CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
JUDE FELT AS if he’d come full circle. From the lowest of lows to the highest of highs not just once but twice—and now he was lower than the lowest of lows. Because yes, he’d somehow dug deeper.
He stumbled out of his truck and fell to his knees. He’d done this before, soon after Ryanne had begun to tempt him with her beauty and charm. He’d railed about the travesty of his life that had been spinning out of control.
How could he have known things could get worse?
He’d just begun to crawl out from the muck of his past. He’d begun to heal, had even found moments of humor, sorrow unable to intrude.
Now, grief was a razor in his chest, as strong as the day Constance and the girls had died. That razor slashed his heart to ribbons, causing a slow hemorrhage of any hope he’d managed to cultivate.
Ryanne was pregnant with his child. His baby.
A baby he would inevitably love.
A baby he could lose in a million different ways.
He’d always known death was too powerful to stop, but he’d never suspected life was, too.
How could this have happened? They’d taken every precaution.
He’d been prepared to open himself up to Ryanne, to spend the rest of his days with her. But a baby—a baby he couldn’t protect twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week...
Abject fear grabbed his heart and squeezed. A vise-grip he couldn’t escape. Thorns seemed to grow inside his throat, snagging every breath he managed to take, leaving him gasping. He wouldn’t survive the loss of another child. He would finally, blessedly—gladly—break his promise to Constance and give up.
Not just broken anymore. Twisted. Shattered.
His ears twitched as tires squealed. A car door opened, slammed shut. Rushed footsteps pounded into the ground. He didn’t turn, didn’t care who’d intruded upon him. Didn’t care—until someone dropped beside him, strong arms wrapping around him. Brock. Brock had come for him.
“Ryanne told me,” his friend said. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, man.”
Jude clung to him, so grateful for the bond they shared. A bond stronger than blood. Brock was his brother in every way that mattered, and by some miracle, the man seemed to absorb the worst of Jude’s grief, leaving him cognizant enough to realize no one should ever have to apologize for the miracle of a new and precious life.
He remembered the joy he’d experienced when Constance had showed him the pregnancy test. Remembered how they’d laughed and held each other, talked long into the night about possible names, guessing which of their features the baby would have. He’d done none of that with Ryanne. He’d snapped and snarled at her, made horrible accusations, then left her to deal with the wild flux of emotions on her own.
“A baby,” he croaked.
“Yeah. I think you’ve got the most potent sperm in history,” Brock replied, his tone dry. “Face it, your troopers are determined to become people.”
Jude barked out a laugh, surprised he could find humor in the situation. Finally he released his friend and fell back into the grass, peering up at the night sky. Without clouds to obscure the light, the stars glittered like diamonds on a bed of black velvet.
“I’m going to be an uncle again. This time, I want to be called Uncle B. Wait. No. Uncle Bro has a better ring to it.” Brock thought for a moment, nodded. “Yeah. That’s the winner. And okay, okay, if you want me to step up and be the daddy this go-round, I’ll jump on that grenade. The thought of Ryanne in my—Umph.”
Jude elbowed his friend in the chest, shutting him up.
A chuckling Brock rubbed the spot where a bruise would most definitely form. “What Virgil said to you...”
“Yeah.” He already knew he would endure the worst future imaginable simply to have a past with Constance, Bailey and Hailey. Was the same true for Ryanne and her baby? Their baby.
If he lost Ryanne tomorrow, would he regret the time he’d spent with her? No need to ponder. No. Absolutely not. She’d shown him how to laugh again. She’d breathed new life in his deadened soul.
And what about their baby? Would he regret a single second of time he spent with their child?
Hell, no.
His fingers plowed through the grass, reaching cold, hard dirt. Why torture himself about the possible death of the child when nothing bad had happened? Most children in this part of the world survived infancy and adolescence, going on to live long, productive lives. Why not deal with the present, as if everything would turn out okay? In the meantime, he could defend Ryanne and the baby from any threat. With his life, if necessary.
Protective instincts surged, almost too strong for his body to contain. Ryanne and the baby are mine. I protect what’s mine.
Whatever the cost.
Decision made. Tension and dread drained from him, though he knew tough times were ahead, but with Ryanne at his side, he could face anything. That meant winning her back, no ifs, ands or buts about it.
No more taking things slow. From now on, he would stick to her side as if he’d been surgically attached.
* * *
“LET’S GET MARRIED.”
The softly spoken words reverberated in Ryanne’s head. She’d tossed and turned all night in her brand-new bed, tortured by thoughts of Jude’s pain, and her mom’s salvo.
I couldn’t help but overhear your confession to Jude because I was eavesdropping. I’m too young to be a grandmother, cariño. Did I teach you nothing? This is not how you keep a man. Trust me.
I didn’t do it on purpose, Ryanne had snapped.
Selma had sighed. I’m sorry, but this is not going to end well for you. You picked a runner.
Not even Belle and the kittens had been able to soothe Ryanne, but finally, around noon, exhaustion set in and she’d fallen asleep. When next she’d opened her eyes, she’d found her baby daddy standing beside her bed, staring down at her, demanding to...get married?
Stomach churning, she leaped to her feet and raced to the bathroom, where she vomited the contents of her stomach. Jude followed and held back her hair, a kind gesture, and one she appreciated. Didn’t mean she no longer wanted to twist off his nuts.
Weakened as she was, she didn’t care about vomit-breath, or how sickly she appeared. She flushed the toilet and rested her clammy temple on the seat she’d cleaned last night, knowing this would happen. The vomiting part, not the Jude part.
Light entered the small bathroom through a crack in the blinds, highlighting the harsh lines around his eyes and mouth. He’d had a little trouble sleeping himself, hadn’t he?
“Good morning to you, too,” she muttered.
Silent, he shuffled around the bathroom, gathering and wetting a washrag. After cleaning her brow and the corners of her mouth, he exited...returning with a glass of water and two saltine crackers.
“Thanks.” As she sipped the water and nibbled on the crackers, her stomach began to settle.
He sat in front of her, his expression tight with determination. Finally, he spoke. “I’m sorry I reacted poorly when you shared the news about... I’m sorry. I lost Constance and the twins, and the thought of losing you and...” He shook his head.
He couldn’t even say the word baby anymore? “The thought of losing me destroyed you, so of course you ran away...thereby losing me. Seems like the perfect plan.”
“I never claimed to be the sharpest tool in the shed. Let’s get married,” he repeated.
Irritation gave way to anger. “Yesterday you couldn’t get away from me fast enough. Now you want to marry me because I’m pregnant. Do you know how insulting that is?” How soul-crushing. On her own, she wasn’t good enough. Now that she would give birth to his spawn, she could share his last name.
“I’m not allowed to change my mind? And just so you know, I want you for you. The baby is a...bonus.”
He’d gritted the word bonus, as if both syllables had been pushed through a wood chipper. “Look. I don’t want to end things with you—” I don’t? “But there’s no need to rush into a commitment.”
“We’re already committed,” he grated.
“No, we would be committed if you hadn’t freaked out over the baby.”
“Ryanne—” He scrubbed his hand down his face. “I made a mistake. One I regret with every fiber of my being.”
Stay strong. Resist him. Otherwise she would only set herself up for a major heartache.
“I’m not saying no to your oh, so romantic proposal.” I’m not? “But I’m not saying yes, either.” Better. “I need time to think, just like you did.”
A long while passed before he nodded, a single, stiff incline of his head. “Take all the time you need. Think.” A calculated gleam appeared in his eyes. “In the meantime, you don’t get sex until I get marriage.”
What! “You’re blackmailing me with sex I can get somewhere else?”
“No, I’m ultimatuming you with sex. And you will not turn to someone else. You try, and the guy, whoever he is, will end up in the hospital.”
The outlaw is back.
Knees, weakening...
“While I’m making threats,” he added, “I might as well go for gold. I want you to stop working in the bar.”
What the what! “Excuse me?”
“Just for a little while. When Dushku is no longer a threat, you can start again. Also, I don’t want you living here. You’ll move in with me, where I can keep you and...our child safe.”
So he wanted—no, expected—her to give up her livelihood and home? “No way, no how. I’ll work, and I’ll stay here. And guess what? I don’t need to think about your marriage proposal any longer. My answer is no, no, a thousand times no. Take your orders and shove them, Jude Laurent.”
He remained undeterred and unaffected. “Your safety is important to me, Ryanne Wade-soon-to-be-Laurent. If you won’t move in with me, I’ll move in with you.”
She’d known the man was stubborn, but come on! This was spectacularly ridiculous. “You can’t just decide to move in with me,” she said, the words straining past clenched teeth.
Ryanne Laurent.
Ryanne Nicole Laurent.
RNL.
Argh! Even her mind was against her!
“I can. I did. I will,” he said. “If you change the locks, I’ll just break in.”
She opened her mouth to blast him, only to decide against it. Why fight him on this issue when she planned to war with him on others? Besides, she could use him for sex—because yes, if she wanted him in her bed, he would end up in her bed. In the meantime, she would have a few demands of her own. Like, he would be cooking her meals, doing her laundry and any other chores she opted not to do in order to punish him for refusing to give her space.
And okay, yes, it might be nice having him around. A little Laurent resided in her womb, and she already loved the little booger. Why not make the best of the situation for his or her sake?
“Are you going to insist on accompanying me to Rome?” she asked, out of curiosity...and desire. She wanted to travel with him.
A muscle jumped beneath his eye. “You’re still planning to hop on a plane and travel halfway around the world?”
“For now. Later, I’ll be traveling all the way around the world. That dream hasn’t died.”
The muscle really jumped beneath his eye. “You’ve got a few weeks before you’re scheduled to leave for your first trip. We have time to discuss the details.”
Oh, we do, do we?
First, he had a few hard lessons to learn. “Let’s get something straight, cowboy.” Her strength returned, and she sat up. “Pregnancy hormones haven’t caused my lady balls to shrink. You won’t be making my decisions for me. Ever. If you keep trying, I’ll kick you to the curb faster than you can beg me for another chance I’ll refuse to give you.”
He studied her for an eternity, his navy gaze boring into her. Just when she shifted, growing uncomfortable and impatient, he broke the silence and said, “Why did you love Earl so much? Why did you move in with him rather than stay with your mother?”
Uh, what had caused him to think about her stepdad?
“I hated the way she changed for her men, the way she expected me to change, in order to make them happy. Earl let me be me. Why? What does it matter?”
He nodded, as if she’d just explained the mysteries of the universe. Then he stood and helped her to her feet. “I’m going to the cabin to pack my things. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
Oh, goodness gracious. “You’re moving in today?”
“Today.”
* * *
TRUE TO HIS WORD, Jude moved into Ryanne’s apartment that day. He took half the closet space, half the drawers in her dresser, and mixed his toiletries with hers. While she’d helped him unpack, she’d found a baby book filled with notes from his wife and pictures of his children.
When Jude had noticed her with the book, he’d walked out of the room. But he hadn’t ordered her to put the book away, so, progress.
He waited on her hand and foot, and she soaked up the attention. Back ache? No problem. Jude would give her a massage. Sick? Hold tight. Jude would warm up a bowl of chicken noodle soup. Need the litter box cleaned? Jude to the rescue.
He played video games with her, washed her clothes, made the bed and vacuumed the floor. Not once had he complained. The only thing he wouldn’t do was talk about the baby. Or have sex with her. She’d tried to seduce him, oh, about a million times, slinking around the apartment wearing little to nothing. The most he’d done was cuddle her while she napped.
At night, he slept on the floor of her bedroom, refusing to move to the couch in the living room. The sweet man wanted to be close to her. And torture her.
Some days she wanted to slap him. Other days she wanted to hug him.
The poor guy was eaten up with fear, but as much as she continued to wish otherwise, she couldn’t fight the battle for him.
When it came time to open the bar, he stuck to her like glue. He hulked around in the shadows, always nearby, glowering at everyone who dared approach her. She’d lost customers, even the regulars who’d once referred to her boyfriend as “our Jude.” His attitude stressed everyone out, and tips were becoming nonexistent.
At this rate, she was going to go broke, and good ole Douche Canoe wasn’t going to have to lift a finger.
Speaking of Dushku, he hadn’t made another move against her. Had he given up?
Had she?
She missed the heat of Jude’s body. The feel of his body. She missed his kiss and his touch. His possession.
Even now, desire hummed inside her, a siren song. If she didn’t experience relief soon, she was going to spontaneously combust.
“I know that look.” Selma set her tray on the bar and leaned on her elbows to perfectly display her cleavage that had kept Ryanne in business, despite Jude’s attitude. “You need to get laid, baby girl. See that guy in the wifebeater? I think he’s the perfect remedy for what ails you.”
Jude, who stood behind Ryanne, stiffened. “I’m the remedy for what ails her.”
“You’re the cause of what ails me.” To her mother, she said, “I’ll consider it.” Consider, and trash.
A low growl sounded from Jude. Served him right!
Needing a break, she raised her chin and marched into her office. Time to blow off a little steam—with paperwork.
As she sat at the desk, Selma rushed inside. When Jude tried to enter, she slammed the door in his face, calling, “We need a little girl time. Go take care of customers. And flirt—I would.”
Mumbling. Footsteps.
Selma plopped into the only chair in front of the desk. “Talk to me, baby doll. I know you love your man. So why are you giving him such a hard time?”
“Because.” No way she would spill her guts to her mother. She hadn’t even talked about it with Dorothea or Lyndie. For good reasons.
Dorothea might grow to resent Jude for his attitude about the baby. And Lyndie had her own troubles. A few days ago, she’d had a panic attack for the first time in years. Ryanne had rushed to her side as soon as she’d heard, and even though her friend had calmed down, something had changed for and with her. Something was wrong. But pushing for answers had only made her friend worse.
“Because why?” Selma insisted. “Do you not trust him? Well, let me put your mind at ease. I tried to seduce him, but his reaction was nothing like your old boyfriends.” She air quoted both “seduce” and “boyfriends.” “You remember those boys?”
“Are you insane? Of course I remember. And what do you mean, you tried to seduce Jude?” Ryanne could see the headline of tomorrow’s paper: Pregnant Girl Murders Her Mother with a Letter Opener!
“Don’t worry. Jude said no, and I’ve never been so proud. I’m surprised he didn’t mention this.”
She wasn’t surprised. He’d hoped to save her from unnecessary pain.
Always protecting me. Unlike my mother, who’s never tried to do so.
“I’d hoped your high school hotties would say no when I told them I’d rock their worlds,” Selma continued. “Alas, they found me irresistible, the two-timing bastardos.”
Ryanne gripped the edge of the desk, her white knuckles threatening to pop out of her skin. “I don’t care about the past. You came on to Jude?”
“Aren’t you listening? I did, but only as a test. I never would have touched him, just as I never touched the others.”
Wait. “So...you didn’t sleep with my boyfriends in high school?”
“No! Gross!”
Deep breath in...out...
She thought back, images playing through her mind. Boyfriend One naked in bed. Selma, wearing a crop top and short skirt, busy tying his wrists to a bedpost. Ryanne had walked in. The boy had shouted while fighting to free himself, and Selma had stood there, calm but sad and also a wee bit satisfied.
Ryanne had assumed she’d just climaxed and had run off, angry, grossed out and feeling betrayed. Selma had chased her down and said, “I’m sorry, sweetness. But you’re so stubborn. I knew you needed to see the truth for yourself.”
She’d scoffed and refused to listen to anything more about it.
Fast-forward to Boyfriend Two. Once again Selma had worn a crop top and short skirt. She’d stretched out on the living room couch while the guy performed a sexy-not-sexy striptease in front of her.
Ryanne had walked into the house and her gaze had locked with Selma’s. Just like before, her mother had radiated sadness. Only, the satisfaction had been replaced by a hefty dose of...relief?
That time, Ryanne had stayed put and kicked out the guy. Selma had tossed up her arms and said, “Why do you pick so many losers and force me to do this?”
“Force you? Ha!” Too clouded by hurt, Ryanne had locked herself in a room and by morning, the subject had been dropped and had never come up again.
Now realization settled in her chest, a little warm, a little cozy.
For the first time, Ryanne believed her mother’s claims. And okay, yes, the fact that Selma even propositioned her old crushes sucked hard-core, but in the woman’s twisted way, she had helped. And having watched her work, Ryanne had noticed something she’d never before noticed: a hidden core of honesty.
On the other hand, Jude had a very obvious moral compass. He was a good—no, great guy.
Forget paperwork. She stood on shaky legs, rounded the desk, soared past her mother and entered the bar, where Jude was emptying the last jar of moonshine into a mug.
He was actually...no way, impossible...but the image remained the same. He was serving alcohol to a patron.
What the what! He wasn’t just protecting Ryanne and her establishment. He was actively participating in the sale of alcohol. For her. Because he cared.
Beautiful, heart-breaking, heart-mending man. Stick a fork in me, I’m done. She wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed.
He turned, his eyes wide with hope. “What brought this on?”
“I like you.” She clasped his hand, lifted and kissed the strawberry etched into his wrist. “A lot.”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “I like you, too, shortcake.”
“Good. Now that that’s settled...” She raked her knuckles over the stubble on his jaw before backing up a step. “You keep working. I’ll grab another jar of moonshine from the basement.”
He offered no protest as she reached for the door handle concealed among the shelves of liquor. As she moved into the entryway, she tugged the string hanging from the ceiling. Light flooded the dark corridor, illuminating the concrete steps. The lower she went, the cooler and danker the air became. At the bottom, shelves were covered with glass jars. Some of those jars were filled to the brim, others were empty.
She lifted a full one, but someone latched on to her wrist, stopping her. Jude! The calluses on his palm sent shivers whisking down her spine.
“I’ll carry it,” he said. “You shouldn’t be lugging heavy objects.”
“I remember a time I had to heft an entire box of moonshine up the basement steps, all on my own. I asked you for help, and you asked me if I was testing you.”
“I was a jackass. Thankfully, you’ve trained me better.”
“Or you’re worried about me because I’m pregnant.”
“That, too.”
“Too bad, so sad. I can handle a single jar.”
“I know you can.” His gaze bored into hers, currents of electricity arcing between them. “But I’m here.”
Here...ready to be seduced...
“You certainly are.” With her free hand, she traced her knuckles down his muscled chest, not stopping until she reached the waist of his pants. “How about you put yourself to better use and give me an orgasm? Just a quick one? Then I won’t have to take my mom’s advice and go after the guy wearing the wifebeater.”
Despite everything, she wanted a future with Jude.
He sucked in a breath—and stepped closer, pressing her against the wall. “I’ll give you an orgasm, nice and slow, if you’ll agree we can be married in the morning.” Down, down he leaned. He plucked her lower lip between his teeth, nearly singeing her with lust. “All you need to do is say yes, and I’ll do the rest.”