Let's Have A Baby!. Christy Lockhart
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Sam, her ex-fiancé, had reinforced that knowledge, a hundred times.
How could she have been foolish enough to believe Kurt was any different? Even though they wouldn’t have actually had to sleep together, no man would willingly get her pregnant.
She ran toward her car, praying she could outdistance the pain of his rejection.
“Jessie! Wait!”
She didn’t.
As long as she lived, she’d never be able to face Kurt again. Even worse was the knowledge that she’d destroyed their friendship.
The first of the tears chased down her cheeks and the cold Colorado night air froze them to her skin. She struggled to slide the key into the ignition only to have the set slip from her grip and tumble to the floorboard.
Frustration drowning all other emotions, she slapped her hand against the steering wheel.
Nothing had gone right since she arrived at Kurt’s.
Stupid, stupid.
She shouldn’t have done this, should have just stuck with her original plan.
Wasting precious moments, she switched on the interior light to search for the keys. Just as Kurt reached for the car door, determination written on his rigid features, she managed to turn the ignition.
Blinking desperately to clear her blurry vision, she put the car in gear and floored the accelerator.
In the rearview mirror she saw Kurt, reflected by the porch light. Then he slammed his fist into his open palm as Jessie sped away. His brows were set in a scowl and his jaw hardened.
She barely slowed down before turning onto the gravel road leading back to town and home.
Ten minutes later, she rushed into the house, clicking the dead bolt securely into place before her shoulders collapsed against the door.
Kurt hadn’t followed her.
Even though she’d checked the mirror a dozen times, she hadn’t seen a single set of lights on the inky mountain road.
She was alone, just as she wanted.
A lump clogged Jessie’s throat, and she wondered if she would ever stop lying to herself.
She’d never wanted to be alone. Her entire life, she’d wanted to love and be loved. But not even her own mother cared enough to keep her. Nor had the series of foster parents. She’d spent night after night praying that someone would adopt her, keep her, make her feel as though she were part of a family instead of facing the world all alone.
And every night, she’d turned off the light, thinking that tomorrow, maybe tomorrow, things would be different.
Jessie told herself that Kurt’s rejection didn’t surprise her, that she’d expected he’d refuse. So, why then, did she hurt so much?
Trying to bury the pain of tonight’s confrontation, she shoved away from the door. Her suitcase sat in the foyer, still packed. Now, more than ever, she wished she’d just left well enough alone and had never given in to the temptation of approaching Kurt.
Yet, every night since she made the appointment a few weeks ago, she’d dreamed of knowing the baby’s father instead of just receiving an anonymous donation.
As she trailed her fingertips across the suitcase’s zipper, she realized that every time in her life that she had dared to dream, she had been hurt.
It wouldn’t ever happen again, she vowed. She was done fantasizing. With his cold words, Kurt had reinforced the danger of believing.
This time, she vowed, she’d learned the lesson and learned it well. It was safer to stick to facts and reality. Maybe life would be less painful that way.
Soon, she would have the baby she’d always wanted, holding it, cuddling and snuggling. For the first time in her life, she would know and give unconditional love.
Protectively she placed her palm across her abdomen.
Nothing and no one would stand in her way.
With resolution, she squared her shoulders and crossed into the bedroom. But the instant she unfastened the top button of her shirt, memories flooded her.
It had been so long since she’d been touched. The feel of Kurt’s work-roughened skin against her smooth skin had sent shivers of something she didn’t dare name skating down her spine to settle near her womb.
For a moment, if she closed her eyes and imagined, she might believe that he’d actually wanted to touch her....
But he hadn’t.
He’d simply been trying to drive home his angry point. As she’d learned, wanting and being wanted were for other women.
Jessie finished undressing and pulled on a flannel nightdress. Last week, at the women’s clothing store in town, she’d passed satin and lace teddies on the way to the dressing room. She’d stopped, looking longingly at the material while wondering how it might feel against her skin.
Since it didn’t really matter anyway, she’d settled for flannel. No one would see her in lingerie. Besides, a long gown was warmer, especially when there was no one to share the bed with.
After combing her hair its customary one hundred strokes, she turned off the lights and slipped beneath cold blankets, curling into a ball, seeking protection from the rejection still searing her heart.
Seconds later, the insistent thud of a fist on her front door made her sit upright.
“Open up, Jessie!”
Kurt.
She dragged a pillow against her chest and hugged it tight. Maybe if she ignored him...
“I’ll get Sheriff McCall, say we’ve got an emergency.”
He wouldn’t.
“I will, Jessie. Try me.”
Her heart pounded.
“Neighbors just turned on their porch light.”
Jessie groaned. Maybe when she went to Denver in the morning, she wouldn’t come back.
“No, Mrs. Johnson, Jessie’s not answering. I’m starting to worry. Yes, her car’s here.”
Silence hung as cold as a newborn snow.
“Sure...thanks. I’ll wait here for the sheriff.”
“Wait!” Galvanized by the threat, Jessie tossed back the covers and pillow, then ran toward the front door. She’d never be able to show her face in Columbine Crossing again if anyone else witnessed her private torment. “Don’t you dare call Spencer,” she called, twisting the bolt.
Before she had a chance to open the door, Kurt did.
She gasped.
He stood there, wearing no jacket, his cheeks bitten by the frost. His breath clung frigidly to the night air, air that still felt more like winter than spring.
“Invite me in.”
“But the neighbors—”
“Are asleep. Invite me in, Jessie.”
There were no lights on across the street. There was only Kurt, all six feet of him, masculine determination written in the set of his jaw and shoulders.
Jessie had never felt more helpless. “You lied.”
“I accomplished my goal.” When she said nothing more, he added, “Fine. We’ll talk here.”
In the years she’d known him, she’d learned to tell when he was joking. He wasn’t. “Kurt...”
“Decision’s yours, Jessie. We’re going to talk. Now. We can do it inside or out here, where the neighbors might overhear. Unless you want what I have to