Can't Let Go Page 23

  The reality of what his friend had done began to sink in, and he reeled. For the past two and a half years, he'd mourned and grieved and, though he'd loved his friends, he'd been gruff and grumpy with them. Yet they'd adored him, anyway. Helped him, anyway.

  Jude hopped forward to wrap his arms around Brock, holding the guy captive in a bear hug. "Thank you."

  "No big deal," Brock said, even as he hugged Jude back as if he were holding on to a lifeline. When they parted, Jude would swear a tear glinted in the corner of his friend's eye. "Just doing what superheroes do. I've even got an army of men surrounding the place, ensuring Dushku can't do shit without serious consequences."

  From the lowest of lows to the highest of highs.

  A good friend was worth more than a thousand acquaintances. "I freaking adore you, man, but if Ryanne decides to date you instead of me because of this, you had better run for your life."

  Brock wiggled his eyebrows, all creepy landlord here to demand rent be paid between the sheets. "I'm surprised she didn't choose me from the beginning. You've seen this face, right?" He patted his cheeks. "Every woman's wildest dream."

  "I have seen it. Which is why I'm surprised I didn't choose you from the beginning."

  "I know, right."

  "Does Ryanne know about the repairs?" Jude asked.

  "Not yet."

  Good. He wanted to be with her, wanted to witness her expression. "I have a few errands to run before we take her."

  "Uh, buddy. I don't mean to tell you how to romance your girl, but are you sure you want me tagging along? She's going to cream her jeans when she sees--"

  "I'm not afraid to hug you and junk-punch you in the same day. But yes, you're going with us." If he showed up on his own, she might not go with him. They might have called a truce during last night's festivities, but he had a long way to go before his woman--his girlfriend--would take him back.

  *

  RYANNE FLOUNDERED.

  Twenty-five minutes ago, Jude and Brock had shown up at the Strawberry Inn. They'd put a blindfold over her eyes and driven her to the Scratching Post. She'd sat in the back of Brock's SUV, Jude pressed against her, his body heat enveloping her, his arousing scent heady in her nose. Keeping her hands to herself had been difficult.

  She'd wondered what was going on. When she'd opened her door, he'd been grinning. Grinning! Jude Laurent, with the corners of his lips lifted, his straight white teeth on dazzling display. He'd never looked sexier. And, as if the grin hadn't been confusing enough, he'd radiated excitement.

  Now Ryanne stood in the middle of a delicious beefcake sandwich--Jude on one side, Brock on the other--gaping at the beauty before her. The Scratching Post had been transformed. Outside, the parking lot boasted red brick with a yellow brick path leading to the front door. Inside, handcrafted steel latticework covered each of the windows. The floorboards had been replaced, and so had the walls. Strips of sinuous mahogany now extended to create hand-carved nooks along the bar, where patrons could sit.

  In back, someone had resurrected Earl's mechanical bull.

  Since her postcards had burned to ash, someone--Jude, most likely--had framed pictures taken from all over the globe. The pyramids in Egypt. A temple in India. What looked to be a mountain in Hawaii. Huts built above the bluest water she'd ever seen. Victoria Falls in Zambia. The Amazon River. The Rainbow Mountains in China.

  The doors to the bathrooms were no longer plain and utilitarian but decorated with elaborate iron bars. The stairs leading to her apartment were no longer rickety wood but pink-veined marble.

  So much work had gone into the changes. So much time and money.

  Tears burned the backs of her eyes. She'd cried so often lately, over so many things, she'd begun to feel foolish, but this...this was...she had no words.

  Jude walked over to the pictures behind the bar and tapped the glass of one. She gasped. Inside the frame was a picture of Jude carrying her over his shoulder, headed for a pool of oil. Someone must have snapped a photo with their phone. Halogen lights revealed every nuance of his satisfied smile.

  He'd grinned while he'd carried her?

  "This is my favorite," he said. "You can take it down if you don't like it. I'll understand. I'll put up a new one, but I'll understand."

  "I..." Still had no words.

  "Don't even think about bringing up money," Brock told her, his voice low enough that Jude wouldn't hear him. "You made my boy laugh. No gift in the world could top that one."

  One of the tears escaped, cascading down her cheek. She hadn't slept last night. She'd tossed and turned, remembering the soft, gentle kiss Jude had given her before he'd left her in the pool of oil.

  "You love him," she said, finally finding her voice.

  "I do. Do you?"

  She...didn't know, but she'd never been more obsessed with a man. Had never been twisted into so many knots or been so confused by one person. Did he love her? Did she want him to?

  She'd always thought he had two settings: ice cold and passion-fever hot. She'd rarely seen this third side, tender and romantic. But...what side would she see when he found out...

  Just say it. Say. It.

  When he found out...she was pregnant. Maybe. Probably.

  Only an hour before, she'd gotten sick again. After she'd eaten a few saltines, the nausea had gone away. Suspicions had begun to twirl in her head. About six weeks had passed since they'd had sex the first time, and the odds of pregnancy were astronomical, but not impossible. The condom had ripped, and her birth control could have failed. His vasectomy hadn't yet ended the march of his little soldiers.

  As a child, she'd wanted a large family. Now? Not so much. She liked her life. But she did kinda sorta melt over the idea of their children.

  Tonight she would take a test. If it was negative, great. She would breathe a huge sigh of relief. Right? Of course. Definitely. She wouldn't have to reevaluate her future, or tell Jude the life he'd wanted had gotten popped like her cherry.

  If it was positive...

  Different emotions coagulated inside her. At the forefront? A mix of excitement and dread. Mostly dread. Jude absolutely, positively did not want children. His vasectomy was proof of that.

  Tremors racked her as he returned to her side. "By the way," he said. "I saw the grab bars in your bathroom. Had to do a few repairs in there, but I made sure they remained."

  A roundabout way of saying he wanted to shower with her again?

  Her heart raced with new purpose, and she wasn't sure how she'd resisted him these past few weeks. Especially yesterday, when he'd declared he wanted a long-term relationship with her.

  "Get out of here," she said to Brock, not bothering to glance in his direction.

  Brock laughed and patted her shoulder, then strode from the building like a good boy. The moment the door closed behind him, Jude clasped her hands in his, held on as if she were a balloon destined to fly away.

  He peered deep into her eyes, rooting her in place, a magnet to her metal. "I want to be with you, now and always. A month or two isn't long enough. I don't think a lifetime will be long enough. I know I've messed up again and again. I know you think we can't go the distance. And if I were the man I was yesterday, I'd agree. But I'm new. You've made me new. For you, with you, I can do anything."

  Her eyes widened, and her breath caught. And he wasn't even done!

  "If you have a question about my past, ask. Ask anything," he added. "I'll answer. If you want to travel the world, go for it. I'll be here when you get back. While you're gone, I'll take care of your bar. I won't let any harm come to it."

  As if his words weren't enough, he gave her a look...

  She'd never seen this one before. Not from him, not from anyone. A wealth of tenderness mixed with unabashed adoration. This man yearned for her.

  The tremors settled in her knees, and remaining upright required a concentrated effort. Maybe...maybe a baby wouldn't be such a bad thing? Maybe he wouldn't freak out. Maybe he'd even be ha
ppy? After all, the guy had practically proposed to her just now.

  Unless a baby would ruin absolutely everything?

  No, of course not. He'd said now and always. He wanted forever with her, come what may.

  "What are you saying, exactly?" she asked softly. "You want to get married?"

  He flinched, just a little, but enough to notice. "I'm not sure I'll ever want to get married again, but I'm not closed to the idea. I do know I want you in my life and home, and I want to have a place in yours."

  "We'll live together?"

  A nod. "I would like to, yes. And I know you once said you weren't interested in anything long-term, but I'm hoping you've changed your mind."

  The moisture in her mouth dried. She licked her lips, astonished by his one-eighty. "What about children? Will you ever want to adop--"

  He shook his head, stopping her before she could finish the sentence. "Children will never be part of my future. As much as you want to travel, I thought...hoped...they wouldn't be part of yours, either. If you think you'll want a family, I'll understand, and we can go our separate ways once and for all." His tone hardened more with every word. "But, Ryanne, I don't want to go our separate ways. I want you more than I've ever wanted anything."

  Again, she licked her lips. "This is all so new. I don't know what to say." And that was the unvarnished truth.

  "Say you'll think about it. Please. I know I can make you happy. No, actually, don't say anything else," he rushed to add when she opened her mouth to tell him...she wasn't sure what. "While you're thinking, I'm coming after you." He brought her knuckles to his lips, kissed each one. "You spent the first part of our relationship romancing me. Now it's my turn."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  RYANNE SAT ON the lid of her toilet, in her newly rebuilt apartment, a pregnancy test in hand. In one minute forty-six seconds, she would know the truth, and the truth would set her free...or doom her budding relationship with Jude once and for all.

  He'd kept his promise. He'd begun to woo her.

  Yesterday, after dropping his I want to be with you now and always bombshell, he'd driven her back to the inn, where he'd ensured a romantic lunch for two waited in her room. They'd eaten and petted the kittens, and he'd told her all about his years with Constance. He'd even talked about his daughters. Once or twice he'd gotten choked up, but mostly he'd laughed about their childhood antics. Playing "salon" and cutting each other's hair. Coloring the walls with permanent marker. Tearing up Constance's clothes to design their own "high fashion line."

  He'd left Ryanne with another tender kiss, not once attempting to get her into bed, though she'd known he desired her. The blue-ribbon prized hog behind his fly had given him away. And she'd desired him, too. She'd ached. She'd burned.

  She still ached and burned! She wanted him more than ever before, but she also wanted things settled between them.

  This morning, she'd found a gift box at her door. Inside was a second control for her game station. The accompanying note had read: I would love to play with you. Loser gets naked. Winner gets off.

  Part of her desired the old, morose Jude, but oh, wow, the other part of her adored the new, seductive Jude. But still she resisted agreeing to a permanent relationship with him. What if they crashed and burned yet again? Her emotions couldn't take another round of he's with me, he's with me not, oh, wait, he's with me. Especially considering life had never been more complicated or chaotic.

  The grand opening of the Scratching Post was tonight, and earlier today her mother had announced, "Guess what? I'm going to work for you! I'll be your best waitress, carino, I promise. All the men will go crazy for me in my uniform, and they'll spend all their monies." As she'd spoken, she'd held up a sequined bra and super-short shorts.

  "Selma," Ryanne had said on a sigh. "My employees wear white button-downs and jeans."

  "I noticed, which is why I'll be in charge of the staff uniform from now on. And the staff! Don't you worry, baby girl. There's no need to thank me with words. Thank me with a raise."

  In the end, Ryanne had given in to her mother's "request." Selma had saved the bar with her mud wrestling idea, and even had ideas for future events. An indoor rodeo with the mechanical bull. A foam party. A glow-stick party.

  Actually, most of her ideas involved wild parties.

  A knock echoed inside Ryanne's bathroom. "Anything yet?" Dorothea asked through the bathroom door.

  "We're dying to know," Lyndie said.

  Living in a small town, Ryanne had had to make arrangements to get a pregnancy test without alerting the local gossips. Meaning, she'd had to confide in her friends. Dorothea and Lyndie had driven into the city, allowing her to stay at the inn, vomit repeatedly and plan the bar's reopening.

  The girls were waiting in her room, probably pacing the floor.

  Deep breath in...out... Enough time had passed, surely. Ryanne looked down at the stick and--

  Gasped as shock gut-punched her. A flood of acid immediately rained into her stomach, and she jumped up, dropping the test. She threw open the toilet lid and started a new round of vomiting. Her friends heard her retching and pushed inside the room to rush to her side.

  Dorothea held back her hair, and Lyndie picked up the test.

  "Oh, Ryanne," Lyndie said with a wide smile that soon wavered. "I'm happy for you? Congratulations?"

  "It's positive?" Dorothea asked, jumping up and down and clapping. "We're going to be aunties!"

  Lyndie nodded, and Dorothea hugged her, saying, "Yes, absolutely, one hundred percent. We're happy for her."

  Ryanne detected a slight thread of envy in her friend's voice and wanted to kick her own butt. Dorothea had been pregnant once, but she'd lost the baby in her fifth month when she'd fallen down a flight of stairs. She'd named the stillborn little girl Rose Holly. Now, her reproductive organs were too scarred to have another child.

  Ryanne flushed the toilet and fell back to her haunches, then wiped her mouth with a shaky hand. Cool air kissed her clammy skin, making her feel chilled and overheated at the same time.

  "How?" she croaked. How was she pregnant? How had his little swimmers and her little hatcher found each other, despite two (seemingly) unbeatable obstacles?

  I'm going to have a baby.

  A miracle baby.

  Jude's baby.

  A baby Jude absolutely, positively did not want.

  What if he asked her to abort, the way her father had asked her mother?

  Ryanne reacted without thought, pressing her hands against her flat belly. Never! She might not have planned to have a baby, and she might not have known if she wanted one any time soon, and yes, okay, a baby might ruin the plans she did have in place, but she loved the kid with every fiber of her being.

  Not just Jude's baby--my baby.

  Another gut-punch of shock. The fact that she felt so strongly, so soon proved the little girl who'd wanted a big family had never really died.

  At first, whenever Selma had dated a man with children, Ryanne had been over the moon, excited to have playmates. Not all of those playmates had been kind, but those who had, she'd adored. Every time Selma moved on to a new man, Ryanne lost touch with the kids, and it had hurt; eventually she'd stopped allowing herself to bond with the new members of her family.

  No one could take her child away from her. She would be the kind of mother she'd never had. Protective. Loving. Involved.

  And whoa, back up a sec. She'd gotten it wrong. The baby wasn't going to ruin her plans. Ryanne could travel while pregnant, and later, she could travel with a child in tow, though maybe not in the same style.

  Jude had said he wanted to wait for her return. Would he still want to wait for her--for them--when he learned the truth?

  Perhaps he'd want to travel with them.

  Dream on. Tears poured down her cheeks. She had to tell him, wouldn't keep it from him. Would his romantic gestures stop?

  Forget poo on a stick--pee on a stick!

  She had fallen in lo
ve with him, hadn't she? She'd fallen in love with the brave soldier who'd overcome debilitating anguish, the loss of family and a limb, who'd helped a woman in need even when he despised her occupation. That was why Ryanne had given him her virginity, why she'd slept with him after he'd treated her so poorly. Why she'd considered taking him back after he'd smiled while her bar burned.

  "Jude lost his daughters," she whispered, her voice ragged. "He's adamant about never having another child."

  "No, he fears losing another child. There's a difference." Dorothea crouched and petted her hair, her features solemn. "The pain fades with time, but if left unchecked, the fear only grows."

  And Ryanne couldn't fight his fear for him. No one could. He had to do it on his own.

  Could he?

  *

  WORD HAD SPREAD about the grand reopening of the Scratching Post, and the bar filled to the brim, excitement crackling in the air as people lined up to ride the mechanical bull.

  Ryanne put Sutter in charge of drinks and didn't try to stop Selma as she worked the tables, or rather, the men. Ryanne stayed in the kitchen with Caroline, making cube steak and cheese sandwiches with red pepper sauce. A grand opening required grander food than usual.

  Also, she liked being in the kitchen. She avoided the photos on the walls behind the bar--the constant reminder of Jude's thoughtfulness. And okay, okay, she wanted to hide from Jude himself. Just for a little while. She would tell him about the baby, absolutely, most definitely...later. She just, she wasn't ready for his thoughtfulness to end. Losing his attention and affection would destroy her. He would no longer look at her with adoration but disdain. He would no longer pull her close but push her further away.

  "What's wrong with you?" Caroline popped an olive into her mouth. "Your bar is open and better than ever, but you look like you could barf blood at any second."

  "First, gross. Second, your employee review just went from most improved to most likely to be fired."

  "Yeah, right. You've either got the worst luck of anyone on the planet, or you're cursed. Fights, fires and mud floods, oh my. I doubt anyone else would sign on for this job."

  Well. She wasn't wrong. Ryanne wondered what Dushku would do next.

  Muffled footsteps. A gasp from Caroline. Ryanne stiffened, expecting something horrible, because why not. Things had been going so great. She turned--