Cowboy in the Making. Julie Benson
he thought he knew about me. Shutting out his reaction, she turned to the couple beside her.
“The adoptive parents were at the hospital, but not in the delivery room with me. We had a closed adoption.”
Naomi nodded in understanding. “It was a wonderful bonding experience. Matt got to cut the umbilical cord. We feel so honored that our birth mother chose us.”
Life could be so backward. Teenagers who lacked the good sense to keep a houseplant alive got pregnant when their boyfriends dropped their pants, but couples like the Sandbergs couldn’t conceive. “You two will be wonderful parents.”
“We’re going to do our best.” Naomi reached out and placed her delicate hand on Emma’s arm. “I hope seeing us doesn’t bring up too many painful memories for you.”
None that she couldn’t handle. “It’s great getting to see how excited you are. I did what was best for my child. He’s much better off being raised by two loving parents. Seeing you with Lily only reinforces that.” Emma twirled the straw in her drink, swirling the ice, which clinked against the glass. “It’s nice seeing the joyful side of adoption. Thanks for giving me that.”
Naomi wiped her eyes. “We’re here to meet with Mick about the family get-together we’re having so everyone can meet Lily. We want him to cater the party.”
“I’ll find him for you.” Jamie glanced at Emma, concern in his warm gaze, as if to ask permission. As if he were worried about her. How odd was that? She flashed him what she hoped passed for an I’m-fine smile and not one that revealed how off balance she felt. After he left for the kitchen, she congratulated Naomi and Matt again and said she needed to rejoin the band for the auditions. As she walked toward the stage on legs she worried would collapse under her, she glanced at her watch, noting she had twenty minutes until the next audition. When she reached her bandmates, she said, “How about we take a break? I need some fresh air to clear my head.”
She needed time to fall apart, give in to her pity over what might have been and put herself back together.
Both men nodded. She saw the questions in their eyes, but they said nothing. For a minute, as she walked toward Halligan’s back door, the fact that her bandmates failed to comment on how she wasn’t quite herself stung. But what did she expect? When she’d formed Maroon Peak Pass they’d discussed keeping their personal lives and their work separate. No getting chummy, going out to dinner or socializing at each other’s houses. No sticking their noses into each other’s affairs. She’d made the mistake of blurring the lines before with disastrous results. When she’d laid out her expectations she’d explained that, in her experience, all that led to were messy disagreements, hurt feelings and band breakups. Considering what she’d said, she had no right to be disappointed when the guys gave her exactly what she’d asked for, and yet she was.
Once in the alley she collapsed on a wooden crate near the wall, and the tears spilled down her cheeks. She appreciated seeing the happier side of adoption, but the encounter with Naomi and Matt still dredged up memories she’d rather keep buried. More than it should. Her emotions regarding the adoption hadn’t been this raw in years. She shouldn’t be sitting here falling apart and feeling as if she’d been run over by a truck when she’d made the right decision.
The back door creaked open, and Emma swiped a hand across her eyes. The lie that she’d come out to get fresh air and the wind blew something into her eye perched on her tongue—she turned expecting to see someone bringing out the garbage or sneaking out for a smoke. Instead there stood Jamie, concern radiating from his gaze.
Those eyes could hypnotize a girl or make her spill every secret she held close.
“You okay?” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I was concerned when the guys were onstage, but you weren’t.”
“I’m fine and dandy.” She flashed him her best I’m-pretending-I’m-on-top-of-the-world smile. “I’m gathering my courage for the next audition.”
She stared him down, and suspected he was trying to decide whether or not to call her bluff. Come on, fold.
“Your eyes give you away.” He stepped closer. When he stood in front of her, his hand cupped her face and his thumb brushed across her skin. “There’s a tear on your cheek.”
She closed her eyes, savoring his touch. The simple comfort of it. It would be so easy to step into his arms, to find reassurance and strength there, and his concerned gaze told her he was more than willing to offer those things.
Instead she leaned away from him and crossed her arms over her chest. She couldn’t do this; she refused to feel anything for him. She had her goals. Her plan mapped out. Nothing would get in her way. Least of all, a man.
He nodded toward the door. “That had to be rough for you. I never knew you gave up a child for adoption.”
She nodded. “He turned seven this week.”
As Jamie sank onto the wooden crate beside her, she could tell he was doing the math in his head. “What were you? Eighteen or nineteen when you had him?”
She nodded, and shoved the memories into the back of her mind before they bubbled over again. “Deciding to give him up for adoption was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I knew there was happiness and joy, the thrill of the new life ahead of them as a family on the other side, but I never saw it until today. It wasn’t real.”
“Seeing you in there hit home for me how hard the decision could be for the birth mother.”
So they’d both learned something. “Rumor around town said when you first contacted Kimberly, it didn’t go well.”
He chuckled, she sensed more out of nervousness than humor. “That’s an understatement. The Titanic’s voyage went smoother.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It hurt at first, but finding out she doesn’t have much to do with Mick, either, helped. I realize now it’s not my problem. It’s hers.” He leaned toward her. “Despite knowing that, every once in a while something happens, and I get kicked in the teeth. Kind of like you did today.”
He understood in a way no one else could. “It’s been weird the past couple of weeks. My son’s been on my mind more lately. I’ve got this funny feeling. I can’t put it into words, but it’s almost like I’m worried something’s wrong.”
“Contact his parents.”
For the first time since she’d given up her child, a person failed to stumble over the phrase.
“Closed adoption, remember?”
“Circumstances change. Deals get renegotiated all the time.”
“I agreed to that condition for good reasons, and those haven’t changed. Coping with a birth mom as an adult has to be hard enough. You discovered that. But as a seven-year-old? I don’t want this being about me and what I need. It has to be about what’s best for my son.”
“It takes a helluva person to realize that.”
She clasped her hands in her lap to keep from picking at her nail polish. “I’m not sure being involved with him is what’s best for me, either. Would it be like trying to eat half a cookie? I’ve never been good at moderation.”
“So you’d work on the issue, get better at it.”
Life had a way of throwing enough hardships that could land a kid on a therapist’s couch without her tossing stuff at her son. That’s what worried her most. “How old were you when you found out you were adopted?”
“I was in third grade. We were studying probability in school. I remember Mrs. Little talking about recessive genes and eye color. She said when two brown-eyed people have children there were three possible outcomes. She drew this table on the board to show us.” His forearms braced on his thighs, he leaned forward, staring straight ahead, his gaze hooded and distant. “I asked what the probability of two