“And just what do you propose we do about it, Jake? This baby is going to be born, no matter what.”
He kept his back to her. “I don’t know. I need to think.”
“I love you, Jake. I want this baby to know its real father, to experience the love I know you’re capable of showing him, probably more than most men.”
He hesitated at the door. “You, uh, you need a doctor or anything like that?” His voice was gruff with emotion.
She felt an anxious panic at his leaving without settling their discussion about the baby. “I don’t think so, but I wouldn’t mind you finding out if there is a real doctor in this place, so I’ll have one when the baby comes.”
“Fine. I’ll check it out. Between that and looking for your brother and for work, I expect I’ll be gone most of the day, maybe all night. Don’t worry if I don’t show up.”
All night? He was running! He was scared to death and running! “Jake! Is that the only reason you might not be back? Do you think you can run from this baby by going out there and getting right back into the kind of life you used to lead, pretend this isn’t happening? It is happening, Jake! You’re going to be a father, and I know in my heart you’ll be a good father. Don’t give up trying to change at the first sign of too much responsibility. I can help you. We can do this together. We can make a home for our children, like the home you always wanted yourself!”
He sighed deeply and opened the door. “Get some rest.” He walked out, and Miranda slumped back into the bed, refusing to let the tears come. Surely he wouldn’t go out there and get into trouble. Did he think that would make her stop loving him, make her leave him and find some other man?
You’re the only man I want, Jake Harkner, the only proper father for this baby.
She rose and pulled a blanket around herself, then walked to a window. Their room faced the street, and she parted a curtain to see Jake walking across the street. “You’ll be back, Jake,” she said softly. “You’ll be back because I can give you more than that life out there. You’ve had a taste of love and you want so much more. I’m the only one who can give it to you, me and this baby you made inside of me.”
***
Jake lit another cheroot, glancing up at the sign over the saloon that read Silver Shoes. He had been in practically every saloon in town asking about Wes Baker and showing the picture. In most of the taverns, he had encountered the expected one or two men ready to challenge a newcomer, either with whiskey or cards or by bellowing about how strong they were or how good with a gun. After a second look, they had all backed down from him or decided to be friendly. Jake figured it must be the look in his eyes or the way he wore his guns, slung low, like a man who knew how to use them.
He decided it was mostly the look in his eyes. He was angry today, and he expected men could tell. His anger was not at Randy or over the baby, but at himself for just leaving the way he had, without settling what was really bothering him. Part of him wanted that baby as much as Randy did, but another part of him told him he wasn’t worthy of being a father. Who was Jake Harkner to think he should deserve the honor of having a small child call him Pa? And what if that child found out the truth about its father, that he had been a killer, a man who whored and drank and gambled and raided innocent farmers; worst of all, a man who had killed his own father, the child’s own grandfather!
Somewhere in the back of his mind he had considered the possibility of being a father, and every time it happened, he had not allowed himself to dwell on it, had refused to discuss it with Randy. How could he have been so stupid as to think he could put it off forever? For all his skill with his fists and guns, for all his wild daring and fearless exploits, he was a damn coward when it came to the thought of being a father. How did he know he wouldn’t be just like his own father? And if the child found out about his past, just think of the shame he would see in his son or daughter’s eyes. He couldn’t bear that look, couldn’t stand the thought of his child hating him and being ashamed of him the way he had hated and been ashamed of his own pa. And if he did turn out to be a crummy father, think what it would do to Randy. He would lose her. No woman chose a husband over a child. She would surely take the kid and leave him.
He walked up the steps and into the saloon. It was nearly dark now, and the place was packed with every sort of lowlife imaginable. Including me, he thought. Lowlife was right, for the way he had walked out on his wife, a good woman, devoted. She had taken a big risk marrying a man like him, and already he was proving she had made a mistake.