Her Best Friend's Baby

by Vicki Lewis Thompson, Stephanie Bond

  He took a shaky breath. “If that’s what you want, that’s how we’ll play it. As far as I’m concerned, you’re calling the shots here.”

  “Is that right?” She turned her head to look at him. “You mean if I wanted to keep the baby, you’d give her up?”

  He blinked. “No! I just meant—”

  “See? I’m not calling the shots, after all.”

  Scrubbing a hand over his face, he blew out a breath. “I can’t give up my baby. I’m willing to listen to any other solution you have besides that.”

  “Tell you what.” She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the door frame. “I need a little time to think this over. When I pictured keeping in touch with this baby, I thought I’d have control of how that happened.”

  “You still would. I—”

  “Not if you own a place here. That means you could show up virtually anytime, without having to make arrangements, without contacting me. It would be a whole different ball game from coming for visits once in a while, or me visiting New York.”

  “You’re right. I’ll forget the whole thing.”

  “On the other hand, think of the fun she could have here in Austin, staying at her own place instead of in some hotel room.” She opened her eyes and glanced at him. “That’s a gorgeous little place next to Garrett’s. There’s a pond where she could sail boats, although you’d have to watch her close until she knows how to swim. But there’s tons of room to run around, and we could build her a playhouse and one of those wooden gyms that are so popular for kids these days. She could have a wading pool. And a sandbox.” Her eyes shone with excitement. “Think of it, Morgan. We could make it into a little paradise for her, a total change from living in a New York apartment.”

  “Yes, we could,” he said carefully. He didn’t think he’d keep his apartment. He would likely move somewhere in the suburbs, but he wasn’t about to tell her that and spoil her campaign to rescue the baby from the sterile environment of his Manhattan high-rise.

  He’d also noticed that she’d fallen into using the word we in connection with her dreams for a play yard, so he’d used the word, too. He couldn’t think of anything he’d love more than having Mary Jane help him with a project like that. But he wasn’t sure it would be fair to her.

  “You probably don’t want to put that kind of money into it,” she said.

  “No, that’s not it. I think the whole thing sounds great. But is that what you want?”

  She placed her hand over her belly. “Now that I’ve pictured her in that setting, I don’t think what I want is so important anymore. She should have a place like that, Morgan. And a wonderful room of her own, with murals on the walls and games and puzzles and stuffed animals.”

  He could create a setting like that in New York, of course, somewhere in the suburbs. After years of working with kids, he had lots of ideas, and he could ask any number of his patients’ parents for their input. He should tell Mary Jane that, so she didn’t have the mistaken view that it was Austin or nothing for this kid.

  But he couldn’t. He wasn’t sure whether it was her obvious need to follow through with her plan or his need to share the project with her that motivated him. All he knew was that he couldn’t pour cold water on this. It seemed like the most hopeful activity either of them had come up with since the accident.

  “Then you’ll help me?” he asked.

  She smiled. “Maybe we’d better go look at the house first. You might hate it.”

  “I doubt it, but you have a point.” Fortunately their discussion had cooled his jets and he was presentable enough to climb out of bed. “Do you want first shower?”

  “Sure.” Her gaze swept over him. “I’m really glad you didn’t leave yesterday.”

  Oh, boy. All his libido needed was a little encouragement. They both had better get more clothes on, and fast. “Me, too,” he said quickly, grabbing the duffel he’d left beside the bed. “I think I’ll shave downstairs.” Then he practically bowled her over as he charged out of the bedroom and pounded down the stairs.

  TWO HOURS LATER, as Mary Jane followed the real estate agent up the walk to the front door of the Slattery house, she was glad she’d worn shorts. The blast furnace that would become an Austin summer was heating up already, even in early May.

  “You’re in for a treat.” The real estate agent, Eleanor Burnside, took the key from the lockbox hanging on the brass doorknob. A polished professional in her mid-fifties, Eleanor had no gray in her auburn curls and not a single wrinkle in her pale green suit. “This is a treasure of a house.”

  “Good,” Morgan said from behind Mary Jane. “That will save some time.”

  “I’ve heard it’s very nice.” Mary Jane could hardly wait to get inside the house. She’d been eager to see the place after Lana had raved about it, even though it was obviously beyond a waitress’s wages. But even if she couldn’t own it, the kidlet might someday, and that was a thrilling prospect.

  Eleanor opened the door and ushered them inside.

  Although the day was getting warm, the interior of the house was cool and welcoming. Hardwood floors gleamed from a fresh coat of wax. Beyond the entry she glimpsed the living room and the fireplace Lana had told her about.

  Made of large river rocks, it looked like something out of a cottage in a fairy tale. Waist-high shelves, perfect for books, flanked the fireplace. Above that, honey wood-framed windows looked out on mature trees. On the basis of that fireplace wall alone, Mary Jane was in love. But it wasn’t her place to say anything. She wasn’t the person with the checkbook.

  Morgan looked around. “Cool,” he murmured.

  Mary Jane was really psyched that Morgan seemed to have the same reaction to the house she did.

  Eleanor smiled in obvious satisfaction. “Would you like me to go through with you, or would y’all rather explore for yourselves?”

  “We’ll explore for ourselves,” Mary Jane and Morgan said together.

  Eleanor glanced at them with a smile. “It’s nice to see a couple so in sync.”

  Mary Jane’s cheeks heated at Eleanor’s assumption they were planning to buy a house together. “Oh, we’re not—”

  “Always in sync,” Morgan finished smoothly, taking Mary Jane’s elbow.

  “Well, spend all the time you need,” Eleanor said. “I have a favorite spot in the back yard under a weeping willow. I’ll be sitting in one of the Adirondack chairs, so come get me when you feel you’ve explored the place enough.”

  “We’ll do that,” Morgan said, steering Mary Jane toward the living room.

  “Why didn’t you tell her we’re not a couple?” she whispered once Eleanor was headed toward the back of the house.

  “Because I love this place already, and she probably knows that from my first comment. You haven’t committed yourself yet. I thought the asking price was a little high, so if Eleanor thinks you have veto power, and you bring up some objections, we might not have to pay top dollar.”

  Mary Jane grinned. “You mean you might not have to pay top dollar. I’m not risking anything on this deal.” Not anything financial, at least. Emotional risks were a whole other subject.

  Standing in the living room with Morgan while they admired the fireplace, she had no trouble imagining it blazing, and some cushy furniture grouped around it, and a soft rug in front of the hearth, and Morgan and her stretched out on that rug….

  She needed to stop this, right now. Easing her arm out of his grip, she stepped away from him.

  He glanced at her with that yearning expression that made her brain cells cease to function.

  “So you like the house?” she asked, gazing into his warm brown eyes. What an obvious question. But when he looked at her like that, she couldn’t do brilliant.

  “So far.”

  “We should go see the rest.”

  “Guess so. Is that fudge lipstick you’re wearing today?”

  Her heart began to pound. They were supposed to be looking at a house, not dis
cussing what flavor she had on her mouth. “Caramel.”

  “I’d better level with you. At this moment, it’s not just about the baby.”

  “I know.” Her chest grew tight. “For me, either.”

  “Maybe it never was.”

  She felt herself sinking fast. “But you don’t trust your feelings, remember? Which is perfectly logical.”

  “There’s nothing logical about the way I’m feeling right now.”

  “Exactly.”

  With a groan he pulled her into his arms. And heaven help her, she let him do it. Worse, she dug her fingers into his hair and coaxed his head down. She wasn’t going to be able to blame any of this insanity on him.

  “I’m wild about caramel, too,” he murmured. Then he settled in to prove it.

  During their first kiss in her kitchen she’d felt as if someone had pulled the pin on a grenade. This time it was as if someone had detonated a bomb.

  In the resulting explosion, they both went crazy trying to get closer, deeper, more completely entwined. Her kissing history included men who’d gone about it sweetly, or wetly, or even loudly. She’d never experienced an encounter like this one, where she and Morgan seemed to collide like asteroids in deep space.

  “Mmm,” he said, grabbing her by the shoulders as if to set her away from him. “Mmm,” he said, diving in for another round.

  At last he spun away from her so fast she nearly fell down. Gasping, he leaned both hands against the smooth rocks of the fireplace and lowered his head between them.

  Her legs were shaking so much that she decided the better part of valor was to sit on the floor until she recovered a little.

  When he finally spoke, he was short of breath. “This…has…never happened…to me.”

  She could be a smart aleck and ask if he’d never kissed a woman before, but she knew that wasn’t what he meant. “Me, either,” she admitted.

  He lifted his head and glanced at her in surprise. “What are you doing down there?”

  “My legs wouldn’t hold me up.”

  Slowly he pushed away from the fireplace and came over to sit cross-legged in front of her. He stared intently into her eyes. “What are we gonna do, Mary Jane?”

  “The first thing we’d better do is clean you up. You have caramel-flavored lipstick from ear to ear.”

  He nodded. “You, too.”

  She reached for her purse, which had fallen on the floor in the midst of the chaos. Opening it, she took out two tissues and handed him one. “It tastes good, but it’s not what you’d call super-hold lipstick. I guess you can’t have everything.”

  He smiled grimly as he wiped his face. “Now, there’s a nugget of truth if I ever heard one.”

  “You missed a spot.” She started to reach over to do it for him.

  He leaned away. “Better not. Just tell me where it is.”

  “Left cheek, two o’clock. There. You got it.” She scrubbed at her face. Her mouth felt as if she’d blown up about a hundred balloons. And looking at him, she was ready to do it all over again.

  He rubbed his hands across his thighs and sighed heavily. “The thing that worries me is that all this…intensity…might be nothing more than another way of expressing our grief.”

  “If that’s true, it sure gives a whole new meaning to the expression ‘good grief.’”

  He chuckled. “Ah, Mary Jane. You’re an original.”

  “So are you.”

  “Me? Nah. I’m just your average, ordinary—”

  “Caring, sensitive, loyal—”

  “Am I loyal?” His gaze searched hers. “Seems to me a loyal person wouldn’t be kissing another woman within days of losing his wife.”

  “Actually a loyal person might find himself swept up in emotions he didn’t understand. He might find himself kissing another woman, but he’d feel guilty about it. Which you do.”

  “Yep.”

  “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I feel guilty, too. That first night was one thing. A single incident. But now…now it’s becoming a habit with us.”

  He gazed at her for a long moment. “Should I forget about this house?”

  “That’s not fair. Don’t make me decide. I’m at least as crazy about this house as you are, and I love the thought of the baby playing around in a house like this.”

  “As much as we’ve seen of it, that is, which isn’t much.”

  She wadded the tissue and tossed it back and forth between her hands. “Maybe if what we’re feeling for each other is only a—what did you say?—an expression of grief…”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “If that’s what it is, then maybe when the grief wears off a little, we won’t feel like tearing each other’s clothes off anymore.”

  He didn’t look very convinced. “I guess that’s possible.”

  “If you gave up this great house just because we couldn’t control ourselves, and then in a little while that wasn’t a problem anymore and you could have had the house, you’d kick yourself.” She rolled the tissue into a snake.

  “Probably. I can’t remember ever walking into a house and having it reach out and grab me like this one has.”

  She looked up from her tissue snake. “Me, either.”

  “It’s a great house.”

  She grinned. “What we’ve seen of it, which isn’t much.”

  “Okay. Let’s get the house.” He pushed himself to his feet and dusted off the seat of his pants. “Start thinking of things to complain about while I go find Eleanor. I’d help you up, but then I’d probably start kissing you again.”

  “I understand.” As he started toward the back of the house, she stood. “But we haven’t seen the kitchen, or the bathrooms, or the bedrooms.”

  He turned. “Under the circumstances I think it would be better if we cut this tour short, don’t you? I especially think we should stay out of the bedrooms.”

  She gazed at him and felt the heat flashing between them. “I see your point. Go find Eleanor.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  NOT LONG AFTERWARD Morgan walked with Mary Jane and a very hopeful Eleanor to Eleanor’s Lincoln, which was parked in the driveway.

  “So you like it, basically?” Eleanor said.

  “I do,” Morgan said. “But Mary Jane has some problems with it, as she mentioned.” That was her cue, and he hoped she’d come up with something.

  “I’m worried about how dust will collect in the crevices of the rocks on that fireplace,” she said.

  Morgan almost laughed. The fireplace had been the thing they’d both been crazy about, and he knew dust was the last thing she’d care about with such a gorgeous natural look.

  “I could ask the Slatterys how they cleaned it,” Eleanor said. “Anything else?”

  “The grounds will take a lot of maintenance,” Mary Jane said.

  “True,” Eleanor agreed. “I assume you’ll have to hire someone to help with it.” She glanced at Mary Jane. “You live here currently, correct?”

  “Correct.”

  “And will you be living part of the time in New York, as well?” she asked.

  Eleanor seemed to be struggling not to offend, Morgan realized. Perhaps she thought he was buying a house for his mistress. He didn’t care for that interpretation.

  “Mary Jane is a good friend,” he said to Eleanor. “She’ll be helping me set up this house as my winter getaway, and I trust her judgment. I would never buy anything if she had any reservations about it.” And that speech didn’t do anything to clear Mary Jane’s reputation, either, damn it.

  “I see,” Eleanor said.

  “What I mean is—”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Mary Jane said quietly, putting a hand on his arm.

  “But—”

  “Seriously.” She gave him a sunny smile.

  She didn’t care about her reputation, he thought with amazement. And of course she wouldn’t. She’d been willing to walk around pregnant with no wedding band on her left finger. Her frien
ds knew the truth, but strangers didn’t.

  Mary Jane didn’t show much yet, so Eleanor probably hadn’t guessed her condition. But soon it would be obvious to anyone. Mary Jane met the public nearly every day in her job, and as the pregnancy progressed she’d probably get rude questions, or even worse, no questions and rude stares. She didn’t care.

  It was a revelation to him. “Okay,” he said, regarding her with admiration. As he reached to open the car door for her, a man on horseback rode up the drive. Well, he sure enough was in Texas, Morgan thought, if social calls were being made on horseback.

  “Garrett!” Mary Jane hurried over to the guy.

  “How’re you doing, Mary Jane?” He dismounted and gave her a hug.

  Morgan remembered then that Garrett was the man who lived next door, Shelby and Lana’s older brother. The guy wore shades and a straw cowboy hat, so Morgan couldn’t see his coloring, but his facial features were an older, more masculine version of Shelby and Lana’s. With Lana being Mary Jane’s best friend, Morgan wondered how friendly Mary Jane and Garrett were. That hug had set his teeth on edge.

  “Garrett Lord, I’d like you to meet Morgan Tate,” Mary Jane said, turning to him.

  “Tate.” Garrett stuck out his hand, and his grip was brief and impersonal. “Lana told me you might be interested in the Slattery place.”

  “He’s buying it.” Mary Jane’s enthusiasm contrasted strongly with Garrett’s reserve. “Well, if the Slatterys accept the offer, of course. This is the real estate agent, Eleanor Burnside. Eleanor, this is—”

  “Mr. Lord and I have met,” Eleanor said with a formal smile. “I held an open house a couple of weeks ago, and the parking got a little out of hand. I’m afraid we encroached on Mr. Lord’s property. But with the sale of the house, you won’t have to worry about that again.”

  Morgan thought about the evening he’d walked into a field of bluebonnets that technically belonged to the reserved Mr. Lord and figured that Mary Jane had been his ticket on that trip. Judging from Lord’s stern expression, if Morgan had tried such a thing on his own, he might have been met with a loaded shotgun.