4

Darla Miller. Cat lady. That was her future.

She trudged up the stairs, the notion of her lonely destiny weighing down her already exhausted steps. Even walking into her apartment, her refuge from the world, did not ease her frustration with life. She kicked off her shoes and flopped facedown onto her couch, drained to her bones. The last few days had been physically and mentally grueling, but above all else, she was hurting.

Her soul … her heart … both pulverized with lost dreams.

Lost impossible dreams.

She had really, really hoped Sullivan would take her up on the baby-daddy proposal she had presented to him several weeks ago.

But all that planning was for naught.

When Sullivan explained, all um’s and ah’s about a chance encounter with a woman (one who turned out to be the freaking princess!) in a bar and how they ended up spending the night together, she had been hurt.

Oh, not because she loved Sullivan and he had (in a convoluted way) cheated on her, but because she’d always subconsciously known that using a man merely to father a child was ridiculous.

She needed to set aside her dreams and come to terms with the idea of never having a child of her own.

Like with Lee, the babies she helped bring into this world would be her substitute children. And by living in a small town, she got to see them grow up.

And of course, she would get a cat.

No. Make that two cats. Maybe even three. One would be lonely. Just tomorrow she would pay the shelter a visit and—

Boom. Boom. Boom.

Her body jerked. She lifted her head off the cushion and twisted her neck, looking toward the door with a frown.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

Annoyed, she pushed up off the couch, marched across the room, and—

Hand on the handle, about to yank the door open, she had the presence of mind to peer through the peephole.

And pulled away as if slapped, her heart kicking into a frantic rhythm.

“Let me in, Darla. I know you’re home,” the wretched man said.

Leaning against the wall, she placed her hand over her heart, sure her lifegiving organ would burst from her chest. She shoved off the wall and faced the barrier between her and the man who had shattered her heart by rejecting the love she offered him. “Go away!”

And inwardly cursed herself when she looked through the little lens again.

Go. Just go.

But he stayed.

Looking directly at her.

As if he knew she was looking at him.

“Not leaving until I speak to you,” he said.

A deep melancholy settled over her as she stared at his distorted image, the pain of his crushing betrayal fresh and real even though it happened years ago. “Just go.”

“Don’t ask me to do that. Not now,” he replied, leaning in, his face filling her vision.

She stepped back and wrenched open the door. “What do you want?” she snarled.

“You’re not alone,” he weirdly said, brushing past her, walking through her entry to the living area.

Darla stared after him, slack mouthed. Unfortunately, she recalled all too well the hidden power underneath his tall and lean form. How his muscles rippled beneath his skin when he moved above her and—

Stop. Just stop, Darla.

He started pacing. And she (unfortunately!) knew him well enough to recognize the barely constrained agitation in his movements, a far cry from his normal pantherlike grace.

He was in a snit. A bad one.

But Bobby Bell’s snit was not her problem.

And she didn’t have the emotional bandwidth to deal with him.

Not today. Not ever.

“Not sure what brought you here, but you need to go,” she said in her most reasonable voice, making her way to the kitchen. “And shut the door on your way out.” With her back to him, she opened the fridge and perused its contents. And sighed. She needed to do a grocery run, but the idea of putting her shoes back on and going out was beyond her. It was a take-out night. But while she waited …

She closed a hand around the bottle of shiraz (don’t judge; she liked her wine chilled, even a red) and placed it on the counter. Reaching into the cabinet for a suitable glass, she gave Bobby a stink-eye and snipped, “Why are you here?”

A deep frown formed, pulling his brows together. His gaze drifted from the wine to clash with hers. “Alcohol is bad for the fetus.”

Okay, then, this was the most bizarre conversation ever . Or maybe a hallucination. A wild, fantastical figment of her very tired and overwrought mind.

See? Crazy cat lady even before the cats arrived.

“It is,” she said, adding a couple of cubes of ice to the glass. “Alcohol exposure during a pregnancy can cause lifelong disabilities.” She twisted off the top and picked up the bottle.

“Stop!” Bobby cried out, yanking the bottle from her hand, spilling wine on the counter.

Not a hallucination , she thought, watching the wine spread. “Now look what you’ve done,” she groused.

“I know his behavior is unconscionable,” Bobby said, holding the bottle aloft, concern written all over his features, “but Darla, drinking is not the bloody answer.”

Right. Back to the hallucination. Because the man was not making sense. Not even a little.

She gripped the edge of the counter. “I’ve had a shitty day, Bobby. I am tired, hungry, and I ” — she leveled a hard stare at him — “can do whatever the fuck I want in my own home.”

The concern on his face morphed back into the soft, compassionate look from earlier. “I get that you’re hurting, but, love, that’s no reason to harm the baby.”

Harm the … baby ?

“I know about the baby,” he continued before she could respond.

“What baby, Bobby?” she snapped.

“ Your baby.”

She gaped at him. It took several beats to form a reply. “Why would you think I’m pregnant?”

“You’re not pregnant?”

“I’m not pregnant.” She canted her head. “But why would you think I was?”

Instead of answering her, he tilted the bottle and poured wine into the glass, the soft tinkle of expanding ice the only sound in the room for a long moment. He slid the glass closer to her. “I overheard a conversation about you and a baby between Sullivan and Princess Marielle.”

“And so you assumed I was pregnant.”

He shrugged a shoulder and gave her a sheepish look.

She gulped a mouthful of much-needed wine. “Then you rushed across town and came here to do … what?” She slung one arm across her stomach, crooking her other to peer at him over the rim of the glass, curiosity getting the better of her.

His skin darkened to a deep red, the color staining his neck and face. “In total transparency, I first went looking for Sullivan to beat the bloody shit out him, but lucky for him I got called back to the stables to deal with a mare in labor.” Bobby lifted the wine and took a large slug straight from the bottle. “And then I came here.”

He was going to “beat the bloody shit out of Sullivan” on her behalf?

That was rather sweet. And the way he blushed was adorable.

She inwardly rolled her eyes. Seriously, Darla?

Annoyed at herself for almost falling under his spell again, she took another sip of wine, focusing on the taste of berries and spices as it rolled over her taste buds.

Bobby Bell was a cad.

A breaker of hearts.

A tarnished knight.

And she needed to remember that.

Bobby cleared his throat. “What was their conversation about? I clearly heard Princess Marielle accuse him of ‘bumping hips’ with you long enough to give you the baby you so desperately want.”

“None of your business,” she muttered.

“Darla—”

She held her hand out to stop him. “No, Bobby. You made your choice years ago when you broke things off with me.”

This time his flush wasn’t adorable. It was frustrating. She lifted the glass to her lips, drinking deeply.

“It almost killed me to walk away from you, Darla, but I had no bloody choice.”

“No choice?” she sputtered, grateful she’d swallowed most of the wine. She swiped the back of her hand across her mouth.

“I couldn’t continue a relationship built on a lie, but I also couldn’t tell you the truth. I loved you too much to place that burden on your shoulders.”

When the truth of his identity was revealed a while ago, she figured out the reason why he’d ended it.

But knowing never lessened the hurt.

Knowing never comforted her during the long, lonely nights.

And now, that agony of betrayal bubbled up from the deep hole she had shoved it in years ago, rising to the surface, rendering her incapable of containing it. “I’d’ve kept your secret,” she whispered, blinking rapidly.

*

The hurt in her voice tore at Bobby’s heart. “I know, love. I know.” And the way she flinched from his touch when he reached out and brushed away the single tear that trailed down her cheek, ripped his soul in two.

He was the reason for her heartache.

Every tear she’d shed was because of him.

“Please, Bobby, just go,” she begged, dropping her head.

“I can’t,” he replied.

She pushed away from the counter and lifted a tear-stained face to him. “I wanted children. And a husband. A forever with you. I never hid that from you, Robert Bellerose .” He winced as she bit out his full name. “And you continued to let me believe we had a future. But you knew, you fucking knew that one day you’d rip it all away with a few trite words.” She leaned across the counter and stabbed a finger into his chest. “Do you remember what you said to me? Do you? Huh?”

He remembered those awful words he’d forced over his lips.

Only too well.

They haunted him to this day.

But before he could reply, she spat them out, “It’s not you, it’s me.” She gave a bitter laugh. “How clichéd. Gah! It’s not you, love, it’s me,” she repeated in a sing-song voice.

He rounded the counter and dragged her into his arms. “I’m sorry, Darla. So bloody sorry.”

Bobby held on tight even though she struggled against his embrace. And then she issued a mighty sob and dropped her head to his chest. The floodgates opened, and she all but melted into him. He lifted her into his arms and moved to the couch and, cradling his precious cargo close to his chest, he sank onto the plush cushions. It took a while for her tears to dry up, during which he plied her with tissues from a nearby box and stroked soothing hands over her back.

Of course, once she cried out her hurt, the sass returned. “Don’t think this means I’ve forgiven you,” she snapped, glaring at him.

“I wouldn’t dream of thinking that.”

“Good.” She shifted to the cushion next to him and lifted her chin. “I’m gonna get cats. At least two, ’cause one would get lonely.”

He blinked at the left field declaration. “Cats?”

“Uh huh. Sullivan’s smitten with the princess, so I’ve lost my chance of having a baby and—”

“Whoa,” he burst out, twisting to grab hold of her biceps, holding her at arm’s length. He peered intently at her. “Tell me about this thing between you and Sullivan. Please.”

She let out a beleaguered breath. “I want … wanted to have a baby and considered IVF using a donor, but that’s not for me, so I asked Sullivan to be my baby daddy. No strings attached, ’cause we’re not in love with each other. But then he met the princess.” She huffed. “Now I’m gonna be a cat lady.”

A baby.

Darla wanted a baby.

“I’ll give you a baby. I can even throw in a cat.”