Chapter Ten
Tate could smell supper cooking all the way from the barn and a small surge of expectation rippled over him. The sensation was totally foreign to him and he paused to savor it before heading for the house. It was kind of nice to know that he wasn’t coming home to cold food and being alone, he decided.
For once, Dog wasn’t lying positioned by the back door as he had been for the last few days. While he couldn’t actually prove it, Tate suspected that Abby had been stuffing the animal with leftovers. Whether it was the hope of more handouts or a case of undying devotion, Dog was never far from Abby lately.
Tate’s smile faded a little as he went through the back door and discovered the kitchen was empty. The oven was on, but there was no sign of Abby.
“Abby?” His voice seemed to ring hollowly in the house. There was no answer. Worry started to build as he checked each room on the ground floor. The truck was still parked next to the house. She had to be there.
What if she were hurt? He ran up the stairs, fear escalating as different scenarios raced across his mind. She’d slipped and was lying unconscious and bleeding. Something was wrong with the baby. She’d had a miscarriage.
Heart pounding, he looked in every room, even Buddy’s, but Abby was nowhere to be found. Think, he told himself. She wasn’t in the house, so that meant she had to be outside somewhere.
He went back though the kitchen, forcing himself to slow down, and stopped on the back porch. “Abby?”
“I’m out here!”
Relief made his knees go weak at the faint sound of her voice. It had come from the direction of the chicken coop. He got there just in time to hear a loud sneeze. A billow of dust erupted from the opened door as Tate watched in amazement.
“What in the hell are you doing?”
Abby’s head suddenly appeared from the cloud of debris that was settling to the ground. Her hair was full of cobwebs and her face was so dirty she looked like a raccoon. Her eyes were constantly blinking from the grit that had gotten into them.
“Hank…” she paused to give a lady-like spit. “Hank called and said she was bringing the chickens over tomorrow. I wanted to make sure we were ready for them. Good thing I checked. This place is filthy. There’s so much dirt on the floor that I can’t even find the bottom.”
“You’re cleaning…” Tate’s words sputtered to a halt and he started laughing. The more indignant Abby looked, the harder he laughed until he was hanging onto the fence for support.
“What’s so funny?” She glared at him, hands on hips.
“The floor,” he choked, “is dirt! It doesn’t have a bottom.” He wiped the tears from his eyes and tried to get a grip. “Abby, all chicken houses are like this one. The chickens don’t care. All that needs doing is putting some fresh straw in the laying boxes.”
“Well, someone should have told me that to start with.” She reached back inside for the broom and then marched toward the house, her back stiff. The only thing that ruined the effect was the dust that spilled from her with each step. Apparently she was aware of her condition, because she stopped at the back steps and jumped up and down a few times, then tried to shake her whole body.
Tate was holding his breath to the point of asphyxiation, trying not to laugh again when she looked at him over her shoulder.
“I can’t go in the house like this!”
Smothering his grin, Tate thought about it. “Wait here.”
He went through the house, returning in a few seconds with a sheet. Unfolding it, he motioned Abby onto the porch and held it up between them. “Okay, strip, then you can wrap this around you until you get to the shower.”
“You want me to undress out here in the open?”
“Abby, there’s not another soul but me for miles around. No one is going to see you.”
She eyed the sheet. “Hold it higher.”
He complied, raising it above eye level. “Better?”
“I guess.” She still sounded doubtful, but he heard the thump when her shoes hit the floor, then a rustling noise as she removed the rest of her clothes.
“Okay, I’m ready.”
Tate suddenly found himself in a quandary. If he lowered the sheet enough to get it around her, he was going to see a lot more than she obviously wanted him to. On the other hand, they couldn’t stand out here like this forever.
Taking a deep breath, he lowered the sheet slightly then rapidly reached around her with the edges. Abby grabbed them and pulled them tightly closed, but not before he got a good look at her body. Desire hit him hard, knocking his held breath right back out of him. He had to fight to get his arms back at his sides.
Thank God, Abby didn’t seem to notice. She was already going in the back door, looking like a ten-year-old dressed up in her mama’s clothes. But he’d seen and felt those curves of hers, and knew they didn’t belong on a child.
By the time she’d showered, changed and made it back to the kitchen, he finally had his body under control again, but just barely. Buddy came in right behind her.
“Man, it smells good in here. What’s for supper?”
“Roast.” Abby smiled at him. “Why don’t you get washed up? It’s almost ready.”
“I’ll set the table while you finish up the food.” Tate dodged Buddy, then turned to the cabinet and got the plates out. He carried them to the table and arranged them carefully in the right spots. He was going back to get the silverware when the phone rang. Snagging it off the stand as he passed, he eyed the silverware drawer, wondering if the cord was long enough to reach.
“Hello.”
“Hi, sugar.” The voice was low and sultry, one he knew better than his own. Diane. Tate froze, the blood draining from his face. He could feel both Buddy’s and Abby’s eyes on him.
“Where are you?” He turned to face the wall, one arm braced above him for the support he so desperately needed right now.
“I’m at the airport. The plane just arrived, but I couldn’t wait to call you.”
“A little early, aren’t you?” He tried to keep his voice low, but it sounded unnaturally loud in the sudden silence of the kitchen.
“I missed you. Being on an island isn’t much fun when you’re alone. It’s been almost a week, Tate. Why don’t I get a cab and come by your place? Maybe we can get your brother to leave for a few hours.”
“No.” He squeezed his eyes shut to try and still the panic. “Just wait. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“Is something wrong? You sound funny.”
“Just wait there, okay?”
“Okay.” She paused. “Tate? Bring my ring with you. I feel naked without it. And hurry. I love you.”
“I know.”
He hung the phone up without turning around. He couldn’t look at Abby right now, didn’t want to see the knowledge on her face. “I have to leave.”
“Should I save your supper?” Her voice was almost as low as his had been.
“No, I’ll get something later.” He only stopped long enough to grab the keys off the hook by the door before leaving.
* * * * *
Tate found a parking place right in front of the airport doors. Now, he had to dredge up enough energy to get out of the truck and go through them. It felt like he’d aged twenty years in the last few minutes. He’d believed he had another week, had counted on it. He should have known Diane never did anything the way she was supposed to.
His feet weighed a ton, but he managed to get inside, his gaze sweeping the building. And then she was there, in his arms, her lips on his. For a second he allowed himself to kiss her back, knowing it would probably be for the last time, then he gently pulled away from her.
She kept one arm around his waist as she smiled up at him.
“Did you miss me?”
“You know I did.” He started to push a lock of hair away from her face then let his hand drop.
“Good. Maybe next time you’ll come with me. It would be a perfect place for our honeymoon.”
Tate felt as though he were smothering. “Where are your bags?”
“Right here.” She gestured to a cart that sat to one side. “Tate, do you feel all right? You look pale.”
“I’m fine.” He picked up the leather bags. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
“Great. I can’t wait to get you alone.”
Every word out of her mouth was like rubbing salt in an open wound. By the time he tossed her bags into the back of the truck he was shaking like a newborn foal.
As soon as he slid under the wheel, Diane moved across the seat until she was almost in his lap, her hand curling around the back of his neck. An image of Abby, cowering against the other door as if she were afraid to touch him, flashed through his mind, but he pushed it away.
“Did you bring my ring?” Diane’s fingers were playing with the hair at his nape as he started the truck and pulled out.
“No, I didn’t.”
She was watching him closely, her green eyes narrowed. “Okay, what’s wrong?”
“We have to talk, Diane, but not here.”
“Talk about what? You’re not still mad at me for leaving, are you?”
“No.”
“I’ll bet Daddy’s been after you again about giving you the money for a new house, hasn’t he? You have to understand, Tate. He only wants the best for me.”
Tate clenched his jaw. “I haven’t seen your father since before you left.”
“Then I give up. What is it?”
“We’ll talk about it when I get you home.”
“Fine.” She threw her hands up in the air and moved away from him, leaning forward to study her reflection in the rear view mirror. “You know, maybe we should find a place with a milder climate for our honeymoon. My tan looks great, but the saltwater was horrible for my complexion. What do you think?”
He flicked his gaze to the mirror. “You look fantastic. Like always.”
“I do, don’t I?” She stretched like a contented cat. “The heat was wonderful. Just lying on the beach baking all day. And we found some of the cutest shops. I even got you one of those flowered shirts. It’s in my suitcase.”
Tate glanced at her. “We?”
She smiled at him. “Some people I met at the hotel.”
Weariness settled over him like a pall. She was lying, of course. He knew her too well not to recognize the signs. She hadn’t been alone.
He flipped on the turn signal and pulled into her driveway. It wasn’t his problem anymore, he tried to tell himself. Right now, he had to concentrate on telling her about Abby and the baby. That was going to be bad enough without the added complications of her infidelity.
Tate carried the suitcases in and left them in the hall while Diane looked around.
“I guess Daddy is out.”
Nothing new about that, Tate thought. He usually was out. Diane liked to pretend she was daddy’s little princess, but the truth was, the man had left her raising to the servants. He seemed to think throwing money at her made up for his lack in the parenthood department.
It hadn’t and Tate was probably the only one who knew the truth. She’d always confided in him, from the time they’d been little more than kids. And now he was going to hurt her more than her father ever had.
He went into the study and stopped at the wide expanse of windows, gazing out at neatly manicured lawns that seemed to go on forever. Diane came up behind him and slipped her arms around his waist, laying her cheek against his back.
“What did you want to talk about?”
Tate swallowed but kept his eyes on the view. There was no way to make this any easier. “While you were gone, I got married.”
For an instant there was total silence, then she laughed. “I knew you were still mad at me, but it’s really not necessary to make cruel jokes, Tate. I said I was sorry. If it will make you feel any better, from now on, I promise not to go away unless you can come with me.”
He pulled her hands away and turned. “It’s not a joke,” he said quietly. “I married Abby Grayson Monday morning.”
“Oh, my God.” She lifted a hand to her mouth and took a step back, her eyes searching his face. “You’re serious, aren’t you? Why? Why would you do that to us?”
Agony shimmered in the air around him. Agony and guilt. “I had no choice, Diane. She’s pregnant with my baby.” He could barely force the words out.
“Oh, God.” Laughter bubbled out of her again, but this time it had an edge of hysteria. “That little whore came running to you to with a sob story the first time my back was turned and you believed her! Even if she is pregnant, what makes you think it’s yours?” She held a hand out pleadingly. “It’s not too late. You can still get a divorce. You aren’t responsible for someone else’s bastard, Tate.”
He squeezed his eyes shut against the pain, then made himself look at her. “No matter what you’ve heard, Abby isn’t a whore. She is pregnant and I’m the only one who could be the father.”
Diane’s face paled under her tan. “You bastard,” she whispered. “You slept with her. How could you sleep with her while you were engaged to me?” Her voice was rising with each word. “What happened to all that damn honor and responsibility you’re always preaching to me?”
“You don’t understand. I was drunk. It was the night we argued about Clayton Caldwell. I didn’t even know what I was doing until it was too late. It only happened one time.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I swear. Just one time. We even have separate rooms at the house.”
“Do you think that matters? So what’s the plan here, ‘Mr. High and Mighty’ Tate McCullom? Do you think you can wait until after the baby is born and then come running back to me, expecting me to raise it for you? If you do, you can think again. I’m not going to raise your bastard.”
Anger greater than the pain he felt, hit Tate. “Don’t worry. You won’t get the chance. I may not be perfect but at least I’m doing my best to rectify my mistake. How many men have you slept with? Ten? A dozen? It’s okay for you, but not for me? What’s the difference between us, Diane?”
“Goddamn you, the difference is that I’m not stupid enough to get pregnant! No man is ever going to catch me in that trap.” Suddenly she smiled and the icy glitter in her eyes sent chills down Tate’s back.
“You want to know how many men I’ve slept with, Tate? Hundreds. And they all had one thing in common. Every single one of them was twice the man you are. You want to know why I cut my trip short? Because Clayton was called back on business. Compared to him, you’re boring, Tate. In bed and out. The little whore is welcome to you. Now get out of my house.”
* * * * *
Abby opened her eyes to darkness and lay still, listening intently. Something had awoken her, but what? She turned her head to one side and glanced at the alarm clock she kept next to the bed. It was almost one. She hadn’t gone to sleep until after eleven even though she’d been tired.
It had been obvious who Tate was talking to from the instant he’d answered the phone earlier this evening and, in spite of the fact that she’d tried not to care, she had found herself listening for the sound of his truck returning. She’d still been listening when she’d drifted off to sleep.
Even Buddy had fallen silent for a change, seemingly both worried and embarrassed. He’d escaped to his room at the first opportunity.
She was about to turn over and go back to sleep when the noise came again. This time it was closer, a loud thud that sounded like something heavy hitting the floor just down the hall.
Quietly, she threw the blankets back and slipped out of bed. Opening her door a tiny crack, she peered into the dim circle of light that filtered in from the window at one end of the hall.
“Tate!”
He was sitting on the floor, back braced against the wall outside his bedroom, head buried on his knees. He wasn’t moving.
Abby rushed down the hall and dropped beside him. “Tate, what is it? Are you sick?”
He didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to. The smell of whiskey was strong enough to make her wonder if he’d bathed in it. Her lips compressed into a thin line and she shook him.
At least that got a groan out of him.
“Come on, Tate. You can’t stay out here and I can’t carry you to bed. Can you walk?”
“Sick,” he mumbled.
“Yeah, I don’t doubt it. Smells like you wiped out Delly’s stock tonight.” She stood and pulled at his arm. “I’ll help you, but you’re going to have to try.”
Moving with great care, he put his arm around her shoulders and levered himself up the wall. When he pushed away from the support, Abby almost staggered from the burden of his weight, but she managed to get the door of his room open.
They wove a path to the bed and it was only with Abby’s help that he actually hit it when he collapsed.
“I think I may throw up.”
“It could only help,” Abby mumbled under her breath, shoving the waste can from next to the bed into his hands. “There, try to at least hit it.”
She had one of his boots off and was working on the other one when he twisted violently and stuck his head in the can. With a sigh, she dropped the boot and went to the bathroom, returning with several wet cloths.
He’d already put the can on the floor and was lying back limply. Abby wiped his sweat-coated face with one cloth and left the other across his forehead. She thought he’d passed out, but when she started to leave, he grabbed her hand.
“I’m sorry, Abby.”
“Just go to sleep, Tate. That’s the only thing that’s going to help.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Oh, but I do,” she said wearily. “Only too well.” She pulled her hand away from him. “There’s nothing left to say.”