The Unclaimed Baby by Sherryl Woods Page A

people had no doubt been dropping ever since his arrival. Maybe it was time she simply told him why everyone tended to walk on eggshells around her. Why they stared at her sometimes as if she might crack like a delicate bit of old porcelain.
    â€œI suppose there’s no reason for you not to know,” she said eventually. “Everyone else does.”
    She hesitated, wondering if she could get the words out. For a long time now, she’d thought if she didn’t talk about the accident, never mentioned Kyle at all, the pain would go away. Of course, it hadn’t.
    While she debated what to say, Cord remained silent, watching her patiently. She found that reassuring.
    â€œI was engaged for a very long time.” She began slowly, then went on in a rush. “Last summer we finally got married.”
    His eyes widened with unmistakable shock and, perhaps, something more, something that could evenbe regret. But his voice was steady, “You’re married? But where…?”
    â€œI’m getting to that,” she said, her gaze pleading with him for patience. She drew in a deep breath before going on. “That night, leaving the reception, we were hit by a drunk driver. My husband was killed.”
    She managed to get the words out in a matter-of-fact way, despite the raw emotions that were churning inside her. She avoided looking directly at Cord, fearful of what she might read on his face. She wasn’t sure whether to expect disgust or dismay or pity. She wasn’t prepared to deal with any of them.
    â€œThe damned fool!”
    His sharp, angry words startled her into looking up. He reached for her hand and enveloped it in his. There was genuine warmth and comfort in his touch, but it was his obvious outrage on her behalf that meant the most.
    â€œI’m sorry. I’m sorry you had to go through that.” His gaze narrowed as a thought apparently occurred to him. “You’re not blaming yourself, are you?”
    â€œI was driving.”
    â€œWhat the hell difference does that make? The other driver was drunk. He was responsible, not you. There ought to be a special place in hell for people like that.”
    She was stunned by his fierce tone. It was more than sympathy for her tragedy. That much was clear, but she didn’t know exactly what to make of it.
    â€œCord?” she whispered.
    He blinked as if he’d been someplace very far away and had been suddenly drawn back by the sound of her voice.
    â€œWhat is it?” she asked.
    â€œI was just thinking about my father,” he said with stunning bitterness. “He was picked up more times than I can recall for drinking and driving. Around where we lived, everyone knew him. The sheriff’s deputies would pull him over, load him into their car and haul him on home. Maybe if they’d arrested him, thrown his sorry butt in jail, he would have sobered up, instead of wasting his whole life on booze.”
    He glanced at her, then sighed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to get off on that. We were talking about what happened to you. I just couldn’t help thinking that but for the grace of God, my father could have killed someone and left someone like you to grieve and blame themselves.”
    â€œBut he didn’t,” she reminded him. “That’s something to be thankful for, isn’t it?”
    Cord sighed. “Yes.” He studied her. “That’s why you don’t drink, isn’t it?”
    She nodded. “Just seeing a beer in someone’s hand is enough to upset me.”
    â€œI should have guessed that night you told me you never kept alcohol in your house.”
    â€œHow could you? It could have been anything.”
    â€œThere are people who drink responsibly,” he reminded her. “A glass of wine with dinner, a beer while they’re working in the hot sun.”
    â€œI know that, but I find myself watching everyone like a hawk, worrying that the