Chapter Nine
Epilogue
Extract
The baby walloped her full bladder, jerking Deanna Blake out of a mercifully sound sleep and scattering wisps of agitated dreams into the predawn gloom. Her heart hammering, she scooched farther underneath the soft Pendleton blanket, cradling her belly...
“A-choo!”
Gasping, Deanna heaved herself around just as the small child fled the room, awkwardly yanking shut the bedroom door behind him.
For what felt like the first time in weeks, she smiled, then clumsily shoved herself upright. Spearing a hand through her short, undoubtedly startled-looking hair, she frowned at her old room, coming more into focus as the weak November sun gradually elbowed aside the remnants of a dark country night. She’d been so wiped out from her cross-country flight, as well as the three-hour drive up from Albuquerque after, she hadn’t even turned on the light before crawling into bed. Now, taking in the old Gilmore Girls poster, its curled edges grasping at the troweled plaster walls, she wasn’t sure which was weirder—how long it’d been since she’d last slept here, or that the room was exactly as she’d left it more than ten years ago. Then again, why would Dad have changed it—?
Deanna squeezed shut her eyes as a double whammy of grief and guilt slammed into her, even stronger than the next kick that finally forced her out of bed and into the adjoining bathroom where she studiously avoided glancing at the mirror over the chipped marble sink. Between the pregnancy puffies and an unending series of sleepless nights, in the past few weeks her complexion had gone from fair to vampiresque. Meaning it was simply best not to look.
Teeth brushed and comb dragged through hair, she wrestled into a pair of very stretchy leggings and a tent-sized sweater before, on a deep breath, opening her door. A child’s laughter, the comforting scent of coffee she couldn’t drink, tumbled inside.
As if everything were perfectly normal.
Through a fog of sadness and apprehension, Deanna crept down the Saltillo-tiled hallway toward the kitchen, hoping against hope that Gus, her father’s old housekeeper, was just looking after the little boy while his daddy tended to some ranch duty or other. Just as Gus had watched Deanna from time to time, as well as Sam Talbot’s boys whenever the need arose. In some ways it’d been like having four older brothers, both a blessing and a curse for an only child living out in the New Mexico boonies.
She hesitated, gazing through a French door leading into the courtyard centering the traditional hacienda-style house. A light snow sugared the uneven flagstone, sparkling in the early morning sun. Save for the spurts of laughter, the house was as eerily quiet as she remembered. Especially after the constant thrum of traffic, of life, in DC. A pang of something she couldn’t quite identify shuddered through her. Not homesickness, she didn’t think. She palmed her belly, where the baby stirred.
Uncertainty? Maybe.
No, definitely.
The cavernous kitchen was empty, save for a huge gray cat sitting on a windowsill, calmly ascertaining Deanna’s worthiness to share its breathing space. The room hadn’t been vacant long, though, judging from the softly crackling fire in the potbellied stove at the far end of the enormous eat-in area, anchored by a rustic wood table that easily sat twelve. Even though the Vista Encantada’s century-old main house had long since been converted to natural gas, Gus had always lit the old stove, every morning from early October through mid-May. The dark cabinets and hand-painted Mexican tiles were the same, as well, even though the vintage six-burner range’s lapis finish seemed a little more pitted than she remembered. And for a moment she was a kid again, scarfing down one of Gus’s breakfast burritos before catching the school bus in the dark—
“Dee?”
She turned, immediately trapped in a pair of moss-colored eyes that had at one time been very dear to her. Dear enough to prompt her father to send her clear across the country when she was fifteen, to live with her mother’s sister. And oh, how she’d initially chafed at Dad’s assumption that something was going on between her and Josh Talbot that wasn’t. And wouldn’t. Because Josh had never been like that, even if Deanna hadn’t fully understood at the time what “that” might have been.
Somehow, she doubted he’d appreciate the irony of her current situation.
“Hey,” she said, crossing her arms as Josh dumped an armful of firewood into the bucket beside the stove, his mini-me peeking at her from behind his legs. It’d been over a decade since she’d caught more than a glimpse of him on her occasional visits home. And the tall, solid cowboy whose sharp gaze now latched on to her belly, then her hair, was nothing like the skinny, spindly teenager she used to sneak off to see, prompting her father’s conclusion-jumping. Although the shy, lonely girl she’d been, still reeling after her mother’s death, had only been seeking solace. A refuge. Neither of which, looking back, Josh had been under any obligation to give her—
“I didn’t expect...” Deanna shoved out a breath. “Where’s Gus?”
“Went into town with my mother for groceries. For...tomorrow.”
“Oh. Right.”
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, but with a decided, And where the hell have you been? edge to it.
So much for thinking her heart couldn’t be more shredded than it already was. Irony, again, to find herself facing exactly what she’d avoided by not coming home, that look of disappointment. Confusion. Not from her father, no, but still.
“Same goes,” she said into the awkward silence. Because she could hardly explain things with a child in the room, could she?
His mouth set, Josh nodded, and pain knifed through her. Josh’d been the only one of the former manager’s sons to show any real interest in ranching. Or, later, the horse-breeding operation. Even so, when medical issues forced Sam’s early retirement a few years back, her father’s asking Josh to take his dad’s place had surprised her. At least until she realized how close Josh and her father had become, despite that business when she and Josh had been teenagers. That Dad clearly thought of her childhood friend like a favorite nephew. If not the son he never had.
A feeling she’d gleaned had been mutual.
Blinking away tears, Deanna cleared her throat and smiled for the little boy, who kept peering at her from behind his daddy. Her father had told her about the child, that his mama wasn’t in the picture. Her hand went to her belly again, as if to reassure the little one inside.
“Hey,
