EXPECTANT BRIDE-TO-BE Page 9

  "But she had a hard time being alone with herself when she came back to Promise, with you just a baby, only a few months old. She seemed to need to have a man around to fill the void, and yet, none of them really did her any lasting good."

  "Because they didn't really love her and she knew it," Abby pointed out, putting into words what seemed so very obvious to her.

  "Or because she felt too unworthy to ever really let any of them love her," Judith murmured, shooting a meaningful look Abby's way.

  "Like I said, Gran, I'm not my mother. I don't feel unworthy of Jack Randall's love. I've simply accepted the fact that we don't share certain … emotions for each other, and we never will. He married the love of his life years ago. As for me, I guess I haven't met mine yet."

  Looking away from her grandmother's piercing gaze so as not to give away the bald-faced lie she'd told, Abby stood and gathered their empty plates. From the corner of her eye, she saw her grandfather watching her, a smile playing around the corners of his mouth.

  "What?" she asked when he put a hand on her arm.

  "I was just thinking that you shouldn't protest quite so much. You might end up convincing yourself of something that isn't really true."

  "Oh, Granddad…" Abby smiled and shook her head. "I'm just trying to be sensible, the way you and Gran have always taught me to be."

  "Well, there's sensible, and then there's stubborn to the point of being downright pigheaded," Hank said.

  "So, you think I'm being pigheaded, huh?"

  "Not exactly. But you seem to be trying awfully hard to deny your true feelings. That's no way to live, either. Look what that did to your mother. Ever since the day she brought you home to us, something was eating her up inside, but she never would admit it. That, as much as anything, was what made her so restless, and in the end, so unhappy, too."

  Aware that she had said all she could in her own defense, Abby opted to change the subject.

  "Speaking of my mother," she began as she ran hot water into the sink to wash the dishes. "I was wondering if you two wanted to help me go through her things. I don't want to give away anything of hers that you'd like to have. And I don't want to take anything for myself that you'd like to have, either. We can have a garage sale after the house sells to dispose of the larger pieces of furniture we won't be keeping. But I'd like to box up her clothes and dishes—things like that—to donate to one of the local churches before I go back to San Francisco. Unless you'd rather I wait…"

  "Oh, no, dear," Judith said. "That sounds like a good idea to me. Why don't you go through everything on your own and set aside what you'd like to keep? Then I'll take a look at whatever's left while we help you pack the boxes."

  "I thought I'd tackle it one room at a time, starting with my bedroom."

  "I'll see about getting some cardboard boxes for you," Hank offered.

  "Thanks, Granddad. That would be a big help."

  "Don't go doing any heavy lifting, now," Judith warned. "We can always hire somebody to give us a hand, if necessary."

  "No climbing ladders, either," Hank added. "Just tell me when you're ready for me, and I'll stop by and empty the top shelves of the closets for you."

  "I promise—no heavy lifting and no climbing ladders," Abby said, then mentioned the other, related, subject that had been on her mind for the past couple of months. "We should talk some more about your moving to San Francisco, too. Once the house sells, we won't have any real ties to Promise anymore, and living with me, you'd be able to watch your great-grandchild grow up. I want you to be a part of my baby's life on daily basis, not just the few times a year we would be able to visit if you stayed here."

  "But this has always been our home, Abby," Judith reminded her. "And we don't ever want to be a burden to you, either."

  "We can make a new home together in San Francisco, and you will never, ever, be a burden to me," Abby insisted.

  "Well, we'll think about it. But we're not making any promises, are we, Hank?"

  "Nope … no promises," Hank agreed.

  "Fair enough."

  Aware that she'd made her case as best she could, Abby rinsed the last dish, then dried her hands on a towel. A glance at the clock on the wall told her she'd better hurry or she would be late for her scheduled meeting with Jan Nelson.

  "I'd better get back to the house," she said. "I'm supposed to meet with the real estate agent at eight-thirty so she can have a look at the place and take some photos to run with the ad she's going to put in the paper."

  "We're going to bingo at St. Edward's tonight. Starts at six-thirty. We usually stop at the caféteria in the mall for an early dinner first. You're welcome to go with us," Judith invited.

  "I think I'll pass," Abby replied, giving her grandmother a kiss on the cheek. "But if you're free tomorrow night, why don't you come over for dinner? I'm making pot roast, with or without you."

  "Pot roast, you say? We'll be there," Hank answered, giving her a hug.

  "Yes, we most certainly will," Judith seconded.

  Abby made it back to her mother's house with more than enough time to spare before Jan Nelson arrived. The agent walked through the house with her, murmuring her approval. To Abby's relief, no major repairs seemed to be needed, although Jan did warn that an inspector might come across something during a more thorough examination of the premises. In the meantime, however, she advised Abby not to worry.

  After taking pictures of the outside of the house, front and back, Jan sped off to her next appointment, leaving Abby with the promise that she would be in touch. As she watched the agent pull out of the driveway, Abby was grateful that she didn't have a moment more to spare.

  In the short time they'd been together, Jan had managed to slip in several comments about Jack, each one more pointed than the last, and each obviously meant to lead Abby into sharing confidences, woman to woman. Abby had replied in monosyllables, being as vague as she could. Given more time, however, Jan would have eventually broken her down.

  She couldn't blame the woman for being curious, considering the way Jack had behaved at the agency. But Abby wasn't about to share the details of her relationship, such as it was, with Promise's most eligible bachelor, with a woman she hardly knew.

  On her own at last, Abby took advantage of the burst of energy she'd no doubt gotten from the hearty breakfast she'd eaten. She went straight to her bedroom and busied herself emptying the dresser drawers and the closet, including the shelves which she was just tall enough to reach by standing on her toes.

  Most of what she'd left there in the way of clothing wasn't any use to her now, but everything was still in good enough shape to donate to those less fortunate. As she sorted and folded shirts and shorts, T-shirts and jeans, she thought about the conversation she'd had with her grandparents.

  Not so much what they'd said about Jack. They were determined to think the best of him, and Abby saw no reason to disillusion them. Her mind was made up where he was concerned, and she wasn't going to be swayed by their lobbying on his behalf.

  Instead, Abby thought of what her grandparents had said about her father and Larissa. They had told her more about them, and the relationship they'd had, than they ever had before, and in doing so, had shed new light on why her mother had always seemed so unhappy.

  Larissa had obviously loved Abby's father enough to bear his child, yet she had never told her anything about him. Abby didn't even know his name, and she was fairly sure her grandparents didn't, either.

  Larissa had met him in Las Vegas, but how long they'd known each other before she'd gotten pregnant was anybody's guess. All that Abby knew for certain was that they'd never married, and by the time she was born Larissa had been on her own again. Abby had always assumed he'd died a tragic death, though she couldn't say why. And she'd always wondered if he, or anyone in his family, had known about her existence.

  Each time she had tried to ask Larissa about him, her mother had cut her off almost angrily, insisting that there were some thin
gs Abby was better off not knowing, not only about her father, but about Larissa, too. Still, Abby had been curious, and as she'd grown older, she had pressed her mother for more and more information.

  During what had turned out to be their final showdown on the subject when Abby was in high school, Larissa had ended up locking herself in her bedroom where she'd sobbed hysterically for almost an hour. So frightened had Abby been by her mother's behavior, she'd vowed never to bring up the subject again, and she'd been as good as her word in all the years since.

  Now, pregnant with her own child, she wished she had made more of an effort to talk to Larissa about her father once she'd reached adulthood. Surely in recent years, her mother would have mellowed somewhat on the subject.

  There were things an expectant mother was expected to know about her family's medical history that would forever be a mystery to her. Luckily, she had always been healthy herself, as had her mother and her grandparents. She could only hope the same was true of her father's family.

  Her father's family … and hers, as well, Abby thought as she sat amid the piles of old clothes on her bed. Somewhere out there, she could very well have a whole slew of blood relatives she'd never met.

  Did they know about her, or had her existence never been revealed? What if her father had been married, as Gran had surmised? What if she had brothers and sisters, another set of grandparents, aunts and uncles and cousins?

  Abby wanted to find out, and yet, she didn't. What if she managed to track down her father's family, impossible task that it seemed, and they wanted nothing to do with her? Or, just as problematic, what if she wanted nothing to do with them? There was no guarantee her father's family would be the kind of family she'd want to acknowledge. Especially if they had known about her and Larissa all these years, and had done nothing to acknowledge them.

  Abby had always envied her friends who had more traditional families, and she'd felt that her friends who'd had sisters had been doubly blessed. No matter how they had battled, they had always had a special closeness that had left Abby feeling more alone than seemed natural.

  But she had her baby, now, she reminded herself, heading to the kitchen for a glass of juice. And she still had Hank and Judith. They were her family—all the family she needed. No sense feeling sad about what she didn't have when she had more than enough to be grateful for already.

  There was Jack's desire to be a part of their child's life, as well, she also acknowledged as she stood by the counter and sipped the tangy apple juice she'd poured. Her baby would know his or her father and, she was sure, benefit from it.

  She would have to set certain boundaries, of course, and Jack would have requirements of his own. But within whatever limits they agreed upon, she knew he would do his best to be a good father.

  Her child would never have to ask the kind of questions Abby had just been asking herself. Her child would grow up secure in the knowledge that he or she was loved by both parents despite the fact that they didn't love each other.

  Or, perhaps more truthfully, despite the fact that one of them didn't love the other.

  * * *

  Chapter 14

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  For two days following his unfortunately-put proposal to Abby, Jack schooled himself to be patient. He had made yet another mistake where she was concerned, taking for granted that wooing her wouldn't be necessary under the circumstances.

  He had assumed that saying he wanted to marry her was the same as saying he loved her. Why else, in this day and age, would any man offer to make such a commitment? He hadn't taken into account the awful note he had left for her in December, and how she insisted on interpreting it, even after he'd disavowed the cruel words he'd written.

  No matter how he had tried, he hadn't been able to convince her that he'd been anything but honest with her then. Because, of course, he had been, in a muddled, fearful sort of way.

  But he had been equally honest with her Tuesday night, and he'd been thinking clearly, then. Surely she had seen the difference between a note hastily scribbled in a moment of pure, unadulterated panic and words spoken from the heart, face-to-face.

  Instead, she seemed to have gotten it into her head that he was only doing what he considered his duty, and attempting to convince her otherwise with words alone had proved to be impossible. Abby had made it clear that she wanted nothing more to do with him.

  Quick thinking on his part had gained him another opportunity to show her how he felt. But he didn't want to risk coming on too strong or too fast. She might just shut him out completely.

  First and foremost, he had to regain her trust. Then he had to convince her that not only was his love for her real, but he was also worthy of her love in return. All within the few weeks she'd said she would be in Promise.

  Just thinking about the task he had ahead of him was enough to make Jack want to weep. But there was too much at stake to wimp out now. A future without Abby was one he refused to contemplate.

  They had been meant to be together that night in December, and they were meant to be together ever after. He hadn't wanted to believe it then, but now he did. And he was determined to find a way to make Abby a believer, too—regardless of what it cost him.

  There was one chink in her armor that kept him from the brink of utter despair, and he reminded himself of it regularly as the days passed. In December, Abby had said that she loved him as she'd curled close to him in her bed. And when he'd called her on it Tuesday night, she hadn't been able to deny it. Her hedging had signaled an inner conflict he had every intention of using to his advantage.

  Jack had decided that giving Abby a couple of days to think about what he'd said, and what she'd said, would be the best way to proceed. No matter how she tried to harden her heart, she would have to acknowledge his sincerity and concern. And she obviously couldn't set aside her feelings for him.

  Since both factors worked in his favor, surely she would be more open to his next overture. Once he decided on one that wouldn't have her slamming the door in his face.

  Since he had left her mother's house on Tuesday evening, Jack had caught several glimpses of Abby around town. That he'd put himself in places where he had hoped she would be hadn't hurt. Bumping into someone in a small town wasn't that hard, after all.

  Abby hadn't seemed to notice him, though. And Jack had resisted calling attention to himself, mostly because all he'd really wanted to do was whisk her away to someplace private and try to make things right between them.

  Fortunately, he'd had sense enough to know that all the use of caveman tactics would likely gain him was a restraining order. But the alternative—calm, quiet discussion of thoughts and feelings—didn't seem like the way to get him what he wanted, either.

  There had to be a happy medium between words and actions—one that would neither bore Abby half to death nor scare her witless. But so far, he hadn't made much progress figuring out exactly what that happy medium might entail.

  To keep from driving himself crazy, Jack had tried to focus on his work, putting in extra hours at the clinic as he was doing that Friday morning. He wasn't scheduled to start seeing his own patients until noon, but he had come in several hours early to help Aaron Post with walk-ins and minor emergencies.

  He had just finished stitching a nasty cut on a construction worker's forearm, and was on his way to the reception desk to see if there was anyone else awaiting medical attention, when he heard the vaguely familiar voice of a woman speaking in a confidential tone to the clinic's receptionist, Edna Howell.

  "Surely, you remember her mother—Larissa Summers? Always up to no good, an embarrassment to poor Hank and Judith…"

  "Oh, yes, I remember Larissa. We had some classes together at Promise High School. She was a wild one," Mrs. Howell replied. "Came to a tragic end just after Christmas, didn't she, Constance?"

  At the receptionist's mention of the other woman's name, Jack paused just out of sight, a frown furrowing his forehead. So, it was Abby's neighbor o
ut in the clinic's waiting room, busy spreading gossip. He could just imagine what was coming next, and Constance Beckworth didn't disappoint him.

  "Yes, she did, and now her daughter's back in town, supposedly to sell the house. But I think she's trying to get her hooks into Dr. Randall. I saw them together in December, then again Tuesday night. And she's pregnant, you know—about four or five months from what I can determine. No doubt she's claiming the brat is his, but a girl like that, with a mother like Larissa … that baby could be anybody's."

  As Jack listened to what Constance Beckworth was saying, his anger at the woman boiled up, very nearly getting the better of him. Not because she was talking about him, but because she was talking about Abby, and in such an unconscionably derogatory manner that she deserved a good throttling. One he would have dearly liked to give her.

  He had tried to make allowances for the woman, giving her the benefit of the doubt the few times he'd seen her nosing around in Abby business. But she had gone much too far, telling tales about the woman he loved to one of his own employees.

  How dare Constance Beckworth insinuate that Abby was a liar and a cheat, out to trick him for her own benefit when that was the furthest thing from the truth?

  "What's that old saying about the apple not falling far from the tree?" Mrs. Howell asked, her tone taking on a smug, sly note that made Jack realize she was not only eating up every word the Beckworth woman had to say, but also planning on repeating all she'd heard to anyone willing to listen.

  As far as Jack could see, there was only one way to silence the two of them, and protect Abby into the bargain. Stepping into view, he eyed first Mrs. Beckworth, then Mrs. Howell, while he also noted with relief that the waiting room was otherwise empty.

  Though he leveled a stern gaze their way, he tried to keep his overall expression bland. And when he spoke, he was surprised at how mild his voice sounded, considering how his emotions roiled.