The Nine-Month Marriage Read online

  But she wouldn’t allow that.

  And somehow, with him, Abby always got her way.

  Cash closed his eyes, remembering….

  Abby at seven, a streak of red dirt on her face and her hair in her eyes. “Cash. I’m big enough. I want my own horse.” It was always a big deal for a ranch kid to graduate from some safe old nag to a green-broke horse you got to work into shape yourself. “Daddy says next year. You tell him I’m ready now. And I know the horse I want. She’s a pretty little chestnut mare and she has a blaze on her forehead. Daddy got her last week at the wild-horse adoption over at the county fairgrounds.”

  “Listen, Pint-Size, if Ty says—”

  She had grabbed his hand. Right now, more than fifteen years later, he could still feel that—her small, grubby paw in his.

  “Come on, Cash. You tell him I should have that mare.”

  So Cash had found himself talking to Ty. And Abby had gotten her first horse.

  “I’m coming to work for you,” she had announced the summer she was sixteen.

  He had grinned at her, thinking she was growing up to be kind of cute, in a skinny-as-a-fence-post kind of way. “Abby, you should enjoy your summer. And if you really want to work, I’m sure Zach would let you—”

  “I love the ranch, Cash. But I’m no rancher. I’m not like Zach. I’m like you, only with less of an instinct for bringing it in and more of a brain for the bottom line. That’s why we’re going to make a great team.”

  He’d had to stifle a grin. She was always so damn sure of herself, even when she didn’t know what the hell she was talking about. “Look, if you need money for something specific—”

  “I don’t want you to give me any money, Cash. Forget that. I want a job.”

  “Well, you’ll have to look somewhere other than my direction, Pint-Size.”

  “Do not call me ‘Pint-Size.’ I’m five foot six now. It’s a perfectly respectable height.”

  “Sorry. But get real. I don’t need anyone to work for me. I’ve got Renata in the office and she doesn’t have enough to do as it is. She types a letter when I need it, and gets all the receipts together for the IRS boys when they insist on it. What are you going to do for me that I don’t already get done?”

  “I’ll organize you. And you know I’m good with math. You know that computer you bought me? They have this program now, Lotus 1-2-3. You won’t believe what it can do. You just have to know how to break it all down. Cash. I’m telling you. You need me. You need me bad….”

  “Cash?”

  He opened his eyes. She was standing in the tiny hall that led to the bedroom, a light on behind her. He saw her in silhouette, a shadow rimmed in gold. She wore one of those big T-shirts she liked to sleep in. It obscured the top of her. But he could see those long, smooth legs just fine.

  “Cash!” She came flying at him. “You’re back!”

  She landed against him, and his arms wrapped around her all by themselves. He buried his face in her sweet-smelling hair, felt her soft thighs, the roundness of her belly with his baby in it, the fullness of her breasts.

  She pulled back enough to kiss him, little pecking kisses all over his face. And while she kissed him, she babbled.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I didn’t know you were coming. Oh, I have missed you.” She wrinkled her nose a little. “You smell like cigarettes.”

  He wrapped his fingers in her hair, pulled her head back enough that their eyes could meet. “I had a few cigarettes, so what? I found me a friendly bar and got into a little game of five-card stud. A man can’t play poker without a smoke or two.”

  She scrunched up her nose at him. “I thought you quit.”

  He tried to look innocent. “I did. I am.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Hey. If anyone should be able to do it, it’s me.”

  She gave a little snort. “After all, you’ve had so much practice.”

  “Exactly.”

  They looked at each other. He still had his fingers twined in her hair. Her mouth looked so soft. He wanted to take it. So he was putting off taking it, just to prove to himself that he could.

  She grinned, a naughty-girl grin. “I can feel that you’re glad to see me.”

  Still holding her head so he could see her eyes, he rubbed himself against her, slowly, teasing both of them.

  Her eyes went dreamy. “Kiss me, Cash. Please?”

  He wanted to ask her where she’d been, who she’d been with, what they’d done. But he refused to act like the jealous fool he knew he was.

  “Cash?” A note of uneasiness had crept into her voice. “Is something wrong?”

  “Not a damn thing.”

  “Then why won’t you kiss me?”

  “I’ll kiss you.”

  “When?”

  “Now.” And he lowered his mouth to hers.

  As he kissed her, he put his hands on her hips and slowly pulled up that T-shirt. She had nothing on under it. He cupped her bottom and pulled her closer, tighter into him.

  “Oh.” She sighed against his mouth. “Oh, yes, yes, yes….”

  He scooped her up and carried her toward the light at the end of the hall.

  The next morning, when they were sitting at the table, eating oatmeal, Cash told Abby that he was hiring a woman to come in three times a week.

  “And do what?” she asked, irritated by the suggestion.

  “You know what.”

  She felt defensive—and so she attacked. “That’s ridiculous. We don’t need a maid for a two-bedroom apartment.”

  “We shouldn’t need a maid for a two-bedroom apartment.”

  She set down her spoon and took three deep breaths. “I’ll do better.”

  He looked pained. “Abby, it doesn’t mean a damn thing to me if you can keep a house or not. I just don’t want to walk into a pigpen every time I show up here.”

  That hurt. Probably because her own idea of a real woman was someone who kept a nice house. She knew for certain that there were a lot of women out there just dying for their chance to pick up after Cash Bravo.

  “Abby, are you listening?”

  “Yes. And I understand.”

  “You say that, and then you leave your junk everywhere. I don’t want to live like that.”

  “I know. It’s a…problem I have. I understand why I do it, I swear.”

  His brows drew together. “Why?”

  “Rebellion.”

  “Against who?”

  “My mother. You know how she is. The perfect home-maker. And I’m not her. I don’t want to be her.”

  “Fine. So you’re all grown up now, right? You don’t have to get even with Edna anymore. Get over it.”

  “I’m trying.”

  He looked doubtful. “Abby…”

  “What?”

  “Maybe you just don’t give a hoot about picking up your junk. I don’t like to pick up after myself, either. So I hire people to do it. They make money. And I get to live comfortably. Everybody wins.”

  He had a point, and she knew it. But still some frugal, self-sufficient part of her hated to admit that she was a hopeless slob who couldn’t be bothered to put her own clothes away—let alone that she wouldn’t do for Cash what a real woman would be eager to do. “I just want to try, Cash. Please. Let me try. It just seems wrong to need a maid for a place this size.”

  He sighed.

  And she knew he would give her another chance. She smiled. “Thanks. I’ll do better.”

  “Eat your damn oatmeal.”

  Obediently, she picked up her spoon and dipped it into her bowl.

  And in the weeks that followed, Abby’s housekeeping did improve slightly—enough to keep Cash from actually going out and hiring that maid.

  Cash kept his promise and came to see her often. Sometimes he stayed at the apartment for days at a stretch. He was passionate and attentive. He went with her to the doctor and they signed up for a childbirth class, which took place on Wednesday nights in O
ctober and November. He promised to knock himself out to be there, and he did. In the six weeks of classes, he only missed two.

  Twice, over weekends, they flew home to Medicine Creek. And two other weekends they drove in to Denver and spent Friday and Saturday night in one of the best hotels in town. The first weekend they spent in Denver, they dined at the Brown Palace and saw Dwight Yoakam live.

  The second weekend, they ate at the Brown Palace again on Friday night. On Saturday, they tried a new Italian place.

  “Right this way,” the maître d’ said. He led them to a nice corner table and promised that the wine steward would be right with them.

  As the maître d’ left them, Cash opened his menu and pretended to read it. But he was really watching Abby. He’d been having a ball with her the past several weeks, spending every available moment with her, giving in, really, to his craving to be near her. She seemed to want it that way. And besides, that had been part of their agreement when they’d decided to marry: to be together as much as they could.

  She glanced up from her menu and their gazes locked. She grinned. He grinned back. She went back to deciding what to order. He went on looking at her.

  He liked looking at her, studying the various parts of her. Right now, he was watching her hands as they held the menu. They were slender hands and she kept the nails trimmed short. Pretty hands, but useful-looking, too. And clean. He smiled to himself. Edna might have failed in her efforts to turn her only daughter into a happy little homemaker, but at least she’d won out when it came to personal hygiene. The grubby urchin of yesterday existed only in Cash’s fond memories now.

  “Abby? Is that you?”

  Cash glanced up, frowning. A handsome, dark-haired kid hovered by Abby’s chair.

  Abby looked up from the tasseled menu and smiled. “Tony! Tony Ellerby. How are you?”

  “Fine. I can’t believe this.”

  Cash watched Tony Ellerby. The kid was trying not to stare at Abby’s stomach. But he’d put two and two together, all right. Cash watched the kid, thinking that he was just about Abby’s age, wondering how Abby knew him, what he might have been to her.

  Tony asked, “Are you, uh, living here now? In Denver?”

  “No, I’m still at C.U. We just came into town for the weekend.” Abby looked at Cash, then back at Tony. “Tony, this is my husband, Cash.”

  Tony grinned. “Hey, how are you?”

  Cash took Tony’s outstretched hand, gave it a quick shake and then let it go.

  Abby inquired, “What about you, Tony? I haven’t seen you around campus.”

  Tony forked a hand through his thick black hair and explained that he was taking a break for a semester or two. Getting his “priorities” in order, trying to figure out what he really wanted from life. Abby laughed and said it was good to see him and she wished him luck, whatever he did.

  “Old friend?” Cash asked casually, after Tony had said goodbye and walked away.

  Abby nodded at him over the top of her menu. “We dated a couple of times last year.”

  Cash looked at his own menu. Then the wine steward appeared. Cash ordered wine for himself.

  Abby waited for the wine steward to leave. Then she said quietly, “It was nothing serious between me and Tony.”

  Cash continued to study his menu, scanning the pasta selections, considering the veal entrées. “You never mentioned him, that I remember.”

  “We just had dinner once, and went to a show another time. No big deal.”

  Cash believed her. He knew her that well. If it had been a big deal between her and Tony Ellerby, he would have heard about it.

  What bothered him had nothing to do with how many dates Abby and Tony Ellerby had shared. It had to do with the way his gut had knotted at the sight of that kid bending over his wife. With the possessive streak he’d discovered in himself. Never in his life had Cash felt possessive about a woman. Until Abby.

  And then there was the guilt. Guilt that he was the one sitting across from her now, her belly so big with the child he had put there. As much as he hated the thought of her with anyone else, he knew that she should be sitting across from someone like Tony Ellerby tonight. It was the time of her life for casual dates with guys her own age, guys who would take her home later to that shabby brick house she used to live in last year with a bunch of other college girls. Instead, she went home with a husband fifteen years older than she was. And very soon, she’d be dealing with motherhood.

  “Cash…”

  He felt her foot, under the table, rubbing his leg.

  He looked at her over the top of the menu. “Put your shoe back on.”

  “Are you jealous?”

  “Do you know what you want?”

  She picked up her water glass and sipped from it. Provocatively. “Oh, I do.” Under the table, her toes trailed up and down his pant leg. “I know just what I want.”

  “Good. Because the waiter’s coming.”

  She kept on stroking his leg with her toes all through the process of placing their order. By the time the waiter walked away, Cash’s jealousy and guilt had taken a back seat to lust.

  He didn’t know how she did it. She was due to have the baby in just two months—and she was sexy as hell. Sometimes, he tried to control himself, worrying that all the lovemaking might hurt her or the baby. But she would remind him that the baby was fine, that the doctor said it was okay as long as she wanted to and he wanted to.

  And they both did want to. All the time.

  He shifted in his seat, coughing, trying to readjust for his arousal without being obvious.

  Across from him, Abby grinned like a Cheshire cat. She knew exactly what she’d done to him. And she was proud of herself. He slid a hand down and captured her ankle.

  “Oh!” she said.

  He grinned right back at her. “Something wrong?”

  She batted her eyelashes. “No. Not a thing, honestly.”

  “Good.” He scooted his chair under the table a little farther—and then he put her foot on top of his thigh.

  It took concentration; her big belly got in the way, but she managed to scoot closer, to put those naughty little toes right up against the part of him that was straining at the front of his pants. He tried not to gasp.

  She went on grinning. He glanced around. People nibbled their antipasti and chewed their veal piccata and chatted casually between sips of wine. No one seemed to notice what the pretty pregnant lady was doing to her husband under the long white tablecloth.

  Just then, the wine steward appeared with the bottle Cash had ordered. He uncorked it with a flourish, then poured a small amount for Cash to sample. Cash took a sip, then nodded. The wine steward filled his glass and left.

  Cash raised his glass to Abby, as under the table she continued to drive him out of his mind. He knocked back a long sip, then set the glass down a little more firmly than necessary. “Are we going to eat?”

  She looked rueful and adorable. “Well. I do keep thinking about that tub in our suite. It’s so nice and big and deep.”

  “Fine.” He pushed back his chair and threw a handful of bills on the table. “We’re gone.”

  Abby took a minute to slide on her shoe and push back her chair. And then they were heading for the door.

  “Is there a problem?” the maître d’ inquired as they fled past the reservation podium. He glanced at Abby’s belly. “Signora, are you all right?”

  “She just needs a little rest,” Cash said.

  “But—”

  “I left enough to cover our meal on the table.” Cash kept walking, pushing Abby slightly ahead of him.

  The maître d’ kept sputtering. “But, wait. Are you—?”

  Abby gave him a smile over her shoulder as Cash pushed her out the door. “I’ll be fine. Honestly. I just need a long, hot bath.”

  A couple of hours later, they lay together on the big bed in their suite, Abby on her side in a nest of pillows and Cash wrapped around her, spoon-fashion. He had
his hand on her belly, feeling for kicks. He smiled. “A good one.”

  She gave a little mock groan. “I know—I felt it.”

  He nuzzled the back of her neck, breathed in the sweet scent of her. “I’ve been thinking.”

  She shifted a little, readjusting herself on the pillows, trying to get comfortable. It got harder and harder for her as the days went by.

  “Abby? Did you hear me?”

  “Umm-hmm. You’ve been thinking…”

  “About next weekend….”

  She groaned again, took his hand, kissed it and put it back on her belly. “Forget it. We’re going home.”

  The next weekend was Thanksgiving. Abby wanted to go home to the ranch, where she’d spent every Thanksgiving of her life. Edna was planning a huge feast, to be prepared by the capable hands of Tess DeMarley.

  “Abby, I don’t think it’s such a great idea for you to be flying now.”

  She put a hand over her ear—the one that wasn’t buried in the pillow. “I can’t hear you.”

  “Abby…”

  She jerked away from him then and dragged herself to a sitting position, Indian-style. “We’ve been over this.” She smoothed her big T-shirt over the heavy curve of her stomach. “I’ll see the doctor Wednesday. If he gives permission—which he will, because I feel fine—then we are taking the Cessna home and we are having Thanksgiving the way we’ve always had it.”

  “But—”

  “No. Listen. My mother drives me nuts. But I do love her. And she is expecting us. It will break her heart if we don’t show up.”

  “Edna will understand.”

  “No. Edna will say that she understands. And inside, she’ll be hurt. And anyway, you should have listened to me back in August when I told you I wasn’t sure about getting in another semester.”

  “I know. I was a damn idiot.”

  “Well, fine. You were an idiot. But just because you talked me into coming here doesn’t mean I’m giving up my Thanksgiving.”

  “I just didn’t realize…”

  “What?”

  “How big a pregnant woman gets.”

  She sniffed and tried to act wounded. “Thank you very much.”

  “I mean it, Abby. We’ll have a great Thanksgiving, the two of us. In Boulder, or here in Denver if you want to get away a little.”