Burn It Up(43)

“Probably.”

“Maybe angry, maybe a little scary, but I’m willing to bet he’ll tell you what’s on his mind. You know him well enough to read between the lines? Sense if he’s upset enough to try to hurt you?”

“I’d like to think so . . . But I’ve never given him this big a reason to be pissed before.” She touched the baby’s head fretfully, wondering how bad a swear “pissed” was. Probably small potatoes compared to the stuff Casey routinely let slip.

“I told him to call again at nine tonight, and that you’d speak to him. It’s really the only option. You up for that?”

“No. But I’ll get myself there, all the same.” She didn’t dare give James any more cause to spill his concerns to Casey or anybody else. The illusion of her innocence had never been so crucial as it was now. Being brave was the only option, lousy as she was at it. There was so much more riding on all this than her reputation, she thought, jiggling the baby when she fussed. There was the safety of everyone around her, of course, but beyond that . . . She owed it to her daughter to be stronger. Owed it to her to be the protective female role model Abilene hadn’t had herself.

Casey swung his legs over the bench. “I’ll get a bottle warmed up.”

“Thanks.”

“You want me with you, when you talk to him?” he asked as he measured the formula.

“No.” No, definitely not.

She thought back to this morning and last night—to every time Casey had shifted in the night and roused her, every moment she’d gotten to spend next to him. She hadn’t felt that secure in ages. Maybe not since before the great scandal of her teen years. Maybe not since she’d been a little girl, totally oblivious to sex. Even then there’d been the specter of an angry God hanging over her . . . But, man, had she ever come a long way from those original sins, from stealing mints from her grandma’s purse or whispering newly gleaned swearwords to herself, trying on what it must feel like to be a bad kid. If only she’d known just how bad she’d turn out . . .

Casey heated the formula and passed it off, sitting close as Abilene coaxed the baby to suckle.

“You scared?” he asked her.

“Yeah. I am. But I can’t put it off anymore.” After she’d found out she was pregnant, she’d been so frightened of what James would say, of what he might threaten, she’d avoided him for far too long. It had been easy to, when he’d been locked up a hundred miles away. That wasn’t an option now—he knew where to find her. And it wasn’t an option going forward, not if she wanted to keep the promise she’d made to herself and be a better person for Mercy. The old Abilene ran and hid. The new one had to find the courage to keep her feet planted and face her mistakes.

“No matter what he says,” Casey said, gaze on the nursing baby, “you’ll feel better, after. Just having it done with.”

“I hope so.” Provided what he said wasn’t, I’m gonna get our child taken away from you. She held Mercy a little tighter.

“You will,” Casey said. “Uncertainty’s always worse than whatever reality you’re putting off facing.” He looked thoughtful a moment, then spoke softly. “Just know that whatever happens, and no matter how bad it might be . . . If he turns out to be a monster, like the worst possible scenario you could imagine, just know he’ll be taken care of.”

She studied his face, unsure. “You mean like . . .” You mean what? That you’d run him out of town? That you’d kill him? Casey’s shady reputation notwithstanding, she couldn’t imagine him going there. Vince? Maybe. Just maybe. “What do you mean?”

“I mean if it comes down to your safety or the baby’s safety . . .” He shrugged, leaving her upended. Spending the night with him had been heaven, but this conversation was a stark reminder that this man who treated her so well was still far from a saint. She needed to keep that reality at the forefront of her mind, to combat the weakness of her body and her heart.

Unless James went psycho—which wasn’t beyond possibility, if he’d stooped to stalking her—he didn’t deserve a beat down. What he deserved, in fact, was answers. She steeled herself, trusting that everything would be better once she’d talked to him.

It was only too bad that the anticipation was such a bitch.

? ? ?

Abilene looked up as Casey squeezed her foot. They were sitting on the couch, her lying down, trying to breathe deep, and him sitting at one end with the dozy baby propped on his lap. She could hear Miah and his father talking in the ranch’s office down the hall, two matching, distant baritones, and also the drone of the radio in the kitchen, where Christine was puttering.

“Almost time,” Casey said. He was acting calm, though he had his silver lighter in one hand and was turning it around and around.

Abilene eyed the clock, heart thumping hard and quick. Five minutes to nine.

Casey shifted the baby’s weight and dug in his pocket, handed her his phone. It was a chunky old thing, branded with the logo of a pay-as-you-go carrier. He had a smartphone, too, and she wondered anew why he needed both.

Bet I don’t want to know.

“I think I’ll—” She jumped as the thing buzzed in her hand, breath leaving her in a whoosh. “I’ll go upstairs,” she finished, and hurried out of the den. She ran up the steps, huffing and shaky as she hit TALK on the third ring and managed to say, “Hello?”