Rogue's Reform. Marilyn Pappano
that he wished he’d never touched her.
It had been the sweetest night in her twenty-five years…and he wished it had never happened.
His expression cleared, cooled, as easily as if he’d pulled a mask over his face. He rested his spoon inside the bowl, then pushed it away and fixed his gaze on her. “Well, it looks as if your options are pretty limited again, so…how about it?”
“How about what?” she asked cautiously, not liking the nervous shiver that crept down her spine.
“Getting married.” Ethan’s hands were sweaty and unsteady under the table. He clasped them together, then swallowed hard before finishing his answer. “To me.”
He’d never proposed marriage before, had never even given it any thought. If he had, he would have supposed the woman’s response might be on the pleasantly surprised side. Well, he’d been half right. Grace was surprised.
Moment after moment slipped past while she stared at him. Maybe surprised was too mild a word to describe the look in her brown eyes. Stunned might be more accurate. Or shocked. Maybe just plain horrified.
Hell, that was no surprise. He’d never been anyone’s first choice—at least, not for anything good. There wasn’t a person alive who trusted him, not a soul who could accept him the way he was, without wishing he was better, kinder, more honest, more decent. He’d spent his whole damn life wishing he was better. There was no reason Grace Prescott should be any different.
She looked as if she was torn between hysterical laughter because he couldn’t possibly be serious or hysterical shrieks because he was serious. With her hands shaking, she cleared the table, then looked out into the store as if a customer might appear and save her. When the door remained closed, she finally had no choice but to look at him—or at least in his direction. She couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye. “Why-why in the world w-would we g-get married?”
Why in the world would I marry a liar, thief and loser like you? He had little doubt that was the question bouncing around in her head, but she’d had the courtesy to tone it down, to make it sound as ridiculous for him as for her.
“Because you’re pregnant,” he said flatly as heat flooded his face.
“Marriage isn’t a requirement for giving birth,” she pointed out cautiously.
“Maybe it should be.”
“I admit that in a perfect world everyone would be happily married before having babies, but this is hardly a perfect world. You don’t even know me.”
“So we do it backward. First we had sex, then we get married, then we get to know each other.”
She was shaking her head in dismay. No doubt she’d had a few dreams about some incredibly perfect hero who would sweep her away from the bleak misery of life with her father, who would treasure her in ways no one else ever had and make up for all the boys who’d never noticed her, all the dates she’d never gone on, all the affection she’d never gotten.
Well, he was nobody’s hero. There had never been any shortage of women in his life, but not one of them had ever dreamed of falling in love with him and spending the rest of her life with him. He wasn’t that kind of guy. Women liked him fine for short-term flings, but when it came to permanence, they always looked to men like Guthrie.
But Guthrie was taken, and no one like him was offering, and nothing changed the fact that Ethan had a claim on the baby, which gave him some small sort of claim on the mother.
“Look, I know this isn’t the sort of marriage proposal most women hope for,” he said gruffly. He wasn’t into gestures—romance, flowers, bended knee. He couldn’t offer heartfelt declarations because his heart wasn’t involved, couldn’t make sweet promises because he’d never kept a promise in his life. He could lie, he supposed. He’d always been good at that—even so, he doubted Grace would believe him. “But most women aren’t about to give birth to a stranger’s child.”
“And most women have a reasonable expectation of marriage. Unlike those few of us who are supposed to feel great gratitude at ever receiving a proposal—any proposal.” Her face was pale, her brown eyes magnified by the glasses that were inching down her nose.
“I don’t want your gratitude,” he said sharply. He knew she must feel cheated—hell, he felt cheated for her, and that made him feel guilty, when he already had enough guilt to deal with.
“And I don’t want your name.” The instant the words were out, bright spots of color appeared in her cheeks, making her look even paler in contrast, but she didn’t back down. “You grew up here as Gordon James’s son, and it wasn’t easy. I know, because it was just as hard being Jed Prescott’s daughter. My baby can’t escape being Jed’s granddaughter, but she can escape the stigma of being Gordon James’s granddaughter…or Ethan James’s daughter.”
The stigma. That was what he’d lived twenty-eight years to become. There was less shame in his daughter being born illegitimate than in bearing his name. Less embarrassment for Grace to be pregnant and abandoned by some anonymous bastard than pregnant and married to him.
She stood utterly still, looking as if she wanted to crawl into the corner and not come out again. When he stood up, she stiffened as if expecting some show of temper, but otherwise she didn’t move.
He went to stand in the doorway, gazing out across the empty store. What did you say to a woman you hardly knew who’d just told you that you weren’t fit to give your child your name? He could think of only one thing.
Looking over his shoulder, he offered the words he knew she wanted to hear. “Then I won’t bother you anymore. Goodbye, Grace.” In that instant before turning away, he saw the relief sweep over her, and then he walked out.
On the sidewalk outside, he stood motionless a moment, staring at his old truck. He could head back to Key West, where the days were warm and living was so much easier, or he could try someplace new. There were plenty of towns in the country where people had never heard of Heartbreak, Oklahoma, where the names Gordon and Ethan James meant nothing, where he could learn to pretend that Grace Prescott meant nothing.
But he was tired of new places. He was tired of constantly moving, of never having a place to call home, of never being welcome in his own home. He was tired of being a stranger to the only family he had, tired of being a bad brother, a worse son, a totally unacceptable, unwanted father. He wanted more.
The thought brought a mocking smile to his mouth as he climbed inside the truck. Ethan James, who’d never been able to deal with what he already had, wanted more. Wasn’t that a hoot?
He started to drive straight through town, then on impulse stopped at the grocery store to call Guthrie’s number. Olivia answered on the second ring. “Hey, it’s Ethan,” he said grimly. “I’m about to head out that way. Do you need anything from town?”
“Bless your heart, I do. I was planning to drive in and pick the kids up at school so I could stop at the grocery store, but if you’d save me the trip, I’d be grateful. You’ll join us for dinner tonight, won’t you?” she asked, then went on with her list before he could answer.
At the grocery store he selected Olivia’s items first, then added his usual week’s shopping to the cart—canned soup, sandwich makings, bacon and eggs, frozen dinners. He debated tossing in a six-pack of beer, a perfectly innocent purchase that half the men in town made on a regular basis. But half the men in town didn’t have the stigma of his name or his history. They didn’t have teetotaler Guthrie for a brother, and they hadn’t gotten the shiest, quietest little mouse in town pregnant.
The beer stayed on the shelf.
Back at Guthrie’s place, he parked in front of the cabin, put his own purchases away, then carried Olivia’s bags across the broad spread of yard. She opened the door before he’d knocked twice and gave him her usual welcoming smile.
“Hey, Ethan, come on in.” She opened the door wide, then closed