Nothing in this house had changed in decades. There were comfy chairs, heavy tables and a stone-faced fireplace. The cream-colored walls were covered with paintings by local artists—and a few of Jenny’s early works. He had a housekeeper who’d been with him for thirty years and ran the house like a general his battalion.
“You’re going to have the man’s baby, Jenny. He should offer to marry you. It’s what’s right—not that Mike Ryan would know that.”
She blew out a breath as she looked into the older man’s worried eyes. Uncle Hank was tall and lanky, with thick gray hair, steely blue eyes and a stubborn jaw that was now set as if he were ready to bite through a box of nails. He had been the one steady influence in her life and he was the only family she really had. Her parents had disappeared from her life so many years ago, Jenny had no idea if they were living or dead. Hank, though, had always been there for her.
Even though, despite what he had just said, she couldn’t imagine it had been easy for him to take on a twelve-year-old girl out of the blue.
She had known even then that she was his duty. She hadn’t believed he’d really wanted her—why would he? His life was simple, uncomplicated. Why would he take on a twelve-year-old with abandonment issues voluntarily? But he’d taken her in, cared for her, seen her through school and dating, and even hired Jenny for her first real job as a summer intern at Snyder Arts. Hank had been the one to give her pastels and inks and sketch pads. He’d seen her raw talent and encouraged her to grow it. She would always owe him for that and for so much more.
“I don’t need him to marry me,” she said softly, laying one hand on her uncle’s arm.
“’Course you don’t, but he should have offered, damn it, not made you feel like a cheat or worse.”
“I don’t want a man who’s forced to marry me because of circumstances.” She remembered the look on Mike’s face before he left. The harsh words they’d thrown at each other, and though it tore at her to admit it, Jenny knew that it was over between them. A low, throbbing ache settled into her heart and she had the distinct feeling that it would be there with her forever.
“So you’d have said no if he’d asked?”
“Yes,” she said and knew he didn’t really understand. In Hank’s world, a man took care of his responsibilities. But what he didn’t get was that Jenny didn’t want to be the duty Mike picked up and carried under duress. If he didn’t love her and want her, she didn’t want him, either.
She still loved him, though, damn it. Even hearing his accusations hadn’t been enough to kill off her feelings. Did that make her crazy or just stupid? She didn’t know. All Jenny could hope was that the love she felt for Mike would slowly fade away.
Besides, she hadn’t really been surprised when Mike didn’t want her. No one ever really had. Until today, she would have said that not even her uncle had wanted her.
And she would never allow her child to feel that way.
“Mike Ryan.” Hank shook his head and gray hair sproinged out around his head until he looked like a taller, more handsome Albert Einstein. “What were you thinking, honey? You know that man isn’t to be trusted.”
“Funny,” she mused. “He says the same about me.”
Hank stabbed his index finger toward her. “That tells you everything you need to know about the man. You’re the most honest person I’ve ever known. If he can’t see that, it’s a lack in him, not you.”
Warmth trickled through her. “Thanks, Uncle Hank.”
“You don’t have to thank me for the truth, honey,” he said, shoving both hands into his pockets. “And I’m sorry to be carrying on so, but it just pops my corn that the man has taken advantage of you this way.”
Jenny’s mouth quirked. He sounded as if he thought she was a vestal virgin tempted out of her temple by Blackbeard.
“Uncle Hank...”
“Fine, fine.” He lifted both hands. “You’re a grown woman and you don’t need your old uncle spouting off when you’ve got plenty to think about on your own.”
“Thank you, though,” she said, putting her arms around his waist. “For the outrage. For the support. For loving me.”
True to form, Hank stiffened a little, as he always had. Hugs seemed to flummox him a bit, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do in response. And Jenny had often wondered what his late wife had been like. If she’d lived, would he be more comfortable with displays of emotion? He gave her a few awkward pats on her shoulder, then eased her back so he could look into her eyes.