In Shady Grove: About That Night Part 18

"Skulking around, trying to get a look at me?" Ivy asked with that s.e.xy smirk. "Or are you just taking your stalking up to a new level?"

"Neither," he said, holding up the envelope. "Just had some work delivered." He glanced at the boy, who was whining and holding his arms up to Ivy. Ivy picked him up, and C.J.'s stomach turned. Would he find out from the information the PI had gathered that this kid belonged to her? "Your son?" he asked, his words tight.

Though she and the boy both had blond hair, C.J. didn't see much resemblance between them. "Would it bother you if he was?"

h.e.l.l, yes. "Is he yours?" he asked instead, not liking feeling so judgmental.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but I don't make a habit of getting pregnant by random men. You're the first. This is Mitch.e.l.l, Fay's youngest son. She has two, both born within the bonds of holy matrimony, in case you were harboring disparaging thoughts about her."

He stepped closer. "I wasn't. h.e.l.lo, Mitch.e.l.l." The kid pressed his face into the side of Ivy's neck and hugged her with enough force to have her eyes bugging out. C.J. frowned at her. "Is he afraid of me?"

"He's shy." She rubbed the child's back. "He's not used to strangers, and he's not big on men in general, are you, buddy?"

"You're good with him."

Her mouth quirked. "You sound surprised."

He was. She was so overtly s.e.xy and not exactly maternal. "Do you have siblings?" Maybe she had younger brothers and sisters she'd helped with while growing up.

"Nope." She winked. "Only child. I figure my mom was smart enough to realize once you hit perfection, there's no point having more kids."

He grinned. "I agree. Too bad that logic didn't stop my father from having three more sons."

"Just your father?"

"He had one of them with my mother. The other two with other women."

The kid lifted his head and started playing with Ivy's hair, and C.J. almost envied him. He remembered how soft it was, how fragrant, how it had trailed across his body, branding his skin. "Maybe I should be asking if you have a habit of getting women pregnant," she said.

"You're the first."

"Good to know."

"This whole thing is a first," he admitted, following her as she carried the kid upstairs. "I'm not...used to kids. Except my niece, but she's seventeen now, and when she was that little, I didn't spend much one-on-one time with her."

"Yeah, well, this is all new to me, too. Before I started working here I'd never been around kids. Never babysat or had friends with younger siblings." She glanced over her shoulder at him. "Guess we'll figure it out together."

"Should you be carrying him up the stairs like that?" he asked.

"As opposed to having him tossed over my shoulder or dragging him up by his feet?"

"No. I meant, is it safe for you to be carrying something so heavy at all, especially up the stairs?"

"As far as I know. Again, this is my first time. But I do know that women all over the world have kids-often times more than one-and that they probably have to carry the older one during pregnancy, so I'm guessing it's fine. My doctor says I'm perfectly healthy, and since I'm beyond the first trimester, she thinks things should go smoothly."

C.J. shoved his hands into his pockets as they reached the second floor. "Good. That's...good." And made sense. He was just so out of his element here, felt so helpless, and he hated it.

"Yes. It is." Ivy studied him, since he was just standing there. "I suppose you'll want to go to your room, get working on those papers you have there," she said with a nod at the envelope.

He stared at the envelope having forgotten about it. Now he wondered what to do. He didn't often feel guilty about his decisions, wasn't usually this indecisive. "I do have work."

He always had work. Always had responsibilities and people counting on him.

She s.h.i.+fted the boy to her other side and he smiled, patted her cheek. "Love you, Ivy."

She kissed the top of his head. "Love you too, buddy. You're my favorite guy, you know that?"

He nodded and went back to singing a song and playing with her hair.

Something tightened in C.J.'s chest, as if she'd reached inside and squeezed his heart when she'd smiled so softly at the little boy, when her expression had softened with so much love. Who the h.e.l.l was she? Why couldn't he get a read on her?

"I'm going to call my doctor," Ivy said to C.J., drawing his thoughts back to their conversation. "See if I can get an earlier appointment, maybe even today. If I do, you can come with me. We'll have her do an ultrasound in the office. I'm not sure about the paternity stuff but you'll get to hear it straight from her how many weeks along I am."

He nodded. "I appreciate it." He wouldn't apologize for wanting proof. They didn't know each other. Every time they were together that fact was brought home yet again.

"I'll come get you when I find out what time," she said before walking away.

He stepped into his room, shut the door behind him. Stared at the envelope. Thought about how she was letting him go to the doctor with her. How she'd admitted she was new at this, too. And he tossed the sealed envelope on his bed and crossed to the desk to get some work done.

AS SOON AS Gracie stepped out of Bradford House onto the back patio, the heat hit her, like a slap to the face. She turned right around, ready to go back inside and tell Fay she couldn't possibly take Luke a gla.s.s of lemonade. It was too hot out. And did Fay have any idea what the humidity did to hair like Gracie's?

She'd likely give Luke-used to looking at his pretty girlfriend with her smooth, s.h.i.+ny hair-a heart attack.

And thinking of Kennedy only reminded her of how the other girl had treated her that day in school last fall. Nothing could have sh.o.r.ed up her resolve better. No way was she going to let Kennedy scare her off.

Especially when the redhead wasn't even here.

She shut the French door with a soft click, feeling defiant. Rebellious. Ha. Take that. She may not be popular, may not be beautiful and golden, but she wasn't a coward. And after Luke had been so nice about her brothers Sat.u.r.day, after he'd walked her home from Andrew's, she'd decided there was no reason for her to continue being so standoffish. Then, at some point in the future, after they'd gotten to know each other better, if they'd discovered they had enough common interests and views on certain subjects, then they could possibly become friends.

It wouldn't be the same as it had been with Andrew, she insisted to herself as she walked across the patio, the smooth stones hot under her bare feet. She and Andrew hadn't been friends. Hadn't taken the time to get to know each other. Everything between them had happened so quickly. One day they were neighbors who'd never even spoken to each other, and a few weeks later, she'd slept with him.

She switched the sweating gla.s.s of lemonade to her other hand, wiped the moisture from her fingers on her jean shorts. Her own fault for being so needy. For falling in love with him after such a short time.

Her fault for believing it when he'd said he loved her, too.

All in the past, she a.s.sured herself. She was over it. Mistakes happened and, honestly, if you couldn't make a few during your teen years, what was the point of adolescence?

She followed the low rumble of the lawn mower around the back corner of a shed on the far side of the yard. Watched Luke push the machine, his s.h.i.+rt damp and clinging to his broad shoulders, the width of his back. She'd been unfair in a.s.suming Luke was just like Andrew. Unfair and judgmental, which stung.

She hated being judged, and yet she'd done it with Luke. Had a.s.sumed, since he and Andrew were best friends, since Luke was an athlete and good-looking, that he must be a user. A liar.

Of course, she wasn't ready to swear a blood oath that he wasn't either of those things. She was just willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

For now.

Luke turned the corner, started back toward her, nodded to let her know he'd seen her, then finished the row and shut the machine off. He went to the side of the shed, turned on the hose and took off his hat before aiming the water at himself, soaking his hair and the back of his neck. Gracie thought it was a bit strange that he left his sungla.s.ses on, but maybe the sunlight bothered his eyes. Who was she to judge? After shutting off the water, he straightened, shook himself pretty much like Sauron had done yesterday and put his hat back on.

He walked toward her, his eyes still covered by those dark sungla.s.ses, the upper half of his s.h.i.+rt now completely wet and molding itself to his muscular chest. Oh, my. Her throat went dry. Her face got hot. Well, it was over ninety in the shade today, but she doubted that was the reason for her reaction.

Stupid, fickle hormones. Always getting women into trouble.

"Hey," he said when he reached her, his brows lowered, his mouth a flat line.

No happy greeting, no asking how she was. She'd gotten used to his good moods, his affable nature and friendly personality, so his grim expression and decidedly cool greeting had her frowning.

Her eyes widened. Did he...did he suspect that she'd been ogling him, like the freshmen girls who all giggled and batted their eyelashes when he pa.s.sed? Now she gave an inner eye roll. Talk about egotistical. He probably wasn't thinking about her at all. Why a.s.sume his mood had anything to do with her? Maybe he was having a bad day. Maybe he was just overheated and cranky, like Chandler after being in the sun too long.

She'd promised herself she wouldn't jump to conclusions about him anymore, that she'd give him the same chance she'd want someone to give her and that was what she would do.

"Fay thought you might like a drink," Gracie said, holding out the gla.s.s.

"Thanks." He took it and drained the liquid in four deep gulps.

"Didn't you bring a water bottle with you?"

"I forgot," he said, his voice a low grumble.

"You're going to get dehydrated. When you work in heat like this, you need to make sure you stay hydrated so you don't get heatstroke." She took back the gla.s.s. "I'll get you some more of this."

"I'm not thirsty."

She had no idea what to say. Not when he'd sounded so...churlish.

Though his att.i.tude did give her an excuse to use that word.

"The gra.s.s looks nice." Okay, that had been lame, but at least she was trying. Giving him that chance she'd talked herself into.

His answer? A shrug.

Had she really thought he was nice?

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Trying to engage him socially. She should have stuck with her instincts, the ones telling her they were from two different worlds. But something told her he had a reason for not acting like himself.

She pursed her lips. Narrowed her eyes and studied him. She was used to boys and their sulks. Her brothers' moods tended to s.h.i.+ft dramatically from hour to hour, situation to situation. But she didn't like thinking Luke was like that. Didn't want him to pout when he was upset or throw things when he was mad.

Well, she thought in exasperation, what did she want? For the boy to be a robot, humorless and emotionless? Jeez. Talk about unfair. Why couldn't she give him the same chance she gave everyone else? No judgment. No snap decisions.

Why was she still letting Andrew and what he'd done to her control her thoughts? Guide her choices?

"Have you started the AP English work yet?" she asked. The other day they'd talked about the reading they needed to do over the summer for their advanced-placement cla.s.s.

Staring somewhere over her shoulder-she guessed, it was hard to tell with those sungla.s.ses-Luke shook his head.

She chewed on the inside of her cheek. "Your neck is getting red," she blurted. "I'll get you some sunscreen."

"I don't want it."

She blinked. Not because he didn't want to protect himself from possible skin cancer, but because his voice had been so rough. So angry. "Late afternoon is the part of the day when the sun's rays are strongest," she told him. "You need to apply sunscreen and reapply it after swimming or sweating." Which he was doing. Profusely. "Even though we're young, we can't ignore the statistics about skin cancer and how to prevent it. At the very least, you'll be saving yourself from a painful night battling sunburn."

He clenched his jaw. "I said I don't want it."

Her head snapped back at his harsh tone. But she lifted her chin. Kept her own tone cool. "Fine. Then I'll just let you get back to work."

She turned on her heel. Heard him mutter an expletive under his breath but didn't stop, just walked in calm, measured steps back toward the house.

"Gracie," he called. "Wait."

She shouldn't. She owed him nothing. He was the one always talking to her, trying to engage her in conversation, telling jokes and asking questions. All she'd done was be nice back.

But when he caught up to her, gently touched her arm and said "please," his voice low and gruff, she couldn't do anything but stop.

He took his hat off, hit it against the side of his leg. "I'm in a rotten mood, and I'm taking it out on you, which is just stupid. I'm sorry. Really."

She wanted to believe him. Guess they were both stupid. "You don't have to say that," she told him. "I'm not going to tell Fay or anything."

He frowned. "I'm not apologizing so I don't get in trouble, Gracie," he said quietly. "I'm apologizing because I was acting like an a.s.s."

She swallowed. "Oh. Well." She didn't know what to do with her hands. She wanted to cross her arms, but she still held the gla.s.s with the quickly melting ice. "It's okay. We all have bad days, right?"

He laughed, but the sound held no humor. "Right. Thanks. It's just..." He shook his head, took off his gla.s.ses and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the bottom of his s.h.i.+rt.

She was so mesmerized by the ridges of his exposed stomach that he was already putting his sungla.s.ses back on before she noticed the bruise. "Oh my G.o.d," she breathed, tugging the hand with the sungla.s.ses down. "Are you all right?"

"It's not as bad as it looks."

"Thank goodness, because it looks really, really bad." His eye was swollen almost shut, the skin around it a dark purple. "What happened? You don't have to tell me," she added quickly when he averted his gaze. "Unless...did your dad hit you? Because if he did, we have to tell social services and the police."

His lips twitched, as if he was fighting a smile. "My dad didn't hit me. It was nothing like that."

"Oh, well, that's good. I'm sorry if I offended you-or your dad, who I'm sure is a very nice man. It's just I watched this fascinating doc.u.mentary last week about domestic violence, and most people still believe it's a problem only for those with lower incomes, so I didn't want to a.s.sume that your family could be immune to it. Not that I'm a.s.suming your dad is the kind of person to hit his family or anything, either."

She caught her breath. Most people interrupted her, but Luke waited her out. It was nice, knowing he was listening. That he didn't want her to just be quiet already.

"My dad is a nice guy," Luke a.s.sured her. "He'd never hit me or my mom. Or anyone." He gestured to his black eye. "Drew gave me this."

"Andrew?" That didn't make sense. "It must have been an accident. During football practice or something?"

Luke hooked his sungla.s.ses on the collar of his T-s.h.i.+rt. "Not during practice and not an accident. He punched me."

"Why would he do such a thing?"

Another shrug, this one irritable. "Probably because I punched him first." As if reliving the memory, he flexed and straightened the fingers of his right hand. "Broke his nose."

"You... Why...?" She couldn't believe it. Couldn't even imagine them fighting like that. "Is he all right?"

Luke's good eye narrowed. "He's great. Why shouldn't he be? He's s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g my girlfriend, after all. I mean, my ex-girlfriend."