Partners In Parenthood

by Raina Lynn

  “Bradshaw, are you upset with me over something?”

  That stopped him. “No, why?”

  “You look at me like you resent the space I occupy.”

  “You’re imagining things.”

  “I don’t think so.” She tipped Claire onto her shoulder to burp her.

  Mason reached for the baby. “I can do that. Drink your juice.” His heart melted as it always did when he held his tiny daughter to his chest. He tucked her warm body beneath his chin and patted her back. Jill’s gaze on him made him uncomfortable. He wanted her. He tried to ignore it, but it wouldn’t go away.

  Minutes later, she had downed her juice, and Mason had Claire dry and back in bed. Jill set her glass on the kitchen counter, turned to him and crossed her arms.

  “Okay, Bradshaw, spill it. What are you mad at me about?”

  “I’m not. Do you want an omelet this morning?”

  “No, I want to know why you look disgusted every time you catch me nursing the baby. If you find it repulsive, then we need to talk. If it’s something else, we need to talk about that, too.”

  Repulsive? How could he explain to her how beautiful he found the sight? He couldn’t, at least not without embarrassing himself and probably offending her.

  “Okay,” she said. “Since you won’t answer, let me ask another question. Does this have to do with Karen?”

  Oh, good. She’d handed him an excuse to get angry. “I’m not interested in her, Jill.”

  She shrugged. “Well, something’s eating at you other than fatigue. Unless you ’fess up, I can only assume. And you know where assuming gets people.”

  Fatigue, guilt and sexual frustration lit a very short fuse. “You’re right,” he snapped. “I assumed you knew me.”

  “What do you mean by that crack?”

  “How could you believe I wanted to marry you just so I could divorce you later? What did you think I had planned? To set you up so I could take the baby in the divorce?”

  Her gaze skittered away. “It crossed my mind.”

  That floored him. True or not, he’d expected a vehement denial. “How could you think so little of me?”

  “You’re committed to Claire, not me, Bradshaw. Karen’s tale fell into the realm of possibility.” She crossed her arms beneath full breasts.

  The sensuality of the gesture slammed into him. “You were wrong.”

  She shrugged. “It’s not the first time.”

  Watching her lift one shoulder shoved Mason over the edge. He was kissing her hard before his brain noticed that he’d pulled her into his arms. Her firm breasts pressed against him, burning his skin through his shirt. Her lips became a fire that seared him to the core. She had a baby four days ago. Four! Back off. She hung limp in his arms as if paralyzed.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured. With a groan, he set her from him.

  “What was that for?” she asked, her eyes glazed over from shock. Or was it revulsion?

  “Good question.” He brushed past her. “I’m going for a run.”

  They spoke little for the next week and a half. Jill couldn’t get his kiss from her mind. What on earth had possessed him to do that? There’d been no warning, no explanation and no reoccurrence. She tried asking him about it a couple of times, but he downplayed the incident and changed the subject.

  He took her to Dr. Gray’s office for her postpartum check-up. When she finished, she returned to the waiting room where Mason gently rocked their sleeping infant. Claire’s tiny head tucked securely under his chin had become a familiar sight. His eyes were closed, his long legs stretched out before him, one ankle crossed casually over the other. The deep shadows beneath Mason’s eyes testified to his continued insistence that he share the parental load.

  To the world, she and Mason presented a flawless picture of the traditional, nuclear family. Jill wished she could be content. She had so much—everything but his love. With the exception of seeing to the baby’s needs, they were further apart than before. Loving Mason hurt so much worse than had loving Donald. Her ex had treated her with disdain so much of the time that the lack of affection had remained the one constant. But Mason tried so hard.

  Silently, she caressed him with her eyes, reveling in the moment. For once, she didn’t have to worry about him seeing the love on her face or her seeing his guilt reflected back. Claire squirmed in her sleep, and Mason adjusted his hold without waking. Jill knew she should say something to let him know she was there. Instead, she brushed loving fingers along the arm he had wrapped around Claire’s back. It made as good an excuse as any to touch him. Unfocused, bloodshot hazel eyes flew open.

  His attention quickly settled on her face. “All finished?”

  So much love filled Jill that breathing caused excruciating pain in her chest. She could have sworn a boulder had taken up residence between her heart and lungs. Unable to speak, she nodded.

  He drew in his long legs and stood. Belatedly, he remembered to smile at her. Jill looked away. She wondered what it would be like if he meant it.

  “How about I chauffeur you home?” she offered. “You look like the only thing you’re capable of right now is sliding into bed.”

  She took the baby from him, and he nodded an exhausted agreement, scrubbing at his face with his hands. “What did Dr. Gray tell you?”

  “To take it easy for another week or two. Other than that, I can do whatever I want.” Her mouth twisted into a mocking smile. “He didn’t sound real thrilled when I asked if that included going back to work.”

  Mason stiffened. “You’re doing most of it at home now. I‘ve—we’ve—only had to pay for part-time help.”

  His innocent slip cut clear to the bone. He might go out of his way to profess that the Review-Journal was theirs now, but in his unguarded moments he still viewed himself as single, and the paper as his alone. Moreover, after the kiss the morning they’d fought, he’d returned to keeping the world—and her—at arm’s length.

  “Tell the temp I’ll be back on Monday,” she said as they headed to the car. “What I can’t get done in the mornings, I’ll take home. It’ll mean we’ll need to take separate cars, but I think it can work. Do you have any objections if I bring the baby with me?”

  He looked a little stunned. “To a newspaper office?”

  “Sure. Your office is fairly quiet. She’s young enough to get used to the noise. I’ll put a mini-crib between the file cabinet and the window.”

  Once in the car, Jill concentrated on adjusting the driver’s seat to accommodate her shorter legs, while Mason strapped Claire into her car seat. The mundane activity beat looking at his expressive face, the one that said he felt like a failure.

  “Cut yourself some slack, Bradshaw,” she muttered, pulling from the parking lot.

  “The baby’s barely two weeks old,” he snapped. “You shouldn’t have to return to work this soon.”

  “Temps are expensive. The extra strain of paying her makes meeting payroll an interesting exercise in juggling funds,” she countered. “So put your macho on hold.”

  He looked like she’d stabbed him. Then a hardened resolve crossed his face. “It won’t always be like this, Jill. I swear.”

  Her gaze cut sharply to his. His voice had carried an undertone she didn’t know how to read. “Are you talking about our finances or our marriage?”

  He gave her a long look. “The baby’s only two weeks old,” he repeated, sounding as if he were reminding himself of something.

  “So?”

  “Vicki said the first three months are the roughest on parents.”

  She’d never seen him this rattled. Nor had she ever known him to be evasive. “That’s not what you were talking about.”

  He glared out the windshield. “Just drive.”

  Chapter 11

  “You ready for lunch, girlfriend?” Vicki asked. She wandered into the office that had housed both Jill’s and Mason’s desks for the six weeks Jill had been back. The idea that the publisher should have h
is own office died under the financial necessity of bringing Claire to work.

  Jill looked up, smiled and stretched her shoulders. Claire lay sound asleep in her mini-crib. “I wish she would sleep like this during the night.”

  Vicki chuckled softly. “She will. Give her a little more time.”

  Retrieving her brown-bag lunch from the bottom drawer, Jill followed Vicki to the break room.

  “What’s with the fern on your desk?” Vicki asked, the moment they were seated.

  “Mason saw me drooling over it at the store yesterday.”

  Vicki pulled out her carton of yogurt. “Sounds like you two are doing better, if little gifts are any indication.”

  Jill’s smile faltered. “He has an extra active thoughtful gene in his chromosomes. It kicks in even at the worst of times. But that fern just made me feel funny.”

  “Why? Doesn’t it show he cares?”

  “Oh, he cares all right. I’m Claire’s mommy.”

  Vicki gave her a dark look. “Please, tell me you two stopped sleeping in separate beds. That baby’s two months old now.”

  Jill’s appetite vanished. “Looking back, I wish I’d swallowed my pride on our wedding night and accepted the sleeping arrangements he offered. Granted, sex would have been pushing it. But, Vicki, I’m no longer eight months pregnant. Even if he never made any advances, I could pretend I was asleep and accidentally-on-purpose snuggle up to him. Or maybe rest a thigh suggestively on his. Do anything sneaky I could think of to encourage nature to take its course.”

  Looking thoughtful as she swallowed a bite of yogurt, Vicki asked, “Any chance of renegotiating the terms?”

  “Not really. I created quite a mess that night.”

  “So? Plead temporary insanity. Do whatever it takes to get him in the right bedroom.”

  Jill shook her head.

  “Tell him he’s fine, and that you want to get it on. There’s not a man alive who can resist that one.”

  She smiled weakly at the mental picture that created.

  “Mason just isn’t a man to change affections the way some people change shirts. He needed time to heal, time to let the memories of his bad marriage fade. But he got stuck with a pregnant woman, one he knew loved him. The whole situation was guaranteed to ruin any chance we might have had.” She stared at her sandwich, trying to convince herself she wanted to eat it. “I wish he’d never found out how I feel about him.”

  “Level playing fields don’t happen often in life.”

  Jill looked up pleadingly. “Can we talk about something pleasant? Like root canals?”

  Vicki then regaled her with the latest round of nonsense between her husband and his youngest brother, the latter being a professional race car driver.

  Jill came in from work, laid the mail down on the dining room table and put the sleeping baby in bed. She tried not to spend more than four hours each day at the paper, but today had been horrible, and she hadn’t had the chance to come home until late afternoon.

  Alone in the silence, she replayed her conversation with Vicki, once more castigating herself for falling in love again, for arriving on Mason’s doorstep the day his divorce had been final, for....

  “That’s old news,” she muttered. “Vicki’s right. If I don’t take matters into my own hands, Mason and I will spend the next fifty years like this. Maybe if I torch one of the beds he’ll have no choice. Now wouldn’t that be subtle?”

  Dinner was about finished when the phone rang. She propped the cordless on her shoulder. “Hello?”

  “Is this the Mason Bradshaw residence?” asked a puzzled-sounding male voice.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Who is this?”

  That lit a fire under one of her pet peeves. What was it with people who invaded someone else’s privacy, then demanded names? Not only was that rude, but if this idiot was a crank caller, identifying herself could set her up for all sorts of grief. “You first, mister. You called me, remember?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “As soon as you recall your phone manners, we can start over. Either that or I hang up.”

  The pause on the other end of the line lasted so long, she considered doing just that. Granted, she’d been harsh, but two months of getting up four and five times a night had left her patience account badly overdrawn.

  “Listen here,” he snapped. “I’m not accustomed to being spoken to in that manner.”

  “And I’m not accustomed to talking with people who call me at home and refuse to identify themselves. Have a nice day.” She was pulling the phone away from her ear when she heard him tell her to wait.

  “I’m listening,” she said.

  “This is Simon Bradshaw,” he ground out. “I’m looking for my son.”

  Mason’s father. She needed to say something intelligent—anything—but her mind went blank. Stick with the basics. “I expect him home from work any time. I’m his wife. I’ll tell him you called.”

  “Karen was right, then,” he murmured so low that she wondered if he intended to be heard. Then louder, he asked, “He has remarried?”

  The elder Bradshaw’s unguarded surprise cut deep. Mason hadn’t said a word to his family, not one. What possible excuse could he have for keeping her a secret? Karen’s claim that Jill was nothing more than a temporary complication came to mind. That would make sense, sort of. She shook her head to clear it. As mad as Mason had been at his ex-wife, Jill had a hard time believing anything Karen had told her.

  “Are you still there?” Simon asked.

  She cleared her throat. “Yes.”

  “You’re pregnant?”

  “Our daughter was born eight weeks ago.”

  “So, it’s here.”

  Jill bristled. “Yes, she is.”

  After another pause, he asked, “When did all of this happen? Why weren’t we told?”

  Claire chose that moment to wake up and demand to be fed.

  “Mr. Bradshaw, I assume Mason has your phone number. I’ll have him call you as soon as he gets in.”

  “Did he have you sign a prenuptial agreement?”

  How dare he! Jill wanted to climb through the phone and hit him with it. “I suggest you take that up with Mason.”

  “That answers that,” he snarled. “I wonder how much this one will cost him to get out of.”

  She bit her tongue to keep from answering in kind. The fact that the man would automatically assume Mason would want out added to her insecurities. “Goodbye, Mr. Bradshaw. Very pleasant talking with you.”

  The tears held until Jill had curled up in the rocking chair Mason bought her and she had the hungry baby nestled to her breast. What had hit her now? Why had Mason kept her from his family? Given his privileged background, did marriage to someone who’d put themself through business school embarrass him? But that didn’t make sense, either. He hadn’t done one thing to indicate he might be a snob. So what was the answer?

  The baby stopped nursing long enough to roll her china-blue eyes up at her mother. Then she settled down to filling her tummy. Love and warmth flooded Jill. Claire was the one bright spot in an otherwise intolerable situation. She’d lost most of her newborn look and had perked up to a cherubic level of cuteness. Her mop of midnight brown hair had been replaced by a gorgeous peach fuzz but the color had remained the same. It pleased Jill that Claire would resemble her father.

  “Think positive,” she said, smiling at her daughter. “If I had stuck to my original plan and not married your daddy, you’d be spending most of your little life at day care.” She shuddered at the thought. “If only I weren’t so greedy and wanted it all.”

  A key sounded in the lock, and Jill looked up as Mason entered their apartment. He smiled a tired greeting. The long hours and lack of sleep showed in deep grooves in his lean face, making his features more sharply defined than nature intended.

  His dark eyebrows lowered in consternation. “You’ve been crying.”

  The hop from confused pain to d
efensive anger was a short one. “That’s right, Bradshaw. I’ve got a newborn who thinks two a.m. was made for playtime, a checkbook that’s on the verge of bleeding red, and somewhere in cyberspace I lost the payment records for the Happy Mart ad campaign.” She glared at him. “When I get overtired, overstressed or generally peeved, I cry.” She sniffed for emphasis.

  He didn’t answer immediately, but thoughtfully scratched a beard-stubbled cheek. “Why don’t you give Claire to me when she’s finished, and you can take a nap until I have dinner ready.”

  That really made her furious. “Over my dead body, Bradshaw. It’s bad enough that you put in twelve- to fifteen-hour days at the paper. You’re not going to come home, take care of the baby, fix meals, then walk the floor half the night, too. I will at least carry my own weight.”

  He gaped at her as if she’d lost her mind. “You’re upset with me because I’m trying to be considerate?”

  “Yes!” Realizing she sounded like a complete idiot, Jill shrank into herself. “Only because it makes me feel like a liability rather than an asset.”

  Claire pushed away, and Jill put her to her shoulder and began patting the tiny back. Mason’s gaze dipped to her exposed breast, and she saw a flicker of quickly suppressed desire. Just a flicker, but it ignited an answering flame low in her belly, the first one since the baby’s birth. Flustered, she adjusted her clothing, got to her feet and handed Mason their daughter. As she pulled dinner from the stove, she saw him watching her from the corner of his eye.

  He patted Claire’s back, and the infant loosed a remarkable belch for someone her size. He kissed her on the top of her head but didn’t take his attention from Jill. “The last time you acted like this was because of Karen. Has she been here again?”

  “No. Can’t I be irrational once in a while?”

  “You’re never irrational without cause.”

  She spun around. “Bradshaw, that didn’t even make sense.”

  He said nothing, just continued to stare.

  The pressure of the man’s patience was more than she wanted to deal with. “When something happens,” she said, “sometimes I need time to figure out how I feel about it. I need to sort through the facts, separate the truth from false conclusions. The last thing I want is a confrontation.”