The Sweetest September

But now she wished she hadn’t said anything.

I’m not satisfied being a phantom figure who mails a check once a month. So what did that mean?

All the doors on her left were closed. Shelby tried the first one, but it was an office, desk cluttered with paper and somehow lonely in the afternoon shadows dancing against the pale wall. Shelby closed that door and found the small bathroom next to it.

Twisting the antique crystal handle, Shelby closed herself in the narrow gray half bath and bolted the door. Silly, but she felt better having a locked door between her and the man she’d paid her ex-boyfriend’s sister-in-law three hundred dollars to find.

Irony was such a bitch.

The bathroom showed a woman’s touch. Embroidered antique towels hung on a ring and a pewter picture frame sat on the vanity. Shelby picked up the picture of the happy couple on the sugar-white beach. John was nearly unrecognizable with tan skin and a huge grin. The wife he held in his arms was small, brown and pretty in a wholesome way. Happy times for a couple that no longer existed.

Shelby set the picture down next to a small carving of a pelican perched in the corner. From the top of the pelican sprouted cattail and tumbling Spanish moss. The braided rug looked handmade in tones of blue and moss-green. Tasteful and simple. Most likely decorated by the woman in the picture.

Shelby sighed and ran water into the sink, blinking at herself in the mirror. She’d eaten her lipstick off long ago, but still looked much the same as she had earlier. She didn’t look like a half-panicked pregnant woman. She looked, well, prettier than normal if not a little pale after having to impart the news to the man clacking around in the kitchen, cleaning up her spill.

Cleaning up her spill.

Yeah. Story of Shelby’s life.

Stay a couple of days. Let me help you figure things out.

John’s offer was tempting to a degree. She had hated being back in Seattle. The summer had been long and rainy, spent waiting on Darby. Then fall had come, along with the news Darby was in love with his...well, wife. Things had unraveled and hadn’t gotten better. Her relationship with her parents was as strained as ever, so in one way not being in Seattle was fine, but she hadn’t wanted the complication of John in her life.

So why did you fly down here to Louisiana?

She had no delusions of some sort of relationship with John Beauchamp. God help her, but she’d had enough of emotionally unavailable men, and one look at the dossier prepared on him paired with the memory of his eyes that night, and Shelby knew he still loved his dead wife. And even if he were available, there would be no time for romance between pregnancy and her teaching career. Besides she hadn’t come down here wanting to be rescued. She’d meant it when she said she didn’t expect anything of him. She didn’t have a permanent job, but she had a solid bank account, and if all else failed, there was her inheritance. Money had never been an issue for her family.

No, coming down to Louisiana had allowed her to escape the reality of Seattle if only for a few days...and delay the ensuing disappointment and scandal she would heap on her accomplished family.

Again.

Once the black sheep, always the black sheep. She seemed destined to stay in the role she’d assumed long ago.

Sighing, Shelby hiked up her dress and tugged down her tights. Might as well—how had John put it? Oh, yeah. Tee-tee. Long drive back to Baton Rouge. She wasn’t staying here in Magnolia Bend any longer than she had to. If John wanted to talk about the future of their child, he’d have to—

Shelby’s last thought disappeared as she caught sight of the blood in the crotch of her brown ribbed tights.

She jerked her panties down and sank onto the porcelain toilet seat. Heavier smears of blood in her panties. Frantically, she grabbed some toilet paper and wiped.

More blood. Fresh.

Oh, God. She was bleeding.

Why had she climbed in that damn rattletrap mule? Bumping over those huge ruts in the field couldn’t have been good for the baby. And all this drama and stress hadn’t helped, either. She’d put her baby in jeopardy, and now she was having a miscarriage right there in a dead woman’s guest bathroom.

Jesus.

And suddenly she, who’d hated the life growing inside of her for nearly a month, who’d penciled in an abortion on her calendar, who didn’t even know the father of her baby beyond his birth date and occupation, knew beyond all else she wanted to keep the small miracle housed within her body.

She stood, tugged up her underwear and tights, squeezed her legs together as if that could stop the bleeding and called, “John!”

Shelby heard the pounding of his boots and slid the lock open, pushing back the door.

“What is it?” he asked, wiping his hands on a towel, looking alarmed.

“I’m bleeding,” she said, trying to stay calm despite the fear clogging her throat. Rough unshed tears made her hoarse.

John took her arm and pulled her gently from the bathroom. “It’s okay. I’m going to call Jamison French. He’s a doctor and one of my closest friends. He’s not far away.”

Shelby nodded, for the first time glad John stood beside her, glad to have someone to lean on. She didn’t want to need him, but her mind felt frozen and all she could think about was keeping the baby inside of her. “I’m scared.”

John escorted her to the chair she’d left moments ago and grabbed the cordless phone sitting on the kitchen counter. “I know you are, but I’m going to take care of you.”

Shelby sank into the chair and tried not to cry. She wanted to be strong, but at the moment doing so seemed impossible.

John barked some things into the phone, softening his tone with an apology. Shelby didn’t pay attention to who he talked to. She concentrated on telling her body to stop bleeding, to stop trying to eject the small life she’d glimpsed on the ultrasound.

“We’re going to my truck, okay?” John said, grabbing a set of keys. “Jamison’s at the hospital, but he’s going to meet us at his office. We’re going to go in the back door.”

“Oh, God,” Shelby breathed. “I didn’t want this to happen. Why is this happening?”

“It’s okay,” he breathed, helping her rise, smoothing her hair back.

“You say that a lot.”

“Maybe we’ll both believe it.”

Shelby closed her eyes. “I hope that’s true.”

John opened the back door, pushing Bart out of the way and flipping off the lights. “No matter what happens, Shelby, hold on to the thought everything will be okay. I’ve forgotten how to do that, but suddenly it feels pretty damn important.”

And when Shelby glanced over at him, she believed him...but that didn’t stop the fact she felt dampness in the crotch of her panties.

CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_dcf61056-fc84-5dce-b5e9-06f4547f8c7f)

DR. JAMISON FRENCH’S office looked nothing like her doctor’s office in Seattle. The walls were a bright blue and the hot-pink chairs looked like something in a funky designer’s office rather than an obstetrician’s. The navy chevron-patterned changing curtain and a funny picture of kittens playing on the ceiling above the exam table seemed to make pelvic exams fun...uh, almost.

Dr. French rolled his stool over to where Shelby lay on the exam table, paisley paper gown open to reveal her white belly. The tech rolled the ultrasound transponder around in the gook on her stomach while the doctor focused on the soft lub-lub of the heartbeat on the monitor.

Feeling like she might heave up the oatmeal cookie she’d scarfed down hours ago, Shelby watched the small screen and the mass of...something that caused the swooshing noises. The panic inside subsided as she listened to the telltale sound of her baby’s heartbeat.

“I’m not seeing anything that concerns me here, Shelby,” Dr. French said, his blue eyes intense behind his artsy glasses. Pointing to the screen he continued. “Heartbeat’s strong for an eleven-week fetus.”

“So why am I bleeding? Was it riding in that stupid mule?”

Dr. French nodded at the technician, who removed the roller-ball thing and handed Shelby a few tissues to wipe off the lubricant.

“No, your baby is safe in your womb and hitting bumps or getting jostled shouldn’t cause any harm. About twenty percent of women experience spotting in the first trimester of pregnancy. Usually caused by implantation of the fetus, but since you’re past that point of your pregnancy, I don’t think that’s the issue.”