Rogue's Reform

Chapter 3

Because many of her customers dropped in on their lunch hours, Grace couldn’t close up at noon. Instead, she’d gotten in the habit of bringing something from home to eat in what she jokingly called the break room. During her father’s reign, it had been a storeroom, but she’d cleaned it out, added a compact refrigerator and microwave, purchased cheap from Reese’s nephew, who’d just graduated from college, and a tiny table and chairs picked up at a yard sale. In a few more months, she planned to bring the playpen she’d bought at the same garage sale so the baby would be able to nap there, undisturbed by the activity in the store.

Sometimes on her days off, Ginger joined her, and some days Shay Rafferty brought two daily specials from her café down the street to share. Though she enjoyed their company with all the saved-up pleasure of a woman who’d long been denied the companionship of other women, today she hoped no one dropped in, not even customers. Today she already had company, she thought, as she took her lunch out of the fridge and put it in the microwave to heat up.

But she wasn’t sure if she wanted to keep Ethan to herself a bit longer, or if she was afraid that seeing him would make everyone remember his last visit home and put two and two together, or if she was…

Stubbornly setting her jaw, she forced the word out. Ashamed. Just a little. He had such a reputation, and she didn’t want it tarnishing her baby before it was even born. Grace didn’t want people to look at her child and say, Oh, that’s Ethan James’s kid. She won’t amount to anything, that’s for sure. Grace didn’t want people shaking their heads when they saw her and repeating some version of what she’d heard plenty of times about Ethan’s mother. Poor Nadine. All she wanted was a father for her son, and all she got was a no-good husband who ran out on her and stuck her with his no-good brat.

She’d gotten enough poor Graces in her life, thanks to her father. She didn’t want Ethan to supply her with more.

The microwave dinged, demanding her attention. She removed the bowl of stew, spooned a portion into a large coffee mug for her lunch guest, then carried both to the table. There was also corn bread, reheated in a damp paper towel, steaming now as butter melted over it, and a half dozen of her favorite cookies for dessert. She believed in eating hearty these days, she thought with a suppressed smile as she realized how easily her lunch for one could feed two.

Of course, she was eating for two and carrying more than enough weight for two.

“So…what are your plans?” Ethan asked as she sat down across from him. The table was so small that her knees bumped his as she settled in. She swore she felt a tingle. He didn’t even seem to notice.

“Plans for what?”

“Living. Working. Making ends meet.” He pointed toward her midsection with a spoon. “After the baby’s born.”

“I plan to continue doing what I’m doing now. There won’t be many changes.”

“A baby changes everything,” he said, as if he knew from experience. Maybe he did. Maybe there were little blond-haired, blue-eyed kids with James blood flowing in their veins all over the country. Maybe that was a part of the trouble he was so famous for leaving in his wake.

If that were the case, then he’d be accustomed to notifications of impending fatherhood, wouldn’t he? But when he’d come in yesterday morning, that definitely wasn’t the impression she’d gotten.

“I can’t afford to let it change everything,” she said as she seasoned her stew. “I’ll still work six days a week. I’ll still live on a budget. I’ll still take care of myself. The only difference is I’ll be taking care of her, too.”

“What about a baby-sitter?”

“I can’t afford one. I’ll bring her to work with me. I’ve got a playpen that’ll fit in that corner. When she’s sleepy, she’ll stay in it. The rest of the time, she’ll be out there with me. It’ll be fine—no different from now, except I’ll have someone to keep me company when it’s slow.”

“And, of course, when it’s not slow, she’ll patiently wait while you take care of customers, order supplies, do the books, straighten the shelves.” He sounded skeptical. “You haven’t spent much time around babies, have you?”

She was embarrassed to admit that the answer was no. The closest she’d ever been to an infant was passing one with its mother in the aisles of the local grocery store. She’d never held one, never fed one, never changed a bottle, but she could learn. There were how-to books covering every subject under the sun, and Callie, the midwife, would teach her enough to get her started. The rest would come naturally. She had maternal instincts, didn’t she? Wouldn’t she give her life to protect this baby? Wasn’t she ready to devote the next twenty years to loving and caring for her?

“And just how much do you know about babies?” she asked crossly. And had any of those babies he’d learned from been his?

“I know that they cry and require a lot of attention. I know they disrupt everything around them when they’re not happy.” He scowled. “I know that raising one alone in a hardware store isn’t a great idea.”

“But I am alone,” she pointed out quietly, “and I work in a hardware store, and I can’t change that.”

“You could get married and give her a father.”

Her spoon trembled and a chunk of potato slid back into the bowl, splashing broth. She darted a glance at him, but he was staring into his own bowl as if he could stir up a whirlpool that might suck him in and spit him out again someplace far away.

Did he think she hadn’t thought about marriage at any time in the last seven months—heavens, in the last thirteen years? Ever since her mother had left her to bear her father’s oppression alone, marriage had been her fondest dream, as much for the escape it represented as for the love it promised. After that hot summer night, she’d spun unbearably romantic tales of Ethan: Unable to forget the most incredible one-night stand he’d ever experienced, he tracked her down against impossible odds like Prince Charming searching for his Cinderella. Once her pregnancy had become common knowledge, she’d fantasized a time or two about Reese Barnett discovering a distinctly unbrotherly side to his feelings for her, falling in love with both her and her baby and claiming them for his own. It could happen. It had happened in Ethan’s own family, with Guthrie and Elly and Emma Miles.

But it wasn’t likely to happen again in his family. Ethan was the only man who’d ever given her a second look, and it wasn’t as if he were volunteering—

Was he?

She sneaked another glance at him. No, of course he wasn’t. Of all the single men in the state of Oklahoma, Ethan James was probably the least likely to transform into marriage material. He was a drifter, unable to stay in one place long enough to even think about putting down roots. He lived by his wits and did things as a matter of routine that were illegal, unthinkable and unforgivable. He used people until he got what he wanted, and then he disappeared from their lives. He may have had enough conscience to bring him back to Heartbreak, but it was a sure bet he didn’t have enough to make him stay. It certainly wasn’t enough to turn him into a husband or a devoted daddy.

And a devoted father was the only kind she would accept in her baby’s life.

“Well?” he prompted when the silence went on too long.

His insistence on a response roused her temper. He wasn’t stupid. He knew she’d been a virgin until that night with him, knew that no man before him had ever paid her any notice. He’d made it clear that even he wouldn’t have gone near the real her. It was Melissa he’d wanted, Melissa he’d spent the night with. To his great disappointment, it was Grace he’d gotten pregnant, Grace he was now stuck with.

Grace he would like to see married to someone else so he wouldn’t feel burdened.

“Oh, I turn down two or three proposals every week,” she said, shooting for an airy lack of concern. “There’s just no end to the number of men who want to marry me and raise my illegitimate child as their own, but I’m holding out for that one truly special man to come along. Until he does, my child and I will do fine on our own.”

“Too bad you didn’t hold out for Mr. Perfect last summer,” he said snidely. “Then we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“True,” she agreed. “But when your options are limited, you have to be satisfied with what you can get.”

He flinched as if her words had the power to hurt. But how could they? She meant nothing to him—less than nothing. She had little doubt he regretted ever laying eyes on her, no doubt at all that he wished he’d never touched her.

It had been the sweetest night in her twenty-five years…and he wished it had never happened.

His expression cleared, cooled, as easily as if he’d pulled a mask over his face. He rested his spoon inside the bowl, then pushed it away and fixed his gaze on her. “Well, it looks as if your options are pretty limited again, so…how about it?”

“How about what?” she asked cautiously, not liking the nervous shiver that crept down her spine.

“Getting married.” Ethan’s hands were sweaty and unsteady under the table. He clasped them together, then swallowed hard before finishing his answer. “To me.”

He’d never proposed marriage before, had never even given it any thought. If he had, he would have supposed the woman’s response might be on the pleasantly surprised side. Well, he’d been half right. Grace was surprised.

Moment after moment slipped past while she stared at him. Maybe surprised was too mild a word to describe the look in her brown eyes. Stunned might be more accurate. Or shocked. Maybe just plain horrified.

Hell, that was no surprise. He’d never been anyone’s first choice—at least, not for anything good. There wasn’t a person alive who trusted him, not a soul who could accept him the way he was, without wishing he was better, kinder, more honest, more decent. He’d spent his whole damn life wishing he was better. There was no reason Grace Prescott should be any different.

She looked as if she was torn between hysterical laughter because he couldn’t possibly be serious or hysterical shrieks because he was serious. With her hands shaking, she cleared the table, then looked out into the store as if a customer might appear and save her. When the door remained closed, she finally had no choice but to look at him—or at least in his direction. She couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye. “Why-why in the world w-would we g-get married?”

Why in the world would I marry a liar, thief and loser like you? He had little doubt that was the question bouncing around in her head, but she’d had the courtesy to tone it down, to make it sound as ridiculous for him as for her.

“Because you’re pregnant,” he said flatly as heat flooded his face.

“Marriage isn’t a requirement for giving birth,” she pointed out cautiously.

“Maybe it should be.”

“I admit that in a perfect world everyone would be happily married before having babies, but this is hardly a perfect world. You don’t even know me.”

“So we do it backward. First we had sex, then we get married, then we get to know each other.”

She was shaking her head in dismay. No doubt she’d had a few dreams about some incredibly perfect hero who would sweep her away from the bleak misery of life with her father, who would treasure her in ways no one else ever had and make up for all the boys who’d never noticed her, all the dates she’d never gone on, all the affection she’d never gotten.

Well, he was nobody’s hero. There had never been any shortage of women in his life, but not one of them had ever dreamed of falling in love with him and spending the rest of her life with him. He wasn’t that kind of guy. Women liked him fine for short-term flings, but when it came to permanence, they always looked to men like Guthrie.

But Guthrie was taken, and no one like him was offering, and nothing changed the fact that Ethan had a claim on the baby, which gave him some small sort of claim on the mother.

“Look, I know this isn’t the sort of marriage proposal most women hope for,” he said gruffly. He wasn’t into gestures—romance, flowers, bended knee. He couldn’t offer heartfelt declarations because his heart wasn’t involved, couldn’t make sweet promises because he’d never kept a promise in his life. He could lie, he supposed. He’d always been good at that—even so, he doubted Grace would believe him. “But most women aren’t about to give birth to a stranger’s child.”

“And most women have a reasonable expectation of marriage. Unlike those few of us who are supposed to feel great gratitude at ever receiving a proposal—any proposal.” Her face was pale, her brown eyes magnified by the glasses that were inching down her nose.

“I don’t want your gratitude,” he said sharply. He knew she must feel cheated—hell, he felt cheated for her, and that made him feel guilty, when he already had enough guilt to deal with.

“And I don’t want your name.” The instant the words were out, bright spots of color appeared in her cheeks, making her look even paler in contrast, but she didn’t back down. “You grew up here as Gordon James’s son, and it wasn’t easy. I know, because it was just as hard being Jed Prescott’s daughter. My baby can’t escape being Jed’s granddaughter, but she can escape the stigma of being Gordon James’s granddaughter…or Ethan James’s daughter.”

The stigma. That was what he’d lived twenty-eight years to become. There was less shame in his daughter being born illegitimate than in bearing his name. Less embarrassment for Grace to be pregnant and abandoned by some anonymous bastard than pregnant and married to him.

She stood utterly still, looking as if she wanted to crawl into the corner and not come out again. When he stood up, she stiffened as if expecting some show of temper, but otherwise she didn’t move.

He went to stand in the doorway, gazing out across the empty store. What did you say to a woman you hardly knew who’d just told you that you weren’t fit to give your child your name? He could think of only one thing.

Looking over his shoulder, he offered the words he knew she wanted to hear. “Then I won’t bother you anymore. Goodbye, Grace.” In that instant before turning away, he saw the relief sweep over her, and then he walked out.

On the sidewalk outside, he stood motionless a moment, staring at his old truck. He could head back to Key West, where the days were warm and living was so much easier, or he could try someplace new. There were plenty of towns in the country where people had never heard of Heartbreak, Oklahoma, where the names Gordon and Ethan James meant nothing, where he could learn to pretend that Grace Prescott meant nothing.

But he was tired of new places. He was tired of constantly moving, of never having a place to call home, of never being welcome in his own home. He was tired of being a stranger to the only family he had, tired of being a bad brother, a worse son, a totally unacceptable, unwanted father. He wanted more.

The thought brought a mocking smile to his mouth as he climbed inside the truck. Ethan James, who’d never been able to deal with what he already had, wanted more. Wasn’t that a hoot?

He started to drive straight through town, then on impulse stopped at the grocery store to call Guthrie’s number. Olivia answered on the second ring. “Hey, it’s Ethan,” he said grimly. “I’m about to head out that way. Do you need anything from town?”

“Bless your heart, I do. I was planning to drive in and pick the kids up at school so I could stop at the grocery store, but if you’d save me the trip, I’d be grateful. You’ll join us for dinner tonight, won’t you?” she asked, then went on with her list before he could answer.

At the grocery store he selected Olivia’s items first, then added his usual week’s shopping to the cart—canned soup, sandwich makings, bacon and eggs, frozen dinners. He debated tossing in a six-pack of beer, a perfectly innocent purchase that half the men in town made on a regular basis. But half the men in town didn’t have the stigma of his name or his history. They didn’t have teetotaler Guthrie for a brother, and they hadn’t gotten the shiest, quietest little mouse in town pregnant.

The beer stayed on the shelf.

Back at Guthrie’s place, he parked in front of the cabin, put his own purchases away, then carried Olivia’s bags across the broad spread of yard. She opened the door before he’d knocked twice and gave him her usual welcoming smile.

“Hey, Ethan, come on in.” She opened the door wide, then closed it behind him before leading the way into the kitchen. The instant he walked through the doorway, he literally felt the welcome disappear, diminished by the force of the disapproval directed his way from the opposite door, where Guthrie stood in the laundry room, tugging off one muddy boot, watching him as if he were some dangerous criminal come to do harm.