Part 11 (1/2)

The road to his cabin was narrow and rough. She jammed another cracker into her mouth and

weathered the b.u.mpy motion. Finally they reached a primitive log dwelling,cozied on the side of a hill. The wooden structure sat on a bed of gra.s.s, surrounded by trees and a rebellious, weedy spray of wildflowers.

She exited her car and breathed in the clean, fresh scent, the beauty of the Texas Hill Country. A big, yellow b.u.t.terfly winged by and she watched it flit from flower to flower. For an instant she imagined a little boy or girl with dark hair and copper skin chasing that b.u.t.terfly, running through the gra.s.s, playing in the sun. Her child, she thought, touching her tummy. Bobby's child. The b.u.t.terfly flew away and when she turned to glance at Bobby, she caught him staring at her.

She had no idea what he was thinking. He didn't seem angry about her pregnancy the way she'd antic.i.p.ated, but he didn't seem to be settling into the idea, either.

If only he could feel the connection she felt to their unborn child. The tenderness. The love.

Self-conscious, she broke eye contact and went to the car and removed her bag.

He took the lightweight leather satchel from her. ”What happened to the green suitcase?”

”I didn't feel like lugging it around. Besides, I'll only be here for a few days.”

Enough time, she prayed, for Bobby to decide that he wanted to be part of their child's life. A long-distance father, a summer dad. Anything that showed he cared, that he didn't intend to abandon the baby.

He unlocked the door and ushered her inside.

The cabin reflected the man who owned it dark and private. The walls were c.h.i.n.ked log, the

hardwood floors covered with Navajo rugs. The furniture ranged from polished antiques to homespun fabrics, and the hearth had been swept clean.

In fact, everything was amazingly clean. Spotless.

He didn't favor knickknacks, nothing that collected dust,nothing that added casual warmth. She got the

saddened feeling that Bobby Elk survived rather than lived here.

”It's one bedroom, one bath.” He indicated the kitchen, an open s.p.a.ce with butcher-block counters and

clay-tiled floors. ”There isn't much in the fridge, but I'll make sure it gets stocked.”

”Thanks, Bobby. I appreciate this.”

”Sure.” He placed her bag on a cowhide chair in the living room. ”I should pack a few things to take with

me to Michael's.”

”Go ahead.” Feeling like an intruder, she stepped back. She wouldn't dare follow him into his bedroom, even though she would be sleeping there over the next few days.

While he packed, she went into the kitchen, but she didn't poke through the cabinets. Instead she sat at the small oak table and ate her crackers.

He returned within minutes and she realized that he was used to throwing his belongings together, that

he'd probably lived on the road for a good portion of his life.

”Do you want to eat some real food?” he asked.

”No. Not yet.” She needed to give the saltines some time to digest.

”You're going to waste away, Julianne.”

She smiled, touched by his concern. ”I'll be getting fat soon enough.”

He looked at her stomach,then s.h.i.+fted his gaze back to her face. ”It's so hard to fathom.”

She knew he meant the baby. The life they'd created. For a moment they watched each other, silent.

Uncomfortable.

Then he went about the task of making a pot of coffee. ”I don't suppose you want any.”

”No, thanks. You wouldn't happen to have any tea, would you? It's easier on my stomach.”

He shook his head. ”No, but I'll put it on the list.” He made enough coffee for one cup, poured it into a

st.u.r.dy mug and drank it black. As usual, his hair was plaited into a single braid that fell to the center of his back. His sideburns were neatly trimmed, his jaw clean-shaven. He wore a soft, well-worn T-s.h.i.+rt and a pair of faded jeans. His knees were dusted with a little dirt and when she found herself looking at his legs, she quickly s.h.i.+fted her gaze.

There were times she forgot he was an amputee. He was so active, so broad-shouldered and strong, it was difficult to picture him with only one leg. ”I should go. I have to hook up with Michael.” He finished his coffee, rinsed the cup and placed it in the dishwasher. Next he cleaned the coffeepot, dumping the used filter in a trash can below the sink and scouring the carafe. Julianne usually let her dishes pile up for a while before she loaded them into the dishwasher, and she didn't clean the coffeepot each time she used it. She would have to tidy up after herself while she was here, try to live the way Bobby did.

”I'll come back later.”

She nodded. ”Okay.”

He wrote something on a tablet beside the telephone. ”I'm leaving a few numbers for you. The front

desk, the barn office, my cell phone. Call if you need anything.”