“You have a lot to learn about— Sorry, got to go. I have another call I need to take. We’ll talk more at book club on Thursday.”
The line went dead, but it didn’t give Tate a reprieve from the guilt swirling in her conscience.
Chapter 10
“Hi, Jim. This is Tate.” She held her breath and closed her eyes, prepared for the worst—which she deserved.
His heavy sigh cautioned her the call probably wouldn’t go well, not that she had any hope it would. “Hi. Are you still mad at me? I, um, I’m sorry for blurting out a marriage proposal like that. It should’ve been romantic and—”
“I was never mad, and you don’t have to apologize. It’s my fault.” Her voice cracked on the last word and she squeezed her eyes closed tighter to fight the stinging tears trying to form. “Please try to understand. I don’t think I can ever get married again. Not because there’s anything wrong with you. There isn’t. You’re sweet and kind, and if I could change the past… It’s just that my marriage was such a disaster.”
“But I’d never lie to you or cheat on you. Let me prove it.” His gentle proclamation held no animosity, no demand. The sincerity in his request begged her to reconsider.
“I can’t. I’m sorry. I can’t risk going through that again. If it turns out I’m pregnant, I promise we’ll talk about shared custody. I never meant to hurt you. I made a huge mistake by asking you to help me. And now… Anyway, I hope you can forgive me.” Before she could cave to his assurances, Tate tapped the icon to end the call and scrubbed away the wetness on her cheeks. Saving herself wasn’t supposed to feel like somebody had stomped her heart and left it to die—while she had to do the same thing to someone she genuinely liked.
She set her phone on the desk, crossed her arms on the edge for a makeshift pillow, and cursed all the big choices she’d ever made. Nothing in her personal life had gone as planned in her thirties, and her forties had already taken a dive straight into a midlife crisis of teenage-drama proportions.
This is why I’m better off staying away from men.
A buzz made her jump, and another followed a few seconds later.
Her insides twisted in knots as she debated looking at the messages or not. Had Jim decided she was a bitch and cussed her out for being selfish? What if he demanded sole custody? How on Earth was she supposed to heal from this mistake if they had to raise a child together but separately?
Just get it over with.
She blinked away the unshed tears and pressed the Home button. Georgie’s name appeared.
“At the front door.”
“Let me in. We need to talk.”
Too beat down for a battle of wills with her attorney, Tate pushed away from the desk and carried her cell to the restroom. “Give me a minute. Chopping onions.”
At least the little white lie would explain her telltale watery eyes.
After several splashes of cool water, she grabbed the towel and dried her face and hands on a slow trek to the customer entrance of the café. Georgie stood on the other side of the glass, her long blood-red coat standing out against the grayness of the dreary hump-day late afternoon. The unreadable all-business expression she wore only added to Tate’s desire to go home and hide from the world.
Unable to look at her visitor, she led Georgie to the corner table. “I called Jim to apologize and explain that there’s no way I can marry him. Or anyone, for that matter.”
Georgie sat across from her and sighed, the first sign of frustration Tate had ever witnessed from her lawyer friend. “I know you’re upset about the situation, but I told you not to contact him under any circumstances. All communication is supposed to go through me.”
“Then you probably don’t want to hear that I promised him shared custody if I’m pregnant.”
“I’m trying to protect your interests, Tate. What if he tells his attorney what you said? Or worse, he recorded it or had someone with him, listening to everything you said?” Pulling her tablet from her ever-present messenger bag, Georgie pursed her lips. Then her fingers danced on the screen like a troop of River Dance cloggers. “Unless you’re going to accept his marriage proposal, you can’t talk to, text, email, or otherwise converse in any manner with him until this is settled. Do you understand? The counteroffer will put you in nearly daily contact with him for at least the next eighteen years and nine months. Is that what you want?”
Tate slumped lower in the chair. “I don’t know what I want anymore. This whole plan to have a baby was so much simpler in my head.”
“My job is to handle the complications.” Georgie closed the cover on her iPad and returned it to her bag. “Get your purse and turn off the lights. You’re going home to eat, take a nice long bath, and go to bed by nine o’clock. I ordered delivery. It’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“I can take care of myself.”
Reaching across the table, Georgie patted Tate’s hand. “I know you can, but are you?”
Pickles and ice cream tasted surprisingly good together—the right combination of salty and sweet with the bonus of calcium for healthy bones, teeth, and prospective babies plus vitamin C for eliminating the chance of developing scurvy.
Because the way things are going, there’s a good chance I’m cursed.
Tate downed the last tasty bite and transferred mini quiches from the muffin tins to a serving tray. The gooey puddles of cheese in the centers tempted her to sneak a sample before her friends’ arrival for their THC Book Club meeting, but pigging out the last two days hadn’t provided any relief from her roiling emotions. Stress eating had only made swapping her jeans for leggings necessary.
With a platter in each hand, she carried the rest of tonight’s snacks to the dining room. Riley stood outside the front entrance, her fist poised to tap on the glass, when Tate passed the order counter.
Time to put on a brave face.
Almost thankful for her friend’s distracted grimace, she opened the door. “Something wrong?”
Riley aimed straight for the food and grabbed a plate. “Deacon Jeffries is such a tool. You’d think he has a death wish the way he antagonizes me all the time.”
“I would appreciate you not killing him since he’s my accountant too.” And I’m going to need one to help me figure out how to pay for all the legal fees for a fight I don’t want to have. “What did he do?”
“He called me Malibu Barbie because I drove the Bird with the top down to our meeting this afternoon.” The tower of quiches on Riley’s dish wobbled, but she added a stack of toasted rye rounds and a generous helping of artichoke dip without slowing. “That man deserves a month of hot flashes and night sweats.”
A familiar giggle-snort came from behind them.
“You know he only does it to get a rise out of you, right?” Petra squeezed in beside Tate and began loading a plate. “Nice spread. Any word from Big Daddy Jim?”
Turning to hide the distress that was probably written all over her face, Tate nearly bumped into Georgie.
Her lawyer façade instantly fell into place. “I’ll be answering all questions regarding my client’s case. Mr. Cochon refused to sign and his attorney sent a counteroffer.”
“That sounds bad. What kind of offer?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.” Georgie traded her grim expression for a relaxed smile. “I only made it through the first four chapters of this week’s book, but I’ll contribute what I can to the discussion.”
No one challenged Georgie’s blunt order not to talk about Tate’s problems, focusing instead on the reading selection, the food, and permanently adding a second meet-up each Sunday evening at Riley’s house that included cocktail hour. Riley, Wally, and Petra wholeheartedly agreed, promising to make virgin versions of every drink if the eventual stick test showed a pink plus sign.
For the first time in over a decade, Tate almost wished her period would start early or the test would announce she wasn’t pregnant. Nothing had gone as planned, and a baby would only complica
te matters beyond anything she’d imagined having a child on her own entailed.
She stacked the decimated serving platters and dishes and carried them to the sink while her friends gathered the trash and returned the dining room to its previous state. Their voices and raucous laughter made her long for a do-over, one where her past didn’t make her have to blow off sexual attraction and a man who seemed to truly like her. Then she wouldn’t have to hide in her kitchen to avoid accidentally saying something her lawyer didn’t want her to.
Guilt had a voracious appetite, as did missing him.
Riley popped around the corner, wearing a grin that meant she’d either forgotten Deke’s Barbie comment or had thought of a fitting payback. “We’re all done out there. Do you need help with the dishes?”
Fitting the last tray into the drainer, Tate held it in place to be sure the whole damn stack didn’t fall, which would be just her luck this week. “Finished.”
“I’ll wait for you while you turn off the lights and grab your stuff then. Everybody else already headed home.”
“Okay. Meet you out front in a minute.” Hopefully, the short walk to their cars would prevent the inevitable question on everybody’s mind. What was she going to do about Jim?
The short answer was she didn’t have an answer. A legal battle over their child wouldn’t end well for any of them, but she’d screwed up any possibility that he would give her a second chance, even if she could convince herself to take one. At forty-two, she still hadn’t learned how to navigate relationships with men.
She slung her purse strap on her shoulder, flipped off all but the minimal overnight lighting, and armed the security system. The thirty-second delay ticked off in her head as she walked to the street entrance. A quick scan of the dimly lit dining room revealed all the tables and chairs in their proper places for tomorrow’s breakfast customers. The window blinds had been closed and Riley stood on the sidewalk, frowning at her cell.
Phone. Keys. Purse. Tate stepped outside and locked the door with fifteen seconds to spare.
“God, my cousin is such an annoying dipshit.” Riley yanked her key ring from her jacket pocket and hurried toward the parking lot across the street, her heels clicking on the pavement. “Gotta go. See you tomorrow at lunchtime.”
“Okay. G’night. Drive carefully.” Tate adjusted the hold on her keys with her thumb poised over the panic button. As she turned the other direction, she nearly collided with a brunette with her head down and a grimace that probably matched Tate’s. “Sorry!”
“No problem! I lose track of where I’m going all the time.” The woman scrunched her mouth and peered up at Tate. “Hey, I saw you with Jim Cochon at his big cookout on Saturday, didn’t I? I heard he had a new girlfriend. Really nice guy, but— Never mind.”
“I’m not his girlfriend. We’re…friends. More like acquaintances.” Acquaintances who should be excited about getting to know each other and maybe having made a baby together, not standing on opposites sides of the courtroom.
“Lucky you. The poor man’s up denial without a paddle. Locked himself in the closet, if you know what I mean.” Arched eyebrows rose in tandem, disappearing under the brunette’s bangs.
Closet? “Are you trying to say he’s gay?”
“Or bisexual. Either way, he’s in love with a man. Has been for years.”
He can’t be. I want him for myself!
A hand closed on Tate’s forearm. “Yep. He called at least three of his former girlfriends, including me, by the same wrong name when things got, you know, intimate.”
That certainly explained why he refused to sign away his parental rights and the possible reason for his casual marriage proposal. Their child might be his only chance to be a father.
But he called me the right name.
The woman leaned in closer and lowered her voice. “I’d really like to know who the guy is. Do you suppose they played football together in college? Anyway, you should be glad you’re just friends. Maybe someday he’ll work up the nerve to tell Tate he loves him.”
Chapter 11
“Have you heard from my sister again?” Beau rested his hip against the rear fender of the pickup and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I still can’t believe she expects you to sign away all your rights.”
With his stomach alternately chewing on the steak his best friend had fed him and the gristly lump thinking about Tate created, Jim shook his head. “My lawyer told me since I was foolish enough to talk to her on the phone, I have to hire somebody else. I need to get going. I have to check on the new litters and email Deke this week’s payroll hours. Thanks for supper.”
“I can talk to her if you want.”
“No.” The refusal came out harsher than he intended, but all his hopes and dreams had crashed down around him without warning, and recovering from it seemed impossible. “Talk to you tomorrow.”
He climbed into the cab before Beau could try to offer some other solution to a problem that couldn’t be fixed. With a wave, he headed for home to spend another Friday night alone.
An hour and a half later, he plucked a beer from the fridge and parked himself in his favorite chair on the deck. The rise-and-fall drone of cicadas tapered off as the crickets started their nightly song. Then the hum of the vapor light joined in, only to get lost beneath the crunch of gravel under tires in the driveway. If he didn’t answer the door, maybe whoever decided to interrupt his evening solace would go the hell away and let him wrestle with his broken heart in peace.
A minute passed and another, both without the wishful-thinking exit noise. Then movement at the corner of the house caught his attention, but long red hair lit up by the security light instantly identified the intruder.
Tate stopped at the bottom of the steps. “I have a new proposal.”
His muscles tensed and his brain screeched to a halt at her statement. Focus. Think. No more daydreaming about a happy ending. “The only thing I’ll agree to is being a father to my kid.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to read the terms I drew up this afternoon?” She set a sealed business envelope on the deck railing.
He didn’t possess the strength to pick it up, let alone read the contents. “Does it say you’re accepting my marriage proposal?”
Her unemotional expression gave nothing away. “No.”
“Then I don’t need to read it.” The knot in his gut tangled into a bigger jumble. How could he still love her when she wanted to cut him completely out of her and their possible baby’s life?
“Fine. We’ll do this the hard way then.” She snagged the envelope, marched up the stairs, and crossed to his chair. Slipping her index finger under the flap, she tore it open. The ripping noise accompanied another fissure splitting his heart farther open. “Last chance to make it easier on both of us.”
He wrapped his hands around the armrests to keep from grabbing on to her and never letting go. It would only make him look like a bigger pathetic fool than he already was. “Easy isn’t always the right way.”
Huffing out a sigh, she plopped onto his lap and yanked a paper from the envelope. The new contract tore in her impatience to unfold it, but she shoved it in his face anyway. “Now look what happened. You ruined my proposal.”
He blinked, trying to read the words in the dim light. It almost kept him from noticing the erection forming beneath her backside. This is not a good time, buddy. “How am I supposed to read when you’re wiggling around?”
“You’re ready to cooperate now?” She cast a questioning glance at him.
“What choice do I have?”
“I can’t force you to say yes, but saying no will definitely complicate matters.” With the tear pressed together between her thumb and forefinger, she held the paper a reasonable distance from his eyes. “Read it. Out loud.”
Instead of a computer-generated list of concessions, perfectly executed handwriting filled a quarter of the page. A number preceded each of the three items, as they had in the longe
r typewritten version.
He braced for another disappointment. “Number one. ‘I, Jimothy Cochon, agree to abide by the terms of this contract for as long as I live.’ I don’t promise anything that—”
“No comments, arguments, or rejections until you’ve read the whole thing.” She looked down her nose at him in an obvious former-teacher display.
“But I’m not agreeing—”
“Jim. Read.” She frowned at him.
“Okay.” Heaving a sigh, he turned his attention back to the paper. “Number two. ‘I accept Tate Madison’s proposal.’ Number three. ‘I promise to be the best husband and father I can be to Tate and our baby.’”
“Now we can have a discussion if you want to. Or you can just say yes.”
He reread the second and third terms twice, hoping he hadn’t misread the words. “Does this mean you’re pregnant? This proposal… Are you asking me…”
“I don’t know yet. Anyway, it’s irrelevant.” Flinging her arms around his neck, she kissed his cheek. “Will you marry me?”
“But…you said you wanted a baby. And the sperm donor contract. What if you change your mind again? What made you change your mind?” Pessimism seemed safer than optimism, and he might have to become a hermit if his dream-come-true turned into a nightmare again.
“I won’t because I, Tate Madison, agree to abide by the terms of this contract for as long as I live.” She cradled his face in her hands. “Waking up beside you made me wish for things I thought I couldn’t have. But you waited for me. For a long time. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Heat crept up his neck. Had Beau or another of her brothers spilled his secret? “How do you tell your best friend’s big sister you’ve been in love with her since you were five? That—”
“You’ve been in love with me since you were five?” Her eyes widened. “I thought… Christy, the woman I talked to last night, said you called her Tate three years ago. I assumed that meant… Since you were five?”
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