A Baby of Her Own (Dundee, Idaho #1)(12)
Author: Brenda Novak

“Was he a selfish pig?” she said sympathetically.

Delaney shook her head. “He wasn’t kinky or selfish. He was fabulous, a fantasy come to life. But that’s the problem.”

Rebecca’s brows drew together in obvious confusion as she shoved her tangled hair out of her eyes. “Let me get this straight,” she said. “He was good to you, and you think that’s a problem?”

“It is a problem!” Delaney cried, rounding on her. “I feel like a horrible person, a lecher, a loser. He trusted me, and I betrayed him. I was lying to him the whole time.”

Rebecca rubbed the sleep from her face and sank into the chair next to the round table that sported an All About Boise magazine and a giant bouquet of silk flowers. “It wasn’t a big lie.”

“I told him he didn’t need to worry about birth control!”

“So it was sort of a big lie. But that was the whole point. If you’d told him the truth, he wouldn’t have invited you up to his room.”

“I wish he hadn’t. I wish I’d never come here. I wish…” She stopped pacing and flopped onto the bed. “Oh God, what if I’m pregnant?”

Rebecca stood and leaned over her. “Wasn’t that the point of this whole exercise?”

Delaney remembered Conner’s surprise when she’d begun to leave his room, his earnest entreaty for her telephone number, and wished she could die. “No! If I’m pregnant, I’ll never be able to forgive myself, never be able to forget what I’ve done. I’ll have to stare into my child’s eyes and know…” She was about to say that deep down I’m no better than my mother, but she stopped herself because she couldn’t handle a philosophical discussion right now. She was too busy browbeating herself. “That I cheated his or her father.”

“You’re overreacting,” Rebecca said. “You haven’t hurt anyone. He had a good time, didn’t he?”

“I’m not going to answer that question.”

“I’m just saying, I’m sure he doesn’t regret it.”

“Whether he regrets it or not, he was a nice guy, Beck. I had no right to treat him the way I did.”

Rebecca lit a cigarette. “How do you know he’s such a nice guy? What do you really know about him, Laney? One night doesn’t tell you anything.”

Delaney thought her night had told her a few things about Conner. For one, he was generous. He’d been concerned about her enjoyment and what she might feel afterward. Two, he was loving and kind. He’d seemed as happy to hold her and keep her warm as he’d been to make love, which was a large part of what she’d liked about last night. Three, he was a good listener. He’d made her feel more important and understood than she ever had before.

And she’d taken advantage of him. “I have to go back there,” she said. “I have to tell him what I’ve done.” She climbed off the bed, but Rebecca blocked the door.

“You’re crazy,” she said. “He had a good time. Leave it alone. Do you think he wants you to drop a bomb like that? It’s over, and he’s gone on his merry way. Let him. I doubt that you’re pregnant, anyway.”

Delaney hesitated, trying to count how many times they’d made love. What were the chances that after five…no, six times, she’d be carrying his child?

Probably not very good, she decided. Besides, Conner didn’t want children yet. He’d told her as much. Rebecca was right: Delaney would be doing him more of a favor at this point simply to let it go…and hope for the best.

SO THIS WAS DUNDEE, where he’d been born and lived with his mother for the first six years of his life.

Conner frowned as Roy, the foreman of the Running Y, who’d picked him up just after breakfast in Boise, drove him through the center of town, where several buildings rose out of the surrounding mountains, leaning on each other like old men. Built of wood and painted red, brown or white, they ran along both sides of the street, fronted by a covered boardwalk that extended for several blocks like something out of an old western. Only the gas station down the street and the new A&W looked out of place or the least bit modern.

Modern? He thought of the spacious, Spanish-style villa he’d grown up in, with its expansive wings and gardens, inside swimming pool and tennis courts, and knew he’d been banished to hell.

Where he’d rot, if his uncles had their way.

Swallowing a bitter sigh, he glanced at his companion. Tall and lanky, Roy had red hair and a mustache that entirely covered his top lip. His freckled, sunburned complexion gave his face a leathery appearance and made him look older than the fifty-five or so he probably was. And he wore, like most other men within sight, a parka with a pair of Wranglers that were so tight his chewing tobacco stood out in marked relief.

Conner considered his own jeans, which were loose fitting by comparison, his Doc Marten loafers and Abercrombie sweatshirt, and knew he was going to blend in about as well as his clothes did.

“How much farther to the ranch?” he asked, breaking the silence that had fallen between them almost immediately after their brief greeting in Boise. He needed to dispel the lingering sense of loss and confusion he’d experienced since Delaney’s sudden departure, and after a twenty-five year absence, he remembered the ranch and the cemetery where they’d buried his grandma, but not much about the town or surrounding area.

“’Nother ten miles or so round that mountain.” He pointed to their right before slinging his arm casually over the steering wheel.

Conner gazed off in the distance. “Who lives there these days?”

“Only a handful of us. Ben, Grady, Isaiah and me live in the cabins behind the barn.”

“No one stays at the main house?”

“Just Dottie. Least during the week. On weekends she stays with her son and his family in town.”

“And just what does this Dottie do?”

“The cookin’ and cleanin’ and stuff. Takes care of the dogs and chickens, too.”

“So there’s just the five of you?”

Roy cast him a sideways glance. “Now there’s you.”

Conner was painfully aware of that fact. “I think I heard one of my uncles say that the Running Y is twenty thousand acres,” he said. “Is that about right?”

Roy spat out the window as they rumbled to a stop at what appeared to be the town’s biggest intersection. A brick municipal building with the date 1847 carved above its arched entry stood on one corner, across from two stately homes that looked as though they hailed from the same era and a redbrick building designated as the city library.