Partners In Parenthood

by Raina Lynn

  It was a cheap shot, but her outraged gasp made it worth it. He pivoted on his heel, aware that she’d recovered and was fluttering along behind him.

  “What lies did she tell about me? Mason, be fair. Give me a chance to defend myself.” She darted around to the driver’s side and hung onto the door. “What did that little bitch say?”

  “Give it up, Karen.” He flashed his wedding ring at her. “This stays where it is. Get used to it. Then go back to L.A. where you belong.” He slammed the door and hit the ignition.

  As he pulled from the curb, she stood in the street, her planned seduction in ruins—though he doubted that her ego permitted her to see why.

  With that done, he turned his thoughts to Jill. How could he undo the damage? She had every reason to be hurt. No woman wanted to believe she was a substitute. But given the strain they were both under, how could he convince her otherwise?

  Chapter 10

  Jill tried to imagine floating down a peaceful river as the pains came and went. Mason hadn’t been gone long, but the contractions were a steady ten minutes apart now, and she needed the breathing techniques she’d learned in childbirth classes. Alone and worried sick over what was going on across town, anything resembling relaxation seemed like a concept from another planet. That made riding out labor a little rough.

  “Well, you planned on having this baby alone anyway, so what’s the big deal?” she said to herself.

  A quiet inner voice sobbed that it was a very big deal.

  She rubbed her stomach and breathed through the next pain. Vicki had offered to be her backup, labor coach if needed, and twice Jill reached for the phone, but changed her mind.

  Then she heard Mason’s car pull up. How could that be? He’d been gone less than an hour.

  “Congratulate me,” he snapped, storming inside and slamming the door. “I didn’t kill her. Do I get any game points for that?”

  Between his muddied suit, the rat’s nest he’d made of his hair and serious beard stubble, Mason looked horrible. Then again, he was the most beautiful sight she could imagine.

  “What are you blithering about?” she asked warily.

  “Homemade games. Like the one we played the night we made a baby. Remember?” There was a wild quality to the way he looked around their apartment. “I need to decontaminate something.”

  “You what?”

  “Nothing.”

  She gave him a sidelong glance. “Back to the games, is that what we’re doing tonight? Playing our version of Who’s On First?”

  He blinked at her, and his eyes focused. “I’m not making any sense, am I?”

  “Nothing in my life has made sense since I came back from that cruise and you walked into my office.”

  He rolled his head back and closed his eyes. “I had myself together a couple of times on the way home, but I can’t seem to hang onto it for long.”

  “I can relate to that.” Another contraction began. Before it hit full force, she walked casually into the bathroom and shut the door. If he couldn’t see her, maybe she could keep this a secret another few minutes. If she had to wait until after the baby was born to find out what had happened with Karen, she’d go stark raving mad. “So, do I get an explanation, or do I have to fill in the blanks myself?” she called back through the door.

  “I truly believed that if I ignored her, she’d lose interest and go away.” He sounded so distracted, she suspected that if a bomb went off, he probably wouldn’t notice.

  “Then you aren’t planning to divorce me for her someday?”

  Footsteps approached the door and stopped. “Does that sound like something I’d do?” The raw indignation in Mason’s voice made a stronger denial than the words.

  White-hot agony tore across her belly, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. Get it together, or this will be an ugly delivery, she yelled silently at herself. She started her breathing, but it was too late to catch the rhythm. Leaning over the sink, she tried to think of peaceful rivers.

  No rivers.

  “Jill?”

  She couldn’t answer.

  He knocked. “Jill? Are you all right?”

  Drawing a deep breath, she said, “Just cut to the chase and tell me where she stands with you.” Her voice quavered.

  Mason burst in. He took one look at her white-knuckled grip on the faucet handles, and his eyes became piercing. “I knew it. When did this start?”

  “So much for personal preferences,” she muttered breathlessly as the contraction ebbed away.

  He blinked. “What are you talking about?”

  “Nothing.” She straightened her smock and pushed past him.

  Gently, he caught her arm. “How long have you been in labor?”

  Throwing a look over her shoulder, she pulled free and kept walking. “How long have you been seeing your ex-wife?”

  The answering string of expletives was even more succinct than the previous one. “I’m not! She called here about a month before I learned you Were pregnant. Before I could hang up, she told me about her planned move to Stafford. I made the mistake of telling her ‘no.’ I should have just hung up. That was the last time I spoke to her until today. For the last time, Jill, how long have you been in labor?”

  “About six hours. It’s getting nasty, okay? My turn for questions. Do I mean anything to you other than Karen’s look-alike and your daughter’s mother?”

  This time when he caught up to her, he took both her arms. She saw no point in trying to get away.

  “Jill, you are not second string backup to my ex-wife. The resemblance has unnerved me from the beginning. It’s a bizarre coincidence that I’m still not completely comfortable with, but the two of you are nothing alike. That suits me just fine.”

  She hadn’t realized she’d developed a knot in her throat until it eased a little. “Then why did you make love to me?”

  His breath eased out in poignant defeat. “I’ve been attracted to you from the first day—your personality, not your face.” His eyes widened in horror. “That came out wrong.”

  Despite herself, she found that funny, and laughed. He crimsoned.

  “Want to try again?” she asked.

  His expression became guarded, as if he didn’t trust his mouth. Not that she blamed him.

  “I don’t think I’d better.” He stared at her a moment, then wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.

  Jill had no delusions about what the hug meant Mason Bradshaw was decent and kind and would always go through all the right motions. “So you’re not having second thoughts about having divorced her?”

  “If she bothers either one of us again, she’ll find herself in more legal hot water than she can swim in.” He tilted Jill’s face up to make sure she was looking at his eyes. “I promise. You’re my wife now, and nothing Karen says or does changes that.”

  The worst lies are the ones we tell ourselves, she accused silently. In her mind’s eye she kept seeing Karen, the perfect skin, the magnificent hair. By comparison, Jill Mathesin Bradshaw came up short in all departments. “No one should have that much hair, Bradshaw. No one.”

  Mason’s eyes sparkled. “We can always hope she comes down with mange.”

  The comment sounded more like something she’d say. Maybe she’d begun to rub off on him. Jill smiled again.

  “Does that take care of everything?” he asked tenderly.

  She nodded. It really didn’t, but she’d had enough for one day.

  “Okay,” he said. “Let’s get this baby born.”

  “Push, sweetheart,” Mason urged, his face inches from Jill’s. “Just once more.”

  “That’s what you said the last time,” she wailed as the agony blasted through her body into her brain. Labor had been long and ugly, and Jill wondered how much more she could stand. “I’m tired of this.”

  Someone chuckled, and she latched onto the rush of anger as the only strength she had left, then bore down. Without warning, a strange slithery sensation b
etween her legs left her feeling oddly vacant.

  A war-whoop of delight erupted from Mason’s throat. “We did it!” Through the surgical mask, he planted a hard kiss on her mouth, then reached toward the mewling infant her obstetrician laid across her belly.

  With a flood of maternal devotion, Jill closed her arms around the warm, wet baby girl. Mason touched and stroked the dark, little head, a mirror image of Jill’s own love and euphoria in his eyes. They counted fingers and toes, and cooed to the tiny person they’d created. Even now, the infant quieted as a nurse laid a blanket over her and rubbed her dry. Afterward, Jill and Mason tucked a fresh blanket snugly in all the right places. Jill had wanted a baby of her own for so long. Now that the moment arrived, the joy surpassed her greatest fantasies. Overflowing with love, she looked up at Mason.

  “We did good, Bradshaw,” she whispered, breathless.

  Beyond speech, he nodded, and she reached up to wipe away the single tear that spilled over his lower lashes. His eyes were luminous, the gold flecks more pronounced than usual. Even his features seemed softer.

  He’d been a rock as the hours dragged by. For the first time, she seemed to connect with him. Jill supposed childbirth did that to a couple. It didn’t fix the problems, just provided a glorious, temporary reprieve. On the tip of her tongue rested the words to let him know how much she loved him, but she bit down on the foolishness. What right did she have to damage the moment for either of them?

  Within minutes, the medical team had Claire Antoinette Bradshaw cleaned, checked over, wrapped and back in her mother’s arms. The nurse helped put the baby to her breast. The little one latched on like a half-starved pit bull.

  “Is this normal?” Instinctively, Jill looked to Mason, not that he had any more idea than she did.

  Dr. Gray smiled in reassurance. “Just what we want to see.”

  Jill lay in a miserably rock-hard bed in the maternity ward, counting the hours until she and the baby could go home. Hospitals had always given her the crawlies, and she figured she could just as well be sore at home. At least there she’d have a comfortable mattress.

  Convincing Mason to go home to get some sleep had taken an hour all by itself. He hadn’t left her side since he’d exploded over Karen. He needed sleep as badly as she did. To pass the time between contractions, he’d given her a gratifying number of details about the confrontation. By the time they needed to go to the hospital, the only thing missing had been his undying declaration of love.

  “Oh, well,” she murmured, smiling at the baby. Little Claire—all seven pounds, fifteen ounces of her—snoozed in her bassinet. “Just because I want it all, doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate what I’ve got.”

  Dr. Gray came by right after a breakfast that tasted like recycled plastic. “Mrs. Bradshaw, what kind of help do you have at home?”

  Jill cocked her head at him. “Maybe I’m a little dense, but help with what?”

  “Cooking and infant care. You must take it easy for a few days. Do you have a mother or sister who can stay with you?”

  Family. Most of the time she ignored the lack. It beat dwelling on something she’d had no control over. Reminders like this shone a spotlight on it, and made it hurt. “My husband is the only family I have.”

  Gray’s face smoothed in surprise, but he recovered quickly. “Well, then you can’t go home tonight.”

  “You mean I’m stuck here?” she squeaked.

  Mason came in, a bouquet of roses in one hand. Her heart turned over. He frowned from her to the doctor. “What’s the matter?”

  “He’s holding me and the baby hostage because I don’t have a bunch of relatives to impose themselves on our hospitality.”

  Gray laughed. “Mrs. Bradshaw, you’re a first-time mom. You can’t do as much as you think you can. You need help around the house. Here in the hospital, the nursing staff can make sure the baby’s taken care of while you regain some of your strength.”

  “I’m taking a week off from work,” Mason said. “I’ll handle everything.”

  “You’re what?” Jill sputtered. “Bradshaw, I’ve never known you to go an entire weekend without trotting down to the paper for a few hours. You’ll never last seven whole days. You’re a work addict.”

  “Maybe.” He looked sheepish. “But would you have a little confidence in me, please?”

  The request had an edge to it she wasn’t sure she imagined or not.

  Gray still smiled. “Well, if that’s all settled and there aren’t any problems when I check on you tonight, you’ll be out of here right after dinner.” He didn’t waste any more of his time or theirs, and left.

  Once they were alone, an unexpected shyness came over Jill. “I take it those are for me?” she asked, looking at the roses still in Mason’s hand.

  He bent and kissed her cheek. The warmth of his breath on her skin made her want to ask him to sit beside her so she could curl up in his arms. She needed them to bond as a family. It wasn’t the same as having bonded as a couple first, but she’d settle for door number two. All she needed was to find a way to pull it off. Placing the roses on the bedside table, she glanced at the baby. “You know, Bradshaw, if you hand her to me, we could count her fingers and toes again.

  He sucked in a breath. “You want me to pick her up?”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “Well, no.” His expression held a wild-eyed apprehension that he valiantly tried to suppress. “I know the basics. She won’t break.”

  The pep talk he gave himself surprised her, too. He always seemed to be so together that it was nice to see the other side. He bent over the bassinet and smiled down at the sleeping infant. The tenderness and love on his face brought tears to Jill’s eyes.

  “Hi, sweetheart,” he murmured, running his fingertip along one cheek.

  “You’ll be a good dad, Bradshaw.”

  He gave her a doubtful look over his shoulder.

  “But you do have to pick her up first.”

  “Right.” He took a fortifying breath and cautiously cradled the baby in his hands. Claire arched her back, bunched her legs and frowned. Mason looked stricken.

  “You’re doing fine. You just disturbed her nap. She’ll settle down in a minute.”

  “Where did you learn all this?” he asked, crossing the short distance to the bed and handing the newborn to Jill.

  “Truthfully? Vicki showed me quite a bit when her boys were little. I didn’t babysit as a kid, so I was pretty inept the first few times I tried helping her out.” She cuddled Claire close, love flooding her. “Sit down.”

  Mason considered the space beside her, his expression closed. For a moment she thought he might pull a chair to the bed. If he did, she doubted she could handle the pain.

  “Please?”

  He eased down, the mattress sinking under his weight. Jill savored the contentment. Gritting her teeth against sore muscles, she raised her knees and laid the baby on her thighs. Mason leaned close enough to touch, but she made no outward reaction. No sense making him feel threatened. He might get off the bed.

  Claire stretched again, and drifted back into her doze. They watched the baby sleep, checking each other’s features and comparing them to hers. The head full of black brown hair definitely belonged to Mason, but time would tell if it would stay that color.

  Jill treasured each moment. She and Mason had known such little closeness. Each detail needed to be committed to memory.

  By the time Claire was four days old, Mason thought he might collapse. Between the baby and overseeing roof repairs, he operated on adrenaline and willpower alone. Jill wasn’t in much better shape. The baby woke up every hour or two around the clock, squeaking loudly to be fed. The newborn’s cry didn’t sound like anything he’d ever heard.

  “You don’t have to get up with her, Bradshaw,” Jill muttered.

  “If I don’t, how are you going to get fresh blankets and diaper wipes and so forth?” he snarled. “There always seems to be something just out of y
our reach that I can get for you.” He meant it to come across as supportive. Unfortunately, his tone ruined it. They were both so exhausted, they’d taken to snapping at each other over everything.

  “Just go back to bed. I’m fine.”

  Mason glanced at the graying dawn sky and checked his watch. “Why don’t I make coffee instead?”

  “Won’t matter to me. I’m still stuck with decaf.” Jill curled up on the couch. Murmuring softly, she lifted the baby to her breast.

  With amazing speed, Mason grew hard. The first time it happened after they’d brought Claire home, his reaction startled him. Worse, it had intensified each time he saw her feeding their child. That worried him. What are you doing? Becoming a pervert?

  He turned away and tried to think pure thoughts. Nothing came to mind. His wife nourished their child with the fruit of her body. God, what an erotic image.

  “Are you coming down with something, Bradshaw?” she asked.

  “No, why?” He kept one foot moving in front of the other until he had rounded the corner into the kitchen.

  “You coughed.”

  Had he? This was not a subject he wanted to pursue. “Would you like cran-apple juice or the tropical mix?”

  He heard her voice, but didn’t catch the reply. Finding out what she’d said entailed walking back into the living room. His body throbbed, and he didn’t really want another blast of visual heaven—or hell, depending on one’s point of view. He poured her the cran-apple.

  What else was I supposed to do? He gritted his teeth. Oh, yeah. Make coffee.

  When he steeled himself to face the living room again, he had his body under control—but it wasn’t happy. Neither was the rest of him. The idea that his attraction to Jill had grown horrified him. How could he even consider opening himself up for that kind of hurt again? Her physical resemblance to Karen seemed particularly pronounced today. “Here’s your juice.”

  Her eyebrows lowered at the sight of the red liquid, and he figured he’d guessed wrong on the flavor.