HER IDEAL MAN Page 11

  Quietly she bent her head and just let the sense of peace invade her. The saints had answered her prayers before. Tonight she would only ask guidance. The courage to do the right things for her child, and the wisdom to make good decisions.

  She heard the sound of footsteps, but did not look up until a voice said softly, "Señorita, may I sit with you a minute?"

  Anna recognized Alonzo's voice. "Yes," she said, "of course."

  The Mexican adobe maker slid in beside her. "We all come to the church when we are sad, no?" he said, folding his hands in his lap. "Tonight, I was very angry and spoke harshly and wounded a woman I love very much, even though she cannot seem to accept me."

  Anna smiled, knowing he meant Louise. "All in good time."

  "You know why I'm mad at her? Because she won't mind her own business, and now somebody is going to be hurt, no?"

  Ashamed that he knew her secret, Anna lowered her eyes. Suddenly, the mortification of finding herself in such a situation flooded through her, and she felt tears spring unbidden to her eyes. "I shouldn't have done it. I knew better. It was my own fault."

  Alonzo took her hand. "Ah, hija, there is no shame in loving, eh? And now this new life will come in the world, and maybe make you happy."

  His gnarled brown hand was strong around hers, and she clutched it back, nodding, but unable to stop the tears. "I keep thinking of my family. If my grandmother knew, she would be so angry with me."

  "They're far away, no?"

  "New York."

  "Are you going home?"

  Anna lifted her head, the answer plain. "I really don't want to. I love this place. I've worked so hard to come here, to live in Colorado, and it would be crushing to have to admit I couldn't do it after all."

  His fingers squeezed hers. "Tell you what. My children, they are far away, too. Grown up, and they no need some old man tellin' them nothing." The warm brown eyes twinkled. "You need anythin', you come to Alonzo, okay?"

  New tears welled in her throat, but she nodded.

  He winked. "Tell you something else," he said. "Mad as I am at that woman, she don't have no daughters, and she feels real bad. We'll take care of you, okay?"

  Impulsively, Anna kissed his cheek. "Thank you."

  "Now let me walk you home. It's not far, no? And a mama needs her sleep."

  * * *

  For several days, Tyler felt frozen. He went through the motions of his days without thinking, as if someone had hit a pause button in his brain. He'd surface suddenly to find himself doing something automatically and wonder how he'd gotten there.

  The results of the humiliating test were positive: His vasectomy had indeed failed or grown back or whatever it was they did. It gave him a deeply unsettled sense of lost chances. If Kara had not known of his vasectomy, would she have been less likely to ignore the developing problems in her pregnancy with Curtis? Maybe they would have had another chance, maybe things would have turned out differently if—

  But if anything was different, Tyler would not now have Curtis. Untenable.

  Three days after the shocking revelation, Tyler crept into Curtis's room late at night, and settled quietly by the wall, watching the child sleep in the soft orange glow of the stove. Curtis slept in his nest of thick quilts, only his blond head and the top half of his face showing.

  Even Tyler could acknowledge how much the child resembled him—although Lance repeatedly commented on how much Cody acted like Tyler as a child. Both boys were Forrests through and through. Even when Tyler looked hard, he couldn't find a trace of Kara, except in the boy's tidy nature. He liked things to have a place, and all those things to be in those places, just as Kara had.

  As he watched, Curtis stirred and turned to his back, flinging one small arm out of the covers, clutching his stuffed bear close to his chest, and Tyler remembered what he'd said.

  I wish Miss Anna was my mommy.

  Tyler had seen the way Anna interacted with children. She was natural and easy and calm with them, but she wasn't afraid of discipline, either. More than once, he'd chanced upon her cuddled up in some corner with Curtis on her lap, telling some story in her accented voice. And Curtis hung on her every word, his big blue eyes shining, his face showing his besotted adoration of her. Tyler remembered the way Curtis had hurled himself off the porch at Louise's house, right into Anna's arms. Without missing a beat, she'd knelt to catch him.

  Tyler rubbed his face. Curtis had never had a mother, so Tyler had assumed he didn't miss it. It made him feel a little jealous that he hadn't been enough, that no matter what, Curtis still wanted a mother. Like other boys had.

  Quietly, Tyler moved to the bed and pressed a kiss to his son's clear, untroubled forehead. Curtis smelled of soap and milk and the baby lotion Tyler still rubbed on the skin that was so sensitive to the dry climate, and the smell went right to his gut. Rocking back on his heels, he let his gaze touch the fan of lashes on the round cheeks, the rosy little mouth, the impossibly fine blond hair.

  Waves of love washed through him. It was so easy to love his son. So uncomplicated and straightforward and rewarding. Nothing in his experience had ever come close to equaling it.

  With a pang, he thought of the baby Anna carried, a baby he might not ever know, or hold, or have a chance to love. He wondered how the combination of genes between them would work—Tyler was so fair, Anna so dark. Likely it would be dark, like Anna. With her rosy cheeks. He thought of it, a daughter with her apple cheeks and sunny nature, a sister for Curtis.

  And into his unguarded mind crept a memory of Anna herself, lying in this very bed, his too-big shirt slipping off her shoulder, her glossy hair spilling around her face.

  A fist twisted his gut. He had betrayed himself, and Kara's memory, and Anna, by allowing his lust to overtake him that weekend. There were reasons a man didn't indulge in such casual affairs—because there was nothing casual about that kind of joining. At least not for him.

  And there were consequences. Consequences that mainly fell upon Anna, and that made him feel sick.

  He had to stop avoiding the situation and at least let her know he acknowledged responsibility. He would see to it that she was well cared for, that her child wanted for nothing.

  It wasn't enough, but it was all he could do. Maybe he could talk her into at least staying in Colorado, so that he would be able to see the baby sometimes.

  * * *

  The next day he went to see Anna at the museum. He still had no idea what he was going to say. It just seemed that the only honorable thing to do was just go talk to her. Acknowledge his part in her dilemma.

  Their dilemma.

  It was a quiet morning. A volunteer docent with a string of pearls around her neck and a forthright manner waved him toward the back of the kitchen of the old house. "Just go on back, honey. She's doing some paperwork."

  His feet made no sound on the elegant runner down the hallway, and Tyler was able to steady himself for a moment outside her open door. He paused, taking in a breath, and stepped forward one more step until he could see the office, and Anna, beyond the open door.

  It was a small room and, unlike the rest of the museum, a little shabby. Once it had likely been a servant's dining room, or perhaps a storage room, for the plaster walls were unadorned and the floor was ordinary pine planks. With his carpenter's eye, he noticed that the sashes and window frames were plain.

  But Anna had not left it so. He almost smiled at the gypsy splash she'd made in the room. A gossamer lavender scarf was draped over the shade of an ancient, ugly floor lamp. A giant travel poster of the Rockies at sunset covered one wall, and pillows in dazzling combinations of red, purple, green and blue covered the aging horsehair sofa, along with a silk shawl, complete with fringes. The bookshelves were crammed full, and on the only remaining wall were dozens of photos. Probably her family, he decided. A handsome, swarthy lot, with striking eyes and lovely hair.

  Anna had not yet seen him. She sat behind her desk, scribbling, her cheek resting on her ha
nd. She scowled, crossed something out, consulted a calendar and wrote again. Her black curls were swept into a loose knot at the back of her head, but the riotous mass would not be confined so easily, and curls sprung out at her neck, forehead and temple, giving her an appealingly feminine look.

  Although he tried not to do it, he found his gaze on her red, red mouth, that lush and sensual mouth that had given and taken so much pleasure, and felt the predictable stirring in his loins, a heat that spread through his groin and thighs, up to his chest, before he forced himself to glance away, think of other things.

  Like the baby she was carrying.

  He stepped into the doorway and knocked on the threshold. "Anna, can I talk to you a minute?"

  She started visibly, dropping her pencil with a soft "Oh!" Her startled gaze flew up to meet his, and for one long, breathless second, Tyler swayed dizzily in the luminous depths of those black eyes. "Tyler," she said. "You scared me. Come in."

  He took a step, but paused. There was not a single clear space for him to sit. The chairs and long couch were piled with papers, and Anna jumped up, hurrying around to move them. "Sorry. I'm a slob, I'm afraid. Just let me take these, um, papers and things and—" she looked around for a place to put them "—you can have that chair. Go ahead," she said, a little breathlessly, when he didn't move. "Sit down."

  He stood there, noticing the soft blush painting her cheeks, noticing the trembling of her hands and the way she was trying to pretend it was all perfectly normal, and something in his heart twisted hard. He sat in the chair she'd vacated and laced his fingers together, waiting while she dumped the papers on the floor and scurried back behind the desk. "Anna, I just came to—" What? He frowned. "I just thought we should at least talk."

  "Oh, Tyler." Her voice was pained. "I really don't want to do this. You don't owe me anything. It just is. It's just one of those things." She took a breath. "I shouldn't have been there. I shouldn't have said yes. I shouldn't have… I should have… I don't know. It's just not your problem, okay? I can handle it. I'm not a teenager. I'm a full-grown woman with plenty of support and a good education and lots of experience with children."

  When she paused for another breath, he said quietly, "Anna."

  She looked at him, wary and too vulnerable, and Tyler knew there was only one thing he could say to make this right. It might be different if she were another sort of woman, but she was a protected Catholic girl, a virgin until that weekend, and he suspected the smoke screen of words only hid her very real fear and embarrassment.

  "Anna," he said, "will you let me take care of you and the baby? It isn't your fault, or at least not yours alone. I will never be able to sleep nights, thinking of you trying to handle all of this by yourself."

  She leaned forward. "Tyler, I don't want to cause you trouble, either. I really will be okay."

  He met her gaze. "Anna," he said roughly, "will you marry me?"

  "What?"

  "You heard me." He found himself holding his breath, unsure of what he wanted her to say, how he wanted her to respond. Of course, she would refuse, but at least his conscience would be assuaged, and they could go on to the next step. Whatever it was.

  She inclined her head, and he saw light and dark racing through her liquid eyes. She took a breath. "Yes."

  A twist of cold and hot spun through him. "What?"

  "Was it a false offer?" Furious heat raced into her face, and Tyler hated himself three times as much as he had when he came to the museum, because in some ways maybe it had been a false offer.

  "No," he heard himself say. "I meant it. Curtis is the most important thing in my life, and I can't stand the idea of you taking my child away somewhere, where I'll never see it. I can't stand to think of you alone."

  "And I," she said calmly, "am old-fashioned, and I'm ashamed to be single and pregnant. My father, if he knew, would kill me."

  Tyler stared at her, his head roaring. Now what? "I think it should be done soon."

  "Yes," she agreed. "Um … when is good for you?"

  "It's not a business meeting, Anna."

  "That's what it feels like. And in a way it is. Let's at least be honest." She squared her shoulders. "We don't know each other well enough to pretend it's anything but a business arrangement. At least now."

  He didn't feel businesslike. He felt hot and cold and confused, and because she'd asked for honesty, he said, "I didn't know I was going to ask you when I came in here. I don't know what the best thing is." He looked at her helplessly. "I don't know anything about this stuff. Do you?"

  For the first time, she smiled. "Yes. We need a blood test, and a judge, since no priest is going to marry us this fast. Not even Father Garcia." She pulled out a piece of paper and scrawled "Wedding Details" over the top of it, then began to make a list. "You have to tell your family, and figure out all of that."

  His family. Tyler's stomach fell to his feet. "I'll take care of my family. Do you want to call yours? Do we need to leave a little time for them to get here?"

  "No!" Her answer was almost insultingly vehement. "I'm sorry to sound like that, but you just don't know the hassles they would bring." She rubbed her forehead. "I'll tell them when it's over and done with. They'll scream that it's not Catholic, and that you aren't Italian, and that their baby is thousands of miles away." She shook her head. "Trust me. This is easier."

  "Will it bother you, not having a Catholic wedding?"

  Anna fingered the end of her pencil without looking at him. "A little, I guess. I was raised to imagine that big white wedding, the mass and the big party and all of that." She lifted a shoulder. "But we really don't have time to wait. It would take six months."

  "Oh." He hurt a little for her, thinking of what she would be giving up. "Later, then, we'll have a Catholic ceremony." He offered a small grin. "With a big white wedding dress, even, if you want."

  She smiled. "It's okay." She frowned in sudden alarm. "It does matter to me, Tyler, that the baby is baptized, and I want to take him to church."

  "I would never interfere with that." The thought of her taking the baby to church made him feel right about things, somehow, and made him realize he'd neglected Curtis's religious education entirely. Quietly, he said, "Curtis will want to go, too, I'm sure."

  "How is he going to feel about this, Tyler? Have you thought of that?"

  He met her gaze, and his throat felt suddenly tight. "Curtis found out you were having a baby," he said quietly, "and he said, 'I wish Miss Anna was my mommy.' That's a direct quote."

  Tears shone in Anna's eyes. "Oh," she said, putting her hand over her mouth. "I think that's the killer, Tyler. I'm sorry."

  "What do you mean?"

  She stood up, and moved to the windowsill and plucked a huge wad of tissue from a box, her face turned away. "I'm really emotional, and this has been a shock, and unless you want me blubbering all over you, you'd better go."

  Tyler hesitated. Maybe she would like it if he held her for a minute. But maybe she wanted to just be alone for a while. He stood up awkwardly. "Can I call you this afternoon?"

  She nodded, her face still turned away. "Yes."

  "Maybe we can get things together for this weekend."

  "Okay."

  "I'll just go, then." He still felt torn, watching her try to pull herself together. "Find out about blood tests, tell everybody."

  A tiny sound escaped her, and Tyler stared a moment longer, wishing he knew how to reach out. "Anna. Are you okay? Are you sure you want to do this?"

  "Yes, Tyler." She lifted her head, although she kept her face toward the window. "I'm very sure. I just want you to go now, okay? Call me this afternoon."

  Awkwardly, he reached out and patted her shoulder. "Okay," he said, and fled.

  * * *

  As soon as he left, Anna let herself collapse in a heap of pillows and really cry. They were tears of relief and sorrow and anxiety, tears of confusion—and even tears of happiness.

  Whatever she expected when she looked u
p to see Tyler standing in her doorway, it had not been a proposal of marriage. And if it had come from any other man in the world, she would have refused without a second thought.

  But she and Tyler were alike in one important way—they both had very old-fashioned values. In the old traditions, when a baby was made, the parents married in order to give it a home. And although it sometimes did not work as well as one would hope, sometimes it worked just fine. Marriages did not have to be founded on wild, passionate love. Mutual respect and similar values sometimes served as a much more stable base.

  She had agreed to his proposal instinctively, but now that her emotional storm had passed, she knew it was the right thing to do. Her panic the past few days had risen to almost terrifying levels, and her options had seemed more and more limited. His offer was a lifeline.

  And she had genuine faith it would be all right. Oh, not that they would ever fall madly in love, or that they would ever have the kind of marriage she had once dreamed of—a marriage like that of her parents, for example—but she knew she could trust Tyler Forrest to take care of her and the baby, that he was as solid and steady a man as God had ever made. He would also love the child they had made together.

  The unexpected sweetness of being able to be a mother to Curtis made up for a lot. His need of a mother had plucked at her from the beginning, and to be able to grant his most passionate wish was worth almost anything.

  Drying her eyes, Anna wondered why she still felt so sad. In a way, all her problems were solved. She would be able to remain in Colorado. She would not shame her family by returning to New York as an unwed mother. She would have a husband who was as reliable as the rising of the sun.

  A man who did not love her. Who would never love her.

  That was the only fly in the ointment, but it was a big, hairy horsefly. She was more than half in love with him now. It was hard to imagine how she would be able to keep herself aloof and apart from that emotion if she lived with him day in and day out. Or, more to the point, night in and night out.