance toward the waitress to make certain his comment hadn’t been overheard, then leaned across the table and narrowed her eyes. “I did,” she whispered angrily. “But unfortunately not all precautionary measures are 100 percent fail-safe.” She tossed his handkerchief on the table. “Oh, just forget it,” she snapped as she scooted from the booth. “I thought this might be the perfect solution to both our problems, but I can see that I was wrong.” Stalking to the door, she pushed her way furiously to the outside, sending the cowbell hanging over the door clanking loudly.

Frowning, Troy watched her through the window as she marched across the parking lot, her shoulders square, her head high. Not your problem, Jacobs, he told himself as he watched her jerk open her car door and slip inside. The vehicle rocked hard when she slammed the door behind her. Not your problem, he told himself again when—to his surprise—she wrapped her arms around the steering wheel and buried her face against it. He watched the sobs wrack her slim shoulders…and a fist closed around his heart and squeezed.

His name. All the lady wanted was his name, for God’s sake. Was that so much to ask? It wasn’t as if she had asked him to donate a kidney, or something. And it was only for a couple of months, just long enough to give her baby a name and save it the shame of being labeled a bastard. And who could understand better than Troy Jacobs the stigma attached to being born out of wedlock? Maybe his own life would have been a bit different if his mother had done what this woman was trying to do.

“Damn,” he swore under his breath. He grabbed his hat and rammed it on his head and pushed himself from the booth. Digging his wallet from his back pocket, he pulled out a twenty and tossed it on the table. “Much obliged,” he called to the waitress and waved to her as he pushed through the door.