She clenched her fists. “It’s not funny!”
Her grandfather, Charles Broward, the heart and soul of the family, shuffled into the room. He wore his trademark plaid flannel shirt and well-worn blue jeans, except he called them “dungarees,” and a deep scowl.
“What’s all the commotion about?” he roared, scratching at his chin. “You boys sound like two drunk roosters crowing at dawn.”
“Wiki-what?” Steven asked, knitting his brows in confusion.
Both of his sons roared even harder in amusement at their grandfather’s witticisms and their father’s lack of internet knowledge.
Steven whistled through his teeth. “Listen, Wes. I know you just got back from God-knows-where and, Jameson, you’re still high on life from your honeymoon, but, boys, this is no time for jokes. Right, Laney?”
She turned toward Gwendolyn, who was still sitting silently, a grim look on her face. Their eyes met and Laney saw that not only did her mother sense what was going on, she was very disappointed.
Laney’s heart sank, her anger at her brothers chased away by her mother’s disapproval.
“You’re right. This isn’t the time for jokes,” she replied quietly, never taking her eyes away from Gwen. “Especially when there’s a child at stake.”
Her mother covered her hand with her mouth and looked like she was about to cry.
Steven slammed his fist on a small table behind the sofa and tried to smooth out the wrinkles in the newspaper, as if by doing so he could erase the words that could destroy everything he, his father and his great-grandfather, Silas Broward, had built over the past one hundred years.
Jameson slipped his phone back into his pocket. He and Wes looked at each other guiltily, and then at their mother, who continued to frown and say nothing. Grandpa Charles whistled low and slumped against the wall.
And the only sound in the room was the gentle whir of the ceiling fans ten feet above their heads, as her father tried to change what could never be undone.
“I can explain,” Laney said quietly. She stared down at the polished wood floors, barely breathing.
Her father looked up from the wrinkled newspaper. “You better,” he replied through gritted teeth. His brows knit together and Laney could see that he was struggling not to shout. “Because we all deserve to know.”
“Go ahead, honey,” her mother urged, her voice remarkably steady. “We’re all listening.”
Laney took a deep breath and willed herself not to cry. She had to stay strong for herself and her baby.
“What the paper says is true. I’m pregnant.”
“Oh, my Lord,” Gwendoyln uttered. Her eyes slid shut at the pain she heard in her daughter’s voice.
Steven crumpled up the paper again, this time using both fists.
“Well. I’ll. Be. Damned.”
Wes elbowed Jameson. “So little miss perfect finally got herself knocked up.”
“Yeah,” Jameson snorted. “The only question I have is, who’s the baby daddy?”
Laney whipped around on her heels and stared at her brothers in disbelief at their reaction to her uncomfortable announcement. Gwendolyn clapped her hands, the sound so loud it echoed in the high-ceilinged room.
“Boys! I’m ashamed of you.” She spoke sharply, but somehow managed not to raise her voice. “I know this news is a huge shock to all of us, but this is my house and we’re still going to talk to each other and treat each other with respect.”
“Well said,” Grandpa Charles asserted with a stern glare at his grandsons.
Her brothers hung their heads in shame. “Sorry, Mama,” each muttered, one after the other.
Laney knew that deep down, Wes and Jameson loved her. They just never realized how much their teasing could hurt, and she knew that they probably never would.
Steven dumped the paper into a nearby trash can. “Well, Laney, should I call the lawyers and have them switch from pursuing a libel suit to chasing a paternity suit? Or are you going to tell us who the father is?”
Laney froze. She knew that her parents had the right to know that Austin was the father of her baby. She even pursed her lips, but was unable to gather the strength to form his name. She knew it was silly, but uttering Austin’s name aloud to her family would somehow make the one night they’d spent together feel cheap. When in reality their lovemaking was anything but meaningless, at least to Laney.
Gwendolyn stood and walked over to her daughter.
“Let Laney speak. You’re not giving her a chance to tell us what’s going on.”
She held out her hand and Laney took it, feeling like a little girl, wanting and needing her mother’s love. They walked over to the sofa and sat down.
“Now, how far along are you?”
Laney slipped her hand away, suddenly ashamed.
“Four months. The picture in the newspaper must have been taken after my last appointment with Dr. McCreedy.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Gwen put her arm around her shoulders, and Laney felt like crying again.
“I wanted to, Mom. I really did,” she choked out, struggling to keep her emotions encased in her heart.
“But with Wes and Lydia’s engagement, and then Jameson and Brooke’s wedding, plus everything else going on, it never seemed like the right time.”
She looked into her mother’s eyes, pleading with her to understand. “I’m sorry you had to find out like this. I’m sorry that I brought all this trouble and—”
Her words were cut off by the sound of the doorbell and everything stopped. Except the guilt. It reverberated throughout Laney’s body, like a harsh, recurring chime, an ache of warning.
“Are you expecting anyone, Gwendolyn?” Steven asked.
“No, I’m not.”
He turned to Wes. “Get the door,” he ordered. “Whoever it is, get rid of them. We still have a lot to discuss here.”
No one spoke, but if they had, it wouldn’t have broken the thick net of tension in the room. When Wes returned a minute or so later, all eyes were on their guest: Austin Johns.
What was he doing in Granger?
“Look what the tumbleweed rolled in,” joked Wes, glad to have a break from his sister’s latest drama.
Laney’s mouth parted at the sight of him. He wore neatly pressed khakis, a light blue button-down shirt and a very unfriendly frown.
Her eyes traced his lips and she distinctly remembered how they felt upon her skin, erupting the same passion that stirred within her now.
Laney noticed right away that he avoided looking at her, even though where she was sitting with her mother was directly opposite him. In fact, he seemed to be looking right through her.
I might as well be invisible, she thought.
In a way, it was good, and she quickly tried to think of a plan to escape this uncomfortable scene without arousing suspicion.
Laney straightened her body ever-so-slightly, so that her mother would not notice, even though inside, she wished she could