Pregnant.
Griff’s baby.
“There wasn’t the least thing wrong with me,” she told Lanna later, and worked with a daunting speed until closing time. Like a buried burst of energy in her system, elation would suddenly surge forth out of nowhere. She kissed Mr. Riverton when he came in with the mail; she hugged Mrs. Bartholomew for doing a proper stitch on her crocheting. She ate a peanut butter sandwich for lunch and then forgot and later ate another peanut butter sandwich.
It was really a terrible shock, pregnancy. It shouldn’t have happened so soon, her mind warned her. If at all. Griff had his children; they had never really discussed having their own… Oh, they’d touched on the subject, but only casually. He loved kids and knew the maternal itch was catching up with her before they even married, but the subject had never been a source of worry. If the providence that had brought about their marriage wanted to bless them with children…
But not now.
She couldn’t even cope with three now, much less four. Yet that feeling of elation kept coming over her, like a miraculous secret that stole her heart away every time she thought about it.
“You’re all right?” Lanna questioned her once.
Susan looked up from the shelves, startled. “Of course I’m all right.”
“Susan,” Lanna said patiently, “you were humming ‘The Battle Hymn of the Republic’ at the back of the store. Now that most of the customers are gone, if you want to go home…”
Barbara would be disgusted when she heard the news. Tiger would undoubtedly be interested on the same level he was for his hamsters. Tom…Tom might not mind.
And Griff? The one who really counted…
How stupid she was! The last thing on her mind these past two months had been her period, nor was she a calendar-follower, so perhaps she could forgive herself for not having paid attention there. But birth control… There’d been no need to consider that issue in years, certainly not on the night she met Griff. After that night, though, he had promptly brought up the subject, bluntly, Griff-style, fully prepared to take on the responsibility and totally comfortable discussing the options. She had delicately implied, Susan-style, that she preferred to take care of the problem herself.
Seeing as she was so responsible, there should have been no problem. What she hadn’t known was that it would be extremely difficult to prepare for a man who could ignite with desire while reading the Sunday paper and drinking his morning coffee. Particularly since he kindled the same firecracker impulses in her. Unfortunately, she could clearly remember the first night they’d christened the house. The very last thing on her mind…
Or were those all mere excuses? From the very beginning, she’d wanted his baby.
But not now. She just couldn’t handle any more children right now.
Susan wiped her hands on a dish towel, glanced absently around the kitchen to make sure that everything had been put away, and switched off the light over the kitchen table. Leaves were plastering themselves against the windows; it was dark outside, and a storm was howling through the night. In a rage to bring in winter, she thought idly, as she cupped her hands between her forehead and the window to look outside.
All the beautifully painted fall leaves were gone; the tempest was roaring, and the huge elm looked like a shiny black ghost in the rain. Susan unconsciously shivered, and just as unconsciously put a protective hand to her stomach. She stepped back from the cold draft and walked toward the bathroom to run a brush through her hair.
She was one of those weird creatures who loved winter, but not on a night like this. The baby troubled her, and the atmosphere of impending storm seemed to have intensified her concern. One moment she was elated and dying to tell Griff; the next moment she felt unsure and frankly pessimistic, both about Griff’s reaction to the news and about her own ability to cope with his kids, plus another child on the way.
The clear gray eyes that usually looked back at her from the mirror were distinctly cloudy tonight. Her hair refused to behave for the hairbrush, another minor annoyance. Griff liked it when her rag-doll mop decided of its own will to curl and wave; she didn’t, and never felt her best when her hair was unruly. But then, Susan, she chided herself, ever since you’ve been pregnant, you’ve been making mountains out of molehills. She turned away from the mirror after straightening the cherry-red sweater and patting it down over her jeans. She felt utterly despondent.
Nothing had gone right from the minute she’d walked in the door. The house had been silent, and she’d reveled in the serenity for a minute or so. It was a Friday night, and Tiger had been given permission to spend the evening with a new friend three doors down from them. Barbara had left to spend the night and the following day shopping with her mother and grandmother. There had been no blaring stereo and no endless chatter and no clutter to pick up. It had seemed like heaven. But for some insane reason, she missed all of the confusion, and paced restlessly until Griff and Tom came home.
Griff had burst into the house in a mood of high elation. His labor negotiations were finally done, after two long, grueling weeks. He felt a strong loyalty toward his workers and was determined to treat them fairly and even generously. The negotiations had gone well, but he was still hyper; the adrenaline hadn’t stopped pumping overtime yet. He and Tom had managed to clash on the issue of Tom’s seeing “that girl” again before either had even gotten around to changing their clothes.
Griff had won the argument because he was in that sort of mood-take charge and don’t back down-but the atmosphere at the dinner table had been far from trucelike, and Susan had felt her inner wires tighten to the breaking point. Now, as she walked through the silent kitchen and hall, pausing before entering the library, she could hear that Griff and Tom were at it again.
Griff had started a fire and closed the drapes against the gloom of the storm. He’d changed into jeans and a flannel shirt, but he was still projecting the aura of a businessman, command and authority radiating from his strong profile. A wave of love touched her, partly because he was a beautiful man, partly because she loved the way the firelight limned austerity on his features, partly because she knew and respected that dominating side of Griff so well…and because she knew there was another side to him that was not that way at all.
Tom was slouched among the big fat cushions of the couch. His long, jeaned legs were stretched out, his ankles crossed, his body as relaxed as his face was taut with impatience.
“Tom, I want you to go to college,” Griff said flatly, his voice low and careful, so careful that Susan knew he was wary of failing at communication with his son. “Your grades are outstanding, as we both know. It would be different if you were suited to some kind of trade. I’ve got no snob thing about college, but I think it would be the best choice for you. Your own abilities-”
“Dad,” Tom said wearily, “you want me to go into business with you. I’ve known that since I was knee high. What you really have in mind is that I get a degree in marketing, or accounting, or economics.”
“That’s your choice. You’ll pursue your own interests.”
“Oh, yeah. Sure.” Tom leaned back, staring for a moment at the ceiling as Susan slipped into the room, curling up in a chair near Griff with her legs tucked under her. “But my interest is history, Dad, not business. I want to teach, not manage-anyone or anybody. What you do is fine, but it’s not for me. I’d have told you this a long time ago, but I knew you’d only get upset.”