The Housekeeper's Daughter. Laurie Paige
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think of yourself, think of the child. You’re going to be a mother. You have an obligation to take care of the baby.”
She moved away. “I know very well what my obligations are,” she said coolly.
Then she walked over and sat in the old rocker that had been used to soothe many a Colton baby, including himself.
Drake stalked over to the desk chair, pulled it around and straddled it, his arms resting on the back while he observed the woman he’d returned home to see, the woman his father had mentioned in his last letter, telling Drake of Maya’s pregnancy and suggesting that he come home.
An inner contraction, so strong it was painful, reminded Drake of last June and the week he’d spent at the ranch, home from his job with the Navy SEALs to celebrate his dad’s sixtieth birthday.
What a memorable visit that had been. Someone had taken a potshot at his father. Shortly after that Drake had made love to the dark-haired Madonna who now watched him warily. “Inez says you’re at least eight months along.”
Her eyes widened. “You talked to my mother?”
“Yes. Since you refused to discuss it, I went to the one person I knew would tell me the truth. Why didn’t you write?” he asked, changing tactics abruptly.
“Why didn’t you?”
The challenge hit him right between the eyes. “I was off the beaten path most of the time.”
The excuse sounded flimsy even to his ears. Her gaze flashed to him, then away, clearly expressing her disbelief.
He realized he’d grown up with this person, yet he didn’t know her. He was three years older and had traveled the world; she’d spent her life here on the ranch. So why did she suddenly appear to be the one who was older and wiser?
Impending motherhood had changed her. It was more than the fact that her breasts were fuller and her tummy rounded. He sensed a primordial knowledge within her that hadn’t been in the innocent young woman he’d loved, then left.
“My mission was dangerous,” he tried to explain. “I move around. There’s no future…I told you in the note I left.”
“I believed you.”
The simplicity of those three words threatened his self-control. They spoke of trust once given and now lost. Despair opened like a pit leading straight to the hell within him.
He exhaled heavily. He’d lived with the darkness for a long time. It was an old enemy, one he knew well. Standing, he thrust his hands into his pockets and paced to the window and back. “The child changes things.”
“It isn’t yours.”
He stopped in front of her, not quite certain he’d heard right. She stood and faced him with that calm, older-than-time composure she’d recently acquired.
“It isn’t your child,” she repeated the denial.
The silence buzzed around them like an angry swarm of killer bees. She returned his hard stare without blinking, then she smiled slightly, not in amusement but as if the whole situation was one of supreme irony.
This distant, world-weary attitude baffled him more than her not bothering to write and tell him the news. He considered the conversation with her mother and remembered a name. “Then it’s Andy Martin’s?”
“Is that what my mother said?”
“Yes.”
She tilted her chin in that stubborn way she had. “It’s my baby. Mine and no one else’s.”
He’d been in enough standoffs with desperate people to know an impasse when he hit one. “Right. A virgin birth,” he scoffed. “Look, this isn’t getting us anywhere. I came home to find out the truth. I mean to know it before I leave.”
“How did—” She clamped her lips together.
“How did I know about the baby? My father wrote. He said you were pregnant and that I should come home and get my affairs in order.”
“Affairs,” she repeated. “That’s the operative word with you Coltons, isn’t it?”
At that moment, he could have wrung her neck…or kissed her until she stopped this charade she’d decided to act out and responded to his kisses as she had last summer. His body went hard in an instant. Last June she’d been all sweet fire and sexy innocence, as eager to explore him as he had been her.
“You know me better than that,” he said, the words coming out husky, the hunger evident.
Her hand flew to the neckline of the robe, which she pulled tightly closed as if fearing he might rip it from her lush body in a fit of uncontrollable passion.
“Do I? Maybe we don’t know each other at all anymore,” she suggested.
The sudden bleakness in her eyes struck a tender place under his breastbone. He thought of the woman who had told him her plans to finish her degree and teach school in Prosperino, or maybe start her own business and work with the troubled kids over at the Hopechest Ranch where she tutored students in remedial reading. It was her optimistic vision of the future that had forced him to write that note. It was a future he couldn’t hope to share.
Abruptly he headed for the door. “You’re right. Maybe we don’t know each other now, but once we did. Your mother said I shouldn’t upset you, but don’t think this is the last of this conversation.” He left quietly and headed outside for the steps that led down to the shore.
Maya rubbed her back and paced restlessly about the small room. Was her back hurting worse? Had she injured herself during the ride? She bit her lip against the pain and loneliness of the midnight hour. And the hunger that ate at her since she’d felt Drake’s arms around her once more, strong and sure and capable.
How long before she forgot those moments last summer? Months? Years? A lifetime?
Unable to sleep lately or to sit for long periods, she walked the floor for hours. Most of the time she was confident of her ability to care for herself and a child, but sometimes, like now, her courage faltered.
Drake was a complication she hadn’t foreseen. After his leaving last summer, with only a note to explain that they had no future, she hadn’t thought he would even care if she was carrying his child.
The pain of that moment rushed over her anew, nearly causing her to cry out. She gritted her teeth and waited for it to pass. She’d learned, during the past eight months, that one could endure.
Sitting in the rocker and leaning forward as far as she could to relieve the pressure on her lower back, she knew she would have to admit the truth.
Unless there was a way to hide the truth…
She picked up the phone and dialed a number in L.A. When her sister answered, Maya spoke quickly and in a low voice.
“Lana, this is Maya. I have a question for you. Are you alone? Can you talk?”
“Well, hello, baby sister,” Lana said in surprise. “Yes, I’ve just given my patient her final medication and was heading for bed. What’s happening?”
Maya took a careful breath. “Drake Colton is home. His father told him about…about…”
“The baby?” Lana finished helpfully when Maya faltered.
“Yes. Listen, I know a DNA test would reveal the identity of the father, but no one could do anything to the baby without my consent, could they? Like take blood?”
“Is Drake threatening to take the baby from you?” Lana demanded indignantly.
“No, no, nothing like that. He doesn’t know he’s the father—I haven’t told anyone but you—but he thinks he could be.”
“Could be!” Lana’s tone was shocked and angry. “How many affairs does he think