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That was what bugged him. Try as he might, he couldn’t quite think of that time with Maya as a one-night stand or a meaningless sexual encounter between two consenting adults. He couldn’t.
Maybe someday he would go back there and….
But no. No. It wasn’t meant to be. He had to be here, taking care of his father’s interests. Setting his own future into motion. She had to be there, in that little town, with her sisters and her mom. He would probably forget her soon. She would forget him, too.
It was for the best.
Damn, why did that sound like such a lie?
* * *
Maya spent the next five weeks just trying to absorb the unavoidable facts. First, that she was pregnant, unmarried and destined to become the most scandalous member of her notorious family. All she’d worked for—the image she’d tried so hard to cultivate as the respectable one, the responsible one, the sane one—all of that was gone—or would be the second word got around town about her condition.
The second fact staring her in the face became cruelly obvious when Mel insisted on trying to locate Caleb Cain of Tulsa to tell him that he was going to be a father. There was no such person. He’d lied to her.
So there it was. And she wallowed in it for those first five weeks, and even for a while after that. She stopped going out, stopped helping at the saloon. She stopped dressing, for the most part. Spent her days in sweats or her nightgown. In the mornings she was too ill to feel like dressing, and in the afternoon, she figured, why bother? She did all her usual domestic tasks, which gave her some comfort. Baking cookies and bread. Eating cookies and bread. Sewing and quilting and knitting. But, for the most part, she moped.
Until one bright, sunny morning on the first day of June, when Vidalia marched through Maya’s bedroom door, flicked on the bright overhead light and said, “Time’s up, daughter. Now get out of that rocking chair, get a smile on that face and put some clothes on.”
Looking up, her knitting in her hand, Maya blinked in the light. She liked it dim. Dark. It was easier to dwell on her ruined life that way. “Leave me alone, Mom.”
“I will not leave you alone.” Vidalia went to the closet, flipped hangers until she found a sunny yellow dress, then tossed it onto the bed. “I’ve left you alone for long enough already. Thought I’d give you time to absorb this. And I have. But like I said, time’s up.”
She walked to the rocking chair, took the knitting from Maya’s hands and placed it in the basket on the floor. “No more feeling sorry for yourself, girl.”
“What would you suggest I do instead?”
“Get up on your feet and act like the daughter I raised instead of some watercolor wimp. You’re a Brand, Maya. And you’ve been given a gift more precious than any other you’ll ever know. A child. You should be down on your knees giving thanks, not pouting as if you’ve been cursed. You want my granddaughter to think she’s unwanted? Hmm?”
“How do you know it’s a girl?” Maya asked.
Her mother drew her brows together tight and tipped her head to one side, giving Maya the look that said she’d asked a foolish question. Then she gripped Maya’s arms and drew her to her feet. “Come on. Into the shower. If I can handle five of you all by myself, you can certainly deal with one when you’ve got all of us to help you.”
“I know that.”
“Then act like it. You don’t need any man to get through life, daughter. If anyone knows that, it’s me, and if anyoneought toknow it, it’s any daughter of mine.You’reall you need.You.” She poked Maya’s chest. “And her,” she said, laying a gentle hand on Maya’s belly. “That’s all. Your sisters and I are an added bonus. Now march in there and shower, then dress and get your tail down to the saloon. Wound-lickin’ time is over.”
Her mother was right, Maya realized. She had been wallowing in a nice thick mire of self-pity. She’d been lied to, used and left behind. She was pregnant and alone and scared to death, and everything she’d ever wanted out of life suddenly seemed impossible.
But it wasn’t. Not really. She could bounce back from this. Somehow. After all, her mom had, and in a time when things had been much harder on single mothers than they were today.
She pressed her palms to her belly. There was the baby to think about now. What kind of a mother would she be? Depressed, moody, sullen all the time? Or alive and loving and happy?
Sighing, she looked down. “Your grandma’s right, little one. Mamma’s all through sulking now. Promise.”
Vidalia nodded in approval. “Good girl.” She left Maya to get her act together.
So Maya showered, and she dressed. She was glad her mother had chosen the sunny yellow dress, rather than something snug fitting, because she felt as if her belly was already beginning to swell just a bit. Her mother insisted that was all in her imagination, but she felt it all the same.
There was a tap at the door, and Maya turned, yellow dress in place, hair still bundled in a towel. Selene stepped in, grabbed her hand and pulled her into the hall. “You’ve gotta see this!” she said.
“Slow down. Selene! What’s going on?”
But Selene ran, tugging Maya behind her, down the hall, into her own room. Then she stopped and pointed at the little table in the corner. It was covered in odd items, that table. Shells, rocks, candles. And, right now, those tarot cards Selene was always playing with. Two of them lay face up on the table.
Maya eyed the cards, because Selene seemed so excited about something, but they made little sense to her. One looked like a clown juggling, and the other was a nude woman with some sort of baton in each hand.
“So?” Maya asked, looking at Selene.
