Page 64 of Nobodys Baby But Mine (Chicago Stars 3)

He cradled the coffee mug in his hands and looked over at his wife’s slim, straight back. Lynn was shaken to the core by Cal’s marriage, and both of them were trying to come up with a reason why he’d chosen so badly. The physicist had a subtle sex appeal that he’d seen right away, even if Lynn hadn’t, but that didn’t explain why Cal had married her. For years they’d both despaired over his preference for women who were too young and intellectually limited for him, but at least all of them had been sweet-natured.

He felt helpless to deal with Cal’s problems, especially when he couldn’t even deal with his own. The conversation at the dinner table had brought it all back to him, and now he felt the passage of time ticking away so loudly he wanted to shove his hands over his ears because he couldn’t go back to fix all the places where he’d made the wrong choices.

“Why haven’t you ever said anything about that day I bought the cookies from you? All this time, and you’ve never said a word.”

Her head came up at his question, and he waited for her to pretend she didn’t know what he was talking about, but he should have realized that wouldn’t be her way. “Goodness, Jim, that was thirty-six years ago.”

“I remember it like it was yesterday.”

It had been a beautiful April day during his freshman year at UNC, five months after Cal was born, and he’d been coming out of a chem lab with some of his new friends, all of them upperclassmen. Now he didn’t remember their names, but at the time he’d craved their acceptance, and when one of them had called out, “Hey, it’s the cookie girl,” he’d felt everything inside him turn cold.

Why did she have to be here now, where his new friends could see her? Anger and resentment turned to acid inside him. She was so damned hopeless. How could she embarrass him like this?

As she’d brought the buggy with the wobbly wheels to a stop, she’d looked thin and ragged, barely more than a child, a raw mountain girl. He forgot everything he loved about her: her laughter, the way she’d come so eagerly into his arms, the little spit hearts she’d draw on his belly before she’d settled beneath him so sweet and giving he couldn’t think of anything but burying himself inside her.

Now as he watched her come closer, every poisonous word his parents had said shrieked in his ears. She was no good. A Glide. She’d trapped him and ruined his life. If he ever expected to see a penny of their money, he had to divorce her. He deserved something better than a roach-infested apartment and a too-young mountain girl, even one so tender and joyous she made him weep with love for her.

Panic welled inside him as his new friends called out to her. “Hey, Cookie Girl, you got any peanut butter?”

“How much for two packs of chocolate chip?”

He wanted to run, but it was too late. His new friends were already examining the cookies she’d baked that morning while he slept. One of them leaned forward and tickled his son’s belly. Another turned back to him.

“Hey, Jimbo, come on over here. You haven’t tasted anything until you’ve tried this little girl’s cookies.”

Amber had looked up at him, laughter dancing in eyes as blue as a mountain sky. He could see her waiting for the moment he would tell them she was his wife, and he knew she was savoring the humor of the situation as she savored everything about their life together.

“Yeah, uh… okay.”

Her smile remained bright as he walked toward her. He remembered that her light brown hair had been pulled into a ponytail with a blue rubber band, and that she’d had a wet spot on the shoulder of his old plaid shirt where Cal must have drooled.

“I’ll take the chocolate chip.”

Her head tilted quizzically to the side—You goof, when are you gonna tell ’em?—but she continued to smile, continued to enjoy the joke.

“Chocolate chip,” he repeated.

Her faith in his honor was infinite. She waited patiently. Smiled. He slipped his hand in his pocket and drew out a quarter.

Only then, when he held out the money, did she understand. He wasn’t going to acknowledge her. It was as if someone had turned out a light inside her, extinguishing her laughter and joy, her faith in him. Hurt and bewilderment clouded her features. For a moment she only stared at him, but, finally, she reached into the buggy for the cookies and held them out with a trembling hand.

He tossed her the quarter, one of four she’d given him that morning before he’d left for class. He tossed her the quarter as if she were nothing more than a street corner beggar, then he laughed at something one of the other guys said and turned away. He didn’t look at her, just walked away while the cookies burned in his hand like pieces of silver.

It had happened more than three decades ago, but now his eyes were stinging. He set the coffee on the counter. “What I did was wrong. I’ve never forgotten it, never forgiven myself, and I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted.” She flicked on the faucet, putting a deliberate end to the subject. When she turned off the water, she said, “Why did Cal have to marry her? Why couldn’t they just have lived together long enough for him to see what kind of woman she is?”

But he didn’t want to talk about Cal and his cold wife. “You should have spit in my face.”

“I just wish we’d met Jane ahead of time.”

He hated her easy dismissal of his wrong, especially when he suspected she hadn’t dismissed it at all. “I want you back, Lynn.”

“Maybe

we could have changed his mind.”

“Stop it! I don’t want to talk about them! I want to talk about us, and I want you back.”

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