Stranded but not Alone

154 Pages·2012·0.89 MB·English

by  Blu Cora

Table of Contents
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Stranded but not Alone

By Cora Blu
Copyright 2012 © Cora Blu

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and
incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any similarity to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved
above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced
into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic,
mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written
permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
ACKNOWLEGMENTS

This book I dedicate to the women on the night shift that informed me that,
“Seth wasn’t sex on the beach” he is “Foreplay in the Forest.”

My editors: Wendy Ely and Amy Eye, my fantasy editor and formatter.
Thank you both so much for your patience and guidance and friendship.

~Cora Blu~
Prologue

Michigan winters were a contrast in beauty. Sunny and hopeful, but cold
and suspicious—much like the couple inside the immaculate bungalow on 3212
Lawrence street. Everything appeared perfect on the outside. To the untrained
eye, they were a beautiful, loving, and affectionate couple, but that would
change with one unasked question. The question that could end it all.
Sometimes, step back and listen. Mother Nature may be talking to you.

~~~

Over a simmering pan of chicken cacciatore, Simone Daniels stood
thinking of all the ways she would spoil Butterfly, her baby. It was silly to call
her baby that when it could be a little boy; she would stop once they knew the
sex. With a hand on her stomach as if protecting her tiny bundle from hot tomato
sauce splatter, she rubbed and swayed as she monitored dinner and hummed
along with the radio.
A baby. Surprised? Yes. However, she loved her baby and the thought of
being a mother thrilled her. With her professional life stable and her finances
secure, a baby felt nice.
Ronald, her boyfriend and father of her baby, sat mere feet away and
watched T.V. in the living room. A liquor salesman for Bacardi, he was the
picture of professionalism. He could sell a tree to the forest with markup.
Salesman he was, but father he never wanted to be.
Turning down the flame under the skillet, she padded across the kitchen to
the living room, certain she heard Ronald saying something over the music and
the T.V. With a hip on the back edge of the sofa, she sat, her white house shoes
bright against the mahogany floors.
“Sorry, honey, I let Bandit in so I didn’t hear you.” She waited with a
loving smile. Only a month pregnant and she felt as if she glowed.
That joy faded when Ronald dragged a hand down his face. That sexy
steely gray gaze he taunted her with at night reshaped itself into a harsh gray
thunderstorm of clouds. She tensed for whatever bad news he would tell her.
“How do I know that’s my child?” He swung a glance at her flat stomach, then
back up at her.
She reeled back in response to that verbal slap, almost fell off the back of
the couch. Her breath came in slugs as her stomach churned in agitation.
“What?”
“Are you sure that’s my child?”
“You’re serious? Whose child would it be if it isn’t yours, Ronald?”
Disbelief played across her face. She loved this man. How could he think such a
thing? Why? She closed her eyes as small fireworks flashed behind her lids. Not
a migraine, please, anything but a migraine.
“I’m not with you every day, Simone. How do I know that’s my child?”
Ronald glanced at her before he returned his attention to his movie. “What about
that chef you had dinner with last week?” His tone was unmistakable. He didn’t
believe her. He turned from the movie again, tilting his head up to watch her.
“Chef?” Tucking the dishtowel she held into the waistband of her apron,
and folding her arms under her chest, she grimaced with discomfort at the
tenderness of her breasts so soon in her pregnancy. “I photograph restaurant
food. Who should I be talking to? The cable guy? I have dinner with chefs all the
time.”
She stood taking slow steps to get around the sofa to stand before him. Pain
rocked through her skull. She squinted under the light pouring through the
window and planted herself between his legs. He swirled the Bacardi Sangria
before taking a deep swallow.
“Was this an accident or did you do this on purpose?” Those same gray
eyes that filled with desire and passion when he made love to her now held
distrust and suspicion.
“On purpose? Do you hear yourself?” Stunned, she leaned against the chair.
“You think I tried to trap you? Is this a joke? Where is this coming from? Did I
do something that has you upset?”
Leaning back against the sofa, he rubbed his closed eyes, his suit jacket
bunched up over his shoulders with the movement. His gold watch gleamed in
the afternoon sunlight that forced its way in through the silk curtains.
His suspicion left an odor in the air like fried catfish. She could not get
away from it. It clawed at her heart like a feral cat, poisoning every sweet
memory they shared together. This smelled of another woman—had to be—this
was out of character for him.
She watched and waited. Stepping back to ease down on the sofa, she
lowered herself to the seat and waited with her hands clasped in her lap. She
thought of all the women he worked with. No one fit. He focused so hard on
getting the Regional Sales Manager promotion… maybe he didn’t get it and was
taking it out on her.
Her patience hit the end of its rope. Grabbing a pillow from the couch, she
flung it at his head.
“Simone!” Holding his drink out away from his suit, Ronald swore out.
“Baby, stop.”
“Now I’m baby.” A second pillow flew through the air, hitting the curtains,
the tieback slipping off to the floor.
He set the glass on the coffee table. “Look, I’ve been thinking about this all
week and…” He looked past her. “Simone, something’s burning.” They both
bolted for the kitchen.
Damnit, her chicken had scorched. Grabbing a towel, she threw the pan in
the sink and spun around. Ronald backed up after she shrugged his hands off her
shoulder.
“Don’t touch me.”
This was not the same man she made love to last night.
“Simone, we talked about kids. I was upfront with you. I didn’t want any.”
That dark skin, those deep-set eyes, and thick lashes had captured her
initially. Now he just looked arrogant and mean. Like the tycoon he’s trying so
hard to become. The gold and platinum watches, only flying first-class, and
buying the condo in Florida for golf outings. Why hadn’t she seen they were on
two different roads?
“I’ve been thinking,” he said, eyeing his watch and leaning over the kitchen
table. “I think we should cool it for a while.” With the sun shining at his back
from the kitchen patio door, his big body threw a shadow across Simone. She
watched him leave the room.
“Ronald? What’s this about?” The wood floor announced each step he took
on the way toward the bedroom. He reappeared with his coat and keys. He didn’t
look at her, shrugging his wide shoulders into the leather trench.
Simone stood with her jaw slack. First he denied his child and now this?
This baby was his responsibility as well. Didn’t matter that they weren’t married
or didn’t live together. They spent every day together and shared each other’s
lives.
He stood in front of her and attempted to hold her. “Baby girl, we talked
about kids,” he said, reaching out to touch her arm. “Not looking to be a father.”
She jerked away from his hands. “Don’t touch me if you’re that serious
about not having a child. You should’ve been more careful to not make any.”
“Simone, you’re on the pill.” He wound a Burberry scarf around his throat.
“I’m not the one that doesn’t want this child,” she bit out. “Go under the
knife. You’ve made this all about me. I didn’t get myself pregnant,” she said,
twisting the kitchen towel between her fingers.
Something about the way his jaw tightened reminded her of his mother and
it dawned on her—his father never stayed with his mother. Said he left for
another woman.
“I have to go.” He didn’t move but just watched her with a pitying glance.
“I need to think. I’ll stay at my place this week.”
She found her hand still twisting the towel tucked in her waistband into a
knot. Twisting his head off might feel better—off both of them. “Who is she,
Ronald? Who could make you deny your child? A client? Someone from the
office?” She regarded his cool stance and another thought clouded her mind. “I
have never cheated on you, so why would you accuse me of it? Are you hiding
another woman, Ronald, and pinning your guilt on me?” She accused. Nauseated
and winded, she propped a hip along the counter and slid the sleeve of saltines
from the canister. Bad for her migraine, great for her stomach. She broke off a
corner popped it in her mouth.
“There is no other woman.” He crowded her at the counter, standing a
breath apart. “I have never cheated on you, on us, but this.” He glanced down at
her stomach. “I can’t do this—not a child.”
“My baby is not a ‘this.’” She groaned and shoved at his chest. She’d had
enough of his mess. It only moved him a fraction, but his eyes widened as if she
had smacked him. “You know what? Just forget it. I don’t care.” She braced her
hands up to stall any comments when his lips started to move and focused on the
wall above his head to calm herself.
Ronald raised his hand in the air and took another step back, running the
hand over his jaw. He didn’t blink or acknowledge her question. “Simone, you
don’t have to keep it. You can…”
“Get out! Get the hell out of my house.” She pointed to the door. “Now!”
Bile crept up from the acid bath her stomach morphed into. She bit down on
her inner lip. He didn’t get to see how much it hurt for him to deny a child with
her. Make her question his sincerity all those nights when he lay between her
legs, calling her name. Telling her she was his world. Had she made him her Mr.
Right knowing he didn’t want children because they were so good together in
everything else? She policed her emotions, she would not be his victim. After a
couple of deep breaths. She found her control.
He stepped toward her and stopped. She stood tall, knowing he would never
hit her, but sympathy would hurt the same right then. He backed away out into
the living room, opening the storm door with one hand and jangling the keys in
his pocket with the other.
“I’ll call you in a couple days when you’ve cooled down and realize what
I’ve said is for the best. I love you, Simone. You may not believe it, but I do. I
made it clear, no kids.” He paused by the door, glanced down her body, and held
a cold stare to her midsection for much too long.
“Get out, Ronald.” She glanced at the door behind him.
He opened the screen door and stepped outside. “When I said I didn’t want
any kids, I meant it. Always believe a man when he says that.”
“Always believe… wait a minute, you coward.” She planted her hands on
her hips and anger burned through her as the real picture became clear. “You
know I never cheated on you and it’s not that you don’t want kids. You’re
punking out because that’s what Jackson did to you. You’re afraid to be a father,
just like your father.”
“Call me if you need anything.”
She watched him get in his car and drive out of her life just as his father had
done to his mother. It didn’t matter. She had family, friends and now her baby. If
he didn’t want their child then that’s his choice, but she was going to be
somebody’s mother and that’s what mattered now.