The Sweetest September

“Don’t bother. Things are scattered all over the room, and I really don’t want a stranger packing my personal items. I can climb out of bed long enough to do that.”

“I’ll drive you, then,” he said.

“No. Just send my rental car over. Besides you looked pretty busy in your fields. Abigail seemed to indicate—”

“I’ll be here at noon,” he interrupted, tone firm. “Besides I need to stop in Baton Rouge for a part Homer needs.”

John Beauchamp was a driven man. Easy for her to recognize since she’d been around driven people all her life. Her entire family was listed under the definition in the Merriam-Webster’s dictionary.

“If you insist,” she said.

“I do. Good night, Shelby.”

“’Night.” The door closed with a soft snick and Shelby fell back on the bed.

Jesus.

At that moment, she wanted someone, anyone, to hold her. To tell her all would be okay. A mother to lean on would have been nice, but Shelby’s mother had never been the type to welcome weakness. Maybe someone like Picou Dufrene, Darby’s mother, would run a careworn hand over Shelby’s brow and help her figure things out, but that thought was insane. Darby didn’t belong to her anymore, if he ever had, so she couldn’t lay claim to anyone in that warm, quirky family. Like always, Shelby was on her own.

Going back to Seattle to her family wouldn’t change it.

Her parents weren’t horrid—they’d never locked her in a closet or even missed any of her important ballet recitals or graduations—but Shelby had always felt they loved her because they were supposed to, ticking off a list on a job description. As for her siblings, Shelby’s brother seemed to equate her with something a seagull vomited, and her older sister hadn’t wanted Shelby in her wedding. Sela had even joked in front of the bridal party she didn’t deserve a bridesmaid with less than a master’s degree.

Yeah, Sela was a bitch who had required her husband to pack his testicles away the day they wed. What had Shelby expected?

Shelby dashed the moisture from the corner of her eyes, staring at the fabric gathered at the crown of the bed.

Alone.

She placed a hand over her stomach.

Please stay in there, little pea. It’s me and you. We can do this together.

Even if John Beauchamp was the fly in the ointment.

CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_b0e5e69b-2f4f-5a01-913f-bc6f84dcb1c9)

JOHN JOGGED DOWN the steps of The Laurel Woods Bed-and-Breakfast wishing he could start running and never stop. Like Forrest Gump.

Or maybe he’d head over to Ray-Ray’s and drink until he didn’t give a hot damn about anything anymore.

Of course the last time he’d gotten drunk he’d gotten Shelby pregnant so maybe Forrest Gump had something with that whole cross-country jaunt.

But running wouldn’t work...eventually a man had to stop, and reality would catch up. John climbed into his truck and punched the steering wheel, making the horn beep.

He didn’t want his sister to come out and start asking questions so he started the truck, flipped on the headlights and got the hell out of there.

Jesus H. Christ, what had he gotten himself into?

The truck bounced down the drive, jarring him the same way Shelby had jarred him that afternoon, showing up with that little nugget—I’m pregnant.

Rubbing a hand over his face, he said the words that had been bouncing around inside him since Shelby had uttered those words. “I’m sorry, Becca. I’m so, so sorry.”

Of course his wife wasn’t there to answer...but if she’d been there beside him, she’d have turned to him and said, “Don’t even say it, John Miller Beauchamp. You dug this hole. Now you gotta fill it.”

His Rebecca had been nothing if not tough. She wouldn’t have smiled as she said it, but the forgiveness would have been there in her eyes. He’d never deserved her. Rebecca Lynn Stanton had been his greatest champion...and that’s why disappointing even her memory made him feel like turning the truck into the big tree sitting at the end of the drive.

The cell phone sitting in the cup holder buzzed. He lifted it, expecting it to be Abigail, but it was his younger brother, Jake. News traveled fast in the Beauchamp family.

“Yeah,” he said into the phone.

“Who’s Shelby?”

“Shelby is none of your business.”

“So you’re out in the dating world again. Here I was thinking you were holding fast to the role of grieving widower.”

“It’s not a role.”

“Yeah,” Jake said, his voice softening from smart-ass to the hushed tone he’d used after the accident...after the funeral. John would rather have Jake stick with smart-ass. “You show up with a good-looking woman at our sister’s bed-and-breakfast, asking favors, lip buttoned, and you think you can escape the inquisition?”

“Just leave it alone.”

“Was it eHarmony or something? Lot of guys do computer dating. Even thought about it myself.”

Bullshit. Jake Beauchamp didn’t need a computer. Women fell in his lap. “No. It’s not like that.”

“Christian Mingle? The old man would approve.”

“I’m not using a dating website.”

“So how did you meet her? The Rev and Fancy will know by tomorrow morning. Rochelle Braud already told me she saw a strange woman in your truck, and Shannon Smith said you were at Jamison’s office with a blonde. Jig is up, my brother.”

John released a frustrated breath. This was the huge downside of living in Magnolia Bend. Nosy folk didn’t have enough to occupy them. “She’s just a girl I met.”

“Why was she at Jamison’s? Birth control?”

John smothered a bitter bark of laughter. Too damn late for that. “How about you back the hell off, Jake? Unless you want the same meddling in your life?”

Silence reigned on the line before his younger brother sighed. “Good point. I’m not prying. Just being there for you, bro.”

John already knew this. His family had always been there for him...almost nauseatingly so, and Jake was a good sounding board even if he ran as wild as the kudzu growing along the Mississippi River. “I appreciate that, but at present I don’t need help.”

Liar.

“If you change your mind, I’ll be at Ray-Ray’s later. A cold beer always makes things clearer...but maybe you’re getting a little something-something later? Am I right? Huh? Huh?” Jake cackled like an old woman.

“Goodbye, Jake,” John drawled.