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He stared at her, the words ringing inside his head. What would he have done? His legs wouldn't hold him up any longer. He turned and sat down on the bed, propped his elbows on his legs and buried his fingers in his hair. What would he have done? He had no idea. He still didn’t. He felt too—numb. It was hard to think but he knew getting up and walking out the door would be a huge mistake. He’d abandoned her once. He wouldn’t do it again.
“Don’t look so stressed over it, Aaron. You knowing Samuel is yours changes nothing.”
“And what makes you think that?”
“Because it doesn’t. When we wake up in the morning, the situation will be exactly the same.”
He looked to the cradle, Samuel’s face relaxed in sleep. “You don’t believe that.”
“Oh really? Why’s that?”
“Because if him being mine meant nothing, then you would have given him a name other than my own.”
Her jaw clenched again. “That was your mother’s idea. I tried to refuse. She insisted. We had no idea if you’d ever be back. That was the only reason I gave in.”
“My mother knows?” She didn’t answer but there was no need. She’d just said as much by his mother’s insistence on calling him Samuel. He blew out a breath and stood. He felt three times his age all of a sudden. The fatigue from a grueling day of hard work, his anger at things he’d assumed, then finding out he’d been wrong and that he was the father of Betsey’s baby instead of Caleb, was like heavy weights on his shoulders.
“I’m going to make this right, Betsey. I swear it.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek but the miserable look on her face remained. He gave Samuel one last look and left the room, his steps loud on the wooden floors as he crossed the cabin and let himself out.
His horse was grazing not far from the porch. It took a bit of effort to get into the saddle but he managed. His chest felt hollowed out as he turned and headed home, his thoughts on Betsey and Samuel—his son.
She’d imaginethat confrontation in so many different ways and none of them had left her feeling so numb. Betsey sank to the bed, every word passed between her and Aaron playing through her head again. She’d expected anger, which she got, but it was for all the wrong reasons. He’d thought Samuel was Caleb’s. The fact he was so angry over that should have pleased her but for some reason, it didn’t.
He hadn’t looked excited by the prospect of being a father either, regardless of how often she imagined he might. In those fanciful dreams, he’d swept her up into his arms when he found out, kissed her breathless and begged her to marry him. He hadn’t done that either.
Instead, he’d looked—lost. She knew the feeling well. She’d spent nine months feeling exactly the same way. More so now.
He’d promised to make things right. She had no idea what he meant by that but it hardly mattered now. Not after what she’d done. She looked at the papers on her dresser and sighed. She still hadn’t told Ben. She’d dreaded the conversation so bad she’d put it off to mull over exactly how she’d tell him. Now, with Aaron saying he would make things right, she could only assume he’d meant to be there for her, to be a father to Samuel. The one thing she’d wanted more than anything in her life.
She laughed, tears filling her eyes again. So much for dreams coming true. Fate was playing with her in cruel ways. The moment one dream falls into place, it’s snatched out from under her to leave her flailing about, lost and confused until another dream comes true. Now, that one was going to cause her more pain than joy and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.
Chapter Eight
Breakfast wasover and everyone was off doing whatever it was they had to do that day before Aaron approached his mother. He was leaning against the wall in the kitchen when she turned and saw him. She smiled, but it fell away an instant later.
“Let me guess. You talked to Betsey.”
He wanted to yell, scream and kick things but he’d done enough of that in the privacy of his own head the night before. He’d barely slept. Every time he closed his eyes, all he saw was Betsey with his son sleeping on her shoulder. He shifted his weight to his other foot and tried to keep his voice steady. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It wasn’t my place to tell you.” She turned and wiped the counter down. “Also, she asked me not to.”
“Why?”
She sighed and faced him. “You hurt her, Aaron. She’s still hurting. She saw you the moment you got into town with Morning Dove. What do you suppose she thought?”
He knew what she thought. It’s what everyone thought. “She’s just someone I helped out of a bad situation, nothing more.”
“We know that—now. Betsey does not. Have you told herMorning Dove is just a friend?”
“More or less.”
And?”
“And—“ It was his turn to sigh. He rubbed his hand over his face. “I don’t know what to do.”
“What do you want to do?”
He wasn’t sure about that either. His plan upon coming home had been simple. Right the wrongs he’d done when he left and see where things went.
