Kitabı oku: «The Baby Legacy», sayfa 3

Chapter Three

It was all Megan could do to wait for Mac to slide into the red vinyl booth across from her before she dug into her sundae. They’d agreed to meet at the Dairy Freeze near the clinic, where he had insisted on paying for her ice cream along with his own. Ordinarily that kind of macho taking-care-of-the-little-woman gesture set her teeth on edge, but he’d done it with a wink that made her feel more like an attractive female than an overweight incubator.

“Humor me,” he’d pleaded, as if he understood that she was used to paying her own way. Refusing would have been churlish.

Now he took a bite of his banana split as she ate a mouthful of ice cream and closed her eyes in sheer bliss. The creamy sweetness exploded on her tongue and slid down her throat like a sigh.

How had he known she’d been fighting a major chocolate craving all day? She’d given up caffeine and alcohol, and she watched what she ate, but in the last eight months chocolate had become an obsession. Because of those first insistent cravings, she’d suspected she might be pregnant even before she’d used the home test.

When she opened her eyes, he was watching her with blatant curiosity. Embarrassed, Megan looked away as an old song about a teen angel spun around them. The Dairy Freeze was decorated with fifties memorabilia, including miniature jukeboxes at each booth and black vinyl records—45s—scattered over the walls.

“This is pretty good,” Mac said of his ice cream, breaking the awkward silence between them. “Thanks for agreeing to come with me.”

“Thanks for asking.” Megan licked fudge sauce from her spoon, sneaking peeks at him as he continued to study her openly. His interest spiked her temperature. She liked his weathered face. His dark, compelling eyes were fringed with lashes any woman would kill for. His hair was a warm brown, combed off his wide forehead and cut nearly short enough to disguise its tendency to wave. With luck, his genes would breed true.

He oozed masculinity and she had his undivided attention. Just because she was as big as a house didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate the company of a handsome man. Too darned bad he was only assessing her as breeding stock.

Under his prolonged scrutiny she began to wonder whether her mascara had smudged or she sported a smear of chocolate on her chin. What did he think of her?

“I know nothing about you,” he said finally as the wailing ballad was replaced by energetic surfer music that made Megan want to tap her foot. “What do I ask first?”

Not sure how to reply, she shoveled in more ice cream. “What do you want to know?” she asked, mouth full.

“Why don’t you tell me why you’re having this baby.” He certainly cut to the chase. “Your pregnancy wasn’t an accident. It had to be something you planned, but you don’t have a husband to share the responsibility.”

“And I don’t need one,” she said defensively. “I’ve never been married.” Now why had she volunteered that? “I wanted a baby and I’m perfectly capable of raising it alone.” What right did this man, this would-be anonymous donor, have to question her decision? There was no reason for her to justify it, not to him.

“What about your girlfriend?” she asked above the escalating drumbeat from the jukebox. “How does she feel about you being a donor to another woman?” Unless she was made of ice or didn’t really care about him, that had to hurt.

His mouth tightened. “I didn’t intend for the clinic to use my sperm.” He ignored the way her eyes must have widened in disbelief. “Before I started seeing Justine, I went to the clinic to help out a friend.”

“She must be some friend,” Megan drawled.

Mac’s cheeks darkened at her comment. “She was single and she wanted a baby. I guess you could understand that feeling?” His brows lifted sardonically.

Megan flushed at his tone. “Maybe. Why don’t you just go on with your story.”

“She changed her mind about the baby and now she’s married to a great guy. They’ll probably have their own family.”

One of the lucky ones, Megan thought.

“Unfortunately by the time I tried to inform the clinic that my donation was no longer needed, it was too late. The rest, as they say, is history.” His gaze flicked downward to where the table hid her stomach. “I still haven’t gotten an explanation from them for what happened.”

Megan sat back in the booth. Behind her a little boy began to bang his spoon on the table and whimper. She could hear his daddy attempting to soothe him. “And Justine?” she asked. “She’s okay with this?”

Mac ran a hand through his hair. On one finger was a ring with a dark red stone. His file said he was college educated. She’d have to ask about his major. “I have no idea how Justine feels. I haven’t told her.”

Megan frowned. What kind of man would keep something that important from the woman in his life? “Your relationship can’t be very serious,” she said without thinking.

To her surprise, instead of telling her to mind her own business, he merely shrugged as he considered the question. “A week ago I would have said it was, but now I don’t know. Don’t get me wrong, she’s a nice woman.” He spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “It’s complicated.”

Megan hoped his complications had nothing to do with her baby. The last thing she wanted was for him to make any major changes because of this situation. Unlike hers, his entire life wasn’t going to revolve around the child. How did she come right out and caution him not to expect more from her than she was willing to allow? If she was wrong, she’d look like a fool and embarrass them both.

Perhaps it was time for a change of subject. “Tell me about your parents,” she suggested. “Are you a native?” She would have liked to ask how much interference she could expect from his side of the family. On second thought, it might be nice for her baby to have grandparents.

“I grew up in Denver,” he replied. “My parents still live there. How about you? Born and raised in Buttonwood?”

Megan remembered all the places she’d lived as a child, staying with a relative until she became an inconvenience and was shuffled to another like an unwanted package. A shiver of reaction went through her.

“I moved around a lot,” she admitted reluctantly, “but I’ve lived here for three years. I like the small-town atmosphere.”

She didn’t add that one of the things that had drawn her to Buttonwood was the fertility clinic. After several relationships that went nowhere, she’d finally figured out if she wanted to have a family, it was up to her to do something about it. She had gotten tired of waiting for the right man to come along and get her with child.

The Buttonwood Baby Clinic had seemed perfect for her needs, but she’d thought long and hard about taking such a momentous step, even after she had settled here. The way the clinic had botched the confidentiality issue had shaken her faith in that institution, but she was trying to keep an open mind until she got an explanation. If she ever did.

“You haven’t really answered my other question,” he reminded her. “Why do this now, while you’re on your own?”

His meaning was clear. “Lots of single women have children,” she said defensively.

His gaze remained steady. “And I respect them for it, but they don’t all go to the lengths you did to become pregnant.”

Her chin lifted. “It was my choice to make and I’m happy with it.”

He must have realized he wasn’t gaining any points by quizzing her, because he pressed his lips into a firm line as if he were holding back more questions.

From a nearby booth came a burst of masculine laughter. Two young couples were crowded into it, talking loudly. For a moment Megan envied them, and then she remembered her own adolescence. She’d never been like that—carefree, confident, bold enough to want attention.

Mac, too, glanced at the teens. “Do you work here in town?” Megan asked after he turned back around. When he’d pulled up beside her at the Dairy Freeze earlier, she had noticed some lettering on the door of his truck, but she hadn’t read it. He was tanned, even this early in the year, as though he spent a lot of time outdoors. Maybe he was a skier. Megan had tackled the bunny slopes on a few occasions, but she was far from competent. Or perhaps he worked construction. Considering the width of his shoulders and chest, he looked strong enough for physical labor.

“I own a local company called Small World,” he said. “We build playhouses.”

“Children’s playhouses?” she blurted.

His grin was resigned, as if he’d been asked the same question before. “Yeah, that’s right. Each one is custom designed, usually to duplicate the family home—on a much smaller scale, of course. I’ll have to show you some pictures of what we’ve done.”

Megan mulled that over. When she’d stayed with her aunt, there had been a dirty, abandoned chicken coop next door. Megan had pretended it was a playhouse until the neighbor caught her and complained.

“That sounds like a pretty cool job,” she told Mac, “but you must travel a lot.” How much demand would there be for custom playhouses in a town the size of Buttonwood, population 75,000?

“Some,” he admitted. “We have customers all over the country, and I cover a few exhibitions, but we do the actual planning and construction of each playhouse right here in town.” He poked at his melting ice cream with his spoon. “I’ll give you a tour.”

It was a throwaway line, like “let’s do lunch.”

“Sure,” she said, hardly able to resist scraping the leftover fudge sauce from the sides of her sundae dish bowl. What was it about chocolate? At home she’d stashed bowls of candy in strategic places. “It sounds like a fun job,” she conceded.

“It has its moments. How about you?” he asked. “Do you work?”

Did he think she was independently wealthy, having a child to relieve her boredom? “I index cookbooks.” Few people had any idea what that meant. From Mac’s puzzled expression, he was in the majority. “I edit the text and set up the index for the back of the book, so people can locate all the recipes for salmon or squash,” she explained.

His frown cleared. “Yeah, I know what you mean. I guess I figured whoever wrote the book did the index, too.”

“That’s what most people think, but it’s a separate skill.”

“Do you work for a local company?” he asked, managing to look interested.

“No, I freelance for several publishers on a regular basis. It’s all done by mail. I have a computer in my home office and I set my own hours.” That was the part most people envied, never realizing the discipline it took to stay on schedule or how many distractions there were working at home.

“You must be a very organized person.” His astuteness surprised her.

“I haven’t always been,” she confessed. “But with a baby coming, I’m getting better. I figured I’d have to.”

Abruptly Mac leaned forward. “I’ve thought about our baby a lot since I got that letter. I’m not sure just how we’ll work it out yet, but I want to play a real part in my child’s life.”

For a moment, his smile distracted her, and then the meaning behind his words sank in. “What exactly are you telling me?” she asked, warning flags popping up like spring bulbs.

“You don’t have to raise this baby alone.” He looked pleased with his announcement.

Megan didn’t share his satisfaction. She gripped the edge of the table as a chill slid down her spine. He was still a stranger. “I have every intention of doing just that,” she pointed out.

Her declaration bunched his dark brows into a frown. “What are you afraid of? We both want what’s best for our child.”

Our child! “I’m not afraid of anything,” she retorted. Honesty compelled her to add, “The idea of meeting you is still a new one for me. If it wasn’t for that letter, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”

Mac looked thoughtful. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. I’ve been talking to the chief of staff at the clinic, Dennis Reid, but he hasn’t found anything out yet. Apparently the director had emergency surgery. Add some glitch with the computer system and everything’s been a mess ever since.”

“They should have some kind of backup plan,” she said, annoyed. “Think of the records that could be jeopardized.”

“No kidding.” His tone was dry.

“Why did you contact the chief of staff?” she asked. “Do you know him?” She’d never met the man, but she’d probably seen the name on some clinic directory.

“Yeah, we play racquetball.”

No wonder Mac appeared to be in such good shape. “Do you ski?” she asked.

He shrugged. “My parents are into it and I learned while I was growing up, but I don’t have much time for it anymore. Do you?”

“Not well.” She grinned. “And not lately.”

His answering smile was dazzling. “We’ll have to teach junior to ski,” he said.

The image of the three of them was a tempting fantasy to Megan, who had longed for a family of her own. She had to remind herself that Mac was only here because of the baby, not to forge some cozy relationship with her. His intentions might be sincere, his enthusiasm high at the moment, but who knew what the future would bring? Had he really thought about the long years involved in raising a child? It wouldn’t be smart to count on him too much.

“I’m not thinking that far ahead,” she said firmly.

“That’s understandable.” Did he realize she still had serious doubts about him? He struck her as a man who always got what he went after. What if what he wanted this time was her baby?

Panic hit, followed closely by a wave of exhaustion. She glanced at her watch, surprised by how late it was. She needed more sleep than usual and the added stress she’d been dealing with these last few days was starting to take its toll. She smothered a yawn.

“Tired?” Mac reached over to pat her free hand. His fingers were callused, but his touch was unbelievably warm. Startled by her vulnerability, she eased away from him on the pretense of shifting her purse. This wasn’t the time to start leaning on anyone. “It’s past my bedtime,” she explained. “Expectant mothers need more sleep.”

His expression cleared. “Of course, I nearly forgot—” He broke off abruptly.

What had he been about to say, that her pregnancy had slipped his mind? Not likely. He was probably referring to some of the side effects Claire had mentioned in class. Exhaustion, moodiness, insomnia, increased or diminished libido. She’d blushed at that one, but Mac hadn’t appeared to notice.

“Ready?” he asked now. When she nodded, he slid from the booth and held out his hand.

Megan considered pretending not to notice. The attraction she felt toward him would only complicate things. Then she decided a woman in her condition needed her thrills, too. She allowed him to help her to her feet and grimaced as she tried to maneuver herself out of the confined area of the booth.

His gaze dropped to her stomach and he swallowed, looking suddenly apprehensive.

“I’m not going into labor just yet,” she said with a sniff. “You don’t have to get nervous.”

His grin flashed and she had to stifle a sigh of response. “It shows? I’m trying to be stoic, but this is all pretty new stuff. I don’t have much experience with kids.”

Not knowing how to reply, Megan headed for the exit. Mac followed her out to her car as she wondered how wide her butt looked from the back. Digging out her keys and facing him, she felt as awkward as if she were bidding a blind date good-night.

“Thanks for the sundae,” she said. “I guess I’ll see you at class, unless you’ve changed your mind?” The question came out sounding more hopeful than she’d intended. Well, she refused to hide her feelings. She hadn’t wanted him involved and she wasn’t entirely convinced this was a good idea. He’d have to deal with that.

Mac surprised her by gently capturing her wrists. “You aren’t going to lose me this easily,” he said, drawing her closer, “so you might as well get used to my presence in your life.” Then he startled her even more by leaning down and kissing her cheek. The brief touch of his lips was warm and his cologne, something spicy, teased her senses.

“Accept it, Megan,” he said, voice husky as he straightened and released her. “I’m sticking. We’re in this together.”

Going down the long driveway to his house, side window open to the crisp night air, Mac heard Rusty start to bark from the big backyard. Although it was surrounded by a tall wood fence, the dog knew the sound of Mac’s truck. Archer, who’d been dog-sitting, had probably dropped the Irish Setter off on his way home from work.

For a moment after Mac killed the engine, he rested his hands on the steering wheel and admired his house in the golden glow of the porch light. It was an old-fashioned place with two stories and a deep porch. Over the double front doors was a hexagon-shaped window that let in morning light. When Mac had first seen the house it sat vacant and neglected, but for several years now he’d been slowly restoring and remodeling it. He was a long way from finished, but the outside, at least, looked pretty respectable.

Set back from the road and fronted by a slightly rolling lawn, it was painted light-blue-gray. The shutters and trim were white to match the picket fence across the front and the door was navy with bright brass trim. Narrowing his gaze, Mac tried to picture a child playing on the grass.

Mac sighed. Tonight he was too tired to pick through his feelings and impressions. He knew only that the day he’d opened that letter, his life had shifted in a way he’d never imagined.

Rusty barked again, no doubt impatient to say hello. “Easy, boy, I’m coming,” Mac called. He rolled up the window and grabbed his bag from behind the seat. The property surrounding his house might be generous, but that didn’t mean the neighbors couldn’t hear Rusty’s effusive greeting.

As soon as Mac unlatched the gate, the dog’s wiggling body burst out of the enclosure. His excited barking slurred into eager whines.

Talking softly, Mac squatted down and ruffled Rusty’s dark red coat. There was something to be said for the unconditional, uncomplicated love of man’s best friend, he thought with wry amusement.

“Did you miss me? Were you good?” Mac asked as the dog’s wet tongue swiped his cheek. “Did you have fun with Archer’s collie?”

Rusty whined again, crowding close as Mac caressed his silky head and fondled his floppy ears. Taking advantage of Mac’s crouched position, the dog jumped up and sent him sprawling onto the grass.

“Okay, okay,” he said with a chuckle, dodging the long pink tongue. Damn, but he was tired. Maybe he’d just lie here for a few minutes. The grass was soft and the cool air was refreshing. It had been a long day, meetings in Atlanta in the morning, two flights home, the dash back to Buttonwood for the class and then Megan.

Rusty finally hunkered down beside him as he stared up at the stars twinkling through the streaky clouds. For the first time since Megan had asked about Justine, he thought of her and felt guilty for not calling as he’d promised he would. It was too late now. She did the early news on a local cable show, so she was probably asleep.

A shiver went through Mac as the night air finally chilled him and he got to his feet. He walked toward the house with Rusty padding patiently beside him. He’d take her to dinner tomorrow to make up for his neglect, he decided, and they’d talk. There was a lot he needed to say.

The day after the first baby class, Megan sat at her desk and opened the latest packet from one of the publishers she worked for on a regular basis. Inside were the pages of a new dessert cookbook, including the illustrations.

Just what she needed, exposure to chocolate. Automatically her hand reached out to the bowl of M&M’s beside the phone as she frowned at the treadmill sitting in the middle of the room like an instrument of torture.

Cassius was asleep on his carpeted perch in the window. In addition to the L-shaped desk with its computer and ergonomic keyboard, Megan’s office contained a printer and a fax machine, a couple of file cabinets and two walls of bookshelves that went all the way to the ceiling. They held her growing collection of out-of-print and rare cookbooks as well as her reference section. There were books about spices, vegetables, fruits, diets and nutrition. Below them were a group of foreign language dictionaries and an international culinary dictionary. Ethnic recipes were popular and Megan had to know what the unfamiliar words in each title meant before she could properly index them. Another shelf held cookbooks she had previously worked on, in case she needed to double-check a particular publisher’s style preference.

There was a wastebasket, a recycling bin for paper, a cabinet full of office supplies, a desk lamp and a wall calendar with pictures of cats. The room contained nearly everything Megan needed for her job. Despite the millions of recipes that had already been printed in thousands of cookbooks, there was always room for more. The field shifted constantly as eating habits and health issues changed. Fads came and went.

Ethnic, low-fat, traditional, specialties—Megan handled them all. She knew her way around a kitchen, too. She had lived with her grandmother’s sister until the woman broke her hip. Great Aunt Ruth, a widow, had taught Megan to cook, and she’d never forgotten the time they spent together in the old-fashioned kitchen.

Now Megan counted the pages to make sure none were missing, including the illustrations and the table of contents. She liked to divide the book into sections, keeping each one in its own hanging file in a rolling cart next to her chair. Since she often worked for this particular publisher, she already knew their editorial staff preferred the index to be set up in a modified uppercase style where the actual recipe titles were capitalized, but the rest of the entries were not. There were several other ways to format an index, but Megan felt that this one was the most convenient for readers. Fortunately America’s Kitchens agreed.

When she was done scanning the text, Megan set the pages aside and stood up. She rotated her shoulders and did a series of stretches, including her neck. Then she went downstairs for a glass of water. Moving around was important, especially in her condition. When she sat back down and turned on her computer she didn’t immediately start working. Instead she stared at the tropical fish swimming across the screen saver as she absently reached for another piece of candy.

Mac had kissed her cheek last night, and for one precious moment she had felt like a desirable woman. It was something she’d missed, but that didn’t mean he was going to slip past her defenses and complicate her life. His girlfriend probably wouldn’t like that too much, either.

What kind of woman attracted a man like Mac? Megan wished she’d asked him more about Justine. From the way he had talked, either he wasn’t sure how he felt about Justine or he didn’t think his feelings were any of Megan’s business. Of course he was right—they weren’t.

With a shrug, she opened the special indexing program she used for her work. She supposed he’d be at the class tomorrow night. Meanwhile she had a living to earn.

Watching Justine walk back to the table from the ladies’ room, Mac wished they’d stayed in Buttonwood instead of coming to Durango for dinner. The longer drive home was going to be decidedly awkward.

With a guilty start he realized she had made a special effort to look nice this evening and he hadn’t said a thing. He hadn’t missed the stares they got when they walked into the Mexican restaurant, and he’d known they weren’t for him. She’d puffed up her short golden hair and she wore a blue dress that showed off her legs and her breasts.

Male heads turned as she crossed the room and returned to their table, but she didn’t seem to notice. Instead she smiled at Mac as he got to his feet. Her red lips looked soft enough to sink into and she was wearing the perfume he liked.

He held out her chair and she sat down without speaking. She had seemed a little quiet during dinner, but he’d been in no hurry to begin the talk he knew they needed to have. Although she was usually undemanding, perhaps she’d gotten miffed at his failure to call as soon as he got back from Atlanta.

She was a beautiful woman, they got along well and he’d been thinking about proposing for several weeks. Was he about to make a mistake?

“Want dessert?” he asked when they were once again seated across from each other.

“Not unless you’d like to split something.” She leaned back and patted her flat stomach. “You know how the camera adds pounds.”

“I’d rather have a brandy,” he admitted, nerves jangling.

“Then I’ll keep you company with a cup of coffee.” If she sensed the tension humming through him, she gave no sign.

When the waiter came to clear their plates, Mac gave him their order. While they waited, he drummed his fingers on the table and wondered what Megan was doing. Did she have friends, hobbies? He still didn’t know much about her.

“Honey,” Justine said, breaking into his thoughts, “why don’t you tell me what’s been on your mind all evening?”

Before he could answer, the waiter brought their beverages. As soon as he left again, Mac took a fortifying sip of his brandy and leaned forward, heart thudding in his chest.

“I think we should stop seeing each other,” he said quietly.