Her shoulders tightened. Her father never reacted well when his wife was crying. But he’d never spoken to Callie like that before—as if she were such a disappointment he didn’t even want to call her his daughter. As if he yearned to disown her.
An ache filled her throat. She’d never planned to get pregnant, but keeping her baby a secret had just made it a million times worse. And that phone call had changed something between them. She felt estranged from her family, and it was like half her heart was missing.
But she also felt angry. How could her family have turned on her like this? They were supposed to love her. Why couldn’t they see her side?
And her father had been so harsh to Eduardo. Callie still didn’t know exactly what he’d said. She just remembered how Eduardo’s expression had changed when they were talking on the phone, from conciliation to cold fury.
Walter Woodville had never liked the way Cruz Oil had swept into their town, bulldozing through the county with money and influence, luring young people from family farms with the promise of high-paying jobs. But Callie had made that initial dislike worse. Her cheeks burned as she recalled her bitter words about Eduardo after he’d fired her. Was it any wonder that stalwart, old-fashioned Walter, who’d married his high school sweetheart and still farmed land once owned by his grandfather, had been horrified by the idea of such a man knocking up his daughter, and worse—marrying her?
And as for Brandon …
Her cheeks reddened further with shame and regret. Brandon was certainly back in North Dakota by now, after driving across the country alone. She wondered what he’d told her parents. What he felt inside. Was he worried about her? Was he angry? Or worse—brokenhearted?#p#分页标题#e#
Amazing to think he was willing to marry you while you were pregnant by another man. He must be insanely in love with you.
Callie shook Eduardo’s words away. Brandon wasn’t in love with her. Friends just tried to help each other. But no—that was a cop-out. She swallowed. He’d been kind, and she’d taken advantage. She needed to call him and beg for forgiveness.
Another person she’d hurt. She slowly rose to her feet, her body sore, her legs shaking with exhaustion. As she tucked her sleeping daughter into the bassinet, she suddenly remembered the tender light in Eduardo’s dark eyes when he’d held Marisol for the first time. Remembered how he’d dozed on a chair in their hospital room, cuddling their daughter against his naked chest so the baby could feel the warmth and comfort of skin on skin. Strange. In this moment, she felt closer to Eduardo than anyone else. Eduardo.
Creeping softly out of the nursery, she went to the bedroom, where she found the suitcase of new clothes his staff had brought to the hospital. Opening it on the enormous bed, she selected a pink cashmere lounge set and sighed. It probably cost the equivalent of a week’s salary. But the cashmere felt soft.
Taking a hot shower in the marble en suite bathroom was pure heaven. After combing her wet hair, Callie put on the soft cashmere set over a white cotton t-shirt and went downstairs.
It wasn’t just a penthouse, she thought in amazement. It was a mansion in the sky. She went down the sweeping stairs to the great room, with a fireplace and floor-to-ceiling windows that showed the sparkling lights of New York City by night.
“What do you think?”
She jumped and turned. Eduardo walked toward her with two martini glasses. He was wearing dark jeans and a black T-shirt that showed off his exquisitely muscled body. “It’s incredible,” she breathed. “Like nothing else I’ve seen.”
“Good.” He gave her a slow-rising smile. “I’m glad you like it, since it’s yours.” She blushed, but still couldn’t look away from his powerful body, or the masculine beauty of his face. Hers. If only that were true!
He held out an orange-filled martini glass. “Here.”
“I can’t drink while I’m nursing.”
He held up his own drink, a clear martini with an olive. “This is mine.” He pushed the orange-colored drink into her hand. “This is juice.”
“Oh. Thanks,” she said, suddenly realizing she was dying of thirst. She drank it all in one swallow, then wiped her mouth and realized she was hungry, too. “Something smells delicious from the kitchen,” she said hopefully, setting down her glass.
Eduardo was staring at her. “I made quesadillas and rice.”
“Great!”
“You might not like them.” He smiled again, but for the first time she noticed that his smile didn’t reach his eyes. His hand was gripping the stem of his martini glass, his shoulders tense. “Like you said, I’m helpless in the kitchen. Not like some men, who are undoubtedly born chefs.”