Her Best Friend's Baby

by Vicki Lewis Thompson, Stephanie Bond

  “It’s too soon, isn’t it.”

  “Yes.” Easing the garment into place, he kissed her tenderly while he fastened it. Then he stepped back and straightened her top.

  “It doesn’t feel too soon.”

  “I know.”

  She took a shaky breath. “Maybe we’re in a situation where time is compressed.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe we’re in a situation where we’re not thinking clearly.” He reached out and cupped her face in both hands. “But you do tempt me, Mary Jane Potter.”

  “I can tell.” She covered his hands with hers. Then she traced the plain gold band that circled the fourth finger of his left hand. “You know what people say at times like this—that she would want you to be happy. I think she would, but maybe—”

  “Maybe not this happy,” he finished. “And certainly not this fast. When I can think, I know that, but sometimes I forget to think.”

  “Do you…do you still feel married?”

  His chest tightened. It was a fair question, and he didn’t have an answer. His reaction to Mary Jane wasn’t the response of a man who felt committed to his late wife. And yet, he hadn’t been able to take off that ring. Mary Jane was very smart to have zeroed in on the fact that he still wore it.

  “I have an idea,” she said softly.

  “I’m listening.”

  “We’ve been together pretty constantly ever since you got here.”

  Not constantly enough for him. He would have liked to stick to her like a burr. He was afraid he was obsessed. “That’s true.”

  “Maybe we’ve become too fixated on each other, like baby ducks who bond to the first thing they see after they’re born.”

  He had a bad feeling about what she would suggest. “How do you unfixate a baby duck?”

  “Keep them away from whatever they’ve bonded to.” She let out a long breath, as if she didn’t like what was coming, either. “I think we should see what happens if we take a break from each other.”

  He’d figured he wouldn’t like it. And he didn’t. Didn’t like it at all. But he thought she was probably right to suggest doing this. “For how long?”

  “A few days. Maybe until you close on the house. Do you think you’d be able to find enough things to do for a few days?”

  “Sure.” He had no idea what, but if that’s what she wanted, he’d come up with activities. Maybe he’d volunteer a few hours at Maitland. Maybe he’d work on his riding skills. Maybe he’d decide whether to take off his wedding ring.

  “Then it’s decided,” she said. “When you close on the house, you can call me, and we’ll…we’ll see where we are.”

  “Okay.” He fought the panic he felt at the thought that after he took her home tonight, he wouldn’t see her tomorrow or the next day or the next. But that panic was exactly what she was trying to cure. Panic wasn’t a good emotion to build anything on. He took a deep breath and stepped away from her. “Time to get you home. You and that baby need your rest.”

  DURING the next few days Mary Jane thought of that silly cure for a headache, where you were supposed to hit yourself on the foot so the pain made you forget your headache. Apparently that’s what she’d done to herself. She missed Morgan so much that she forgot to miss Arielle.

  “You don’t look like a happy person,” Sara remarked one morning when Mary Jane went in the kitchen to hunt up some herbal tea to drink during her break.

  Mary Jane opened the foil packet and took the tea bag out. “You know, I’ve gone with a few guys, even thought I was in love a couple of times.” She put the tea bag in a mug. Morgan would be so proud of her for drinking this tea. She thought it had antioxidants in it. “But I’ve never felt like this before,” she said, glancing at Sara.

  Sara looked up from the chopping block where she was mincing onions. “And how is that?”

  Mary Jane tried to explain it. “Maybe like this tea bag. It has so much potential to be a great thing. Well, maybe not that great. Medium great. Semi medium great. It’s only a tea bag, after all. But you get nothing out of it until you add hot water.”

  Sara chuckled. “And Morgan’s the hot water.” She took a steaming saucepan and poured the water carefully into Mary Jane’s mug.

  “Oh, he is so the hot water.” Mary Jane laughed as she dunked her tea bag. “I’m liking this comparison more and more. He’s hot water and he’s getting me in hot water.”

  “But if you’re a tea bag, that’s your destiny,” Sara said, grinning. “And by the way, I think you’re a great tea bag, not a semi great one.”

  “Thanks, I think. But what if it’s not Morgan’s destiny to make tea? I mean, hot water can be used for so many things. He’s such a great guy, Sara. Right now he’s interested in me, but I can see what that’s all about.”

  “So can I.” Sara scraped the minced onion into a bowl. “You’re beautiful, talented, funny—”

  “Oh, Sara, he could have beautiful, talented and funny any day of the week. Especially now that I’ve talked him into showing off his cute butt. That was probably a mistake on my part.” Maybe now she understood why Arielle hadn’t wanted Morgan to think he was sexy. That way she’d had a better chance of keeping him to herself. But that wasn’t playing fair.

  “Anyway,” she continued, “Morgan could have anybody. He thinks he wants me because I’m carrying this baby, and because he needs someone right now to comfort him.”

  “I think you’re selling yourself short.” Sara turned to get a spatula. “And I think… Oh, my God. There’s that guy again. That Harrison Smith.”

  Mary Jane looked through the pass-through and noticed the man she’d served a hot fudge sundae to a few days ago. “You found out his last name?”

  “Shelby did. He came in one evening when I wasn’t here and he asked about me, so Shelby thought it was only fair to ask him a few questions, too. I guess he found out about my amnesia somehow.” She gazed pointedly at Mary Jane.

  Warmth rose to Mary Jane’s cheeks. “Okay, so I did sort of tell him about that. He was looking all mad at you, so I told him, and it changed his whole attitude. I’m sorry if you didn’t want me to, but I thought it was a good way to explain why you might have been staring at him.”

  “Great. Now he thinks I’m a few slices shy of a loaf.”

  “No, he doesn’t! I told him you were constantly looking for clues to your past.”

  “Which is true.” Sara’s gaze softened. “I’m not really sorry you told him. Shelby says he’s been around for a while. He’s here checking out Maitland as a possible place for his grandchild to be born, and she definitely thinks he’s single.”

  Mary Jane patted her apron pocket. “Want to go take his order?”

  “Oh, no, I couldn’t do that!”

  “Why not? He sounds interested, and you’re definitely interested. He’s not allowed in the kitchen, so if you don’t go out and say something to him, then never the twain shall meet, as they say.”

  “I couldn’t go out there and take his order. He’d know I was doing it on purpose.”

  “So?”

  “So what if he’s a serial killer or something?”

  Mary Jane laughed. “I haven’t known too many of those, but this guy isn’t giving off serial killer vibes. If you won’t go take his order, I’d better. The poor guy probably came in for food as well as to stare at you. Want me to slip him your phone number?”

  Sara looked horrified. “Absolutely not!”

  Mary Jane set down her tea. “Okay, but this is starting to remind me of junior high. Maybe you could arrange his French fries in the shape of a heart.” With a wink at Sara, she went to take the mysterious Harrison Smith’s order.

  Not long afterward one of her favorite customers came in and took a seat at booth five. She approached him with a smile. “Hello, Mr. Blake.”

  “I’ve told you a million times to call me Hugh,” the silver-haired man said. “Am I going to have to get a court order?”

  Mary Jane laughed. He was the
Maitland family’s lawyer, and she’d known him since she’d been in elementary school. “When I first met you I was supposed to call you Mr. Blake, so it’s hard to change. But I’ll try. Can I get you a hot fudge sundae?”

  “You sure can. With everything that’s been going on at Maitland Maternity this past while, it’s enough to make me come in for a sundae every day of the week.”

  “Be my guest,” Mary Jane said. “I sure hope everything gets sorted out for poor little Chase and his parents.”

  “Oh, it will.” Hugh Blake’s blue eyes twinkled. “In any case, all the activity keeps me on my toes. And it is my job to watch out for the family’s welfare.”

  “I’m sure Mrs. Maitland is grateful to have you on her side.”

  The older man’s expression softened. “I like to think so,” he said.

  “I’m sure she is. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Hugh, I’ll whip you up the best hot fudge sundae in the state of Texas.”

  ONCE MORGAN contacted Ellie about volunteering a few hours at the clinic, he had no trouble filling his time. He hadn’t considered the proximity of Maitland to the diner, though. Thinking of Mary Jane working right next door made their self-imposed separation that much worse.

  He wished he’d thought to tell her about working at the clinic so he wouldn’t be the only one suffering. A better man wouldn’t want Mary Jane to suffer, but he wasn’t that saintly.

  A couple of times he considered going over for a cup of coffee. Other people at Maitland did it all the time, and he’d been invited to go along. But then he’d ruin the experiment, and he was determined to tough it out because he could see the value in being away from Mary Jane. He was gaining perspective he wouldn’t have otherwise.

  His need for Mary Jane didn’t diminish. If anything, it intensified the longer they were apart. But without Mary Jane around, he could think about his marriage to Arielle. After some struggle, he was able to set aside the tragedy of her death long enough to look at the emptiness of his life with her.

  He might not have seen it if the change hadn’t been so abrupt, if he hadn’t been rocketed immediately from life with Arielle to life with Mary Jane, from artsy black-and-white prints to the colorful fun of Sunday comics. No surprise that he’d been drawn to the artsy black-and-white world Arielle represented—his parents lived in that world, too. Now that he understood that he had a choice, his choice was the Sunday comics.

  Finally he could admit that he hadn’t much liked the man he’d been turning into. Arielle’s horrible and undeserved fate made it damned near impossible to think negative thoughts about her. But…she’d been a snob. And he’d fallen right in with her behavior.

  Only certain restaurants would do, only certain people should be cultivated as friends. She’d advised him to build his practice around children of the wealthy and influential, and he’d gone along with her. Art buyers had been prime candidates, and those with both children and “exquisite taste,” as Arielle had termed it, were quietly steered in Morgan’s direction.

  At Maitland he met all kinds of people. Some were rich and famous, while others were barely scraping by. The second category had been the reason Megan Maitland had established the clinic, and she made sure nobody on the staff forgot the clinic’s roots. Morgan discovered he loved working with plain folks.

  He also discovered that in his off hours he loved working with horses. Arielle would never have understood his immense satisfaction in mucking out a stall and spreading it with clean straw. She would have said he was wasting time and potential on a mundane job like shoveling manure, that he hadn’t invested all those years in med school to sweat like a common laborer.

  But Morgan enjoyed every minute of the time spent caring for the horses, and the more familiar he became with them, the more comfortable he was when he climbed in the saddle for a riding lesson. As the days went by, he felt less like a fake when he put on his boots, jeans and Stetson.

  Gradually he created mental distance between his former life in New York and his new life in Austin and began to see the shape of an altered future shimmering in the distance. Maybe it was a mirage, but he didn’t think so. He saw himself working happily at Maitland and coming home to a rural life that included dogs and horses and satisfying physical labor.

  And Mary Jane. But that was the part he agonized over. With every passing day he was more convinced that she was right for him, but he might not be right for her, even if she thought so now. He had to remember that her hormones were out of control and her thinking was probably fuzzy. And she was, after all, only twenty-two. The phrase “robbing the cradle” was old-fashioned, but it kept running through his mind.

  He and Arielle had been selfish to ask Mary Jane to have their child. He couldn’t compound that selfishness by tying her to a commitment she might regret in four months when her body chemistry stabilized. No, he needed to distance himself from Mary Jane, at least for the next few months. He wouldn’t give up his dream of eventually moving to Austin, but he wouldn’t implement it anytime soon.

  Mary Jane didn’t have to know he was considering the move. He would tell her he was returning to New York and he’d be back when the baby was born. He would break the news after Eleanor called to set up the closing on the house.

  And finally, Eleanor did call. The closing was set for Friday, two days away.

  He thought carefully all day Thursday about what he wanted to say. Telling Mary Jane about his decision over the phone might seem impersonal, but it would be kinder to both of them in the long run. That evening he drove to a pay phone beside a convenience store rather than call from Garrett’s house, where he might be overheard.

  Heart pounding and throat dry, he dialed Mary Jane’s number. All he got was her answering machine. He’d forgotten about the cute, silly message she had on it.

  Hi. This is not the real Mary Jane. The real Mary Jane is out doing the social butterfly thing and will call you back. You can make that so much easier by telling her who you are and what your phone number is. She’s developing her psychic powers but they’re not fully operational yet.

  That perky message further convinced him that he was doing the right thing by backing away from their relationship. Social butterflies needed to be free, and all that stuff. But he didn’t want to talk to a machine. Telling her about his decision on the phone was one thing. Putting the news on her answering machine was just plain cold.

  Frustrated, he drove around for an hour, went to the same phone booth and tried again. Still the answering machine. He glanced at his watch. It was getting late. Social butterfly thing, hell. She should be home resting, especially if she’d spent the day at the diner. Damn it, where was she?

  Dialing again, he decided to put a message on the machine. It was too late for her to call him at Garrett’s anyway, so she’d have to get back to him the next day. This wasn’t working out the way he’d hoped. He had his speech ready and he wanted to deliver it and get it over with.

  He listened to her message again and took a deep breath. “Hi, Mary Jane.” Her name sort of stuck in his throat and didn’t come out as casual-sounding as he would have liked. He cleared his throat. “I’d like to talk to you when you—”

  “Hello? Morgan?” Her voice sounded funny, sort of clogged up like she was sick.

  Instantly he was worried. “Mary Jane? Do you have a cold or something?”

  “No, no. I was…watching movies. That’s why I put the machine on.”

  Instead of being out doing her social butterfly thing, she’d been home crying over a movie. Tenderness washed over him. He remembered her cache of weepy videos. Laughing with her about those tearjerkers had been a high point of his visit.

  But there had also been that moment when they’d stopped to look at the bluebonnets. That ranked pretty high, too, and making a chocolate cake had been fun, and playing gin, and sleeping tucked in with her and a million stuffed animals. And kissing her. Oh, God. Kissing her had been the best.

  “Morgan? Was there somethin
g you wanted to talk to me about?”

  “Yes, I, uh… What were you watching?”

  “Titanic. I got to the part where they’re floating in the water together, and he’s making her promise… Oh, Morgan, it’s so…sad. And I know what’s going to happen.” She sniffed.

  He couldn’t tell her what he’d planned to say. Not when she’d been sitting there watching doomed lovers floating in the Atlantic and crying her eyes out. He wondered why she was putting herself through such misery.

  She spoke again. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you about it. I didn’t mean to depress you.”

  “No problem.” If she insisted on watching that kind of movie, he didn’t think she should be doing it alone. “Is Lana with you?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because. The thing is, I sort of… Oh, never mind. Are you ready to close the sale on the house? Is that why you called?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you been thinking about us?”

  “Yes.”

  She met his answer with silence. “See, that’s why I’ve been watching sad movies. To get ready.”

  His chest constricted with pain. He couldn’t do this over the phone. He’d been an idiot to think that was the best way to handle it. “I’m coming over,” he said.

  “Okay.” Her voice sounded very small.

  “I’ll be right there.”

  “Okay. Bye.”

  Damn. Damn, damn, damn. Right when he needed Mary Jane to be tough and resilient, she was going soft on him. He jumped in the truck and drove straight to her town house, running yellow lights all the way. Somehow, he had to make her see that this was best for both of them.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  WHEN MORGAN CALLED, Mary Jane was wearing her total comfort and elegance outfit for warm summer nights—teal silk pajamas with drawstring pants that accommodated her growing tummy and a boat-necked tee that settled gently over her sensitive breasts. She’d found the set on sale a year ago at the Maitland Maternity gift shop.