Rachel Lee – His Pregnant Courthouse Bride (страница 3)
“Come inside,” he said kindly. “It’s getting cold out here.”
The house was large, and the foyer bigger than she expected, designed in a very different age. A dark wooden staircase led to the upstairs, dark wood wainscoting lined the walls beneath walls painted Wedgwood blue and the floor itself was highly polished wood decorated with a few large oriental rugs.
But she was more interested in Wyatt himself. Time had changed him some. His face had sharper lines and seemed squarer than she remembered from four years ago at that convention. She thought she saw flecks of silver in his nearly black hair. Age had filled him out a bit, but in all the right places. He wore a dark gray sweater and jeans and was walking around in his stocking feet.
He smiled. “Come get comfortable,” he suggested, his dark eyes friendly. “You must be tired after all that driving.”
He helped her out of her jacket and hung it and her purse on the wooden coat tree beside the door. Glancing around again, she felt as if she’d wandered into a museum.
“Somehow,” she said, “I didn’t imagine you living in a place like this.”
“It’s been in the family for nearly a hundred years. A white elephant, but one I can’t let go of. Or should I say can’t get rid of.”
She laughed, feeling some of her tension ease. “I need to move around, if that’s okay. I haven’t been out from behind the wheel in five hours.”
“Pushed it, huh?”
“Very definitely.”
“Well, feel free to wander. Something to drink? Coffee, tea, cocoa or stronger?”
Stronger was out of the question now, although she would have loved a glass of wine. “Cocoa sounds great. Can I follow you around?”
“Be my guest.”
How awkward, she thought. For both of them. All those years between, and a bunch of emails, a few phone calls and a couple of meetings didn’t make up for it. And for all she’d recently bared her soul to him on the phone, being here still felt...like she didn’t belong?
The kitchen had been modernized, a shock after the foyer. The appliances were all new, stainless steel, and there was even a dishwasher. What she guessed were the original wood cabinets had glass-paned doors outlined in fresh white. Countertops had been covered in light gray granite that matched a tile floor.
“This is beautiful,” she said, taking it in. “Big.” Big enough for a nice-size island and a matching table.
“I have a secret chef somewhere inside,” Wyatt replied lightly. “He rarely gets the chance to come out and play, though. Too busy.”
“I love to cook, too, but I hear you. Ninety-hour weeks and I usually wind up at some restaurant.”
“Same here. Say, did anyone in law school ever warn you this profession wouldn’t leave time for a life?”
She had to laugh because it was so true. “Powder room?”
“Under the staircase in the foyer. Can’t miss it.”
She walked back into that amazing area and found the half bath without any problem. It, too, had been modernized with pleasant wallpaper and fixtures of recent vintage. She paused in front of the mirror, however, and stared at her reflection, realizing she appeared gaunt.
God. This had taken a lot out of her, maybe more than she had realized. She finger combed her short dark hair and tucked the bob behind her ears, but of course that didn’t hide the circles under her eyes, and she must have lost a few pounds. Desperate to look less like a corpse, she pinched her cheeks to bring some color into them. This couldn’t be good for the child she carried.
It was not the first time she’d thought about that, but mostly she had skimmed over it. Now she faced it, and felt her knees weakening. It was real, all of it was real, and the cloak of numbness she’d been wearing much of the time since everything had blown up simply vanished.
No longer an intellectual exercise, no longer a problem of humiliation, no longer a situation to be solved. It was her and the child growing inside her and nobody else. The reality was stark, the road ahead invisible.
A mess? It was more than a mess. She’d exploded her entire life into little pieces.
Amber had headed to bed right after the cocoa. Wyatt had brought her suitcases in and showed her to the best guest room, then returned to his work before going to bed himself.
Last night had been uncomfortable, he thought as he made coffee in the morning and scrambled some eggs. They hadn’t talked at all, except superficially and briefly about her trip, about the room that was to be hers. Strangers. It felt like two strangers. He hadn’t really anticipated that. In his mind their friendship had remained as fresh as yesterday. Emails and other contacts didn’t quite bridge the years. Nor did it help his sense of awkwardness to discover that he still found her every bit as attractive as he ever had.
But he was worried about her, too. The stress of the past weeks had clearly worked on her. He’d expected her to look a bit older than she had when he’d run into her at that conference four years ago, but not this pinched and drained. Worn. Her situation was awful, so maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised.
He paused, looking out the window over the sink, noting that the wind was still blowing and leaves were still flying. By now, he thought with mild amusement, all the leaves in town should have been gone. But as he watched some of them eddy between the houses, he guessed they would hang around to be raked.
He heard steps behind him and turned to greet Amber. She looked a bit better this morning and was already dressed as if she were going to work in a navy blue pantsuit and white blouse. A bit much for hanging around the house.
“Well, good morning,” he said with a smile.
She smiled back. “Sorry I was so dead last night.”
“Long trip,” he said. “Eggs? Toast? Coffee?”
“All of the above, please.” She settled onto a stool on the far side of the island. “You have to work today, of course.”
“I cleared most of my schedule for the week,” he answered, turning back to the counter and cracking two more eggs into a bowl to whisk. “A few hours each day, rather than all day. Some hearings I can’t avoid, and a trial that’ll probably be over in a couple of hours after we finish jury selection.”
“Can I come watch?”
“Of course.” If she were in the courtroom with him, at least he wouldn’t be wondering if she were sitting here feeling like hell and unable to do a damn thing about it.
He gave her a cup of coffee and the eggs he’d already cooked. “Dig in.”
He started making his own eggs and heard her say, “You didn’t have to clear your schedule for me.”
“No, but I did anyway. You could have gone anywhere if solitude and four walls were all you wanted.”
He was pleased to hear a quiet laugh from her. “Sadly true,” she answered.
A minute later he carried his own plate and mug to the island and stood on the far side from her. “It’s okay, Amber,” he said before he started eating. “You’re welcome here and we’ll get over the awkwardness soon.”
“I didn’t expect it,” she admitted. “In some ways I felt as if all these years hadn’t passed.”
“In some ways they haven’t.” He sipped his coffee. “But even back then we didn’t share quarters.”
That drew another laugh from her, a small one.
“Look, this place is practically a hotel. Just do whatever you need to in order to feel comfortable. Spend as much time or as little as you want with me. Make your own ground rules. I’m pretty adaptable.”
She raised her face to smile at him. “Generous, too. Most of the problem is me, Wyatt. Everything is all messed up. Blown up. I feel as if I’m in a million pieces right now.”
“Hardly surprising. You want to talk some more?”
“Maybe after court. You must need to go soon.”
He glanced at the clock. Seven thirty. “Fifteen minutes. Can you be ready?”
“I am ready. But don’t you need time to change?”
Wyatt looked down at his jeans and polo shirt. “No.”
“Wow,” Amber breathed. “I might like this place.”
“Well, I do wear a robe. Most of the time.”
The sound of the laughter that pealed out of her warmed his heart. If she could still laugh like that, then everything would be okay. For her.
Because suddenly, for him, he wasn’t so sure. An attractive damsel in distress. Always his weak point, and more so for Amber.
* * *
The day was chilly and the wind whipped with ferocity. Amber almost felt like ducking as they left the house and walked to his car in the driveway. “Is this wind usual?” she asked once they were in the car.
“No. Usually we have a breeze, nothing bad, although it can get to be pretty constant if you get out onto the prairie. But here...” He shook his head as he turned over the ignition. “Some kind of front must be in the area, but I haven’t looked at the weather.”
“I was getting used to the wind in Chicago. I don’t think it ever stops. But this is pretty with the leaves tossing in the wind.”
“Until it comes time to rake,” he answered.
“Will there be anything left?” she wondered as he wove their way down the street toward where she presumed they’d find the courthouse.
It was only a few blocks away, and she was instantly charmed. She’d half expected some functional building that had been erected recently, but instead saw a gorgeous older redbrick building with impressive columns sitting in a square filled with concrete benches and tables and the remains of summer flowers. And the statue of a soldier, watching over it all.