The Baby Agenda

by Janice Kay Johnson

  “Did you go to college?”

  “I dropped out.”

  She pictured him, a shocked, grieving kid as immature as she and Gray had been their sophomore year in college, only Will had left behind dorm life and gone home to console three children who’d lost their parents. In the years to come, instead of studying and going to keggers, arguing all night with friends about American policy abroad, dating coeds and soaking up knowledge, he’d been making school lunches, attending parent-teacher conferences, taking his young brothers and sister shopping for new shoes. His sister for her first bra.

  Moira ached for that boy.

  “And the construction company. You took it over for your dad.”

  “Yes.”

  “You gave up everything for them.” She sat looking at this big, kind, sexy man and said, despite the pain in every word, “That’s what you meant, isn’t it? When you said your worst nightmare was being trapped. Spending your whole life doing what you have to do.”

  He didn’t respond.

  “I can’t do this to you, Will. No. No, I won’t marry you.”

  “This isn’t the same.”

  “It is.”

  “No. No, Moira. Leaving you and flying back to Africa was torture. Right now, all I want is to be with you. I want to hold our baby as soon as he’s born. I want.” His gaze bored into hers. He leaned forward, took her hands again, his grip tighter this time. “Listen to me. Don’t think I’m making a sacrifice I’ll regret. Life is full of choices, and I’ve made mine. I’m not going away, no matter what you say today.”

  She couldn’t seem to speak. Emotions were rising in her like floodwaters, dark and tumultuous. She didn’t know what she felt, only that it was too much. All she could do was shake her head hard.

  “Don’t say no, Moira.” Like that day outside the obstetrician’s clinic, Will’s face spasmed with some emotion she couldn’t read any more than she could understand her own. His voice was hoarse. “Please. Don’t say no.”

  When she still failed to say anything at all, he let her hands go and leaned forward until he could draw her into his arms. Gently but inexorably, he tugged her forward until her brow rested against his broad chest and he could settle his chin on top of her head.

  “Marry me, Moira,” he said, so low she barely heard him. “Let me do this for both of us.”

  She could hear his heartbeat, as strong and steady as he was. Maybe the powerful rhythm was what allowed the floodwaters of her confusion to subside, the emotions to resettle into their places. She didn’t ache anymore when she finally sat back, separating herself from Will.

  “Are you sure?” she asked. “If this makes you miserable, I’ll know eventually. That would be worse for both of us than being honest now.”

  “I’ve never been more honest in my life.”

  “Then…” Well, shoot, now she was going to cry. Didn’t that figure. “Then yes,” she managed to get out. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

  “Oh, sweetheart.” He framed her face with his hands and caught the tears with his thumbs. “I’ll try to make sure you’re never sorry.”

  For some reason that struck her as funny, so that she laughed even as she wept. He kissed her forehead, then pulled her to him again, so that she got the front of his crumpled cotton shirt soggy.

  “That’s it. Let yourself cry,” he told her, sounding so blasted comforting that she did, even though she couldn’t help thinking of how often he must have cuddled his brothers and sister when they cried. When he was trapped, being a daddy whether he wanted to be one or not.

  IT WAS ASTONISHINGLY EASY to get married, Will found. Easier than it ought to be, in his opinion. But then, divorce was easy these days, too.

  He didn’t want to think about that.

  They got married in the church the Becker family had always attended. Will couldn’t claim to be much of a believer—nothing had happened in his life to make him one—but his parents had insisted on Sunday attendance, and for their sake he’d done the same with Clay, Jack and Sophie. Moira resisted initially the idea of a church wedding, which annoyed Will. Was she trying to make sure she felt less guilt when she walked out on him a few months from now? But she eventually gave way, as most people did when Will dug in his heels. They were getting married, and they were going to do it right.

  They did it on a Saturday so her mother could fly over from Missoula for the ceremony without missing any work. She was trying to save her vacation to be available when the baby was born if they needed her. Sophie came from L.A., too. There was no maid of honor. Instead, there were two best men—Gray for Moira, Clay for Will. There were only a handful of other attendees: a couple of friends of Moira’s, Dennis Mattson, a good friend of Will’s, Gray’s wife, Charlotte, and her twin sister, Faith, who’d also brought her husband, Ben, the police chief of West Fork. Jack and Sophie, of course.

  Moira had refused to make a big deal out of walking up the aisle, which was fairly short anyway in a church that was in temporary quarters while the congregation was remodeling and expanding the original building. Instead of preceding her, Gray walked her the short distance, her hand resting on his arm.

  Will was stunned by how much he felt at the sight of her. She hadn’t worn white, which annoyed him in one way, but he suspected the rich shade of cream was a better color on her anyway, setting off her fiery hair and redhead’s skin. She was so gorgeously rounded with pregnancy, full with his baby, he found himself both choked up and aroused as he held out a hand to her. Then she looked at him, her green eyes scared and worried and vulnerable, and damned if it wasn’t like being shot by a nail gun in the chest.

  Somehow, from somewhere, he found a smile for her as she searched his face anxiously for that brief moment when it seemed as though they were the only two people there. He didn’t know if the smile reassured her, but she did take a deep breath, square her shoulders and turn to face the pastor. Will did the same.

  The church might be modern, but the promises they made were the same ones their grandparents and great-grandparents would have made. That’s the way Will wanted it.

  When Pastor James said, “You may kiss the bride,” and Will drew Moira gently to him, her stomach lurched and bumped against him. Startled, he looked down, and Moira laughed. He liked kissing her when her lips were curved with pleasure. His lingered, and she didn’t object. She was breathless and startled by the time he eased back.

  My wife, he thought, undecided whether this felt unreal or more astonishingly real than anything else he’d ever done.

  Clay hugged Will, giving his back a good, firm whack, then kissed Moira’s cheek. Jack followed suit, and Sophie, tears in her eyes, rose on tiptoe to kiss Will then turned to embrace Moira. Moira’s mother—good God, his mother-in-law—kissed them both, too. Moira all but disappeared in the bevy of women, leaving Will at Gray’s side.

  “I’m still stunned you were able to talk her into this,” Gray said softly.

  Will grinned. “I’m a persuasive man.”

  The other man’s eyes met his. “Don’t hurt her.”

  I won’t, snagged in his throat. He had even less idea what was to come than most grooms did. The best he could do was a quiet “I’ll try not to.”

  “Good,” Gray said. “Moira is…” He seemed to be searching for the right word.

  Thinking of everything he’d seen in her eyes when she was distressed, Will said, “I didn’t marry her just because she’s pregnant. I’m not stupid enough to do that. It’s…Moira,” he finally finished, unable to find the right thing to say himself but hoping Gray understood.

  A smile warmed the face of Moira’s best man. “Good.”

  Will knew the minute she turned, looking for him. He went right to her side. Taking her hand, he said to the small crowd, “Everyone knows where we’re going?”

  Everyone did. Mom was riding with Moira; Will would be following in his pickup truck. The others were taking their own cars to the restaurant where they’d reserved a private room
for lunch.

  He had barely met her mother before the ceremony. Will had half expected her to be a redhead, too, but she wasn’t. She had short, brown hair frosted with gray she hadn’t bothered to color. She was a pretty, slender woman whose blue eyes had filled with tears when she embraced Moira after the ceremony. Sitting side by side at the restaurant, their heads bent together as they talked quietly, there was a palpable warmth and closeness between them that didn’t surprise Will. They’d had only each other. He couldn’t help wondering why a woman as attractive as Sylvia Cullen had never remarried. He supposed she’d kept her ex-husband’s name because of her daughter.

  “Aren’t you curious whether you’re having a girl or a boy?” Sophie asked at one point during lunch. She was seated halfway down the table, but didn’t mind talking around several other people. Sophie wasn’t shy.

  Moira smiled. “Of course I’m curious, but I like the suspense.”

  “Do you have a preference?” Clay asked, from Will’s other side. Apparently nosiness ran in Will’s family.

  She glanced down at her stomach. Will thought he caught something on her face, but he couldn’t pin it down. “No,” she said, after a moment. “No.”

  Was that true? She might feel more comfortable if she had a little girl. She would know better how to raise one, especially if she were on her own. Will clenched his jaw at the idea, then deliberately relaxed it. At this speed, his dentist would notice he was grinding his molars down. And he had no right to feel irritated because Moira felt emotions that were surely natural. She had no reason to trust he was in this for the long haul, no matter what he said.

  He’d count his blessings. She’d said, “I do.” He was going home with her tonight.

  Actually, he and her mom both were going home with Moira tonight. He’d overheard her mother at the church earlier saying, “Moira, honey, I really wouldn’t mind at all getting a hotel room. For heaven’s sake, it’s your wedding night.” Clearly, they’d already had this argument.

  “Don’t be silly,” Moira said. “You know our marriage isn’t like that.” He’d ground his teeth at that point, too. She had continued, “Besides, I want to see you while you’re here. I wish you were staying longer.”

  Conversation became general again. Will was a little surprised at how well this mixed group of people seemed to get along. His gaze moved down the table. Dennis, an electrical contractor, was having an animated discussion with one of Moira’s friends, while Sophie was listening, seemingly rapt, to some story Charlotte’s sister, Faith, was telling. Jack was quizzing Ben Wheeler, the police chief; no surprise there, Jack had briefly considered a career in law enforcement.

  The wedding cake the waiter brought in was a surprise to Will and Moira both. A couple of people pulled out cameras and took pictures while the newly married couple cut the cake together. Moira’s cheeks flamed.

  Will and Clay wrangled briefly over the bill for the meal, Clay winning. Little brother was coming into his own, which apparently included the familial stubbornness.

  “You didn’t give us time to think of decent gifts,” he said. “I’d like to give you at least this much.”

  In lieu of a gift, Jack had given Will back his pickup truck. With a grin, he’d said, “Clay’s paying me slave wages, but, you know, I can afford to buy my own.”

  More hugs and kisses were exchanged in the restaurant then in the parking lot as the crowd broke up. Will walked Sylvia and Moira to her car. His pickup was loaded with his suitcases and a few of the boxes he’d stored seven months ago at the house. He had spent his last night in his old bedroom, but this time, closing the door behind him, he’d felt none of the pang he had the night before he left for Africa. This house where he’d grown up didn’t feel like home anymore, not the way it had. He hoped like hell Moira let him feel at home with her and didn’t treat him like an inconveniently lingering guest.

  As she drove out of the parking lot, he turned to his own vehicle to find Clay leaning against the bumper. His brother rose to meet him. Clay looked good. Unfamiliar, but good in a dark suit and red tie.

  “So, you’re a married man,” he remarked.

  “Yeah.” Will looked down at his hand. For the first time in his life, he wore a ring, a simple gold band. The sight of it induced something between panic and satisfaction in him. “Guess so.”

  “You quit officially with the foundation?”

  “Yeah,” he said again.

  They’d professed to understand, but had to be disappointed in him. During the interview process, they’d heavily stressed that he was making a minimum two-year commitment. “No problem,” he’d said. Uh-huh.

  “Your old job is waiting for you,” Clay said. “I figured you might want a week or two to settle in with Moira before you pick up the reins, but…”

  Will shook his head. He should have foreseen this conversation and headed it off. “No. I’m not coming back, Clay. I told you before I left that I wasn’t. I meant it.”

  His brother frowned. “Then what the hell do you plan to do?”

  “For now, take care of my pregnant wife.”

  “You really think she’s going to let you trail behind her all day, every day?”

  “I’m assuming there are days she doesn’t leave the office and I won’t have to hang around. If she goes out on a construction site, I’ll be with her.”

  “Then what?” Clay asked.

  This was the part Will didn’t like to think about. Funny, when he’d spent years craving his freedom like a sober alcoholic did the drink he wouldn’t allow himself. But now that he was free in a way he’d never intended, Will felt like as if he’d stepped out of an airplane without knowing whether he’d be able to reach the ripcord. It was unsettling.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’ve got time to think, and I intend to use it.”

  “Have you considered going back to college?” Clay asked, his tone tentative.

  “I’m too old.” Will moved his shoulders uncomfortably. “No, that’s not true. I’d do it if I was sure where I was going. Say, I hankered to be a lawyer. But right now, if I went back to school I’d be taking classes like any eighteen-year-old with no idea what I wanted to be doing with my life.”

  “Would that be so bad?”

  “I like building,” Will said slowly. “More than I realized all those years. I want to build something that matters. And…I discovered over there that I was better at persuading people to do what I wanted them to do than I expected to be.”

  Clay grinned. “I could have told you that. You’re the original immovable object. People always do what you want them to. You didn’t notice?”

  “Being bullheaded is one thing. Patient and diplomatic is another.”

  “Hell, maybe you should think about law school.”

  “Maybe so.” Will shrugged. “Like I said…I’ve got time.”

  Ignoring the uneasiness that rose at the idea of so much unstructured time and an uncertain future, he reached for his brother and gave him a hard hug. “Thanks.”

  Clay hugged him back, just as hard. “We’ve missed you.”

  Stepping back finally, Will said, “I missed all of you, too. Those first weeks were a little like going off to college. Caught me by surprise, but I was homesick as hell.”

  “See? You could be eighteen again.”

  A reluctant laugh escaped Will. “Got to tell you, I don’t feel that young. Thank God. No eighteen-year-old should be a father.”

  “Man, I’m going to be an uncle.” Clay shook his head.

  “That day I went out to meet Moira, I kept feeling weirded out when I thought about how it was your kid in there.”

  They said their goodbyes and Will started, at last, for West Fork. He’d expected to be right behind Moira, although he doubted that she was watching her rearview mirror. She didn’t need him when she had her mother with her.

  Clay, he thought as he merged onto the freeway, wasn’t the only one occasionally weirded out by the stunning r
ealization that Moira was carrying his baby. It amused Will to realize that he also felt a whole lot of satisfaction and some primitive, male triumph.

  Maybe that was even okay now. After all, Moira was his wife. She and the baby both were his. Temporarily.

  His hands were rhythmically squeezing the steering wheel. He heard it creak.

  What a time to discover that he hated a state of uncertainty. He’d married a woman who’d agreed only because she’d grudgingly conceded she could use some help. For now. And, oh yeah, he was unemployed.

  It didn’t make him happy to realize that he was a hell of a lot more nervous now than he’d been the day he got on the airplane to start a new life in Africa.

  CHAPTER NINE

  WILL HADN’T ARGUED AT ALL when Moira had informed him, the day he asked her to marry him, that she wasn’t ready to share a bed with him.

  “I don’t know you well enough,” she’d whispered, knowing how dumb that sounded under the circumstances.

  “And with me so pregnant…”

  Watching her, seeing the distress on her face, he’d only nodded calmly and said, “We’ll have time.”

  She hadn’t been able to tell if he minded her ultimatum. Probably not. Just because he’d had sex with her once—at her invitation—didn’t mean he really lusted for her.

  And things were different now anyway. She’d wondered ruefully whether men ever genuinely lusted for a woman who was starting to waddle from pregnancy. She hadn’t quite worked up the nerve to ask any of her friends whether their husbands had found them sexy this far along.

  Now it was not only Moira’s wedding day, Will was moving in with her.

  He had arrived twenty minutes after she and her mother got home. He rang the doorbell, probably for the last time. She had a small burst of panic. She’d have to give him a key. From now on, he would simply walk in. It would be home for him. Wow.

  Leading him down the hall, she explained, “I’m going to pull out the couch in the living room tonight for Mom. She slept in the bedroom last night, but I’ve already changed the sheets.”