For a Baby. C.J. Carmichael
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and her family are joining me after Davey’s ball game. But I don’t want to disturb you.” She bent to retrieve her bike, not looking forward to having his eyes on her as she wheeled the darn thing back down the hill.
“What’s wrong with that table?” He pointed to the free one she’d originally planned to stake.
“You’re reading. We’ll be noisy. I’ll see if there are any free tables by the playground.” It wouldn’t be as scenic, but at least she wouldn’t have to endure the scrutiny of the man who’d spurned her proposal of marriage.
Oh, why had she thought about that? She could feel the backs of her ears start to burn.
“Put the bike down, Beatrice.”
Heather chafed at his use of her middle name. For some reason he’d latched onto it on her very first day of grade one when the teacher had been doing a very thorough job of roll call.
T.J. jumped to the ground and took the handlebars from her. He pushed the bike to a tree and chained it up so it wouldn’t fall.
“What are you doing with my bike?”
“Don’t be so damn stubborn. Take the picnic table. Take both of them. I was about to leave, anyway.”
“It didn’t look like you were planning to leave.”
T.J. glanced up into the branches of a nearby tree and spoke as if to someone he saw hiding there. “Even when I try to be nice to her, it doesn’t work.”
“Your definition of nice doesn’t jibe with my definition of the word.” She thought of all the teasing she’d endured. She didn’t think he’d meant to be mean. But some days she had truly dreaded being in the same classroom as him. “It never has.”
“You’ve always been tough enough to take it.”
Under his observation she could almost feel her waistline and boobs expanding. She crossed her arms over her chest.
“Told anyone yet?” he asked.
“Adrienne,” she admitted, uncomfortably.
“Not your parents.”
Her gaze sank to the ground. “Not yet.”
“Don’t suppose you’ve found a prospective groom, either?”
“T.J.!” As usual, he had to push until she snapped. “Just leave me alone, okay?” Out of all the single men in Chatsworth—and there were a few, if not many—why had she chosen him to go to bed with?
“Hey, why so touchy? Just wondering if that marriage proposal was still open. That’s all.”
“Why would you care?” The heat of embarrassment spread from her ears to her face. Trust T.J. to milk this for all it was worth.
“I’ve been thinking the situation over.” He stood formally in front of her, arms behind his back, feet splayed.
Heather froze, confused by his change in tone. Suddenly he looked, and sounded, just like the lawyer he’d been trained to be.
“Upon some reflection,” he continued, “I’d like to reconsider my reply to your offer of the other day.”
It took a few seconds for what he was saying to sink in. “T.J.? Are you serious?”
“Absolutely. I think getting married is the right thing to do. If you’ll still have me?”
HE’D DONE IT. Choked out the words he knew he had to say. After thinking about their situation for weeks, he’d accepted he didn’t really have a choice. Heather was pregnant, with his child.
So what if the marriage didn’t last more than a few years? As a married woman, Heather would retain her reputation and respectability in the small town she’d always loved. She could hold her head high when she had this baby—their baby.
As for the child, well, he or she would be legitimate under the law. If that wasn’t as important in today’s society as it had once been, T.J. knew it was still worthy of consideration.
“I want to give our child a name, Heather. And I can promise to be a faithful husband and a good provider. Beyond that—no guarantees. I think I’ve been pretty open with you about my flaws. As if you weren’t already familiar enough with them.”
When she didn’t say anything right away, he stuck on a proviso. “Of course, if you’ve changed your mind and don’t want to go through with marriage after all, I’ll understand.”
Heather’s pretty face was still deeply flushed. Obviously she hadn’t expected this about-face on his part. T.J. waited for her reply, not sure what he even wanted her to say.
At one time marriage to Heather would have seemed like the answer to his prayers. But his real life experience with marriage and fatherhood had taught him his shortcomings. Some people were better off alone. He was one of them.
Gradually the confusion in her eyes faded, and her gaze sharpened on him. A shallow frown line formed between her eyebrows as she contemplated him closely.
What did she see? T.J. didn’t kid himself. Heather was as aware as anyone of his foibles and character flaws.
“We’re talking about a real marriage, right?”
“What other kind is there?” Slowly his lips curved into a grin, as he figured out what she was really asking. “You mean will there be sex? Hell, yeah, there’ll be sex. That’s the one thing I know I can do right.”
Her flush deepened. “Oh, T.J., this is so crazy.”
He had to agree there.
“But, yes, I will marry you.”
He knew she was accepting him for the baby’s sake. Yet, for a moment he felt a warm glow of happiness. Fool, he told himself. But knowing he was didn’t change a thing. He took her small hand and squeezed it, wanting to kiss her but not sure whether such a move would be appreciated. He was just stepping in close enough to make the kiss at least an option, when a voice startled him, startled them both.
“T.J.! Imagine running into you here.” It was Adrienne, with her husband and a pack of at least five children in tow. “Want to join us for a ham and cheese sandwich?”
CHAPTER SIX
“OH, HONEY. THIS IS A LOT to take in at once.” Heather’s mother shook the dirt off her hoe, then set it against the shed wall. She brushed off her hands, covered in gardening gloves, then settled them on her hips and examined her daughter’s expression carefully.
“I know.” Heather picked up the basket of tomatoes at her feet. Her parents ran a three-acre, U-pick garden just off the highway that connected Chatsworth to the larger center of Yorkton. In season they had strawberries, raspberries, saskatoons, tomatoes and corn.
“Let’s go have something to drink.” Marion Sweeney led her daughter along the cobblestone path to a gazebo Heather’s father had built just last summer. A pitcher of lemonade and melting ice cubes sat on the rattan table inside. She removed her gardening gloves, then poured two glasses and handed one to Heather.
“How are you feeling, honey?” Her gaze dropped to her daughter’s middle.
“Fine. Tired, I guess. But fine other than that.” She’d come by this morning with the excuse that she wanted tomatoes, but really to tell her mother her news when her father wasn’t around. Heather loved her father, but the lines of communication with her mother were much more open.
Her story had flooded out in a rush of words. The pregnancy, the engagement, the wedding which was to happen in two weeks, everything, in one breath.
“Sit down. Put your feet up.”
Heather did sit, but she kept her sandaled feet on the ground. “Really, I’m as healthy as can be, Mom.”
Her