Her mother sat across the table and wiped at her eyes with a paper napkin. Her long, black braid rested over her right shoulder. Momma’s hair had never been that dark. Had she started dyeing it? The thought that her mother might be going gray made her throat constrict. The tan complexion Momma had inherited from her Native American mother was darker than Emily had recalled it being. She must be working outside more now that she’d taken on raising horses in addition to overseeing the management of the ranch. She may have turned forty years old in January, but she was still as beautiful as Emily remembered.
Her father sat two cups of coffee on the table, then claimed the chair beside Momma. Without his hat, Emily noticed the traces of gray in his strawberry hair at his temples. He’d shaved off the goatee he’d sported for most of his twenty-two-year music career to hide the long jagged scar on his chin. Without the facial hair, he looked even more handsome than he had as a younger man; especially with the crinkles at the corners of his jade eyes, making him look distinguished as well.
His forty-first birthday was coming up on the twenty-fifth--a week away. She wanted to ask if her parents had anything planned, but before she had a chance her mother picked up her mug and asked, “How far along are you?”
Emily choked as she swallowed her tea. After sputtering for a few seconds, she smiled. “I should’ve known I couldn’t keep it a secret for too long with you.”
Dad drew his brows together and looked between her and Momma. “Well, I’m as much in the dark as a burned-out light bulb. Would y’all like to enlighten me?”
Momma grinned and patted his arm. “Emily?”
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Exhaustion from driving all night weighed her down now that some of the tension of the reunion was over. “I’m pregnant.”
She smiled at the way her father’s eyes widened. Then a grin spread over his face. “Damn…” She couldn’t help the chuckle at the utter awe in Dad’s voice. “I’m going to be a granddaddy?”
Momma laughed and leaned in to kiss his cheek, then she met Emily’s gaze again. “Now answer my original question.”
“I’m twenty-six weeks.” She suspected her mother was concerned about what the drugs she’d taken might have done to the baby. “I found out when I was admitted to Fernwood.” She told them about the conversation she’d had with Dr. Barton. When her mother asked about the baby’s health, she assured her that Dr. Summers did several tests to determine that she was carrying a healthy baby girl.
“A girl, eh?” Dad sat back in his seat, a grin tugging at his lips.
“I thought about keeping the sex a secret, but figured somewhere I’d let it slip anyway.” She rested her hands over her belly. “I think of her as my baby girl.”
“You never were any good at keeping secrets.” Her mother let a cautious smile slip into her otherwise pensive expression.
Shaking her head, Emily lifted her cooled tea to take a sip. “I know you’re both wondering what Fabian thinks about the baby.”
Her father shrugged and leaned over his arms. “I figured you’d get around to it. How long do you think you’ll be staying?”
She set her cup onto the table and stared into it. “I’d like to make my home here. There’s nothing for me in Nashville.”
“You’re leaving music?” Her mother’s surprise had Emily looking up.
“I haven’t decided yet… But if I do go back, I need to remember why I wanted to be a singer in the first place. I need to find my roots. Where better to do that than here in the heartland.” She glanced around the massive custom kitchen her father had built onto the house after buying it when her grandfather died. The whitewashed cabinets with their sand-colored granite countertops, the large windows overlooking the backyard pool, and the acres of pastures dotted with cattle beyond filled the spaces where homesickness swamped her. However, it wasn’t missing her family and her home that caused the restlessness. She missed the music she grew up listening to.
She met her parents’ expectant gazes. “Right now, my main goal is to raise my baby.”
“I hate to ask, but…is Fabian the father? I thought you were separated.” Momma’s brows beetled.
“Unfortunately, yes, he’s her father.” Emily snorted and finished her tea. “We were separated when I got pregnant.” She looked into her cup and considered her words, and decided to be brutally honest. “But we liked getting high together and we liked…” God, how do you tell your parents you like sex? Honesty was greatly overrated at that moment.
“Sex?” Momma provided.
Her father let out a breath that may have been a gasp of pain. “Abby… Geez, I got the picture without you narrating it.”
Nodding, heat rushed to her face, but she trudged on by answering her mother’s question. No way could she look at her father. “He wants nothing to do with the baby. He never wanted kids. Knowing how he felt, I wanted to be free of him as soon as I found out I was pregnant. Not only because he helped me destroy my life--my career--but for the baby. Reese Goodwin expedited my divorce. Fabian agreed to sell the Nashville mansion, but wanted the Manhattan penthouse.”
She shrugged, remembering the confrontation she had with Fabian yesterday when she’d stopped by his hotel to tell him about the pregnancy. “When I told him about the baby, he raged like a banshee that I’d gotten pregnant on purpose. I simply told him he’d never have to see either one of us again. I think he eventually realized I could have fought for child support during our divorce, but didn’t. Instead, I cut all ties, besides giving him the penthouse, I signed over the rights to the songs we’d written together, both the ones recorded and the few that haven’t been published yet. I don’t want my name professionally connected to his.”
She sighed and it turned into a yawn.
“Did you drive all night?” Dad asked.
She nodded. “Yeah. I’d packed everything up, and then met Fabian at the Marriot yesterday afternoon. After telling him about the baby, I left and headed home.” The jerk had thought she’d wanted to meet with him for drugs and sex despite them now being divorced--until she pushed away his advances to drop her baby bomb.
Her mother stood. “Let me get your room ready.” She turned to Dad. “Why don’t you bring in her things?”
“Of course.” He followed to his feet. “You couldn’t have gotten much in that car.”
She shook her head, and with a tired breath, she stood to lead her father out to the driveway. “No. Gabe is bringing the rest of my stuff. He should be here by the weekend.”
“Gabe?” Dad paused at the door. Gabe McKenna was her father’s best friend, and she’d long ago started thinking of the fellow country singer as an uncle.
“When Trish told me he was in town laying down the last tracks for his next record, I gave him a call.” Her manager had once been Gabe’s personal assistant before she became a talent manager with her father-in-law’s firm. The two of them were still good friends. “He was more than willing to drive a rented van back to Texas. I think he was thrilled I was finally getting my head screwed on straight.”
Dad wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close after they stepped onto the porch. “You could have called me.”
“I could have. But Gabe had long ago told me if I needed anything, to call him. Besides, I wanted to surprise