About That Night (17 page)

He blew out a breath. “I’d like to talk to your doctor.”

She couldn’t blame him for wanting proof of the pregnancy and of his paternity. What she blamed him for was wanting to know so he could be a part of the baby’s life. She knew the score here. She had nothing. Well, except their baby growing inside of her. While he had everything. Money. Power. Enough to make her life a living hell.

Enough to take her child from her if he chose.

“I have an appointment next week,” Ivy said. “But I’m not sure how far along I have to be for her to do a paternity test.”

“You’d allow one?”

“I would. But not so I can lay claim to your fortune. If you want to be a part of the baby’s life, I can’t stop you. But I’m not about to change my life to make that happen. You’ll have to play by my rules.”

“If you don’t want money—”

“Hey now, who said I don’t want money? I have your check for fifty grand, remember? Don’t think you’re getting that back.”

He linked his hands between his knees. “Okay, if you’re not after
more
money, why did you tell me? We both know you could have easily kept this from me. As far as I know, no one knew we were together that night and the chances of us running into each other in the future were slim. You could have gone on your way, could have had the baby, and I never would have known.”

“Because it was the right thing to do,” she said. But maybe she owed him more of an explanation. She wasn’t sure. She was so used to being on her own. Of not having to explain her actions or choices to anyone.

She hadn’t wanted to seek him out. She would have preferred to raise the baby on her own—would still prefer that. But the thought of having the conversation she’d had with her own mother time after time made her sick. Of her child asking her who her father was, where he was and her not being able to answer.

Whether Melba withheld the truth for her own selfish reasons or just to hurt Ivy, to punish her for being born, Ivy wasn’t sure. But not knowing where she’d come from haunted her. She wouldn’t do that to her child.

“I never knew my dad,” she admitted slowly. “And I don’t think he ever knew about me. I always thought that was unfair. That maybe he wouldn’t have wanted anything to do with me, but he should have had the choice. So I’m giving you the choice.”

He nodded. “I appreciate it.”

Clinton seemed sincere, and she wondered if she’d been wrong about him. But then she remembered what he’d said about not doing the tracking down to find her. “How did you find me?” she asked. “How did you know I’m the chef here?”

“I hired a private investigator.”

She froze. Everything inside her seemed to still. “You hired someone to find me?”

“Yes.”

She wasn’t sure she wanted to ask the next question, let alone hear the answer. “What else did you hire this professional Nancy Drew to do?”

“Actually, he’s more like Magnum PI, from what I understand. Right down to the mustache. And he found out where you lived. Worked.”

She had a bad feeling about this. “You looked into my past.”

He lifted a shoulder as if it was nothing, instead of a huge invasion of privacy. “He ran a background check on you, yes.”

She slowly got to her feet. “I see. And what did you discover?”

Now he shifted. He damn well should shift. He had no right—no
freaking
right—to investigate her that way. “He found out you’ve lived in Shady Grove your entire life—”

“I believe I already told you that.”

“You wouldn’t even tell me your last name that night,” he said, climbing to his feet, also. “You weren’t exactly forthcoming then or when you were in Houston. You drop a bombshell on me—oh, by the way, I’m pregnant with your child so just believe every word I say because I say it—then walk away. You didn’t leave me much of a choice.”

Maybe she hadn’t, but a girl had a right to her secrets. To protect herself from someone she didn’t know. “You’re not the only one here who’s not thrilled with this situation.”

“What are you saying?” he asked hoarsely. He stepped closer. “You’re not thinking of getting rid of the baby, are you?”

“It’s too late for that. And no, I hadn’t considered it. But there are other options. Adoption, for one.”

He made a move as if he were about to grab her arms but held himself back. “If this baby is mine, you are not giving it away.”

She sighed. “Relax. I considered adoption but ultimately decided against it. I may not be wealthy, but I can support a child, and I plan on keeping my baby. I just don’t want you as part of the package.”

“We’re going to have to figure out how to deal with each other.”

“I can’t do anything with you if I don’t trust you. What else did your private investigator find out about me?”

“Like I said, he found out where you live. That you’re the chef here. So far, that’s it. Can you really blame me for wondering if you’d set this whole thing up? If you’re not being completely truthful?” he asked so calmly, all rational and hard-assed, she wanted to scratch his eyes out. “You slept with me after just meeting me, and now you say you’re pregnant with my child. What the hell am I supposed to believe?”

She jabbed his chest. “That’s the thing. What you believe is a choice. And you chose to believe I’m some manipulative gold digger who’d have a child just to get your money. How dare you toss the fact I slept with you that night in my face? You were there, too! You’re not innocent here—you wanted to get me into bed from the moment you saw me.”

That was the problem. People saw her, and they made assumptions about her. No one took the time to get to know her. They were too busy judging her.

“How is my hiring a PI any different from you looking me up on the internet?” he asked, seemingly clueless.

“Because I didn’t do a background check, which I’m assuming means digging into my childhood. I didn’t look into your personal life. I found your address, where you worked. You’re looking into my history, digging up dirt on me so you can judge me and my past.” She jabbed him again. “Go. To. Hell.”

He grabbed her hand, pulled her close to him. “Don’t poke me.”

She wouldn’t resort to struggling to get free. “Let go of me. Now.”

He hesitated but then opened his fingers. She stalked toward the door.

“What the hell else could I do?” he asked. “You walked out on me. Twice.”

She yanked the door open. “This makes us three for three. And if you’d wanted to know more about me, you could have asked.”

“I tried that once. Didn’t work out too well.”

“You accused me of getting pregnant on purpose,” she reminded him. “Of being some desperate gold digger. Did you really think I was going to sip tea and spill my life story after that?” But he had a point. One she wouldn’t pretend didn’t exist. “Look, maybe I handled things badly, but I was nervous about telling you. After I found out who you were, I was scared to death. This is my baby. My child. And you have the power to take him or her away from me. And then you acted like a complete asshole, tossing accusations my way left and right. You want me to tell all, to be truthful, but you don’t trust or believe one thing I say, so what’s the point? You’ve already made up your mind about me.” Her fingers tightened on the door handle. Her voice grew soft. “You’ve already made up your mind about me,” she repeated, knowing it was true. “Nothing I say will change a thing. And that, cowboy, is your loss.”

* * *

“
B
OURBON,”
C
.
J
. TOLD
the bartender at O’Riley’s, the bar Kane owned. “Neat.”

She eyed him as she poured. “You’re not here to cause trouble again, are you?”

He almost grinned. “You’re thinking of the wrong Bartasavich. I don’t cause trouble. I fix the trouble my idiot brothers get into.”

She set his drink in front of him, and that was when he recognized her as the waitress who’d tried to throw him out the last time he was in this dump. Her dark hair was a bit longer and pink on the ends, but when she brushed her hair aside, he saw the neck tattoo. “Kane doesn’t cause trouble around here. So don’t start on him, or you’ll have to mess with me, and I’m not as nice as I seem.”

He saluted her with his glass. “Yes, ma’am.” To show he wasn’t the least bit scared, he winked as he took a sip. He waited until she’d walked away before downing the rest of the drink.

Shit. He’d blown it with Ivy again. There should be some sort of law stating he could act like a complete ass only twice in front of the same woman. He wanted to blame her and he partly did. She brought out the worst in him, with her vague answers and smart-ass comments.

But he was a grown man, responsible for his own actions and choices.

He could have chosen to trust her. To believe her. Given her time to tell him what he wanted to know on her own.

“Slumming?”

C.J. sighed and looked up to find Kane smirking at him. He’d known he couldn’t avoid his brother—it was Kane’s bar, after all. But dealing with him was never easy. “I’ll take another bourbon. And this time, don’t be so stingy with the pour.”

Kane eyed his empty glass, then his face, then shrugged. Pulled the bottle down and poured a healthy amount into C.J.’s glass. “If you’re here as dad’s errand boy again, the answer’s still no.”

The first time C.J. had come to Shady Grove had been after Kane had wrecked his motorcycle over a year ago. He’d gotten away with some scrapes and bruises and a broken arm, but it had freaked out Estelle enough—who’d run away while her mother was on vacation—that she’d called Senior and told him she was worried about her dad. So C.J. and Senior had hightailed it to Pennsylvania to check on Kane.

C.J. had then told Kane that their father wanted to offer him a job, a cushy office job Kane hadn’t earned and anyone could have told Senior he would never want. But their father was nothing if not stubborn.

It was probably what kept him alive since his stroke.

“Dad’s not running things at the office anymore,” C.J. reminded his brother. “I am. Don’t hold your breath for any job offers from me anytime soon. You want to work for Bartasavich Industries while I’m in charge, you’ll have to earn it.”

“Good thing I’ll never want to work there.”

C.J. knew his brother meant what he said. Of Senior’s four sons, C.J. was the only one who worked directly for the family company, was the only one who wanted to, who’d busted his ass to prove he belonged there and not just because his father ran the company. He’d refused to take any handouts from his father, had started at the bottom and worked his way up, proving he deserved his success.

Oakes was happy with his law practice, and Zach was off playing Marine and seemed to want to make that his career. C.J. never would have thought Kane would stick with one job for very long, especially one where he was in charge, where he was responsible for employees and customers and a building and taxes. But stick he had. So much that he was getting married and staying right here in Shady Grove.

“If Dad didn’t send you to try to lure me back to Houston,” Kane said, “what are you doing here?”

C.J. drained his glass. “Drinking mediocre bourbon. Seriously. You can’t order anything better than this?”

Kane’s eyes narrowed. His arm wasn’t broken now, the way it had been the last time they’d faced off at this very bar, but C.J. wasn’t worried. Kane might be all badass, with his tattoos and motorcycle and piss-poor attitude, but they’d gone around enough times in their lives for C.J. to know he could handle his own against his little brother.

He was the one who’d taught Kane how to fight, after all.

“You want some fancy drink,” Kane said, “maybe with a pretty pink umbrella in it? Try the country club or King’s Crossing. Now, why are you here?” He stiffened. “Is it Dad? He was fine when I called to check on him. Did something happen? Did he take a turn for the worse?”

“Dad’s fine.” If not being able to speak and having to learn how to use his body all over again was fine. “There’s no change.”

Kane’s expression grew grim. “Maybe we need to consider taking him to a different doctor.”

C.J. wanted to point out that there was no
we
in this situation, but Kane had stepped up after Senior’s stroke. He and their old man had never gotten along, but Kane had taken care of things here when Senior had been in the hospital, their father having suffered his stroke during that trip he’d made to Pennsylvania last fall. C.J. wondered if Kane realized Senior had come to try to reconcile with his second son, to see if there was some way they could be in each other’s lives.

C.J. thought his brother did know, and that was part of the reason why he’d made several trips to Texas since they’d taken Senior back home. Why he called every few days to check up on him.

“He’s seeing the best specialists in Houston,” C.J. pointed out. Funny but it was usually him wanting to take charge, wanting to make things happen when he felt they were moving along too slowly. “We have to be patient.”

Kane shook his head. “You must be drunk. You’re not patient.”

“I have to be in this case.” He’d realized he’d drive himself crazy if he tried to control things. He couldn’t make his father get better. He could only pray that it would happen.

“So you’re not here because of Dad.” Kane grinned. “What’s the matter, Junior? Miss me?”

C.J.’s answer to that was to flip his brother off. “I’m in town on business.” He accepted the fresh drink Kane poured for him. “Personal business.”

Kane frowned, but then a light C.J. didn’t like one bit entered his eyes. “Does this personal business have anything to do with a woman?”

C.J. nodded. “Ivy Rutherford. She works at King’s Crossing and Bradford House.”

“Never thought I’d see the day when a woman would have you so wrapped up you’d leave Houston—and your precious job—just to track her down. I hadn’t realized you even knew anyone in Shady Grove other than me and Charlotte.”

“I met Ivy at your engagement party.”

Kane’s eyebrows rose. “Must have been some introduction.”

“You could say that.” He sipped his drink. “She’s pregnant.”

C.J. didn’t have to wait long for his brother’s reaction.