He told her about Diamond Rose’s first bath, complete with turning up the heat in the house. And her heart gave another little flip.
Because of the baby, she told herself.
What kind of fate was forcing her to spend time with a man who had an infant? And be attracted to him to...
“I’ve been trying to work up to asking if you’d like to join us for an evening,” he said as they finished their wraps and threw away the trash, walking side by side as they made their way through the park to where they’d catch a cab back to the office. They’d spent all of twenty minutes together.
“Us?” she asked, concentrating on her step, keeping it steady. She had to do this. To pretend to be friends with him. And it wasn’t like she freaked out anytime she was around an infant. She flew on planes with them. Ate in restaurants with them. She just kept her distance.
“Diamond Rose and me.” He’d put his phone in his shirt pocket, his hands in the pockets of his dress pants.
She suddenly felt hot and waited for the chill that would sweep over her when the flash ended.
Maybe she really was getting the flu.
Could she at least hope so?
“I’d like that,” she told him while hoping the thrill she felt was because she was one step closer to helping her father.
For the next couple of steps she warred with herself over whether or not she should say more—perhaps tell him she had baby issues.
But she didn’t tell anyone that except the people to whom she was closest.
Besides, this wasn’t a real friendship.
“When?” she asked as their arms touched.
“Tomorrow night? I can make lasagna tonight so we’d just have to heat it up. We could watch a movie.”
What about Stella? She had to ask.
“I might be out of line here, but...are you seeing anyone? I...like to know what I’m walking into.” No. Wrong. All wrong.
Now it sounded as if she was interested in starting a “seeing each other” relationship. Which she wasn’t. She couldn’t.
Could she?
In any case, she’d had no business asking.
“Not anymore I’m not,” he said. “I was until recently.”
“How recently?”
“Last week.”
Oh. So, she was...some kind of rebound?
Strangely, that felt okay. Was actually growing on her. A friendship—maybe even a real one?—while he adjusted his life. Because even if he turned out to be her father’s thief, Howard wasn’t planning to press charges. Yes. This could all work. She could help her father, and maybe be friends for real. Someday. When this was all over.
They just had to make sure those erroneous trades never occurred again.
“Stella wasn’t ready to take on a child,” Flint said into the silence that had fallen, as though he thought she’d been waiting for more explanation.
She didn’t mind knowing what had happened.
“She might come around,” she offered, feeling inane.
He shook his head, his hair glinting like gold in the midday sun.
Another few weeks and the park would be decorated for Christmas.
What if their friendship was real? Became real? Would they still be friends by Christmastime?
If so, they could bring the baby down here to see the lights.
Her step faltered. If she kept her distance from the child—no physical contact—she’d probably be okay. Knowing from the outset that the friendship was, at most, only temporary.
And even if she wasn’t okay, she’d do what had to be done. For her father. Her parents. She was all they had. Or ever would have, as far as blood family went.
“She gave me an ultimatum,” he said after waiting for a crowd of schoolchildren to cross their path. “The baby or her.”
She knew which he’d chosen. And felt she had to say something.
“Some women just aren’t meant to be mothers.” Wow. Hadn’t meant for her own mantra to slip out.
But maybe it was best that he know, going in, that there could never be more than friendship between them. That she, like Stella, wasn’t meant to be a mother.
Even if he turned out not to be guilty, even if they developed a genuine friendship, she was planning to set him up with Mallory. Mallory was perfectly suited to be everything he and Diamond Rose could ever want.
“She wants children,” he said. “Just not the bastard child of an incarcerated convict.”
The way he said the words—she looked at him—was he the one Stella hadn’t wanted? The bastard child of a convict? Or had it really been because he’d wanted to bring his sister into their family?
“You don’t sound all that bitter about it.” Which surprised her. He had every right to be.
“I’m not. I’m thankful I discovered her lack of mutual respect before we got married and had children, rather than afterward. And to be fair to her, I’d failed to tell her that my mother was in prison.”
They’d reached the curb.
He hailed a cab.
Chapter Eleven
By Friday afternoon Flint was feeling pretty good about himself. He’d met with Michael Armstrong, an attorney who’d come highly recommended by one of the clients who’d been with him the longest.
They could be as little as a phone call away from having the order dropped. Michael was certain he could negotiate a mutual agreement between him and the Wainwrights that would prevent either party from bad-mouthing the other, and that he could do it without a court order. Flint was willing to sign anything to that effect as long as they dropped the order.
Otherwise he was going to fight it. He had to. For Diamond Rose’s sake. To let it stand unanswered meant it would be put into full effect. It would make him look guilty.
Michael was fairly confident, as was Flint, that the Wainwrights wouldn’t want the matter to go to court.
While Flint was comfortable enough with the situation still open, after talking to Michael he felt one hell of a lot better going into the weekend.
The lasagna was already in the oven and Diamond Rose fed and asleep when Tamara pulled into his drive. He’d offered to send a cab for her. She’d preferred her own transportation.
He was pleased with the fact that she’d agreed to come to his house at all. She knew about his past. And had accepted his invitation anyway.
“Wow, this place is nice,” she said as he opened the front door into a large entryway with a step-down living room to one side and a great room on the other. It had a wall of windows that opened up to a tiled patio and swimming pool beyond. The outdoor lighting was on and showed the pool, with the waterfall, at its best. He couldn’t afford to be right on the ocean, but the pool had been a nice compromise. She turned toward the great room.
“I’ve got someone coming to put a wrought-iron gate around the pool,” he said as he followed her through the room he’d furnished with a complete home theater arrangement, including big leather furniture with charging plug-ins. Stella had thought the room too big for intimate conversation. Too “masculine.”
Diamond Rose, in her Pack ’n Play on the floor in the living room, was out of sight, but her monitor rested securely in the back pocket of his jeans.
He stood back as Tamara moved through an archway into the kitchen, which ran almost half the length of the house. One end held an informal eating area with bay windows and the other housed a more formal dining room set. A set his mother would have loved and had never seen.
He’d purchased the high-top suite for eight soon after meeting Stella.
“Dinner smells wonderful,” she said, stopping to look at the pool out the kitchen window.
He wanted to tell her she looked wonderful. In leggings and a white shirt, gathered at the waist in back, that fell just past the tops of her thighs, with her amber
hair loose and falling around her shoulders... He was sure he’d never seen anyone so beautiful.
And was getting way ahead of himself.
She’d turned. Was leaning against the counter, the window at her back with the landscape lighting a soft glow around her.
Maybe he’d pushed things too far, too fast. Having her over for dinner. It wasn’t his normal approach.
But nothing about his life was normal anymore.
Nor was anything about this woman. The way she’d showed up in his life at the exact moment she had, preventing him from being fired long enough for him to make the trade that had, he was certain, ensured him his job. And then, when he’d been frantic about Diamond Rose, finding it impossible to calm her, in walked Tamara, who’d calmed her almost instantly.
He might not believe in karma and all the woo-woo stuff his mother used to spout, but he couldn’t resist wondering, once again, if Alana Gold, in her death, was sending him her own version of karma. Proving that good was rewarded. That there was help beyond self-reliance.
That miracles really could happen...
“I, um, have to talk to you.”
Little good ever came of those words.
He’d been about to get a bottle of wine. Stopped before he’d actually opened the refrigerator door.
His weekend took a nosedive. “What’s up?”
“You told me about your ex and...I need to tell you something.”
“You know Stella?” It was the first thought that sprang to mind. Was his ex-fiancée having him watched? He wouldn’t put it past her. She was going to hang him out to dry for deceiving her by not telling her he wasn’t from a nice, clean, rich family like hers. For daring to think she’d be willing to raise his dirty mother’s orphaned child.
“No!” Tamara frowned, cocking her head to look at him. “Of course not. I just...need to be honest with you about something.”
“Wine first,” he said, grabbing the bottle of California Chardonnay. He opened it and poured two glasses, handing one to her without asking if she wanted it.
She took a sip, nodded.
Taking that as a win, he scooped up the platter of grapes and cheese he’d prepared and carried it into the dining area. Pulling out one of the chairs for her before seating himself perpendicular to her—where he could also glance across the L-shaped entryway and into the living room.
Tamara had said she needed to be honest with him. He had to listen.
And hope that whatever she had to say wouldn’t be as bad as he was imagining. It would be a shame to have a second lasagna dinner drying out in the oven that week. Especially since he’d spent an hour the night before talking to a sleeping Diamond Rose while he’d prepared it.
“I—” Tamara looked at him, her expression...odd. He couldn’t figure out why.
Glancing away, she took a grape, put it in her mouth, and he had an instant vision of a movie he’d seen once at a bachelor party. Tamara had a way of making a grape look even sexier than that, and she was fully dressed.
“I don’t normally... I haven’t ever...talked about this with anyone but my closest friends, so bear with me here.”
He wanted to let her off the hook, to tell her that honesty was overrated. But after the week he’d had, the life he’d had, he couldn’t do it.
No more stabs in the back, bonks over the head or officers at his door. He had Diamond Rose to protect.
He considered telling her that whatever she was struggling to say could wait. After all, they were just getting to know each other.
But he sensed that they weren’t. She’d been more than a casual business introduction since the second she’d walked into Bill Coniff’s office at the beginning of the week. Clearly she’d sensed something, too, or she wouldn’t be about to share a confidence that only those closest to her had the privilege of knowing.
“I’m not ever going to have children.” For all her struggle, she almost blurted out the words.
Did she somehow think he wanted her to? He then remembered the day before, when he’d told her that Stella had said it was either the baby or him.
“That’s not really how I meant it to come out.” She smiled but her lips were trembling. Flint had to consciously resist an urge to take her hand in his. To have some sort of contact between them.
“Before your... Before she wakes up—and before... Well, so you know going in... I can’t do babies.” Her face reddened and she was clasping her hands again, the way she’d done that day in his office.
“You were great with her,” he said, assuming she needed reassurance for some reason. “The moment you picked he up, she stopped crying.”
She shook her head, pushed her wineglass farther away. He had yet to take a second sip from his.
“You don’t understand.”
He was pretty sure of that.
“I—I can’t have children.”
“Okay. It’s not a problem, Tamara. You figure I’m going to think less of you or something? We all have our crosses to bear.” Thinking he sounded like an idiot, he continued. “I mean, I’m sorry for you, if it was something you wanted. I don’t mean to trivialize that, but...”
Pulling her wineglass toward her, she took another sip. Her glass shook as she raised it to her lips and he just wanted to do whatever it took to put her at ease.
“I don’t know what to say,” he murmured.
She nodded. “No one does. Look, I wouldn’t have brought it up, but...I’ve been through some...hard times. Not that I need to unload all of that on you when you’ve been nice enough to make me homemade lasagna, which I love. But the end result is...I keep my distance from babies. And I don’t hold them. Ever.”
But she had. Just three days ago.
He remembered her odd behavior then. The way she’d clasped her hands so tightly. Wringing them. Had gone for the door. And when she’d turned back, hadn’t looked at Diamond Rose again. She’d been in some deep emotional pain and had done a remarkable job of covering it.
“In Bill’s office, when the monitor went off, you heard that cry...” He let his words fade away, wishing he could do something to ease her pain.
She nodded. Took a piece of cheese. Bit off a small corner and played with the rest.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
With the cheese between the fingers of both hands, she shook her head, then let go with one hand to grab her wineglass. “You don’t have to do this.”
For some reason he did. Covering her cheese hand with his own, Flint said, “I want you to tell me.”
How could he get to know her better without finding out? How could he help her if he didn’t know?
How else could he understand?
Because, God knew, he wasn’t just going to walk away. She’d been sent into that office on Monday for a reason.
She seemed to be weighing the decision. As though fighting a battle. Whether or not to trust him?
Then she glanced up and met his gaze. He felt like he’d won.
“I’ve been pregnant four times.”
Flint’s jaw dropped. Whatever he’d been expecting, it hadn’t been that. She didn’t wear a ring and had asked if he was involved with anyone. He hadn’t even thought to ask if she was. He’d been a little preoccupied.
He wasn’t generally a person who only considered himself. Alana Gold had taught him that through her own bad example.
He didn’t regret asking Tamara to confide in him, but he was ill-prepared.
Questions bounced through his mind. All he came out with was, “What happened?”
“I lost them all.”
Four small words. So stark. And carrying such an incredible depth of pain. He admired her for being able to sit there relatively composed.
He’d asked for this. He owed it to her to see it through. “Why?”
Her smirk, and accompanying shrug, held grief he was pretty sure he couldn’t even begin to imagine.
“There was no obvious explanation,” she said. “My husband and I both went through a battery of tests. Sometimes genetics aren’t compatible. There’re myriad physical causes. But nothing showed up. Which was why they said there was no reason we shouldn’t keep trying.”
So many questions. Things he wanted to ask. But this wasn’t the time.
What did she need him to know?
“And you tried four times.”
She nodded. Took a sip of wine. “Yep.” She was staring at her glass and he wondered what she saw there. Wished there was some way he could take on some of her pain, help her deal with it.
Alana Gold had taught him well on that count, too. When he’d been able to keep her happy, she’d stayed clean. It was when she’d needed things he couldn’t provide that they’d lost everything.
Tamara Frost had helped him. He felt deeply compelled to help her in return.
“Then what?”
Her gaze shot to his. “What do you mean, then what?”
He squeezed her hand, let it go. “Did they eventually discover a reason for what was happening? What was going wrong?”
She shook her head. “No.” And when she looked at him again, there was a mixture of determination and vulnerability in her glistening eyes. “I couldn’t do it anymore,” she said. “I don’t even want to be pregnant. I can’t bear the thought of all those weeks of fear and hope, the unknown, not being in control. My own frenetic state of mind would create issues even if the fetus was healthy...”
“And your husband?” It seemed the appropriate time to ask that one.
“We’re divorced, by mutual agreement. By the time we lost Ryan, we’d already drifted so far apart...”
“Ryan?” She’d named each lost fetus?
“He was viable,” she said as though that explained everything. It didn’t.
“I don’t—”
“The others... I lost them at six, nine and eleven weeks. Still within the first trimester. But Ryan... He made it far enough to have a chance of survival. I could feel him moving inside me. I was showing. And I was sure that with him—”
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