“But you do.”
“I work a day job,” he reminded her, in case she’d forgotten the file she’d have read four months before. Or thought that he’d changed careers in the six years since he’d answered those questions. “My hours are boringly predictable.”
“I’d actually like to meet you,” she said, giving him a feeling of pleasure. “As long as you’re sure that it’s just a meeting between sperm donor and recipient.”
“You want me to have Elaina call you?” He was being completely sincere.
“Is that too nuts?”
Hell, he didn’t know.
Not in today’s world, it probably wasn’t.
“I’m sorry,” Cassie said before he could make arrangements for the call. “I’m a lawyer. I like everything tied up neatly so there are no surprises...”
Hence calling her donor the second she thought she could possibly need his bone marrow. He was getting it.
“And yet...life has a way of giving them to you anyway,” he said softly. In the form of an abnormal ultrasound, in this case. Then added, “The offer for lunch is there if you want it. No pressure.” He’d rather not involve Elaina at that point, but he would if Cassie needed him to.
“What about Saturday?”
Retro was back. Had been for a while. Wood was done throwing. “Give me a time and place and I’ll be there,” he said. She named a diner not far from the clinic. Independently owned, the place was bright and airy and known for putting on great brunches. He’d been there a time or two.
“How will I know you?” he asked, refusing to delve into reasons why he didn’t want Elaina to know yet what was going on. This baby thing...it was his. Not a part of familial obligations or Peter’s memory, either.
“I’ll text you a selfie,” she said. “And could you text me one of you, too?”
“Yeah, sure,” he told her, feeling relieved all of a sudden at her agreement to let him help. He quickly checked himself. Meeting this woman, whose baby had a potential health problem that could stem from him, was not a cause for feeling good about life.
But if he could help her...
That made perfect sense.
Chapter Three
Cassie wasn’t opposed to falling in love, getting married and living happily ever after. Or living in the trenches with someone and fighting life’s battles together. It just hadn’t happened for her. She couldn’t force love. But she could create a family of her own.
She’d explained it all to her mom and stepdad first. Then her friends, and finally, the other lawyers in the firm. All without qualms. She couldn’t sit around and expect others to make her happy. Finding her own joy, building a happy life, was her responsibility, and she was on it.
Yet, Saturday morning, when she got out of the shower and had to choose what to wear to lunch with her tiny family’s sperm donor, she was in a quandary. Defensive. Like she had to justify being a single woman having a baby on her own. Afraid he wouldn’t agree with her reasoning to create a one-parent household. Or that he’d find her lacking somehow in her inability to find a spouse.
Ludicrous. All of it.
He’d texted his photo to her the night before. She’d seen the message come through with a photo but hadn’t opened it. She didn’t need it until she got to the restaurant.
She’d decided to wait to text him a photo of herself until she was dressed for the day, thinking he’d be better able to recognize her if he knew what she’d be wearing. Not that color was an issue. Her wardrobe was all black and white, with an occasional hint of red thrown in. Jeans, business suits, shorts, leggings, swimwear, solids, striped and plaid—all black and white.
Maybe she just didn’t want to give him a lot of time to find fault with her before he even met her. She wasn’t a great beauty, most particularly by California standards. She had the stereotypical blond hair and blue eyes, but her features were strong, not soft. Angular. Like the rest of her. At five eleven, there was nothing petite about her. And while her body had grown taller than the average woman, her boobs hadn’t followed suit. They weren’t big. And she didn’t giggle. Ever.
But she could soften her edges.
Decision made.
The black-and-white tie-dyed sundress with tiny sleeve caps covering her bony shoulders came off its hanger, and black flip-flops completed the ensemble.
She always wore eyeliner so that people could see that she had eyes there above those cheekbones. And she always wore earrings, too, to detract from the angular jawbone just beneath them, and that morning she particularly liked the look of three crystal and onyx drops, placing one dangling decoration and two smaller studs in the three piercings going up each ear.
Her hair, which she regarded as her best feature, she left long and straight, its silky weight helping to distract from her shoulders. Deciding, with one last look in the mirror, that she’d done the best she could, she took the selfie and quickly texted it, feeling self-conscious. Which zapped some of her usual confidence.
And allowed worry to intrude. What if the amniocentesis showed something? What if there really was something wrong with her tiny little baby?
Hot and then cold, she felt like lying down. Canceling lunch.
After getting into the car, she regained her senses. Her looks didn’t matter. Him liking her didn’t matter—as long as she didn’t turn him off so badly he reneged on his promise to donate bone marrow to her baby should the need arise.
More importantly, unless the need arose, there was no need. She could worry all week, borrow trouble, and then the test could come out just fine and she’d have wasted a whole week of enjoying this very special time in her life. She’d have lost a week of happiness.
And while she wasn’t a raving beauty, she knew she was a likable person. Always had more invitations to do things than she had time to accept. Or wanted to accept.
Soon, she approached the diner’s spread-out parking lot. Avoiding the front spots because they were too hard to back out of with all of the cars coming and going, Cassie drove around back. After she put her car in Park, her gaze went immediately for the ocean off in the distance. The water helped her to keep her mind on the very real power that life had to sustain itself. On the fact that miracles happened every single day.
And then, pulling out her phone, she touched the text messaging app button, scrolled and touched again, bringing up Woodrow Alexander’s picture. And almost dropped the phone.
The man was...not what she’d expected. Not only was he true California gorgeous, with those vivid blue eyes and thick blond hair, but his features... They must belong to a standout movie-star hunk. Way out of her league—or the league of anyone she’d ever been lucky enough to attract. Certainly more handsome than any father her child might have come by naturally.
She felt the sudden need to cover up the feelings she couldn’t allow to bubble up. The fear that seemed to be so dangerously close to the surface. She was looking into the face of the man who had fathered her child. The man whose genes her baby carried.
And she was finding everything about him wonderful. Even the slight wrinkles at the corners of his eyes that seemed to speak of the things he’d seen. And the wisdom gained from them.
Those eyes... They surprised her the most. His gaze was straight on. Even from a selfie. And seemed to be filled with a command to see things for what they were.
Whatever the hell that meant.
She had to get out. Walk to the door of the restaurant. Face the fact that the only reason she was there, meeting Woodrow Alexander, was because her baby might be terminally ill. As though meeting the real-life man made the dark shadow horribly real. A true threat.
And then a funny thing happened. As she stared into those eyes gazing up at her from her phone, she felt as if he’d read her mind and was telling her that she was a strong, capable woman who’d get through whatever was to
come. One who knew better than to allow panic to take over what could be good moments in her life.
More likely, it was just her better self, saving her.
Dropping her phone into its proper slot in the big black designer shoulder bag she took everywhere, she deposited her keys into their own pocket and opened the door of her Jag, stood up and froze. Standing there, not two feet away, watching her—how long had he been standing there?—was the man in the photo. His gaze, sharp and yet filled with something that reminded her of her own strength, could have been staring out at her from her phone.
“Wood?” She tried a smile. Managed a tremulous half grin. Walked toward him, with her hand held out. It took her a minute to look off to the side of him, to see if he’d come alone. The spot was unoccupied, and she had no reason to be glad for that.
Other than that the meeting was hard enough without having to do it twofold. Compassion was all fine and good—until it was directed at her over something she was powerless to control. Because sometimes she was more her mother’s daughter than her father’s.
“Cassie.” He didn’t ask, as she had. Her name on his lips seemed mere confirmation. He didn’t smile, either. Didn’t even seem to try. Smart man. Why pretend?
Used to meeting the men in her life eye to eye, she had to crick her neck to look up at him, but she did so naturally, drawn by that expression in his gaze. As though it was familiar to her. And yet, it wasn’t. At all.
This man looked like no one in her life. Ever. The whole moment took on a surreal relevance that she was pretty sure was going to go down in the book of life memories she’d never forget.
In shorts, a polo shirt and tennis shoes, he could have been any number of beautiful California men. There was no particular confidence about him. No arrogance. Just an air of acceptance of what drew her to him in a way she couldn’t deny.
“Thank you for meeting with me,” she said as her hand briefly touched his and then let go. They turned toward the restaurant door.
“I’m the one who invited you,” he pointed out, and she did smile then.
And suddenly had her appetite back.
A good thing, since she was eating for two.
* * *
Wood ordered a burger. He didn’t eat out a lot. And at home usually ate healthier dinners in deference to the grocery choices he made for his housemate’s sake. True, in the past few months, Elaina had no longer needed his financial support, but neither did it make sense throwing money away on two sets of meals.
Cassie had a chef salad—full size, not the discounted lunch version. He liked that she wasn’t shy about her appetite and reminded himself that she’d have no reason to be. She wasn’t out to impress him. Just to meet him.
A man who happened to be the father of her baby.
Technically.
Giving himself a mental shake as he watched her talk to the waitress, he allowed that the situation was a bit confusing. A kind of battle of wills between emotion and mind. His heart racing ahead on one track—attached to his child, family, in trouble. And his mind knowing that the child wasn’t his. He knew that mind had to win this one.
And that his mind would. Extricating his emotions from situations so that he could do what must be done was one of his greatest talents.
“I have questions,” he said when the woman taking their order was finally satisfied that she had their choices correct down to bottled water, not tap, and sugar-free ranch dressing for Cassie’s salad. “If you’d rather not answer, just say so. It won’t hurt my feelings.”
Because this was a mind thing only for him. A supportive role. The only kind he really knew how to do well.
And something he actually liked to do, too. Helping others had just rewards.
“I actually have questions, too,” she told him, smiling in a way that made him more aware of the natural beauty of her features. “A lot of them.”
He’d give her whatever she needed as long as it was at his disposal to share.
“But you go first,” she told him and then, elbows on the table of the booth they shared, clasped her hands together, looking at him expectantly. Like she was prepared for some kind of interview.
Odd, since she was the one who’d chosen him.
In a manner of speaking.
He started out with the basics. Was reminded that she was a lawyer. Doctors and lawyers: his life seemed to be anchored with them.
And, lately, with confusion, too. Why would a woman of her intelligence choose an uneducated man to be the father of her child?
He’d get to that. Later.
She owned her home in a neighborhood he’d helped build, not that he told her that. A neighborhood still above his price range, but one he’d set his sights on. Assuming Cassie’s baby didn’t need his savings.
The home he and Elaina currently shared had always just been a temporary landing place. Until she finished med school and residency. He’d built some equity there, though, which would allow him to put down a nice sum on his next home.
When she—and he—were both ready to move on. In the meantime, there was comfort in sameness, comfort in watching over Elaina until she wanted to stand alone. Comfort in family.
“Did you grow up in Marie Cove?” he asked. He and Peter had been raised in a sleepy little burg east of LA, but when Peter had been offered a residency in Marie Cove, he and Elaina had talked Wood into moving to town with them. They’d been together for a few years at that point. He’d had his own small place by the beach those first few years. Until the accident had changed everything.
She shook her head. “Not officially. I was born in San Diego but went through all twelve grades of school in Mission Viejo,” she said, naming a somewhat affluent town between Marie Cove and LA.
“Are your parents still there?” A man of his thirty-six years really shouldn’t be so fascinated by those who’d raised the people he was spending time with. But there you had it. Family was fascinating. Especially when you didn’t have much of it.
“My mom and stepdad are.”
“What about your dad?”
“He died when I was sixteen,” she said. “Killed by a suicide bomber when he was deployed overseas.”
Her manner, as she spoke, was matter-of-fact. She looked him in the eye. Didn’t tear up. And yet Wood understood that look as though it had been coming from him, not to him. Just because a person was able to compartmentalize didn’t mean that they didn’t feel.
He just hadn’t met a lot of people who seemed to be as good at it as she was. As he was, as well.
Or he was so far out of his element that he was building castles in the sky over her. Something he hadn’t done since before his own father had died of a heart attack. He’d been five. Peter, two. And Wood’s castle building had abruptly ended.
“Did you see him much when he was home?” he asked, though he sensed that she’d have been more comfortable if he’d moved on.
“Yeah. All the time. Any time he was home. Mom let me stay with him for as long and as often as he could keep me.”
“Was he still in San Diego? What about when you were in school?”
She shook her head. “He bought a small place here in Marie Cove shortly after their divorce. To be close enough to Mission Viejo to be able to get me to and from school.”
“Did he remarry?”
Why so many questions about the guy, he didn’t know. It just seemed important, somehow, that he understand this part of her. The father in her life.
“Nope. I think Mom was the love of his life.”
“But he wasn’t hers,” he surmised aloud. “She didn’t take to military life?” he was just guessing. But it sounded as if the two had remained on a friendly enough basis that they didn’t need parenting laws to dictate their time with their child.
She shook her head and then glanced away. It was the first t
ime she’d felt closed off to him since he’d taken her hand in the parking lot. Odd, since they were complete strangers.
Odder still that the sudden lack bothered him as much as it did.
The woman was pregnant with his child. He’d noticed a little swell beneath her dress as she’d gotten out of her car—of course, it could just be the natural curve of any woman’s belly, but...
She looked back at him then and shot all thought from his mind when she said, “It wasn’t the navy so much that caused their problems. My father...was not quite a slow learner, but close,” she said, speaking hesitantly as though choosing her words carefully. “He graduated from high school a year late and did well enough to make it as an enlisted man in the navy. He was educable. He just didn’t put a lot of two and two together on his own. Not in a book-learning sense. But because of that, I think, he had a way of understanding the things that really matter. He lived a simple life, and yet, most of the lessons I learned, the ones that serve me in the hardest times, I learned from him.” Her gaze had softened so much Wood almost got lost in it.
It took a second for her words to register, but when they did, they hit him like the swing of a two-by-four hanging from a crane. Had she just told him why she’d chosen him, an uneducated man, as her donor?
Because she’d so admired her own father?
He’d been planning to ask why. Mentally crossed that one right off his list. He did not want to hear that he’d been chosen because he was uneducated.
And because he had no immediate response, he sat there silent.
“He and my mom hooked up after her parents were killed in a boating accident. He was nineteen and she was eighteen, both working at a ’50s diner in San Diego. My dad was a huge comfort to her. She says even now that she doubts she’d have made it through that time without him.”
That reminded Wood of Elaina’s words about him...
Cassie’s soft smile struck Wood. Another one of those stand-out moments that he’d probably not forget, and yet one that had no context in his unemotional mindset.
Her Motherhood Wish (The Parent Portal Book 3) Page 3