Donna Clayton - Who's The Father Of Jenny's Baby?

Jenny found herself enjoying the rich rhythm of Luke’s voice. His tone sounded mellow and serene, so very different from the angry one she remembered hearing four days earlier in the emergency room.

That was it, she realized. The fact that the harshness had disappeared from his voice had lulled her into this wonderful state of light and easy calm. Luke seemed like a completely different person now than he had four days ago.

She felt the desire to ponder this a little further, but Luke pulled off the road in front of a small farmhouse.

“Bud and Mary live here,” Luke told her. “You and I both are addicted to the fresh tomatoes Bud sells. I thought I’d buy us a few. For dinner.”

He opened his door, and instinctively, Jenny reached to open hers.

“Sit still,” he told her. “The stand’s right over there.” He pointed. “I’ll only be a minute.”

Luke went to the produce stand and Jenny heard the friendly murmur of his voice as he greeted the farmer. As if she’d heard the Bronco arrive, a woman came out of the house, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Hi, Jenny,” the woman called out across the yard to her, waving. “Glad to see you’re okay.”

Jenny’s body flushed with a wave of anxiety. She was supposed to know this lady. Tentatively, Jenny raised her hand in greeting and tried to smile.

The woman walked across the yard to the produce stand, joining Luke and Bud in conversation. Jenny frowned. It was so obvious from the pitying glances the woman kept tossing toward the Bronco that the three of them were talking about her, and that made her feel self-conscious. Like an outsider.

Didn’t they realize that they were the strangers? Not her.

She closed her eyes and sighed shakily. Who was she kidding? she silently asked herself. She was the one who had changed.

Luke pulled open the door and slipped in beside her, startling her.

“Mary’s going to bake us a lemon meringue pie,” he said, tucking a brown paper bag filled with ripe, red tomatoes in the space between the front seats. “It’s your favorite,” he went on.

She darted a quick, covert look at the couple as Luke pulled away. “What did you say to them?” she blurted, unable to hide the defensiveness she felt. “They were looking at me like I have some kind of, of terminal disease.”

“That’s silly, Jenny,” he said, gently. “Of course, they weren’t—”

“I’m not being silly!”

His jaw tensed with what she took to be irritation. Well, he’d just have to suffer through it, dam it. A little annoyance was nothing compared to the sheer torment she ran headlong into around every corner she turned.

“Look,” he said, keeping his eyes on the road ahead, “Bud and Mary are our neighbors. Our friends. They’re your friends, Jenny. They care about you. I had to tell them something.”

“So what did you say?” she rushed to asked. Not giving him an instant to respond, she went on. “‘Poor, poor Jenny. She bumped her head and poof—’” she snapped her fingers in the air “‘—life as she remembers it just disappeared.’”

She felt herself losing control. Heard the high-pitched quality of her voice as her tongue rushed ahead of logical thought. But like a fast and dangerous avalanche, her emotions seemed to take hold of her and send her, bumping and scraping, over a steep and all-consuming cliff of pure panic.

“I didn’t say anything like that,” he told her. “But, Jenny, I had to tell them about the amnesia. I had to.”

“They think I’m a freak,” she cried. “‘Take pity on the poor little idiot.’”

Jenny knew what she was saying was nonsensical. She could hear the ridiculousness of what was bubbling up from inside her. Still she was totally helpless to stop it.

“It’s not like that at all.”

He was keeping his tone gentle in an effort to calm her. But the fact that what he was really feeling was exasperation only inflamed her agitation.

“Mary had to know,” Luke went on. “Especially since I’ve asked her to come help out in the afternoons. She’ll do the cooking and cleaning until you’re feeling better.”

“I don’t want Mary to come.” Jenny’s eyes grew wider, and wilder. “I don’t want any help. I’ll be just fine on my own.”

“Jenny,” he murmured.

“I can do my own cooking,” she said, not even hearing him. “I can do my own cleaning. I don’t want anyone feeling sorry for me. I’m not helpless. And I won’t stand for being treated as if I am.”

Through the frenzied haze of her ranting, she was vaguely aware that the Bronco had turned off the main road, that the engine had been switched off. Swiftly, Luke unlatched first his seat belt, and then hers. Then he pulled her against his chest.

She didn’t fight him. She couldn’t have, even if she’d wanted to. The circle of his arms felt too much like the safe haven she desperately needed to feel grounded and sheltered. Those were the things she’d been missing since she’d awoken in this living nightmare.

“I don’t want any help,” she said against his chest, but the insistence and creeping hysteria that had been evident in her voice just moments before was all but gone.

“Shhh.” He held her tightly. “It’s all right. You’re okay.”

His heart beat against her ear, steady and strong. She inhaled deeply, slowly. He must think she’d gone mad. Crazed out of her head.

“I’m scared.” She whispered the explanation, feeling drained and exhausted.

“I know,” he told her.

Her body trembled all over, and she sat there for quite a while, pressed against the warm, solid mass of him. Even though it was the middle of summer, a bright and sunny day, she desperately needed the heat that radiated from him. It seeped into her bones, thawing the chill of fear inside her.

He didn’t smooth his hands over her face or hair. He didn’t croon soft words. He simply held her, offering her his strength.

She was actually relieved that he remained silent, and finally, she became aware of the chirping of the birds in the trees, the sound of cars passing them every now and then. And when she felt strong enough, and calm enough, she gently pushed herself away from him.

The embarrassment she felt was almost too much to bear as she looked at this stranger who was her husband. But she forced herself not to avert her eyes from his.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured.

His dark gaze was so intense it almost felt like a physical touch on her face.

“It’s okay.”

There was deep emotion in his answer, but Jenny was unable to decipher exactly what he was feeling. He was probably embarrassed for her after that god-awful tantrum she’d just thrown. And she couldn’t blame him.

“I have to insist on Mary coming to the house,” he told her, quietly, firmly. “I have work to do on the resort. We’re cutting trees for four new ski slopes that have to be ready before the first snowfall. Chad and I have to oversee the work crews. I’ll be worried if you’re alone at the house all day. You understand that, don’t you?”

She hated that he was explaining the situation to her as if she were a child. But after the way she’d just acted, how else would she expect him to treat her?

Jenny nodded silently.

“Good.” He inhaled, studying her face. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” she assured him. But not quite reassured herself, she repeated, “Better.”

He rubbed his fingers over his chin and then rested his hand on the steering wheel. “You think you feel up to taking another step forward?”

An anxious shiver coursed across her skin. “Another step?”

He shifted in his seat and looked out the windshield. “Yes,” he said. “We’re home.”