Her Best Friend's Lover
Page 9
And the look on his face as the OB moved a little instrument over her belly, and together, they listened to the rapid heartbeat for the first time was worth the guilt she was silently bearing.
A fast paced steady thumping filled the room and Dale’s hand tightened convulsively on Lauren’s. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “Sweet God,” he whispered, closing his eyes against the flood of emotion that filled him. “Sweet Jesus, isn’t that amazing?” he asked, his voice reverent.
He opened his dreamy blue eyes, met Lauren’s, bright with tears. He raised their linked hands and pressed his lips to the back of hers, closing his eyes once more, listening to that steady little heart.
If she had known how he was going to be, she would have told him. She had been so afraid he would be there with her, but only out of a sense of responsibility. Now he was there because he wanted to be.
With tears leaking out of her eyes, she lay on the table, her hand in his, while Dr. Flynn probed this way and that. “Now this noise,” she said, pausing to let them hear a whooshing sound, “is the uterine blood flow. You’ve been taking good care of yourself, Lauren. Eating what you should and exercising. You are as healthy as you can be and it sounds like you have a healthy little baby in the there.” She once again found the heartbeat for them, knowing that was what they wanted to hear. She allowed them to listen in silence for another moment before stepping back, a beaming smile on her face as she handed Lauren a tissue to clean the gel from her belly.
Lauren lay there, unable to think, as the sound of that racing heart echoed in her mind. Dr. Flynn watched as Dale took the tissue and wiped Lauren’s skin clean. On her way out the door, she wondered how her patient could have thought that the father didn’t want a baby. It was written all over his face that there was nothing he wanted more.
Dale was thoroughly shaken as he escorted Lauren from the doctor’s office. He had never, never, in his life wanted anything the way he wanted the baby Lauren was carrying. When he heard the heartbeat, he thought his own heart was going to explode. It was pure instinct, but everything in him shouted, Mine!
As he opened the car door for Lauren, a different type of instinct was shouting the same thing. He crouched down beside her and spoke her name. She turned her head to look at him, her shiny black hair swinging with the movement before settling around her shoulders. He reached up with one hand, threading it through that dense thick hair, pulling her face to his.
Dale kissed her gently, sucking at her lower lip before seeking entrance to her mouth. The taste of her, something innocent and sweet, touched lightly with the dark heady taste of sex. It was the same as her scent, a complete contradiction in every way. He craved more of it.
He wanted her.
And he was realizing that it wasn’t just some temporary need. He wanted her always. He wanted the baby that was growing inside her. He wanted to see her face in the morning when he woke up and wanted to lay down next to her at night. He wanted to make love to her, with her. He wanted to have a family with her and grow old with her.
Gradually, he ended the kiss, pulling back to study her face. She looked at him out of confused eyes, her mouth wet, her cheeks flushed. He decided it was best that the baby’s father wasn’t interested. Dale Stoner had every intention of taking his place, in both Lauren’s life, and in her baby’s.
CHAPTER FOUR
Lauren’s hands shook slightly as she prepared decaffeinated coffee early the next morning. She hoped he couldn’t tell. “How long are you going to be gone?” she asked, hoping her voice sounded nonchalant.
“Just a few days. I haven’t seen my family in a while. I was planning to go home at Christmas, but I’ve changed my mind,” he replied, his back to her. Hopefully she wouldn’t notice the bags under his eyes.
Dale Stoner was going back home to Somerset. To face the woman he had been dreaming of for the better part of a decade. He had thought, right up until the past few weeks, that he had fallen in love with Nikki the moment he had first seen her. But how could he love her and feel the way he felt about Lauren?
He hated leaving, especially right now, but there was no other time to do it. If he waited much longer, Lauren would be too far along. She was already past her third month. And he wanted to be here for the fourth month; that was when they’d do another ultrasound. His hands started sweating at the thought of that, of putting a picture to the rapid heartbeat he had heard only the day before.
Lauren pretended not to notice his preoccupation. Pretended not to notice the way his eyes lit up as he spoke of going back home. He did it every so often, as though just the sight of Nikki soothed his broken heart. She wouldn’t have believed him if he had told her he hadn’t seen her in years.
Of course, he hadn’t. He had started avoiding Nikki after seeing her pregnant some years earlier. It had broken his heart, at the time, but now he wondered if it had hurt as much as it should have. He turned his eyes to Lauren, watching her move slowly, gracefully around the kitchen. Her long body was encased in a men’s oxford, knotted at her still flat waist and a pair of cuffed blue jean shorts. The thick, sturdy hiking boots on her feet would have looked clumsy on some women. On her, they just looked right.
The thought of that baby made his heart swell. The attempt to bring up a picture in his mind of the baby’s father made his hands clench into fists. He was far better off in pretending that Lauren had gotten pregnant all by herself. Or better yet, that he had put that baby inside her.
The thought of another man touching her made him see red.
And that was why he was going to Somerset. He had to look Nikki in the face, find out once and for all if it was love he felt. And once he knew if his heart was his own, and he was pretty sure it was, he planned on giving it to Lauren.
If she would have him.
On the drive down, he pondered that worrisome thought. If she would have him. She told him that she didn’t love the baby’s father, but Dale was wondering about that. Lauren so rarely dated, he certainly couldn’t see her just up and making it with somebody she didn’t care about. She would have cared. A lot. What if she was too in love with the baby’s father to care about him?
He stopped in Danville to fill up the gas tank and refuel on caffeine. He had been running on pure adrenaline the past hour or so and it was wearing thin. He hadn’t been home in almost a year. He hadn’t seen Nikki since that summer three years earlier, when she had been outside the movie theater, her belly swollen with Wade Lightfoot’s child.
Abigail Lightfoot, Nikki’s stepdaughter, always wrote him and thanked him for the books he had sent. He always sent the first copy to them, Abby and Nikki. Nikki was the one who had encouraged him to try to get his stories published. So, always, the first copy to them. The last letter, the one he had been reading that night he got shit-faced, had been another thank you letter, and Abby mentioned how she was going to have a new baby brother or sister.
In addition to Abby’s sweet little thank-you’s, he also had the parental grapevine, and knew that Nikki still lived in her castle on the hill, sharing it with her quiet solemn husband. Dale scowled automatically at the thought of Wade, but it faded long before it usually did. The jealous urge to pummel his fists into Wade’s face didn’t even appear.
It was nearing dusk when he pulled up in front of the house made of wooden beams and sheets of glass. It hadn’t changed much. A few small flowerbeds full of pitiful looking buds and blooms. He thought of Lauren, kneeling in her flowers, plants blooming all around her. A child’s bike lay on its side by the steps, next to an expensive mountain bike. He climbed the few steps to the porch, his boot heels ringing hollowly on the wood.
He raised his hand and knocked on the beveled glass door, his heart thudding slowly in his chest. The door swung open to reveal a pintsized mirror of Nikki, only with dark curling hair and dark eyes. A small dimple winked from under the corner of her mouth, which was streaked liberally with chocolate. “Who are you?” she demanded, her rosebud mouth pursed in a scowl.
And as she pulled back to smile up into his eyes, Dale had the answer to his question. His feelings for Nikki had changed.
“Hey, Nik. How are you?”
“Who’s at the d- You. What in the hell are you doing here?”
Dale raised his eyes and met the threatening gaze of Wade Lightfoot. Though shorter than Dale by a good six inches, he exuded menace. His proprietary gaze settled on the hand Dale had wrapped around Nikki’s waist to return her embrace. “Nice to see you, too, Lightfoot. Yes, it has been a long time.”
Wade was remembering a night when he had seen the two of them in a lip-lock just a few feet outside this very door. With a dark scowl, he replied, “Not long enough.”
“Wade, watch it,” Nikki warned, grabbing Dale’s hands and squeezing. “It’s so good to see you. I’ve been meaning to write you, to thank you for the books you sent.”
Dale smiled at her. “It was your doing, Nikki. You’re the reason I sent them off to begin with. Thank you for that.”
“All I did was tell you to give it a shot. You did all the hard work. Come in, Dale,” she invited, holding out her small hand. Dale accepted it, throwing Wade a smirk.
“Don’t mind if I do.”
“She’s pregnant?”
Dale nodded, taking a swig of beer before meeting Nikki’s puzzled eyes. “She won’t tell me who the father is. But it doesn’t matter. He had his chance.”
“What’s she like?”
“Beautiful,” Dale whispered, his voice almost reverent. “Serene. Soothing. She’s got this way about her; whenever I’m near her, I feel so settled.” A wicked grin lit his face and he tipped back his beer. “And she’s sexy as all get out.”
Nikki smiled, relieved, at that. “She was sounding like Mother Teresa for a minute there.”
Dale laughed. “I never said she was a saint. She’s stubborn, got a mean streak from time to time. Damn it, the truth is, at times, she’s a downright ice queen. And I can never tell what she’s thinking. But she’s . . . she’s . . .” He fumbled for words only to have Nikki find them for him.
“She’s perfect for you,” she said quietly. “In a way I never could have been.”
He met her eyes levelly and agreed. “Exactly.”
Nikki smiled a little. “I can’t say that doesn’t hurt my pride a bit for you to agree so easily.” She sipped at her glass of milk and grimaced. “He nags me to drink three glasses a day.” Then she set the glass down and curled her legs up next to her. “So how do you feel about her?”
“I don’t know just yet. That’s why I had to come here to see you. I had to get that straightened out so I could figure this out.”
Nikki shook her head. “I don’t think you’ve got to worry about that.” She smiled, studying him with knowing eyes. “You’re in love with her. I’m happy for you, and her.”
He grimaced and said, “Don’t be happy yet. I have no clue how she feels about me.”
“Unless she’s an idiot, she’s going to love you just as much as you love her.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her and asked, “Did you love me?”
Softly, she said, “No.” Her eyes dropped to her lap and she studied her wedding band. “But you never looked the way you look right now, not with me. Not about me.” She took a deep breath and said, “I wanted to love you, Dale.” Her voice was quiet, soft, mindful of her husband who no doubt lurked outside the door. “I really did. If I could have chosen, I would have chosen you. But it doesn’t work that way. And that’s a good thing. I wouldn’t have made you happy.”
“Lauren makes me happy.”
“Good for you.”
* * * * *
Lauren wasn’t happy.
She was huddled on the couch, miserable. An untouched box of bonbons sat next to her, along with a nearly empty milkshake from McDonald’s. How stupid she was. She had started to think that maybe Dale did care about her. He’d sat with her in the doctor’s office, listening to that strong little heart, holding her hand. His eyes had been almost as wet as hers.
And then, before she could so much as blink, he was on the road to Somerset.
To her.
“Idiot,” she mumbled, dashing away a tear with the back of her hand.
Her hair was pulled up into a messy ponytail and her shirt hadn’t been ironed. As another tear rolled down her cheek, her head fell back and she stared up at the ceiling. “Moron,” she muttered. A leopard can’t very well change his spots, now can he? How could she expect Dale to stop loving a woman he had been in love with for years? She couldn’t expect it. He would no more fall out of love with Nikki than . . .than she would fall out of love with Dale.
Why should he love her anyway? Nobody else ever had. What was it about her that kept people from loving her? Was she missing something?
“Fool.” She dashed away another tear. Everything inside her felt broken. Dale had been gone only two days, yet it felt like an eternity. No doubt, he would come back all morose and depressed, the way he had the time he had seen Nikki eight months pregnant. I hope she was the size of a horse, Lauren thought spitefully. I hope she got so fat, nobody recognized her.
Smoothing a hand down her still flat stomach, she smugly thought, I bet she wasn’t able to still get into her normal clothes at four months.
And I hope she’s blindly in love with her husband. I hope she doesn’t even remember Dale.
But who could forget him?
Lauren had certainly tried, and failed more times than she could count. Morosely, she picked up the shake and emptied it with one last slurp. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” she muttered. “Sitting here feeling sorry for yourself. Why can’t you just accept it? You’re not his type.” Resentfully, she thought of the delicate little women he squired around town. Skinny, petite little things, all of them.
And that brought another scowl to her face. Why in the hell was she doing this? How did a calm, sensible woman let herself get so damned depressed? “Quit swearing,” she muttered out loud. “Don’t even swear while you’re thinking.”
It’s the baby, she told herself. Your hormones are all out of whack. That’s why you’re feeling this way. Taking a deep breath, she counted to ten and closed her eyes, summoning up all the composure she had in her. And with a monstrous effort, she forced herself off the couch. Stowing the bonbons for a later time, she tossed the empty milkshake container out.
“We’re going shopping,” she said to the baby, patting it absently. “I’m going to buy you a big stuffed animal. And I’m buying me whatever catches my eye.”
Several things caught her eye. An oversized silk camp shirt in sapphire blue, which she could wear throughout her pregnancy and after. A pair of tennis shoes. A diamond tennis bracelet. Then she treated herself to a box of Godiva’s and a new book. A small stuffed bear sat on a chair, a small board book his paws, watching her with kind, friendly eyes.
Eyeing her purchases the next morning, she decided it was a good thing she had a lot of money in the bank. And it was good that she rarely got depressed enough that she used a shopping trip to cheer up. Otherwise, that nicely filled out bank account would become anorexic.
She stroked a hand down the nubby stuffed animal. Winnie the Pooh. When she had been little, she guessed about five, she remembered seeing a Winnie the Pooh stuffed animal, and asking for Santa to bring it to her. What she had gotten had been a backhand across the face for interrupting her mother’s television shows for such a dumb ass question. She raised one hand to her cheek in memory. She had never asked for another thing.
In recent memory, she hadn’t asked for anything.
She had wanted, she had hoped, but she had never expected to receive anything.
And she had learned long ago, to pretend not to want something. That way, it hurt less when you didn’t get it.
“You can ask for whatever you want,” she whispered softly. “You won’t get everything you ask for, but you don’t ever have to be afraid of asking.”
She closed her eyes against the memory of a loud, screeching voice, the crash of a glass hitting the wall, the stench of alcohol. With a grim effort, she tore herself away from the past. She was past that, beyond it, and her child would never know it.
She decided to decorate the nursery in a Winnie the Pooh theme. The stuffed animal would sit in a rocker until the baby was old enough to play with it. Lauren bought a second, larger storybook of the cartoon character to look at. She’d paint a mural on one wall and put up a border, or maybe paint the border herself. The walls were already painted a soft ivory with hints of beige. That would go perfectly with what she had in mind.
Cuddling the bear to her chest, she settled herself onto the couch, smiling absently. A mobile over the crib. One of those nice cribs, with drawers built under it. Oak. Natural color, not painted. A dresser and an armoire with bookshelves. Lots of books. Dale had already helped her move things out of a spare bedroom that was never used. It was just down the hall from her room, with a huge window that faced west. They could watch the sun set at night.
She settled Pooh in the corner of the couch and got up. She hunted out some pencils and took the storybook.
No time like the present to get started.
Winnie ended up on the southern wall, roughly sketched in pencil. His pot of ‘hunny’ was on its side, while the chubby bear licked one sticky paw. She’d add in background, just a little, and maybe Tigger and the little pig—what was his name? She was stretching her hands high over her head when she heard the door being unlocked. Freezing, she looked out the window, uselessly. She couldn’t see the driveway or the house next door from this room.
“Lauren?”
She lowered her hands slowly. A quick trip. He had only been gone two days. Nastily, she wished he had stayed gone a little longer. She wasn’t in the mood to try to cheer him out of the depression that always followed a trip home. “I’m upstairs,” she called out, blowing out a deep breath and counting to ten to steady herself. If he were too morose, she would just tell him to leave. After all, she was pregnant, wasn’t she? If she didn’t want to deal with mooning, she didn’t have to.