“Speaking of Amelia,” Gram said. “How is she? Did she have her baby?”
“I don’t know.” Amber set the tabloid on the table and tapped her finger at the photo that took up most of the front page. “After that silly kiss, I went outside and took the filly out of the trailer. Then I saddled her and proceeded to ride around the yard, doing a few tricks. If you turn the page, you’ll see a couple of shots where I’m showing off for the cameraman and the reporter, which is how Jensen was able to slip away and head to the hospital.”
Gram reached into the grocery bag, withdrew a tub of spreadable butter and placed it in the refrigerator. “I hope he appreciated your help because I’m afraid that article is going to make you look like a hussy.”
Amber lifted her hand and fingered her lips, recalling the kiss that had shocked the wits out of Jensen—and had nearly stolen the breath out of her.
He seemed to have appreciated the diversion, although now she wasn’t so sure. She might have just helped him exchange one sticky wicket for another.
The telephone rang, and Gram answered. “Hello? Yes, it is.”
Amber didn’t give the call much mind, thinking it was some kind of telemarketer or one of Gram’s quilting friends wanting to be the first to know whether it was truly little tomboy Amber Rogers plastered all over the racks above the grocery store checkout aisles.
“Goodness, it’s no bother at all. And yes, she’s right here.”
Her? As in Amber? Who could it possibly be? She didn’t give people of any importance, like friends or someone from the casting department of Cowboy Country USA, the telephone number to the house. They called her cell. And speaking of that casting director—Perry or Terry What’s-His-Name...
The guy had gotten it in his head that she could not only rope and ride, but that she’d look great dressed up as a saloon girl. So he’d been trying to talk her into auditioning for a part as a dance-hall girl in some indoor stage show they planned to have called Madame LaRue’s Lone Star Review.
Never mind that Amber had never been to France and couldn’t do the cancan. Apparently, they had dance instructors who could teach her all she needed to know.
“May I tell her who’s calling?” Gram asked.
Boy, that guy was sure persistent.
“Why, hello, Jensen. I’ll get her.” Gram covered the telephone receiver and whispered, “I knew it was him, but I didn’t want him to think I was all gaga over him like some folks in town—especially after that stupid tabloid hit the newsstand.”
She was right. Some of the locals saw dollar signs whenever they spotted one of the Fortunes because they considered them as rich as ol’ fury. And with the Fortune Chesterfields now in town, some people acted as though they were related to the queen of England.
Amber took the receiver, cleared her throat and willed her voice to sound as though kissing royalty and being on the front page of a tabloid were just as normal as...well as wearing a saloon-girl costume and dancing the cancan.
“Hey,” she said. “I’m glad you called, Jensen. How’s your sister? Did she have the baby?”
“She’s doing splendidly. She had a beautiful baby girl early this morning—about six o’clock.”
She was in labor for two days? “It sounds as though she had a rough time of it.”
“Actually, her labor would start, then stop. And because she wasn’t due until the first of February, her doctor was reluctant to induce her labor—or to send her home. She wasn’t overly uncomfortable until last night, when her water broke—and then they gave her an epidural.”
“How much did the baby weigh?”
“2.7 kilograms.”
Amber’s breath caught. “That sounds awfully small. Is everything okay?”
He paused. “Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot that you Americans aren’t on the metric system. She weighs about six pounds—maybe a bit less.”
“Then she wasn’t too small. You Brits do things so differently.”
“I’m afraid it’s the other way around, my dear. But I’m much too happy to argue with you. Mother and daughter are doing very well.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Amber blew out a sigh of relief. “I’d been wondering how things were going—and I’d planned to call Jeanne Marie and ask.”
“You would have had to call her on the mobile. She’s here at the hospital with us.”
“That’s not surprising. I’m sure she’s been nearly as excited about the new baby as your mother is.”
“That’s true. They’re both beside themselves and planning shopping trips already—now that they know the baby is a girl.” Jensen laughed.
“Well, thanks for calling,” Amber said.
“I also wanted to let you know that Amelia would like to speak with you.”
Amber glanced at the tabloid on the kitchen table. No doubt Jensen’s sister had gotten wind of the latest gossip. The realization poked at her like a pinprick to a helium balloon, and all the levity she’d experienced a heartbeat ago whooshed out, leaving her empty, deflated.
Was the new mother upset about her providing more Chesterfield fodder for the news rags? Had it caused her more grief and uneasiness on a day that should have been one of the happiest of her life?
Maybe Amelia wanted to ask Amber to stay away from her, Quinn and the baby from now on.
If that was the case, this would be her first—and maybe her only chance—to see the baby. At least, until Jensen left town and news of the poor and desperate cowgirl’s attempts to land a royal husband died down.
“Can you slip away for a while?” Jensen asked. “The nursing staff have strict orders not to allow any visitors, other than the ones who are already here and are now leaving, but I can get you in.”
“Amelia wants to see me in person? Today?”
Couldn’t it wait until she was released from the hospital? Until she was feeling better?
“Yes,” Jensen said. “So I thought it might be best if you met me someplace discreet.”
No doubt because the reporters hadn’t shown up at the hospital yet. And since they probably assumed Amelia and Quinn were still at the ranch. Maybe they were staked out there, so Jensen was afraid to go home. Or maybe they were now following Amber.
“Sure,” she said. “Of course. Where do you think we should meet?”
“I know this sounds pretty clandestine, but if your grandmother wouldn’t mind driving you into town later this evening, she could drop you off at one of the local eateries. Then maybe you could slip out the back door, and I could pick you up.”
“Perhaps I should wear a costume of some kind.”
“I don’t know if that would be completely necessary.”
Amber had meant the comment to be tongue-in-cheek, but Jensen clearly hadn’t picked up on it. So she took it a step further. “A black trench coat might be better than cutting eyeholes out of a brown paper bag and wearing it over my head.”
“Are you annoyed?” he asked.
“Mostly with myself and this darned predicament I seem to have gotten us into. I should have known better than to have kissed you.”
Silence